“I had no gun,” I said. I had enough of the braggart in me to want to impress Nadira, but I could not lie, and I was worried my tale might not seem very glorious after all.
“So how did it happen?” she asked. Her questions had an urgency that seemed beyond simple curiosity.
“Well, he’d just shot our friend Bruce Lunardi, and he came after me with his pistol.”
“You should tell them about how we got rid of the other pirates first,” Kate said.
“It’s Szpirglas I want to hear about,” Nadira said firmly.
“He chased me up to the axial catwalk, and I managed to clog up his gun by heaving a bucket of patching glue at him. But he still had a knife, and the look in his eye was not charitable.”
Slater gave a chuckle. The others were watching me. I felt the pulse of the story pounding in my temples.
“I climbed out the aft crow’s nest onto the ship’s back, and started heading for the forward hatch. I was halfway across when the cloud cat lunged out and blocked my way.”
“Cloud cat?” Nadira asked.
“You never read about them?” Kate said with just a touch of indignation. “A new species of flying mammal over the Pacificus that I—I mean, Matt and I—discovered? One of them got aboard the Aurora.”
“I might have heard about this,” Nadira said, but I could tell she wasn’t very interested. “Go on,” she told me.
“Well, I dared not go any closer to the cloud cat. So, I turned, and there was Szpirglas, coming out of the other hatch. A murderous carnivore on one side, an even more villainous pirate on the other.”
I paused, quite enjoying myself now.
“You had no weapon?” Hal asked.
“Nothing.”
“Why didn’t you rappel down the side?” Nadira asked.
“There were no lines handy. Szpirglas came closer, his knife flashing. I had nowhere to go. He seized me and hurled me off the ship and I went flying.”
“You fell, you mean,” Nadira said.
“Flying, fell, it was hard to tell, but I crashed on the ship’s tail fin. I was half dead by then, flat out on my belly, clinging for dear life to the elevator flap. And Szpirglas came down after me. To finish me off.”
Nadira waited. Her eyes had none of Kate’s appreciative brightness. Her gaze unsettled me, it was so intent.
“He came down and kicked at my fingers, trying to break my grip.”
“That’s ugly,” said Hal.
“But then I gave him a great kick and managed to trip him up, and he started sliding off the fin.” I paused, wishing I could stop the story there, with a triumphant, quick-witted blow. But Kate already knew that wasn’t the end. “Szpirglas regained his grip, though, and came back to me, and I saw his eyes and knew he was about to break my skull with his steel-toed boot. Then something brushed his shoulder. There was a whole flock of cloud cats passing over the Aurora, and one of them knocked him off balance. That time he truly did fall.”
“He just fell,” Nadira said.
I nodded.
“So really, you didn’t kill him at all.”
“I survived him, that’s all. I was lucky.”
“It was very cowardly of him,” said Nadira. “To attack a boy like that.”
I didn’t like her referring to me as a boy, but her eyes had lost their fierceness now. Far from seeming disappointed by my story, she seemed strangely relieved.
“Well, the newspapermen did their work well,” Hal crowed. “Made a proper Hercules of you! Always good to have a pirate slayer aboard—though you might have stopped John Rath from firing on us earlier.” He looked at Nadira. “Those pistol enthusiasts of yours will have made me very unpopular at the heliodrome.”
“With luck, they’ve been caught by now,” I said.
“Don’t count on it. But enough pirate talk. I trust you ladies are happy with your stateroom?”
“Perfectly,” Kate replied. “Thank you.”
“Actually,” said Miss Simpkins, “I was wondering if there were any adjoining rooms?”
“Apparently I snore,” said Kate. “She’s worried I’ll deprive her of sleep.”
“Just make sure she’s on her side,” Nadira told Miss Simpkins. “A good shove usually does the trick.”
“I’m sure it does,” said Kate indignantly. “I’d be wide awake after that! In any event, I don’t snore.”
Miss Simpkins made a little singsong sound without opening her mouth.
“You’re welcome to share my cabin, Miss Simpkins,” Slater said with a roguish grin, “but I tend to speechify in my sleep, and I’m told it’s not always terribly polite.”
