Slave of the Sky Captain, page 1
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Table of Contents
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A Myriad of Worlds
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
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About The Author
A Myriad of Worlds…
This is Slave of the Sky Captain, and is only one of the myriad paths into our bent and Irrational worlds. This bizarre saga follows the exploits of Ysabel Dartange, a young woman of unknown talents, being sold into slavery. In her steampunk world, ancient powers and fell lore war against one another in the midst of a city on the verge of collapse.
Ysabel’s story is a strand in The Paean of Sundered Dreams, a multiverse-spanning array of tales.
Some of the strands are technothrillers, some dark fantasy, and some Lovecraftian steampunk, but they weft and weave together, each entwined in that same horrific battle.
Each tale echoes that same beating heart of darkness that beckons from the forsaken shadows.
If you cannot rest until every secret is exposed, if you long to travel this wide and vast multiverse to learn things man was never meant to know…
Welcome, wayward wanderer.
This was written for you.
Slave of the Sky Captain
JM Guillen
Irrational Worlds
Calyptin Station
Cæstre
Remnants of Eld Riog
Year 5170 of the Gilded Aetas
Calyptin Station stood as a collection of broken spires of crystal, brass, and inoxydable steel, the last outpost before the wastes. Beyond, emptiness and madness beckoned under a lurid sky.
Lightning flashed blood red and angry in that impossible distance. Moments after, thunder grumbled and the world trembled. The lightning came again, red light flickering through the window.
Good, I hoped it lent a terrible fire to my eyes.
“You’ll be letting him go.” I hefted the small axe in my hands, fury boiling in my heart. The men had no idea I was even in the room, since they had been so focused on their “discussion.” Royce had my da pinned against the wall next to our kiln; he’d been whispering something to him in sharp, intense bursts.
For a long moment, the room fell silent.
“Ysabel…” My da’s voice absolutely dripped with despair. He looked so small there, so weak and frightened, pinned against the wall.
“Watch yerself, girl.” Royce squeezed just a touch, and my father gurgled. “It’s not as if I came alone.”
Of course.
Ogrim loomed in the corner, a huge, shadowed hulk of a man who looked as if he could crush me with one fist. He nodded as I glanced at him, a casual bob that the gargantuan man might have made on the street.
Good day, that nod said. Don’t mind me, just passing through.
“Let. Him. Go.” I raised the axe and gave them a wide, sharp smile.
Royce contemplated me, as if he believed I might charge across the room and slash him like a wild woman.
I’ll admit I was pleased at Royce’s discomfiture.
“I’m not toying, Royce.” Either of them could simply grab me and cart me off, but maybe the axe would lend weight to my argument. “Drop him.”
“Maybe I will.” A wide, leering grin spread across his face. While holding my father’s neck with one thick hand, Royce backhanded him fiercely. When he released my da, I watched my father slump to the floor moaning.
“There.” Royce smirked at me. “I let him go. Drop the axe.”
“Royce.” My father begged. “Please don’t take—”
“Shut up, scutmouth. We’re done with you.” Royce turned back to me, grinning. “I said drop the chopper, girl. Lest you want me to pick up yer old man again?”
“No.” I lowered the axe but didn’t set it aside. “You need to leave.”
“Now that”—feigned sorrow dripped from Royce’s crooked mouth—“we can’t do. I’m afraid yer ol’ da owes me a bit much, Ysabel. I can’t let him slide. It’s bad for business.” To Ogrim he asked, “Isn’t that right?”
“Bad fer business.” Ogrim nodded. “Let’s the wrong kinda folke get the wrong kinda ideas.”
“Da?” I glowered at my father. “Is this true? Again?”
“Ysabel, I—”
“Why do you even ask?” Royce took a step closer, and I could smell the sweet tabac wafting off him. “You know it is, sweetling. Yer old man can’t stop, don’ matter whether it’s tiles or cards.”
My da wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“How much does he owe you?” My thoughts stepped to my small but valuable library. Those books were easily worth—
“Too much.” Royce’s tone defied my hopes like stalwart iron. “More than this little hovel is worth.” He shrugged, a little too casually. “That’s what this little palaver is all about, sweetling.”
“Ysabel.” My da pushed himself upright against the wall. “You don’t have to—”
Royce issued one withering glance, and my father shut his yap.
“’Ere’s the deal, sweetling.” Royce sighed and held up thick, grubby fingers. “If yer ol’ man here had my money, that’d be one thing. But it’s not littlecoin this time. He owes me paper certs.”
“Oh. Oh, Da.” My eyes widened as I looked at my father, crumpled on the floor. I knew the story without being told. My da had been rambling on about his plans only a few nights before. It was always the same wild, reckless, very expensive fantasy.
“Teredon, my girl.” Da always went on after he had a few, gone eloquent with drink-dreams. “We’ll buy our way past the Riogiin lines and from there it’s a straight shot.”
“Yes, Da.” I hadn’t looked up from my book. It had been the same story since I was bitty, though, so I knew how to play along.
