"Lines off! We're clear of the wall!" Lucille called out, waving to her charge once before she scampered off the railings to the middle of the deck.
Gerald saluted in response; that strange flick of two fingers from the forehead rather than the proper military salute. It was an odd gesture, and she had no idea where he learned it. His master, and the engineering crew for the airships, were the only people she had seen use it.
She was startled out of her musings as the propellers whirled to life, thrusting the ship away from the wall. Because of the distraction, she almost didn't notice that Gerald had reinvigorated the fires in the lift bag, barely bracing herself in time as the ship climbed towards the sky.
He's in a hurry; she noted while helping a soldier stand. He's normally gentler with the Songbird.
She turned to starboard, to stare at the still distant creature flying towards the City. It had drawn close enough to make out its wings, which appeared to explode with every dreadful beat. Smoke trailed in its wake, a slithering line of scorched air marking the Dragon's flight.
The single Valkyrie that now pointed towards the distant beast seemed woefully inadequate. The soldiers lined the railings with Salamanders in now trembling hands. Their guns, against the Dragon they chased, seemed as feeble as carving a wall with a spoon.
Or fighting a raging Crafter with knives.
She looked back at Gerald, who despite the outward calm and confidence he projected, was deeply shaken by his battle with the Rider. His hair now had a few small streaks of grey in it; ashen grey that glowed when he wielded the flame.
More troubling, the air around him seemed to shimmer, and anyone standing near him for more than a minute began to sweat.
He had already lost years of his life, saving Amelian and her soldiers from the Rider. How much more would he lose before this invasion was repelled? And how much more did he have to give?
And if he did lose himself, could she keep him from killing everyone aboard? She absent-mindedly rubbed her right arm, where above her sleeve the skin was riveted by scar tissue that ran up to her shoulder. She got off light in that battle, putting down a reject who finally lost himself. And that reject was a child compared to the Rider, who blew apart causeways and created explosions that could have enveloped the entire ship.
"It's ignoring us," Amelian said. Lucille cursed herself, silently, for ignoring the world around her while she was lost in thought. Amelian had just detached herself from a small group of soldiers, none of whom Lucille recognized, who still stood along the railing with salamanders in hand.
Another quick glance at the Dragon, and she understood what the Lieutenant was talking about.
"So it appears," Lucille admitted. The beast had not turned away from its course; the steady thunder of the fire exploding beneath its wings kept a beat that you could almost set a watch to.
"This may not be a siege," Amelian said, and Lucille blinked in confusion.
Amelian glanced over at her and quickly began to explain. "I was thinking about the enemy's overall strategy. In every invasion before, they punched into the City in a straight line. But the Golems have changed tactics. They break causeways, cut cable-car lines, and target squads. I thought it was a siege.But their opening move might have been to draw the Army away from the Bore, to give the Dragon free reign." She frowned and scratched her head. "I suppose it doesn't change our mission."
Lucille frowned and raised her eyebrow. "You speculate a lot."
"Sorry, Commander," Amelian replied. "It's a bad habit I learned on wall patrol. Valen's fault."
"Right, a 'bad habit' that the Secretary to the Lord Captain encouraged you to develop," Lucille said, annoyed enough that she actually air quoted when she said bad habit. "Honestly, are you that oblivious?"
"Sorry?" Amelian asked, taken aback. Abyss below, she was still polite!
"You've been groomed for high command! This bad habit of yours was cultivated! If you have thoughts about what this Dragon is doing, don't you dare keep them to yourself!" Lucille scathed, letting her irritation out with her voice.
Amelian nodded, once. "Aye, ma'am."
Lucille sighed and shook her head. "I'm surprised you're so comfortable taking orders from civilians. I've always had difficulties with the army during my usual duties," she admitted.
Amelian smiled. "It's your ship, ma'am."
"It might be yours if things get nasty," Lucille replied, as she stared at the Dragon. The monstrous creature was still flying, arrow straight, towards the distant column of flame that marked the heart of the City. "You should have Maxwell brief you on what you should know if you have to take over."
"It's bad luck to talk like that, ma'am."
"It's prudent," Lucille said in retort. "You saw what the Rider could do."
Lucille sighed and shook her head. "So if the Dragon isn't turning to engage us, what is it doing?"
"Outrunning us," Valen said. The old sergeant was calm and grim-faced, grimacing as he stared out at the fiery figure they were pursuing. "The Captain wants to talk strategy since we have the opportunity."
"Understood. Thank you, Secretary," Amelian said, saluting formally. Lucille noticed the Lieutenant's expression was carefully neutral, a paper-thin denial of whatever she was feeling.
"I'm not-" Valen began, but declined to finish. He shook his head sadly and saluted before starting away.
Lucille looked over to Amelian, but the Lieutenant refused to make eye contact. She shrugged beneath her coat, and marched to the controls.
