“Boots, stop,” said Cordell. “I’ve… At the good doctor’s behest…” He seemed to choke on the word “good,” and she couldn’t imagine why until he spoke the words, “I blew all of my tobacco… and rolling papers… and rollers… out the airlock.”
She blinked. “You did what, sir?”
“It’s what leaders do.” The captain stiffened. “Doctor Jan is right. We’re lucky to be alive. None of us are capable of running marathons.”
“I am,” said Nilah.
“Me too,” said Orna.
“Alister and I regularly ran fifty kilometers at the chalet,” added Jeannie.
“I’ve been running one a week since I got on the ship,” said Aisha, “So I think only you and Boots are—”
Cordell’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “Okay, but we should all be capable of high-end physical performance. A strong body yields a strong mind, too. We have to be faster, better, stronger, and smarter to succeed at taking down Witts’s operation. Now you are all going to get right with that, do I make myself clear?”
“Aye, Captain!” came the crew response.
“Now, Kin,” said Cordell. “Can you pull up the baron’s estate for us?”
A chime followed, then the projectors spun to life rendering a mountainside estate jutting out from the face of a sheer cliff.
“This,” said Kin, “is Rampant Gardens, a Carrétan stronghold for Baron Valentino Gaultier’s great-grandfather, Baron Davide Gaultier. It was constructed in 2832 by esteemed architect and occult enthusiast Zhang Wei Liu. The property is designated a Carrétan Historical Trust Site for its uniquely angular features, created in collaboration with Yearlinger designer and founder of the Anti-Ergonomists, Åsa Ecklund. The interior features similarly—”
“Skip it,” said Cordell. “Get to the tactical stuff.”
“There are two known entrances to the site, and both are secured teleportation portals.” The projection shifted to the Gray, a few thousand meters down. “The first is in the city of Fleury’s port district, Old Town. This entrance is typically powered off and only accessible to architecture students attending the Université de la Riviere twice yearly for tours.”
“And the second?” asked Boots.
The projection climbed into the sky, circling the mountain to another peak, several klicks away. It slowed to a halt over a large landing pad nestled into the snow. Blacktop stood out in stark contrast to the white cap. A single, wide rectangle of white light illuminated one side.
“This is the owner’s entrance,” said Kin. “It is secured against magical intrusion by wards and has no exposed control surfaces.”
Boots whistled. “Expensive.”
“This blue blood has to go for a walk sometime,” said Orna. “What about windows, balconies… all that stuff?”
“The Anti-Ergonomists believed that human modifications were a corruption to the landscape,” said Kin. “They sought penitence through discomforting architecture. The unadorned square of tarmac you see by the portal is the ‘garden’ from which the structure takes its name. If the baron wishes to take in the air, he must brave subfreezing temperatures and winds gusting up to eighty kilometers per hour.”
“Hard-core,” said Orna, though Boots couldn’t be sure if it was admiration or admonishment.
“So how do we steal the Mostafa Journal?” asked Aisha, and everyone looked at her. “What? We always steal things. Don’t act like we don’t.”
Alister laughed. “That’s what I said.”
Nilah raised her hand halfway. “As Agent Weathers said, I know the baron.”
“Teammates, right?” asked Boots.
“He was big into racing back in the day,” said Nilah. “Did superkart with Kristof and me at the Circuit Perrin Espy, but never got picked up by the bigger teams.”
Cordell quirked his lips. “Is everyone on Carré into racing?”
Nilah spread her hands, exasperated. “I told you this, like two years ago! Was no one listening?”
“Cut us some slack, girl,” said Cordell. “We were being hunted at the time. I don’t remember every trivial conversation about racing, and—”
“There are no trivial conversations about racing,” Nilah said, cutting him off. “Those people love me… Well, Valentino doesn’t. He actually kind of hates me.”
“Yes. Can you elaborate on that?” asked Malik.
The projection shifted to two karts spinning out together, then smashing into a wall.
“Because while driving for Oxcom,” said Kin, “Nilah deliberately ran Valentino into a wall. Without a rival on track, Nilah was the de facto winner of the season. Had Valentino Gaultier finished the race in his current position, the championship would’ve been his.”
“Wait,” said Orna. “You ran someone off the track when you couldn’t beat them?”
Nilah’s dermaluxes went cyan, and Boots was pretty sure that was embarrassment.
“I was a different person, okay?” Nilah pleaded. “I know it was wrong now.”
“There’s more,” said Kin. “Valentino Gaultier’s survival capsule was damaged during the collision, and the baron suffered significant injuries, including a broken femur and fracture to his spinal column. While Baron Gaultier made a full recovery, he was psychologically unable to return to racing.”
Boots gaped at Nilah, who balked.
“You lot don’t know what it’s like on the track. It’s not my fault the crash was so bad!”
Malik winced. “I had suggested to the captain that we offer to buy the journal using Compass funds, but…”
“The baron is going to hold on to it, just to screw you over,” said Cordell. “This is bad. What’s our secondary move?”
“We steal it,” said Aisha.
Orna laughed. “I like your style, Zipper.”
“Just…” Nilah blurted, but restrained herself. “Let me call him, all right? Maybe I can work something out. I know how he thinks, and I have the most practice with Carrétan nobility.”
“You don’t think I could broker a deal?” Cordell said.
“I didn’t say that,” said Nilah, “but if you misspeak, they might kill you for heresy. I’ve been in these circles for a long time. You need real etiquette, no offense.”
Cordell idly scratched the dark skin of his cheek. “You’ve got me there.”
Boots stared at the ex-racer, always surprised at the stories of Nilah’s old life. The young woman may have been a genius behind the wheel, but she certainly knew how to make enemies.
“Hey, kid, I know what it’s like to take that kind of injury.” Boots tapped her metal arm on the table to punctuate the point. “And if you were the one who took my arm, well… I’d have stepped on your throat. I’m not sure how far you’ll get.”
“I promise I can work something out,” said Nilah. “Just let me try. Valentino is a collector of oddities.”
“We’re about as odd as it gets,” said Boots. “I bet we could find something he wanted.”