“They’ve got it square in Teredon.” He more mused the words than spoke them. “We’ll get our certificates and credentials, all official like. The rest of the world can fall apart.” He waved generally in the direction of the hinterlands, wobbling as he did. “We’ll be long gone.”
He oft gambled in hopes of that money but lost every time.
Yet I had believed him. For years we shared that wonderful dream. He would get us away from this crumbling city, save us from the pirates and the harriers and the bent things gibbering in the dark storms.
In the back of my heart, his little girl believed him still.
“So I was thinking as I was on my way over.” Royce turned toward me, his gaze like cold grease on my skin. “He doesn’t have the money. This little hovel ain’t worth half what I’m owed.” A wicked smile lurked in his eyes. “I can appropriate him as a debtslave, but he ain’t worth much. Be easier to throw him beyond the bounds. Let the gloaming storms have him.”
As Royce spoke, horror crawled through Da’s expression, but I couldn’t imagine what had stricken him so—
Then Royce lay a hand on me, his thick fingers tracing along my side. His hands were more than a touch friendly, and his chuckle came low and wicked.
“Then, I think, maybe this toffer has another way to pay his debts.”
Oh!
I turned to Royce, feeling serpentine waves of revulsion roiling through me. His eyes were bloodshot and dim, hidden behind dingy spectacles. He had teeth long yellowed from his tabac habit and the slightly vinegary tang of a man who couldn’t say no to a drink or seven.
“You won’t touch me.” My tone could have frozen a lake. “Or you’ll lose some fingers. I’ll chop ’em off and feed ’em to the tainted cavy-rats.”
“Ysabel.” His tone dripped, syrupy yet buttery smooth. “I’m here on business.”
He continued eyeing me like a prime cut of meat.
How my father could stand to be around him so much eluded me. Of course Royce owned half the exchequers in the northern Spire of Grand Essieus and ran a quarter of the gaming transactions therein, so perhaps my da saw only the golden sheen of the man’s clink.
My father was such a botcher. He never could see past the obvious.
“You want…” I let my words trail off, finding it impossible to meet the man’s gaze. Just thinking of his hands on me, his lips on my skin, made me want to retch.
“I want things square.” He gave me a wide, leering smile. “Just as you do. Let’s look you over, shall we, girlie?”
My skin grew clammy as he walked around me, his eyes like lashes of fetid desire. He paused behind me, pawing a bit while I bit my lip.
“Ysabel.” My father’s voice was soft, heartbroken. “I never meant—”
This time, Royce didn’t speak. At some flickering motion from him, Ogrim stepped across the room and launched a huge foot into my da’s midsection. He grunted loudly, a
“I hope you get whore’s pox.” I breathed the words, seething, as Ogrim stood menacingly over my father. “I hope you die hurting and can’t find the wind to scream.”
“Yes, yes.” Royce stepped around me and gave me a lingering caress over the curve of my breast. “I think you may be just what I’m looking for, Ysabel.”
“Is that so?” I turned to him, all spite and fire. In the far-flung distance, I heard the thunder again and gave the man a feral grin. “You want to bend me over so my backside can pay for my father’s mistakes? Is it that hard for the gambol-head to find a bedwarmer?”
“What?” Royce barked an incredulous laugh. “Lost gods, no.” He turned merrily to Ogrim, who had a stupid grin on his face. “Thinks a lot of her purity, doesn’t she, Ogrim?”
“A far lot.” Ogrim chuckled, then spat on my mostly-clean floor.
“Ysabel, you’d be a sweet bit of fun, but a tup of your pretty mouth isn’t worth more than this hovel.” With a sleazy smile, he reached for my face, trailing his dirty fingers along my cheek. “Although, almost…”
I jerked away, my eyes angry.
“What then?” My voice dropped quieter, though my heart began to pound. If he didn’t want a roll, then…
Realization, like a wet trickle of despair, washed over me. He had said that my da would be useless as a debtslave. Me, on the other hand?
The studiousness in Royce’s eyes confirmed that fear.
“You’re a sweetmeat, Ysabel. It’s business.” He shrugged. “Ol’ Royce hears things, and lately he hears about a mysterious coin-purse that has an eye out for a lil’ something special.” Royce turned my head from side to side, peering at me from behind the tiny, round spectacles perched on his pointed nose.
“A debtslave.” I whispered the words, horror climbing along my back.
“You or him.” He shrugged. “Thought long on that one. If I appropriated him, I’d cut off his hands and throw him into the hinters. Let the taint have him.” He turned to Ogrim. “You think any ingrates would forget to pay me after that?”
“No, ser.” Ogrim leered. “Cain’t say that I do.”
“But you?” Royce gave me a wide smile. “You might even fetch more coin at the Downs Market than your ragman father owes me. Otherwise, that sweet mouth of yours could still make me more glimmer than half the games at the Spire do.”
Breathe. I unclenched my fist and paused for a long, drifting moment, my gears spinning. My eyes flickered from Royce to my da.
“I don’t have much choice.” I fixed the weasel with a glare.
“No.” Behind me, my father sounded like misery taken form. “No, Ysabel, don’t.”
