"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."
"That was only because you was going on and on about proving yourself, is all," Gurney objected. "I was giving you the chance you deserve..."
Jack turned back to the alley's entrance, ignoring the rest of the argument. Black Jim would keep him honest. Or at least too fearful to leave.
But the old man hadn't been lying about the airship. The flying vessels rarely arrived after nightfall, so Jack had assumed the tale only an excuse to sneak away, but a cargo ship was sailing from the clouds, lit up with lanterns and illuminated by the dock's high lighthouses. The quays nearby were all occupied, however, just as he'd said, and it descended further south.
Jack gazed at the airship with a mixture of longing and curiosity. He'd loved to watch the airships as a boy, to see the massive wooden hulls sailing out and away over Victorian's streets. The smokestacks churning out steam from the aft boiler, the zeppelin balloon filling into a long oval above the ship, the lines connected to the hull straining to lift the vessel over the highest towers and into the sky... he had thought he could go anywhere, if he could only board one. He might go out to the wilds of the west beyond Jackson, or even sail up to the Celestial Realm. On occasion, he heard airships were even ordered to sail down to the Abyss to unload new groups of unfortunates, but he could live just fine without ever seeing the Dark Realm.
The gliding fins were spread out on this airship to aid its gradual descent. The horizontal sails, fanned out wide to either side, bulged with the wind they caught, and the balloon above the ship slowly deflated as the steam engine in the rear worked to help regulate the speed of the landing. He watched the ship until it was out of sight behind the warehouse roofs, and then shook himself. It wouldn't do to drift from the present tonight; the risk was too great.
Across the street and down the block, a dim light bloomed as a small lantern was uncovered.
"You're in luck, Gurney," Jack growled, turning back to the others. "Someone needs to tell Harry to bring the wagons around, and you got a shifty look in your eye like you're ready to bolt." He checked his coach and Bull Dog one last time as he addressed the old man. "I guess you get to keep out of the thick of it again."
"You know I would never–"
"Gurney, just go tell him."
"My pleasure." The old man grinned, tipping his hat. He slipped away.
Black Jim shot him a disappointed look, and Jack shrugged. "Best to send him off now, that way he doesn't disappear when we think he's got our backs."
Black Jim sighed heavily, the sound whistling through his broken nose, but he straightened his bowler in readiness. Jack did the same, eyeing Goldilocks, who gripped his club inside his coat. He was suddenly satisfied with his decision not to trust the lad with a gun; Goldilocks was far too eager to prove himself, and the last thing they needed tonight was an overzealous gunshot bringing every copper near the docks down on them.
Jack tucked the short-barreled coach under his coat and swung out to cross the lamplit street. His two companions followed close behind. He moved at a brisk pace, not too hurried and not too leisurely. Just some chaps finishing up late-night business. This being the warehouse district at an exceptionally late hour, they saw almost no one as they wound toward their destination. He kept to the alleys as much as possible and out of the incriminating light of the streetlamps. A few beggars and heroin addicts curled up against the cobblestones as they slipped by, but none spoke or acknowledged their passing, and they reached their destination without incident.
Jack stepped down Wilshire, which seemed to blaze with light after the expedition through the backstreets. He crossed the gutter behind the target warehouse and stopped at the mouth to the back alley, then swept the street behind them with his eyes one last time before sliding into the dark. Jim and Goldilocks crouched in the shadows just beyond the light of the streetlamps to cover the alley entrance.
Jack crept down the alley until he saw the dim outline of a warehouse security guard pacing ahead, then stumbled into the wall, kicking a nearby bottle. He chuckled bemusedly and muttered a drunken song to himself. The watchman stiffened, laying a hand on the holstered revolver on his belt. A club was in his other fist.
"Who goes there?" The voice was sharp and suspicious. The guard stepped forward a few paces, his arm tense, poised to deliver a blow with the thick cane. Jack's blood pumped. He absently noted the magnificent, bushy mustache below the man's squinted eyes and flat cap.
"You don' know whereee Baker Street is, do ya, sirrr?" Jack slurred the words to make the man strain to hear. The guard took another step closer. Jack tripped and stumbled, catching himself on the bricks. He chuckled again, throwing in a hiccup for good measure. "I see... seem to 'ave lost it."
