“Lots of castles,” Cole mentioned.
“We usually have a crowded day after a quiet one,” Jace said. “That’s good news. Two other companies compete with us—the Cloud Skimmers and the Airmen. On a busy day like today we probably won’t have much competition.”
At the gangplank to the Domingo, a middle-aged man with unruly brown hair greeted Cole. “You’re Cole, the new scout,” he said, extending a hand.
Cole shook it. “Yes.”
“I’m Captain Post. Jumping Sword. Savvy choice.” He handed Cole a cord with a little cylindrical container dangling from it.
“What’s this?” Cole asked, accepting it.
“A poison capsule,” the captain said. “Have they discussed falling?”
“No.”
He jerked a thumb at the sky. “We don’t know if you’d ever land. Could be you’d fall until you starved. As a courtesy, we provide the capsule.”
Cole examined the container more closely.
“Top unscrews from the bottom,” Jace explained. “It’s airtight. The poison reeks, which wrecks any chance to use it as a weapon. They trust slaves here more than most places, but not enough to arm us for an assassination.”
“Put it on,” the captain said. “We all wear one.”
Cole fought down a feeling of dread as he slipped the cord over his head. He hated the idea of carrying something meant to end his own life.
“This way,” the captain said, leading Cole to a battered bin beside the gangplank. He selected a medium-size backpack from among others. “If you fall, this parachute is your best friend. Give the cord a sharp tug, and we’ll try to get a craft under you. The skycraft can only descend so far, but if you pull the cord quickly, you’ll have a chance.”
“Good to know,” Cole said, shrugging into the backpack. Jace helped him adjust the straps over his buckskin jacket.
“Jace is here to coach you,” the captain said. “Listen to him. He’s a survivor.” The captain moved away, giving orders to a group of men.
“Some scouts skip the parachute,” Jace said. “They don’t want the extra weight slowing them down.”
“Do you use one?”
“Always. The risk of a fall is real.”
“How many missions have you done?” Cole asked.
“The next will be my thirtieth.”
“More than halfway there.”
Jace gave him a rough shove. “You trying to jinx me? Never talk about how many you have left. Only what you’ve done.”
“Sorry,” Cole said, feeling off-balance. “I didn’t know.”
“You’ve got all fifty left,” Jace said. “All fifty. Now we’re even. Apology accepted. Looks like they’re ready for you.”
About twenty men, including Captain Post, had lined up along the gangplank. The captain signaled for Cole to come aboard. As Cole walked up the gangway, every man in the line shook his hand and thanked him for his service. There were no grins or jeers. They were serious. It made Cole’s stomach knot. These men were paying their last respects.
Cole was the first aboard, with Jace right behind him. The other men followed, moving to their stations. Jace led Cole to a bench near the front of the skycraft. Cole noticed that it was bolted to the deck.
“Freaked out yet?” Jace asked.
“Kind of,” Cole said. “That felt like a funeral.”
“It’s all you’ll get,” Jace said. “If you don’t make it, they’ll either leave your body on the castle, and it’ll drift off into the cloudwall, or you get buried in the air—the bottomless grave. There’s never a body to bring back.”
“Fun to think about,” Cole said, straining to sound brave.
“You get used to it,” Jace said. “If you live long enough.”
“You should become a motivational speaker.”
Jace grinned.
The skycraft drifted up and forward, not like a plane taking off, but like a weak helium balloon in a soft breeze. “Smooth,” Cole said.
“Most of the time,” Jace agreed. “The helmsman is back there.”
Cole followed his finger to where a man stood on a raised platform behind a large wooden wheel. A pair of tall levers jutted up from the deck, one on each side of him.
As the Domingo coasted out into the glare of the rising sun, Cole shielded his eyes. The day was clear and cool, and they floated along serenely, like how it might feel to travel by blimp.
“Can we stand at the railing?” Cole asked.
“Sure.”
They rose. Cole felt a little unsteady walking with the deck shifting underfoot, but it could have been worse. Once his hands were on the railing, he felt plenty secure. Scanning from one side of the sky to the other, he counted at least thirty castles, some at higher altitudes than others, some larger, all slowly drifting west to east.
“What exactly do I do?” he wondered.
“They’ll take you down in a lifeboat,” Jace said. “You’ll climb down a ladder. Usually nothing much happens until you set foot on castle grounds. Sometimes that alerts the semblances and they come running. Other times nothing happens until you enter a building, or trigger a response some other way. Sometimes the castle is empty—easy pickings. Your job is to scout to see if anything is worth taking and to check for threats.”
“If I get attacked?”
“Run for it,” Jace said. “Get back to the lifeboat. They’ll try to help, but they won’t set it down. Once you’re safe, they’ll assess whether the threat is worth challenging. The guys in the lifeboat will bring weapons. The main ship has two ballistae—see over there?”
Cole saw what looked like a giant crossbow on the deck near the railing.
“They’ll mount that up and get it ready before you go down,” Jace said. “People will be covering you. We all want you to make it. And you have your Jumping Sword.”
“Did you bring your golden rope?” Cole asked.
“Did Mira tell you about that?” Jace produced a golden string, maybe a foot long. He noticed Cole’s perplexed stare. “It gets bigger.”
“She said it can do all sorts of things.”
“It can,” Jace said. “It was a lucky find. But a Jumping Sword has advantages too. I know some guys who did all fifty missions with a Jumping Sword, including some dicey ones.”
“How often does it get dicey?”