Miss Simpkins flushed crimson. “I wouldn’t dream of being parted from Miss de Vries,” she murmured.
“Completely understandable,” said Slater. “Cruse, you’ll be bunking with Dorje on the starboard side, and Nadira, you’re on the port side with Mrs. Ram. Bathrooms on both sides, and a shower on the starboard, just one I’m afraid. We’ll all be a little snug, but as long as we change socks daily, we should be perfectly comfortable. We’ll get you to the Hyperion in no time.”
It felt odd to be merely a passenger, and I didn’t like it.
“If you need any help about the ship—” I began, but Slater was already shaking his head.
“We’re a well-oiled machine, my crew and I. We’ll work better without having a trainee about.”
I bristled. “I’ve served three—”
“Thank you, but we’ve got everything well in hand.”
I said nothing more, afraid of appearing foolish. I felt my cheeks warm, and hoped no one would notice.
“I think you’ll find the lounge very comfortable,” Slater was saying, “and you have the run of it, of course. This should be quite a remarkable voyage.”
“And with such varied company,” said Miss Simpkins, looking at Nadira.
“I must say, I think it’s fascinating you’re a gypsy,” said Kate.
“Is it?” Nadira replied coolly.
I took a sip of water to help my food down.
“Absolutely. I’ve never met one before.”
“Well, if you’ve met one, you’ve met them all.”
Kate faltered, seeing she’d offended her. “I only meant I’m curious about your customs and traditions and so forth.”
Nadira said nothing. I knew that Kate held no prejudices against gypsies, and was genuinely interested in Nadira’s way of life—in the same way she was interested in so many things. Nadira had no way of knowing this, though, and so she assumed Kate was like most people, who saw gypsies only as thieves or street urchins. Nadira’s silence seeped over the table like a malignant fog. I cleared my throat nervously. Slater seemed far from bothered. In fact, he appeared to be enjoying it. He sat there at the head of the table, smiling faintly, looking over us all as if we were a collection of very odd family relations.
“Can you tell fortunes?” Miss Simpkins asked Nadira out of the blue.
I stopped chewing. Kate actually flinched. For a moment I thought Nadira was about to say something rude, but she only smiled.
“May I see your hand?” she inquired politely.
“Oh, well, I don’t know,” Miss Simpkins replied.
“Go on, Marjorie,” said Kate. “She’s going to read your palm!”
Reluctantly Miss Simpkins extended her hand. Nadira took it and studied it intently, stroking various parts. She frowned.
“Perhaps this isn’t a good idea,” she said.
“What?” demanded Miss Simpkins.
Nadira folded Miss Simpkins’s palm closed. “It’s very unclear.”
“What do you see?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“You must! Tell me, girl!”
With a reluctant sigh, Nadira opened her palm again. “I see you will be enslaved to the idle and moneyed classes. You will tend their spoiled children. You will never free yourself from the tightening chains of fruitless labor and ignorance.”
Miss Simpkins pulled back her hand as though it were caught in the jaws of a wild beast.
“You impudent scamp!”
“Were you unhappy with your fortune?” Nadira asked, eyes wide with feigned surprise.
Cutlery and dishware clattered as Miss Simpkins pushed back from the table, stood, and left the room.
Nadira picked up her fork and continued eating. “Anyone else want their fortune told?”
“Did her palm really say that?” I asked.
“How should I know? All those lines look the same to me.”
Laughter burst out of me, and Kate and Slater were quick to follow.
“I gather I was the spoiled child of the idle rich,” Kate said good-naturedly.
“Not all gypsies are fortune-tellers,” Nadira told her. “My mother’s family have been metal workers for generations. Her people worked on most of the great skyscrapers of Europa.”
“Really?” said Slater with interest.
Nadira nodded. “Whenever there was a job, we’d get in our caravans and go, and the men would work metal up high. I grew up around construction sites. The buildings were our playgrounds.”
I nodded in admiration. “You seemed pretty comfortable jumping rooftops.”
