Apart
Robert and Moishe are both covered with dust and sweat, and Moishe is bleeding from a gash on his leg. The two of them dig through the rubble choking the mouth of the cave.
"Christ, this is getting us nowhere," Robert says, spitting out a mouthful of spit thickened with dust. He steps away from the rubble and leans against the wall.
Moishe continues to dig, eyes wild with desperation.
"You're bleeding," Robert says, "Come here and I'll fix that."
Moishe looks at him, tears springing into his eyes.
"But...Sarah! The others!"
Robert sighs and gently wraps an arm around Moishe's shoulders, gently but firmly guiding him deeper into the cave. He's been worried about another cave-in since he so carelessly tripped the wire, and he thinks further digging may just hasten a second collapse.
"Your teacher can take care of herself. She's a tough woman. As for the others..."
His jaw tightens, and he helps Moishe sit down.
"Let's take a look at this," he says. The gash isn't so deep, but he still pulls something from his belt and presses it against the cut as he recites an incantation. The cut closes itself up in moments.
"There, simple healing spell," Robert says, and the two of them sit with their backs to opposite sides of the tunnel. Robert produces a wineskin from somewhere and takes a swig to wash out his mouth, then another for good measure. Moishe rubs his leg before drawing his knees up to his chest and sulking. His staff lies next to him.
"You sure do keep that thing close," Robert says, jerking his chin at it.
"You're awfully chatty for once," Moishe says sullenly. Robert shrugs.
"Not much to do right now but talk."
Moishe sighs.
"It was a gift from my rabbi. He said it would help me, but...I have no idea how to use it."
"What, is it a magic wand?"
"Not magic. Holy."
Robert nods.
"Ah, genuine miracles. I...wouldn't know anything about that."
Moishe is pretty sure Robert is lying, but before he can press the knight on that, Robert sighs.
"You wouldn't happen to be able to summon an earth elemental, would you?"
Moishe shakes his head.
"All my materials were back at the ship."
"Thought so. I lost all my materials too. I can...make light, do some basic healing, put out a fire, and if we need water I can probably improvise a dowsing rod. Give me a lock of your hair and I could make some countercurse charm. Other than that...do we need any livestock cured of disease?"
"Not that I can think of, but I'll let you know if it comes up," Moishe laughs bitterly.
"Thought so," Robert chuckles.
The two sit in silence for a while, Moishe trying to work up the nerve to ask Robert what he knows about miracles, when the knight suddenly sits up.
"Shh. Something's coming."
The two snatch up their weapons and stagger to their feet. Robert raises his glowing charm, and from deeper in the cave the two hear the rustling of scales on stone.
"Sounds like somebody's come to check on their guests," Robert mutters.
From out of the gloom slithers a pack of maran. From the waist up they are human - women, in fact, with braided hair and bronze skin, and armor chased with silver - but from the bottom down they only have the long, winding, sinuous bodies of snakes, green and black and brown. They all carry wicked-looking polearms.
"Hello," says their leader, who rises up on her tail, her head almost touching the roof of the tunnel, "We're going to have to ask you put down your weapons and come with us."
The other maran crowd around, leveling their weapons to create a picket of deadly blades. Robert and Moishe look at each other and sigh.
"Look like they want us to stay a while," Robert says, and flips his sword around, offering the hilt to the leader. She accepts his surrender and motions the other guards forward.
"A wise move. Take them to the queen."
***
Benob the Warlord has ordered his men to move camp. They march out of the valley where they laid their ambush and pitch their tents in a shallow depression. There are some wells nearby, and on a rise above the camp is a statue raised by some ancient Persian king - a winged bull with the face of a man. It is partially ruined, but its imperious gaze looks down on the bandits as they draw water and dig latrines.
The giant hauls Sarah unceremoniously to the largest tent and shoves her inside.
"You can stay here until you're willing to cooperate," he snarls, and stalks off to oversee the camp. Sarah can tell he's upset that the ship escaped his grasp, and only her value in building a new one has prevented her from being harmed.
Once she's alone, Sarah lets out groan of frustration and collapses on a stool, her head buried in her hands.
Everything had been going so well, up until that giant had appeared! She was perfectly on track to reach the Kingdom of Prester John and win the race, but now she may as well never make it.
Sarah rubs her forehead.
"Oh and, the rest of the crew are probably in danger," she mutters, feeling a little ashamed that her first thought was for the stupid bet.
She stands up and rocks back and forth on her heels thoughtfully. The Djinn is somewhere in the camp, thanks to that cursed geniebinder, but the others...well, they could be anywhere. She's quite confident in their abilities, so there is always the chance they could see to themselves and come rescue her.
The thought almost rankles her. As the captain, she hates the idea that she needs rescuing.
"Come on, Sarah, you're a professional alchemist, you can get yourself out of this!" she says, slamming her fist into her palm. She starts pacing the tent, looking skeptically at the chairs and desks that have been set up.
If worst came to to worst, she could always build herself a second ship and escape on that. Sarah bat Binyamin was always the kind to make things happen herself rather than sit around and wait for them to happen to her.
If she can, she'd like to find the rest of the crew...but for now, her mind is already working on a plan to, at the very least, get her out of captivity.
