Hal just shrugged. “Maybe Grunel had him down in the kitchen making hot chocolate.”
“Sorry for interrupting,” I told Nadira. “Please keep going.”
However, my crew says they hear a great deal of noise coming from what Grunel calls his engineerium, though they have never seen him going in and out. He has the only key to this room, and the one opposite. Three weeks, and we’ve had no contact with the earth.
I remembered the poor captain, frozen to the rudder wheel, the last beat of his heart far in the past. I wondered if he’d ever started to wish he’d declined the command of the Hyperion. A more unusual journey would have been hard to imagine. His task was only to keep the ship moving. In some ways, it sounded like the grandest of voyages, for I loved to be aloft more than anything, and always felt a vague sadness when I returned to earth. Having been born in the air, I often wondered what it would be like never to have to land.
“Well,” I said, “it seems Grunel meant to stay airborne until he finished his work.”
“It must have been something impressive,” Kate said. “For him to go into such seclusion.”
“It might be worth a lot of money,” I said.
Kate directed a withering look at me. “Is that the only value a thing can have? It might be an invention of huge scientific importance. We must find out what it is.”
“Doesn’t interest me,” said Hal.
“I wonder if he ever finished it,” I said.
“How long would all that fuel last?” Nadira wanted to know.
“He could’ve hitched a ride on a tailwind and hardly used any fuel at all,” I pointed out. “If staying aloft was his only goal.”
“What’s the date of the captain’s last entry?” Hal asked Nadira.
She flipped pages. “April 20th.”
“By then everyone assumed he’d already crashed,” Kate said. “They were expected to arrive in New Amsterdaam within four days of their departure. He was aloft much longer than anyone thought.”
“Read the last entry,” I asked Nadira.
Lookout reports we are being followed. With no success in identifying the ship, we assume it is a pirate vessel. It is slowly but surely closing on us. I have apprised Grunel of our situation. He was greatly agitated and demanded we steam at full speed into the storm front, which lies twenty aeroknots to the southeast. I tried to discourage him, but he was adamant. He thinks we will lose our pursuers in the clouds. Our new heading now takes us toward the storm front.
For a moment, no one said anything, knowing these were the last words the captain’s hand ever wrote. I turned to the end of Grunel’s diary and began flipping backward, until I came to his final entry. It was just a few handwritten lines, and I read it aloud.
It is what I have always feared. The captain thinks we are pursued by pirates, but I know better. It is B. He has hounded me on land for years, and now, somehow, he has found me in the skies. It is too cruel to think he might take my invention from me, when I have only now just completed it.
“But the pirates, or B.—whoever it was—they never boarded,” Nadira said. “They never reached the ship.”
I nodded. “The Hyperion went into the storm and got caught in the downdraft.”
“Updraft, you mean,” said Hal.
I shook my head, remembering what had happened to us aboard the Flotsam. “No. First the downdraft. The captain panicked and dumped all his ballast to try to save the ship. I bet if we look at her ballast boards we’ll see there’s not a drop left in the tanks. She was light as a feather, and then she got caught in the storm’s updraft, and was rocketed into Skyberia.”
“He could’ve valved hydrium,” Hal said.
“He might not have had time.”
“It’s a theory,” said Hal.
“A good one,” added Dorje. “I think you’re right, Matt.”
Dorje’s quiet agreement was like a benediction. I said nothing, only hoping that my face did not show the great hurrah of jubilation I gave inside. I glanced at Kate, but she wasn’t even looking at me. She seemed not at all interested that I’d solved the mystery of the Hyperion’s disappearance.
“I’m tired of their little scribblings,” Hal said. “Unless they tell us where the loot is, these journals are pointless.”
Nadira nodded in agreement, a flash of frustration in her dark eyes.
“They may yet yield some clues,” Dorje said.
Nadira exhaled impatiently. “Is there anything else in there?” she asked me, nodding at Grunel’s diary. “A map with a big X on it?”
I flipped backward, and there, drawn across two pages, was one of the most beautiful sketches I’d ever seen. It was an entire city aloft in the sky, suspended beneath enormous cloud-shaped bags of hydrium. The buildings were connected with soaring articulated bridges and enclosed walkways. Lush garden terraces spilled flowering vines over the sides of the glass buildings. People stood on wide balconies and looked at the view, which was the ever-changing sky and whatever part of the earth they were floating over. There was an airship dock where several ships were moored. Ornithopters fluttered about, ferrying people between the city’s many grand piers.
Everyone must have seen the amazement on my face, for they quickly came over to have a look.
“It’s beautiful!” said Kate, standing at my shoulder.
And suddenly she and I were pointing things out to each other in the picture. It wasn’t like we were really talking to each other, or having a conversation, but it was the closest I’d felt to her in days. Our mutual wonder bound us together, and I didn’t want it to end.
Mesmerized, I turned more pages. There were no words, just sketch after sketch of this fabulous airborne city from every possible angle and distance. I squinted.
“Are those birds?” I asked.
“No, they’re people!” said Kate.
She was right. What I’d thought were birds flapping about the city’s spires were actually men and women, wearing artificial wings. It was as if these images were birthed from my own mind, for I could imagine no more perfect way to live. I was smitten.