“That’s nothing,” she said.
The door to the mess opened, and Dorje entered, a chart under one arm and a smile slowly unfurling across his face. Slater turned to him.
“You’ve had some success, I think, Dorje.”
We cleared away our plates and made space for the chart on the table.
“She has drifted significantly,” said Dorje.
As I scanned the map it took me a moment to realize I was looking at the southern coast of Australia, and the great sea below it, seeping away to Antarctica. Dorje had penciled in a theoretical course for the Hyperion.
“The Devil’s Fist won’t have kept her. It will spin her out to the southeast, and from there, the trade winds will take her toward the pole.”
“Dorje’s the finest navigator in this hemisphere, or any other,” said Slater proudly, clapping the Sherpa on the shoulder.
“We should meet the Hyperion here,” Dorje said, planting the tip of his pencil lightly on the chart.
“That’s a long trip,” Nadira said.
“The bottom of the world,” I said.
“Southern hemisphere,” Kate said. “At least it’ll be summer there.”
“Not where we’re going,” Slater told her. “It’s as bleak a place as you’ll ever encounter. We’re bound for Skyberia.”
SKYBERIA
Skyberia was the name airshipmen gave to the altitudes over the polar regions, places where it was cold enough to stop clocks, and hearts, too. It seemed the Hyperion had set her ghostly course for Antarctica, and even though that icy continent would be enjoying spring, it would send its glacial breath to meet us on high. I remembered the cold that had filled the Flotsam’s control car, as we’d angled for the Hyperion. What we would face over Antarctica would be much worse.
My first night aboard the Sagarmatha I plunged instantly into sleep, heavy as an anchor after the day’s rush and excitement. I woke only once, in the small hours of the morning. Dorje was on watch, so I had the cabin to myself. I was very grateful to him for sharing with me, since I knew, as first mate, he was used to privacy. The cabin was much like my old one aboard the Aurora: two bunks, a little sink, a chest of drawers that doubled as a desk. It was good to be aloft again, to smell the familiar ship’s fragrance of canvas and Aruba fuel and mango-scented hydrium. I rolled over to the wall and peered out my porthole to see the lights and spires of Prague drifting past beneath me, and then went happily back to sleep.
Before breakfast the next morning, Slater asked us all to assemble in the lounge. Aside from Mr. Dalkey and Jangbu, who were at the helm, everyone was here. In one corner of the room, Dorje and Kami had just finished building a small temple of rocks. Colorful prayer flags, many of which bore the image of a winged horse, were strung overhead.
“This is called a chorten,” Dorje explained to us. “It is a temple, to honor the gods. The sky we seek is as much a place as Mount Everest herself. There are deities who ride the wind at these heights, and it would be foolish to ignore them. Before we make our climb, we must ask their permission to break the sky.”
“Sherpa nonsense,” I heard Miss Simpkins whisper to Kate.
Kate frowned, as though a dog had barked, and took a step away from her chaperone.
Dorje lit incense and several sprigs of juniper. Sweet smoke filled the lounge.
“This is for good luck and purity,” Dorje said. “Properly, the puja should be presided over by a holy man, a lama. In his absence, I will do my best.” He sat before the chorten, opening a small hand-bound book with coarse pages. Taking my cue from the other Sherpas, I sat down on the floor.
Kate seated herself on the floor too, but Miss Simpkins, I noticed, chose an armchair toward the back. Nadira sat to my left. She must have just had a shower; her hair was still damp and carried the heady fragrance of sandalwood. She wore a long, colorful skirt and a simple white blouse. She was very close. As she crossed her legs, her knee touched mine and didn’t move away. I thought of shifting, but if she noticed she might think that was rude.
“Good morning,” she said quietly.
As Dorje began to read the ancient Tibetan script, he beat rhythmically on a small drum. Slater took up a large bowl of rice and, with his fingertips, pinched some grains and tossed them into the air. Then he passed the bowl to Mrs. Ram, who did the same. When the bowl reached me, Kami said quietly, “It’s an offering to the gods, for good fortune on our journey.”
