Ship of Smoke and Steel by Django Wexler

Author:Django Wexler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

* * *

The aftermath of a hunt, I’ve learned, is as well planned as the system of tithes and protection payments that keeps the Sixteenth Ward running.

When a hunting pack brings down large prey, we report where we left the bodies to one of the clades, who send out a scavenger pack to drag them back to safety. In return, the clade leader gives the pack etched bits of crab shell called scrip, which work more or less like ordinary money. Money without gold or silver in it still seems strange to me, but no stranger than everything else on Soliton.

Pack leaders are free to choose their own targets, based on reports from scavengers and other hunting packs. When two groups want to hunt the same prey, the Council decides, either awarding it to one or ordering them to work together. The Council seems to decide everything, in fact. Berun told me the Captain doesn’t stick his nose in everyday life much, but as far as I can tell he doesn’t intervene at all, except for occasionally sending the angels on mysterious tasks of his own.

There’s not much everyone agrees on about the Captain—that he’s a man, that he lives in a tower that sticks up from the deck near the stern of the ship, and that he controls the angels through some means no one understands. He seems to have been here longer than anyone else; at least, no one I’ve talked to came aboard before him. Other than that, though, there’s almost nothing.

It’s frustrating, because aside from my investigation of the Captain and how he controls the ship, things have been going well for a change. For all that Zarun sent them to spy on me, Thora and Jack can handle themselves, and between us we’ve been able to bring down enough prey that we have plenty of scrip for food and enough left over for furnishings. Our rooms, which I’ve learned are in a place called Tower Five, have grown steadily more comfortable. Mostly this is Meroe’s doing, since her leg keeps her out of the daily hunts.

When we return home, she’s sitting on the floor in the common room, which is now equipped with several more chairs and a thick carpet. The Moron is sitting opposite her, cross-legged, and there’s a book open on the floor between them. I blink at the sight of the Moron—who, as far as I know, has never responded to any attempt at communication—pointing eagerly at the book, while Meroe stares intently.

“What’s this?” Jack says. “Has the Princess managed to tame the savage beast?”

“He’s not a beast,” Meroe snaps. “Or a moron.” She catches sight of me and grins. “Isoka! Come and see!”

I drop my pack in the corner and flop down beside Meroe, and Berun quietly follows suit. Thora and Jack retreat to their room. Probably to rut; I swear, I’ve known dogs in heat that are more restrained than those two.

“Welcome back,” Meroe says, a little belatedly. “Is everyone okay?”

“No problems.

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