The crack was worse from below.
That was Raymond's first conclusion.
His second was that saying so aloud would encourage Xavier.
So he said nothing.
He lay on his back beneath the Sierra's starboard lift-frame, one shoulder pressed against cold copper and the old woman's cane wedged beside him where no cane had any business being. An oil lamp swung from a hook above his face.
Each movement of the ship made the light crawl across the fracture.
It began at the base of the ironwood rib.
Thin.
Almost harmless.
Then it disappeared behind a copper collar, reappeared four inches higher, split into three separate lines and vanished directly beneath the lift-channel housing.
Raymond touched the wood.
A faint vibration answered through his fingertips.
"Bad?" Xavier called.
"No."
A pause.
"You've been staring at it for five minutes."
"I enjoy wood."
Elisabeth's voice came from above.
"He's lying."
"Thank you, Elisabeth."
"You're welcome."
Raymond slid farther beneath the housing.
Rex immediately shoved his head through the inspection opening.
Two red eyes filled Raymond's view.
"I'm not dying."
Rex sniffed his face.
"I appreciate the confidence."
The manticore did not move.
"Rex."
A low rumble.
"Go."
Nothing.
Raymond stared at him.
Rex stared back.
There were relationships in life founded on affection, shared purpose, loyalty.
His relationship with Rex increasingly resembled an argument neither participant intended to lose.
A hand appeared beside the manticore's head.
Xavier grabbed Rex by the mane.
"Come on."
Rex ignored him.
Xavier pulled harder.
The manticore finally withdrew, not because Xavier had succeeded but because dignity apparently had limits.
Raymond returned to the crack.
Someone crawled beneath the hull from the opposite side.
A gray-bearded carpenter named Kassi appeared, holding a metal pick between his teeth.
One of the four workers Djerma had lent them.
Kassi removed the pick.
"Well?"
Raymond tapped the fracture.
"We brace it."
Kassi stared.
"No."
Raymond looked at him.
"I wasn't asking."
"And the wood wasn't asking before it cracked."
"I like him," Elisabeth called from above.
"You like anyone who disagrees with me."
"Correct."
Kassi wedged the pick gently into the edge of the fracture.
A flake of blackened wood came away.
He held it beneath the lamp.
The inside was darker than the surface.
Not rot.
Burning.
Mana scorching.
Raymond's humor died.
"When did you last run the lift-channel?" Kassi asked.
"Before the Abomination."
"Full load?"
"Sixty-three percent."
"And after?"
"Never."
Kassi turned the flake over.
"This didn't crack from the fight."
Raymond frowned.
"The shock finished it."
"No."
The carpenter tapped the rib.
"This has been failing for weeks."
Xavier's boots stopped overhead.
Raymond heard him.
"You knew?" Xavier asked.
"No."
"You built the ship."
"An observation of extraordinary uselessness."
"You inspected everything."
"I inspected what I could see."
Kassi pushed the pick deeper.
A second piece broke loose.
The crack opened another hair.
Raymond swore.
Kassi smiled.
"Now he believes me."
Raymond crawled out.
Standing required the cane, Rex's shoulder, and more patience than he possessed.
He emerged onto the lower deck to find Xavier waiting with his arms folded.
Elisabeth occupied her chair beside the central manifold. Delo had carried it down the ramp and lashed its rear wheels into a pair of grooves so the ship's movement would not send her sliding across the deck.
She looked at Raymond.
"Well?"
He wiped wood dust from his fingers.
"We have a crack."
Xavier stared at him.
"You climbed under there to discover the thing we told you yesterday?"
"A larger crack."
"Better."
Kassi crawled out behind him.
"The rib needs replacing."
"No," Raymond said.
Kassi shrugged.
"Then don't fly."
"That rib is integrated into the hull."
"Yes."
"Replacing it means opening eight feet of copper plating."
"Yes."
"Removing the starboard lift-channel."
"Yes."
"Three weeks."
"Maybe four."
Raymond smiled.
"No."
Kassi sighed.
"I suspected that might be your answer."
Xavier pointed toward the ceiling.
"He's right."
"An epidemic."
"We're not risking everyone because you're impatient."
Raymond limped toward the damaged rib.
"I'm not proposing we ignore it."
"You just refused to replace it."
"I refused to perform surgery with an axe when a brace will do."
