 
# Kasia

# The Codex Of The Witch Series

A Steam Fantasy Novel

Published by Federico Negri at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Federico Negri

Translated from Italian by Chris Tamigi

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This ebook may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this ebook, please return to smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your endless support.

#

# PROLOGUE

Sadhi raises the hammer and lets it fall once more against the metal structure. Her eyes are clouded by exhaustion and burn in the dry mountain air. Today she made it to the pond only once to bathe herself, and her grimy skin cries out for water.

The huge frame of the flying machine they're constructing is starting to take shape. In her simple mind, Sadhi is unable to imagine what its final contours will be like or why it is necessary to carefully rivet every corner of the structure. But inside herself lurks the urgent need to strike and restrike every dowel, as she was asked. As he asked her, with a soft pat on the back, a few days earlier.

And today that touch still suffices to drive her to lift that damned hammer once again, such is the joy and affection infused in her veins.

If she turns her gaze upward, up among the wooden gangplanks on which a hundred of her kind were working themselves breathless, she could catch sight of him or at least guess at his kind reassuring presence. And thus find in her heart the reserve to strike another blow. But it's too late now, they have to raise anchor.

# KASIA

## PART ONE: UNWANTED BARGAIN

"My beautiful lady, my Captain!"

Kasia looks up toward the merchant who accosted her, in English. Passing for German is out of the question, not even among the market stalls, however the man hit the mark with his epithet. Kasia always comforted herself by attracting the eyes of men, having to forego anything more for three hundred sixty-four days a year. And being a witch helped a lot.

"An ancient lamp, eh?"

The merchant holds his hands together, rubbing them with short movements. A greasy hood covers his hair, thin as straw.

She grabs the object and weighs it in her palm. "Why should I buy it?" she asks.

"It belonged to an alchemist," the man says waving his hands. "Very, very ancient, eh?"

"I bought five candlesticks here years ago before the war. You were just a thin little boy then; your father was manning the stall," Kasia answers. With a finger, she caresses the object's curves, trying to guess at its occult qualities.

The man raises his eyebrows. "Ah, my beautiful lady! Yes, I remember. You haven't changed at all, you look even younger."

"Your goods at the time proved to be of excellent quality. My clients admired them. We could do business together. Give me an object as a sample, something like this lamp, that way I can show it up north where there are appraisers for these types of relics."

"A good idea! A great idea, Captain! But, a sample... I don't know. I had an offer for that lamp yesterday."

"A hundred and ten pieces, and it still stands." Another man approaches the stall and stops beside Kasia.

"Leonardo!" Kasia exclaims, spreading her arms.

The newcomer curves his wide, blonde moustache and breaks into a smile, the same smile deceiving half the women of Europe. They gently embrace, and Kasia gives him a few pats on his cowhide coat. He is a hearty man, with a prominent paunch and a strong smell of tobacco about him, mixed with some floral essence. Kasia steps back a hand's width. The perfume is coming off his bright white shirt with a starched collar.

It stands in contrast to Kasia's dark smock, with a stain of lubricating oil running down the seam to her elbow. Damned maintenance, forever tinkering with gears and belts when they ought to be replaced.

The witch withdraws her hand behind her back and adds, "Leonardo, I didn't think you'd be here."

"My airship was supposed to leave last week. Then I heard you were on your way so I decided to wait."

"Yes, I'm sure. You're probably sticking around to collect some debt, or because of the attentions of some blonde valkyrie."

"My only love rejects me" He whistles, looking toward the sky with faraway eyes.

Kasia laughs. "Fool. I'm not your type."

"Were we speaking about you?"

"Oh, my infallible intuition has failed me?" Kasia raises a hand to her mouth.

The man chuckles, keeping his big bright irises fixed upon her. Then he continues, "I'd like to buy you a drink. After all, I waited a whole week for you, just to have you deny me. It's a bit much, isn't it?"

Kasia narrows her eyes, so as to put him in clearer focus. What is this dandy plotting?

Leonardo is a pleasant enough companion among the stalls of this market or that. A weapons expert and a dealer in art—for which you can ask his opinion, considering it carefully, of course, but he's fairly trustworthy. What's more, he knows she's a witch. At the Dresden tribunal, where he testified in her favor, they properly declaimed her particulars: Kasia Santuini, nationality: English. Identified as a Witch by the Amsterdam special tribunal. At the time Leonardo had only raised an eyebrow, but afterward he returned to the subject several times, trying to coax out trivial little details and information.

Leo jerks his head a half inch in the direction of the salesman behind the counter; not all discussions can be had in public.

A witch never says no to a good deal. Kasia puts her arm in his and whispers, "Then I suppose I can't refuse."

"Hey, what about the lamp!" the merchant persists, but the two abandon it with a smile and start off along the Walkway, ignoring other calls from merchants hungry for deals.

Frank Fort is an old city, clinging to ancient ruins which date back to the dawn of time when men were powerful as gods and traversed the Earth by air and by sea, masters of their world and lords of hyper-technological machines. That brilliant age has passed, faded by millennia of shadows, leaving humanity with rusty vestiges and the struggle to survive, in a world turned hostile.

A cloth merchant places a royal purple brocade, inlaid with gold, between Kasia's fingers, "It's Venetian, madam. I got it from a dying prince, on the street of Gran Bernardo," he whispers into her ear.

Kasia smiles, but passes him by. The hold of her airship has already reached its weight limit and the roll of cloth is a deal wanting careful consideration, a bit outside her area of expertise.

Leo leads her toward the dark wooden door of one of the many beer halls that enliven the market stratum. A puff of steam, smelling of roast pig, escapes from the door, together with the voices of patrons and the clatter of cups and dishes. The environment is crowded with people and the air is saturated with smoke and mixed aromas, of food and burning wood, but also of warm humanity.

By means of shoves and apologies, Leo manages to sit himself at a small round table, stone, supported by four thin legs of burnished metal. Kasia squeezes herself onto the stool, her back almost leaning against that of the patron seated at the table behind her.

"So, big man," she begins, "what duties have kept you here?"

"The pleasure of your company," Leo insists, seeking out the waitress with his gaze.

"Swiss men are all liars."

"It's true, but I'm only half Swiss." Leo raises two fingers toward the counter, aimed at a little girl with bare arms emerging behind her rubber apron.

"So you can trust me," he continues, arching the two blonde forests that sit in place of his eyebrows, "at least half way."

Kasia looks around. The man amuses her, but this morning she doesn't have time for diversions. Her sisters are readying the airship; anything beyond a reasonable delay wouldn't be advisable with them waiting there, if only to save herself from a host of grumbling.

The waitress maneuvers between the guts of two large men who laugh vulgarly through their oily beards. Their tankards clink together in a wordless toast and the hand of one of the two lingers for a few seconds around the girl's waist, feeling under the rubber apron. She finally manages to wriggle free, to arrive at the table with the tankards, her cheeks burning and her hair stuck to her temples with sweat.

"Sir, madam," she says with a shrill voice and a cat-like darting of her eyes piquing Kasia's curiosity. "That will be six pieces."

She studies the girl while Leo rifles through his purse. Beneath the apron she wears only a soiled sleeveless dress which ends a little above her knees. Her bare feet are enclosed in two wooden clogs, held tight by black leather straps. An orphan or a refugee, a child of the war, who works like a slave for the tavern keeper from sunrise to sunset, to earn a piece of moldy bread. And who might also have to warm his bed at night.

But her eyes can't lie. The witch stretches out a hand, in order to grasp the young woman's wrist with two fingers.

The girl looks at her with eyes open wide and tries to pull back, but Kasia has a firm grip and closes her eyelids to concentrate.

There's a trembling in this girl, but it's weak. Maybe she's too old to be trained, she must be at least fourteen or fifteen. Or maybe she's just tired. Kasia lets go of her.

"Why did you grab my wrist?" the scullery maid squeals.

"Because you are a good girl," says Leo, handing her the money. "And my friend adores good girls."

The waitress look at both of them as if they're insane and dives back into the crowd.

"Always on the lookout, eh?" says Leo, raising his cup slightly.

"Absolutely not," responds Kasia, tapping the rim of his goblet. "My crew is full and I can't afford another mouth to feed. She stirred my curiosity, that's all."

"So how goes business? You've been on the go for a year and half, correct? Give or take a month."

"Yes," Kasia answers. "We left June of last year. Business, bah... it goes. The problem is the line of credit. We need to race from one port to another just so we don't get swallowed by interest."

Kasia allows herself a sip of the sour beer, studying him over the top of the chipped mug.

"And you, Mister Hunter?" she asks him. "You still haven't told me why you were waiting for me. And if you don't tell me in the next five minutes, you'll need to carry the secret away in your black heart because I need to catch the wind."

"I imagined you'd be on the hunt for a good deal. And I've got a great one in the palm of my hand."

Kasia raises an eyebrow. "It's hard for two people to carry out a deal together. Usually one makes money and the other loses it."

"Not in this case. It's a simple trip: Londion."

A mirthless laugh escapes her and she sweeps a lock of red hair behind her ear. "Sure, why not? No witch has returned to Londion since the armistice; they won't let us enter."

"Why in heavens not? Your permits are in order; where is it written your kind can't go to England?"

As if it were natural for one of them to go to England after twenty years of conflict. After the English almost managed to win that blasted war, thanks in part to the witches' help.

Kasia grabs her tankard and swigs three bitter drafts.

"Leo, it's been a real pleasure and thank you for the beer. Now I really must be going, and good luck with your business."

"Such haste. I see you have no need then for these hundred and twenty thousand pieces," he says and searches in his breast pocket for his cigarette case.

Kasia is forced to stop mid movement and sit back down on the stool's hard surface.

One hundred twenty thousand pieces. It would pay off her debt for the airship and advance her enough to finance a new trip.

"Who is the client?" Kasia whispers.

"This is not the place to disclose details." Leo raises his cup, takes a couple of swigs and wipes the foam from his moustache.

Kasia opens the palms of her hands in front of her. "What would I be transporting? Documents in a sealed envelope? No thank you. I have already been in prison, one large as an island, for twelve years."

"No," Leo leans forward and gestures for her to come closer. Kasia tilts her head lending him her ear and he draws in close enough to brush it with his lips. "We are dealing with the transport of a man," he murmurs.

"For two thousand pieces," she replies, keeping her voice low, "anyone could do that. Maybe with a few stops along the way." Kasia searches deep into his bright eyes. "But it's not a question of speed, is it?"

He lights a yellow cigarette, shakes his head slightly and extends his strong paw halfway across the table. "Agreed?"

Kasia looks at that hand, pink and free of callouses, for a few seconds seeming to last a few centuries. She's just been readmitted into commerce after the long years of exile on Gothland. After having risked extermination, for the sole crime of having served under the English who lost the war. Her papers were valid for travelling anywhere. It's true, they were issued by the Dutch authorities, thus they were only fully recognized on the Continent. In England, theoretically, she would need a new visa. However Dutch and German traders have been travelling back and forth for years, heedless of the required authorizations. With the arrogance of victors.

Kasia extends her bony hand, black lacquered fingernails glistening again her alabaster skin, and seized that of the Swiss merchant.

"However," she says, without loosening her grip. "You need to sign a bill of lading for me. Stamped by the Frank Fort Chamber of Commerce."

Leo smiles under his moustache and runs his thumb over Kasia's knuckles. "I gain nothing from the deal, apart from these fleeting moments with you. But perhaps I may be able to obtain that letter."

"If it smells counterfeit, the deal's off."

"Of course," Leonardo concludes. They let go of each other's hands. "That's enough talk for now. Let's go."

Before leaving, Kasia directs one last glance toward the counter. The waitress is focused on feverishly buffing the gray marble with a cloth. The witch is about to turn away, when the tavern keeper appears behind the girl and slaps her across the face, without any explanation beside a menacing look and a curled lip. The serving girl falters and catches herself with her elbows against the counter.

The man slurs some insulting words and returns to the kitchen. Kasia turns and raises a finger to Leo then makes her way toward her. The girl is still leaning against the bar, a purple impression on her cheekbone.

"Hey," Kasia stoops her head down close to hers, "are you alright?"

"Yes... It's because I made a mistake... I made a mistake." A droplet of blood forms below her left nostril.

"What is your name?"

A sob. "Elene."

"Do you have strange dreams?"

She suddenly lifts her head, looking around eyes agog; a thousand shivers course through her. "Every four weeks, when the moon is dark. I dream of fire. How did you know?"

"You have it hard now. Hold on for a few months and I'll return, or I'll send someone. You have a great gift, Elene, but keep this conversation to yourself."

"Who are you?"

"It's not important who I am, but what I am. And you're like me. Take this." She offers her a couple of coins. She would have liked to give her more, but her tips were almost certainly confiscated and there was no point in enriching her tormentor. "Don't give in and keep your mouth shut. Try to stay alive, I'll come back to fetch you."

Kasia caresses her cheek, but she's unable to accompany it with a smile. Promises. The currency of fools.

Having left the tavern, they head into the market once more, lazily wandering between one stall and the next. Kasia scrutinizes the faces surrounding her, but she's unable to identify any suspicious expressions.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Leo takes her by the hand and pulls her behind a boot seller's stall, slipping between the opened cardboard boxes piled behind it. He puts a finger to his lips and guides her into the back alley. It's a damp, dark place where small animals race along the walls, quickly searching for shelter in a crack between the bricks.

Leo is crouched inside an entryway, the finger still against his moist lips.

They watch the thoroughfare's distant foot traffic for several minutes from between two boxes. Satisfied, Leo pulls back from her, still holding her by the hand.

"I don't think this is the way..." Kasia protests, but he extends a hand to graze her face with a delicate caress. Kasia draws her head back a bit, surprised by his touch.

"We don't have much time," he says and then continues toward the end of the alley where four stone steps worn with use lead down into a courtyard wedged between two houses.

"Down there we'll find transport. Your passenger is in a safe place," Leo explains.

Kasia halts suddenly. "Hey, no! The bill of lading first. And I want to see the money. At least an advance."

"Kasia, Kasia." He's losing patience. "It's a big opportunity, believe me."

She pulls away her hand, freeing herself from his grip. "Oh no, Mister! Prepare the papers and the money. I will wait for you until eleven, then I'm going."

"Wait."

Kasia steps back and says "Eleven o'clock, that's two hours from now. Then I'm taking to the wind. I'm at the West Zoo docks."

