The Fog Diver (5 page)

A
S THE CARGO TETHER
rose, I gazed into the Fog, daydreaming about life on Port Oro. Imagining a place without hunger, without Kodoc, without junkyard bosses or roving gangs. Imagining a cure for fogsickness.

Chewing my lip in excitement, I squeezed the hand brake. A moment later, my harness yanked me upward. My boots left the ground and the whiteness blurred around my face as I rose toward the clear world above.

I laughed as I passed through the highest fringes of the Fog, eager to show everyone what I'd found. When the blue sky burst into sight and my full weight returned, it felt like I was carrying a fifty-pound backpack, but for once I didn't mind.

Twirling toward the underside of the raft, I saw pistons
chugging and vapor hissing from valves. Before I reached the boarding ladder, Bea's face popped over the side.

Her leather cap was askew and her green eyes were wide. She gestured wildly toward a peak of Fog.

“What?” I called.

She raised a finger to her lips, shushing me, then disappeared from view.

I almost yelled,
Don't shush me—I found a diamond!

The winch stopped suddenly, with me still dangling twenty feet below the deck. The propellers whirled and the raft jerked forward.

I yelped as I trailed behind the speeding raft, dragged along by my tether.

What was going on? Were we running? From what?

I climbed my tether, hand over hand, swinging sideways as the raft turned in crazy angles. I reached the deck just in time to catch a glimpse of Bea vanishing into a hatch. At the wheel, Swedish handled the lumbering three-ballooned raft like a racing thopper, playing hide-and-seek behind white waves of Fog.

I climbed toward the crow's nest. “What's going—”

“Mutineers,” Hazel said without lowering her spyglass.

Above us, the middle balloon creaked in protest as Swedish veered suddenly to the left.

“What?”
I shivered in the sunlight. Not now, not with a diamond in my belt pouch. “Where?”

She nodded at the Fog. “On the far side of that peak.”

“Did they see us?”

“I don't know. They came into sight a mile away and turned toward us. Maybe a coincidence, but . . .”

“They'll leave us alone, right?” I patted my pouch nervously. “I mean, mutineers hardly ever bother salvage rafts.”

“
Hardly
ever,” Hazel said.

When the mutineers revolted, they'd taken over the most distant mountaintop that belonged to the Rooftop. Port Oro was less than a quarter of the size of the Rooftop, but they'd beaten back every attack for decades. That was the good news. The bad news was that being outnumbered made the muties defensive and quick-tempered, so sometimes they shot first and asked questions later.

And by “sometimes,” I meant “usually.”

“Bring her lower,” Hazel called to Swedish. “Along that ravine.”

Swedish scowled at the wide, wispy crack in the Fog. “That's a tight fit.”

I swallowed nervously. The raft was fueled by refined Fog, called “foggium,” which didn't work inside the Fog itself. That's why machinery didn't run in the white. If the engine dipped below the surface, we'd lose power immediately. The foggium would stop heating the air inside the balloons, and we'd tumble hundreds of feet and crash.

“You've got a foot on either side,” Hazel told him. “You can do this.”

“I can kiss my butt good-bye,” Swedish muttered, plunging the raft into the ravine.

The deck jerked as the middle balloon groaned, then hissed like an angry cat: the sound of a balloon about to pop.

I froze, straining to hear. Wind whistled through the rigging, and a valve released pressure with a
click-shhhht-click
. Nothing more from the middle balloon.

After a few seconds, I unclenched my hands from the rail. “The cargo netting's inside the Fog, Hazel. If it snags anything, we're dead.”

“I
know
that,” she snapped.

“Then why are we—”

“Mutineers never come this close to the Rooftop, Chess. Something's not right. I don't know why they're here, but if they don't see us, they won't sink us, so—”

A shadow fell over us from behind.

I turned and saw an airship with a zeppelin—a long cigar-shaped balloon—that dwarfed our three patched balloons completely. Whirling fans droned on cranes that sprouted from the airship like a water bug's legs, and runoff pipes spat clouds of exhaust.

It was a mutineer ship, with dull brass and predatory fins, her name gleaming on the prow:
Night Tide
.

A
war
ship. We were so dead.

A
VOICE BOOMED FROM
the mutineer ship. “Stop your props or we'll blow you from the sky!”

Hazel swung down from the rigging. “Do as he says, Swedish.”

“Muties,”
Swedish mumbled as he slowed the raft to a halt. “Now they're after salvage rafts?”

“I've heard of the
Night Tide,
” Bea said in a quavering voice. “I heard she opened fire on a trading post.”

