IRONHEART: The Primal Deception

Chapter 5

"Some praise the ingenuity of the chevaline, a masterpiece of intricate machinery. And it is, indeed, a marvelous invention – technology that simulates life. Some laud the steam-powered jetpack; never let it be said that the power of individual flight is not a magnificent thing. But I say it is the airship – that simple marriage of steam technology and mundane transportation – that has most deeply affected the world." – Benjamin Norton, Engineer

Jack leaned on the brick alley wall of a warehouse just off the airship quays, short-barreled shotgun resting against his shoulder. The warehouse was empty, so he didn't expect any security in the immediate area, but around the dock and warehouse districts you could never be sure, even with Dasher and the rest of his pickpockets keeping an eye out.

Jack didn't like this heist. It was a risky job, and Fist knew it. Airship cargo was more valuable than freight from the steam locomotives, but more value meant more security, and the coppers assigned extra patrols to the docks. Besides, Fist was getting uncomfortably close to Primal turf with this escapade, and Jack didn't think Chaos and his boys would take too kindly to anyone muscling in to their markets. Fist had feuded with a few other human gangs over the years, but getting in Chaos's way was a different jet o' steam.

He didn't want to think about the attention they might attract from the authorities pulling a job like this, either. The bolder Fist became the more risk they ran of catching the coppers' eyes. Jack wasn't eager to find out what would happen if they drew the interest of Brutality and the full strength of his enforcers.

Jack didn't show any of this. Not to the men. As far as they knew, he was as solid as ever, waiting with a slow, patient air for the excitement to begin. They knew he had objected to this theft in the first place, but they didn't know how strongly. He only voiced stringent objections to Fist, not that it had done any good.

So he pretended this was just another job, the same as pulling cargo off the steam engines from the west. He was Dull Jack – unfazed, invincible, and too stupid to be worried.

Gurney was whispering to Black Jim and Goldilocks. He turned with a grunt. "What is it, Gurney?"

"I reckon I saw one o' them airships coming in to dock," the toothless gossiper answered. "Seen the lights coming down from the clouds. What if it lands close to this 'ere warehouse? Streets around could get uncomfortable busy in a few minutes, if you catch my meaning."

Jack regarded the old man. Gurney was the most ancient gang members he'd ever seen, nearing sixty, to hear him tell it. Life expectancy in the street gangs was less than half that age, but the old-timer was still here. He wasn't good with a gun or tough or intimidating, but he was a coward. A likeable one. Cowardice kept him alive, despite gang in-fighting, feuds, and the coppers, and an ingratiating attitude kept him in good graces with the right people. Namely Fist, or anyone else bigger and meaner, which was everyone.

He shrugged in response. "Docks are full around here; they'll make berth further south. It won't be a problem."

"If you say so, Jackie boy," Gurney muttered nervously. "All the same, maybe we'd better–"

Jack cut him off, addressing the black-bearded man beside him. "Don't let the old man slip away, Jim. Cover his back, to make sure he continues to cover ours." Black Jim nodded and displayed big, tobacco-stained teeth in a wide smile.

Gurney scowled with a hurt expression. "Jackie, you know I'd never abandon–,"

"Bullocks," Goldilocks muttered, cutting through the protest. The stark blond youth was less than a year younger than Jack, but looked like he still belonged with the pickpockets. His namesake was pulled back in a long ponytail, and a petulant expression covered his pockmarked face. "I recall you saying something similar on the last job, just before you cut out and left me in that alley all by myself."