Year Three

Zachariah Eight Arms looked at the crowd that had arrived on the field. Tomorrow

was the start of the Continental Air Race launching from Messer’s Reach. Tonight,

they were drawing lots on who would launch first.

He wanted to go last. That would give him time for any last minute adjustments

before he was committed. His flying machine was the only one like it in the world.

He didn’t want to blow it up before he got to use it on this test run.

“Master Eight Arms?,” said a stranger. He wore a light sky colored suit with a dark

shirt underneath the jacket. A wooden dog paced at his heel. “How do you do?”

“Do I know you?,” asked Zachariah. The machinist knew he was looking at some

kind of magic in the dog. It wasn’t a daemon as far as he could tell, and it didn’t move

with the various forms of motion he associated with types of clockworks.

“We haven’t met,” said the stranger. He smiled. “My name is Errant. The reason I

dropped by is I want to hire you to do a piece of work for me after you are done with

the race.”

“What kind of work?,” asked Zachariah. If his flying machine worked as well as he

intended, he planned to try to figure out a way to produce them for other interests. He

doubted he would need to do outside jobs to keep afloat after that.

“When King Festus Rock Thrower counterattacked the Abyssal creature that was

summoned to destroy Riordiana, he didn’t kill all of it,” said Errant. He pulled out a

machine and opened the cover. “In two years and some months, it will attack again.

Before that happens, I would like to hire you to find it in the ocean and kill it.”

“How do you know this?,” asked Zachariah.

“Because the machine goes ding when I’m right,” said Errant. The machine in his

hand sounded a bell. “Do you see what I mean?”

“No, I don’t,” said Zachariah.

“Explain it to him, Woody,” said Errant. He put the small machine in his jacket.

The dog barked, whined, growled, and danced around on its wooden legs before

sitting beside its master once more.

“See?,” said Errant.

“Not really,” said Zachariah.

“Trust me,” said Errant. “There’s not a lot of time, and you’re the only one I know

who can build a boat to function underwater. Everyone else with your technical

knowhow won’t have the time or the ability to get the boat to the harbor to conduct

the search.”

“There are others who could build an undersea boat?,” asked Zachariah.

“Technically any Green Light out of Baldwin could, but they don’t need it, and you

will,” said Errant. “Watch out for the Lightning over Corwin’s Mansions and the rest

of the race will be a walk in a park.”

“Do you think so?,” said Zachariah. He looked around at his fellow fliers. They

seemed more confident in their abilities than he was in his.

When he turned his attention back to the other man, the other man had vanished. His

wooden dog sat in place, looking around at the crowd.

“Where did he go?,” Zachariah asked the dog.

The dog barked and wagged his tail before he stood and walked from the field. He

vanished into the crowd.

Zachariah blinked. He admitted that was a strange encounter. And the wooden dog

didn’t seem the strangest part of things.

He looked at the flying machines around him. They were some of the fastest things

on the planet built by men, Alvas, and Wurves. Mechanics and pilots went over their

machines to check for any last minute problems.

Bolan was doing the same for their own machine while he waited for the drawing of

the lots. Sola and the daemons should be helping him and staying out of trouble.

“Hey, buddy,” said a four foot tall rabbit in overalls. His eyes watched everything

with the twitching of his nose. “Can you spare a carrot?”

“I don’t have any food,” said Zachariah. “If you want to wait, you can join me and my

assistants for some tea.”

“That’s okay,” said the rabbit. “Riordianian?”

“Yes,” said Zachariah. “Yourself?”

“Pooka from Rheim,” said the rabbit. “They call me Brother Rabbit.”

“Really?,” said Zachariah. “Are you flying a tree this year?”

“No,” said the pooka. “I have a winged horse like you Riordianians.”

“I don’t have a winged horse,” said Zachariah. “I have a flying machine.”

“I thought all Riordianians flew around on summoned animals,” said Brother Rabbit.

“Not all of us,” said Zachariah. “My daughter might be able to if her daemon gets big

enough, but my daemon will never be able to carry me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the bunny.

“Why are you talking to this troublemaker?,” asked a blue-haired boy with a long

nose and not enough chin. “Pookas can’t be trusted.”

Another boy with a sandwich and a furry thing with a duck’s bill and feet, beady eyes,

and a skull cap trooped up behind the first boy. The second boy was built like a

column with a patch of hair over the top of his cylindrical head. The furry thing eyed

Zachariah angrily.

June bugs struggled in the crushed nuts used on the bread. The boy took a bite and

chewed crunchily.

“We’re the most trustworthy of all the denizens of Rheim,” said Brother Rabbit.

“Many a time have I personally saved wanderers from problems.”

“How many did you cause first?,” said the first boy.

“I’ll show you a problem,” said the rabbit. He rolled up his arm fur like shirt sleeves.

“Not now,” another pilot walked by. “The Baldwins will kick you out of the race.”

“I see,” said Brother Rabbit. “That’s a good move. Disqualification before I could

even get started. It’s worthy of a Shae. Very good, boys. Very good. Well met.”

The boys looked at each other. They started backing away. The pooka smiled with a

display of unrabbitlike teeth.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the air,” he said.

“Brother Rabbit,” said Zachariah. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“What’s your name, Riordianian?,” said the pooka.

“Zachariah Eight Arms,” said Zachariah. “My assistants and I will be flying Sara’s

Rocket if it launches the way we intend.”

“I’ll be watching for you, Zach,” said Brother Rabbit.

The pooka walked around to where refreshments had been set up for the pilots. He

joined some of them. Zachariah hoped he left the boys alone. He didn’t need

something bad happening in the air while he was trying to keep his own vessel from

exploding.

Those boys better watch out. The Shae were not known for their forgiving

personalities and warm natures.