“That's a lie,” I said, though I wasn't so sure. “Just the roof-troopers trying to make them sound bad.”

Swedish snorted. “Did the roof-troopers make them threaten to blow us from the sky?”

“They're not driftsharks.” Hazel took a shaky breath. “They're just people.”

“People in a
warship,
” Swedish said.

“They're from Port Oro.”

“Which has been at war with the Rooftop for years,” I reminded her.

“We'll get through this,” she told me.

“Or we'll spiral down and die in the white,” Swedish said with a shudder. “Our bodies eaten by dogs and—”

Bea squeaked in alarm, and Hazel said, “Swede!”

“Sorry,” Swedish mumbled. “I'm just saying.”

“Well,
stop,
” Hazel said, inspecting the warship with her spyglass.

The voice boomed again from the mutineer ship. “Higher still, my poppets—up where we can see you!”

Another mutie shouted from the
Night Tide
: “Where we can shoot you!”

“Board you!” a different mutie called.

“Sink you!”

“Well, you were right, Hazel,” Swedish muttered. “They sound like sweethearts.”

“Take us up,” Hazel told him.

“They'll kill us!” Bea cried.

“We'll be okay, honeybee,” Hazel reassured her. “I have an idea.”

I propped my goggles on my forehead with shaky hands and tugged my hair lower. After a few days on the raft, I almost forgot that I needed to hide my freak-eye. But the moment strangers approached, a hot flush
of shame reminded me.

As I ducked my head, Swedish hunched at the wheel, Bea whispered to the foggium array, and Hazel stood at the prow, chin high and gaze steady.

On the upper deck of the mutineer airship, an almost elegant stretch of narrow railings was spiked with cannons and harpoons and lined with a dozen airsailors with sharp eyes and curved blades. A tall man with a scarred face lifted his hand, and silence fell. He strode to the quarterdeck, his cloak billowing behind him, revealing the cutlass and dagger at his belt. Ruby and emerald rings flashed on his fingers.

Looked like mutineering paid pretty well. Still, I didn't see any diamonds, so maybe bottom-feeding paid even better.

I patted my belt pouch to reassure myself that the diamond was still there, then quickly changed the gesture into a scratch. I didn't want to call any attention to myself. Not only because I hated being seen, but because I couldn't let them find the ring.

On the other hand . . . what if I just
gave
them the diamond? Would they take us to Port Oro? Maybe, but what about Mrs. E? We couldn't exactly ask them to pick her up in the slum. Plus, they were mutineers—outlaws and pirates. They'd probably just
take
the diamond.

“Is that an airship,” the mutineer captain called, “or has a chunk of the junkyard floated away?”

A few mutineers jeered and one of them swiveled a harpoon toward me. My heart clenched, but a second later the mutie moved on, targeting the props instead.

“And what,” the captain continued, frowning at the raft's balloons, “are
those
?”

“Our balloons, sir,” Hazel called back.

“I mean the designs. Those paintings.”

Hazel's eyes narrowed. “They're whales!”

“With fangs?”

“Those aren't fangs! They're smiling.”

“They're enough to give
me
nightmares,” the mutineer captain said. “And that's not easy. Who are you?”

“Just a salvage crew, sir, with some scrap metal and—” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “What else?”

I lowered my head. “Bricks and cash.”

“Rusted iron, broken bricks, and toilet paper.” Then, a little sarcastically, she continued: “A poor haul for such a grand ship as yours.”

The mutineer captain frowned at her tone. “You're renting that trash heap from the junkyard bosses and you're mocking
my
ship?”

“Your aft propellers are off-kilter,” Hazel told him with the barest tremor in her voice. “The
Night Tide
is waddling like a toddler in a diaper.”

An angry murmur sounded from the warship, and I held my breath and clutched my belt pouch. You didn't mess with mutineers—you fled or you groveled. Was
Hazel
trying
to make them angry?

The scar-faced mutineer raised his telescope and swept our raft scornfully. “And
you
are the captain?” he asked Hazel.

“I am,” she said.

“You look more like a dancing girl,” he said. “Permission to board?”

“Permission denied,” Hazel answered.

“Prepare to fire,” he told his crew, and the clatter of harpoons filled the air, accompanied by the whistle of grappling hooks.

“On second thought,” Hazel said, “we'd be honored if you'd pay us a visit.”

“I thought you'd see it my way,” he said.

The mutineer captain muttered a command, and a plank slid from the
Night Tide
and slammed onto our deck. The raft swayed when he crossed from his warship, and for a moment, I thought I heard that angry-cat hissing again from the middle balloon.

