The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) (37 page)

“We got the signal?” he asked, excitement flushing his cheeks. The captain hated waiting.

“Aye, sir. Look to the bow,” Lincoln said.

The captain could see Fenimore standing in his usual place. His feet were spread and his knees were slightly bent. He gripped the rail as if he planned to vault from the ship and slide down the thin thread of fire with bare hands.

“He’s anxious,” noted Lincoln.

“You think?” said Captain Endicott, who was pleased that Lincoln was becoming a keener observer of human nature. “If I was him, I’d be hiding in the undeclared-cargo hold. That girl of his is going to skin him for the trouble he’s caused all of us.”

“He’s worried about her. Maybe she’s signaling for help. He’s fixin’ for a fight,” Lincoln offered.

“Doubt it,” Captain Endicott said. “Chenda doesn’t need us. You know that. Why use a flame to signal us when she could turn it on an enemy? No, she can take care of herself. It’s more likely she has tied up all the loose ends and is calling for a ride off this dry old rock. I hope she’s bringing Verdu along, too. Let me fly awhile and you tell the others that we should get set for a hook-and-haul—two passengers. And that Tugrulian girl—what’s her name?”

“Ahy-Me,” Lincoln supplied.

“Yeah, her. See if she is wanting to stay or to go. It’s her choice, but she needs to make it now. Have everyone at a weapon until we get to the last second. Figure a good half hour to descend. I would like to think that Chenda can manage to keep us from too much harm, but we need to look out for ourselves as best we can. You got all that?”

Lincoln shouted a “Yes, sir” as he bounded out of the wheelhouse. A few minutes later the deck of the
Brofman
, so quiet before in the thin clouds, was bustling with activity. Captain Endicott watched as the ship circled ever downward. He noted each action of the crew as they checked and rechecked the deck weapons. Stanley and Germer raised protective shields around the softly glowing tubes that held the photovoltaic bacteria that powered the
Brofman
—a delicate, vulnerable, and very exposed part of the ship.

Candice appeared from belowdecks and made her way to Captain Endicott’s side. He kissed the top of her blond head and gave her a little tease. “Well, well. Don’t you clean up nice. I don’t catch a whiff of
eau de rat
anywhere on your person.”

“A little soap goes a long way. You should try it sometime,” she said.

He loved that she gave as good as she got, and he kissed her again as she leaned into him.

“How are you feeling this morning? You slept hard last night,” he said. “I think I might could have erupted a volcano and you would have kept on sleeping.”

“It’s the first chance I had to sleep without the possibility of rats biting me. I took advantage of it,” she said. Her voice turned haunted. “I dreamed of rats, though.”

He pulled her closer to his side. “Are you worried about heading back down there? I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll die before I let anyone take you from me again. I promise.”

She shook her head and scoffed, “That will teach them. You just go on and die next time I get taken away. Well played.”

“You know what I mean,” the captain grumbled. “I’m just sayin’ that I love you, and I don’t want you ever to suffer. I want to be the one to protect you always. That’s all.”

“I know you do. I love you, too, Max.”

His tone became soft as he continued, “Let’s pick up the last of my crew and fly out of here. After that, you and I need to talk about where we’re gonna go from this point. The last week has taught me that you’re the one I’m willing to run through fire for. I want to make you my wife, and we need to know what that means—to figure it out together.”

Candice sighed. “That sounds like a conversation I really want to have. But, I have a feeling this isn’t going to be that easy.”

With his proposal neither accepted nor declined, Captain Endicott could not think of what to say. He stood in silence, with Candice by his side, and brought the ship slowly downward to Chenda and the royal palace in the heart of Kotal.

The trip into Kotal from the estate where Tercius resided was short. Pranav Erato brought the prince, intrigued to see more butterflies and unconcerned with where he was going or why, to a house several blocks from the palace well past dark.

“Are the butterflies here?” he asked.

“No, this is just where we start our adventure. Do you like to go exploring?” Pranav Erato said.

