A City Called Smoke: The Territory 2 (5 page)

“I hope you think that sounds fun, Digger, because if you want to prove you can be part of this crew, that’s what you’re going to be doing, and I expect to see you put that dagger into some poor sap on that transport. If you don’t, you’re going to find yourself back out there in the desert. I dragged you aboard because you looked like a fighter, and I need fighters.” Captain Pratt lifted his cane, waving it in the general direction of the desert around them. “There’s a whole world out there, Digger,” he said. “Out there, beyond the fence. Did you know that?”

Melbourne shook his head. “There’s nothing out there, just wasteland.”

The captain tapped the end his cane back down on the wooden deck and laughed. “Do you always believe what you’re told, Digger?”

“The ghouls destroyed everything during the Reckoning,” Melbourne answered. That was the truth. Of everyone in the Territory the Diggers should know what was out there and they had said the same thing, there was nothing.

“No, they didn’t,” Captain Pratt said, his voice low. “We have seen dirigibles coming in from over the fence, Holy Order dirigibles. Too many to be just some rogue flight. Where do you think they come from?”

Melbourne shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Captain Pratt said, “neither do we, but we’re going to find out. Once we’ve taken our fill from the Territory we’re going out there. To do that and survive I need those who can fight. Do you think you can do that, Digger? Can you show me you have what it takes to be part of my crew? Can you kill to survive?”

Melbourne took a moment before answering. His mind flashed back to the night the General’s Guard was attacked by ghouls, the night he escaped. He couldn’t bring himself to fight then, but that was different, that battle had been hopeless and he’d made a calculated decision that the only way to survive had been to run. He thought about having to use that dagger on another person, some innocent crew member of a transport dirigible. Still, this was about survival too.

He nodded. “Yes,” Melbourne said, making sure he locked eyes with Captain Pratt. “I can do that.”

The footsteps of High Priestess Patricia echoed sharply off the stone floor in the bowels of the Supreme Court. The prison, or perhaps dungeon was a better word for the dank surroundings, spread out underground like a broad ants’ nest, and the clicking of the High Priestess’s heels filled the empty space as she moved with purpose down the long corridor. The cells in this wing had been cleared of prisoners, all except one.

As Patricia approached the steel door to the cell, the solitary Holy Order clergyman on guard stood from the short wooden stool and bowed. He moved with military precision, obviously trying not to betray how utterly bored he was with this detail.

“Your Holiness,” he said.

“Open the door, please, Clergyman.”

The clergyman nodded and collected a ring of keys from a hook on the wall. He moved to a gas lamp nearby, using the light to flick through the keys and select the correct one. He inserted it into the keyhole and the lock disengaged with a heavy clunk. The clergyman pulled the door open, the old steel screaming against rusted hinges.

“Would you like me to accompany you, Your Holiness?”

“That won’t be necessary,” the High Priestess said as she entered the cell.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked. Just call out if he gives you any trouble.”

“Oh, he won’t.”

There were no gas lamps inside the cell, and what little light made it in from the corridor didn’t quite reach the walls. The High Priestess stood framed in the doorway until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She saw the dark shape of a figure sitting against the far wall. Heavy manacles were clasped around his wrists and ankles, connected to the floor with short chains, maybe long enough for him to stand but certainly not affording him the ability to move freely around the room.

“I was wondering how long it would be until you came to see me,” the Administrator said, squinting up at her. “I hope you’ve come to admit that a horrible mistake has been made and undo what you’ve done before it’s too late.”

High Priestess Patricia smiled. “Too late for what, Your Honor?” She accentuated the title, letting it hang in the air, wanting to ensure he understood how little it meant now.

“Too late for you to avoid being charged with treason and exiled from the Central Territory forever.”

“Come now,” the High Priestess said, walking closer to the pathetic shape of the man from whom she had so easily wrenched control of the Territory. “You are in no position to make threats. Obviously it is you who will stand trial for treason.”

“I am the Administrator. How can I be charged with treason?”

“Treason against the Church or treason against the Territory?” the High Priestess said. “Which would you prefer? Your pride and folly will have you up on both.”

