17. Blood Is Thicker Than Dust

Vonken crumpled before Holly could take a single step toward him. The Krakenpilot tilted his head a moment, viewing the pile of limbs and green fabric, then raised eyes more suited to a dweller of the depths to Holly. She raised her hands, relieved now to see the red glow surrounding them, but the Pilot merely stared at her. He offered the strange, blocky stone again. “Dearie sssays...yohhhrss.”

Holly sidled closer to Vonken. A quick glance showed he was still breathing, though unconscious. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

Ridley merely held out the rock to her, silent, waiting. The octopoid growths around his mouth shifted restlessly like a drowsy nest of snakes. Betsy. Betsy mustn’t see this. Holly wasn’t sure what she’d do if the Pilot advanced on her, tried to get past her; she kept her hands up, hoping whatever this bizarre energy was within her, she could use it to protect her household. Does he even notice? Uncertainly, she brandished splayed fingers at Ridley. “You stay right there! In fact, sit down! Sit!”

The Pilot sank onto the attic steps, expression unreadable. Holly touched Vonken’s shoulder with the toe of her house-slipper. “Vonken. Wake up.” No response. She shoved a little. “Vonken!” He groaned. “Sorry to trouble you, but if I set my house afire in defending myself, I will blame you,” she snapped, fear turning her voice sharp.

The Coldspark slowly sat up, clearly dazed. “By all that’s hidden in the Deeps, woman, stop shouting...”

“Are you all right?” Holly resisted an urge to look him over, keeping her stare locked on the vast, wet, onyx eyes of the Pilot.

“You don’t...you can’t smell that? Can’t feel that?”

“What are you talking about?” Holly took a cautious sniff, and wrinkled her nose. “He smells worse than seaweed! More like rotting, crab-infested, beach-trash seaweed!”

“For the love of...aahhh...” Vonken pressed his hands to the sides of his head. Ridley watched him without apparent curiosity or concern, although Holly felt more worried by the second. “That’s...that must be it...Dagon’s slimy balls, get it out of my presence!” He writhed backwards until he hit a wall, then struggled to place his feet and force himself to a standing position, face contorted in pain.

Ridley lifted hands covered in glistening, rubbery skin, only barely human-shaped. “Fffor sssisserr...take...” When Holly looked at the crystalline rock he held out to her, he made a beckoning gesture with it. “Mih...Mikael sssaid...”

“What? Mikael?” Suddenly it clicked. “Mikael told you to bring me this?”

“It’s the element,” Vonken groaned, clinging to the base of a wall lamp, trying to raise a shaking hand. Dust-energy crackled and sparked crazily from his fingertips, sputtering on and off. “I can’t...can’t...”

Ridley offered it to Holly once more. “Dearie sssayss...gifff to you. Now you...you arrre rrrrready. Ayyyee...kepp sssafe. Good ssssecret. Innit?” The mouth-tentacles curled upward. Shocked, Holly realized: Is he smiling at me?

“The element? From the Crater?” Hesitantly, feeling heat within her hands, she stretched them toward Ridley. The Pilot grinned at her, nodding. Holly grabbed the rock and took two quick steps away, but Ridley relaxed, curling into himself on the stair like a child contented. Holly shot another look at Vonken, who was staring at her as if she were the freak here. The rock felt heavy, and glittered like fools’ gold. When she brought it closer to the oil lamp to examine it, Vonken flattened himself against the wall and crossed his arms protectively in front of himself, hands out, still sputtering green flashes. “My brother died...for this? This stupid, useless chunk of pyrite?” Anger welled up, bringing grief with it. She shook the rock at Ridley. “Are you telling me Mikael was shot, and an entire expedition killed, all over this?”

“It’s not pyrite,” Vonken said hoarsely. He seemed to be recovering from whatever had felled him, though he continued to lean against the wall.

Holly turned it over in her hands. Squarish crystals sparkled. “Yes it is! I’ve been to the Museum many times, and I am quite sure I know the most common rocks in Pacifica Columbia at least! Dense, cubic structure, glitters like gold dust but...” She tried scratching it with a fingernail. “Ouch! It most certainly is not gold!”

“It isn’t iron, either,” Vonken said, watching her intently. “Taste it.”

“I am not putting my tongue on a hunk of rock which this monstrosity secreted on his person St Howard Philips only knows where!”

“Holly,” Vonken said, softly. The wonder in his tone broke through her growing disgust. She looked at him. He shook his head. “That rock was calved in the death of a star. Borne through the black, airless aether in the tail of a screaming banshee of fire. Hurled into the keening earth in the Cataclysm, and crystallized from pure Dust.” She stared back, wordless. Vonken took a deep breath. “You honestly feel nothing? Nothing at all?”

