The Children of the Sky

The carriage stopped, jerked forward a few centimeters, stopped again. She heard the scrabble of Wretchly bouncing down from the driver’s seats. There was an irregular tapping on the door, and when Flenser slid it open, one of Wretchly was looking in. “Here we are, Boss, right under the platform. Heh! Inside all Nevil’s fabulous security.”

Flenser was already streaming out the door. “You can be sure that if Vendacious was in charge, things would not be so easy. Nevil is so new to our primitive villainy.” Now all of him struggled to help his crippled member exit. White Tips was watching Johanna alertly, but as usual made no detectable contribution to the speech sounds.

“I’m supposed to be up onstage,” said Flenser. “This parking spot is to give me easier access. My handicapped condition, you see. I’m leaving Wretchly with you. If you don’t scream or shout, you should be safe.” Flenser wiggled a snout, gesturing Johanna to come to the opening.

Sunlight splattered down through cracks in the construction. She smelled fresh-cut lumber. They were parked somewhere on the heather of Murder Meadows. Crisscrossed timber reinforcement beams were all around the wagon. Flenser was on the ground below her, turning White Tips’ little cart toward a path that led off into the dimness. “Hear the racket, Johanna?” he said.

In fact, she could. Tinish trumpeting. Flenser continued, “Somebody just landed their airship. They’ll be up top on the platform in another minute—and I’m late to greet them.” The slower parts of Flenser were already heading off. “If that’s Tycoon, it’s your death to go up there. You should stay down here where you’re safe.”

“If I decide to risk it, how can I get directly on stage?”

“Ah,” Flenser’s heads twisted around, searching for something in the cracks of light above. “Wretchly?”

Part of the henchpack looked up, studying the strutwork. “Okay. We had the contract on putting this thing together. It was all very hastily done, with lots of screwups. See over there,” Wretchly pointed to where reinforcement struts tilted together. “It may not look it, but that’s the start of an easy climb”—he gestured back and forth, upwards—“to a knockout panel that’s at the center of the main stage.”

Flenser was grinning, that joy-in-shadows posture that annoyed Woodcarver so much. “You could make a very dramatic entrance, very very short-lived, at least if Tycoon is nearby. Part of me would truly like to see…” He brought himself up short. Literally: The parts of him that were furthest along the path stopped, began pulling the wheelbarrow back. “Ahem. Seriously, Johanna. Don’t go up there unless you—and Wretchly—can hear that it’s safe. Even if it’s just Nevil, you should think twice. I took a chance once, going public in the Long Lakes—and look what became of me.”

Johanna brought her gaze down from the ceiling. “Yes. I understand.” In fact, Flenser’s advice was completely sensible—at least if you edited out the maniacal asides.

“Okay, then! I’d best be on my way.” He caught up with himself and soon all five were lost in the gloom.

The rest of Wretchly came over to the carriage steps. “No one’s near. You can come down from the carriage if you want. Be ready to hop back in if I say.”

Johanna descended the little steps, stood in the moist, ankle-deep sod. It was all very stamped down and shaded, but here and there the sunlight caught the color of a wilted flower. Murder Meadows. She seemed to end up here every time things got really really tough.

•  •  •

“So that’s Tycoon up there. Pack of Packs, it sounds like there’s eight of him, and they’re all big bruisers!” Wretchly was circled widely around their carriage, watching and listening in all directions. One of him stayed close to Johanna even now, as she walked over to the jumble of strutwork he had pointed out earlier.

Johanna looked up into the shadows and bright cracks above. “So what is he saying, Wretchly?”

“It’s still Nevil talking. What a noisemaker that guy is. ‘Peace, prosperity, our new friends, no more terrible attacks,… blah blah.’”

“You know he can talk for hours, Wretchly.”

“Yeah. Well, that would be stupid today. The audience doesn’t sound as patient as usual.” He waved a snout at the unseen fields. “And one particular guy is not patient at all.”

“Me,” said Johanna.

“Somebody else. The eight that I think are Tycoon is shifting around like he has bugs up his rears.” Wretchly paused. Looking around, Johanna could see several of Wretchly shifting, angling their shoulders and heads, building up a sonic image of what was going on above. “That’s strange,” said Wretchly. “I think Tycoon has humans with him. Ravna and Jefri it sounds like.”

Johanna restrained her desire to shout. “What? Then it must be safe!”

“… Not if they’re prisoners.”

“But Woodcarver and Flenser are up there.”