“I did not say I was lowborn, Lady.”
Yukiko fell silent. She turned her back fully to the stranger, indicating that she wished him to leave. Though she was not nobility, nor possessed of their notions about what was “proper” for a young, unwed lady, she was still uncertain if she should be up here alone with this strange boy. Her father definitely wouldn’t approve.
The deck trembled beneath them as the helmsman adjusted course. Stars tried to twinkle in the skies above; faded jewels strewn across a blanket of dusty black velvet.
“I often come here at night to enjoy the breeze on my face,” Kin continued. “The solitude is pleasant, hai?”
“. . . I suppose so.”
“You are Kitsune Yukiko, daughter of the great Masaru-sama.”
She snorted, but said nothing.
“What brings you out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep, if it is any of your concern.”
“Bad dreams?”
Yukiko turned to look at him, a frown on her face. This was no galley boy. She peered at the ghost-pale chest between the folds of his robe, what little she could see of his arms. There was no sign of irezumi anywhere, which meant he couldn’t be a blooded clansman, let alone one of the nobility. But he was far too clean and too well spoken . . .
Who is he?
“I have bad dreams too.” He shrugged, eyes twinkling in smudged hollows.
“Are you . . . kami? A spirit?”
He laughed then, deep and rich, full of genuine mirth. Yukiko’s cheeks burned for embarrassment, but soon she found herself caught up in his laughter, stifling a smirk behind one hand before chuckling along with the boy.
“I’m sorry, that was foolish.” She smiled, smoothing her hair behind her ears.
“Not at all,” he shook his head. “I am no spirit, Yukiko-chan.”
“Then what are you?”
“Alone.” He shrugged again. “Like you.”
The boy gave a deep bow, lowering his eyes to the varnished floor. He straightened with a frail smile, nodded his head, then turned and wandered away. He stayed out of the guttering tungsten lamplight, sticking to the shadows as if he belonged inside them. The cloudwalkers were too intent on their dice to mark his passing.
Yukiko watched him disappear down the stairs, loose strands of hair caught in the wind and flailing at her eyes.
Well, that was odd . . .
“You realize this is all bloody pointless.”
Akihito wiped sweat from his brow as he muttered. He grunted and lifted another iron bar, sliding it into position on the heavy, soldered base. After almost two days of work, the cage was nearly complete.
Kasumi shrugged and fastened another bolt, shaking the bars to ensure the thread was tight. She stood and coughed, slightly out of breath in the thin air. Damp hair hung about her goggles, sticking to the glass. She lifted her kerchief to wipe away the sweat painting her lips.
“Well, service to Yoritomo the Mighty isn’t all fancy women and cheap liquor,” she sighed.
“The Shōgun is going to be disappointed if we come back empty-handed, Kas.” Yoritomo doesn’t take disappointment well. Remember when General Yatsuma failed to break the gaijin siege at Iron Ridge?”
“I remember. His children were less than five years old.”
“And Yatsuma was noble-born. An Iron Samurai. So how do you think he’s—”
“Well, what option do we have?”
“Talk to Yamagata. He’ll be in as much strife as us when this whole farce goes belly up. We could get him to drop us off in Yama city, maybe?”
“They’d hunt us down like dogs.” Kasumi shook her head. “Just because Fox lands are a little provincial doesn’t mean the Kitsune Daimyo won’t dance if his Shōgun commands it. Yoritomo would have us hunted by every magistrate in Shima if we disobeyed him, it wouldn’t matter how far away we ran. Besides, Masaru wouldn’t hear of it. It would dishonor us all to leave. Our families would be disgraced.”
“Well, what do you suggest? Because we sure as hells aren’t coming home with an arashitora in this thing. Better for everyone aboard to just commit seppuku right now and save the damned chi.”
He kicked the side of the cage, and a dull metallic thud rang out in response. Kasumi looked around at the multitude of cloudwalkers. They were mostly young men: crawling along the balloon’s flanks, manning propellers and engines, adjusting altitude and course in response to the shifting wind. The stink of burning chi was making her throat hurt, her head feel uncomfortably light.
“You shouldn’t be talking about this here,” she muttered.
Akihito scowled, but as if to prove Kasumi’s point, the Artificer emerged from below deck and began clanking toward them. Akihito bit his tongue, pretending to check the moorings of each bar as the Guildsman hissed to a stop close by.