I tossed some rice and passed the bowl to Kate, who took it with great eagerness.
“Too much,” I mouthed, looking with alarm at her big fistful of rice. I was too late. Her clump of rice soared high in the air and pattered down over everyone like a sudden rain shower. Dorje did not stop reading, but Slater raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” whispered Kate.
Ang Jeta chuckled and gave Kate an encouraging nod. Though the Sherpas were attentive to the ceremony, they all seemed completely at ease. Mrs. Ram’s face, eyes closed, was the picture of serenity. Nadira too seemed to be enjoying it, and several times when I looked over to her, I thought her lips seemed to be moving along silently with Dorje’s words. Sandalwood, juniper, incense. The drum beat. Someone chimed small cymbals. I might have been on the foothills of Everest. I did not understand the Tibetan words, but I loved their sound, and the solemnity with which Dorje made his observances. All his movements were slow and precise, and just watching him made me feel calm, as though some serene goddess were watching over us and granting us safe passage to the sky’s upper reaches.
When the ceremony ended, Dorje stood and looked at Slater.
“We can begin our climb now,” he said.
“I hope someone will be cleaning up all the rice,” said Miss Simpkins, looking askance at the grains scattered on the floor.
Breakfast was boisterous with so many at the table at once. It was a kind of celebratory meal following the puja, with all sorts of foods I’d never tasted at breakfast—or any other time. Miss Simpkins nibbled. I liked the brouhaha at the table; laughter and English and the Sherpa tongue overlapping. I was glad to become better acquainted with Kami and Ang Jeta; and Kate, for her part, peppered them with questions about their homeland, the meanings of their names, and the origins of their language. Dalkey joined us after he came off duty, and told a shaggy-dog story that won all our laughter—even from Miss Simpkins, who quickly pretended she was coughing. I was sorry when it was over and the crew disappeared back to their duties about the ship.
I was not accustomed to being a passenger, and I can’t say I liked it. The lounge was comfortable and spacious, as Slater had promised, and windows in the floor gave us a large view. But I wanted to have the ship’s prow before me, cutting the wind. I wanted something useful to do, to help us on o
ur way. According to Dorje’s calculation, our trip to intercept the Hyperion would last at least four days. It would be a long time to spend in one room.
Kate didn’t seem to mind at all. She said she had a long list of reading and small experiments to conduct, and within minutes had turned a corner of the lounge into her own private laboratory.
“You brought a microscope?” I asked, as she unpacked her various cases of equipment.
“Just a small one,” she said regretfully. “I had to pack light.”
After making sure all the incense and juniper sprigs had been snuffed out, Miss Simpkins sat, alternately reading her novel and sewing. Nadira seemed content to lounge on the floor with a cushion, perusing the ample supply of newspapers and journals, but mostly staring out the window, watching the scrubland of the Balkans give way to the deserts of Arabia. It was a fine view, but right now I felt too restless to sit still. From the kitchen came the homey sounds of Mrs. Ram chopping and stirring and clanging pots.
I walked clockwise around the lounge; then counter-clockwise, pausing to peer at the many framed photographs. There was an interesting series of the Sagarmatha under construction, and then a shot of Slater in all his finery, standing beside the gleaming control car, about to christen his new ship with a bottle of champagne.
There were also numerous photos of the Himalayas, some of which were obviously taken from an airship. In one picture, Slater was seated on a rock, draped in mountain-climbing cloaks, the puckered fabric of a tent in the background. Below him sat Dorje, on a much smaller rock, so he was lower than Slater, and had his arm resting on Slater’s knee. Slater had his arm around Dorje. I assumed this must have been taken during an ascent of Everest. Both men were smiling at the camera. I didn’t like it that Dorje was so much lower than Slater in the photograph. It made him look like a servant, crouched humbly at the foot of his lord and master.
“A bit nauseating, isn’t it,” said Kate, coming up beside me. “The conquering hero.”
But I noticed that her eyes had strayed to a photograph of Slater stripped naked to the waist, riding atop an elephant.
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