"Kasia," he says taking a half step forward. "This is important."

"Well then treat this affair as if it were something important and not like a joke. All this feigned secrecy when anybody could have seen us walking and talking together in the market? There were a thousand other ways of being more discreet. It seems to me you're in a great hurry to unload a hot potato you can't hold on to any longer."

He limits himself to staring darkly into her face. "I put my faith in you," he says to her, after a few seconds' silence.

"Listen," she continues, "I want to trust you. However I cannot take a person on board, without a modicum of assurance. You saved my ass two months ago, and I won't forget it. But give me something, for hell's sake! I've had a travel permit for such a short time! I can't take on too great a risk, not yet at least."

"It will be difficult to get what you ask for and two hours might not be enough time. It's a hundred and twenty thousand, Kasia. All for you."

She lowers her hands and turns her back on him, heading up the alley. "You know where to find me," she says to the empty street ahead. She expected him to chase after her, but he stays there, silent and invisible at her back. Kasia travels the length of the alley, her boots pattering on the irregular stones beneath her. Having made it to the stalls, she looks over her shoulder, but Leo didn't follow her; he's still hidden behind a bend in the road.

"Dammit," Kasia whispers. She would have liked to return and try to negotiate some more. One hundred twenty thousand pieces. This deal is too good to be true and Kasia has too many voyages under her belt to believe in anything too good to be true. Traps, on the other hand, are much more common, even between friends. Or perhaps from someone who's already fallen into it and is now desperately trying to escape.

"Aye, Captain!"

Kasia spins around with a start, following the booming voice.

A tall man with wavy reddish-brown hair watches her, stuffed in a jerkin embroidered with thick braids of dark silk. He has a shadowy gaze, sharp as a nail. An inhabitant of the upper terrace, but not a bureaucrat or a military man. A warning bell starts ringing persistently behind Kasia's ears.

"Sir, do we know each other?" Kasia forces herself to not look behind her where she's just left a dangerous deal.

"Not yet, although the first witch to leave Gothland after the war is sufficiently famous that she needs no introduction."

The danger is clear, there's no more need for intuition. Kasia displays her best smile and bows her head bringing a hand to her chest.

"Sir, you flatter me. But I must beg your pardon. May I be of some service?"

"You have an... item which... um... interests me."

"Indeed? If I may send it to your residence, it would be a pleasure to do business with a gentleman such as yourself."

"Yes, sending it to me might be appropriate. All the same, I would feel safer if you would deliver it personally. If you would escort it."

Kasia narrows her eyes slightly. "Pardon me, sir, I must have missed something."

"You understand perfectly. Anyway, you know, in dealings with witches one must be cautious. Thus I have taken the liberty of holding something of interest to you, something altogether different certainly, but similar in... ahem... nature."

"Sir, I—"

A woman with her eyes obscured by a mask slips out from behind the stacked crates, close to Kasia. A mane of blonde curls covers her shoulders and in her hand she holds a powerful blunderbuss, with an arabesque brass barrel, an illegal weapon. Right behind her walks a young man with long, raven-black hair carrying more blades than a butcher. The two line up next to their master, challenging her with gazes laden with threat.

"On the upper terrace, Dietrich mansion," the man concludes. "You should have no problem finding it. Give your name at the door." He is about to turn, but then he clarifies, "And obviously do not show up without your passenger."

He walks off among the market stalls, trailed by a flourish of his dark cape.

His two henchmen on the other hand don't move a muscle. The man gathers his lips into a sharp smile and tosses his head, making his luminous hair bounce.

"We'll meet again, Santuini," he cackles. He places his hands on the hilts of two long knives hanging from his belt.

The blonde obscenely strokes the shaft of her blunderbuss, letting it roll around until the black aperture is pointed in Kasia's direction. She opens her full lips in a silent "Bam" and then smiles maliciously.

Kasia bends her head down a bit and turns, moving toward the Walkway, with the weight of those shadowy threats on her back. She lengthens her stride, passing the stands that sell meat, both alive and dead. Above the street loom the elevated glass and steel structures of the upper terrace, the stratum of the city's nobility, reminding her a merchant is just a pawn in the game where German and Dutch chamberlains play out their glory. An English merchant is a pawn easily sacrificed.

Further away, lost against the haze of sunset, one can just make out the curved shapes of the mechanical airships. Kasia counts six piers, trying to identify the elongated silhouette of the Needle, her ship.

Against her face she already feels the midday wind, which blows in punctually from the distant Alps. They must raise anchor today; the docking fees are almost as much as their profit margin on the cargo and, furthermore, the atmosphere in Frank Fort no longer seems good for her health. She wracks her brain trying to make out what the mysterious gentleman meant.

A figure in a black hood and a coat of the same color comes to meet her from the side of the Walkway. There's something familiar in that gait. The light off a tavern window illuminates the face under the hood.

"Silla!" Kasia bursts out. Her first officer, Silla of the Blue Mountains. If she's walking around, who the hell is manning the ship in her absence?

"Hey," she says, spreading her arms out with a great show of calm, so as to alert her companion someone might be watching them.

Silla sees this and walks toward her. When she gets within a yard, she lowers her hood, displaying her dark blonde curls. Her elegant face is marked by a worried grimace.

"Captain," she says, eyes open wide, "I've finally found you."

"Holy hell, what are you doing here?" Kasia takes her by the arm leading her toward the edge of the Walkway.

"Alina," the other woman answers.

Of course she would be the problem. Alina was her youngest adept. A witch for less than a year and already forced to set sail on an airship. She couldn't have left her in Gothland to become an orphan a second time over.

"Silla, we've run into some problems," Kasia says. "Some guy has us in his sights, we need to make tracks. What has Alina gotten mixed up in?"

"A Dutchman showed up at the airship. I was on the bridge and she was below with Riger to check the belt on the mid-axle. Riger told me this guy introduced himself, well dressed, black velvet and leather shoes. She was hanging from the belt, off the ship, while Alina was on the pier holding the line." Silla continues to look left and right, wringing her hands and involuntarily clenching her jaw between one sentence and the next. A long shiver raises the hairs on the back of Kasia's neck. This setback couldn't have happened by chance.

"Then," Silla continues, "the guy started to talk with Alina. Riger couldn't hear them well, she was suspended from the overhang with the wind and everything. She shouted for her to have the man wait and call for me, but instead Alina continued to talk with him. In the end Riger... lost her patience and started to climb back up the line."

Kasia can imagine the echo of Riger's soft words, she is a witch of almost eighty, worn down by two wars and with more scars on her body than thoughts in her head. "Go on," she says.

"Before she made it to the pier, however, Alina told her the man was an officer of the magistrate and it was just a matter of going to get some documents we had forgotten. Authorization to transport the baskets of lime. Riger put two and two together, we had indeed forgotten them and, well, Alina went off."

Little Alina in a Dutch magistrate's office. She could definitely do a lot of damage there, offending officials in just a few moments, compromising relationships established over the course of months or years with hard work and costly bribes. However, Kasia also needed to start giving her some responsibilities. She was sixteen; within less than two months she'd be participating in her first Sabbath.

"You shouldn't have let her go! I'm afraid someone may have bribed the magistrate to impede us. But you couldn't have known that, it all happened in the last five minutes."

Silla passes a hand through her hair, her eyes frantic.

"There's more isn't there?" Kasia presses her.

"Ten minutes later another officer from the magistrate presented himself. The real officer."

"Infernal powers! Who's at the ship right now?"

"I woke up Lili. She's in command and I told her to stamp everything and not to drop the gangway to the pier even if the devil himself shows up in Bermuda shorts. Riger went to the magistrate's to see if by chance that man actually did bring her there."

"Useless!" Kasia shouts. "There's some dandy, a German or Dutch nobleman, who's convinced we have a passenger on board. And I think he's kidnapped Alina as goods to exchange."

"But, Captain—"

"We have no passengers on board, I know. But they tried to sell me one earlier."

Silla questions her with her eyes.

"Not here, I'll explain it all to you later. We need to get Alina back."

"The only way is to try to see."

Kasia stares at her for a few seconds. To utter a spell in the heart of the Palatinate, defying the ban on magic, would at best risk their licenses and at worst their lives. Nevertheless, Alina is in grave danger. The architect of a trick like this, who'd risk being discovered by the magistrate's true agent, must have a clear goal and few scruples. And all the while Leonardo might show up on the pier at any moment with his mysterious traveler and Lili, so fragile these days, in command alone, unaware of his plotting.

"Very well, let's do it." Kasia grabs the other witch by the arm. "Let's go, but without running. We've already drawn enough attention."

The walkway goes on for several hundred yards before it reaches the gates granting access to the docks. Kasia keeps her eyes lowered, desperately trying not to draw unwanted attention. Some other seller calls out to her, but she keeps straight ahead, skirting the edge of rudeness. It's difficult for a merchant to be in a hurry, deals require time and negotiation.

With each step, the crowd grows denser. A large number of patrons group near the gates to intercept the best ventures. That's without counting the host of onlookers and time-wasters who linger in the thick of the docks hoping to overhear a juicy bit of information to sell on the market in gossip, as flourishing as the one in goods. Two young boys, with similar features and equally dirty hair, appear in front of her, their expressions lost and cheeks gaunt with hunger.

"Captain," says one of them, "sterke armen, sterke armen!"

Kasia shakes her head and moves on. She doesn't know Dutch, but it's not hard to guess what the two boys want: passage, a job, a bowl of stew. There's a crowd assembled near the gates. She gets up on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse over the shoulders of her portly neighbor.

A man is shouting at the soldiers on watch. His face is black and blue and copious blood is dripping from his nose, making his beard red and slimy. He has a curious turban of gray cloth wrapped around his head and a shabby army uniform full of holes as if chewed by rats.

The guards watch him enraged, muskets raised in front of them. Perhaps the butt of one of their weapons has already probed the shouting man's face, causing the injury to his nose. Kasia tries to pick up the conversation but too many words allude her, even if his gestures are unmistakable. He's pointing at their airship spitting and making threats.

She turns to Silla who knows Dutch much better than she. Silla stretches out her neck, pressing it against her own full red coif.

"He has it in for us," Silla whispers. "He says we're witches and we should be burned. Some relatives of his died in the war, during the bombing I think."

A shudder runs down Kasia's spine. It's one thing to have their papers in order and it's another to have to face an angry mob of Dutchmen dead set on making them pay for their children who fell under the English bombs, which were keenly guided by her sisters. These soldiers surely know they're witches; they had to present their documents as soon as they docked.

To enter on the other side of the docks they would have to back track across part of the Walkway, ascend to the upper terrace, hoping they don't run into a patrol, and cross the entire first terrace to then climb back down again—a forty minute walk, with Alina in the clutches of who knows what sort of captors.

Kasia moves away from the pressing throng of humanity, pushing Silla in front of her. They distance themselves from the primary thoroughfare, taking cover behind a pile of metal boxes. Kasia leans against the stonewall on the side of the apothecary's shop. She takes her black scarf from her pocket and wraps it around her hair, too red to avoid being noticed and remembered.

"Shall we try to get past?" Silla asks, drawing her head toward Kasia, her voice almost inaudible.

"It's not a good idea. With a stroke of luck we might perhaps be able to hurl ourselves beyond the soldiers to the safety of the docks. Assuming of course they hold their position and don't open the gates and allow those madmen through, as I fear. They'd rather manage a small mob incident, where two English witches end up wounded or killed, than face off with guns raised against a wild crowd of their compatriots."

"Yeah, damned carrot-eaters," Silla adds, through her teeth.

"Regardless, the problem is then we'll be unable to leave again. And thus our hopes of finding Alina would be reduced to almost zero. Not to mention Riger is also still outside."

"If this chaos doesn't die down, as soon as we set foot in the airship we need to take to the sky. We can't risk another night on the docks. Should we call Lili out here?"

Kasia turns to look over her shoulder, following a jolt in her sister's gaze. Just two men arguing over the price of copper, a few yards behind them. "We'd need to find a messenger, and with all this bedlam it won't be easy. And then should Lili come? I saw her, she really has been stable this week; I think a bit of the color's returning to her cheeks, but she hasn't set foot on terra firma for almost two months. We can't ask her to do it here, in the midst of such chaos."

"I think she should come. It's a question of life or death. At least for Alina."

"Yes," says Kasia, looking down, "but holding the ship is also a question of life or death, right? With no one on board all it'll take is for any one of those homeless bastards to throw a grappling hook with a rope and—poof—our butts are grounded. In Frank Fort!"

"We need to change plans," Kasia adds and bites her lip, which is already painfully cracked. "We'll do it out here. We can't return to the ship without Alina. Let's find Riger."

"You want to do the spe—" Silla stops herself, noticing the two men have finished their negotiations. "You want to do it here?" she says in a whisper.

"Yes, right here in front of these fifty maniacs. Why don't we just build a pyre and we can do it on top of that." Kasia rolls her eyes. "Obviously, sister, we must find a secluded place. But before all that we need to fetch Riger to be our third. Let's go."

She takes the other witch under her arm and they start off, heads lowered, alongside the gray stone warehouses to the cobblestone incline that leads to the upper terrace.

***

Kasia's heavy leather boots squeak against the terrace's rose marble. Polished wood doorways line both sides of the street over which dragons, warriors, or geometric embellishments are carved. The buildings are all made entirely of light-colored stones, crossed by carbon black or brushed aluminum frames. Brass plaques alternate on either side of the entrances, indicating the names of the doctors, pettifoggers, or government officials who work inside.

Kasia and Silla keep their heads down, trying to avoid the eyes of the terrace's bustling inhabitants. Everyone is dressed in elegant clothes, predominated by expensive pastel colors. Every few steps the witches need to move from the center of the street to make way for a band of representatives of some guild. The bigwigs advance, surrounded by their young assistants, and often are encircled by guards with menacing gazes, taking up the whole thoroughfare. Some merchants pass by as well, on whose clothes resides dust of the lower levels, having come up to complete some bureaucratic paperwork in the government offices.

To their right, leaning against the side of a hill, the street opens into a small square ornamented by a circular fountain constantly replenished by a sinuous dolphin sculpture. The aluminum inlay of the pavement shines in the pale morning sun. The far end of the square is occupied by a four-story building supported by heavy columns and surrounded by an iron gate. A long line of people, mostly merchants in dark suits, waits patiently to step up to the guard post where the magistrate's personnel check their right to enter.