“You cannot –”

“You disobeyed the word of the Ancestors in your own selfish quest for glory. That is treason against the Church. Your foolish decision led to the destruction of the Diggers and endangered everyone living within the fence. That is treason against the Territory.”

The Administrator looked up at the High Priestess. “I did what I could to save the towns on the outskirts of the Territory. I have only ever done what is right for the people.”

“No,” the High Priestess said, her voice sterner and louder than even she had meant it to be. “You have not. The Territory is in dire need of real leadership. We are overpopulated. Our food and resource supplies are stretched to near breaking point. We cannot support this many people within the fence and survive. I know the council has been telling you this for years, and yet you ignored them. The slums outside the city are filled with the impure, and their diseases constantly threaten the safety of the Alice Inside. The outer regions of the Territory are infested with criminals and pirates and those who do not follow the faith of the Church. Glorious God the Redeemer has sent a horde of ghouls as punishment and you have allowed the annihilation of those who would have defended us against them.”

“I was trying to protect us.”

“Well, your attempts at protecting us have left me no choice but to do what should have been done years ago. I have secured control of Alice. The Holy Order has the city under martial law, and I have assumed leadership of the government.”

“The Church cannot control the government,” the Administrator said. “We have separate entities for a reason.”

“I’m afraid I disagree,” the High Priestess said. “I believe the Church should run the government. What better way to ensure the people of the Territory remain aligned with God’s will?”

“You mean your will.”

The High Priestess ignored this, but she let a smile creep over her face. She had won. There had been a part of her, if only a small part, that had been concerned the Administrator may have had some back-up plan in place, some contingency that would be executed in the event of such a takeover of government, but after all these years she could read him as if he were a page in the Book of the Word. She could tell she would face no such opposition from him. He was trying to maintain an air of strength and power, but he was weak and defeated. There had been fighting in the streets and there was still the occasional disruption. Some within the city had remained loyal to the Administrator – retired Diggers, Diggers on leave or injured when the battle was fought, other citizens trying to be heroes – but resistance had been scattered and disorganized and the Holy Order had all but crushed them into submission.

“I suppose I should thank you,” High Priestess Patricia said. “If you hadn’t pursued your goal so diligently I would never have had the justification for my more than necessary actions, and of course even when I told you not to send the Diggers against the ghouls you did so anyway, removing the only force that might have actually opposed the Holy Order in taking control of the city. It was almost as if I’d planned it that way.”

“Are you trying to tell me you knew the Diggers would lose the Battle of Dust?” the Administrator said. “That you somehow orchestrated all this? You’re a shrewd old cow, I’ll grant you that, but even my military advisors believed the plan could succeed.”

“You mean Colonel Woomera,” the High Priestess said. “Ah yes, he is a good man, isn’t he? Very faithful to the Church.”

The Administrator scowled at the High Priestess. She could see recognition finally filling his dull eyes. He had been played for a fool.

“Then this is your doing,” he said. “The death of the Diggers is on your hands.”

“But Your Honor,” the High Priestess said, “you were so very quick to tell me how military matters were solely your domain. That the Church should have no place in making such decisions. But alas, now it seems the weight of defending the Territory has fallen on my old shoulders after all.”

“What now then?” the Administrator said. “What do you plan to do? How are you going to defend the people?”

“The necessary repairs to the Wall are already under way,” the High Priestess said. “We will wait behind them as the ghouls come.”

“You plan on defending the whole Territory from within Alice?”

The High Priestess chuckled at the Administrator’s misunderstanding. “No, of course not. I very much plan on leaving most outside. The horde will arrive and it will purge the unclean and the unfaithful from outside the walls just as Glorious God the Redeemer desires.”

“You’re just going to leave them out there to die?”

“It is what the Territory needs, Your Honor. Consider it,” the High Priestess said, her voice cold, “population control.”