Ogrim kicked him again, and for a moment my knuckles clenched white on the handle of the axe.
“What about my da?” Trembling, I could scarcely contain my rage. “Tell me true, Royce.”
“Your da and I will be square.” He gave me a sharp smile. “Square as can be.”
“You’ll set your mark to it.” I leveled my gaze to his. “You’ll sign a quitclaim writ.”
“I will.” He nodded to Ogrim, who lifted a small, bookish, leather satchel that had been tossed in the corner. “I jus’ so happen to have everything we need.”
Royce had come prepared. Ogrim brought the hardback over to him while my father moaned piteously on the floor. Royce took the hardback, sat out the ink and steelpoint pen, then ruffled through a sheaf of loose papers.
“It’s all simple like. Here’s my quitclaim writ.” He showed me the form. “And here’s your surrender of citizenry.”
Just a glance at the forms knocked me cross-eyed.
I had been reading since I was four, better read than my elders, but these documents contained a dizzying array of legal terms, fine print, and lines for honorary signatures. Royce handed the surrender form to me and then began filling out the quitclaim form.
“I need a solicitor.” I peered at the jumble of words, my heart pounding in my chest. Several seals of approval gleamed on the paper. I glared up at Royce. “You don’t expect me to just sign this, do you?”
“Well, sweetling.” He sighed. “Then the easiest thing is to jus’ appropriate ol’ Alman here”—he gestured toward my father—“and toss him beyond the bounds.” He shrugged. “It’s my full and legal right, Ysabel, and that’s about all yer ol’ man is good for, I’m afraid.”
“An example.” Ogrim’s voice stayed low.
“Yes. Exactly.” Royce pointed toward Ogrim but didn’t look at the large man. “An example.”
“But the moment I sign this…” My voice trailed off as I read the papers.
“Oh, yes, I own you.” Royce was nothing if not certain. “I would allow you more time to decide, but when I came back tomorrow, I’d find an empty little hovel, wouldn’t I?”
Too right he would.
“So,” he continued, intent on the quitclaim. “It’s your will. Either I leave here with you and your pride now, or I take Alman. I’m a fair man; it’s your choice.”
Man. I sneered at the word. The mangy weasel hardly deserved the title. Just a creepy, handsy, mangy weasel.
I couldn’t help but think that I was holding a third choice in the form of an axe. If I buried it in Royce’s face, then he didn’t have any claim, did he?
But that would never work. Even if I downed Royce, I’d still face Ogrim. And if Ogrim lived, we would all be in the Court Judicia before day’s end. Since murder was punished with banishment past the bounds, it ended with the same fate for my da.
“Let me talk with him.” My words filled with bite and regret. “Give us a moment, and then I’ll come along.”
“Ysabel!” My father’s voice was stricken, but I didn’t spare him a glance.
“You’ll come? All peaceable?” Royce burst into a cautious grin.
“Let us talk,” I repeated, my tone low. “You’re right. I have two choices, and I’ll do the proper thing.” I glared at him. “Give us a moment.”
Royce sniffed as he regarded me for a long moment, the gears turning in his head. Then, he gave me a small smile.
“Fine.” He waved to Ogrim and jerked his head toward the door. “A moment. Then we’ll be back.” He leveled his gaze at me. “No sneakiness, sweetness.”
“No sneakiness.” I nodded, again imagining the axe blade buried in his face.
Then, with a single glance over his shoulder, Royce left, taking his man with him.
“Ysabel, you can’t.” My father pushed himself upright. “Let them take me. I’m old—”
“You’re an old fool is what you are.” I helped him up. “Shut up and listen, Da.”
He grunted, obviously in pain from his rough treatment.
“You’ve got a stack of clink just waiting for you in the other room on my shelves. I want you to—”
“I won’t sell your books over this.” His words were liquid sorrow.
I shushed him with a finger over his lips.
“Da, you can’t believe I’m going to stay with these toffers. I’ll go, but I won’t stay.” I gave him a wink. “I’ll make away as soon as I can. But when I do, they’ll come back for you. You’ve got to be gone.”
“Gone.” He shook his head, as if I was telling him to grow wings and fly away. “How do you tally that?”
“Take my books. The moment we leave here, you take them to the Clinkdowns. Sell them for whatever you can get. There should be enough to buy you passage inland.”
“Teredon.” He whispered the word, his eyes hopeless. “Only enough for one.”
“One’s all we need.” I gave him a smile that showed more confidence than I felt. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Ysabel, you don’t know what these men will do.”
“No, Da.” I sighed. “I’m quite sure I do.”
My life, short and rude as it had been, was over. All due to my da’s wild dreams, I faced the rich and fabulous life of a debtslave, a fancified way of saying I was about to become an unpaid whore.
Until I made away, that was.
“Sell the books.” My voice firm, I wondered off-handedly when I had become our decision-maker. “Get to Teredon.” I kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll see you there.”
“C’mon, sweetmeats,” Ogrim grumbled as he stepped back into the small room. “I gotta get home sometime.”