Maxwell was already standing next to Gerald, nodding slowly as he listened to Gerald say something. She began to hear the explanation as she approached.
"...and since the clutch engages faster, you can use short bursts. It should keep the sway down to a minimum," Gerald finished explaining, as she drew close and stepped just out of arm's reach.
"Captain?" Amelian asked. Lucille only waited silently.
"Good, you're here," Gerald answered. Valen and Sergeant Reeves both stepped into the conversation, and Gerald nodded to them both without turning away from the controls.
"It's outrunning us," Gerald began, not bothering with any sort of preamble. He didn't need any, as all of them glanced up at the Dragon when he spoke.
"I'll take us up another four hundred yards to use the winds, and take the ship to overrun speed, but we won't catch up with it. We can't fly that fast," he explained. "But we have another Airship. By now, they should be waiting in Central, and hopefully they had the presence of mind to arm up. If not, they're still far from defenceless."
"They'll have a Crafter aboard?" the younger sergeant, Harold Reeves, asked.
"The ship flies by the Craft," Lucille said, as a reminder. "It won't fly without one."
"Forgive me, Captain," Valen said, and all of them turned to him. "But you're a trained Battle Crafter, and you barely endured the Rider. Can we expect this other ship to survive long enough for us to arrive?"
Lucille glanced over to Gerald, her eyes wide and her pulse stopping. What the hell was 'Battle Crafting' and why wasn't Gerald surprised to be called one?
Gerald didn't meet her gaze, keeping his attention on the old man. "My master taught me, and she commands the other ship. For now, we keep watch and do our best to follow. Unless circumstances change, I want ideas about how we should engage with that creature in twenty minutes."
He paused, and Lucille caught his hesitation. "It..."
"It may not be vulnerable to conventional weaponry. Fire and force did little permanent damage to the Rider, if any at all," Gerald finished, rushing his words as he spoke. Lucille frowned, knowing almost instinctively that he was hiding something.
"Maxwell, you have the helm. I'll be below deck for a few minutes, to top up the reservoirs. We reconvene at the wheel in twenty minutes. That will be all," Gerald finished, and the three military officers saluted smartly before returning to the deck. As they left, Lucille fell in step behind the old Sergeant, who didn't fail to notice her discontent.
"You seem troubled, Commander," Valen said, and she fell into step beside him as they descended the stairs.
"I am. You called him a Battle Crafter. But he can't be," Lucille asked, careful to shield all of her ignorance.
"He is," Valen insisted, his steady gaze hinting at the deductions the old man was already forming. "Strange, that you knew nothing about it."
"I wasn't briefed. What is battle Crafting, exactly?"
"I've never been told the specifics. Only that the training is dangerous. But I know what training does for the rest of us. You understand the difference. Any hand can kill, but a trained hand is much more dangerous than an unpracticed one. The Crafters trained to use their talent in battle have been the City's greatest assets, and its worst liabilities," Valen explained.
Valen stopped and stared hard at her. "Your ignorance scares me a little. Every Crafter trained this way is known to your Bureau, and to the Lord Captain."
"I was only assigned to him tonight," Lucille admitted, careful to avoid certain truths with as few lies as possible. "I was supposed to observe him covertly. He's too young to be assigned a Shadow, but my superiors wanted someone examining his secret project."
"That explains the mechanic's coat," Valen said. He glanced back at the Captain, who was still engaged in a conversation with Maxwell. "I still feel like you're holding something back, Commander."
"Live with the mystery, old man. Unless you're taking up your real rank?" Lucille asked, baiting him a little. The old man was perilously close to a truth that could badly compromise the soldier's faith in Gerald.
Valen scowled and shrugged as he turned away to speak to a few soldiers. Lucille stared after him as he left, not at all comforted.
"What was that about?" she heard Gerald ask, surprised to hear him so close. She had too many damned things to think about.
"We need to talk, Captain," Lucille said, quietly.
"About what?" Gerald asked, lamely. His grim expression gave away his disposition.
"Battle Crafting," Lucille answered, testily.
She watched him cringe and nod, before pointing to the hatch leading below. She nodded and followed him down the stairs, towards the propeller engines.
Lucille followed him, a step and a half behind, and beneath her coat, her hands lingered on the handles of her knives. In her right, she could feel the sharp, nearly painful cold of her badge of office, and took comfort from it.
"The Guild calls it Combat Crafting," Gerald began, as soon as he felt they wouldn't be overheard. He smirked and snickered to himself. "They're fond of alliteration."
"Valen tells me you've been trained to kill using the Craft," she said, half drawing her knife and stepping into arms reach. "And that it's a branch of study in the Guild."
"I am, and it is," he admitted. He sighed and shook his head. "Very few Crafters ever learn it. For some reason, people object to making a Crafter more dangerous."