Captain Pratt had been right. Once the transport dirigible had sighted the flag flying at the stern of the
Blessed Mary
it had turned and tried to flee, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Almost half the pirates were involved with either flying the dirigible or manning the guns that had been positioned along the starboard side. Melbourne stood in the center of the deck with the rest of the crew, those who were armed and ready to descend to the transport dirigible once it went down. Melbourne had taken note of the fact that every other member of the crew had a sword and many had mechanical rifles or hand guns while all he held was the serrated dagger the captain had given him. One of the pirates, a short, dirty man with shoulder-length hair tied back in a matted ponytail, loudly forced phlegm up his throat and spat so that it landed with a wet impact between Melbourne’s feet. This was Rabbit, a pirate who Melbourne had tried to avoid as much as possible. He didn’t know why, but Rabbit had taken a particular dislike to him, even more so than the others. Melbourne forced himself not to move, not wanting to seem intimidated. Some time later he glanced over, only to see Rabbit still scowling at him.

Even as the transport dirigible tried to flee at top speed the
Blessed Mary
, moment by moment, gained on it, until Melbourne could read the name painted on the rear of the airship:
Ariel’s Pride
. The crew could be seen hurrying about the deck, trying to prepare what defense they could.

“Get us alongside!” Captain Pratt yelled. “Load the cannons!”

Melbourne watched as members of the other crew began lifting mechanical rifles to their shoulders. He looked around, only to find the crew of the
Blessed Mary
doing nothing. Shouldn’t they be taking cover or something?

“Aim for her balloon,” Captain Pratt called to the men manning the cannons, “but hold for my order.”

The
Blessed Mary
began to draw alongside the 
Ariel’s Pride
, but the crew of each airship did nothing, pausing, waiting for the moment they would get the order to fire.

“Hold,” Captain Pratt said again.

Melbourne heard a shout of “Fire!” from the 
Ariel’s Pride
. It was immediately followed by the familiar crack of many mechanical rifles firing in unison. It reminded him of being on the firing range at the Academy but this time, as bullets whistled past his ears and several of the men around him fell backward with spurts of blood or sudden, forceful yelps, he realized he much preferred being at the other end of the range. He looked around, feeling the urge to drop to the deck, to take cover against another barrage of fire from the other ship, but the pirates all stood steady, ignoring the men who groaned in pain on the deck beside them. Melbourne didn’t want to get shot but he didn’t want to turn the crew against him either. He stood his ground.

“Cannons,” Captain Pratt blasted from where he stood on the bridge, “hold your aim on the balloon and be ready.”

As the
Blessed Mary
drew almost level with the 
Ariel’s Pride
the other airship tried to turn away, veering to the right, rolling over dangerously as the crew tried to create an angle where their balloon became a smaller target for the
Blessed Mary
’s guns. As Captain Pratt saw the maneuver they were trying to pull he shouted to the men on the cannons.

“Fire!”

Six loud booms sounded one after the other as the cannons were fired. Melbourne had trained with cannons like these at the Academy. The Diggers had occasionally used them, mostly for defense of small areas. Unlike mechanical rifles, which contained a highly compressed spring that expanded rapidly, forcing a piston to push air forward at great speed and firing the bullet out of the barrel, the cannons used explosive powder and were extraordinarily loud. The projectiles fired by the cannons were balls with spikes that would spring out once fired, clearly designed for ripping holes in a dirigible’s balloon.

Even with the 
Ariel’s Pride
making such an aggressive maneuver, the projectiles did their job, all but one striking home and tearing through the balloon. It wasn’t the sudden burst and crash that Melbourne was half-expecting; it all happened rather slowly as the 
Ariel’s Pride
rolled over and fell from the sky.

The crew fought to stabilize the dirigible but there was no saving her as the balloon sunk down amid its wooden frame and collapsed in great folds of fabric. The 
Ariel’s Pride
plummeted toward the earth, crashing into the sandy desert with an almighty snapping and splintering of wood. A cloud of dust enveloped the airship as it slid to a stop.

“Full stop!” Captain Pratt ordered. “Drop the ropes!”

The crew brought the
Blessed Mary
to a stop, floating near the wreckage below. The pirates around Melbourne rushed to the starboard side, where those who had been manning the cannons dropped the long ropes to the ground below. Rabbit slid up beside Melbourne.

“Come on, Digger,” he said in a scaly voice that smelled of smoke and tooth decay, “over we go.”

Melbourne followed Rabbit to the side of the
Blessed Mary
and watched as the rest of the pirates slipped on tattered gloves and one by one climbed over the side, using the ropes to descend to the ground. When just he and Rabbit remained Melbourne felt the other pirate nudge him forward.