“I feel...furious,” she answered, turning back to Ridley. The Pilot played with his fingers, weaving them among his multitude of tentacles like a dozen simultaneous games of cat’s-cradle. “I can’t believe my brother went into the most dangerous place known to modern man, risked and lost his life all over some ugly rock!”

Vonken stepped closer, though his whole frame still seemed shaky. “My God. You should see yourself right now.” When she shot him a confused glare, he said, “Holly, you’re glowing.” He shook his head slowly. “I believe you’re absorbing the Dust-energy from that ugly rock.”

“What!” Horrified, she dropped it. Vonken choked, his knees thunking heavily on the floor, hands clutching his head. A long, wormlike arm uncoiled from Ridley’s chest, looped around the rock, and lifted it. Holly wasn’t happy to see tiny suckers beginning to emerge from the soft-looking flesh of the appendage. He blinked once at her, membranes utterly unlike eyelids sliding across those lightless orbs. With a gentle flick, Ridley tossed the crystal at Holly; she caught it instinctively.

Vonken gasped, “Would you please keep hold of the blasted thing?”

“Mikael sssaid...sissser. Sisser keep sssaaaafe,” Ridley lisped.

Holly looked from one to the other. What in all hell on earth is going on? This stupid rock is so powerful the mere proximity of it causes Vonken pain? Pure Dust? But... “Nothing is pure Dust,” she said slowly. “It must be separated from the rocks. Like flecks of gold. That’s why the factories exist, to pulverize the rocks from the Wastelands and sort out the Dust from the ordinary minerals...”

Vonken nodded weakly at her. “So there is a scholar in that pretty skull, after all.”

She bit back a retort, and raised the rock to eye level to study it closely. The side nearest her was in shadow. She was about to turn herself toward the lamp, but saw a flicker of light inside the opaque crystals, like distant fireflies in a field far below her. But that can’t be...pure Dust? This rock is nothing but Dust, packed into a crystalline structure? “This...is worth more than a hundred Henry Villards,” she whispered.

“It’s more than that,” Vonken said, on his feet again but leaning one hand on the wall. “That chunk of rock is easily the most astonishing source of aetheric energy we’ve ever seen. It doesn’t feel like normal Dust to me. Your brother and I called it ‘the element’ because neither of us could muster a name which did it justice.”

She frowned at him. “And it hurts you?”

He grimaced. “Not so long as it’s in your hands, my dear.” He ventured closer, squinting at the crystal as if its speckled bronze-and-dull-black surfaces were too bright for his eyes. “I’ll be damned. It’s not hurting you at all. You smell nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing...”

“You make me sound like a log,” she snapped.

Vonken chuckled. “An incredibly useful log. A vessel. A battery, able to absorb the frenetic output of this little generator without even noticing.” His gaze swept up and down her. “My dear, let’s hope Henry Villard never finds out what you can do. I’m not sure which is more dangerous, you or that rock!”

Holly bit her lip. He’s serious. This is enough contained power to flatten Concordia in an eyeblink if channeled through any sort of weapon, if that truly is the pure element, offspring of whatever godforsaken star sent the meteorites hurtling at us... This is what Mikael was after? Why? Did Villard send him to retrieve it? “The letter my brother sent you...he said he feared consequences he hadn’t foreseen... Do you know why he went to the Crater at all? He told me he was documenting the changes in native fauna, but clearly this...this ugly little rock...was the objective all along, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Ridley. The Pilot sat calmly now that his mission was complete. “You came back here to bring this to me? Because Mikael asked you to?”

Ridley nodded. “Mikael sssaid giff to sssisser. Ssssisser keep ssaaaafe.”

“What would this do to...” She forced herself to consider the implications. “To someone who didn’t...”

“To a normal person?” Vonken shook his head. “Kill them, most likely.” He gestured at the Pilot. “I’ll wager he’s changed so quickly because he’s been carrying that all this time...probably inside himself, since I didn’t feel it at all the times I handled him. Krakenpilots carry quite a bit of their mounts’ Dust-energy, the more time they spend in the saddle; their bodies warp over time, but nothing as drastic as this. That thing that looks like pyrite to you is screaming with unfettered power. His body must have been keeping the effects hidden, even as it transfigured him.”

“And you can’t touch it?”

He laughed, though Holly heard a tinge of fear in the sound. “What do you think?”

An ugly thought hit her. “If Villard has someone watching the house, will they be able to...to sense it?”

Vonken froze. “I hope not.” He swallowed hard. “If there’s another Coldspark anywhere nearby, though...”

