The Eqe Aqawe, Over the Tincta Basta
They were several hours into the trip now, and Uzoji had stood at the wheel throughout. The cabin behind him was nearly black, but for a small hooded phosphor lantern, secured to the arm of one of the chairs further back from the bridge. Niccolette sat there, the skirts of her dress spread out over her seat, a heavy book on her lap, lit by its little pool of light. She read easily and steadily, unperturbed by the rocking of the ship, eyes tracing over lines of monite, the ring on her left hand glinting in the light when she lifted it to turn the page.
All the same, the chimes across the front window tinkled a steady chorus against the glass, and Uzoji glanced not infrequently off to the side, where the distant massing of dark blurred clouds on the horizon grew ever closer - vague, indistinct shapes at first, which grew steadily into towering thunderheads. Distant lightning crackled between them, arcing though the sky.
Aremu had largely stayed off the bridge, the soft throbbing hum of the airship’s engine a testament to his own work. When he appeared, it was with a tense, worried look pinching his face.
“We have a tail,” Aremu said, low-voiced, standing just behind Uzoji.
Uzoji glanced back over his shoulder at Aremu, then forward again. “How long?”
“Since the Rose,” Aremu said, grimly. “I thought it a coincidence then, and when they dropped out of sight...“
“Hulali’s tits,” Uzoji cursed. “Same ship?” he asked, the question light - as if he didn’t doubt Aremu, but more wished it might not be true.
“Gods damned distinctive gasbag,” Aremu grimaced. “Not the right ship for just tailing.”
“No,” Uzoji said, slow and quiet. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Wake Chibugo. He ought to be able to get a read on their weapons.”
“Ea iora,” Aremu murmured, the Mugrobi soft and lilting on his tongue. He hurried back.
Niccolette watched him go, eyes glittering in the darkness, then lowered her gaze back to her book, turning another page.
When they came back, it was Aremu and Chibugo both. Chibugo was a galdor, his field not dissimilar to Uzoji’s, with clinging static particles just outweighing the physical ones, heavy and sweeping from him. He was the same height as Aremu; unlike the other two Mugrobi, he did not shave his head, and his hair stood out from his scalp in tight curls. Both he and Aremu looked thoroughly tense.
“Not good news, Uzoji,” Chibugo said. He had a low, almost gravelly voice. “Hauling a lot of cannons for a friendly tail.”
“Nobody we know?” Uzoji asked.
Chibugo and Aremu both shook their heads.
“Tried the new signals too – no response,” Aremu said, his voice as tense as Chibugo’s.
Uzoji’s hands opened and closed against the spokes of the wheel, fingers tapping lightly against the wood.
Niccolette closed her book, calmly. She switched off the hooded lantern as well, stored both of them away, then came to join the other three with her arms crossed over her chest.
“We’ll try to lose them,” Uzoji said, finally. “Cloak her.”
Aremu glanced at Niccolette.
Niccolette shrugged, almost delicately. “I shall change,” she told him.
Aremu grinned. “I would not have said it,” he chuckled.
Niccolette grinned back, wicked, and the two made their way off the deck, talking low-voiced together.
Chibugo exhaled. “Cracked in the water barrel, they are, if they mean to take us alone mid-flight,” he said, quietly.
Uzoji shrugged, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “That, or they know something we don’t. I’d rather not find out.”
Chibugo grimaced. “Flood that. I’ll prepare the plot.” He made his way off the deck as well, moving as quickly and sure-footedly as Aremu and Niccolette had.
Uzoji glanced back over his shoulder at Kirrah, and raised his voice slightly to include the passive. “Ms. Grey, Hawke didn’t mention anything to you about company, did he?”