Kasia and Silla search the line and finally see Riger behind four Italian cloth merchants dressed in gaudy colors.

"I'm going to call out to her," Kasia says. "I don't think going up there to ask questions is the best way to try and be inconspicuous."

She heads toward the center of the square and positions herself near the edge of the fountain. Riger is less the twenty yards away; there's no way she won't hear her. Kasia leans against the lip of the basin and starts to control her breathing. After four long breaths, she extends her consciousness into the depth of her body and with an invisible hand touches the points laden with power. Then she opens her eyes wide, stares at her sister in the line and thinks, Riger!

The other witch spins around as if pricked by a needle.

Kasia motions her head a few degrees and then heads toward the street to reunite with Silla who is waiting for her, wrapped in her long black cape, at the edge of the square.

Kasia and Silla walk along the road with slow steps. After about a hundred paces, their companion pulls up alongside them. Gray hair frames her long face with skin that is still soft notwithstanding the scars marking the right side of her visage. "Did you find her?" Riger asks, panting to keep pace.

"No," Kasia answers with a hiss. "The problem is the docks are blocked by xenophobic fanatics and we have very little time if we want to catch today's wind. We can't board the ship in order to try and see where Alina is, we might not be able to get out again, so we three need to do it, somewhere outside."

"Damned carrot-eaters, when will they realize the war is over?" Riger mumbles. "But who could have taken her?"

"Someone who wants to extort us, but we don't have the merchandise he's interested in. Thus our only option is to find Alina and escape. We need to find someplace safe. Ideas?"

"Not here, I don't know the terrace," Silla responds. "But we can climb down the other side, to the Fugitive's Inn. They let out rooms there."

Kasia shoots her a sideways glance. Why would an honest witch be renting a room? It's true voyages are tiring and a merchant's work is hard, but they've sworn an oath. Is it possible they can no longer observe the Sabbath, as they have done for generations? If even a witch like Silla, who must have learned to dampen the fire of sex, starts to indulge in these weaknesses, what hope do young women like Alina have of following the traditions and Rule, which have kept them alive for centuries?

"Hey!" Silla quickly retorts. "Of course I haven't been there, Captain. Don't look at me that way. These are things one learns on the docks."

"Right. But no all the same. Three women, English, looking the way we do. If we gather together in a room, in the middle of the day, how long will it take one of the inn's customers to put the pieces together? And denounce us?"

"The cocks' well, in the Bottom," Riger suggests, gesticulating. "During the day there's almost no one there, the fights are only in the evening. There's an area, a shed where they store the tools, the feed. They brought me there, before the war; a girl wanted advice about an herb. And it's not far from the southern descent."

"I don't know the place," Kasia answers, turning into a back alley where a mask makers' shop windows display their multi-colored wares, "but let's go there. We don't have time to discuss it and down there it will be easy to tell if we're being followed."

They walk down the street toward the stairs leading down. The wells are found four levels below, where derelicts dwell; their only means of survival is gathering whatever falls from the strata above and hoping someone will come down every so often with a few coins, looking for entertainment or some service too sordid to be negotiated in the upper levels. They need to go to the Bottom.

***

The way down to the docks and warehouse levels is an old staircase with wide stone steps, flanked by a worn ramp where carriage wheels have carved two deep grooves over years of transit. Those that lead to the Bottom however are hidden between two storehouses, rusty and overgrown with weeds, boasting heavy iron gates to be shut if the city authorities catch wind of some contagious disease or if word spreads of a band of hybrids on the prowl in the area around the city. Kasia has never been to the Frank Fort Bottom, but during years of trade, before the war, she learned to recognize the dark, pulsating zones attached to markets, like ticks on a beast's flank.

"Do we have knives?" she asks her sisters while she pulls open the gate leading down with a grave creak.

The other two nod, given that a revolver was far too useful for it to be wise to bring down there. Luckily the sun still peeks out, cold, between the long cirrus clouds, reassuring them.

"Come on," Riger says since she knows the way.

They climb down the narrow metal steps, using their hands to pull away the tree foliage besieging the stepladder. A mix of wet, muddy earth welcomes them to the level below. A path winds between the branches, surrounded by shanties made of wood and aluminum plate. A steam-powered machine corroded by the elements blocks passage between two fences, a skeleton of rusted metal stripped of everything that could be resold or reused. They've climbed down to a seemingly uninhabited area, but even though she hears no noise and sees no columns of smoke rising from those hovels, Kasia feels several pairs of eyes on her, watching from the shadows.

Riger walks quickly, lengthening her stride as much as possible without running, something they all have a strong desire to do. An old rule learned on the docks across half of Europe: never run, never scream, never let them see how frightened you are.

After several hundred yards, the old witch enters a dark wooden gate, on whose jamb generations of gamblers have carved subversive witticisms against the Palatinate. A rooster whose colors have faded camps out on the lintel. The space is deserted and in the back one can make out the sloped earth where spectators position themselves during the fights.

The three women look around trying to discern whether some curiosity seeker has decided to spend the morning there, but the place seems empty. Kasia keeps an ear out, but the only sound she hears is the rustle of their clothing and the wind stirring the leaves.

Riger advances once more taking a narrow trail, invisible at first glance, hidden between thorny acacias. After a few hundred feet, the woods open into a small clearing amidst tall grasses; at its center stands a wooden shed largely stripped of its white paint. The witch walks assuredly toward the door of the hut, attached to its frame by just one hinge. There's no one inside, just a pile of old tools and long tubes with rope tied to the far end, used to guide the animals into the well. Feathers and filth are stuck everywhere and the odor of chicken shit is almost unbearable.

"How elegant," Silla comments, twisting her mouth.

"This place is dangerous," Kasia says. "There's no escape route and once we shut ourselves inside we can't see anyone who might draw near."

"Captain," Riger responds, hands on her hips. "The alternative is the inn."

"We've no more time, dammit. Alina is in enemy hands."

Kasia aims one last glance at the surrounding wood and then decisively closes the door, casting the shed in darkness. "We'll do it here."

A ray of light filters in from a narrow opening near the roof and they can just make out each other's profiles. They form a circle and for a moment look each other in the eyes. Kasia leans against Riger's shoulder and takes off her boots and heavy wool stockings. She rests her bare feet on the cold ground, the mud worming its way between her toes.

Then she stretches out her hands, quickly finding the warm, soft grip belonging to Silla on her right and Riger's rough calloused one on her left.

It would be an incredible stroke of luck if no one saw them since they first set foot down here. And a merchant who trusts in luck doesn't live long on the docks, but they have to risk it.

She begins to control her breath, trying to expand her awareness. If they were on the airship with a bit of jimson weed it would have been much easier.

Kasia chases away that last, distracted thought and concentrates on her body. She starts with the soles of her feet, climbing up the back to her ankle. She repeats the exercise until she senses the earth's strength beneath her extending up her slender legs. Then she focuses on her pelvis wherein resides the generative power of nature. With her mind, she touches the inside of her thighs, lingering until she feels lubrication. She then pushes the force inside her, slowly and relentlessly, unconsciously bending forward until she can touch the opening of her uterus with her imaginary hand. A sigh escapes through her teeth and she tightly squeezes her sisters' hands.

Now she leaves the loins and climbs up to her heart, scanning with her thoughts its deep, regular pumping. Every beat is the respiration of a dark dragon. The old and powerful demon that lives in her heart, with cavernous lungs and deadly, fiery breath. She soon feels the flames burning in her chest and her proud blood heating up her body and soul with every heartbeat. An intense heat permeates her, quickening her breath and stimulating her senses. She lets it flow along her arms and, through her hands, joining with that of her sisters.

The dragon raises his head and fixes her with his black gaze, ever wrathful.

Kasia tears away her attention, concentrating on her sisters. Now she can feel Silla's fire on her right, light blue and shining, like a distant star wickedly enjoying the way it scarcely warms its frozen world. On her left she recognizes Riger's red fire, a forest in flames, the animals fleeing, the blind fury of the elements.

"Alina," she utters. By now her body is ravaged by the flames gushing from her heart and coming from her sisters, but Kasia manages to keep her head above that heat, as if she were submerged up to her neck in an ocean of lava.

"Alina," Riger and Silla murmur in turn. The image of Alina forms in her head, baby Alina running from the dogs her old master had sicced on her. Wounded Alina, a girl just eight years old, her legs and arms devastated by sharp teeth, her gray eyes wide with shock and astonishment she's still alive. "He's dead now, he can no longer hurt you. I will take care of you now," Kasia had told her and she'd smiled, weakly. Alina twirling around, years later, in the kitchen of their house among the rushes in Gothland, with the sun filtering through her yellow hair. Shouting, arms raised to the sky, "The war is over! Auntie, the war is over!"

A pin wheedles its way into Kasia's mind. She feels its touch and keeps concentrating on her picture of Alina. The pin grows slightly, it moves by degrees, opening a hairline split. Kasia waits patiently, regulating her breath and driving away tension. The split now becomes a crack, then, suddenly, a fissure. Kasia quickly jumps into the opening, trying to glimpse something between the clouds of darkness. An image comes into focus. A small room. A knife held in front of her. Alina's fair hand pointing it, hair clinging to her face, over her eyes. The taste of blood in her mouth. In front of her two people, one tall and bone thin, with a light-colored vest and something in his hand, and another plumper snickering and mocking her. Their surroundings are hazy as in a dream; Kasia can't make out any details or words. If she could hold her concentration for a few minutes longer she could definitely attain a better focus, but there isn't time. Kasia gathers all her strength and sends a pulse toward Alina's body, to the earth beneath the young woman's feet. In an instant, she receives from the mud beneath her bare feet the return of that energy, transmitted by the old Earth's ley-lines.

"I have it!" she shouts opening her eyes wide, interrupting the flow. The shed door is ajar and a man is watching them. Kasia lets go of her sisters' hands, who in turn awake from the trance. Riger's eyes are almost normal, but Silla's leave no room for doubt. Her irises are black as wells and her sclera still dark blue, as they slowly grow lighter.

Kasia is sure her own eyes are still murky, especially as out of the three she went the furthest.

The man stares at her with his mouth agape, his blue eyes open wide like two saucers. He's short in stature and seems young in age, his dirty-blonde hair is cut stylishly, but his white shirt is covered in brown stains and all wrinkled.

Kasia observes his hands. Small and delicate with smooth fingernails.

"Young man," Kasia says with a wide smile, using her vocal cords' sweetest tone, "what are you doing here?"

"You all are..." he says taking a step back from the door.

"Listen," Kasia enjoins him, stretching out her hand, but without moving forward, so as not to frighten him.

"You're... witches? English witches?" he yelps, moving another step backward.

"Calm down, we don't mean you any harm. You may think it strange, but we weren't doing anything criminal. Our friend is in danger and we were trying to find her. That's all."

"I heard you whispering earlier and... your mouths were closed," he stammers.

"Just an illusion. What's your name?" Kasia asks, placing a hand against her heart. She'd like to run off to where Alina is fighting for her life, and where in a few minutes it might be too late. But if she lets this boy get away, they'll be hauled before the prosecutor in less than an hour. And on the Continent the penalty for witchcraft is the stake."

"I won't tell you," he says, taking another step back. "As soon as you know my name you'll throw a curse at me!"

"We were looking for a girl—young, like you—who's been kidnapped. She's in trouble and I need your help. I need to know you won't tell anyone about this. At least for a few hours, then we'll take to the wind and fly away."

The boy stops and studies them from a few yards' distance. To her left, Kasia reads the tension in Silla's arms. He's young though and might get away. And even if they did catch him? They'd have to tie him up and leave him in that shed. A death sentence in this ghetto.

"You're leaving today?" he asks, uncertain.

"Yes. We'll be leaving in less than an hour. As soon as we manage to save our friend who's in grave danger. If you keep your mouth shut, we'll pay you for it. One hundred pieces, what do you say?"

"No. I don't want any money. But... Take me away from here!"

In the corner of her eye Kasia sees Silla bring her hand to her belt, near the hilt of her knife.

"We can't take you on board. We already have a full crew; we're not a passenger airship."

"I need to get away from Frank Fort, today," he says and he moves another step toward the trail. "Maybe someone will grant me passage. Someone who hates witches."

"Wait! Infernal powers! Okay. We'll take you with us. But just one trip," Kasia exclaims, and she stretches out her hand to stop her sister. She doesn't want Silla throwing that knife. She's good with weapons and might even hit him, although the shed's opening is narrow. If she wounded him, she'd have to slaughter him like a pig and the thought repulsed her.

"You'll take me with you?" the young man shrieks, perhaps even more frightened than before. "Swear it! And swear you won't hurt me and you'll let me go when we reach the destination. And—"

"Listen," Kasia says, bending down to gather her boots. "We're in a devil of a hurry. So if you want to come with us, first and foremost you need to stick close behind. If we don't lose you before we reach the airship, you can come aboard. And when we reach our destination you can get off safe and sound. In fact you'll need to get off, but right now we have a matter to attend to. It's very urgent."

Her shoes on, Kasia takes a step toward the boy standing in the hut's door. He stretches an open hand out to her and stutters "Sw... sw... swear."

Kasia grabs him by the hand and pulls him toward her until he's six inches from her nose. His blue eyes widen with terror, his lip trembles.

"You have my word. What's your name?" Kasia hisses in his face.

"Hansi. And yours?"

"Captain. That's what you can call me. And only that. Now let's move."

She lets go of his hand and starts to run toward the trail. With each step she feels the direction of Alina's signal, guided by an internal compass. They leave the woods behind them. With the branches lashing against their arms, they pass the clearing in front of the cock-fighting arena and catapult themselves onto the main path. They need to go up a level, thus they retrace their way between the shanties. Kasia's boots sink into the mud and it seems to her she's unable to gain any speed, although she's propelling her legs like a woman possessed. Her heart hammers in her chest like some mad drum. I'm too old for this, she thinks.

Hidden behind a pile of lumber, four young boys in tatters and bare legs, caked in mud, sit around a scrawny cat. They watch them walk by; someone hurls insults, the more daring throw a couple of rocks. But luckily none of them seem inclined to follow them. Having reached the iron stepladder, Kasia turns to her companions: Silla is on her tail while Riger and the boy, Hansi, are a few yards behind.

