Scar Night Page 0,94

from the burner. “Devon?”

“I have a dilemma,” Devon went on, watching both men carefully.

They waited in silence for him to continue.

He tapped a finger against his lips as he continued pacing. He sighed, wrung his hands, and then adopted a regretful, almost despondent tone. “I’m afraid only one of you will live through this.”

Surprisingly, the veteran’s eyes widened in fear. Perhaps cold mornings were all this man had suffered. The younger man’s expression, however, hardened.

Good.

“What are your names?” Devon asked mildly.

A ragged breath escaped the younger guard’s throat.

The veteran answered uneasily. “Angus. And he’s Lars.”

“The dog?”

“Fitzgerald,” the veteran added.

At the sound of his name, Fitzgerald lifted his snout a moment before returning to his explorations.

The rhythmic impact of Devon’s boots on the metal floor panels rang out like the slow ticking of an iron clock. The echoes pressed back on them from the walls, and made the underground space seem even more confined. “Any family, either of you?” he asked.

“What?” The veteran, Angus, winced. “What do you want from us?”

Devon kept his face in shadow, between the burner and the guards. He did not alter his pace. “Excuse my bluntness, but this has to be resolved before we can proceed. I asked you a question.”

Lars’s head dropped and he screwed up his eyes. “Wife,” he said. “Two children.”

Angus was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m married. Four children.”

Devon noticed the tremble in his voice, and kept pacing, his shadow sweeping over the floor.

“He’s lying,” Lars hissed.

Angus twisted against the chains, trying to see round at his comrade’s face. “Bastard,” he said.

Devon snorted. “As I do not intend to spend any more time getting to know you,” he said, “I’m not sure how best to resolve this dilemma.” He approached his captives and squatted on his haunches beside them. “Perhaps I ought to leave the decision in your own hands.”

“They know where we are.” Angus looked like he was on the verge of tears. “They’ll come looking for us.”

Devon resumed pacing. “My problem is that I need to enlist the help of one of you.” He turned to face both captives as he walked. “But which one? All temple guards have access to the Sanctum, so that is not an issue. Lars, you sound somewhat the worse for wear, and yet I have already taken a disliking to your companion.”

Lars buried his head against his chest and breathed short, ragged gasps. Angus wrenched his shoulders forward against his chains. The rhythm of Devon’s footsteps continued steadily.

“Let us go,” Angus pleaded. “We won’t report this.”

Lars lifted his head and clenched his jaws. His eyes rolled upwards and closed.

“I will make this simple.” Devon let out a long sigh. “One of you is going to die here, in this tower. The other is going to work for me. I do not care which of you, so you can decide between yourselves.”

He stopped. His final footstep resounded for a heartbeat, then faded. “Would you like a few more minutes to make up your minds?”

* * * *

The warship reminded Carnival of an insect larva, some enormous maggot burrowing in and out of the clouds. Flashes of silver rippled over the craft’s envelope where it caught the moonlight. Hot air from the cooling system fed fat ribs around the liftgas envelope to provide more accurate buoyancy control and allow rapid ascent with fast inflation. An engine powered twin propellers towards the rear, turning the ship in a slow circle as she watched. Valves clicked within. Beneath the bulk of fabric, portholes burned in the shadowy gondola. The bridge was up front, the crew berths, galley, and engine room behind. Neat decks, wide enough for a man to walk along, jutted from both port and starboard sides and extended some distance behind the engine room, where four aeronauts tended the searchlights stationed at each corner, adjusting aether flow and turning the mirrored bowls so that the beams swept over the city.

Carnival landed silently on the forward port deck, opened a door, and stepped inside.

She found herself in a painfully bright teak corridor that ran from the engine room to the bridge. Brass-bordered doors led to interior rooms, their portholes now dark. Engines thundered and shook the rich red carpet underfoot. The air smelled of fuel and polish.

She strolled along the corridor and stepped forward onto the bridge.

The captain stood pin-straight in his uniform, all sharp white lines and silver buttons, and peered through the arc of windows above the control panel. A helmsman