Three burly mutineers followed the mutineer captain across the plank, and the raft suddenly seemed even smaller and junkier than before.

Hazel curtsied. “Welcome aboard, Vidious.”

I exhaled shakily. Figured that she'd know the mutineer's name.

“That's
Captain
Vidious,” a red-haired mutie grunted.

Vidious just laughed. “You have the advantage of me, girl. What's your name?”

“Hazel.”

“
Captain
Hazel,” Swedish muttered.

The red-haired mutie shoved him. “Shut your yap.”

Swedish raised a hand to shove back, and Hazel said, “No, Swedish. They're our guests.”

“Plus,” Bea added with a bright nervousness, “there's a hundred of them and only four of us, and our foggium array isn't feeling well.”

I didn't say anything and tried to look small and boring. I had the crew's future in my belt pouch and couldn't give the mutineers any excuse to search me. This guy Vidious would definitely steal the diamond and leave us behind in the slum.

“Enough,” Vidious told his airsailors. “If they touch you, teach them a lesson. Otherwise, don't bother. Now, then—” He eyed Hazel. “You're right that I don't care about salvage. I'm looking for reprisal against the Rooftop.”

Hazel frowned. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” Bea asked in a small voice. “‘Reprisal'?”

“Like revenge.” Hazel eyed the mutineer captain. “Is that why you shot down our buoy?”

Bea gasped. “Poor Bumbleboy. . . .”

“We won't tolerate
any
Rooftop vessel at the moment.” The quiet anger in Vidious's voice made me shiver. “Not even a buoy.”

“Sorry!” Hazel said brightly. “Our mistake! We'll just be going now!”

“You're not going anywhere yet. You look like roof-trooper spies to me.”

“We do?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Don't we kind of look more like . . . slumkids?”

“Maybe you're both.” He inspected us coldly. “And I'm going to make the roof-troopers pay for ambushing my sister.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Hazel asked. “You're way too close to the Rooftop.”

Vidious ran his hand along a frayed rope. “That's no excuse.”

“But you're days from Port Oro. What're you doing this far from home?”

Vidious quirked an eyebrow. “Minding our own business, until a roof-trooper airship attacked us. And you're part of the Rooftop, aren't you?”

“Not really. We're from the slum.”

“The slum of the Rooftop,” he said, his voice sharp with accusation.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Cut their cargo tether!” Vidious called.

A
HARPOON FLASHED FROM
the
Night Tide
and sliced through the ropes holding the cargo netting. The bag of bricks and rusted iron gate tumbled away into the Fog, and the raft rocked violently. For a third time, I thought I heard a faint hiss from the middle balloon.

“We should take their geargirl, too,” Vidious said as an afterthought. “If she can keep this junkpile in the air, she's some kind of genius.”

“Over my dead body,” Hazel said, and swung her fist at Vidious.

Swedish kneed one of the airsailors and shoved another before the red-haired mutineer smashed him in the head with the flat of his sword. As Swedish crumpled to the deck, Vidious sidestepped Hazel's punch and twirled her.
Almost like a dance, until he clamped her to his chest, his sword pricking her neck next to the seashell she wore on a leather cord.

My heart shrank three sizes. I froze, my hand on my belt pouch.

“I usually sink trespassers,” Vidious purred into Hazel's ear, “even if my sister sulks for a week.”

“We're not—” Hazel gulped. “We're not trespassers! We're in no-man's-land!”

“You're probably working for the roof-troopers. Still, I'll take the geargirl and leave the rest—”

“If you take Bea,” Hazel said, her voice soft but strong, “I swear by the Fog that I'll find you. I'll claw my way back from the grave and haunt your dreams. I swear by the silence and the white that I'll ruin you and everyone you love. I swear by all the high places that—”

“Stop teasing her, Vid,” a woman called from the
Night Tide
. “Let them go.”

Jittery with nerves, I peeked at the warship and saw a woman on the quarterdeck, dressed in black with a pair of daggers at her hips. Her blond hair flowed down her back, and strings of beads looped around her neck.

Captain Vidious cocked his head. “Why should I do that, Nisha?”

“The girl is playing to
me,
” the woman said. “She must've seen me with her spyglass. I gather she knows my reputation.”

My fingers tightened on the belt pouch. Had Hazel seen the woman—Nisha—on deck? Is that why she'd tried to anger the captain?

“Besides,” the woman continued, “none of my sailors were hurt, and the
Anvil Rose
is almost fixed. Plus, we
do
have more important tasks than reprisal.”

“True enough,” Vidious said, shoving Hazel away. “Though I'd still like to get my hands on Kodoc.”