In Silla's inquiring eye Kasia reads all the unspoken questions? A passenger on board, Captain? A male? Should we keep an eye on him? How will we get past customs if he doesn't have papers?

She nods slightly to reassure her, between one huff and another owing to the run. But now is not the time to speak, Riger and young Hansi have caught up to them.

"Let us away," says Kasia and she hurls herself up the steps, the damp iron sliding under the soles of her boots.

## PART TWO: IN THE DAMP AND DARK

The Warehouse level presents itself as a monotonous assembly of depots lined up one after another, interrupted solely by the odd kiosk, from which rises the omnipresent stench of grilled pig meat.

Kasia resumes her march, this time without running, because there's a lot of foot traffic and she doesn't want to arouse too much curiosity. As she draws closer, she feels the signal from the ground become ever more distinct until she stops in front of a dark wooden doorway, surrounded by a bronze frame. The door itself is reinforced with metal rivets and a shiny plaque bears the inscription "Pendulum Company, Rare Goods," in elegant gothic letters.

She tarries just a second in front of the entrance and then proceeds to the corner of the next warehouse. Her odd troop assembled, she whispers, facing down the street. "It's that green door. Any ideas?"

"How was Alina?" Silla asks.

"In a bad spot. She was fighting hand to hand," Kasia answers.

"Shit," Riger interrupts. "And this was over twenty minutes ago."

Kasia quickly examines the warehouse's windows. Wooden boards recently repaired, painted bars. Carefully maintained, by people with money to spend. It's hard to find a chance opening due to negligence.

"We need to break down the front door," she concludes.

"It's suicide," says Riger.

Riger questioning orders. This is new. Surely she too isn't pleased by the pact entered into with young Hansi, which she made on the fly, without consulting them.

"Alina's life is in danger. We either leave her to her fate or we bust in. I can't abandon her, but you shouldn't feel obligated." Kasia decides to put them in a corner.

"Captain," Riger hisses, "no one wants to leave the baby here. But we need to think of a diversion. I'll climb on the roof. There's often a skylight they've forgotten to lock. If I see an opening, I'll whistle to you. The usual bird call."

"Well then," Silla interjects, "I'll go with you. Given that more than two people can't fit through the door at a time."

The job on the street is certainly less risky, and if there's anyone who can successfully carry out this raid from the roof it's Silla with her military dexterity. However, the clever duo is kindly sticking her with the new passenger.

"Very well," Kasia says. "Silla, take off your cape. We'll give it to Hansi who will pretend to be a messenger, come to deliver a package. If they've checked up on us they won't be expecting a man."

"We'll climb up there." Riger points with her chin to a black drainage pipe, on the storehouse's backside.

"If this gets torn," Silla places the cape in the boy's hands with a dark scowl, "I'll be in your nightmares. Forever."

"Uh," he mumbles, but the two witches are already hurrying toward the back.

"You knock," Kasia tells him. "Say you need to deliver a package from the airship Guglia. It's at pier seven, I saw it this morning. Say you ran here because the captain said it was extremely urgent."

"And if they don't open up for me?"

"Try to convince them, tell them to at least take a look and see if it might interest them. As soon as they open the door, you must throw the cape around the jamb. It's heavy velvet, they won't be able to close it again right away."

"But that blonde told me if I ruin it—" the boy begins to whine.

"You won't ruin it. Don't worry." Kasia smiles, thinking of the risk the boy is actually running.

That cape was a gift from Mentif and Sirany, Silla's two best friends, given to her at her first Sabbath. Kasia still remembers that day as if it were chiseled in stone; by then it was her fourth, but in those years long past they still had an animalistic excitement around them, an insatiable desire stretched out for an entire year, to then explode in a single night. When any of her friends entered the circle of adults, the occasion brought the festivities to a more extreme level, consuming every drop of energy in the orgy until just before sunrise, when the old witches gathered the young girls in their arms. Like Alina. If she's still alive and they manage to save her.

"Anyway," Kasia regains her train of thought. "Throw down the cape and then hurl yourself against the panel. I'll be on the other side of the street next to that red bin. It will only take two steps for me to reach the spot where you'll be. It's important we manage to knock down the person behind it. If we're unable to break in, our friend is already dead. And probably my two sisters coming down from the roof as well. And you," Kasia points with her index finger beneath his dirty shirt, pinching him in the chest with her nail, "will be next. Is that clear?"

She feels the boy's skin tremble beneath her finger, but he nods vigorously. Kasia checks the top of the drainpipe where the tail end of Riger's long dress is disappearing behind the roofline.

"Try to strike close to the opening. You need to use the door's leverage."

Kasia hops from one foot to the other, as the wait seems to stretch on for an eternity, until over the shuffling of the thoroughfare she hears a familiar chirping.

"Let's go," she says, her hand shoving him toward the portal. She positions herself next to the bin, turning her attention to the far end of the street. She holds her hand up to her eyes, as if shielding them from the sun to look into the distance, trying to hide her face and peek through her fingers at the green door.

Hansi's fist punches hard against the wood. On the street, the crowd continues to walk by unfazed. The boy speaks facing the entrance, but she can't hear what's being said. A man with a huge belly and a long black beard gets in between her and the doorway, pulling a sleigh filled with rags and boxes.

"What the... dammit," she hisses. She moves ten feet over to try and regain visual contact. The door opens. Kasia springs forward and jumps onto the sleigh, provoking a scream from the bearded man. "Hey!"

The portal is straight in front of her, Hansi is pressing with all his weight to try and keep the panel open, which is being shoved from inside with frantic tugs. Kasia climbs the curb and leaps, pushing hard with her feet against the wood. She lands with a knee and shoulder against the portal's hard wood. The ground pummels her ankles eliciting a scream of pain. The portal opens wide, and a man ends up in the small entryway with his legs in the air. A splattering of blood covers his visage: they managed to crack him square in the middle of his face with the door panel. Kasia shouts to her companion "Go!"

She tries to get back on her feet, but as soon as she presses her foot against the floor, a stabbing pain runs through her shin. Still on all fours, she draws her knife while Hansi rushes inside, armed only with his good intentions. The man of the ground attempts to get up, but Kasia with a savage gasp spins the blade over her head and plants it into his thigh. Now the goon screams, arching his back in pain. A splash of blood hits Kasia in the face, blinding her. She feels her hand soaked and dripping around the knife's hilt. She gives the blade a half turn and pulls it out, severing muscles and tendons to immobilize the enemy, who's yelling now like a beast being slaughtered. Kasia manages to clear her eyes while the injured man's screams grow feebler. She must have cut clean through an artery because a lake of blood floods the storefront. Copious blood spouts in rhythmic pulses from the wound above his knee. She gets back on her feet, leaning against the wall. The man has a long face, with his teeth clenched in a grimace of pain. His skin is waxy and he no longer seems to be in a position to cause harm.

Kasia tries to rest her aching ankle on the floor. It seems to hold her weight, maybe it's just sprained. Agitated noises come from further inside. She hears Riger's voice shout and the crash of some object against the bones of an unlucky individual. She leans against the door, shutting out the small crowd of gathering onlookers. Groping around, she finds the bolt and rolls it through all the slots with a dry crack. The magistrate's goons will be on the scene in a few minutes, better to keep indiscreet eyes away.

The noises in the other room cease.

"Captain?" Riger calls to her, her voice raspy.

"I'm here," she stays against the wall, the back of her left foot hurts every time it presses against the floor. Limping and gritting her teeth, she propels herself into the rear room.

It's a sparse space; light filters in through the skylight, through glass stained with red mud. The wood floor, worn with years of use, is almost completely bare, save for some large wooden crates piled against the left wall. A Formica table, supported by four twisted legs, constitutes the room's only furnishing. A broken chair and one with its seat split down the middle mark the edge of tableaux. A man lies on the ground, with a long gash in his head. He looks like the plump one she saw during the incantation. Silla, Riger and Hansi look at her, dumbstruck.

"There's no one here, Captain," Silla says, her black-bladed knife still drawn.

Two muffled blows resound against the wood of the front door, angry shouts coming from the other side.

"And yet this is the place," Kasia murmurs, testing her weight on her injured leg.

Together with the clamor coming from outside she seems to hear another pounding, infinitely softer, but much closer.

"Maybe—" Riger starts.

"Quiet, everyone!" Kasia exclaims. With difficulty, the crosses the short distance to the crates. The pounding seems even more pronounced.

"She's inside one of these. Open them, carefully," says Kasia.

Silla and Riger press their ears against various crates until they identify which one the banging is coming from. The noise beating against the front entrance has stopped. And that can't be a good sign.

Silla snaps out the nails with her blade and, together with Riger, moves aside the long wooden cover. Inside the box, Alina is tied up with a thick white rope, which squeezes her body and pulls her hands behind her back. Her jaw is fully open and her mouth filled with a rolled up scarf, held tight by another coil of the rope, so taught it makes her cheeks bleed. Her eyes are wide with terror.

"Shh, little one," Silla whispers. "It's all over. Stay still and I'll free you."

"Police!" they shout from outside. "Open up!"

"We need to hurry. How do we get out of here?" Kasia asks.

"All the warehouses have a back door. But it's a big risk; I wouldn't be surprised if someone were waiting for us there," Riger offers.

"Either that or the roof," adds Silla, while she patiently cuts the ropes restraining the young witch.

"You leave that way. Alina, Hansi and I through the back. At least this way if they catch us we won't all be together. What's more, I injured my ankle; I can't climb up."

"Captain, if we all go together, perhaps..." Riger scratches her cheek.

"No. We'll see each other back on the ship; if the police nab us go back to the airship and raise anchor. If our vessel is flying over the city we'll have a little power to negotiate. But if we're all on the ground, we're worthless. Let's go, go, go!"

"Oh god." The sob comes from Alina who's finally free from her gag.

"My little girl, can you walk?" Kasia asks.

"I'll walk," she says, with a wisp of a voice.

"Come here, Hansi. Closer, for hell's sake! Hold on to me."

The young man wraps an arm around her waist and Kasia attaches the other one to her neck.

"There. We need to walk like this—like two lovers. I'm a bit old for you, but you'll like it—you'll see," Kasia gives him a mirthless wink.

A muffled thud bangs against the door. They're using some kind of battering ram.

"Alina? Shall we go?"

The young woman sits up in the box, massaging her wrists. "Let's get out of here, please," she says.

Kasia squeezes her hand.

"So we'll see each other at the docks, Captain?" asks Silla, returning from the small antechamber with a healthy dose of reproach in her eyes and her old black cape in her hands. Riger is already halfway up the support post, huffing and grunting with each hand's length she manages to gain up its notches.

"Right," answers Kasia. "Wake up, little one. We can lick our wounds later, for the time being we still need to fight." She sees the pain in Alina's eyes, but she can't afford to hesitate now. They're all in danger of ending up in prison, or worse, on the stake. Kasia leaning heavily on young Hansi, they head toward the back. Behind the mountain of crates lies a narrow room. Kasia waves around the lantern she took off the ground, but there's no trace of an exit. The blows against the door grow ever heavier until she hears the sinister creak of wood coming off its hinges.

"Auntie, here," Alina grabs a ring-shaped handle on the floor.

"You, help her," Kasia orders, while, with a final crack, the door leading on to the street opens with a crash.

"It's not a good idea," Hansi answers her back. "There are tunnels under the warehouses. And something's down there."

"Move it!" she urges him.

Under the trapdoor, a dark ladder descends underground. Kasia hands the lamp to Alina, "Lead the way. You, help me climb down."

They can already hear the footsteps and shouts of the soldiers in the main room when Kasia delicately closes the trapdoor above her.

The wooden rungs creak beneath their boots, but the trapdoor is made of thick wood and muffles the sound. Nevertheless, within a few minutes their pursuers will start to comb the warehouse and there's no way they'll miss the iron ring in the floor.

The lamp Alina carries lights a subterranean tunnel dug into the moist earth and just wide enough for a person.

Kasia and Hansi stay a few steps behind her, limping after the light.

"It isn't safe down here," Hansi whispers. "There's something—"

"Quiet," answers Kasia. Further ahead the tunnel forks in two.

"Auntie." They can make out Alina's eyes, illuminated by a circle of light, agape with shock. A breath extinguishes the lantern and Kasia finds herself in total darkness.

"Alina!" Her voice is lost in a thousand underground echoes. But no one answers. She gropes her way forward, holding on to Hansi's shoulder. Her heart is throbbing so hard in her chest her rib cage feels like it's going to explode with each beat.

"I hate the dark," she hisses. "Alina!"

"Silence!" a voice shrieks, coming from her right. With a metallic echo—unnatural. A hybrid's voice.

A hand grabs the hem of her cape. The shrill voice says, "This way."

Kasia decides to follow its pull. Without any light, it's impossible to orient herself down here.

They continue for several yards, she turns right, lowers her head, hits her thigh against the wall, turns left. After a few minutes it seems she's entered a more spacious environment where their footsteps echo against the ceiling.

"Oh, look who it is," another voice, female, a few feet to her right.

"Auntie!"

"Alina, I'm here."

Kasia tries stretching out her arm but she finds only empty space. She clings to Hansi, the one sure sign she's still in the real world and hasn't fallen into a hell devoid of radiance.

"Welcome to our humble abode," says the female voice.

"Dear ladies," Kasia tries, "thank you for having brought us here. However could you perhaps show us the way to the docks? And perhaps light a lamp so we might see each other face to face?"

"Oh, but I see your face perfectly. You look quiet frightened, Englishwoman," says the second voice, ending on a note of contempt.

"Who knows why everyone is so afraid of us, when they arrive here, heeheehee," the other laughs.

A tap on Kasia's hand. She tries to pull back, but she realizes it's Alina. She grabs her and brings her in closer; the girl presses herself against her.

"What do you want from us?" Kasia asks. Everyone wants something in this world. Even the hybrids.

"You were squawking like geese in those corridors. And trailing behind you, you have company we find... quite... ah, disagreeable. Heeheeheehee," answers the shrieking voiced woman.

"Yes," the other continues. "If we left you wandering around back there we ran the risk you'd draw too much attention. By now the goons have found the trapdoor and are down here. I watched them from a manhole while they were trying to knock down the door of the Pendulum warehouse."

"One learns so much watching the world from below!" her companion interrupts.

"So much, sister. For example, I saw blood dripping down from the grate in the storehouse entryway. A lot of blood."

