Chapter 16: Gerald

The Midnight Songbird was forced to plough its way through the winds, as the ship followed the causeway towards the Last Wall. The heat of the Spire constantly threw warm air up into the clouds, which meant that all of the wind currents, for at least as far as the City occupied, blew into the City.

Predictable, Gerald mused to himself as he stared out the bow of the ship. And all the more galling that he could do nothing about it.

"The winds don't favour us," Lucille noted, beside him. He glanced over and was surprised to find her so far away from a shadow's customary position. What motivated her lack of concern for his ability to Craft, he wondered. Was it trust, her feelings, or indifference?

"But I'm surprised we're making such good time. How fast are we going?" she asked.

"Maxwell has us at cruising speed, to save the reservoirs. Judging by how fast we pass the battlements, I'd say..." Gerald stared down for a moment, as the Causeway's battlements passed below. "Forty miles an hour, roughly."

"Good propellers," Lucille said, impressed.

"It's partly the lift-bag. The heat it gives off creates a high-pressure zone, which helps us slip through the air faster," Gerald explained, surprisingly eager to talk shop. "But the propellers were all Maxwell. We used to argue a lot about how heavy they should be."

He smiled, recalling conversations at absurd hours of the morning about the merits of an efficient propeller.

"Sir!" A shout rang out from behind him, and he turned to see a small group of soldiers lead by Corporal Lancet, carrying what looked like a large cylinder on a tripod.

"Is that a tight-beam lantern?" Gerald asked, genuinely impressed.

"Aye, sir. No electricity on board, so it's reservoir fed. It should last a few hours, but..." she stopped. "We don't have very many spare reservoirs, sir."

"Not a problem," Gerald replied. He pointed to a section of the railing, indicating where he wanted it mounted. "Let me know if it the lantern gets dim. Reservoirs are easier to fill if there's still something in them."

"Of course, sir. Sorry, I forgot," she replied. The soldiers set the lantern on the side and bent its legs in an attempt to wrap the metal around the railings.

"You forgot I was a Crafter?" he asked, amused, as they began to set the lantern on the railings.

"No, sir. Just that I-" Corporal Lancet began to say, hesitating.

"Just that you were allowed to make use of it. I understand." Gerald replied, nodding solemnly. Another thing about living with the ability to Craft that most people didn't share.

"Hold the lantern steady, and keep your hands clear of the legs," Gerald instructed. He ran his hand along the tripod leg, and taking a deep breath, willed fire into the air. The heat shone between his fingers and under his hand as he slid it over the tripod, letting the metal melt over the railing. He tacked the third leg to the lower rails and curled a portion of it to hold the small reservoir.

After a single pass, he pulled his hand clear and took a moment to inspect his work. He frowned and tried twisting it. Satisfied, he stepped to the other side and repeated his treatment to the metal, melting the tripod leg to the railing.

"It should hold. Turn it on, and get a feel for its range," he told the Corporal, who saluted smartly before turning away and lighting the lantern. He stepped back towards the bow of the ship, and looked up at Tyler Emery, one of the ship's engineers, who was serving as a lookout. "Anything new since that pipe rupture?" he called up.

"Small flashes of fire, and a lot of smoke, sir. I think they're torching the fields!" Emery called back. Gerald waved in thanks, and turned back to the aft portion of the deck, his shadow falling into step behind him.

"Sir!" Corporal Lancet called from her lantern. Gerald noticed it aimed down towards the fields, and the other soldiers pointing excitedly at whatever the beam was shining on.

"Take a look, sir. There's a cable draped on the ground down there, in the distance. We caught the reflection while we were testing the lantern's range," Corporal Lancet reported.

Gerald looked down, to see the glint of steel draped along the crops, easily visible despite the irrigation trench much of it was following. The cable looked to be a little thicker than a wrist, and as they swung the lantern to track it, seemed to be at least a mile long.

"Cable-car?" Gerald asked Corporal Lancet, who nodded solemnly.

He mused for a moment. Flashing fire in the distance was either flickering outflow torches or Salamander fire. With a cable-car line cut, and the fields just beginning to burn, his course had been set for him.

"Focus on the Causeway," he told Cassidy Lancet. "Let me know if you see anyone."

"Sir?" Lucille asked, as he marched towards the ship's controls.

"All ahead full, Maxwell!" Gerald shouted, ignoring Lucille for the moment. "Arabel, Preston! Get that winch up and running, in case we need to pick someone up! Cassidy," he called, turning back to the Corporal.

He had nearly forgotten about her Sergeant. "Is Mister Calloway fit for duty?" he asked.

"No, sir," she said, with a hint of irritation. "Still can't stand without throwing up."

"Are you comfortable fulfilling his duties?"

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. "Aye, sir."