Kassi rubbed his beard.
"For floating at anchor?"
"For flying."
The carpenter laughed.
Then realized Raymond was serious.
"No."
Raymond crouched beside one of the material crates from Djerma's contract.
"Bring the iron brackets."
Xavier did not move.
"Xavier."
"No."
Raymond looked over his shoulder.
The prince's posture had changed during the last weeks.
Less hesitation.
More weight behind the word.
"I'm not helping you launch a ship you know is structurally damaged."
"I'm not launching it."
"What would you call leaving the ground?"
"Testing."
"That is flying with better vocabulary."
Elisabeth raised her left hand.
"He has a point."
Raymond looked between them.
"I'm surrounded by democracy. Horrifying."
He opened the chest himself.
The movement pulled at his ribs.
His face tightened.
Xavier saw.
Of course he did.
"Sit down."
"No."
"Raymond."
"I am perfectly—"
His left leg trembled.
Rex pressed into his hip before anyone else could react.
Raymond caught himself against the manticore.
Silence.
Elisabeth looked delighted.
"Finish the sentence."
"I've forgotten it."
"Thought so."
Raymond sat on the nearest crate.
Humiliation apparently came in installments.
He pointed at the damaged rib.
"We are not going to full lift."
Xavier waited.
"Five percent."
"No."
"Eight."
"You started at five."
"I revised the offer."
"Three."
Raymond stared at him.
"You negotiate like a starving merchant."
"You taught me."
"Fine. Five."
"Four."
"Five."
Xavier considered.
"Five, with external tethers."
Raymond smiled faintly.
"Done."
Kassi shook his head.
"All of you are insane."
"Contractually," Raymond said, "you have eleven more days to become accustomed."
---
The repair took six hours.
Raymond designed a double brace around the damaged ironwood rather than across it. Two iron collars distributed the load into adjacent ribs, and Kassi carved shallow channels so copper tension-strips could lie flush against the wood instead of cutting into it.
Xavier handled the heavy work.
Not happily.
Each time Raymond told him to tighten a bolt, he demanded to know why.
Raymond answered the first seven questions.
At the eighth, he considered murder.
Elisabeth sat beside the manifold with a notebook on her knees.
The ship had seventeen pressure gauges.
Three worked perfectly.
Five worked when struck.
Two displayed numbers Raymond did not believe.
One leaked.
Elisabeth had labelled that one LIAR.
"What does this measure?" she asked.
"Port lift-channel pressure."
"And this?"
"Starboard reserve."
"This?"
"Emergency purge."
"This?"
Raymond glanced.
"Decorative."
She stared.
"You installed a decorative gauge?"
"I intended to connect it."
"So it does nothing."
"At present."
She wrote something.
"What did you write?"
"LIAR'S FRIEND."
Xavier laughed from inside the wall.
Raymond regretted teaching anyone literacy.
By sunset, the brace was finished.
The Sierra remained grounded.
Raymond did not test it.
That surprised everyone.
Instead, he called Xavier and Elisabeth to the upper deck the next morning.
Three chalk circles had been drawn on the planks.
One around the helm.
One around the central manifold.
One around the engine access hatch.
Raymond stood in the third.
"Positions."
Xavier looked at the circles.
"We have positions now?"
"You intend to cross an ocean in a flying vessel. Wandering around until someone looks useful is not a command structure."
Elisabeth pointed at the manifold circle.
"That's mine."
"Yes."
"Because I can sit."
"Partly."
Her eyes narrowed.
Raymond continued before she could object.
"The manifold controls ballast transfer, pressure release, lift distribution and emergency isolation. Everything that decides whether the Sierra remains level passes through those valves."
Elisabeth looked at the brass wheels and levers surrounding her station.
"You're giving me control of whether we fall."
"I'm giving you control of how."
"That is less reassuring."
"You also have the best attention to detail."
Xavier frowned.
"What about me?"
Raymond pointed at the helm.
"Steering."
"That's it?"
"No."
He walked toward him.
"You hold heading, sail angle, forward thrust and primary lift request."
"Primary lift request?"
"The helm asks. Her manifold decides whether the ship can afford it."
Xavier looked at Elisabeth.
She smiled.
"I can deny you."
"Enjoy this while it lasts."
"I already am."
Raymond tapped the third circle with his cane.