"Who could have committed such a ruthless crime?" the strident voice asks, full of sarcasm.

Kasia moves her hand toward the hilt of her knife. A merchant can feel when things are going south.

"Ladies, we are but traders. We needed to defend ourselves from an attack in there. We merely wish to make it to the docks and leave here. We can reach an agreement, if there's anything you wish for, in exchange for our freedom."

"The boy," says the shrill voice and Kasia feels Hansi pulling in closer and letting out a gasp.

"That boy isn't English, waar jongen?"

Hansi answers with a muffled voice, "Nee, mevrouw."

"Then tell us, young man. What are you doing in the company of these Englishwomen?"

"They're going to give me passage on their airship."

No, Kasia thinks, but it's too late now.

"An airship? So then you are rich—rich merchants."

"Not all that rich, my lady," Kasia adds hurriedly. "In truth, we're swimming in debt. However, since we are in something of a hurry, we could pay you well, if you let us go."

"Oh yes, money. But we prefer other forms of liquidity." The voice has moved behind her now.

"Yes," says the other. "Some creatures slither here below, but they taste terrible."

"We'll send you to the aircraft, young man, but leave the two merchants here," the shriller voice finishes behind Kasia.

Alina's hand is noticeably warmer. It burns to the point where Kasia needs to let go of it. She tries to do it nonchalantly; the girl is attempting a spontaneous combustion spell. Very draining, but she's always been extremely gifted. Only what does she want to set on fire?"

Regardless, Kasia needs to buy her time and stay ready. She brings her free hand to her belt close to the knife's hilt. "We're in a great hurry, we can stop no longer. Let us go or you'll regret it."

"You dare threaten us, merchant? Perhaps then it'd be better to deliver a clearer message to your airship."

"That's right," the other continues. "Perhaps we might send something of yours along with the young man, to be sure it receives due attention."

"Like one of your bones."

"Picked clean."

Kasia draws her knife and swings it around her, striking only thin air.

A flash of light bursts forth from Alina's hand, tearing through the shadows. The lantern she carries in the other hand flickers and lights up, just as the fire at her fingertips dims.

Kasia tries to make out her enemies. In front of her gasps a being with skeletal limbs, covered with mud and tatters, matted hair and a face disfigured by a brass mask welded to her skull, with two dark-lensed eyepieces.

"Hansi, protect the lamp!" she shouts. Alina collapses to the ground, exhausted by the spell.

Behind her is another woman, pudgier and flabby, her face also deformed by the same mask. She has a short, curved spear in her hand, but she waivers indecisively now that she's lost the advantage of darkness.

"You're clever, Englishwomen," the fatter one hisses.

The two beings are a few yards from the three of them who are huddled tight around the small light.

"You saw that hot flash, hybrid?" says Kasia.

"Yes. But the young woman has fainted now," says the thinner one.

"How do you think she was able to conjure up that flame?"

The two ladies of the underground let out some faint grumbles.

"Yes, that's it exactly," Kasia presses them. "Witchcraft. Black magic."

"The witch has fainted now," one shrieks.

Kasia closes her eyes and gathers the power in her heart. She must wake the dragon.

"And who do you think would travel with a young witch?"

Kasia concentrates all her energy inside her arteries until her heart swells with the rhythmic pulse of every beat. "Who would travel with a young witch?" Kasia hears her own voice, already distorted by the summoning of her powers.

The two creatures retreat to the edge of the chamber, mumbling their wards.

The old dragon raises his head inside Kasia's dark heart. The beast looks her straight in the eye, gathers his strength and lets loose its deadly breath, hotter than a thousand furnaces and more powerful than storm winds.

Kasia channels the energy outward. She feels her hair billow and rise into a mane that gives off glints of flame and shadow. She lifts her arms to display her hands, permeated by pulsing black veins. Finally, she opens her eyes, completely black, like those of a charging warhorse.

"An even more powerful witch!" she lets her altered voice boom across the small atrium.

"Run, while you still have time," adds Hansi. "Or she will curse you until the end of your days. Gevlucht!"

Kasia tries to maintain the spell. The dragon devours all her energy, gluttonous and without caution. Her hair shines like electric filaments and the two human dregs cover their eyes, no longer able to withstand the light's intensity.

The world flutters around Kasia, while she fights to control the dragon for a few seconds longer, to stop the flames from flowing, free and deadly from the points of her fingers. She finally sees the two hybrids sneaking away, leaving the path free.

Kasia must awake from the trance, but by now the dragon is powerful and he doesn't want to quiet down easily. She places a knee on the ground, muttering reassuring words and trying to cool down its savage instincts.

"Auntie," Alina caresses her cheek, "come back."

"I'm here, give me a minute."

"Oh my god," young Hansi mumbles a few more meaningless words.

"Auntie, we need get going."

"I'm not sure those two disgusting creatures have given up on us. And they're not alone, here below," Kasia says.

"It's the craziest thing that... oh my God," Hansi runs a hand through his hair. "Those were the Sisters. It's a legend here among the warehouses. But you... it was... oh God."

"You enjoyed the show, boy?" Kasia whispers. "The hybrids fear magic, even more than carrot-eaters like you. If a witch implanted two brass eyes in your skull like those, you too would fear it. Nevertheless, you were on the ball. Now help me get up."

She feels light as a feather, the summoning of the dragon sapped her of all her reserves. What's more, the throbbing pain in her left ankle isn't helping her stay fast on her feet.

"How do we get out of here?" Alina asks.

"In the darkness earlier, while they were leading us," says Hansi. "I heard the sound of a rattling manhole that I'd recognize anywhere. It's in front of my uncle's warehouse."

"Asking your uncle for help doesn't seem like an option," Kasia answers.

"Every carriage that passes over makes it vibrate. It's loose; I think we could easily move it."

"Let's try. I'll go in front, I'm the only one who's armed," Kasia says. "But you, Hansi, need to prop me up. Alina, watch our backs. Grab that iron bar."

They half open the door of uneven boards, revealing a long narrow corridor, which forks in two after five or six yards. The way appears empty. Having reached the fork, they stop and listen carefully. After a few seconds, they hear the noise of the manhole cover. Thus they proceed, turn after turn, reaching a metal ladder leading up to the poorly secured grill over which carriages pass.

The three wait several minutes, hanging from the ladder, but just when Kasia is about to order the boy to go out and look around, no matter the risk, a large carriage positions itself over the opening. The driver chatting with the warehouse workers echoes happily into the narrow well.

One at a time, they slip under the carriage in the middle of the Walkway's mud. They cover their heads with their hoods and creep out amidst the crates brimming with fish that crowd the unloading area.

With heads bowed they move quickly toward the docks trying not to meet the eyes of other passersby.

***

The assembly at the docks' entrance has thinned out, but many people still linger in the thoroughfare. Kasia directs herself toward the guard post and hands her authorization to the sentry with black eyebrows behind the booth's tinted glass.

"We're leaving today, it's the Needle, pier six," Kasia says.

"One moment, Captain," the man says, hurrying inside. Kasia stands on tiptoe, enduring the pain in her left ankle, to see the pier where her ship is still anchored. A small crowd has gathered right at the edge of the boarding area and prolonged shouting can be heard. Bad news.

"Captain Santuini." The officer of the guard, a young man with a blonde forelock that falls over his eyes, accompanied by the guard manning the post, appears in the threshold.

"Lieutenant." Kasia salutes him after a glance at his stars.

"It seems you have an outstanding debt. I received a warrant from Baron Dietrich. And you know you cannot leave port without having settled all your debts." The officer rubs his hands together to fight off the cold.

"May I see the warrant?"

The lieutenant holds a scroll out to her, taken from a red folder held by his assistant.

A portly man with a dirty bandage over his eye, a few yards from the guard post, calls out to them.

"Hey, Hansi! What are you doing here, Hansi?"

Kasia sizes up the newcomer and only skims the warrant.

"Hansi," the portly man continues, shuffling his feet a few steps toward them, "you wouldn't be wanting to leave, would you? Without saying goodbye to your old friends?"

"Senzi," the young man mumbles, his face pale as the moon. "Of course not. I just need to accompany these customers to their airship."

"Customers," the other adds continuing to move closer. "Well that means they're going to pay you, right?"

"Of... of course. And as soon as I finish here, I'll come down to the Wood Table and settle up."

"Settling up, that's an excellent idea. Even if it's late. It's very late to settle up. You were expected a week ago."

The policeman turns his gaze on the portly man, compelling him to stop his advance.

"Look here, Lieutenant," Kasia says, showing him the contract, "here it refers to an order for goods, animal hides. But the order isn't attached as the commercial code requires. And thus the warrant is invalid."

The officer studies the contract from such a distance it seems impossible he can read a word of it.

"You're English, Santuini, correct?"

"Of course."

"And I should doubt the word of Baron Dietrich, against yours? Go to Dietrich mansion and clear up this issue. When you have your papers in order you can raise anchor."

"No, listen—"

"Clear. Off. Or I'll put you in chains." The officer spreads his legs and fixes his thumbs behind his belt.

"But this isn't legal." Kasia lowers her hood, uncovering her head.

"Don't waste my time." The man turns to reenter the guard post.

"Can you at least tell me whether my crew is assembled? Have they all signed the register?"

The soldier crosses the threshold without deigning to look back at her; but his brother-in-arms glances at the register and silently mouths to her, "All except one."

So Silla and Riger, at least, have made it, the only member of the outfit still on the ground is Alina, and she's with her.

"Lieutenant," a deep voice rises out of a knot of merchants, to her right. They make way for Leonardo's notable paunch together with his ineffable smile.

The officer pokes his head out the glass window. "Oh, Guarischi! What a pleasure. It's been a while since we've seen you at the club."

"You're right, business has kept me away. But I promise you next time I pass by, I'll leave a couple of bottles for you and the general."

"The good ones, eh? Something Italian; not that swill you palm off on the Dutch."

"You can be sure of it. However, Captain Santuini has urgent business to attend to on behalf of yours truly. Can I help clear up this misunderstanding?"

The soldier twists his lip in a frown. "I don't know. She owes money to Baron Dietrich."

"Santuini has an urgent delivery—a crate of spices for the wedding of the Regent of Den Haag's Infanta, in my name. It would be truly unpleasant if my gift didn't arrive in time—wouldn't it, Captain?" He turns and winks slyly at Kasia.

"Absolutely. We can only deliver the... um, crate, there if we leave today."

"How much money are we talking about, Lieutenant?" Leonardo asks nonchalantly.

"I have no idea, but there's a warrant." The lieutenant takes up the papers once again, wearily glancing over them until he finds the paragraph. "A pallet of hides. Something like that."

"It's an ugly mess to owe a debt to the baron," Leonardo adds. "I'll cover the warrant myself. A pallet of hides can't be worth more than ten thousand pieces. Right, Captain?"

"As you wish, Guarischi. So long as you sign it for me." The soldier holds the papers out from the window, submitting them to Leonardo's elegant flourish.

"May we go?" Kasia asks and the officer waves for them to pass through.

Leonardo comes up and embraces her, burying his face in her hair.

"Listen to me, open the crate as soon as you can. And take care of him," he whispers in her ear.

"You're a bastard, Leo. You've got me in hot water up to my neck. And my money?"

Leonardo breaks free of the embrace quickly putting a half yard between them.

"The price of carriage will be paid on arrival as agreed. Bring forward the spices." He motions to two workmen pushing a cart supporting a hefty wooden crate.

"Who's leaving with you?" asks the lesser ranking soldier, holding out the registry.

"Alina Santuini." The young woman steps forward to sign.

"Me too," says Hansi. "Anselmus Gingelmann."

"Hey!" The man with the bandage over his eye, who harassed Hansi earlier, comes forward. "How can he say he's leaving? This man has debts to honor."

"Shut your trap and get away from here," says the soldier. "Gingelmann, write your name here, then I'll check to see whether or not you have any debts."

"Perhaps he has debts that aren't registered," the spiteful man gripes. "Captain, are you transporting him? If you're transporting him, you'll be responsible for them. Know this."

Kasia approaches Hansi and whispers, "How much do you owe him?"

"Captain, I beg you, you need to take me away from here. You promised—"

"Tell me how much you owe him. I'll take you away, but tell me how much."

"Forty."

"All this ruckus over... oh, forty thousand?"

Hansi nods meekly.

"The man has nothing outstanding," the guard declares. "I registered him as a passenger aboard the Needle. You may go. However we'd better inspect the crate of spices."

"Leave it be. They're spices, didn't you hear Guarischi?" the lieutenant barks from inside the guard post. "More importantly, there's a bit of confusion at pier six. It appears someone isn't too pleased with having English people in port. You will need an escort."

"Captain," the portly man tries once again to grab Kasia's attention. "Don't take that good-for-nothing with you. Otherwise you'll answer for it. He's not worth the trouble, believe me. The man who leant him money has a good memory. And supporters in all the ports on the Continent. Altiero Hasse, does the name mean anything to you?"

"Then tell him I know nothing about this man's debts. He bought passage and I'm granting him passage. If your boss is so well supported, he can look for him when we land."

"Where?"

"You heard them, didn't you? Den Haag, the Hague."

Four soldiers in dark blue uniforms and mud-splattered boots, assemble outside the guard post and receive summary instructions from their commander. Kasia, Hansi who's helping her walk, Alina, and the two workmen bearing the wooden crate march behind them toward pier six. Kasia seeks out Leonardo again with her gaze, but he just waves farewell.

Further ahead near the embarkation, the soldiers need to shout a great deal before they can break through the mob around the pier.

"Police! Step away!" Every order is accompanied by a vigorous thrust with the butt of a rifle.

Within the circle of onlookers is the man with the turban on his head and the old army uniform.

"You," he rebukes with fiery eyes. "You Englishwomen! Witches!"

An indistinct murmur arises from the dozens of menacing faces crowding around them.

"Back, dogs!" threatens the head of the military squad, raising his blunderbuss.

"Where will we end up," the man barks at the crowd, "if the English filth can still heave these accursed women on us? Hasn't the war taught us anything? Death to the witches, zonder vrees en zonder blaam!"

"Back!" The soldiers stand shoulder to shoulder, thrusting their rifles at the throng pressing forward in a crescendo of possessed shouts.

"Hansi, Alina, carry the box on board!" Kasia orders. The two workmen have by now taken off, leaving their cart near the jetty.