"In that case, have your squad arm up. Salamanders and extra rounds," Gerald said.

"Aye, sir," she said, as he turned away and began walking up the stairs to the rise in the aft section of the ship. Lucille followed, her silence surprisingly loud as she frowned from behind him.

"Sorry," Gerald said, once they reached Maxwell. "I thought I should include our helmsman." Maxwell nodded graciously, and Lucille shrugged nonchalantly. "Here's our situation. Emery has seen flashes of fire in the distance, Lancet just found a severed cable-car line, and the fields ahead have been set alight within the last hour. We might be flying into a hot extraction or some other kind of danger."

"Sir," Maxwell said, and he turned to regard his second officer. "I've been thinking about that pipe rupture, trying to figure out how it happened. The cold-stone pipe caps shouldn't have let it happen. Even if a Golem punched into the pipe, it wouldn't have enough pressure to do that."

"So you're suggesting there's no possibility of an accident?" Lucille asked.

"Exactly, ma'am."

"Are you sure?" Lucille inquired, puzzled.

Gerald laughed. "Maxwell's speciality is the use of cold-stone. He'd probably be part of the investigation if we weren't being invaded."

"Ah. Sorry," Lucille replied. "It's just, how could it be done deliberately? You can't increase the pressure in an outflow line from where it terminates."

"We'll ask anyone we find," Gerald replied. "Though if the rupture were deliberate, it increases the odds of finding someone soon."

"Sir! People on the Causeway!" came a shout from one of the soldiers at the lantern. He waved excitedly, and pointed below.

"Like that," Gerald said lamely. Maxwell laughed as he disengaged the main propellers, and began wheeling the swivel-propellers to point towards the bow of the ship.

He stepped to the railing, and a quick glance towards the circle of light ahead revealed two figures, waving up towards them. "Push us a little starboard, Maxwell! Half a ship-length. Arabel, send the winch cable down the port side. Signal to have them come up one at a time."

"Port side?" Arabel asked.

"Left side, when facing the bow," Gerald explained.

The rope descended, dangling just a few feet away from the pair as the ship slowed to a near stop. The larger of the pair grabbed the rope and motioned for the smaller one to take it.

Gerald rolled his eyes as he watched the other one wave his hand, and point up towards the ship. Eventually, the larger man took the rope and braced himself to rise.

Arabel set the winch and pulled the lever. Only a few seconds passed before the soldier reached the railing, where a few of the ship's crew helped him aboard.

The private, judging by the single pip on his shoulder, was gazing wildly with his mouth wide open, making soft whimpering sounds that Gerald couldn't decipher.

"Send the rope back down, Arabel," Gerald instructed the engineer, who set about her work as the soldier stepped aside. "Private," he added forcefully, directing his attention to the new soldier on his deck.

The newcomer glanced at him indignantly for only a moment, long enough to notice the sword Gerald wore. "Captain!" he said saluting smartly. Gerald returned it and smiled.

"Welcome to the Midnight Songbird," he said, gesturing to the mass of the ship around him. "I am its Captain, Gerald Raeth. Where is the rest of your squad?"

"Most of them are at the next wall, sir. Safe, for the moment. But four of us are holding the enemy further down. They were buying us time to escape with a message. My Sergeant has it."

"I see," Gerald said, as he turned to watch the other soldier climb up on deck. The small series of pips, with a small bar on his right soldier, marked him as a Sergeant.

"Sergeant? I'm told you are carrying information."

The sergeant saluted sharply in response. "Aye, sir," he said, handing over a small pad of paper. "Sergeant Harold Reeves, sir. Fourth platoon, Ninth company, Fourth Brigade. This pamphlet contains a summary of Lieutenant Amelian Rustov's engagement with the enemy. She and three others are delaying the new creature sighted at the wall. It's imperative we relay this information to Central, sir."

Gerald's eyes widened, and Lucille hissed in surprise behind him. "New creature?" he asked, feeling as if the food in his gut were made of lead.

"Aye, sir. Figure on a horse, made of fire. Our Senior Sergeant believes there is no record of anything like it," Sergeant Reeves explained.

A rider made of flame. It hardly seemed possible, but as Gerald mused over the possibility, he felt a creature of flame was more likely than a Crafter showing off. A sustained inferno held close to the body was hard to maintain, and was unlikely something a being of flesh and blood would be willing to do for any reason.

It did also suggest this creature could wield the flame. A likely possibility, considering the Sergeant's concern.

Gerald nodded solemnly. "Understood, thank you, Sergeant," he turned away, and fixed his gaze at the ship's controls. Raising his voice, he shouted "Maxwell! All ahead, overrun speed! Use the swivel propellers for additional thrust! Crew to your stations, soldiers to the sides of the ship! Corporal Lancet, focus on the causeway, let me know the moment you see anything!"

