Magnolia scanned the sky outside her window for any sign of the Hive, Deliverance, or the glowing blue battery units of Hell Divers falling through the clouds. In her mind’s eye, she could picture the chutes blooming out, and the muzzle flashes of assault rifles flickering like mutant lightning bugs as the sky soldiers lowered to the rescue.
Where were they?
On the fourth day of her captivity, she was starting to wonder whether the remaining divers were going to show up.
All she could see were the shiny, smooth edges of the airship above. She had studied it for several hours, looking for markings or anything else that might identify the craft as the ITC Ashland, commanded by Captain Marcus Bolter.
But what did it matter? Whoever had flown the ship here was long dead by now. Just bones or fragments, like most of the Old World.
Voices and a knock on the door pulled her away from the window. She hurried over to her bed, sat, and placed her hands on her lap.
The door to her small room opened onto a balcony outside, where two olive-skinned soldiers stood guard. The older of the two gestured with his spear.
“Come,” he said.
The other soldier, no more than a teenager, looked at her chest as if trying to glimpse what was under her torn shirt.
Standing, she covered herself with her arms and followed the men outside. She raised one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. After being cooped up for four days in a dimly lit room, she wasn’t prepared for natural light.
The older guard led her down the walkway, and the younger one followed. Both men wore faded dungarees, a machete, and a knife. Neither had a firearm, but she had no doubt they both were skilled spearmen.
She stayed close to the rail separating her from a ten-story plunge to the sea. To the west, three boats curved through the water. One looked oddly familiar.
Magnolia stopped to squint at the view.
The Sea Wolf.
Two boats were pulling the twin-hulled vessel toward the tower where she had been held prisoner.
“Rápido,” said the man behind her, prodding her side with the wooden shaft of his spear.
She glared over her shoulder at the teenage warrior, who bared his sharp teeth. Magnolia returned the gesture, showing her own teeth.
He seemed to like that and chuckled, gesturing to his bearded cohort. They exchanged a few words in Spanish and then drew close, hemming her in between them.
“You like?” she said to the younger one. She let her hand fall away from her chest, giving him a peek. “How about you?” she said, eyes flitting to the other man.
His beard split open in a wide display of cracked brown teeth, and he reached out for her while his comrade goaded her with the butt of his spear. She slapped the weapon away, and the older guy shoved her backward into the railing.
When she regained her balance, she raised her right fist, then caught him square in the jaw with her left.
This got a chuckle from the younger guard.
Not wasting the moment, she put her full weight behind a kick to the injured man’s solar plexus, which slammed him into the opposite rail and toppled him over the side.
A long scream rang out, cut off by a loud smack and splash. The remaining soldier darted over to the rail and looked over the edge. He turned, his grin replaced by a snarl, only to find Magnolia holding the fallen spear, leveled at his Adam’s apple.
Now she was the one to grin… until she heard the click of a hammer.
The young soldier showed his sharp teeth again, but Magnolia kept the spear point at his throat. A quick glance behind her revealed four rifles trained on her from the open hatch.
So much for her escape.
A shortish bald man in a brown robe stepped through the wall of armored bodies and weapons. He moved into the light, and she saw that it was the scribe, Imulah. He clasped his hands behind his back and shook his head at Magnolia.
“This is not a good start to your residence here,” he said. Four armored soldiers followed him onto the balcony. They held their rifles and spears on her as the scribe stepped over to the railing for a look at the limp body below being hauled from the water into a boat.
“One of the first things I learned during Hell Diver training was, water won’t save you if your chute doesn’t open,” Magnolia said. “In fact, if you fall far and fast enough, it’s like hitting concrete.”
Imulah tilted his head as if trying to figure out whether she was joking.
She wasn’t.
“My instructor—the man who took el Pulpo’s eye, by the way—said you’re supposed to stiffen your legs and roll if your chute fails.”
Magnolia jerked her chin at the railing. “Or if you fall over a balcony. Too bad bucko didn’t take any Hell Diver courses.”
“Drop the spear, Magnolia,” Imulah said. “You don’t want to anger King Pulpo again. He is a patient man, but his patience goes only so far.”
“Screw that prick Pulpo!” she snapped. “Take me to my friends, or I’m going to feed this asshole’s Adam’s apple to the fish.”
The frightened Cazador soldier glanced from her to Imulah.
“If you do that, your friend Rodger will become pig food,” Imulah said. He arched a brow. “Do you have pigs on those airships? Did your instructor ever tell you what happens when you starve a pig and then offer it human flesh?”
He shook his head. “Not pretty, Magnolia. They pick the bones dry.”
The scribe retreated into the throng of soldiers, and their boots clanked on the metal as they surrounded her.
“Drop the spear, and we will forget about this,” Imulah said.
“And what about him?” she asked, looking down at the water.
“An unfortunate accident, but certainly not the first,” Imulah said. “Come, we have a big day planned.”
Magnolia considered her options. They might just kill her the moment she dropped the spear. Then again, they could kill her now.
The other option was to obey the order and wait for a better opportunity. That would give her time to find out where Rodger, Miles, and X were being held. The legendary diver had fought brilliantly, but there wasn’t much one man could do against such overwhelming force.
“That’s good. Easy now,” Imulah said as she finally lowered the spear.
She handed back the young soldier’s spear and brushed off his shoulder. Then she smiled warmly and punched him in the diaphragm.
“That’s for hitting me earlier,” she said.
The gun barrels swung back up at her, but she knew now that the soldiers’ orders were to keep her alive for their king—ideally, without any holes, bruises, or cuts.
While the soldier doubled over gasping, she stepped to the railing and looked down at the teal-blue water just as the Sea Wolf passed under the tower and into the storage marina.
For a fleeting second, she considered following the man she had killed into the water. If she followed X’s teachings, she might live through the fall, but from this height, she was bound to break something.
No, this was not the moment to try an escape.
She took in a deep breath and strode past Imulah.
“Which way?” she asked.
The soldiers lowered the weapons, and Imulah led the way. He walked back to the open hatch and gestured for her to follow him into a windowless passage lit with sconces.
It still surprised her that these steel platforms had power, but then again, nothing really amazed her now that she had seen the sun for longer than a few seconds.
The soldiers continued through the narrow passageways. All the hatches were open, providing glimpses into the lives of the people who lived here. A few peeks were enough to see that the Metal Islands had a stratified society of haves and have-nots, like on the Hive.