“He is a surgeon. You can trust him,” Colonel Pell said.
Amelia looked rather than spoke her lack of trust in the good surgeon’s skills as he held the (quite keen!) blade against her naked palm and spoke in a somber, dusty tongue. Then zip! The edge sliced through her tender skin. She clenched her hand closed instinctively and gasped more in shock than in pain. The Councilman Amelia nicknamed Berserker drew her dripping fist over a small bowl to catch the blood for a few seconds, then pressed a chunk of cloth-wrapped ice against the cut to numb the pain.
What happened to Do No Harm, she thought, as she dipped the ceremonial raven feather quill into the pool of blood.
Two illuminated linen scrolls lay before her on the altar awaiting her signature: the first, her Compact designating her as a member of The Argonaut Society, and the other, the crew’s Charter. Amelia signed both without hesitation, afraid if she paused even for a moment, she would realize how mad she had become and fly the Mazarine back home. She didn’t know which madness was worse.
Colonel Pell, Monty, Guerrero, and Gavin followed suit, each with their own bowl and small crimson pool. Once all had signed the Charter, the Councilman poured all of the bowls into one, mixed in some sealing wax that turned an unappealing rust color, poured it on a space at the bottom of the Charter, and pressed the ceremonial seal into the wax, binding the team for life.
“Argonauts, step Into the Breach.”
Three sharp cracks of stone on stone. Before Amelia could move, her head was wrapped in a cloth and her hands bound behind her.
“From now on, you are more than a team. You are brothers bound in blood,” Councilman Glower said. “Your success depends on your ability to function as a cohesive unit. Solidarity forms through trial. The Gamut is a sacred crucible,” Glower said.
***
Footsteps slow, measured, circled Amelia and her bound and blinded crew. With her thumb, she rubbed the ornate relief pattern on the heavy metal cylinder someone pressed into her hand while en-route to wherever they were now.
“Aboard the Gamut, you will prove your worthiness to be called ‘Argonaut.’ In a moment, we will leave the ship,” a Councilman’s voice said. “The Captain will read your Charge, your sacred mission. You will then have ten minutes to clear the hangar doors before they close, locking you inside. You will not be given a second chance.”
A beat of silence.
“A life hangs in the balance. You and you alone can fulfill this Charge. Into the Breach!”
“Into the Breach!” the Argonauts replied, Amelia a scant second behind the others. Amelia’s hood whipped off her head and the cabin door closed and latched a moment later. She blinked, trying to take in the unfamiliar deck.
“Read our Charge, Captain,” Colonel Pell said.
With trembling fingers, Amelia unscrewed the cap on the cylinder and drew out the rolled parchment.
Captain Brinkley and Argonauts,
As you may be aware, the territories are not entirely satisfied with the elimination of the slave trade ordered by Emperor Germanus Pax. There have been numerous demonstrations of their dissatisfaction recently, including raids on native camps in an attempt to turn the tribes against the empire. One raid in particular involved the daughter of the tribe’s spiritual leader. The Society has been commissioned to retrieve the woman from captivity and return her to her people, preferably alive.
Your mission is simple. You are to fly to the provided coordinates, where territorial malefactors hold the hostage. Rescue the woman and return her to her father at the second set of coordinates.
The Council
“Captain?” Colonel Pell prompted.
She didn’t know where or how to begin, what to say. Though her eyes read and her lips formed the words, she comprehended none of it. I can’t, she thought. I’m not an airship captain; I’m a society darling with delusions of grandeur! She stood paralyzed, silently begging the scroll for assistance.
Pell gripped her arm, jolting her to the present. “Mr. Eckhart, Mr. Monterey, get us airborne immediately,” he said. “Mr. Guerrero, please see to munitions. Captain, come with me.”
The men jumped into action. Pell guided Amelia through the door and into the hallway.
“I can’t do this, Colonel,” Amelia said, struggling to hold back tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking, what I was expecting, but…” she leaned against the wall and gestured in frustration. “This isn’t it.”
“Forgive my impudence, Captain, but too bad. Gather yourself, madam. I will assist you, as will your crew, but you must take command. More than a young woman’s life is at stake.”