"I handle the lift-core, engine regulation, navigation, repairs, and command."
Xavier looked at the number of responsibilities.
"That's ridiculous."
"No. It's efficient."
"It means everything important still depends on you."
Raymond stopped.
There it was.
The problem he had deliberately avoided looking at.
Elisabeth spoke before he could.
"What happens if you're injured?"
"I already am."
"Worse."
"Then Xavier—"
"Doesn't know the core."
Xavier nodded.
"And she can't reach it quickly."
Raymond glanced between them.
He disliked the direction of this conversation.
Elisabeth did not care.
"You built a three-person ship with one person who knows how it works."
"I intended to train you."
"When?"
"Now."
"That answer would be more convincing if we weren't about to test it."
Raymond rubbed his jaw.
Rex sat beside the engine hatch.
Mira had curled near Xavier's feet.
Even the animals seemed to be waiting.
"Fine," Raymond said.
He pointed at Xavier.
"If I'm unavailable, you have command of movement."
Then Elisabeth.
"You have authority over the ship's internal safety. If you believe a maneuver will destroy the vessel, you can refuse it."
Xavier smiled.
"So she can overrule the captain?"
"No."
Elisabeth smiled wider.
"Yes."
Raymond pointed the cane at her.
"Only on structural or alchemical safety."
"I heard the useful part."
He continued.
"If I am absent, the two of you must agree on any action involving full lift, core shutdown, emergency purge, or abandoning the vessel."
"And if we disagree?" Xavier asked.
Raymond considered.
"Then choose whichever mistake gives you more time to make a second decision."
Neither laughed.
Good.
They were listening.
---
The first test was almost insulting.
The Sierra did not fly.
It became lighter.
Four heavy ropes ran from the hull to stone anchors driven into the beach.
Delo supervised the ground crew.
Saraounia watched from beneath the same canvas awning, one hand shielding her eyes.
Kassi stood beside the starboard tether looking as though he expected to attend a funeral.
Raymond descended to the core.
Rex followed.
"No."
Rex continued.
"There's barely room."
Rex squeezed through anyway.
Raymond looked at the manticore's wings scraping both walls.
"Wonderful."
Above, Xavier stood at the helm.
Mira beside him.
Elisabeth locked her chair into the manifold station.
Raymond opened the speaking tube.
"Stations."
Xavier's voice came back distorted through copper.
"Helm ready."
Elisabeth followed.
"Manifold ready."
"Ground?"
Delo shouted from outside.
"Ready!"
Raymond placed his hand against the core housing.
The machine was ugly.
Marduk would have called it elegant, which was why Marduk was dead and therefore unable to defend himself.
Copper rings surrounded a sphere of condensed mana-stone. Rootwood conduits fed power toward four lift channels embedded in the hull.
Raymond opened the first valve.
The core hummed.
Above him, dust shook from the beams.
"Pressure?"
Elisabeth checked.
"Port twelve. Starboard eleven."
"Reserve?"
"Six."
"Open starboard secondary by one mark."
She turned the valve.
The hum deepened.
Flow made Xavier wince above deck. He could feel the energy moving through the hull now.
"Helm," Raymond said.
"Here."
"Request two percent."
Xavier pushed the lift lever forward.
The Sierra groaned.
Nothing else happened.
Kassi shouted from below.
"I told you!"
Raymond ignored him.
"Three percent."
"Three."
The ship shifted.
Not upward.
Sideways.
One of the anchors tightened.
Delo jumped away from the rope.
Elisabeth watched the gauges.
"Starboard pressure dropping."
"How much?"
"Nine."
"Compensate reserve."
She moved the brass wheel.
Eight.
Then ten.
The hull lifted an inch.
Xavier felt it before he saw it.
The deck stopped resting fully against the cradle.
Mira's ears rose.
"Raymond."
"I know."
"Four percent?"
A pause.
"Four."
Xavier pushed.
The Sierra rose.
Six inches.
Then one foot.
Workers on the beach shouted.
Delo laughed.
Kassi did not.
Raymond stared at the starboard conduit.
The brace held.
Iron strained against ironwood, but the load spread exactly as intended.
Chessmaster stirred.
He allowed it only a glance.
Pressure paths appeared through the hull.
Blue lines.
Stress concentrations.
