Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [62]
The crew hauled in the canvas sails that had taken them out of the harbor. Ceres skimmed over the snow-covered plain south of Port Fallow, beyond the high wall, where the bodies of zombies lay piled against the base. The sugar sloop wouldn’t gain as much speed as Yasmeen’s skyrunner, perhaps forty-five knots at her best, but even at that speed the wind tangled her hair and the icy cold burned her face. Yasmeen pushed the goggles up to her forehead. Archimedes might wonder if her tears were from the wind or the joy of flying again—but there was no difference. She looked over at him, found him watching her through the smoked lenses of his goggles.
“Do you see how she can make you feel?” she shouted. “And if you care for her, there’s nowhere she can’t take you. So it doesn’t matter how she earns her money. If she can make you feel like this, you treat her like a lady.”
But, oh how she missed hers.
Archimedes remained with her above decks for hours, watching the plains run up into the great forests. Enormous sections had been cut through them, swaths of tree stumps with seedlings growing between. Knowing that stripping the land would leave it useless to future generations, the Horde had established a regulated system of harvesting and replanting over the centuries.
Yasmeen leaned in, called over the wind. “Does it seem that we’re heading toward Vienna?”
He hoped not. Nothing was there. But he couldn’t confirm it; Hassan hadn’t woken from his rest, after which they’d meet with Ollivier.
Shielding her eyes against the setting sun, she pointed west. In the distance, a Horde outpost rose out of the trees like a giant stone citadel.
“They are flying dangerously close,” Yasmeen said. “Who is their navigator?”
He shook his head. They hadn’t had a moment to talk to any of the crew, though several were on deck. Beneath the watchful eye of Captain Guillouet, they probably didn’t dare. Initially, Archimedes had wondered if Yasmeen remained above decks just to piss the man off, but no—she simply couldn’t bear to go below.
A large stand of old forest appeared below them. Archimedes pointed to a path cutting through it. “Is that a road?”
Yasmeen frowned. “I can’t recall seeing it before. Do you have a pair of biperspic lenses?”
She wouldn’t ask the captain or helmsmen for the spyglass, of course. “I do,” he said. “But they’re in my trunk.”
A bell rang. Yasmeen’s head jerked around, and she opened her mouth before snapping it closed. She caught his gaze, sighed. “It’s not my ship.”
He didn’t need to ask how difficult this was for her. She’d remarked many times on what the crew did right and what could be improved. Other times, she simply watched with frustration tugging at her lips, her fingers twitching and reaching for her belt. If he went below for the lenses, he’d probably serve her better by bringing a cigarillo—though she’d have a difficult time keeping one lit when she wasn’t behind the helm’s shield on the quarterdeck. That might irritate her more than the lack of smoke.
She turned her back on the deck to look over the side, as if determined not to be interested in the goings-on. The slowing of the propellers turned her back round.
“Are we stopping?”
Yasmeen looked to him as if he might have seen something while her back was turned, but he shook his head. The aviators had suddenly become more active, and the captain gave orders from the quarterdeck, but Archimedes couldn’t make out the words.
The engines quieted, blowing only steam now, venting the boilers with no propulsion. The aviators extended the spars in preparation for unfurling the sails.
“Oh, look at that.” Yasmeen’s amused voice brought him to the side again. She was looking over into a clearing below. “It’s Jasper Evans’s harvester. I can’t believe he made it all the way here.”
Archimedes believed it. Shaped like a combination of an armored coach and a scorpion,