"I wonder why," Lucille scathed, her gaze hard.
"It's the only reason I survived the Rider," Gerald reminded her, with a surprising amount of steel in his voice. "Olivia Polden knew it, as did Starval Roster during the first invasion."
"They were Crafters," Lucille said in a harsh, raspy whisper. "Graduated Crafters, likely before they were taught. And if it's a branch of study I don't know about, you can be damned sure it's something my Bureau Chief was supposed to approve."
"My master taught me. What she teaches me is her prerogative."
"Why did she teach you?"
"She wanted to know if I had the strength of will to wield the Gloam," Gerald said, simply, as if that decided the issue.
"Right," Lucille said. She cursed a bit under her breath and shook her head. What he had admitted to was a flagrant disregard for the authorities that kept the City safe. He should be evaluated, carefully and at length, in a deep pit made of cold-stone.
Yet, it wasn't his will or his restraint that needed evaluating. It was his judgement. And fortunately for him, no one except his master was qualified to judge him.
As well, Lucille reminded herself, Gerald had willingly given her authority over his crew. Even to kill him, should it be necessary.
And she was fond of him. Moderately.
"I'll need to shut Valen up," Lucille found herself saying. She thought for a moment, then added, "I'll have to leave this out of my reports. I doubt they'll kill a war hero, but it would imperil your graduation."
To her immediate relief, Gerald's eyes went wide, and he forcefully shook his head. "Don't you dare cover this up! Every scrap of information needs to be recorded. If they don't know how well I can Craft, they won't take the Rider as seriously as they should."
Lucille smiled and nodded, pleased. Point for his judgement. "That could jeopardize your status as a Crafter," she reminded him.
"I'm looking forward to that being my biggest problem," Gerald said, firmly. He glanced at her hand gripping the hilt of her dagger, and added, "Only if you think I'm a worse danger than the dragon."
Lucille scowled, but her hands left the handles of her knives. "Do you know what the Shadows hate most about our job?"
"The dress code? I mean, I'd be pretty gloomy about wearing nothing but black for the rest of my life."
"It's the fear. We spend our entire careers expected to oversee demigods," she rolled up her right sleeve to the elbow, where from the wrist and all up her arm, was nothing but riveted and still shimmering scar tissue. "I've had to kill two rejects. The second one put me in the Hospice for three months, with third-degree burns up to my shoulder. I only have my hand still because of my knife."
"Neither of them were trained to kill," Lucille finished. "So I'm less than thrilled that you and your Master have dismissed the worst fear of my life. For a boat."
"It's a ship," Gerald retorted lamely.
"Idiot," She snapped. Abyss below, she wanted to stab him.
But Gerald fixed her with an earnest, intent stare, and despite herself, she felt a twinge of guilt. "You know we had cause," he said simply.
"Which is why I haven't stabbed you yet," she reminded him, testily. She shook her head and sighed, before she spoke again. "You had cause. These ships wouldn't exist otherwise. And none of us would have survived the Rider."
"True. On the other hand, instead of giving your superiors a separate opinion of my apprenticeship, you're following a trained combat Crafter into a battle against creatures the City has never seen before," Gerald said, and she smiled a little at his understanding.
"If it comes to it, cut the tethers," Gerald added. "Maxwell came up with the idea when we were cooling the bag earlier."
"I was wondering why he had a Salamander," Lucille reflected aloud.
"Is that all you wished to know, Lieutenant?" Gerald asked.
"One more question. One of my ten," Lucille said, and she saw Gerald's eyes widen as he nodded. "Did you approach Crafter a'Loria to learn Combat Crafting? Or did she suggest it?"
Gerald smiled, reminiscing. "My master didn't give me a choice. She took me to one of the fields near the last wall, and told me to pay attention as if my life depended on it," he said, chuckling a little at the last part. "She wasn't kidding."
"Shadow training involves a lot of 'learn or die' lessons," Lucille said, smiling in relief. "I imagine learning to Craft like you did to fight the Rider was similar," she added, gesturing towards the propeller engines, and inviting an end to expressing her concerns.
"Very much so," Gerald admitted. He frowned and added, "It was about the Gloam. I don't know how to explain it to someone who can't Craft. Try explaining sight to someone who has never seen. The Gloam wants to kill us, and wielding it is a lot like taking a knife from someone while they're trying to stab you with it."
"Numbskull. You know I'm satisfied with your motives, and I trust your judgement. Stop explaining yourself," Lucille insisted, slightly exasperated. She shook her head and sighed, deliberately embellishing her irritation.
"Right, sorry," Gerald said. "Let's get the reservoirs topped up. We should make good time to Central, with the winds working in our favour."
He paused, glancing up the stairs to the top deck, and frowned. "I half expected someone to pop in and tell us we had arrived."
Lucille chuckled as she followed.