The bubble rang loud enough to momentarily drown out the roar and the thunder. When the ringing echoes died, long vertical scratches began to appear on the surface of the protective bubble, and though they quickly faded, more and more began to appear and race through the membrane.

“I asked you bastards a question!” I shouted.

The bubble rang again, louder than before.

It appears we have our reply.

Stitches turned her sightless eyes toward us.

Brace yourselves.

She took hold of the railing. Darla put her gun away and did the same.

Twice I have asked and twice you have denied me the courtesy of a reply. Mr. Prestley. Are you ready?

“Almost,” shouted Evis from somewhere up above. I heard men up there too, cursing and grunting, as though heaving something heavy into place.

I ask a third and final time. What is your name, or names? Answer, or quit this place and trouble us no more.

The slow lightning grew brighter and closer, illuminating oily, leathery masses writhing in the boiling shadows.

“Thou art not worthy to invoke the rite,” shouted the voice. “Thou art-”

Commence, Mr. Prestley.

Thunder of our own sounded, and lightning of our own design streaked in racing lines from the Queen’s top deck before arcing out through Stitches’s bubble and into the dark void beyond.

Not cannons. Guns-rifles from the sound of them-firing in such rapid succession I failed to count the individual shots. The firing sounded from at least three places on the deck, and the trails of light left by the rounds lit up the not-sky with strange glows and frequent, silent blasts of light radiance.

“Told you there’d be fireworks,” I said. Darla swallowed hard, produced her pistol, and emptied it into the void.

Something out there screamed. Not a scream of madness or insane glee or challenge, but a plain old scream of surprise and pain.

Fascinating. Stitches let go of the rail and hurled a fist-sized ball of light through her barrier. It sailed serenely away, fading as though crossing a vast distance, and then Stitches clapped her hands.

The boiling void exploded. One instant, there was the unsky, and the writhing things that rode the strange winds thereof. Then there was a silent white flash, and then-

— then, the lazy Brown River, and the stink thereof, and a weary-looking moon, and the dock, and the wharf, and an army of black-clad Avalante soldiers, guns at the ready, giving us “What the hell looks?“ in the lamplight.

Evis’s fast-firing guns fell silent. Stitches wobbled a bit.

I believe I am due a raise.

She fell, and neither Darla nor I were quite fast enough catch her.

“If you ever offer to give yourself up like that again, husband of mine, I will shoot you myself.”

“Seems a strange way to dissuade heroic acts of valor.” The ever-observant Dutson put a fresh beer bottle at my right hand, and I hoisted it so as not to give insult. “Although I suppose it would solve one of our immediate problems.”

“Hah. I’d shoot you in the ass. Which is where you must be doing all your thinking today. What were you doing, Markhat? What if they’d said yes?”

I took a good long draught of beer. “Then maybe you’d be safe now. Maybe you could go home and polish that new silverware.”

Darla cussed. Dutson, ever the gentleman, pretended not to hear.

Evis was sunk so low in his chair he was nearly invisible. Gertriss was nowhere to be seen. I gather their after-crisis chat hadn’t gone as well as the one Darla and I were enjoying.

“So, what word of Stitches?”

It took Evis a moment to realize I was speaking to him.

“She’s alive. Exhausted, that’s all. Her assistant has her in that fancy clockwork coffin in her room. Says she’ll be up and around by morning.”

“Stitches has an assistant?”

“Yes. She’s so scary she never goes out in public. Is that relevant? Do I need to produce her full dossier, maybe drag her down here in chains?”

“Who put cranky in the beer?”

“I’m not drinking beer.”

“Could be why you’re cranky.”

“Is that your answer to everything, Markhat? More beer?”

I lifted my glass. “It’s as good as any.”

Evis muttered something unintelligible and resumed his sulk.

Men and halfdead scurried to and fro around us. The attack on the Queen hadn’t done any apparent damage, but engineers and boat-wrights and carpenters and wand-wavers were swarming over every inch of her regardless.

“So why didn’t our special guest’s security crew make an appearance?” I’d waited until no one was in earshot. Evis surprised me by answering.

“The body they are to guard wasn’t aboard, I suppose. They’re not exactly a talkative bunch.”

“I noticed.”

“I sent word to the House about the attack, you know.” Evis glared at a pair of engineers until they decided their report wasn’t really that urgent after all. “Got word back almost immediately. Proceed as planned.”

“So that puts us taking on passengers and a full crew the day after tomorrow, and setting out the day after that?”

“We start boarding tomorrow. Getting everyone through the security apparatus won’t be quick.”

I whistled. “Rich people don’t like waiting in lines.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what they like.” Evis wasn’t wearing his spectacles since the lights were so low, and his halfdead eyes sparkled like dirty marbles in the candlelight.

“Those new guns. Impressive. From the sound of it, you might have bloodied some old spook’s nose.”

The vampire grinned despite his funk. “Was keeping those secret for just such an occasion. It’s actually a gun with twenty-two barrels, which are mounted in a circle and turned by a hand-crank. Each one can fire nearly two hundred rounds a minute.” He hastily closed his lips over his pointy halfdead teeth. “Sorry.”

“Seems to me that you won that round, Mr. Prestley. So why the long, white face? They came, they threw their punches, they went home bleeding and empty-handed.”

Evis sat up with a long worn out sigh. “We caught them by surprise. That likely won’t happen again.”

“So come up with a new surprise.”

“I’ve only got so many, Markhat. I just used my best dirty little secret and we haven’t pulled away from the dock yet.”

Dutson came strolling out of the shadows. “Pardon me, Mr. Prestley,” he said, his expression a study in somber. “Your presence is requested in the wheelhouse.”

Evis rose. “Bright and early,” he said to me.

I winced. “Such language.”

“Dutson, cut him off for the evening. I need you sober.”

And with that, Evis was gone, blending easily with the shadows.

“I didn’t quite catch that last remark. Did you, Dutson?”

The man didn’t hesitate. “I believe he wished you a good evening, sir. Will you have a final beer before you retire?”

“Now that you mention it, I believe I shall. Dutson, you are a treasure.”

“So it is said, sir.”

Dutson headed for the kitchen. I watched the Queen’s crew tend to her nonexistent wounds, and I wondered if Evis was telling the truth about being out of explosive surprises.

I surprised everyone by rising with the sun, bathing, shaving, and feeding myself, and appearing on the Queen’s foredeck a good quarter of an hour before Evis or Stitches made an appearance.

Darla still lay abed. I’d left a note and a crude sketch of a rose. With any luck, she’d be less inclined to shoot me in my fundament when she did rise.

Stitches met me with a nod. She was in her customary black robe, hood over her face, sleeves concealing her hands. Nothing in her gait or posture suggested any injury.

“Good morning,” I said.

Greetings. I trust you slept well?

“I did. You?”