“Everybody,” said an official at the stage where the drawing cup was being placed for

the determining of the order. “It’s my duty to announce the drawing of the numbers.

Could the pilots please form a line to my right, please? The faster we get this done,

the faster you can go back to mixing.”

Zachariah waited until the line was formed and joined at the end. He didn’t want to

launch first. He was testing the flying machine. He didn’t need to blow it up before

it got off the field.

Hopefully, the officials would let him switch with whomever got the last position.

Then he could go back and get ready for the next day.

The line rolled through the process pretty smoothly from where Zachariah stood.

Some of the pilots had been in other air races so were familiar with the drawing.

There were twenty pilots/riders in the race this year. None of them were Baldwin law

officers/government officials. Errant was right. Any ship piloted, or worked on, by

one of the green fires would be unbeatable under most conditions. And beating them

under the right conditions would be like rolling dice and hoping that you rolled the

same number, in the dark, through obstacles, into a little hole where the die stacked

up one on top of the next one in a neat little pile.

The pilot drew out a chip with a number on it. He handed the chip to the next official

down the line. His name was filled in the board slot of the number by another official.

Supposedly you couldn’t cheat the system, but Zachariah was sure that someone had

tried at least once to change his standing so he could launch in front of everyone else.

Since a monitor was placed in the equipment to keep track of the flying craft, he

didn’t see the point. Either your vessel was fast enough, or it wasn’t. Being exposed

as a cheater wouldn’t do you any favors.

Zachariah watched the board as he saw the names being filled in. He frowned as he

saw Gear Octo being entered in the last slot. Would the pilot switch with him? He

thought it was the same man who had warned Rabbit from violence.

Maybe they could trade. He didn’t think that would be too much of a problem.

Whatever chip he drew had to be better than last place unless Octo was going for last

place too.

Zachariah took his turn. His number was eleven. He took it to the official in charge.

“Master Eight Arms,” said the man. “Number eleven, I see.”

“I was wondering if I could switch it with another pilot,” said Zachariah. “Is there

anything in the rules about that?”

“I don’t think so,” said the official. “Who would you like to switch with?”

“Gear Octo,” said Zachariah. “I would like to let the others get out ahead of me

because this will be my first flight.”

“I understand,” said the official. “Let me see if Octo is still here. If he agrees to the

swap, we’ll see if it’s legal. There’s no point looking at the rules if he won’t do it in

the first place.”

“I understand,” said Zachariah. “I’ll wait here for you to come back.”

The official walked off the stage. He disappeared into the revelers for a few minutes.

He returned with the other pilot trailing behind him.

“Zachariah Eight Arms?,” said the other man. He wore old leather armor and carried

a soft leather helmet by running his arm through the strap and letting the thing hand

on the back of his shoulder. Gray pushed at the brown his hair could have been once,

lines carved into his broad face. “Master Keel said you wanted to switch places for

the race.”

“That’s exactly right,” said Zachariah. “I want to go last if that is fine with you.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” said Octo. “Master Keel?”

“I’ll check the rules,” said Keel. “We haven’t ever had a substitution like this.”

Keel pulled a book of paper and leather from his official coat. He gestured for the

other two officials to join him. They flipped through the pages before coming to an

agreement.

“There’s no rule against a switch,” he said. “We’ll switch your names. Remember

where you need to line up tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Zachariah. “Thank you, Master Octo.”

“I fly for Lobster Castle,” said Octo. “If your flying machine is as good as you think,

the government might want to buy some from you.”

“I’m just testing it,” said Zachariah. “The theory isn’t proven yet.”

“What are you using for fuel?,” asked Octo.

“The air,” said Zachariah. “The jets scoop up anything that gets in front of them and

pulls them in to be chopped into parts and sent to the engine. The main problem is

going to be launching in the first place with the starter tank. Once we’re in the air, we

hope to make adjustments to keep us going to the finish line.”

“And if that doesn’t work?,” asked Octo.

Zachariah made a crashing gesture with one hand heading toward the ground.

“But if it does work, how fast do you think she’ll go?,” asked Octo.

“We hope that she’ll be the fastest thing in the air,” said Zachariah.

“But until then you are field testing it in the biggest air race across the continent with

some ruthless people in the air with you,” said Octo.

“It’s the only way to get it going so we can shake out any design errors,” said

Zachariah. “If everything works, we’ll be able to turn it over to other mechanics and

let them build their own versions.”

“You won’t make much gold that way,” said Octo.

“I don’t have to make any gold,” said Zachariah. “I build things because I want to, not

because I want to make gold. Sola handles that part of the business.”

“She’s going to tell you to keep a monopoly for as long as you can,” Octo said. “And

I agree with her.”

“The main problem is we may never be able to duplicate the Rocket’s engine,” said

Zachariah. “If we can’t do that, then we can’t do anything.”

“I understand,” said Octo. “If you do have the engine worked out, and it’s fast, I

would like to try to fit two or three into my squad’s machines. Lobster Castle always

needs new weapons.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Zachariah.

“Thank you,” said Octo. “Good luck. Stay away from those kids, and the rabbit. One

of them on their own is bad enough, both of them together is a disaster waiting to

happen.”

“Thank you for the advice,” said Zachariah.

The machinist went to the buffet table set aside for the celebration feast. He grabbed

three plates and heaped them with food. He balanced them in his arms as he carried

his load to the Rocket. This should be enough for them tonight. Tomorrow, they

would be trying to get to Baldwin to eat at the official stopping point there.

He thought he heard someone running up behind him, and then a growl of some kind.

By the time, he had turned around, there was nothing to support the noise.

Someone had left a shovel next to the rocket. He called up. The children and their

daemons looked down on him.

“Take these please,” he said. “Let me stow this shovel in case we need it when we’re

grounded.”