"Captain!" Silla sticks her head out of the command bridge window. Peering out next to her are the monstrous shafts of the Manroy double-barreled machine gun, one of the few illegal weapons they were able to buy on the black market, during their first voyage.

The mob clamors, pushing the soldiers closer and closer to the chasm next to the jetty.

"Get out of here!" yells one of the guards. "We can't hold them back any longer."

Kasia checks with the corner of her eye that the crate has been pushed onto the lower deck. Her entire crew is on board, including the mysterious charge delivered to her by Leonardo.

With a deliberately slow pace, staring straight into the eyes of those screaming across the guards' shoulders, Kasia limps to the top of the mooring. She unties the knot, heedless of the spittle and rocks that begin to rain down, plentiful as the curses hurled in at least four languages.

She comes to the bridge and undoes the thin noose, the last link to German soil.

The soldiers withdraw their weapons letting the small mob run toward the pier's embankment, but the airship has taken to the wind and a good three feet of thin air separate the boarding ramp from terra firma.

In fact, the foremost among the roaring crowd must suddenly break and push in the other direction so as not to fall into the precipice below.

Kasia curves her mouth into a smirk and, articulating the words as clearly as she can, she shouts "God save the Queen, now and forever!"

Among the screaming faces in the front line, she recognizes a woman with blonde curls and a face half-covered by a brilliant green mask. The woman points her index finger at her, imitating a revolver the way children do and with her lips pronounces a silent "bam."

Kasia turns and climbs back up the gangway. It's time to take command of her ship and above all to discover who or what they've taken on board.

## PART THREE: MAN IN A BOX

"Ninety knots, from the north northeast. Stable."

Silla's calm voice welcomes Kasia to the bridge.

"But why did they kidnap me, Auntie?" Alina says with a trembling tone and hair clinging to her face.

Kasia checks the compass bearing and pressure gauges with a glance.

Her entire crew is on deck, including the young German they've taken in. Another mistake on a morning full of mistakes.

Silla sits in the captain's seat, her seat, waiting for the order to cede command.

Lili holds the helm while Riger covers her position at the artillery and also the empty spot at the monoscope.

"To your post, girl, move it!" Kasia barks.

"But, Auntie, I—"

"We've just raised anchor from a pier filled with people dead set on skinning us alive and, sure as hell, right now a Dutch airship is releasing its mooring to follow our wake. Stations, everyone! You," Kasia points her index finger at Hansi, "come below deck with me."

"Our course, Captain?" asks Silla.

"Take us away from here, as quickly as possible. Follow the wind."

Kasia waits for Alina to sit at her lookout post and press her nose to the monoscope, to scan their surroundings. She almost wants Alina to dare raise her eyes from the instrument again so as to resume her lecture, but the young woman remains obstinately turned away, her jaw so tight it's a wonder she doesn't crack her teeth.

"Come on." She takes the German boy by the shoulder and—in part leaning on him, in part pushing—climbs down to the lower deck.

"Here," Kasia swings open the door to the sick bay, impiously converted into a broom closet. "Get in and keep quiet until further orders."

"But, my lady—"

"Captain. Aboard the ship, you must call me Captain. On the ground, once we've offloaded you at the first port, you can call me what you like, assuming we make it there and we don't throw you overboard mid-flight."

"Captain," he tries.

"Get in! Do you need to piss?"

"Um, no."

"Anything else can wait." Kasia shut the door in his face, turning the key.

The voyage already promises to be problematic enough without a clumsy stranger wandering around the ship and risking he'll break his neck during maneuvers.

She drags herself to the bridge, cursing her wounded ankle with every step. The crew focuses on navigating, but Kasia's gut twists in expectation of what's to come.

"Sisters," she starts, "we have a problem. This morning I met the merchant Leonardo who offered me money to transport a passenger to Londion. A lot of money, a hundred and twenty thousand pieces."

A soft whistle escapes Riger's lips.

"Right," Kasia continues. "But the deal smelled fishy to me so I asked for some time. Nevertheless, a Dutch nobleman, that Baron Dietrich, approached me on the Walkway because he too was interested in the passenger. I didn't think much about it because I didn't know we'd already fallen into the false magistrate trap."

"He was perfect!" Alina exclaims. "You should have seen him, he had the stamped papers."

"Alina, you..." Kasia forces a breath out her nose. She lowers her voice and continues, "you need to understand that you must be careful. And before taking the initiative it's better to consult with a more experienced crewmember. You should have waited for Riger."

"But she would have fallen for it as well! Even you would have..." the words die in her mouth.

Old Riger raises an eyebrow and is about to interject, but Kasia foresees this—the last thing she needs is crewmembers arguing on deck.

"Maybe I would have been fooled too, you're right. But maybe I would have noticed an inconsistency in the man's request, seeing as it's the two hundred and twelfth time I've docked on a pier and your third time. Maybe I would have questioned why an official from the magistrate would stop to talk with a junior crewmember, when they normally insist on speaking to the captain or the commanding officer. Regardless, it happened how it happened; we've all learned something—I hope."

"He was very well dressed," Riger remarks, with a sigh.

"Through sheer luck," Kasia moves on, ignoring the aside, "we've managed to recover you and get back to the airship unharmed. I decided to bring that young man aboard. We would have needed to kill him otherwise, and I didn't consider that an option. Not an option I wanted to live with anyway. But it's a matter of small moment, we'll dump him first time we dock."

"I heard them threaten him," Alina says.

"Yes, but words are cheap on the docks. We'll see. I'm not worried about it at the moment. Baron Dietrich, on the other hand, fabricated a false claim with the port authority to keep us stuck there. Leonardo popped out of nowhere like a flower in the snow, et voila he cleaned up our papers. In exchange for transporting his inconvenient passenger, of course."

Silence on deck. Clearly no one dares comment on her decision.

"I know, sisters. We've gotten ourselves into a fine mess. But we'll get out of it, and Leonardo also promised me a heap of money."

"Promises," Riger mumbles.

"Promised wood won't light the stove, I know," Kasia gripes. "However, Leonardo is a fairly honest guy. What's more, we didn't have a choice. Going to Dietrich mansion with those madmen destroying the pier in the meantime, it's certain we would have stayed in Frank Fort. In prison or stuck on a pyre tied to fir stakes."

"Captain," Silla interrupts, "an airship has cut loose from one of the far piers. Fourteen or fifteen."

"Direction?" Kasia asks.

"Behind us. The graydar shows a distance of a hundred thousand feet."

Kasia pictures the graydar in her mind's eye, seeing the blip of how far away the ship would show up behind them and whispers a curse. "Stay on the wind and push the engines to six eighths. Calculate their relative velocity as soon as possible. Silla, stay in command. I want to see for myself who we've dragged home. Alina, come with me."

Kasia faces her sisters on the bridge a moment longer.

"Lili, everything okay?" she asks her sister with straight dark hair, like a cascade of shadows, whose head is turned away and who has been dead silent up until then..

"Yes, Captain," the other responds, without rotating her neck an inch, the helm's wheel in her hands and a few minutes from a potential chase by armed enemies. Kasia's eyes consult Silla who nods curtly. Everything's under control, Captain. I'll take care of her, Captain. There isn't much need for words when you've shared the hold of the same vessel for over thirty years. Before the war, Silla had to put up with grimmer company in the holds of attack airships.

Kasia heads toward the weapons locker and hands Alina a big fat revolver. "Check that it's loaded and the safety is firmly in place."

A shiver runs down her arm as she leaves the heavy metal in the girl's palm. Assembling and disassembling weapons was one of their few pastimes on Gothland, during the exile. Even for little children.

For herself, she chooses a short blunderbuss with a gilded bronze barrel. A weapon useful both as a firearm and as a blunt instrument in a quick scuffle. They climb down to the hold where the pale wooden crate awaits them.

"Give me the revolver and open it," Kasia orders.

Reluctantly, the young woman relinquishes the weapon and, grabbing on to a short pulley, starts to force the boards with her foot.

Kasia positions herself a few yards away, trying to keep an open line of fire between Alina and the container. With a loud snap, the first board gives way tumbling to the floor. The crate is stuffed with jute sacks and written on in black paint: "pepper," "cumin," "coriander," and other names of spices.

Alina looks at it, gawking with her big gray eyes, and shrugs.

"Try cutting a bag open, one of those on top," Kasia suggests.

With her knife, the girl slices into the one labelled pepper. A handful of granules pour to the ground, but after a short time the sack runs dry—empty.

Alina grabs the jute and throws it aside, revealing a black cavity, a false bottom inside the container.

"Step away from it," says Kasia, levelling her gun. "Hey you, inside," she raises her voice a bit. "We know you're in there. Who are you?"

A coughing fit. Then a deep voice, in English: "Ehm, I am Guild Poe. Where am I?" A very strange accent, as if he were speaking with his cheeks full of apples.

Alina and Kasia look at each other dumbstruck; then the Captain answers, "You're on an English airship, headed to Londion. I am the Captain, Kasia Santuini. Now, we're going to pull you out of there. Stay still. If I hear movement while we're opening it, I'll shoot first and afterward ask myself what would have been the best thing to do. I have a seven ninety arquebus in my hand, for your information."

"Okay, Captain. Stay calm, eh? I'll be a good boy, but don't get carried away with your finger on the trigger," the voice in the crate answers in an amused tone.

Alina, amid shoves and grunts, pries another two boards off the crate and meticulously puts aside the bogus spice bags. Kasia waits with her gun raised, but the man stays motionless inside the false bottom, completely hidden by the dark.

"Alright, that should suffice. Alina, come. Take your weapon."

Then, in a louder voice: "Guild Poe! The gap is wide enough; you may come out. Very slowly, without making any sudden moves."

A dark-skinned hand appears out of the opening and, pushing off of the sacks, it's followed by a head of frizzy white hair and a smooth face from which two small eyes stand out—black and lively—and quickly focus on Kasia.

"Captain, I'm getting out. Careful with those doohickeys."

"Do come out, Guild Poe. You have nothing to fear here if you stay cool."

The man, with a certain amount of caution, owing to his clearly advanced age, wriggles out of the crate until he stands at his full, noteworthy height.

He isn't wearing a jacket, just an elegant camel-colored sweater and a pair of perfectly-tailored black pants. He puts his hands up and displays a bezel of white teeth contrasting with his black lips. "It's a great pleasure, young ladies."

"You have very dark skin, Guild Poe. And you're not English; you have a peculiar accent. Where are you from?"

"Ooh!" the man responds with a dry little laugh. "I come from inside the crate, Captain Santuini. And frankly I found it much more comfortable."

"Alina, search this man and then take a quick look inside the crate."

"Ah-ah." The man raises a finger. "Captain, let's not start off on the wrong foot. Am I your guest on this ship or your prisoner?"

"Neither one or the other. You're a passenger, whom I honestly would have preferred to not take on board, but who I had to accept under duress. And passengers have to conform to a few simple rules. First and foremost, no shooting weapons on my ship. Are you armed?"

"Of course; I have a revolver strapped to my right ankle." The man lifts his corduroy trousers a few inches and reveals a brown leather holster. "And," he kneels, putting a hand inside the crate, "I have this—"

"Easy!" says Kasia placing the butt of her gun against his back.

"—overnight bag," he continues, taking it out an inch at a time, "which contains my hunting knife."

"What else is in there?"

"Oh, my toothbrush, tissues and some other knick-knacks of mine. Nothing important."

"Yes, of course. Listen, Guild Poe, the voyage to Londion is long and I trust the man who loaded you on this ship. Unfasten the revolver from your ankle now and place your hunting knife at your feet. After which Alina will take your weapons into custody and frisk you—it's only fair—to be sure you haven't forgotten anything. Everything will be returned to you when we arrive. Other than that, you're free to move around the ship, navigational maneuvers permitting of course. Are we agreed?"

"Radio transmission from the pursuing vessel," the brass horn attached to the wall reports Silla's voice from the bridge. "They insist on speaking to the captain."

"Captain on the bridge in four minutes. Relay that. Relative velocity?"

"They've matched our speed and are keeping their distance."

"Good. Be right there."

"You need to bind that ankle, Captain," the man says with a half-smile.

"Yes, unfortunately my medical officer stayed behind on the ground. They didn't permit her to set sail."

The man places his weapons on the floor and meticulously closes the suitcase's clasps. "I can do it myself, if you like. I studied emergency medicine."

Kasia signals to Alina with her chin. In a few quick movements, the arms are confiscated and the man summarily searched.

"Let's go to the bridge; we're starting to gain altitude and it isn't heated in here. Come, good sir, let us see what you can do. Alina, grab the medic's kit." Passing in front of the storage closet, Kasia raps her knuckles against the door. "Ahoy there, inside. Everything okay?"

"Yes, Captain. But I'd like to make myself useful somehow."

All things considered, Hansi has shown himself to be upstanding. And if the tailing airship wants to intercept them, soon the four will have their hands full with problems. Someone to keep an eye on the elderly dandy could be useful. Kasia unlocks the door.

"Come out. Hansi, may I introduce Mr. Guild Poe. He's authorized to come to the bridge and to touch my left ankle. Nothing else."

"Uh of course, Captain. Herr Poe, it's a pleasure." Young Hansi seems to understand that it'll fall on him to watch the man because he quickly sets himself at his flank and graces Alina with a big smile, which doesn't escape Kasia. Even though the boy's sharp and making himself useful, it's better to drop him at the first port. A hell of a lot better.

"Captain on deck," Kasia says, heading towards her pale leather seat.

"The Captain takes command," Silla responds mechanically, getting up. "Lili, hold the helm, Riger, artillery, and I'll take communications. Alina, stay close to me."

Kasia lets herself sink into the worn out cushion and extends her foot, placing it at the edge of the footboard encircling the elevated captain's chair.

"Sisters: Mr. Guild Poe, our precious cargo headed for Londion. An expert in emergency medicine, he says. Let's see how you handle the melon I feel inside my boot. Hansi, sit back there, lookout station one."

"Captain, the first officer of the pursuing vessel asks to speak with you. Insistently," Silla says, having just put on her headphones.

"What is this mysterious vessel called?"

"The Baron's Scourge."

"I'll take it." Kasia puts on the headphones and wags her chin in the direction of the very tall Guild Poe, drawing his attention to her raised foot. "You're speaking with the Captain of the Needle."