Holly hugged the rock to her chest. She felt flushed. Looking down, it did seem as though the section of hallway in which she stood was brighter than usual...and ruby-tinged. “Oh, god...”

“Let me think.” Vonken began to pace, smoothing out his moustache. Ridley’s head turned to follow his movements. Of the three of them, the Pilot alone appeared completely at ease. Holly dared approaching him. Ridley blinked again at her. She sank into a crouch, gathering her skirts away from her ankles, still cradling the rock in one hand. Vonken paused to note her, then resumed slowly stalking up and down a few steps away. Holly saw a ripple of greenfire along his right hand, and felt a bit safer.

“Ridley?” she asked, and the Pilot tilted his head at her attentively. “Why...why did Mikael think this would be safe with me?” Behind her, she heard Vonken’s footsteps stop. “How did he get it out of the Crater without anyone being hurt?”

Ridley struggled to speak clearly. “Ssssecret. Dok...dokterrr...aad ssssecret ssshheeen. One...one of tem...ssssheeensss.”

“A construct?” Vonken murmured. “Blast it! Dr Arbernathy!”

Holly looked back at him. “I’ve heard that name.”

“Probably from Mikael. He’s not...he wasn’t well known, but he made marvelous constructs. He invented the velocipede, made himself wealthy selling the patent. Mikael mentioned he was going on the expedition.”

Setting aside for the moment the flurry of questions she had for him -- just how much did Vonken know of this expedition ahead of time? -- Holly asked Ridley, “But why did he tell you to bring it back to me? How did he know I wouldn’t be harmed by this?”

“Damned good question,” Vonken agreed, coming closer.

“Mikael ssssaid...sisserr...sisser besshull.”

It took her a moment. “Special? I’m special? But...” What? Mikael knew? He knew something was different about me, when I never had any inkling?

Ridley’s nearly-nonexistent shoulders rolled. “Sssaid...sisser like him.”

Holly tried not to gape. She felt Vonken’s hesitant touch on her shoulder, and turned her eyes up to him. He shook his head. “I had no idea either,” he said softly. “Not the faintest whiff. You never saw him exhibit any odd proclivities?”

She choked on a laugh. “My brother? Mikael was the perennial prodigal child, always running off somewhere, never home by dinner, always putting off his studies, completely irresponsible! He was an ordinary young man of means, who wanted to have great adventures and brag about them.” Mikael had this freak energy as well? How? How did I never see it? You’d think I’d notice if my own brother started glowing and tossed aside Coldsparks like scarecrows!

“Perhaps you never noticed because you were just the same,” Vonken suggested. “And I never had cause to spark around him. He refused to visit me at my workshop...” Vonken growled, and shook a fist in the air. “Of course! Because if he came upon me Dustcrafting, his own aetheric energy might flare up as yours has!”

Holly’s ankles trembled. She allowed herself to sink to the floor, skirts settling like dark leaves upon a still pond. “Why...why did he never say anything to me? Why didn’t he tell me any of this?”

“Think about it. Assuming he discovered his own talents early on, he must have soon realized how unusual he was, even with all the changes wrought by the Cataclysm. A freak even in this changéd land. I promise you, if Villard had known –“

“What if he did?” Holly shot back. “What if he specifically enlisted Mikael to bring this element back from the Crater because he was the only man immune to its effects?”

Vonken’s expression was grim. “That’s an ugly conjecture. I hope not. Were that the case, Villard would certainly have thought to check you for the same traits. The man may be criminal and corrupt, but he’s no fool.” He shook his head decisively. “No. You manifested nothing up until now, so far as we know...perhaps Mikael saw something when you were younger, or sensed this shared quality in your soul. He hid his nature remarkably well, to slip it past me; I’m sure Villard had no idea.”

“Company wantsss,” Ridley hissed, and his multiple limbs writhed angrily. “Keep it sssaaaafe, sisser! Dearie ssays important!” He spat the last word very clearly, and lunged forward. Holly squeaked, throwing her hands up in a block; the crystal tumbled painfully into her lap, and Vonken cursed in sudden pain. The Pilot grabbed Holly’s wrists, tentacles curling around them. Crimson light flared. Undeterred, the Pilot thrust his misshapen head close to hers. “Important! Ssssafe!” Holly tried to shake loose his grip, but two more sinuous arms whipped out and held her arms fast. Black saucers of eyes stared into hers. “Promisss!”

