Ganymede (The Clockwork Century 3)

“It’s a shame it cost you a couple extra holes. ”

Deaderick said, “Every day’s a risk. I was bound to take a scratch eventually, and this one didn’t kill me—so there’s something to be thankful for. ”

“True, true. ”

The guerrilla continued. “Ganymede’s outside surface isn’t black, but it’s such a dark brown, it might as well be. It matches the lake bottom just about perfect, especially if there’s been a storm of any kind. Then all the dead grass and moss, all that swampy stuff, it gets stirred up and pools on the surface. It’s damn near perfect camouflage. ”

“Like the tents you’ve got, out in the camp,” Troost noted. “You could look down from the sky and never notice a thing on the ground. It’s nicely done. ”

“Thanks. And it has to be nicely done, otherwise we’d be dead by now. That’s the first thing I learned when I joined the bayou boys a couple years ago. Our technology isn’t everything, but it’s second only to our wits when it comes to keeping us alive. Sometimes it’s hell to maintain. Wet as it is out here, we have to paint everything over and over again, to keep it from rusting. ”

Houjin finally withdrew his face from the mask at the mirrorscope. “But paint won’t keep rust away. Not forever. ”

Deaderick said, “We use what Texas puts on its naval skimmers and the like. It’s made with a few extra ingredients, and it keeps things more waterproof than not. Still, we have to keep layering up the coats to keep things straight. ”

The boy gave this a moment of consideration, and then said, “It’s a good thing Texas uses so much brown. ”

Early laughed. “You’re right abo

ut that! We steal most of what we use, but they don’t ever notice it’s missing. ”

“So when do we get to try and—” Houjin hunted for a word. “—drive it?”

“We should wait until later in the afternoon, at least. Let the shadows get good and long, and take some time to sit around with our operators. We can teach you everything we know about making this fish swim, and then I’ll hand you over to Wallace Mumler,” Deaderick said to the captain in particular.

“What can he tell us?”

“Wally’s been busy making maps—but not maps of the land. Maps of the water, of the lake out at this end, and of the Mississippi. ”

Cly settled gingerly into the captain’s chair, spinning it with his knees so that he could face Deaderick, sitting up in the entrance portal. “Getting Ganymede through water won’t be as simple as flying at night. ”

“The currents won’t be very different—air and water, they move in a similar way. And you can actually see the water gusting around, and sometimes you can tell which way it’s pushing just by looking. But it’s true, the sky doesn’t have much in the way of obstacles, I wouldn’t think … except maybe other ships, sometimes. Hidden in the clouds. ”

“That hardly ever happens, but I’ve heard of it—once in a while. And I’ve sailed right into a flock of birds once or twice, but I bet that’s not half as bad as the shipwrecks, charges, and other boats waiting at the bottom of a river. ”

“You’re betting right. You’ll be piloting more blind than not. They don’t call it the Muddy Mississippi for nothing. Everything is a danger, something to be run aground on. Uneven spots on the bottom, sunken trees, boulders, roots, and worse. And out on the river, you won’t just be hiding from the forts, you’ll be hiding from commercial vessels. Mostly they’re flat-bottomed things, riverboats and barges, which you’ll need to dive beneath, or dodge. We’ll have men on the river who’ll help out as much as they can, guiding you from the topside.

“But you have to understand, once you’re sealed up inside this thing, there’s no good way to communicate with the rest of us. You’ll be on your own—no speaking amplifiers like the Texians use, or anything like that. And if you run into trouble, we might not be able to help. ”

Cly squeezed the arms of the captain’s chair and looked at each of his crewmen in turn. Fang, first mate. Sitting in the next seat over already, as if he’d assumed it’d play this way all along. Kirby Troost, standing by the bay doors that led to the engines, to the blast charges, and the rest, looking like he wasn’t 100 percent certain of this after all, but was unwilling to say so. And then there was Houjin, one hand resting on the pivot handle for the mirrorscope, his face beaming with excitement because the risks meant little to him. Even if he understood them as well as he thought he did, obliviousness to death was the privilege of the young.

“Well?” Deaderick asked. “What do you say?”

Captain Cly replied, “I say it’s time for supper almost. Let’s have a bite to eat, then spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know this thing. ”

Ten

Josephine waited on the bayou dock between Wallace Mumler and Chester Fishwick, with Anderson Worth, Honeyfolk Rathburn, Dr. Polk, and Deaderick Early standing by. Much as Deaderick had wanted to ride along, his sister and his doctor had given him such grief about it that eventually he’d decided it’d be easier to do as they said.

Josephine didn’t enjoy treating him like a child, but men were childlike when they were sick or injured—she knew that for a fact, and sometimes it was simply easier to insist, so long as it was for his own good. She would have done anything to keep him safe, and she suspected he would do whatever he wanted the moment her back was turned.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His arms were folded across his chest, one of them held a bit awkwardly because of the bandage. His injuries could have been much worse, and so far, nothing had begun to fester. His strength was returning with his appetite, and though he shouldn’t have been up and around so much—he should’ve been resting, damn him—she had to admit that for a man who’d taken two bits of lead, he looked very well.

Still, she eyed him constantly, looking for signs of weakness or a worsening state. Every breath that came with less than perfect ease, every small stumble, every wince and cringe … she cataloged them in her head and played them over and over again, constantly trying to assure herself that all was well, and he was fine.

He was a cat with eight lives left. Or seven: one lopped off the total for each bullet.

Together the small group watched the water where Ganymede was once again fully submerged. Sealed inside it were Captain Cly, Fang, Houjin, Kirby Troost, and Rucker Little—who had volunteered, knowing the risks. If anything, he knew them better than the Naamah Darling’s crew.