Melbourne turned at the clicking of Yellow’s fingers. “Put these on, Digger, it’s your turn,” the first mate said, handing Melbourne a pair of gloves that looked more tattered and worn than those he’d seen on the hands of any of the other pirates. “And remember, there better be blood on that blade when this is over.”

Melbourne looked up at Captain Pratt standing on the bridge. The captain nodded his head in a single, very deliberate confirmation of Yellow’s words. Melbourne kept eye contact with him for a moment before slipping the dagger into his belt, taking hold of the rope and awkwardly working his way over the side.

Melbourne looked down. He saw pirates on the ground already, rushing toward the shattered remains of the 
Ariel’s Pride
. There were bodies among the wreckage but the slow descent of the dirigible had meant that despite the crash there were plenty of crew standing, grabbing swords and rifles ready to defend themselves. Melbourne watched the last of the pirates descending the ropes below him. They used their boots and gloved hands to control their speed as they slid down. Melbourne tried to ignore the height. The dirigible had dropped in altitude but was still high enough that a fall would be fatal.

Melbourne walked his feet down the curved surface of the hull until there was nothing below him but empty air. Above he saw Yellow leaning over the side watching him. The first mate smiled a toothy smile and lifted a knife, holding it threateningly against the rope that Melbourne hung from. Melbourne took a deep breath, held on tightly and pushed off the side of the dirigible, wrapping his legs around the rope.

He began sliding down as the other pirates had. As he gained speed the friction from the rope caused his palms to burn, even through the gloves. He winced, clenching his jaw and forcing himself to withstand the pain, knowing that letting go would only send him plummeting to the ground. When there were only a few feet remaining he released his grip on the rope and dropped to the ground, absorbing the impact with his knees.

He looked down at his burning hands. The palms of the gloves had been worn further away, so much so that he could almost see his skin. He wanted to remove the gloves and inspect his fingers and palms, see if they’d been torn or blistered, but he had to ignore the pain, at least for now. He pulled the dagger from his belt and looked up just in time to see a crew member from the 
Ariel’s Pride
coming at him with a sword raised.

The streaks of blood, cakes of thick dust and the scowl of hatred on the man’s face instantly reminded Melbourne of the ghouls, and he was thrown back to that night, the night he had run. This wasn’t a ghoul though. He had to tell himself that. This was a man. This was a man who thought Melbourne was a savage pirate. Part of Melbourne wanted to tell him that he was actually a Digger, that he’d been captured and was only doing this to survive. But then where did that leave him? Either this man killed him right now, or Melbourne did what Captain Pratt had told him to do and he survived. For now. He was Melbourne Hermannsburg. He was the most promising graduate the Academy had ever seen. He had to survive.

As the man swung the sword Melbourne moved, sidestepping and using the smaller blade of his dagger to deflect the blow, letting the other man’s overenthusiastic attack send him off balance. Melbourne’s Academy training kicked in and he turned back, spinning the dagger in his hand and stabbing it into the top of the man’s sword arm. The man’s fingers opened in a reflexive jerk and his sword fell to the ground.

The man cried out and swung wildly with his other fist, but Melbourne leaned back and the man caught nothing but air. Melbourne felt a moment of pity for the desperate man but he regathered himself, pushing the thought aside, and moved forward with his dagger extended. He stabbed it home in the front of the man’s other shoulder. His opponent cried out again, dropping to his knees as Melbourne pulled his weapon free, those vicious serrations doing their work on the man’s flesh.

Melbourne turned and looked up toward the
Blessed Mary
. Even from here he could see both Yellow and Captain Pratt watching him from the deck.

“Please,” the man said as Melbourne turned back. He was unable to lift either of his arms in a gesture of pleading, though Melbourne could tell he would have if he could. “Don’t.”

Melbourne felt bile rise into his throat. He couldn’t do this, could he? Killing an innocent man was against everything a Digger stood for. It was against everything he thought he stood for. He swallowed hard. But all that was gone now.

“Please,” the crewman of the 
Ariel’s Pride
said again. “I’m just a deckhand.”

Melbourne looked back at the
Blessed Mary
one more time before he took aim at the man, closed his eyes, and did what he had to do to survive.