Hazel stumbled a few steps. “L-Lord Kodoc?”

“You've heard of him?” Vidious asked.

“Everyone in the slum knows his name,” she said a little too quickly. “He's the leader of the roof-troopers. Is he . . . out here?”

Vidious gave a careless shrug. “Maybe.”

I peered uneasily across the Fog. A few puffy clouds floated overhead, and I suddenly worried that Kodoc's airship was hiding inside them. What if I actually met Kodoc, face-to-face? Would he recognize me as his creation? Would he control me somehow, like a falconer controls his bird? Could I resist?

“Why do you care?” Vidious asked.

“They say he—” Hazel swallowed. “He works tetherkids to death. They say he experiments on them. They say he feeds kids to driftsharks to see what happens.”

“He's a dangerous man.”

Hazel tugged on a braid. “Um, there's one thing I don't get. . . .”

“Spit it out, poppet.”

“Well, you just happened to be patrolling this close to the Rooftop?” Hazel asked too dubiously. “Minding your own business?”

“Exactly,” Nisha said from the railing of the
Night Tide
.

Hazel nodded toward the warship's hull. “Then what are you doing with
that
?”

I followed her gaze and didn't see anything except a few exhaust vents and a row of lifeboats.

“Those are lifeboats,” Nisha told her.

“I beg your pardon,” Hazel said politely. “For a moment, I thought one of them was a cargo raft disguised as a lifeboat. My mistake.”

An ache throbbed in my stomach when I looked closer. Hazel was right. One of the boats attached to the hull
was
a cargo raft: bigger, sturdier, and more maneuverable than a lifeboat.

Vidious scowled, and I silently begged Hazel to change the subject before he lost his temper completely—but Bea widened her eyes at the cargo raft.

“Ooh, he's got lovely turnbuckles!” she chirped. “Swede could fly him upside down through a gnat's eye!”

“Er,” Hazel said quickly. “She means if it
wasn't
a lifeboat.”

Vidious and Nisha exchanged a glance that seemed to chill the air, and I patted my belt pouch for reassurance. I
definitely didn't want these two finding the diamond.

“But obviously it
is
a lifeboat.” Hazel gave Bea a quick look. “Isn't that right, Bea?”

“Yes!” Bea squeaked, her cheeks flushing red. “Lifeboat!”

Vidious touched the hilt of his dagger. “We should sink them,” he told his sister.

“You're probably right,” she agreed. “But we're not going to.”

I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but Hazel sounded frightened as she said, “Kodoc is no friend of ours. He's no friend of anyone in the slum, except the bosses.”

Nisha leaned on the railing of the
Night Tide,
then vaulted overboard, her long hair streaming behind her. I gaped in shock, but she landed on the boarding plank that stretched between the warship and the raft.

“You remind me of myself at your age,” she told Hazel, strolling closer.

“When you were her age,” Vidious told his sister, “you couldn't have captained an empty boot, much less a salvage raft.”

Nisha's mouth quirked. “Well, at her age
someone
got tangled in the rigging, and hung upside down for an hour.”

“I was sick!” Vidious said.

“Of course you were,” Nisha said mock soothingly.
“Why do you think Hazel mentioned the . . . odd-looking lifeboat to us?”

“Because she's a dumb kid.”

“Look closer,” Nisha told him. “This is a tight-run ship, even if it's patched together from junk. She's telling us she knows what we're after. She's offering to give us information.”

Vidious narrowed his eyes at Hazel. “What are we after?”

“Um, you're smuggling something into the Rooftop?” Hazel gulped. “That's why you've got that cargo raft.”

“You're half right.” Vidious nodded to his sister. “Fine. Talk to her.”

“Tell me about the roof-trooper patrols,” Nisha told Hazel. “Do they search all rafts approaching the Rooftop?”

Hazel nodded. “But anyone can land on the
slum
. Well, if you find a dock or slipway.”

“So getting into the slum is easy.” Nisha absently rattled her beaded necklace. “How about going from the slum to the Rooftop?”

“Not easy at all,” Hazel said. “You need a pass to cross the bridges, and there are armed guards watching everyone.”

Nisha fired off a dozen questions about roof-trooper patrols, surface-to-air defenses, and pursuit strategies, and Hazel answered them all.

I gaped at her. How did she know all that?

Finally Nisha clapped Hazel on the shoulder in thanks and sauntered back across the boarding plank. “C'mon, Vid,” she called over her shoulder. “We've learned as much as we're going to.”

“Maybe you have,” Vidious said. “But I still don't know why that tetherboy keeps patting his belt pouch.”