None of this mattered to the Rovers, who were used to handling everything on their own. They scurried about the decking, hauling down the light sheaths, securing the radian draws and lowering anchors and ropes for moorage. Railing watched for the first few moments, then his gaze shifted to Rampling Steep. It was too dark to see very far, but if the numbers of lamps and torches were any indication, this wasn’t much of a town. For one thing, it was situated far up in the foothills that shadowed the mountains, and the only reason for its existence seemed to be its location—all of the passes leading into the Charnals from the west began here. Farshaun had told him that the town’s only value was as a way station for trappers, hunters, and travelers seeking guides. No one would come this way otherwise.
Looking at it now, catching glimpses of the closest buildings at the edge of the airfield, he could tell that upkeep and repairs were not a high priority for the town’s residents. Sideboards were cracked and splintered, roofs were sagging or collapsed, windows were broken out, and every other building appeared to have given up the fight years before. A few had been maintained so that they seemed able to weather a storm and keep their inhabitants warm and dry, but even those lacked pretense at being anything more than basic shelter.
Farther on, the lights were thicker and brighter, suggesting that the town center might be slightly less decrepit. When he listened closely, the boy could hear the sounds of singing and laughter.
“Morgan Leah came this way a long time ago,” Mirai said. She was standing at his elbow, looking out at the town with him. Her hair was tied back, and strands caught the distant lights in golden glints. “He was traveling with Walker Boh and the girl Quickening, among others. The company had come in search of the city of Eldwist and the Stone King, Uhl Belk, seeking the Black Elfstone.”
“I remember the story.” Railing tried not to look at her, afraid of what she would see in his eyes. “We heard it from our father when he was telling us the family history. That was in the time of Par and Coll Ohmsford. The Shadowen were abroad and hunting them.”
She said nothing for a moment, her eyes focused on the town. “You be careful when you go in there.”
He glanced over then, catching a hint of something like regret in her words. “You won’t be coming?”
She shook her head. “Skint doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He thinks I’ll attract too much attention. Farshaun agrees. Women in towns like these serve only one purpose.”
Railing nodded. “They’re probably right. It’s too risky.”
But he was still surprised. Somehow he had believed she would be going simply because they always stayed close whenever they were together. It felt odd knowing she wouldn’t be with him.
“Maybe you should go anyway,” he said, wanting her to agree. “A cloak and hood would hide …”
She gave him a quick look and walked away, not waiting to hear more. He stood looking after her, the rest of what he was going to say forgotten, the unspoken words a bitter taste in his mouth.
Moments later the company gathered on the main deck, summoned by Farshaun, who seemed to have assumed command in the absence of any involvement on Railing’s part.
“Everyone stays aboard but Skint, Railing, and myself. The three of us will go into the town and try to find the man we need. It might take us a while, so you will have to be patient. But no one,” he continued, looking specifically at Austrum and the other Rovers, “leaves the airship while we are away.”
“Not much of anywhere to go,” Austrum allowed with a grin. “I don’t think you need worry, Old Man.”
He said it affectionately, and Farshaun took it that way, giving him a grin in reply before adding, “You’ll find out just how old I am if you disobey me.”
So while the others set about finding something to do in the interim, Skint, Railing and Farshaun descended the rope ladder and set off.
They crossed the airfield through the darkness, heading for the lights of the town, picking their way over humps and ruts and clusters of rocks as they went. They reached the first of the lights—a lamp attached to what appeared to be an equipment shed but looked like little more than another ruin. They found a path there and followed it through a scattering of buildings—some of them homes, some sheds, some barns—moving steadily toward the laughter and singing. Debris was scattered everywhere, and no one was about. A few of the better-maintained houses were dark, the shutters barred and the curtains drawn. No one else moved on the path, not until it turned into a weather-eroded roadway. Even then, the men they passed walked with their heads down and their eyes averted. Some stumbled drunkenly. Some turned aside to slip from view between the buildings. No one spoke to them. No one evinced the least interest in who they were or what they were doing.
By the time they were finally approaching the town center, the storm had caught up to them and it had begun to rain. The rain increased in intensity while they plodded up the roadway, the ground beneath their boots turning soft with mud and standing water. Ahead, the lamps burned dimly through the gloom, and the torches sizzled and sputtered.