City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [154]
*
Morning, and red sunrays spilled across the ship’s deck. A wind buffeted them, and the massive ship groaned under the elemental forces, yet the vessel maintained its stability. Hanuman drifted around the ship, a flock of oversized gulls silhouetted against the sun. Randur really wanted one for a pet, he decided. They seemed pretty nifty, couldn’t do any harm, so he would ask Artemisia for one, at some point.
‘Where’re the others?’ he asked.
Eir hadn’t slept well at all, and had kept him awake for half the night. She was now leaning against the railing, peering down across the cloud-base.
Joining her, he still couldn’t believe what they were standing on – a city-ship that apparently floated along, using sources of energy he couldn’t get his head around. The texture of the clouds looked unusual from this angle, the inverse ripples carpeting the distance. Only by seeing all this did he realize just how far he’d come since he had first left Folke for Villjamur.
‘I don’t know,’ she yawned.
The ship was easier to see at this hour, and he was astounded by how extensively moss and lichen blanketed the deck. The platform itself seemed so long that Randur could barely see the end of it.
‘Good morning.’
The face was hers, Rika’s, but the voice was utterly different. Her clothing had changed also. Dressed like a man, in khaki breeches, a black shirt and boots, she looked like an assassin more than an empress. She strode purposefully towards them, Artemisia some distance behind. Everything about Rika’s posture and her manner told Randur that this was someone reinvented, but he was surprised to see it happen so quickly, so thoroughly. Was that a blade hanging from her belt? Leather straps ran diagonally across her shoulder, and he stole a glance to see if there was a sword nestling behind, but there was nothing. Why was she dressed like this? What had happened to this formerly passive woman?
The transformation disarmed him.
Eir moved nearer to her sister and seemed uncertain how to begin. ‘What happened last night? We heard—?’
‘I was absolutely fine,’ Rika replied sternly.
‘You look different.’
‘I am different.’
Eir sighed and shifted back by Randur’s side. He placed a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him away. Rika regarded them both as if they were merely a part of the ship.
Artemisia reached them, unchanged, as if she never could be any different. Her skin looked lighter now, but the ridges of muscle in her arms were still clearly defined.
‘We’re heading for Villiren immediately,’ Rika declared.
‘Still to see the commander?’ Randur asked.
‘Yes. Artemisia has offered to aid us in combat, so while I’m there I’ll persuade the Night Guard to give me their allegiance. Once they’re made aware of the situation, we’re certain they will comply. From there we can build a platform to seize back the Imperial throne from Urtica – by force, if we must. That man will suffer for what he’s done to us.’
Seize it by force, Randur thought. Make him suffer. These surely aren’t her own words?
‘The allegiance of the Night Guard lies with the Empire,’ Eir observed. ‘Not you, personally.’
‘Then their allegiance will change.’
Randur was impressed with Rika’s tone, her firmness. Her manner suggested things might be done with a little more zest at last.
‘And just what can Artemisia do?’ Eir turned to face the pale-blue woman. Randur wished she wouldn’t behave so petulantly in front of the killer, not that Artemisia seemed to care much.
‘I will turn whatever fighting there is in favour of the defenders,’ Artemisia said. ‘My presence alone will probably cause quite a stir. I believe, also, that I can set the Exmachina on course to disable the gateways through which they’ve infiltrated. I might lose the ship temporarily, but I can salvage enough equipment for me to return home.’
‘Why didn’t you just stop them coming through earlier?’ Eir said.
‘It is not a permanent solution. My disabling of the gates will not last that long. The Akhaioí will open them within . . . weeks perhaps. The technology they