“What should we do? Where do I start?” Amelia asked. The engine whined to a higher octave. The floor rumbled. Amelia’s stomach lurched as the craft lifted off the ground.
“Your crew know their roles. All you must do is direct them and make the final decisions should the need arise. Your crew are resources. Make use of them.” Pell guided his captain back into the cabin.
“We’ve has cleared the roof, Captain,” Eckhart said, pulling levers and repositioning instruments. The hangar roof clanged and groaned into motion as the cabin cleared into the night sky.
“Thank you, Mr. Eckhart,” Amelia said. A large contraption nearby captured her attention. “What is this?”
“A BRIC,” Eckhart said. “Bilocational Radio Inter Communication device. You can use it on the ground to communicate with me here on the ship.”
“Extraordinary,” Amelia said.
“The Gamut,” Monty said with a smirk. “They’re making short work of us.”
Eckhart gestured to the parchment, still clutched in Amelia’s hand. “May I, captain? I should plot our course.”
“Yes, of course,” Amelia replied, distracted, then turned her attention to Monty. “What do you mean, ‘Making short work of us?’”
“The first mission any new Argo crew undertakes is on the Gamut. It’s a test to see how the team functions together,” Gavin explained. “Usually, the whole crew have trained for such, but most of the Gamut missions have been catastrophic.”
“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Amelia said with a halfhearted laugh.
“Men have died.” Monty tapped on a dial on the instrument array. Eckhart shoved his hand away with a murderous glare. “The ship exploded in midair once. I think this might be the third or fourth Gamut.”
“Fifth, actually,” Gavin corrected. “Long may she reign.”
“Amen,” Amelia muttered. “Are you implying they want us to die?”
“They don’t want a woman leading the Argonauts, I know that much,” Monty said. “If you die on the first mission...”
Amelia looked at her First Mate. “Lady Pell said our first mission was to meet the Emperor.”
“This is not official Argonaut business,” Pell replied.
“Then what was this for,” she said, holding out her throbbing hand and blood-soaked bandage. “Pigment?”
“Obedience to the Council is the foundation of the Argonauts,” Pell said. “That is a reminder of your obligation and your bond with your crew.”
"Bleed together, fly together, die together," Monty intoned with mock gravity.
Eckhart hissed something under his breath.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Eckhart?” Pell asked.
“I know where we’re going,” Eckhart replied, his face sour. “It’s in the forest near my uncle’s home. I expect my cousins are involved in the rebellion.”
“Then you know the territory?” Guerrero asked.
“Well enough, I suppose." Eckhart half-shrugged and pushed the wheel forward to lock it into position. "We weren't exactly close. One of my cousins is a sharpshooter, by the way. One of the best marksmen in the territory.”
“Then we should have an unanticipated advantage,” Pell said.
“How?” Amelia asked.
Gavin huffed in derision from his seat.
Ignore the neanderthal, she thought, remembering Ms. Boon’s advice.
“Unless the cousins know Mr. Eckhart is part of our crew, which they shouldn’t,” Pell began, looking at Eckhart, who shook his head, “we’ll know more about the terrain than they expect, and we know about their sharpshooter.”
“Then we have a chance of success,” Amelia said, tamping down her hopes.
Guerrero nodded. “But we will need a plan.”
***
Full skirts and evening shoes made for significant difficulties navigating the underbrush, even without the miserable cold mizzle.
“Blast,” Amelia muttered, tugging the last vestige of her dirty lace ruffle out of the brambles. Her hair, nearly soaked through, clung to her face in sopping strands. Altogether, she was in foul spirits, indeed. “Every dress I own will be shredded if I’m forced to traipse through the verge in this manner,” she grumbled. “At this rate, I might be better attired for tuppenny trash by the time we arrive at the cave.”
“I’m sure we can find you a suitable house of ill repute,” Gavin said behind her.
Guerrero shushed them from the front of the line.
“Or maybe our captors will trade the hostage for you,” Gavin muttered after a few minutes’ muddy slog.