Tercius looked sheepish, the skin of his cheeks pinking under the soft peach fuzz on his chin. “I love to explore, but Nanny says I can’t. I go and go and go and never can find my way back. She says I am not to get lost as it causes problems for her.”

“I am sure it would.” Pranav Erato nodded. “How about you follow me, and I will be sure to see that you don’t get lost on the way.”

Tercius grinned with delight.

As Pranav Erato guided the lad down to the house’s dugout basement and through a crack that led to a tunnel, he reflected on what a simple creature Tercius was. Other than his slouch, he was not an unattractive young man, but his mind held less ability to concentrate than a young child’s. Several times while walking along the dim passage, Pranav Erato had to double back and recapture the attention of the prince, who had been totally enthralled by a swirl in the stone or an intriguing rock.

Pranav Erato never lost his patience with the boy. He pitied the position the unwitting lad was in, and understood why no one in the line of succession had ever assassinated him: it was too easy. It was obvious Tercius would never have the capacity to
be
emperor, or the ambition to fight his way through the men of his family to claim the throne in the first place. He was a nonthreat to any of the other heirs, until now.

The mystic led the lad into the palace at the lowest levels of the councillors’ wing. The pranav had used this route often to sneak into the palace and visit with prisoners, spies, and, more than once, Councillor Nameer Xa-Ven. He regretted never being able to make his way to Verdu, held secure as he was in the center of the palace, but it was neither here nor there anymore. Verdu was about to be in a position to heal the wounds of the land and people of Tugrulia; he would be able to open the eyes people held in darkness. Pranav Erato looked back at Tercius, hating that this simple soul was the last loose end.

Sadness had surrounded Pranav Erato for much of his life. He had done his best to help the brave or broken souls that had come to him to find purpose, companionship, and even a modicum of joy in the resistance. The gods knew just how much each of them had sacrificed to guard the seeds of faith in Tugrulia—faith in themselves, faith in the land, and faith in the myriad of ways the gods could touch the lives of men. These people had fought for change. Stolen, kidnapped, lied, died, and killed for it. Now, there was just one life left between the rebels and the power to change the empire.

A tear rolled down the pranav’s cheek. The pity he felt for the unsuspecting soul he led crushed him like a rockslide. Surely this could not be what the gods wanted from him—to slaughter a pure, simple young one so that a good man could lead others to better lives. He did not believe that they could ever overcome the taint of such a hideous bargain.

The pair entered the royal kitchens, where Bateem waited near a long cupboard that was nearly stripped bare of its collection of silver serving pieces and ewers. In the predawn hours, kitchen maids hustled between the stacks of silver and a polishing station in the center of the room. The smells of roasting meats and fish wafted through the space, and the air crackled with tension. The day would be a long and hard one for the cooks and their staff.

Bateem greeted Pranav Erato with the embrace of the Pramuc. “Welcome, Pranav,” he said, and then turned to Tercius. “It is good to see you again, Highness.” Bateem sank into a deep bow, but Tercius missed the display of humility. At first, Bateem thought him like his father, and taken with the pretty girls who were scrubbing away with the silver polish. Tercius, however, did not even notice the young ladies. He touched one of the ewers coated with milky paste, dragging a fingertip across it to reveal a shiny stripe. He giggled.

The girls marveled at the boy’s odd behavior, but said nothing, preferring to keep their hands and thoughts on their duties. Tercius continued to play with the polish until Bateem cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Highness, but your kinsman Kotal Verdu is hoping to see you as soon as possible. Shall we go to him?”

Tercius’s mouth fell open, and he turned hurt eyes to Pranav Erato. “You said I could see more butterflies.”

“So I did. Let us say that we will meet Verdu in the garden. We will catch butterflies there to show him.” The pranav’s words seemed to please Tercius and he, after a few more swipes of his fingers through the silver paste, came away from the table, wiping his hands on his shirtfront.

Bateem nodded that he would alert Verdu to their destination, and Pranav Erato led the young prince to the walled garden of the emperor.