Lucille grinned fiercely when he caught her gaze, and she nodded in approval. Maxwell swung the wheels hard, and the ship surged forward as if the Songbird itself were eager for action.

"Sir! I don't think you understand the danger!" Harold called out, as he followed.

"I reckon you could fix that," Gerald said, as he lead the Sergeant towards Maxwell. "On your right is my first officer, Lieutenant Lucille Kendor. The man at the helm is my second officer, Senior Engineer Maxwell Durgon. I'd like them both to hear what you have to say."

"Sir. We have to turn this ship around. I was sent away because she was sure none of us could kill it. You don't have enough soldiers or firepower," the soldier, Harold, insisted.

Gerald rounded on him, and let his left hand rest on the pommel of his sword, letting the insignia on the pommel catch the light. "Fortunate for us that this is simply a rescue mission," he replied as he reached the ship's controls. "You say there's a rider made of fire out there?" he asked, when he was sure Maxwell could join the conversation.

"Aye, sir," Harold said. "And a horde of the Gloamtaken. If it were just Gloamtaken or even a Golem, I wouldn't worry. Not on this ship..." he paused, shaking his head. "But the rider blew a chunk out of the causeway, and destroyed a cable-car. Sir, you have to get those notes to Captain Volgen at the next wall," he finished speaking, and let his hands rest on the railing.

"You're comfortable abandoning them?" Lucille asked, a hint of scorn in her voice.

He turned and looked like he wanted to hit her. But his words were disciplined and professional. "No, ma'am. You're going to drop me off, once you've turned around."

Gerald shook his head. "Soldier, we're going back for them," he said simply, calmly, keeping his expression carefully impassive.

The Sergeant gulped, once, and held out his hands. "Sir. My senior sergeant said it could Craft," the sergeant said as if speaking those words would instantly change Gerald's perspective on the matter.

Of course, for most people in the City, it would.

Maxwell whistled, and Lucille hissed. But Gerald only nodded his head, his suspicions confirmed. "As can I," he replied, and smiled without any humour. "How long were you running?"

"About twenty minutes, sir," Harold replied.

"Then we should see them momentarily," Gerald replied.

"Salamander fire ahead, sir!" Cassidy called from the bow of the ship. Gerald smacked his head as Maxwell laughed hard. Even Lucille laughed as Gerald rolled his eyes and cursed "abyss below, am I cursed tonight?"

Harold stared at them, confused, which made Lucille laugh harder. "Inside joke. Sorry," she told him.

Gerald shrugged, ruefully. "Grab a Salamander and acquaint yourself with my squad. The raking soldier on deck is Corporal Cassidy Lancet, by the Lantern. At the moment, you are the highest ranking soldier aboard, and one of only two veterans, as absurd as that might sound. We would benefit from that," Gerald said. Harold saluted again and marched away to grab a weapon.

"What's the plan for extracting them?" Lucille asked.

"Maxwell, once we're overtop of them, turn the ship ninety degrees starboard. We'll use the Salamanders to create a buffer between the soldiers and the Gloamtaken, and maintain it until they're aboard," Gerald replied.

"You might be underestimating their numbers," Maxwell noted.

"Then I'll intervene directly. Their numbers won't matter in a confined space like that Causeway, not to me," Gerald said. He turned to Lucille and was surprised to find her smiling still. Shadows weren't normally keen to see their charges at work. "You don't seem concerned enough."

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Part of me wants to see you cut loose. Especially after how you redirected the fires in the lift-bag."

Gerald blinked twice, and shook his head. "Are you sure you're a shadow?"

Her smile faded as she met his gaze. "No one in the City treats the invasion blithely, Captain. Certainly not the Bureau of Oversight," she said, her voice harsh. "And I now serve as more than a shadow."

"Captain!" Cassidy called. "We're close! Four people below, and a lot of Gloamtaken!"

"How many?" Lucille called back.

"Hundreds!" Came the indignant reply.

"Start the turn!" Gerald called back to Maxwell, who nodded as he threw the wheel to his right. He took a quick look off the side of the deck as the ship began to turn, and his eyes went wide.

Gerald now appreciated why the Corporal was so indignant. The Gloamtaken stretched back to where the causeway met the wall. There could easily be a thousand of the creatures, all of whom were advancing over a trail of their fallen, as the soldiers below somehow still kept them at bay.

"Soldiers to the port-side railing! Fire at will!" Gerald called out. "Arabel, set the line down the starboard side! You're going to lower me down!" he ordered, taking one of the few Salamanders still on the rack. He glanced about to look for his Lieutenant, to see her dragging a long line of cable and tying it to the railing on the port side.

"Show-off," he muttered, more bemused than annoyed, as she took the cable at its halfway point and vaulted over the side.