101

Five

After crossing the fortifications by the river, steep mountains reared up to block their path. While not green and temperate like the rolling hills of Lochlanach, the peaks were a balm to their eyes after the bitter monotony of the desert. Here, at least, was life. Trees and bushes clustered in protected gullies. Windswept shrubs clung to the rocks while the wind roared through their leaves. Springs cascaded in silver ribbons from mountaintop to sea. It was beautiful and it was wild. The cross winds, especially, were deadly. After the Red Sun was dashed to splinters on an unyielding precipice, the ships were forced out towards the ocean once more.

“If we had the cavorite,” lamented Otto, as he and Ansel hung over the side, watching the slopes go by, “it would be no trouble.”

But they didn’t and so Marlow chartered a course back to the waters. His initial plan was that the fleet, if five ships could be called a fleet, should fly along the beaches with the sea on their right and the land on their left. This idea was sound, but useless in practice. The days of endless sandy beaches were behind them. The edge of the continent tipped itself into the sea with angry ferocity, cliffs rising directly from mottled foam to stand like sentinels against their incursion.

Like the rest of the crew, Ansel kept one eye on the water at all times . Dark green and turbulent, the waves were capped with froth and teeming with life. Flying fish, whales and sharks had all been spotted swimming in the depths. Thankfully, the kraken had not made an appearance, but the giant squid that rose to the water’s surface with the full moon gave everyone a fright. Waves reared up at regular intervals to slap the underbellies of the airships, and the space between them was thick with spray.

They flew on, jittery and bad tempered.

Ansel continued to spend his time atop the mast, eating or sleeping, occasionally helping Otto with the runes. Mammon assured them that they were growing close to their destination, although her grasp of distance was hardly scientific. As the cavorite stores dwindled, Ansel began to wonder if he would ever feel normal again. The fathomless waves invaded his sleep, and it became hard to tell the difference between waking and dreaming. He went through the motions in a daze. Perhaps he would never rest properly again – perhaps he would always need his nightmares to be rocked into slumber by the motion of a ship at the edge of the world. At least they had food and water. A blessing, albeit one, Ezra murmured, for which they had bartered their souls.

The ships sailed south.

“Tomorrow,” said Mammon, “we will arrive. We are very close.” The words skipped around the crew with anxious, hopeful energy. The news spurred a change in everyone. Boaz sent word to Marlow, and the crew resumed their tasks with renewed vigour. Meanwhile Mammon, who had been relaxed to the point of being nearly catatonic, paced the ship, adding to the simmering tension.

An hour past sunset, and Ansel stole a precious moment from his rest to practice his air script. In between bites of a sandwich he swept the brush up and down across the parchment, pausing every now and then to make adjustments by the light of a guttering torch. He was, of course, using ink instead of silver cavorite paint. While he was not yet a master like Otto, he was pleased with his letters, the shape and form of which had improved immensely since the beginning of the voyage.

Ezra sat by his side, arms folded and angry eyes following Mammon’s perambulations across the deck. Boaz was trailing the witch, and the pair were laughing and drinking wine. The wine must be from Boaz’s private stash, Ansel assumed, since the captain had declared all the alcohol gone long before they had first sighted land. The crew had been rationed for weeks. Boaz seemed oblivious to the dirty looks, however. Mammon, as always, was either oblivious or didn’t care.

"If your people know about the cavorite," Boaz was saying to Mammon, "why don't they take it for themselves?"

"We have tried," said Mammon, rapping her nails on the Sky Lion’s rail. "We do not have the required skills. That is why I am here, to learn those skills."

Boaz frowned, and stumbled a little. To most of the crew's abject disappointment Mammon had barely spoken to anyone, despite many attempts to engage her in conversation. It was unclear to Ansel how Mammon planned to learn anything. Especially as, according to her, time was almost up. Ansel kept glancing at the passing mountains as if expecting so see cavorite lying there, gleaming in the moonlight. But he knew that was not how it would be. And right now the mountains were just forbidding black lumps in the distance.

"We do not use the cavorite as you do," said Mammon, glancing at the burning runes that kept the massive vessel aloft. She said the word strangely, tasting the syllables one by one and spitting them out in delicate succession as if they tasted foul.

"If you don't use it for airscript," said Boaz, "what do you use it for?"

"Travel," she said. "Unlike you we don't travel in flying ships. We travel in a different way­ – through circular gates built of stone. We raise them under the full moon and cement the bricks with blood." Mammon smiled that unnerving smile, her mouth a pink slash in the pale of her face. She turned glazed eyes on Boaz, and he withered under her stare. "But mostly we use it as a drug. It gives you a wonderful high, as well as making the spirit world clear."

"The spirit world?" Boaz sputtered, and she nodded, gravely, her eyes startlingly blue.

"Of course, it is highly addictive," she said and floated off to her throne at the side of the ship.

The crew muttered amongst themselves, until Boaz silenced them with a look.

“I always wondered,” said Ezra, “how men could be so blind. When I read the scriptures, I found the cautionary tales unlikely. How could people be so foolish? How could they tolerate evil? But now I see. Make the herald a pretty witch with nice tits and a box of food. We will follow her to our graves, laughing all the way.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Ansel, softly. He drew a careful letter, then swore as the ship lurched in a gust of wind. “She unnerves me just as much as you.”

“I doubt that,” said Ezra.

"If we don't find cavorite," said Ansel, "it won't matter. Dead men don’t have the luxury of morality. So bringing her with us is the most rational course of action."

Ezra's face showed his shock.