Captain Endicott spotted Chenda on the large balcony perched high up on the rear wall of the palace. She saw the ship and extinguished the fire flowing from her. She had nothing in reserve; that particular expenditure of her power nearly drained her.

“Verdu,” she called weakly over her shoulder, “the
Brofman
.” He stepped from the relative darkness of the receiving room and smiled up at the ship that had been his home for so long. His smile faded slightly when he thought of never sleeping in the cramped crew quarters again. He watched as Fenimore gave hand signals from the bow.

“They want to scoop and run with us,” Verdu said as he signaled back. “I’ve told them that they need to come alongside and idle the engines.”

On the deck of the airship, a puzzled look crossed Fenimore’s face. He watched as Verdu made the same pattern of gestures again. The first officer nodded and conveyed the signal to the wheelhouse.

The forward glide of the
Brofman
slowed as it came close to the balcony where Chenda stood. The great airship’s shadow touched the rail and slowly grew to cover its length. Fenimore tossed a rope to Verdu, and he trotted along as the ship shuddered to a stop. Verdu tied the mooring line to a heavy stone column on the far side of the balcony.

Chenda stood motionless, soaking in the relief of seeing Fenimore –– on the
Brofman
, right where he should be. He jumped over the side of the ship and handed the second mooring line to Verdu. The two men, closer than brothers, clasped arms in greeting. Neither said a word, but the joy of having the other close again was evident.

Fenimore turned to Chenda. As he stepped forward, he could not take his eyes off her. She did not smile, although she was pleased to see him, nor did she frown, although she was cross with him for having set in motion so much of the chaos she and their friends had dealt with since his disappearance. He did not rush to her, but rather crept to her side carefully, contrition in every movement.

Their eyes locked; he tipped his head down and rested his forehead on hers. Each sighed. For a moment, the world fell away and there was no palace, no airship, no people rushing around. There was no pain or sorrow or regret between them. The love that each had for the other cut through all the words that needed to be said, and the promise was made again between them that each was the most precious part of the other. Love never takes, but gives endlessly in kindness, forgiveness, caring, and affection.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Chenda stopped his lips with a finger.
Kiss me.

Fenimore, afraid to count on more second chances from his wife, chose not to be asked twice. He scooped her into his arms and created a moment that made the hosts of heaven blush.

The temptation to get carried away was broken by the voice of Candice Mortimer. Chenda might have forgiven Fenimore, but Candice surely had not.

“Where’s that button, Max? Get this gangway down so I can kick your precious first officer in the butt and grab what we came for. Chenda! Get a move on!”

People were spilling from the deck of the
Brofman
onto the balcony. Candice led the way, followed closely by Captain Endicott. Lincoln, his hand on his sidearm, came next. Kingston, Ollim, and Ahy-Me crowded along the rail with the remainder of the crew, shouting and waving at Verdu and Chenda. All were relieved to see their friends, but anxious to be on their way to higher elevations and a modicum of safety.

Each person was trying to be the first to empty themselves of the anguish of being alone and separated, and the cacophony went on for what seemed like a long time. Chenda, finally noticing that each person was holding on to at least one other, pushed her thoughts to the group.

Stop! All of you just hush!
Her thoughts had a touch of the power of the Pramuc behind them, and silence fell on the sunny balcony.

“There is much to be said”—she spoke aloud—“but we need to come together for a moment and make a few decisions.

“A lot has changed in just the last few hours for the royal house of Tugrulia. Verdu is now second heir to the throne. The coronation is tonight.”

Several of those assembled gasped. Ahy-Me realized she was standing there with her mouth open and closed it with an audible clack of teeth.

Chenda continued, “Verdu vows that his will be the head upon which that crown rests. He has been playing the part necessary to gain this position. He has followed the laws of Tugrulia. We all know that, as emperor, he will be a mystery to his people. Is he resistance? Is he another in the tyrannical rule of the house of Varinain, or is that time at an end? There will be chaos.