The starboard rib remained ugly but stable.
His skull immediately began to throb.
He released the skill.
No heroics.
Not today.
"Five percent," he said.
Xavier hesitated.
Their negotiated limit.
"You're sure?"
"No."
Elisabeth's voice entered the tube.
"Wonderful."
Raymond smiled.
"Five."
Xavier moved the lever.
The Sierra climbed until daylight appeared beneath the keel.
Two feet.
Every tether pulled tight.
The ship floated.
Not gracefully.
Not proudly.
But the cradle no longer carried its weight.
Xavier forgot to breathe.
For months the Sierra had been timber, copper, stolen materials, impossible calculations, and Raymond's arrogance given a hull.
Now it hung above the earth.
Mira barked.
Delo shouted from below.
Even Elisabeth stared at the floorboards beneath her chair.
"We're up."
Raymond rested his forehead briefly against the core housing.
"Yes."
Rex nudged his shoulder.
Raymond pushed him away.
"Don't start."
Then something clicked.
Small.
Metallic.
Wrong.
Raymond lifted his head.
"Hold pressure."
Elisabeth's hand froze.
"What?"
"Hold."
The click came again.
Starboard.
Not the repaired rib.
Farther forward.
Raymond followed the sound.
A copper pipe trembled beneath the secondary regulator.
"Xavier. Reduce to four."
The ship descended half an inch.
The pipe shook harder.
Raymond's stomach tightened.
"Three."
Xavier pulled the lever back.
Nothing happened.
He looked down.
The lever had moved.
The ship had not.
"Raymond?"
"Pressure?"
Elisabeth checked.
Her expression changed.
"Port fourteen."
"What?"
"Starboard seven."
"That's impossible."
"It's happening anyway."
The Sierra rolled.
Slowly at first.
Elisabeth's chair restraints tightened around her waist.
Mira slid across the deck.
Outside, workers shouted.
One tether snapped tight enough to tear stone from the beach.
"Kill lift!" Xavier shouted.
"I'm trying!"
Elisabeth spun the emergency valve.
It stopped halfway.
Jammed.
Below deck, Raymond reached the secondary regulator.
The copper pipe bulged.
"Both of you, listen to me."
Rex growled.
Raymond saw why.
A seam in the regulator had opened.
Mana-light leaked through it.
"Raymond?" Xavier called.
"Do not increase port pressure."
"The ship is rolling starboard!"
"I know."
"If I don't compensate—"
"You'll tear the port channel out trying to carry the whole ship."
Elisabeth looked at her gauges.
Starboard six.
Port fifteen.
Reserve climbing.
Something was feeding the system backward.
"Raymond, reserve is rising."
Silence.
"Raymond?"
He had opened the regulator housing.
The copper seam split.
White mana flashed across the compartment.
Rex hit Raymond from the side.
The blast threw both of them behind the bulkhead.
The speaking tube screamed with static.
Then died.
Upstairs, Xavier stared at it.
"Raymond?"
Nothing.
The Sierra rolled another degree.
Elisabeth looked at the gauges.
Starboard five.
Port sixteen.
One of the exterior workers screamed for everyone to clear the cradle.
Xavier stepped away from the helm.
"I'm going down."
"No."
He turned.
Elisabeth had one hand around the emergency wheel.
"Raymond's below."
"And you're at the helm."
"He could be hurt."
"Yes."
"I'm not leaving him."
"If you leave that helm, who flies?"
"We're two feet above the ground."
"We're twenty tons above people."
Xavier froze.
Below them, Delo was ordering workers away from the ropes.
The starboard tether began dragging its anchor through the sand.
Mira whined.
Xavier looked toward the hatch.
Then toward the helm.
His whole body wanted to run below.
Elisabeth's voice hardened.
"Xavier."
He looked at her.
She was pale.
Sweat stood across her forehead. Her right hand had begun leaking venom inside its protective sleeve.
But her eyes remained on the gauges.
"Raymond gave us the rule."
"What rule?"
"If he was unavailable."
The ship groaned.
A bolt shot free from the starboard frame and struck the ceiling.
Elisabeth watched the pressure needle climb.
"He isn't captain right now."
Xavier looked at the dead speaking tube.
Below them, Rex roared.
Once.
Then silence.
Elisabeth tightened her left hand around the emergency valve.
"You are."