***
It is very dark in the jar. Shabbar, through senses and movements known only to Djinn, lurks in the darkest corners and broods. He is currently in the gaseous form which his kind may take when desired - or when forced, as the case may be. Whatever process of the mind the Djinn uses to bind a cloud of vapors into a thinking entity is still fully aware of the circumstances of its imprisonment. Far more than mere clay, the jar is graven with magical wards that keeps the Djinn in this form and prevents him from escaping unless the jar is opened.
Being captured and bound in a jar is one of the worse fates a Djinn could face. Oh, how Shabbar loathes geniebinders!
Still, Djinn do not die natural deaths. Shabbar is very patient, and is willing to wait a very, very long time. No human master lives forever, and sooner or later the jar will be opened - perhaps by that geniebinder, which would provide a most welcome reckoning. If not the geniebinder, then eventually the jar will be open. Shabbar can afford to wait.
Still, he thinks, the others will probably have need of him far before that happens. So while he can wait, he would, for the sake of his companions, prefer not to.
***
Deborah slams Menander back against the rail. She forces him to lean backwards out over the edge, his head hanging hundreds of feet above the ground, his ears flapping in the strong wind.
"You were going to sell us out, you son of a bitch!" she yells, pressing her knife against his throat. He makes a strangled choking sound and grabs the rail for support.
"Y-you don't understand, nobody was going to get hurt-"
"No, of course not, you were just going to sell those schematics to...who, I wonder? The highest bidder? Or are you working for someone?"
"I have no idea what-"
Again, Deborah cuts him off, shoving a hand into his jacket and pulling out a scroll.
"You're a bad liar, Menander, and I should know, I've met enough of them. That thief back at the House of Wisdom, who was he?"
"He - ack! Works for my uncle! I swear, nobody was going to get hurt."
"I ought to toss you off this ship-"
Then Deborah hears the click of a pistol's hammer being drawn back. She looks to her side and sees Lisa, her face streaked with tears, pointing her gun at Deborah.
"Let him go," the Undine says, her voice cold as ice water.
"Lisa? Now's not the time, we're having a little chat," the succubus replies. Menander shoots Lisa a pleading look, but the Undine keeps her gaze - and her gun - fixed on Deborah.
"I won't let you hurt him."
"Why? He's a traitor to this crew. What's...what's left of it anyway."
The succubus tightens her jaw. Right now, she can't think about the rest of the crew, she needs to care of this first, and then...and then...
"He's a member of this crew. Now," she waves her pistol for emphasis, "Let him go."
Deborah makes a sound of disgust and steps away, giving Menander a shove that almost pushes him off-balance. He scrambles away from the railing and hides behind Lisa. Deborah crosses her arms and goes to the front of the ship to sulk.
"Oh, thank you, Lisa, I knew you were a true friend!"
"Shut up," she says, wiping her eyes, "I need your bow."
"My bow?" Menander asks. Deborah looks back over her shoulder. Lisa sees the succubus' look and meets her eyes.
"Unless I'm mistaken, I'm the only one left on this ship with any authority," the elemental says, half-asking and half-telling. Deborah gives her a curt nod, acknowledging her authority.
"That's right, you're in charge," Menander says, still hovering behind her, keeping Lisa between himself and the succubus. Lisa holsters her pistol and walks towards the back of the ship.
"Good. Then my first order is to get ready, because we're going back for the rest of the crew."
The Aliyah lurches and starts a wide arc, heading back the way she came.
***
Sarah looks around the tent. There is a desk, some shelves, and a scattered collection of alchemy materials and gear. She sniffs distastefully.
"It'll have do..."
Benob sits down on a stool the size of a tree stump, his bulk taking up half the room even in this spacious tent, and rubs salve onto his acid-burned hand. He growls and clenches the hand into a fist.
"It better do. I put in a lot of work capturing you, and I still want a ship like yours."
Sarah turns around.
"What does a Nephilim need with a flying ship anyway? I thought you hated innovation."
"Har! A common mistake made by our enemies. We simply wish to take the forbidden knowledge out of the hands of mortals, who cannot be trusted with it. No, you will teach me to make the ship, and then I will be the one to hold the secret, and then...well, we shall see what I can do with it. As for what I know...I am a master smith and craftsmen, so I will make the new ship myself using your instructions. Metalworking, you see, was taught to humanity by the Watchers, who fathered the first Nephilim. That knowledge is mine to possess, as it is my duty to rule over lesser beings."
Sarah narrows her eyes. Her profile of the warlord is already starting to form. His confidence in his abilities...well, it rivals her own. However, she suspects that the self-professed master may have some gaps in his knowledge that she can exploit. For example, she's fairly sure he doesn't know exactly how flight works...
"I'll need to distill the fuel, first," she says, sniffing dismissively. The giant raises his eyebrows.
"Fuel?"
"Of course. It needs an explosive material to propel it fast enough to get off the ground. Surely you've heard of rockets?"
She tries not to hold her breath.
"Ah yes, rockets. Childish entertainment, I thought they were used for..."
"Well
obviously I've found a more efficient use for them!" she snaps. The giant half-rises, and for a second Sarah thinks that she's played up her pride too much, but instead he points at the desk.
"There's writing materials there. You can make a list of whatever you need, and I'll have my men track it down. Whatever it takes to get that ship."
With that, he heaves his bulk out of the tent flap and disappears into the night.
Sarah sighs and pulls a piece of parchment towards her and starts to write. It should be fairly easy for her to get her hands on what she needs - sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter are among the more common substances...