"Captain Santuini, this is the first officer of the Scourge," a male voice bursts metallically through the large loudspeaker fixed to the bridge.

"Pass me to your Captain, uhhn—" Kasia lets out as Guild Poe pulls off her boot.

"Please wait."

"Hey, First Officer! My patience has its limits."

"Please wait."

Another voice, fighting with the static, somehow familiar to Kasia's ears comes through the headphones. "Santuini. This is the Captain of the Scourge, Host Van Thieg. I finally manage to speak with you; you must be rather busy on your ship."

"Oh, yes. I was washing my hair. Do we know each other?"

"We've seen each other a few times, yes. Today in fact, in that flea-bitten alley, remember?"

So the Captain of the mysterious vessel is the man with the oily, raven hair who accompanied the baron and that strange blonde in the mask.

"And your girlfriend? Did she manage to take off with you or did she stay behind on the pier to have a drink with that madman with the turban on his head who was so anxious to skin us?"

In the meantime the black man, Guild Poe, has stripped bare her ankle, which presents a worrisome swelling and a purple bruise under the ankle-bone."

"Amusing," Van Thieg answers. "Santuini, you have something that belongs to us."

"Is that so? It's just that my hold is full of goods, therefore I don't know how I'll find what you need. You'd better send me an official request, that way I'll record it in my ship's log. And once we arrive at our destination, when we check off the discharge list, perhaps we'll be fortunate enough to find whatever you've lost."

"You don't know what you're playing with. Stop your engines and let us on board. It won't inconvenience you in the least and, in exchange for what belongs to us, we'll even give you a nice sack of gold pieces."

Kasia observes Guild who is wrapping the bandages around her ankle. He winds one coil over the next meticulously without leaving even a millimeter between each band but overlapping very little, so as not to make it needlessly thick. Indifferent to the conversation. Apparently indifferent—Kasia notes a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Captain, another airship has taken off from the docks," Silla interrupts, on the internal channel.

"Additional information?"

"It's at the edge of the graydar, I think it took off from the middle section, could be pier ten. It's on the tail of the Scourge."

"Let's hope it's the good Leonardo, who's keeping an eye on his affairs." The Scourge, however well-armed and swift it may be, couldn't possibly hold its own against two allied airships.

"Should I try to contact it?" Silla asks.

"No, let's keep a low profile. It might not be him after all, but rather some Dutchman coming to lend a hand to our enemy."

"Captain," Van Thieg's voice erupts again from the shell-shaped speakers. "Have you finished your accounts? Slow down and let us dock, that way we can converse face to face."

"Excuse me, Mister, I think you're mistaken; we don't have what you're looking for on board. Now you must excuse me, but I have to attend to our route. Over and out," Kasia pulls the switch, cutting their communication short.

"There we go," Guild whispers, with his deep voice. "With this binding the swelling should diminish and the pain too. Nothing is broken, so in a couple of days you can get back to jumping around like a roe deer."

"Very nice. Listen, friend, your passage hasn't yet been paid, and I have an airship armed to the teeth on my tail that's demanding you at full volume. I need a good reason not to slow down and deliver you to them."

The man assumes a thoughtful air and brings a finger to his chin. "I don't know this Baron Dietrich, and I don't owe him anything."

"But you know the name. Why is he chasing you?"

"That's an excellent question. You need to ask him though."

"Oh yes? You've convinced me. Prepare to stop the engines."

"No, wait!" Guild raises a finger, with a bit of a strained smile. "As I told you, maybe we started out on the wrong foot."

Kasia limits herself to arching an eyebrow.

"I come from very far away," he continues. "From the other side of the ocean."

Kasia narrows her eyes, "Don't joke with me. No one's crossed the Atlantic since before the war."

"Right. However, many things have changed, in our land, over the last few years."

"You're American?"

"Down to the bone. I was born in the City of the Wind."

"I have no idea where that is, but it's been at least seventy years since we've had any contact. At least that's what they say on the docks. How did you manage to cross the ocean? The few who've tried, and turned back, reported that the storms were impassable."

"I was lucky. My companions less so. In fact, I'm the only survivor of a five-person expedition."

"Unbelievable," whispers Kasia.

"We followed the polar route. A little past the fortieth meridian we were overwhelmed. A front of clouds and thunder, high as a mountain bombarded us and made our instruments go haywire. The wind dragged us to the south, destroying our vessel and ripping three of my mates from the navigation posts they were attached to. Our wreck roamed for days without the ability to steer, a few yards altitude above the sea, which was always ready to swallow us. Terrible days. Until finally a storm dashed us against a cliff."

"So you managed to cross?"

"It was the coast of Britain, I later learned. The waves were very high and I clung to the rocks with all my might to reach that damned beach. I waited on my team for days, but I never saw them again."

"An airship can't weather a magnetic storm like the one you described."

"Right. And, in fact, we were shipwrecked."

"No. I don't believe you, friend. You didn't make that journey. At least not on an airship. It's been a few years that I've travelled on these things," Kasia pats her chair's armrest, "And there's no way to pass through a storm. The semi-aluminum frame wouldn't hold up for more than a few minutes and then the ship would plummet like a stone."

"We had a somewhat special means of conveyance. Experimental."

"Well, now I have a better idea why the baron wants to get his hands on you. Technology that improves airships to the point where they can withstand the force of a storm would be a great step forward, which would give the Dutch absolute supremacy in trade and in weaponry."

The man stares at her, nodding gravely. "You're a witch." It was not a question.

"Yes. Thank you for the bandage, it feels better," Kasia slides back into her boot, carefully. "Graydar situation?"

"All clear ahead of us."

"Follow the wind, Silla, calculate the pivot point to change course over the Ardennes." At the Hamburg beacon they'd have to declare the change in course from Den Haag to Londion and they'd discover the intentions of the Dutch. The Needle is very fast, but it's taken on two unscheduled passenger and there are military airships which could catch up with it over a long distance. The Baron's Scourge is probably an updated airship with the latest technology and remarkable performance capacity. But the Dutch nobles love to travel in comfort and the weight doesn't help in tight maneuvers.

"Route calculated, twenty-seven minutes from turning point," Silla communicates.

"Excellent, I want a clean execution. Riger, prepare the message to the beacon. Tell them we're changing course for Londion due to a customer order we received after we were already in flight."

"Which customer?" Riger asks.

"Hmm, something that will be difficult for them to verify."

"Captain," Hansi interjects, "use my father's name, Gingelmann. He's in a perpetual dispute with the Frank Fort port authority, and he always lets their questions grow old on his writing desk before he replies."

"Okay, let's try it, an order from Gingelmann warehouses. Are you rich, Hansi?"

"Rich only in spirit, these days."

"The Scourge increased its relative velocity by twenty knots," Alina informs them.

"It's putting a bit of pressure on us, but it may be better this way. Maintain speed and course, let's see how close they want to get. When we get to five hundred feet try to shake them off. Ten minute break, everyone; Alina, please make me a sandwich."

"Can I help?" the young man behind her asks.

Kasia is about to refuse, but the girl beats her to the punch. "Of course, come down to the pantry, that way we'll finish quickly."

Contradicting her would lead to a conversation she doesn't have time to handle; and, after all, ten minutes in the pantry can't cause any irreparable harm.

"Hurry up," Kasia says, relaying the order with a rapid-fire glare at Alina, who returns it with a faint smile. "Who's place are you going to in Londion?" Kasia asks her passenger.

"I have a couple of names. I think I'll be able to find them easily."

"Let's clarify something, Mister Poe. You don't step foot on the Londion docks if I'm not paid first. You have almost six hours to figure out how to arrange it, so collect your thoughts and find a solution that's satisfactory for you and your contacts."

"Communication from the Scourge for the Captain," Silla interrupts.

"Refuse it, the Captain is busy," answers Kasia. "Politely, sister."

Kasia stretches out in her armchair and closes her eyes, trying to rest for a few seconds. It's been a frenetic morning and the afternoon promises to be even worse; best to recover her strength.

After a moment of darkness, a chicken sandwich with greens is delivered to the small table beside her armchair waking her up."

"Four minutes to turning point, crew to your stations," Silla says in a professional tone.

"You seem pretty tired," Guild Poe remarks, seated behind her at observation post two.

"Uh." Kasia passes a hand over her eyes, she didn't think she was so worn out she'd fall asleep on the bridge. "How far away is the Scourge?"

"Five hundred twenty."

"Presumptuous little man." The weapon range at their cruising speed was five hundred feet, for whoever stays in front with the advantage of relative velocity. But you would need a captain and crew who knew how to navigate to keep such a precise gap, it would only take a gust of wind to end up within shooting distance. "Keep our weapons lowered, for the moment, but I want your hands on those controls."

"Yes, Captain," Riger responds without moving a muscle.

"Lili?"

"Navigation systems in order, ready to turn at your command."

Kasia bites into the sandwich, perhaps a mouthful of food will help clarify her thoughts.

"Guild Poe, Hansi, starting now communications on deck are suspended. I don't want to hear you whispering, moving, not even breathing. If you need to throw up, there's a bag near your seats attached to the armrest."

Kasia takes the dark leather straps, worn with use, and latches the brass clasp over her belly as her mouth begins to burn.

"Darn it, you put hot sauce in these sandwiches."

Alina smiles, but the young witch keeps her eyes fixed on her screen. Very good, at last something got through that thick melon.

Kasia checks her navigation chart, then: "Three, two, one. Mark!"

Lili spins the whole wheel, making the airship's cabin tilt frighteningly to the right. Silla opens the communications channel with the Hamburg beacon, starting to ask for attention to hear their request.

"Transmission from the Scourge, for the Captain," interjects Alina who's covering for Silla.

Kasia opens the channel from her station, "Captain speaking."

"This is the First Officer of the Scourge. One moment and I'll have the Captain on the line."

"We're busy steering right now; we'll be available again in five minutes, over and out."

A smile is painted on Kasia's lips. They turned before the customary trading route, taking their pursuer's crew by surprise. Van Thieg was probably having lunch in his dining cabin and his first officer wasn't ready for such a move. And that little tussle over communications was just a game, but a nervous adversary is more likely to make a mistake and Kasia doesn't want to concede them any advantage.

"Let's go to seventh eights," Kasia orders, pleased.

The deck creaks as the airship's cabin slowly becomes horizontal again, thus rocking in the opposite direction.

"Uhmp." Behind her, Hansi stifles a heave with a cough.

"The Scourge is changing course," Alina reports.

"Distance?"

"Ah. I have to calculate it."

"Two hundred sixty feet from our mark," offers Silla.

"Good. Concentrate, Alina."

"Yes, Auntie. Captain."

"Engines at full speed."

Lili pulls the lever all the way, making the engines emit a dull lowing.

"The Hamburg beacon has responded. They're ordering us to reverse course," Silla interjects.

"Ask their reason. Keep the tone formal and specify that we're recording the communication in our log."

"Scourge," Kasia opens the channel once again. "This is the Captain of the Needle speaking. Is your captain available, now?"

"Please wait." Then an instant later, Von Thieg's voice: "Santuini! Did you really think you'd be able to land in Londion unmolested?"

"I don't know. Do you intend to molest us?"

"You're committing a brazen error. If you ever manage to make it, we'll be right behind you. And we'll deliver such a detailed report to the Dutch authorities that you'll never be able to step foot on the Continent again. The bank will withdraw your line of credit. You won't have time to get off the airship before it's confiscated."

"You're well informed regarding my affairs. We'll see in Londion who shall be in trouble. Keep outside maneuvering distance, you do not have permission to come within my range. This communication is being recorded, Captain, so be careful. The English don't have a sense of humor. Over and out."

"The Hamburg beacon wants us to return to have our cargo inspected. They say they suspect us of transporting contraband goods."

"Send them our list, validated by the port of Frank Fort. It's not within their rights to stop us mid-flight to inspect our cargo, they can send a request to the Londion authorities."

"We'll be over the sea in six minutes," Lili announces.

"Okay, anything on the graydar?"

"No, we should arrive without any problems."

"Transmission from Hamburg. Quote: 'You are not authorized to go beyond the shore; this is your last warning, reverse course or we will shoot you down.'"

"Cross high over the coast, in the clouds."

Silence on deck. A very risky move.

"I don't trust those two-faced Dutchmen," Kasia says. "They might shoot at us in earnest."

In front of her, through the bridge's window, the clouds thicken menacingly.

"We've exceeded the standard level for descent," Silla remarks calmly. "The Scourge is descending."

"So we're gaining two things this way," Kasia comments.

The black cumuli began to press against the glass, laden with electrical charge and storm wind, like all those that plague the world's seas.

Kasia consults her map again. They're rising vertically along the coast; it's time to shed altitude.

The airship starts to shake in the storm winds' grip.

"Maximum cruising velocity on my orders. Distance from the point of descent?"

"Four hundred feet!" Silla shouts amid the frightening creaks of the hull.

Kasia grits her teeth while the resistance against the cabin grows more violent. She can imagine the Dutch on the anti-aircraft coastline scrutinizing the sky in search of their ship.

"Warning shot," Riger interrupts.

A blast behind them, lost in the storm's din.

"They didn't see us, we're almost out of range." Silla steadies herself with both hands against the dashboard, jarred out of her seat.

"Joint stress at maximum threshold!" Lili warns, gripping the wheel.

"Now!"

Lili opens the valves making the floor give way below their feet. The airship drops like a stone, in free fall.

"At six hundred feet, extend balance wings," Kasia shouts, trying to overcome the storm's noise and the hull's rocking. "Alina, report!"

"I can't read the controls!"

Kasia consults her chronometer, reset at the moment of descent. The needle vibrates so much it's difficult to make out the numbers. Fortunately, a small internal stopwatch has gone off inside Kasia, the child of a hundred voyages and maneuvers.

"Wings, out!" she shouts.

Lili pulls the lever, her long hair disheveled by the vibrations.

The airship spreads its wings, powerful friction shaking the cabin, and slows their fall.

Kasia tries to check the altimeter, but the marine clouds, charged with magnetism, have already confused the instruments. Huge masses of black vapor continue to break against the windshield, while their descent velocity gradually decreases. The wings hold, even though the blows are even more intense. They need to get out within a few minutes otherwise the frame might give way. As if it ripped through a curtain, the airship emerges from the clouds revealing the sea, traversed by innumerable white crests of foam a couple hundred feet below her.