There was a bit of revulsion in the man's posture, but also a shred of amusement. His club dropped the slightest bit. "Bloody sot, get out of here before I–" The club fell nearer to his side. It was all the opening he needed.
Jack shot upright, bringing the butt of his shotgun from beneath his coat to smack directly into the watchman's mustache. The guard reeled back, hands flying up to cover his face. Jack grabbed his lapel and placed the barrel of his coach on the center of the man's chest. The guard moaned and spit out a tooth, his lip smashed and bleeding. Jack ripped the revolver from its holster and slipped it into his belt beside his Bull Dog.
"Don't make a sound," he warned calmly, "or I blow a fist-sized hole through your rib cage." An angry gleam was coming into the man's eyes as he tongued his gums. Jack decided he wasn't quite cowed enough. He reached around and seized the back of the guard's collar, levering him face-first into the alley's brick wall. His nose made a sharp, cracking sound. A hand rose defensively, cringing; the other covered his face. The watchman slid to his knees.
"Do as I tell you, you hear?" Jack grunted, "or it'll go badly for you." He whistled lightly down the alley. Black Jim and Goldilocks appeared.
"Goldi," Jack ordered brusquely, handing the lad the guard's club, "if he makes a sound or moves even the slightest bit, you cave his head in." Goldilocks nodded, face tinged green as he watched the guard spit gobbets of blood between the fingers covering his brutalized face, but he gripped the club determinedly. Jack caught the sound of wagon wheels bouncing on cobblestones. "Jim, you're with me."
Muffled scuffling and grunted curses came from inside as he cautiously pushed open the heavy plank door. He jerked his head at Black Jim. Clearly, Fist had already arrived.
Jack hurried through a back room furnished with a table, chairs, a stack of cards, and cigar butts. It was blessedly empty of guards. Just as he presumed, they found them in the main storage area, hands and legs splayed out against the walls, held to silence by Fist's men. Jack counted six of them – seven including the watchman in the alley. It was a suspiciously large amount of security. Had Fist expected so many? Jack's eyes narrowed.
The hulking gang leader spotted him as he entered. Fist jerked his head toward the back. "Any in the alley?" His eyes flickered around at the crates and the captive guards, his shotgun resting on his shoulder.
"One," Jack said shortly. "No problems. Goldilocks has him. Harry and his boys were rolling up as we came in."
"Good!" Fist laughed. "I'm giving us three minutes to load as much cargo as we can, then we get the hell out. Anymore and we'll have bloody crushers coming to investigate." He motioned to one of his men and dropped his shotgun into a ready grip. "Have Goldilocks bring the other in with this lot. Lom and I will hold 'em. You get all the others dragging these crates out back. And get Harry's ass moving."
Jack nodded and grabbed the end of one of the thick wooden crates, motioning Jim to the other side. The room filled with scuffling movement as every available man set to the task. They lifted with a grunt and struggled toward the back door. The cargo was heavy, despite its relatively small size. The first of Harry's wagons was entering the alley when Jack shuffled backwards out of the door with his load, and he set it down.
"Goldi," Jack barked. "Take him inside with the rest, then start loading these crates." Harry pulled up as the pox-faced boy complied. He grinned sneeringly.
"How'd it go, Jack? Bugger anyone up?"
He didn't deign to answer as he lifted his end of the crate. "Get off that steamblown wagon and start loading. Fist says we've got two minutes." He grunted with exertion, pushing the freight to the front of the buckboard.
When Jack went back inside, the guards were all lying bound and gagged in a corner. Some looked much the worse for wear, but they would all be alive come morning. He grabbed another crate with Jim and joined the queue shuffling into the alley.
Jack was just heaving this second load into a cart when it happened. Goldilocks, who was lifting the end of his own crate, slipped. The box teetered on the edge of the wagon for a long moment, and Jack hissed.
"Watch it!"
The crate toppled off sideways and smashed into the ground. The wooden top busted loose, and the contents came spilling out, tumbling across the cobblestones.
Everyone was silent for a long moment. Then, Jack stepped forward and bent, grasping one of the apple-sized stones. It shined with a silvery light, tinged with the slightest hint of a golden glow. His teeth clenched.
Celestial Steel.