Chapter 84 - Divided Ideas

The day had finally come. Big Hoss Rig was ready in all her eight wheeled glory.

Before we could put the pedal to the metal, I squared away the canoneer airship mission. All told, the expedition to the northern bluffs consisted of two canoneers, four scrappers to guard them, an ignis to keep the engine running, sixteen forest goblins, and Eileen.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked.

“Gotta see it done right, boss! Means I gotta see it.”

Far from afraid, my intrepid air delivery chief was champing at the bit to take the aircraft to unknown reaches—further than any Apollan goblin had ventured from the bluff on the back of a craft the likes of which this world had never conceived—at least not without the help of magic. I had to imagine there was some wizard out there somewhere with a floating ship, or, hell, maybe even a castle.

“I’m trusting you to get them there and back again,” I told her, clapping her shoulder.

She grinned back. “And I’m trusting you on making certain something’s here to eat what when we’re home.” She held up a hand to the side of her mouth. “Else-wise, we’re eatin’ noblin.”

I eyed one of the portly canoneers struggling aboard the airship with an armful of drawing supplies. He wiggled his chubby legs as he tried to navigate himself over the gunwale with his arms full. I got the impression Eileen was only half joking. Quarter-joking, at worst.

I stepped back, and Armstrong swooped forward and scooped up the new captain of my airship into a hug. “Take care, little sis!” he said.

Eileen giggled and pushed his face away, kicking the scrapper until he dropped her on to the ground, where she proceeded to sink her teeth into his leg. Armstrong howled and shook his leg until Eileen dislodged.

“Alright, alright. We’ve got somewhere to be, Armstrong,” I reminded him.

The scrapper grinned and mocked spinning a steering wheel and stomping on a gas pedal. “Vrumm vrumm, boss! Let’s get at it.”

I left the airship dock with my bodyguards in tow and headed over to the motorpool, where something of a scene was occurring. Taquoho hovered near a fuming Promo, who was arguing with a flickering, flashing Ifrit that I soon made out to be the delegation’s senior member. Two paladins were nearby, hands on sword hilts, which sent a chill down my little goblin spine.

“Hey, hey!” I said, jogging up. “What’s the ruckus?”

“Finally!” said Promo, throwing up his hands. “Boss-man, yeh gotta tell ‘im!”

“Tell him what?” I asked. I looked up at the hovering Ifrit. “Taquoho?”

Taquoho flitted nervously. “Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do is insisting the rest of the Ifrit accompany him from the village—many of the unions who move the land-walkers are refusing.”

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“What? Why? Where are they?”

Promo leveled his hammer at the motorpool. I looked closely, and began to see a host of pale, colored flames glowing in engine air intakes and exhaust ports. And a lot of discarded brass bottles and slumped over flying brass vessels nearby.

“Oh…” I said. “But we’re leaving the bluff today. We’re taking the fleet out into the badlands.”

“Yes. That is why they are wishing to stay.”

Haut von whatever shifted hues and made a series of dissonant tones.

“Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do demands that you force the recalcitrants from these ceramic and steel vessels so that they can perform their duties.”

“I…” I cocked my head and looked over at my chief smith. “Promo?”

“What am I to do!?” he shouted. “I told this crawler I ain’t exactly able to evict ‘em. What should I do? Bang on the engines til they get headaches? They got no heads, boss!”

I ran a hand through my fur, groaning. “Is the senior delegation member planning on taking all of the land-walkers?”

“All of the landwalkers, all of the Ifrit, and all of the paladin,” said Taquoho.

Jesus. He was trying to pull everything and everyone out of the partnership with Tribe Apollo. No more Ifrit, no more hybrid goblin tech, no more blows to his ego as he watched other Ifrit make friendships and gain flying bodies. No wonder his decision was unpopular. He’d lost a lot of clout. I knuckled my eyes and thought.

“We’ve been firing parts day and night, but you don’t have enough ceramic parts to fill all the landwalkers,” I said. “1 or 2 at most. Does he have enough unions to support 2 landwalkers?”

“He does,” said Taquoho.

“How about this. Take the two landwalkers. When Rufus gets here we’ll have enough parts for another shipment, we’ll send them along with him.”

I didn’t need a translator to tell how well that suggestions went over.

Taquoho interpreted anyway. “Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do says any Ifrit remaining here are removed from the protection of The City. He will not leave paladins here, and he will not be responsible for those who decide to stay.”

“Well, they’re grown Ifrit, and they can make their own decision,” I said. I stopped short of adding that it was probably a coincidence I’d had Promo coat the throttle levers and steering columns in powdered zinc.

Haut von Behen smoldered. And let me tell you, no one smolders like a fire elemental. But eventually, he turned and stomped off on four ornate legs. I shook my head. “Taquoho, you sure you don’t want to stay, as well?”

“Would that I were able,” said the airborne Ifrit. “In my absence, there is another union who knows some of the spoken mortal tongues. I believe he is in the four-wheeled infernal engine Prometheus test drove late last night.”

I shot my chief smith a dirty look. He broke eye contact. “Just breakin ‘er in, boss. Trust.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, unimpressed. “Alright. So we’re going to have Ifrit with us. Taquoho, I can’t guarantee their safety, either. We’re going out into the wilds and it’s going to be dangerous.”

“My friend, they have watched the great inland sea dry and drain through cracks, leaving only brush, grass, and sharp stone behind. Countless blinks of Raphina’s watchful eye. But in all that time, they have never crossed it at speed nor witnessed such artifice as your engines. They know the risks of which they assume—better than you, I dare suggest—and consider themselves the most fortunate of all Ifrit.”

I huffed. “Hell of a speech. You come up with that on the spot?”

Taquoho’s flame flickered. “I may have bade my mind be elsewhere whilst Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do spoke at length. Alas, I must join him presently.”

“Unfortunate. Stay safe,” I said.

Taquoho dipped his props to me in acknowledgment and hovered away. “Keep watch over my kin, please.”

I watched the Ifrit go. Even if he didn’t want to leave, I understood the sense of duty that compelled him southward. I couldn’t imagine the king would be too happy about a mutiny at what amounted to the manual laborers in his delegation, porters and drivers meant to move freight and turn their eyes down. Well, Tribe Apollo wasn’t exactly a bastion of worker’s rights, but every goblin was equa—no, that wasn’t true either. A caste hierarchy was practically a design feature of the goblin social structure. I just wanted to believe our way was better. And I’d been doing it for weeks. The City of Brass had been kicking for what sounded like centuries, if not millennia.

You didn’t get that kind of cultural longevity without being clever. How many countries on Earth could claim an uninterrupted heritage stretching back a thousand years? Egypt, maybe? I’m not an anthropologist and I’m no longer dating one, so I can’t really answer that one.

With daylight burning in the sky, still low enough for Raphina to at least give us a side-eyed glare, I headed into the motor pool to muster up some road warriors.