“You’re prettier than I am,” Amelia shot back, “and I would pay them to keep you.”
Guerrero whirled and pointed between Amelia and Gavin. “They will hear your infernal bickering,” he spat.
“Forgive me,” Amelia said. Only it would be better had we left my eternal peanut gallery behind on the ship. But they needed everyone for the plan to work, even Gavin Bloody Graves.
“My apologies, sir,” Gavin said.
Once the Gamut had landed a safe distance from the coordinates, Guerrero had performed some dark-of-night reconnaissance based on information from Eckhart. The woman was held in the cave, watched over by a small group of rebels. A guard or two manned the front of the cave, and another inside guarded the woman. Others went about other duties. Guerrero had estimated 10 malfeasants in all.
Guerrero stopped just below the crest of a hill and looked down on the camp once more with his binoculars. Satisfied, he communicated to the others through gestures that he was going on to deal with the sharp-shooter. According to plan, Gavin and Pell would remain to draw the rest into the forest once the marksman was down. When the way was clear, Amelia would sneak into the cave and secure the hostage. All of them would meet once the hostage was in-hand and make their way back to the Gamut.
It seemed simple enough. Though Amelia doubted her ability to sneak into anything, nearly undressed as she was and female.
“I still wonder why we don’t just fly in the Gamut, swoop down on the camp and use the element of surprise. We can easily clear the area with the cannons,” Gavin said while watching the tiny camp, watched over only by the sharp-shooter and a single, droopy guard.
“Except we would risk injuring or killing the hostage,” Amelia said. “Guerrero already dismissed that idea as too risky.”
“Did it occur to you that maybe Guerrero has ulterior motives?”
“Not everyone is like you, Gavin,” Amelia huffed.
“More than you’d suspect.”
Pell hushed them and pointed toward a tree along the edge of the camp, where a single flicker of reflected sunlight told them Guerrero had taken out the sharp-shooter. He and Gavin went separate directions, leaving Amelia alone. She slung her rifle in front of her and clutched it close. The heft and solidness offered little comfort, since she had no idea how to use it aside from aim-and-pull-trigger. Guerrero had warned her that she might need to kill someone to ensure the success of the mission, but she didn’t know if, in the moment, she would be able to take a life. Murder wasn’t covered in the Code of Conduct.
Gunshot exploded into the camp from Gavin’s direction. The guard grabbed his shoulder and ducked behind a cart for protection. A group of rebels scrambled out of the cave and crashed into the woods in search of the shooter.
Swallowing her heart, Amelia crept around toward the tumble of boulders forming the mouth of the cave. She hadn’t noticed if the guard inside the cave had left, and the shadows in the cave’s low mouth revealed nothing. Guerrero would advise her to assume the guard had remained. She would need to be stealthy and quick. She was preparing to dart for the narrow opening when someone grabbed her from behind and pitched her backwards. She stumbled against a boulder and cracked her head, dropping her rifle. Her vision blurred. Something fleshy and foul slammed her against the rock, forcing the air from her lungs. A hand crushed against her mouth, silencing her as another hand pawed at what remained of her skirt. Warm, fetid whiskey breath huffed against her ear.
“A little far from the whore house, aren’t you?” he sneered as he kicked the rifle away. “No other tricks?”
Amelia shook her head, eyes wide as she tried to pull his hand off her mouth, pounding on him with no result. The man seemed to generate appendages that groped everywhere, no matter how she thrashed and kicked.
“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t meddle,” he said, jamming a hand between her legs. “You won’t like what we do to meddlesome cunts.”
Panicked and furious, Amelia clawed at the man’s eyes, her ragged nails leaving deep, bloody gashes on his face. The man yowled in pain and cracked Amelia’s head into the boulder in retaliation. Something zinged between them and ricocheted off the stone. Not a second later, another bullet tore through the man’s head, spraying blood and bone. He crumpled to the ground.
Amelia fell to her hands and knees, dragging in searing lungfuls of air, and looked her assailant’s grimy, wide-eyed corpse.
“You’d better not be Eckhart’s cousin.”
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