Iron Codex 2 - The Nightmare Garden (6 page)

Windhaven moved slowly, but it did move. I could feel the barest vibration of motion from where I sat at the bare desk, spatters of ink coating the pale surface.

I searched the drawers and found a mechanical pencil. It would have to do. I flipped open my battered notebook and sketched out the symbols I’d seen from memory. Underneath I scribbled
Erlkin symbols as seen at Windhaven
.

My father had never run into the Erlkin, except once. They’d taken him into the Mists, like they had Conrad, before the Fae could get to him.

But were they the same smugglers who had gotten Conrad into trouble? Or had it been someone else, someone who had allowed my father to escape the Fae? I didn’t know, nor did I know where my father was now.

I started an entry on the next page. Writing at least gave me something to occupy my mind, rather than fretting over what would happen when the door opened again. Fretting rarely did anyone any good.

*  *  *

The sound of the hatch wheel spinning alerted me, and I jammed the pencil back into the drawer and my notebook back into my bag. When the hatch opened, I was sitting primly, my ankles crossed and my hands folded, like the star of any comportment class.

A single Erlkin entered, and I tried not to stare. She was nearly as tall as Skip, with twin braids running from her temples down her back, thin and tight as bullwhips. Her clothes were a simple olive drab jacket with a double row of silver buttons and tight military pants tucked into steam ventor’s boots like the ones Dean wore, steel toes gleaming and the leather spit-polished.

“Aoife Grayson, I gather,” she said. She gestured at me with a long-fingered hand. “Stand up.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, more in surprise that she was being so businesslike about taking me prisoner than anything else. “Why?”

Her lip twitched, and I could tell she wasn’t used to being questioned when she gave an order. “Get up, you wretched girl,” she said, and grabbed my arm, hefting me easily out of the chair. I wasn’t big, and she was, and strong besides. “I just want to get a look at you.” She took my chin between her thumb and forefinger and turned my head from side to side. “Skinny,” she said, “but not too skinny. Not a pale-faced wreck, either. That hair—that hair is most definitely human.”

I flushed, even though my grooming or lack thereof should have been the furthest thing from my mind. My black curls had been a gift from my father—my mother had
hair as sleek and golden as a lion’s pelt. Back at the Academy, my hair had been one of my primary worries. Things sure did change. “I’ve been in the wind.”

“And a sense of humor,” the Erlkin marveled. “You pass very well. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a sweet little human.” Her grip on my chin tightened, and I felt her fingernails dig into my skin. “But you’re not, are you? You’re a filthy quicksilver-blood changeling.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.” My voice rose on the last word, but I tried to keep the fear there and not let it creep into my face. She knew what I was. Who I was. And I had no idea what the Erlkin did to people like me.

The woman smiled. It was cold, like watching the steel of a switchblade pop out. “I’m Shard. Dean’s mother.”

I stayed frozen, not making eye contact. After a time, Shard tilted her head. “Got anything to say for yourself, Aoife?”

The first thing that came to mind made my stomach drop out, as if Windhaven had begun to plummet from the sky. It was a horrifying thought, but it was entirely possible, seeing as Dean shared half his blood with the Erlkin, just as I shared mine with the Fae. “Dean told you about me. What I am.”

“Hmm?”
Shard shook her head, her smile softening a degree so that she no longer looked like she was about to eat me. “He didn’t tell me a thing, dear. I smell it on you, like sewer filth.”

I twitched back a step from Shard. She could have passed for human. Though her features were sharp and ethereal, she didn’t have the predatory quality shared by most of
the Erlkin I’d seen, with bones jutting from their faces like they’d been specially made to frighten anyone who looked at them. But she was more terrifying than Skip and his cronies by an order of ten. “I … smell? Strange?”

“I was a tracker, dear,” Shard said. “I spent my days chasing down fugitives and slipstreamers. You stink like a Fae, but you don’t look like one. You’re a changeling.
Half-breed
is probably the right word.”

“I don’t like that word,” I told her angrily. How dare Shard pass judgment on my family? She didn’t even know us. I was guilty of being gullible and trusting, it was true, but I wasn’t the enemy. Shard let go of my face, giving my cheek a pat that stopped just shy of being a slap. I flinched, and felt like the worst sort of frightened, shrinking girl.

“I don’t give a damn what you like, dear. You brought the shadow of the Fae here. You and that brother of yours.” She folded her arms and regarded me. “You’re lucky Nails is taken with you. Otherwise, you’d be over the side of Windhaven without a second thought.”

With that, she opened the door and gestured me out of the makeshift cell. “Come on,” she snapped, when I hesitated. “We’re not barbarians. Get moving and clean yourself up. That Fae stench is bad enough without your generally unwashed state on top of it.”

Shard led me up another ladder, down another set of halls and to a hatch that was less rusted, and painted with a number rather than one of the cryptic symbols. “You should be comfortable here.” She appraised me. “You’re the size of one of my lieutenants. I’ll have some clothes sent over for you.”

