“Nearly there,” he said, squeezing one hand with the other to reassure himself of the fact. Through the windshield, he saw a hurricane of spraying water, churned soil and noise – and all he could think was how much the land was like a woman. She could be ploughed, but any moment her stability could fail, burying him alive.
“How much further?” he snapped.
“Coming up for air now, boss.” Das drew the steering rod towards him, between his knees. “You ready to fire soon as we surface, Mr D’Angelus?”
“Uh-huh.” D’Angelus put a hand on the fat release switch.
“Aim true,” said Jaxx, seated alongside D’Angelus. “Cyber Circus is a cunning creature. Miss the shot and we’ll lose the advantage of a surprise attack.”
“I hear ya.” D’Angelus’s brow hooked. “I hear ya.”
Nim didn’t have much call to visit the living quarters of the pitch crew and the other stage acts. She’d chosen to make her home in the airier maze of the dressing rooms, taking comfort in their light atmosphere, how the flowing white curtains enfolded her. In contrast, the living quarters underneath the canteen platform formed a honeycomb of dark confined little rooms.
She heard the voices of children bundled into the tight spaces by their parents and was thankful.
Standing at the door to Hellequin’s private space, arms bracing the doorframe as the ship seesawed, she saw a room woven from the same tough green fibre and gilt as the rest of the ship. There was a series of vertical nooks into which were tucked the few clothes the soldier owned, including a clothhod suede poncho she’d seen him wear when the air turned cool. The bed was against one wall, a fibrous bulge with a gaze canopy suspended overhead. It surprised her to see her old valet spread-eagled on the bed. Lulu snored in fitful bursts, nosing down into the sage pillow.
Crouched besides a small ammunitions chest, Hellequin followed Nim’s line of sight to the sleeping ladyboy. He gave his attention back to the chest.
“Kid gets nightmares,” he said gruffly. “I let him sleep on my floor when he asks. But he got high on Dazzle Dust last night. I figured he’d be nursing a thick head once he woke so I let him kip in here.”
As if in anticipation of the hangover that awaited him, Lulu whimpered, “No, Sir. Not the rod... hurts... hurts.” He sobbed and tucked himself into a ball of sweaty bedcovers and limbs.
Hellequin scowled as he collected his weapons. “As I said, nightmares.”
Lulu opened his eyes. He cringed against what little light there was inside the dank cabin, lay still a moment then let out a pitiful moan.
“Ah, sweet Saints! My head.” He blinked at Nim. “Mistress Nim? I’ve had such bad dreams. I dreamt blood worms came and took Hellequin.” His gaze moved to the soldier. “But here he is so I guess that was just the Dazzle Dust playing tricks.”
“Yup, just another nightmare.” Hellequin glanced at Nim and they made a secret pact to keep their kidnap secret.
“You gotta get up, Lulu.” Hellequin threw the ladyboy a rock pistol. Lulu jumped when the weapon landed alongside him, but he gripped it firmly and forced himself to sit up.
“Who’s attacking us today?” he asked, shaking back his mane of white-gold dreadlocks. His vanity was marred by a trail of dried spit running from his mouth to his chin.
Hellequin threw a small rock gun over to Nim. He packed a couple of pistols into the back pockets of his pants and hung a rifle off one shoulder by its strap.
The ship lurched. The drone that came from somewhere beyond grew ever louder.
“I don’t know what I’m hearing out there, but it’s not easing my poor sweet head any.” Lulu stood cautiously and brushed down the chemise and pantaloons he wore, his biceps incongruous with his girlish attire.
Hellequin threw him two cloth packs of ammo. The soldier passed Nim packets of smaller grade rock shot.
“Only hope we got is to take the locusts out while they’re flying over the open hull. That way, they’ll fall into the ether below, taking their scent with them. Swarm’ll let us be then.”
“And if the swarm get inside the hold first?” asked Nim, feeding shot into her handgun.
Hellequin stared at her, his steel eye whirring in minute adjustment.
“They won’t,” he said.
“Ain’t those suckerloops put the locusts down yet?” Herb brushed a sleeve over his sweaty forehead, immediately returning the hand to the frilled steering wheel. He blinked lots, as if to clear the dust beyond the viewing pane.
Standing alongside, Asenath sharpened her focus on the swirling grey. She made out a black clot coming gradually into focus.
“Swarm’s coming.” She swallowed. Two-legged enemies she could intimidate and slaughter. But the ways of the black locusts were restricted to eating, shitting and reproduction. And they were arriving en masse.
“This ain’t the best use to put me to.” Asenath glared at Herb, her black eyes brilliant with defiance.
Herb gritted his teeth against the force of the storm, manhandling the ship’s wheel until their flight path evened out. “Okay, okay. Take to the blasted warpath if you must, Jeridian. And you, man!” he barked in the direction of a pitch crew member working to manipulate the great score of levers and switches to the rear of the bridge. “Cook up a great fart of steam. We need to garner strength to power through this storm.”
Calling out to the Jeridian’s retreating back, he added, “You fighting sorts better have the skill and luck to put those locusts down. Otherwise, me, you, the whole darn circus is done for.”
Asenath was holed up in the Gods wearing the stretch string harness that had saved Lulu from many a deadly fall back in the early days of his act. Crouching at the far end of a walkway, she stared down at the circling locusts. The bugs swept around the open hull, their flight choreographed to bring them within millimetres of one another’s wingspan but never touching.
Her gaze fell on the HawkEye soldier who was riding the ascending lift rig. The others in their makeshift gang were newly armed and slotting into position at the canteen platform. The exquisite whore, Nim, tucked in behind a stack of boxes. Lulu knelt nearby, back to the wall. Rust trotted back and forth in front of the table Pig Heart crouched behind. Asenath saw the pitch man indicate Rust aside with a jab of his rifle. Rust was having none of it and carried on weaving in front of her man, a mother protecting her cub.
Asenath prayed to the souls of her kin that these strangers, these carnie folk, would have her back. “Ahoj na vás, Mama Sunstar.” It was the prayer offered by every Jeridian warrior who was about to engage in a battle they’d small chance of winning.
She took a deep breath and, drawing both scimitars, ran halfway along the gangway and leapt off.
Air roared in her ears as she fell. Her stomach rearranged beneath her ribs. One of the giant bugs whirred near. Asenath drew her legs into her belly, condensing herself. She brought one blade down hard on a passing wing. There was a sickening crunch as the keratin armour gave a little – and a sharp ping as a rock slug took out one of the creature’s feelers.
Asenath cursed the pitch crew shooters, muttering, “Pozorný.” Careful.
Her descent was rapid, the stretch string pulling her up just short of the roaring, dust-filled expanse below. She catapulted back up as the string retracted. Chitinous material dusted down as the second locust passed overhead. Seconds later, she rose up level with the bug, lashing out with both scimitars and putting two great rips in one wing.