But now… Now he’s just blood on my blades. Like so many others. And the organization he’d built by the crush of his own knuckles is suddenly leaderless.
Not your problem.
Right now, the only thing I need to focus on is extricating myself from this mess as quickly and as smoothly as possible and getting back home to my sisters.
I wipe my blades clean on the preacher’s robe—it’s not like he can really object anymore—and phase back up into the galley. Immediately, I head for the steerage deck and look for the signal flag controls. Every ship is supposed to have them, a series of switches that let you raise flags of different colors and patterns along the top and bottom hulls to communicate with other skyliner vessels. Dani is likely still in the area, within eyesight of the airship in case I need help. I’ve never needed it before, but this would be the quickest and easiest way to get her attention.
But there are no signal flag controls on this airship.
I look everywhere, I even sweep the vessel’s layout with my goggles, but there’s no sign that signal flags had ever been built into the structure of this thing.
I bow forward, gripping the handle of the ship’s wheel, measuring my breaths slowly in and out. I need to make a plan, but plans aren’t really my thing. They’re Dani’s thing. They’re my sister Halle’s thing. I usually just take the first path of least resistance that I can find and slice my way through.
Just get out of there, ghoulie. I can practically hear Dani’s voicein my head, and even the idea of it calms me.Cover your ass and get out of there.
This airship—and all the bodies on it—needs to disappear. It’s a pretty unsophisticated vessel, but from the looks of it, you can set a fixed heading and that’s all I really need. I set the ship’s wheel into place, pointing the nose of it up toward the bottom of the homestead island floating over us. I move around the deck, opening every hatch and turning off every safety valve I can find, until the naphtha engines start to screech and smoke. And then I’m gone, phasing through the walls and out of the ship, down to the streets and buildings below.
Above the city of Covenant, the airship slams into the smooth metal underbelly of the homestead and explodes in a burst of orange and blue against the fading sky.
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHAT IS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE ELYSIAN DEPTHS HAS LONG BEEN THE SUBJECT OF DEBATE, BUT IN THIS AUTHOR’S OPINION, IT IS NOT FOR US TO KNOW. THE HEART OF TRINITY SUSTAINS US; IT IS TOO PRECIOUS A GIFT FROM THE HERALDS. IT IS FOR THE DEAD ALONE, AND THE LIVING MUST BE SATISFIED WITH THAT.”
—TRINITY: A TOPOGRAPHICAL OVERVIEW, PROFESSOR BEATRICE BARTLEWICK
In an abandoned shop stall on an old market street in West Parish, I hurriedly stuff my hastily cleaned Butcher kit into a rucksack that smells a bit like old blood and tie it off tight, my hands shaking as I sling it over my shoulder. Which definitely isn’t like me. But I’ve also never had a job go ass-up like this before, and it’s rattled me. Made me feel unsteady, unsafe.
I just laid the big boss of the Gold Town Gang out on the decks of an airship.
Even worse: Someone set me up to do it.
Halle and Kelda are at home, completely unprotected. I need to make sure they’re safe. The quicker, the better.
It’s almost fully dark already when I step out onto the streets. This far into low season, the aquamarine sky darkens early, the far edges soaking with orange and plum and black. Narrow windows set into the faces of all the buildings and betterments brighten with the blue-white light of naphtha lamps. Tinkerers and market vendors are locking up and heading home, and the twisting alleyways and brightly painted streets are filling up with nighttime inhabitants. Clusters of people looking to unwind drift about, following the music seeping out of saloons, dram shops, and other entertainment establishments, their murmurs of conversation cut through with sharp bursts of laughter. Magdalena houses light their purple lanterns, throwing an intoxicating glow across their doorsteps. Street apothecaries draw small crowds with their over-the-top performances, shilling so-called magical trinkets and concoctions that will cure your problems and ailments. A handful of people ride by on rickety four-legged automaton mounts, their metal bodies patched with rust and animated by the mechanical, naphtha-powered heart and veins that glow dimly beneath their plating.
At almost every street corner and intersection, screens a dozen feet tall play the dailies—newsreels of wavery images and footage in shades of amber and gray and black, beamed to us straight from Trinity’s Heraldic Ministry. It’s updated three times a day—morning, midday, and evening—but in between, it repeats again and again. In case you missed it the first time. Or you just love to listen to a constant stream of chatter about how great Trinity is, but also how all our greatness and way of life is under attack from all sides so be very afraid.
I move through it all as fast as I can without drawing any unnecessary attention, hands shoved into the pockets of mypants, the hood attached to my loose shirt pulled up to conceal my face despite the heat still hanging heavy in the air and the sweat dampening my hairline. When I was younger, I remember the temperature used to plummet at night, chilly enough that people would wear longcoats and sometimes even gloves. But lately, we don’t get a lot of relief at night, with heat lingering long after sunset, radiating off the metal alloy that makes up the ground, the rooftops, the building walls—just about everything.
Right now, I welcome its warmth. It keeps my muscles loose and fluid, keeps me moving. I always phase somewhere different after a job—someplace unoccupied, where I’ve stowed my change of clothes just before. It’s safer for me if no one is ever really sure where the Butcher comes from or where they go. It’s one of many ways I keep the two halves of my life separate, so that the things I do on the edge of a blade never follow me home. But now it’s biting me in the ass because I’m going to have to hoof it across half of Covenant to get home to my sisters.
I’m cutting across Samuel Street when my eyes catch on the nearest flickering screen showing the dailies. They’re broadcasting an arrest notice with the image of a young man. Shaved head. Irises as deep brown as his skin. A beautiful face, though the image doesn’t really do it justice because it can’t capture the spark of humor always lurking in his eyes. Or the brilliance when he flashes his wide smile.
My jaw clenches and I cut my eyes away as I hurry past.
Not your problem, Val. Just get home. Make sure your sisters are safe. That’s all you need to do right now.
I can’t borrow any more trouble when I’m already neck-deep in a botched job and still trying to sort out what the hell happened up there. Maybe Dani will be able to get to the bottom of it. She’sgot an ear against just about every door in this town, stashing away information like rations. It’s one of the main reasons I took her on as my frontperson.
I’ll get ahold of her first thing tomorrow and we’ll sort out the situation. Get things back on track with whoever’s next on the Gold Town throne. This was just a misfire.
A massive, massive misfire.
I pause on a corner and wipe at my mouth, wishing I had anything left in that little canteen, but I drained it all back on the airship. I’ll have to just bear with the dusty feeling in my throat until I get home.
“—the arrest of Orion Booker,” the droning voice of the announcer on the dailies interrupts my thoughts. “Booker is also known as the Skywayman, a degenerate whose string of thefts has terrorized skyliners across Covenant. He was apprehended in his latest attempt at larceny, caught in the act and convicted of the sin of greed. He is being held by the esteemed wardens of Covenant, awaiting transport via prison train to the Ninth Circle, where he will attempt to earn redemption through a life of service.”
A shudder ripples through my body.
