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For now it was chilly a
nd dank, shielded with a gray sky so low that it touched the city wall in places … draping across it like moss, or an ancient and ragged tablecloth. These wispy, dangling clouds met and commingled with the dense yellow blight gas that filled the wall and sank there, settling on the streets, on the buildings, on the leftover pieces of civilization that had remained outside and exposed.
The Naamah Darling hovered above it while the crew members applied their gas masks, better too early than too late; then the ship descended slowly, carefully down through the clouds, through the fog, through the noxious gas, and puttered toward Fort Decatur.
They did not see the lights from the Chinese lanterns until they were nearly upon them.
The lanterns burned warm and yellow, shaded by red and orange paper, lifted on strings like floaters on a fisherman’s net. These lights invited them—gave them a space to aim toward, and land upon—and the ship followed their suggested path and set down softly, expertly, into the fort’s main square. Surrounded by the tall, pointed trunks of felled trees, the courtyard-type space was impenetrable to Seattle’s walking dead. It was likewise safe from most of the more mindful human invaders, or curiosity seekers, or anyone else who wished to come inside uninvited.
Down the Naamah Darling dropped, and before there was time to affix the craft to the two fallen totem poles that temporarily served as a dock … up from below came the expectant residents of Seattle, to greet the ship and its crew.
Briar Wilkes and Lucy O’Gunning were there, Briar with a smile on her face that could be seen in her eyes behind the visor, and Lucy with a pair of wheeled carts that had been rigged for use in the underground’s rail systems. Lucy was smiling, too, but at the prospect of rum and absinthe. The barwoman reached up and slapped the side of the Naamah Darling, daring the steps beneath it to open, and to hurry up about it, would they?
In response, or more likely as a coincidence of timing, the stairs did indeed come down and Cly descended them first. He ducked his head beneath the overhang and climbed even more quickly upon seeing Briar—who did not run to meet him, but stayed where she was.
Her mask hid most of her face except for those lovely eyes. It was wrapped around her head, pushing down her dark, curly hair with streaks of blight-bleached orange running through it like fine seams of gold in a boulder. Atop that mass of never-quite-contained hair sat her father’s old hat, the one he’d worn as sheriff; she also wore his belt, with the zigzag MW for his initials, and an oversized coat that kept the blight off her skin. It, too, had been taken from his closet, before she’d gone over the wall to make herself at home inside it.
“Captain,” she said.
If he’d been wearing a hat, he would’ve removed it. “Wilkes,” he replied.
“I’m glad you’re home. ”
Later, while Troost, Fang, and Houjin helped Lucy O’Gunning load the spoils of her wish list into the carts, Cly and Briar went downstairs—into the train station, to pass beneath its unfinished ceilings, and to walk the prettily marbled floors with their natural patterns swirling underfoot. All was alight with lamps both gas and electric; the hissing burn of one complementing the crackling fizz of the others, creating an underground chamber that was every bit as bright as a cathedral, and at least half so lovely.
Briar would not have chosen the station for a romantic walk, but Cly had promised Yaozu a report upon his return, and an accounting of both his money and the supplies it had purchased. So together they ambled, not in any real hurry, down a caged shaft via a mechanical lift, and through passageways that had once been meant to shelter incoming rail cars—which had never arrived, and never would.
This station, never completed or used for its intended purpose, now served as headquarters for what Briar considered a nefarious criminal empire … or at least the second incarnation thereof. Yaozu might prove better than Minnericht, or he might not. Regardless, to lend credit where it was due, she could be compelled to admit that King Street Station was a surprisingly clean and comfortable place.
“But that says nothing about the men who keep it that way. ”
“I never said it did,” Cly noted. “It’s nice down here, that’s all. Looks downright civilized—like something you’d find on the outside. ”
“Except for the lack of windows, I’d say you’re right. ” Her mask hung off her belt now—affixed to a leather loop she’d stitched in place for the purpose. It dangled against her thigh, tapping her pants as she walked.
“And Yaozu might not be so bad. In the long run, he’ll be good for this place. ”
“That’s what you think?”
“Maybe I’m wrong, and you’ll get to say ‘I told you so. ’ But he’s helping me stay here. It was his money, mostly, that made the trip possible … and makes it possible to start up the dock I want, there in the fort. ” He did not mention that the rest of the money had come from Josephine, who had paid him—good as her word—upon his departure from the delta.
“Then he’ll want something in return. Men like that, they never give anything away for free. ”
“He’ll get something in return. More commerce. Easier access, coming and going. ”
“Well. I suppose we’ll see. ”
“No one’s asking you to like him. ”
“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t. And I don’t trust him, either. ”
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“More than I ought to,” she said.
“Good. Then trust me to handle my end of things all right, and to keep the bargain from biting me in the ass later on. ”
“All right. I’ll do that. Whatever it takes. ”