"Nose up!" Kasia commands, but Lili has already closed the valves and given the intake pumps full power.

The airship continues its parabolic descent, reducing its relative speed.

The sea grows ever closer, but slowly the hull gains headway.

"Stable," Silla announces.

"Wow, this time we could have almost gone fishing," Riger comments.

"The clouds were a little low," Silla says.

"Perfect maneuver," Kasia concludes. "And the Scourge?"

"I don't see it," Silla answers turning her gaze towards the windows.

"Riger and Alina, to the binoculars; keep your eyes open."

The two witches unfasten their belts and head towards the fixed lookout posts. Above them the clouds flash darkly, blocking almost all the sun's light.

Kasia turns her chair to face the two observers.

Hansi is white as freshly-squeezed milk, while Guild Poe has lost his eternal smile and has the coloring of a toad.

"Has your stay on board been comfortable? Would you care for some peanuts?"

Hansi doubles over, with his face in the bag. Guild Poe on the other hand regains his sense of humor, and quips, "I like your way of flying, Captain. I don't think it comes from experience because steering like that you wouldn't last long. But I like it."

"I took off in an airship while you were still pissing your pants. It's difficult to judge a witch's age; did you know that, Guild Poe?"

"Oh, I know it well. But it's also difficult to judge a black man's age; did they ever tell you that?"

"I have contact at seven o'clock," Riger says. "It's far, over a thousand feet. But it could be the Scourge."

"The graydar?"

"It's silent, just white noise," Silla answers. "A nice little blizzard. But the relative position could correspond to the Scourge."

"I have contact also, at two o'clock," Alina interjects.

"In front of us? Impossible," Riger remarks.

"Actually there are two, no, three ships."

"You're seeing fireflies, girl. Where?" Riger asks rotating her own equipment.

"What do we have?" Kasia orients her chair straight ahead again, impatient.

"The little one is right," Riger answers. "There are three contacts. Perhaps even four. Only... um."

A moment of silence.

"Speak to me, Riger," Kasia presses her.

"They have a bizarre shape. They don't look like airships. And then they're very, very low over the sea."

"They look like cones, right?" Guild Poe asks.

Everyone turns towards him. "Yes, exactly. Cones, but they're huge," Riger says.

"We're in hot water," Guild Poe mumbles.

"Relative velocity and direction?" Kasia asks again.

"They're on our course. Southeast, I'd guess two hundred thirty degrees." Riger checks the binocular again.

"Even closer," Alina reports.

"Guild Poe." Kasia spins her seat around to face him. "Would you be so kind as to enlighten us? Do you have an idea what these ships are?"

The man appears even more shaken than before. His face is wan and his lips pulled tight, two subtle black lines. "Captain, those are trans-oceanic airships. They've come from the other side of the world, from my side."

"Ah, these would be the new ships capable of cutting across oceans? Like the one you came on? Interesting. So they're carrying Americans?"

"Oh, no. We copied the technology for magnetic levitation over the sea and not all that well given that my ship crashed. Others developed it, unfortunately. And they're hostile."

"How miserly you are with information, Guild Poe. Tell me more."

"This isn't the time or place. We need to flee as if the devil's on our heels. Let's curve back over the Continent."

"That's absurd. We'll have the Dutch cannon aimed at our nose. Let's make a wide turn around these mysterious ships. You're irritating me with your half-truths, Mister Poe. Close your trap and let us navigate," Kasia exclaims, turning once again toward the windshield. "Alina!" she orders, "Keep an eye on the unidentified ships. Riger, open artillery. Silla, new course, we'll pass seven hundred feet from them."

"We'll come close to the Scourge," Silla comments.

"I know. But I'd rather keep far away from those unknown gentlemen," Kasia grumbles.

"North, Northeast, three hundred and four degrees," Silla reports.

Lili turns the rudder and the fuselage sways again.

"One of those cones changed course," Alina interrupts. "It's closing in on us. It's... it's fast. It's damned fast!"

"Silla, transmit on all frequencies: 'Keep your distance, emergency maneuvers in process: avoid invading our navigational space. We are not hostile, but we are armed.' Repeat it three time. Alina, estimated distance?"

"Around two thousand feet. They're closing in on us something terrible, it must be a hundred fifty knots."

Kasia open the top button on her blouse. An unknown ship, with unknown technology.

"Riger, prepare the twelve cannon."

"The Scourge is retreating toward the coast," Silla interjects, interrupting radio communication.

"We should turn back, Captain," Guild Poe whispers at her back.

"Silence on the bridge! Hansi, if our passenger opens his mouth again, put a gag in his mug."

"Yes, Captain," another trembling little voice at her back mutters.

Kasia needs to think fast. Regardless of how swift the unknown ships may be what interest could they have in an armed encounter with them? They certainly didn't come from America planning on firing cannon at everyone they met.

"Guild Poe," Kasia twists her head a bit, "why would these foreigners attack us? Answer me truthfully, otherwise I might make the wrong decision and get us all killed."

"Because we saw them. They don't want witnesses to their arrival."

"And what is the end goal of their plan?"

"What a foolish question, Captain. What's the goal of every plan in the world? Survival, domination, prosperity for their species."

"Species?"

Silence from the back row.

"Captain, they're a thousand feet away. Maybe less," Alina interrupts them.

"Silla, message that we're about to fire a warning shot."

"Done, Captain," the other responds after a brief speech into the microphone.

"Alina?"

"They're still coming. No change in course."

"Warning shot. Fire."

Riger presses the wrought metal trigger, letting the muted rumble of their main cannon ring.

"Silla, transmit the message again. No communications?"

"I have a message from the Scourge. It says, 'Captain Santuini, turn back to solid ground; it's your only option. Over and out.'"

"Auntie, they're six hundred feet away!"

Kasia would like to rebuke Alina for her informal address, but now is not the time to teach good manners on deck.

"Shoot, Captain!" Guild Poe interjects from behind her. "Sho—hmpf."

Agitated noises behind her seat, of men elbowing each other.

"One doesn't shoot at people one doesn't know, Mr. Poe. Hansi, let him go."

Kasia feverishly checks the nautical charts. Given the relative speed of that thing there's nowhere they can escape to. At least not without attempting a desperate move.

"Lili, climb two hundred feet. Engine at eight eighths. Alina, strap in!"

"Valves closed, ascending."

"Hold on," Kasia commands, hoping the young witch hasn't forgotten for the umpteenth time to secure the lookout station's hook. The clouds leap towards them as their blood sinks to their feet, gluing them to their seats. The engines rumble faintly, fighting against the magnetic wind picking up as they gain altitude.

As soon as they pierce the first clouds, Kasia shouts over the din of the planks rattled by the storm: "Valves stable, helm straight ahead!"

If they manage to stay near the edge of the storm clouds, maybe they can maintain navigation. Maybe they can cover their tracks.

"Graydar?"

"It's still blind, Captain!" Silla answers, overcoming the clamor.

The airship rides the wind, beating against it like a swallow in a hurricane. Frightening spikes in pressure make them jerk dozens of feet higher and lower, testing the quasi-aluminum cage that holds the vacuum controlling atmospheric buoyance.

"The pressure indicators are off the dial, Captain," Lili shrieks, clinging to the helm's wheel.

"Let's descend forty feet."

"They're behind us!" Alina interrupts. "They've fired. It's a grappling line!"

A muffled blow upsets the hull, pulling it off course.

"They want to board us!" Kasia shouts. "Riger, machine gun the line."

Confused thoughts run through Kasia's mind. No one should be able to follow them in the clouds and no one should be able to throw a boarding line with such precision in the middle of this mayhem. That maneuver smells of magic sight.

The heavy machine gun fire surpasses the clashing of thunder above them.

A sound of splintering wood tears through the cabin and Kasia feels the chair give way below her back. She harpoons the armrests with all her might while the sea appears in the front window approaching swiftly. Jumbled shouts fill the bridge. Kasia extends her arm and grips the red steel lever, the one she's never had to pull in decades of flying.

The rod is tough as stone, but Kasia, with the force of desperation, manages to lower it completely while the foam waves grow closer, eager to swallow their bodies.

The explosive charges placed at the cabin's peak open the parachutes, which slow their descent with a violent tug. Kasia hits her head on the headrest and the taste of blood fills her mouth.

"Riger!" Kasia screams. "Realign the cannon!"

"Captain, helm vacant!" Silla shouts, her mouth spitting out both blood and words.

Lili lies collapsed against the rudder's wheel, unconscious.

A blast shakes the cabin. Kasia strikes the belt's clasp with the palm of her hand, trying to reach the fainted witch.

"Status! Who fired? Riger, the cannon?" Kasia needs to cross the dangerously sloped deck on all fours.

Another roar, further away.

"It's the Scourge!" Alina screams at her, still gripping the binoculars. "They're firing at that damned cone-shaped vessel."

Kasia manages to grab hold of the wheel. She tries to delicately rest Lili's head against the floor. The hand she pulls back is streaked with blood, but she has no time to tend to her sister.

"Hansi! Come here, damn it! Help me; see what's wrong with Lili. Riger, talk to me."

"I can't manage to line up this son of a bitch. The wheel's been hit, it'll only turn a few degrees."

"I'll lend you a hand myself. I don't intend to sink without leaving those nameless bastards a souvenir." She turns the rudder, and the hull swings until it's lined up with the prow of the enemy ship. It's so large they can't fail to hit it, unstable as they are.

"Fire!" shouts Kasia.

The cannon booms over their heads and through the window. Kasia follows the white trail of their shell, anticipating its impact against the dark flank.

When the shot seems as if it's about to reach its target, the enemy ship sways and the shell deviates a few degrees, as if caught by a sudden gust of wind, going off to die in the distance.

"But..." Kasia mumbles.

"Missed," Riger reports immediately. "I don't believe it."

Another blast is added from behind them, followed by the white trail of a projectile which speeds a dozen yards from the side of their cabin, towards the huge enemy vessel.

The shot reaches the ship's external structure burying itself in its defenses.

"The Scourge jabbed it," Silla says. "I have a transmission."

"Send it through," Kasia commands.

"Retreat!" the Dutch captain's sharp voice erupts on to the bridge. "I repeat, retreat, we will cover you. Santuini, don't try anymore nonsense, the fish can wait another day for your carcass."

Kasia curses and turns the whole steering wheel, lining up the prow with the Scourge. "To hell with it! Let's retreat. Riger, spin round the machine gun and fire the whole clip full of shells. It won't make a big difference, but it will slow them down a bit.

The airship teeters forward, shaken by the sea winds and the discharge of shots the prow's weapon spits at their strange foes. The Scourge continues to fire its own shells at regular intervals.

"They're moving away," Alina says. "They're turning toward the open sea. We did it."

"Right," Kasia remarks. "We managed to hand ourselves over to the Dutch; a great outcome. Hansi, speak to me. How's Lili?"

"She's breathing," the boy answers, pitiless.

"Guild Poe, expert in emergency medicine, get off your behind and help him."

"Captain, I can't be sent back to the Dutch," Guild Poe sighs, strapped to his chair.

Kasia tightens her jaw. "I understand; I'll do whatever's possible. But right now help my sister."

"Captain, if you go with them, you'll have no other choice. You'll have to deliver me to the baron. Reverse course, let's attempt the crossing."

"We can't. In this condition we'll never make it. The quasi-aluminum frame is damaged, I have just one balloon to sustain us; the other two have been pierced."

"Let's try all the same," he answers.

"No. We'll fall back to solid ground. Listen, Guild Poe. If you help Lili, I swear to you I won't hand you over to the Dutch. I'll come up with something, but I won't hand you over. Leonardo sent you to me, right? Do you know why? Because Kasia Santuini keeps her word. If you don't want to trust in me, trust him."

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Guild Poe unfastens his belt. "You swear, Captain?"

"I will not hand you over to the Dutch. I swear it, I'll sooner blow the entire damned dock into the sky, what the devil do I have to say to you? Now move it!"

"We'll see what the words of a witch are worth," Guild Poe remarks, with a grimace. He heads stumbling towards Lili, stretched out on the floor with her face striped with blood, dry and brown.

"Eight hundred feet to terra firma," Silla announces. "What should we communicate?"

"Ask that genius aboard the Scourge. Let them take care of the bureaucracy. Tell him we have a medical emergency onboard."

Silla once again mutters into the communication microphone, trying to smooth out the difficulties of port authority authorizations and requirements.

Kasia adjusts to the Scourge's course, within their firing range. Prisoners of the Dutch once again, years after the war's end, set in their weapons' sites. She consults the map, but she doesn't need calculations to figure out where they're headed. Den Haag, the Hague, the capital of the Palatinate.

***

Dear reader,

Thanks for downloading these three chapters of The Codex of the Witch serie, and I hope you liked 'em.

You can keep on reading downloading the ebook named "The Codex of the Witch", you can find it at the bigA ebook shop. There you'll find the fourth and conclusive chapter of the story of Kasia and also two more stories about Alina and Silla, two other witches of the tenacious crew of the Needle.

Federico Negri

Hi there, thank you again for having read through all of my effort and I do hope you liked it.

I'm not a pro-writer so this is not a pro-bio 

I was born in the early Seventies and I work and live in Turin, Italy although I have extensively travelled through Asia and Europe. I am a boring finance manager and there's nothing so thrilling about my life to be mentioned here, except for my beautiful family and the two children who enlighten my days.

I have always been an avid reader, so in 2012 I made up my mind and decided to try my fate as a writer. I published three novels before The Codex of the Witch, but they are only available in Italian, you can find them on book shops if you want. I decided to try this story on the ebook market and have it translated since I believe it could appeal to international taste. So, if this was the case, or if you have any particular comment on the book (maybe you just want to say "hello" or send me a million dollar contract for a Hollywood blockbuster production) please drop me a line at my email f_315@yahoo.it

You can also find me on FB and Twitter, I speak English and I'd love to interact with my readers, so feel free to send me your thoughts.

Chris Tamigi

Chris Tamigi translates from Italian and Spanish. He graduated from the University of Arkansas's MFA program in literary translation in 2016.

# Acknowledgments

I'd like to thank Chris Tamigi for his work and support, it was a long trip but we have come through. I'd like to address a special thank to Adriane Hesselbein who has edited this novel with extreme professionality and dedication, you can find her on Upwork if you need somebody who cares about your writing.