"Just because the Grand Inquisitor might not ever know," he hissed, "just because we are far from civilisation...it makes our actions even more important. How can you–”

His voice choked off as he realised Mammon had drifted over and was listening to him, her head cocked on one side and eyes bright with malevolent humour. He blushed and looked away. Ansel looked up at her in surprise, his brush hovering in the air.

“My lady,” he said, politely. “How can we help you?”

Mammon came in close, leaning over to peer at his air script, and giving him an eyeful of her bosom. She smelt rank. And not just the unwashed smell of a human body that needed to bath, Ansel was used to that after all the hardships of travel. Something else. There clung to her skin a lingering malodour, a scent of decay and spoiled food.

"Are you the rune master?" she asked, and for a second Ansel was surprised when no flies emerged from the plump pink of her lips.

"No," said Ansel, taken aback. "I'm just an apprentice. Master Otto is the man you want."

He nodded to where the older man was peering at the burning scripts on the side of the deck. Otto’s shoulders were stooped and he looked tired. It was a heavy burden at the best of times, keeping the ship perfectly balanced and airworthy. Now, running on a rapidly diminishing stock of cavorite, there was no margin for error and the airsmith was working round the clock to keep them airborne with minimum waste.

Mammon floated off, without comment, and Ansel breathed a sigh of relief. His calm, however, was short-lived.

Mammon strode towards Master Otto and stood before him, sweeping his frame with her vivid blue eyes.

"Ma’am?" he said, looking up from the burning script he was inspecting. "Can I be of service–"

“You are the rune-master?”

“Yes?” the old man asked, confused.

Mammon’s hand shot out. Pale, claw-like fingers grabbed him by the throat and she lifted him bodily into the air. Otto clutched his throat, legs kicking, his face turning purple.

"Mammon, no!" cried Boaz, leaping to her side, but she warned him away with one hand. Ansel and Ezra stood up in alarm, the rest of the crew turning towards the disturbance.

Mammon snapped the Forge Master's neck as easily as if he was a chicken. The crack of breaking bone rang out across the deck.

"Onoskelis!" Mammon proclaimed in ringing tones, as she lifted Otto’s body, dangling and limp, high above her head. "This life is my gift for you! Take what is yours!" She threw the dead man to the deck. Otto’s head smacked the planks with a dull thud. His body rolled and lay like a broken rag, the stars reflected in the blank orbs of his eyes.

Ezra gasped. Ansel swore under his breath, and reached for an arquebus that was not there. He had left it stowed below deck. Across the deck Louis lifted his crossbow, and fired, straight and true at the savage woman's heart. Boaz cried out, leaping forward seemingly in fear for her. But there was no need. Mammon swatted the bolt out of the air as if it was no more than a leaf in the wind. The crew, who had been shocked to stillness, started forward. One of the rescued men, the Albatrosses’ Inquisitor, appeared in the doorway with a crutch in one hand and his arquebus in the other. Wobbling horribly, he struggled to set up the stand.

"No!" shouted Boaz. "Leave her be."

"Captain!" protested Mange.

"No!" said Captain Boaz, between gritted teeth. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. "We need her! We won't find the cavorite without her! We'll never return home without her."

Behind him, Mammon knelt down next to Otto’s body.

“What is she doing?” whispered Kip. Boaz turned, sharply.

Mammon was singing under her breath, in that guttural native tongue. Her breathy song rang out across the deck, filling the silence with her eerie tune. She threw back her head and laughed. Drawing out a black, and shiny dagger, she plunged it into Otto’s chest, and started to saw. Someone screamed, but Mammon paid no mind. She stabbed again and again, humming that song, her hands were red to the wrist.

She reacted into the cavity of Otto’s chest and pulled out a wet fleshy lump. Her teeth sank into it. and Ansel was distracted from the horror by the sound of Ezra vomiting over the side of the ship. The arquebus exploded, but the shot went wide, and Mammon looked up in irritation.

“Monster!” cried the wounded inquisitor.

"Lock her in the brig," said Mange. "Where she can do no harm. Captain! The woman is clearly mad!"

“Deranged,” echoed Audric the scribe, but his voice was weak, his darting between Mammon and the ruined mess of Otto’s chest.

"Alright," said Boaz, his voice quavering. He looked at the witch pleadingly. "Mammon?"

"Yes, my love," she said. She stood up, smiling, her teeth stained crimson. Mange took this as assent and walked towards her. Louis’ eyes met Ansel’s across the deck. He hefted his crossbow, suggestively, but Ansel shook his head. He suspected Mange had forgotten Mammon's incredible strength. The first mate was bearing down on the woman with a face like a thundercloud. Ansel moved back a step, moved by some instinct, and then stopped, ashamed.

"Come with me, witch," said Mange, grabbing Mammon roughly by the arm. Her bloody smile slipped.

"No, I don't think so." She looked over her shoulder at Captain Boaz. "I have no use for this one."

Mammon picked up the screaming Mange as if he were a babe and tossed him over the side.

He howled all the way down, and landed in the dark water with a splash, the cry cut off by a gurgle.

“Man overboard!” cried the lookout.

Ansel rushed to the side of the ship, fumbling at the knots on the rope ladders. They were crusted with salt, and his fingers had never been clumsier. He got the first knot loose, but a cold hand closed over his.

“He’s gone,” said Ezra.

Ansel leaned over the sides, searching the waves below, but there was no sign of Mange. He turned back to the deck, feeling ill.

"Move the body into my cabin," said Mammon. She tossed her hair, and disappeared below deck.