Scar Night Page 0,139
found, soaked them in lamp oil, and made a long fuse, which he fed back into the engine room. He doused the floor and walls around the fuse with the last of the oil.
When he was satisfied, he turned to Mochet’s men. “We need to open the valves now, gently. Let the gas flood the ribs. Open all of the tanks, but not too much. Just a few turns, until you hear the hiss.”
All of the Heshette heard him clearly, but Mochet relayed the instructions regardless. They twisted open the valves on the liftgas tanks and withdrew into the companionway.
“Now,” the Poisoner said, “light the candle.” He handed Mochet a pouch of flints. “I’ll wait outside.”
The warrior seized his arm. “No, Poisoner. You’ll stay until it’s done.”
Five minutes later Devon glanced back at theBirkita from the shadow of the Tooth’s hull. Her ribs were slowly filling out; he hoped it was fast enough.
Bataba met them inside. A wet scarf covered his face, and he offered another damp rag to Devon.
Devon sniffed it. “You have enough of these for everyone?”
“We do.”
“And one for Sypes?”
Bataba nodded.
“Excellent.” The Poisoner rubbed hand and stump together. “You can keep that one. I’ll risk the gas.”
* * * *
Chalk-faced, Fogwill gripped the control panel on the bridge of theAdraki, fixed his eyes on the tilting horizon, and concentrated on keeping what was left in his stomach still in his stomach. His throat felt raw. How could there be anything left? He had already vomited far more than he remembered having eaten, and even brought up things he wasn’t convinced he had eaten. Abruptly, his insides lurched and something rumbled further down.
The airship captain glared at him, a veteran whose eyes held no sympathy for the Adjunct’s delicate condition. Fogwill tried to smile back. He wasn’t keen to use the ship’s commode unless there was no alternative. Mark Hael had taken some delight in informing him how it worked.
Blackthrone baked under a parched sky. Eighteen warships had now gathered above the Tooth, turning slowly to the west as the wind changed. Vents above the bridge windows blew a hot, metallic breeze that failed to dry the sweat from Fogwill’s brow. Engines droned on all sides like persistent flies. At the sound of a whistle, Hael put his ear to one of the com-trumpets on the wall.
After a moment he said, “We’re now approaching the Birkita . She’s been stripped. A group of Heshette were spotted fleeing back inside the Tooth.”
“The Presbyter?” Fogwill ventured.
The commander relayed this question and waited for the reply: “Too far away to tell.” He turned to the captain. “Flag the armada to hold steady above the Birkita at four hundred feet windward, maintain formation, and keep us within signal distance. I want two-thirds payloads of lime-gas fused and ready to drop at my command, full complements of crossbowmen in position, and incendiaries primed for a cook-up when the bastards split. Keep me informed of changes in wind direction and speed.”
Fogwill swallowed. “This gas…is fatal?”
“Depends how much of it is breathed,” Hael said.
“Then I’m afraid I can’t allow you to use it.”
The commander shrugged. “It’s the best way to flush them out. That thing down there looks too solid for incendiaries.”
The Tooth did look impenetrable. Fogwill had heard of the machine, but had not seen it until now. Few people had. It towered over the quarry cliffs behind it, shimmering in the harsh light. Dark holes pocked its dazzling-white hull; sand drifts smothered its base on the nearest side; smoke-scorched funnels crowned its tapering summit. Skeletal arms at the front held massive columns of cutting wheels over a huge, dusty scoop.
Fogwill studied it with awe. This vast machine was in truth a holy relic, abandoned by Callis nearly three thousand years ago after construction of the foundation chains. It had last moved under the direction of Ulcis’s Herald himself. He remembered that crippled angel locked in the temple dungeon, and swallowed hard. Three thousand years. How many souls since?
Missionaries who had seen the machine spread fervent rumours that it possessed some vestige of divine awareness. Looking at it now, Fogwill found it hard to give credence to those rumours. The Tooth was impressive, yes. But sentient? Hardly. And yet the machine did seem to evince some latent power, as though it was waiting, watching from those openings in its hull.
My imagination. It is the Heshette who are watching us.
The Adjunct shuddered, but was unable to shake off his unease. Something else was bothering him.