Vonken had his hands outstretched, greenfire lashing along his arms despite his grimace. Frightened, Holly still realized the Pilot wasn’t hurting her, simply desperate. “I...I promise,” she said. Ridley let go, his rear thumping back onto the steps. Vonken hesitated. Holly looked up at him, picked up the element again, and shook her head. He seemed doubtful, but lowered his hands. She turned the heavy rock between her fingers. It felt utterly ordinary to her. None of this makes any sense. None of it. Mikael, why didn’t you ever tell me? Why didn’t you just throw this thing deep into the Crater, and tell Villard you couldn’t find it, if it’s that dangerous?

“He should have left this horrible thing where he found it,” she muttered.

“Did you not read that note? Do you honestly think, at this point, Villard didn’t have a spy or two planted among the expeditionary force besides the obvious Northern Pacific guardsmen?”

Ridley curled into a ball, supple arms hugging himself all the way around. “Ssszhot ‘im. Bluh...bloody trrrraitorrsss.”

The three of them fell silent, each encompassed in dark thoughts. How the hell can I keep this? Sweet Howard Philips, I can’t have this in the house with Betsy. She’s weak enough as it is. “Oh my lord, Betsy,” she gasped, lurching to her feet. She ran to the turret bedroom and flung wide the door, grief already surging into her throat.

“Holly!” Vonken followed, stumbling.

Dirty wisps of autumn-straw hair showed above the coverlet. Holly clutched the rock in her hand, praying she could shield the child from its energy; she held it behind her back, and with the other hand, shaking, pulled down the blankets. Betsy snuggled in a small half-moon, breathing steadily, fast asleep. Holly blinked back tears. She sensed Vonken behind her, quiet for once. She turned, and saw genuine sympathy in his eyes. Surprising both of them, she laid her open hand on his chest. A soft ripple of red spread from her fingers. After an instant, Vonken gently closed his hand over hers. His skin felt cool to her. She felt him sigh, and his gaze met hers and held it. You protest to high heaven he shouldn’t treat you like the ‘weaker vessel,’ and then fall apart at the most foolish... She pulled away, and wiped her cheek. “She’s fine,” she said aloud, and nodded at Betsy. “I think... That is, she seems...”

Wordless, Vonken plucked a clean handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her. Holly dabbed at her eyes, fighting back a blush. Vonken took his stethoscope from his bag and checked the girl’s heart, noting her breathing and holding her tiny wrist a minute. He nodded at Holly, replacing the instrument in his bag. Holly wanted to thank him, to say something which might negate her looking foolish and feminine, but her throat still seemed closed. Vonken held out his hand to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she accepted it, and together they walked out to the hall again. Ridley hadn’t moved from the attic stairs.

Holly took a deep breath, calming her heart. She looked at the element. Just holding it was becoming tiresome, but now she didn’t dare let go. “What do we do now?”

Ridley rose to his feet; Holly and Vonken tensed, but all the Pilot did was nod at them as if everything was settled. “Sisserr prrromisss. Alll goood, ssssayss Dearie. We ull risssse. We ull fyyy.” And he turned and tromped back upstairs.

They stood staring after him for several seconds. Holly looked at Vonken. “Am I expected to glue the damned thing to my hand for the rest of my life, and go about hiding it in a fur muff?”

A slow chuckle built in his throat. He shook his head. “I think some more practical solution is called for, don’t you?”

Holly blew out a breath born of relief as much as exasperation. The Pilot thinks we’re friends now, and Betsy seems all right, but damn you, Mikael, for dragging me into this ridiculous game of bunkum! “And, dear Doctor, what do you propose? Because right now all I want to do is throw the hellbegotten thing into the Depths of Pacifica!”

Vonken grinned at her. “Well, now, my dear Miss Autumnson, I believe I shall have to do some Dustcrafting.” He shrugged, eyeing her once over again. “Happily, we seem to have an abundance of energy to draw from. You the generator, and I the machine.” He cracked his knuckles, flexed long fingers, and bowed to her, sweeping one arm toward the main staircase. “I believe the basement will be suitably fireproof for our needs. Shall we?”

She scowled at him. “Hmf.” She took two steps toward the stairs, then paused. “What about the Pilot?”

“Well, it’s not going to do any good to lock him up. And he seems complacent enough now. I’m sure having this thing out of him will do wonders for whatever sanity he has left.”

She nodded uncertainly, and resumed walking, then stopped again. “The basement? Didn’t you bury that...that man with the lens for an eye down there?” Horror filled her, and the wide grin on the Coldspark’s face didn’t help.

“Indeed I did. And we should be able to tinker a container for your pretty little rock there out of his metal augmentations.” At Holly’s disgusted look, he shrugged. “Well? Waste not, want not.”

“You really are cold.”

“I’ve been called worse. Come on.”