She opened the hatch and waited until I was inside, when she promptly shut and locked it again.

It was a better class of cell, but I was still a prisoner, and I had no idea what was happening to Dean, Conrad and the others. I slung my bag down and took in my new surroundings, sitting on the carpet and wrapping my arms around my legs. I was alone—I felt I was entitled to have a few seconds of pure panic and shaking before I got myself together and tried to find a way out.

Shard hadn’t outright condemned me, but it was clear Conrad and I weren’t welcome. The sooner we were away from these hostile Erlkin, the better.

I breathed in, breathed out and willed my heartbeat to slow down. After a moment, I stood up and examined the room. I would cope. I’d use my brain and get us out of here. It was what I did. Iron or not, I had to keep myself together for just a little longer.

The room was cramped, the ceiling following the curve of Windhaven’s hull, the base of the floating city that held up the spires above, and the bunk barely looked long enough for me to fit into. There was one empty closet and a desk barely larger than a single sheet of paper. A thin door opened onto a water closet with a steam hob and copper covering the walls in one corner, sloping down to a drain so that I could wash standing up.

Otherwise, it was only me and my things.

First things first—I took out my notebook and pried the cover off the air-shaft vent above the door, standing on the desk to reach it. I slipped the notebook inside and slid the vent cover back in place. Knowing that no one would happen upon my writing if they searched the room while I was gone made the tightness in my gut relax a little. I’d gotten very good at hiding things, living under the Proctors—searches
for contraband had been practically weekly at the Academy, and with a brother who was a wanted heretic, who sent me letters that I couldn’t bear to throw away, a foolproof hiding place in my dorm room had been essential.

Next thing—I had to find a way out of here under my own power. I wouldn’t be at the mercy of the Erlkin when they so clearly mistrusted me. Besides, I couldn’t waste time at Windhaven—I had to keep my plan in motion. Evade my pursuers, go back to Lovecraft and get my mother.

Once she was safe, I could come up with a cunning plan, like the heroine of some adventure play, to set right what had happened in Lovecraft. I could find a way to outsmart the Fae and reverse the shattering of the Iron Land’s Gate, the only protection ordinary humans had. I might even find a way to stave off iron madness a little longer.

I wished Dean were in the room with me. He was good for telling my ideas to, no matter how far-fetched they were. Dean was a believer in doing the impossible, which he was usually convinced needed only a little push from my brain and his charm to become possible. He had more confidence in me than I did, most days. I could have used his hand in mine, his wiry arms around me, the shine of his silver eyes. I could have used a moment pressed against his chest, smelling leather and tobacco.

I had begun to need Dean. But he wasn’t here. So I was going to have to do this one on my own.

Portholes were an obvious choice. I checked the one above the bed. It was latched but not locked, yet when I looked I saw only the slick riveted side of the hull above and below and small pieces of iron to the side, on flexible springs. Designed, I thought, to increase or decrease drag
and enable Windhaven to turn. It really was a miraculous thing, this flying city. Not my city, though. Not where I needed to be.

At any rate, the small rudders were too far away to be of any use. The wind would peel me off the side of the craft and toss me to the swampy ground of this place before I could even think of grabbing for one.

That left the door. The idea made sense on paper, but in reality, the place was lousy with Erlkin on the other side. Plus, I had no idea about the layout of the underside of Windhaven, the myriad tunnels and hatches that comprised the bulk of the flying fortress, so if I did manage to get out, I’d be running blind.

Still, I went to the door and eased my forehead against it. My Weird responded to the locks and the mechanisms in the wall, to the gears that vibrated throughout Windhaven.

It would be easy to slip the lock, and I splayed my fingers against the metal. Pressure built in my skull, my mind aligning itself with the thing that lived in my blood, which could talk to machines and make them its disciples.

When the hatch wheel unlocked and started to turn, I let out a small sound and jumped back onto the bed just as the door swung open.

An Erlkin about my size came in, holding a uniform over her arm. “You Aoife?”

I nodded. “Who are you?”

She curled her lip at me. “Captain Shard told me to bring you clean clothes.” She tossed them onto the bed next to me.

“Thank you,” I said, with a game smile. I really wanted to return her glare, but I was the prisoner, and I wanted the
Erlkin to think I was harmless. Well, less harmful than Conrad, anyway. At least until I figured out how much trouble we were actually in.

“Half-breed,” the Erlkin spat at me, and then left, the hatch slamming shut behind her retreating back.

I slumped on my bed next to the clothes, shoving them aside to give myself space. The hull vibrated gently, and I leaned into it. I was exhausted, and being in a place that wasn’t an abandoned farmhouse or the crook of a tree was lulling me to sleep.

I tried to stay awake and think of more plans to get Conrad out of trouble, but sleep stole my senses, and soon I was deep under the waves of dreaming.

The Sea of Dreams