“He had a fanciful imagination,” Nadira said. But far from sounding enthusiastic, she sounded angry. This was not the kind of thing she’d been hoping for.
“Was he planning to build all these things, do you think?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know.” And all at once I felt wistful, for I didn’t see how a city like this could ever be built. “It would be impossibly expensive. You’d have to be shipping fuel to it all the time.”
“Not to mention fresh water and food,” Hal said. “And what if something sprang a leak? Where would they get their hydrium? A storm front passes over it, and it’s so much twisted alumiron. It’s nothing but a pipe dream.”
But the impracticality of it made it no less beautiful—more so, if anything, for it was truly like something spun from the gossamer of the finest dreams.
“Put your pretty pictures away,” Hal said. “We need to lay down plans for tomorrow.”
Reluctantly I closed the diary.
“There’s a weather change coming, so we can’t go squandering our time. We’re going to split up. Cruse, you’re with Nadira. I’m with Kate. Dorje can take care of himself. We’ll cover more ground that way.”
I glanced over at Kate, wondering how she felt about my being paired with Nadira.
“That’s a very sound plan,” she said, nodding.
Hal and I regarded each other for a moment, and I thought I saw a ripple of merriment in his eye. Was this a marvelous game to him? If so, he was not playing fair.
“Will I have time to catalogue Grunel’s collection?” Kate asked.
“After we find the gold, you might get a bit more time. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. The longer we stay up high, the weaker we get. We lose muscle mass, stamina, and the ability to think and move quickly. Our bodies are dying. After forty-eight hours you’ll be as close to death as you’re ever likely to be—until you die
, of course.”
No one said anything for a moment.
“That was an encouraging little speech,” I remarked.
“No use mincing words,” said Hal. “Needs saying.”
“I have no worries about Mr. Cruse,” Dorje said with a smile. “I do not think he was suffering much today. He has a Himalayan heart. Like my people.”
I smiled, warmed by the compliment.
“Grunel squirreled his money away somewhere odd,” Hal said. “But I know it’s there. So we’re going to divide the ship and work through her till she gives up her treasure.”
Nadira started to speak, then stopped herself.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“It’s just…I’m wondering if anyone else felt something in there. Something watching us.”
An icy rash swept my neck and shoulders.
“Ghosts?” said Miss Simpkins, looking up for the first time in ages. “Are you saying the ship is haunted?”
“Gypsy poppycock,” said Hal, but I caught him glance quickly at Dorje.
“In the control car,” Nadira said, “we all heard that voice over the speaking tube.”
“The wind,” said Hal.
“That’s what we said to make ourselves feel better. It sounded like someone saying ‘crow’s nest’ to me.”
“It did rather, I must admit,” agreed Kate.
“Listen to me,” Hal said angrily. “This is a salvage, and a difficult one. We do not have time for superstitious fantasies.”
“It would have been better,” Dorje said, “if we’d kept the lookout with his ship.”
Hal threw up his hands in exasperation. “What was I to do? Leave everyone slipping about on the ship’s back while we fussed with a corpse? What if one of you had fallen to your death? Would that be preferable?”
“No,” said Dorje, “but the ship is not tranquil. Nadira’s right. I sensed it too.”
I hadn’t forgotten the terrible sense of anticipation I’d felt aboard the Hyperion. I remembered the fearful gaze of Grunel’s hooded eye.
“If anyone’s frightened, they needn’t come,” said Hal contemptuously. “I don’t want anyone ninnying about the ship.”
“I’m coming,” I said.
“We all are,” Kate said.
“The ship has seen great calamity,” Dorje said, “and the souls of those men may still be confused and even angry at their sudden death. I don’t think we can expect them to cooperate with us.”
That night I slept poorly, the thin air starving me of breath. I kept jerking awake. I should have taken Dorje’s advice and used my oxygen mask. But I pictured Hal in his cabin, sleeping soundly without it.
I thought of Kate. I did not understand her, or what she felt for me. My heart beat hard. I wished it could telegraph me what I was meant to do. I wished it could tell me what manner of person I was.
In the hours before dawn, I drifted off once more, and dreamed I was walking through doorway after doorway. There seemed no end to them. With every new door I opened, fear coursed through me, for I sensed something was waiting for me on the other side.
I came to yet another door, and with the utmost dread, knew this to be the last. I turned the handle and pushed.
The door swung open only halfway before stopping with a thud. My mind and body sang out with panic. There was something behind the door. I tried to wake myself, but the dream would not release me.
Something stepped out from behind the door. It was some kind of half-formed man, and whether he was wearing clothes or not, I could not tell, because his whole body was so unfinished. It was as though he’d been moulded from clay and the hands of his creator had not smoothed him or given him proper shape. In his head, only the eyes and mouth were really apparent. His face was all pinches and gouges, and yet it wore an expression—not of malice, but of fear, as though he too had been caught by surprise. We stared, eyes mirroring each other’s terror, and I did not know what he was, if he was friend or fiend.
FROZEN GARDEN
Clad once more in our snow leopard suits, Nadira and I made our way aft along the Hyperion’s keel catwalk. It was mid-morning and we’d just boarded. Hal had told us to start at the stern and work forward, checking every storeroom, cabin, and locker methodically. The wind had picked up during the night, and the ship rocked and groaned in the sky’s mighty swell. The timbers and girders and bracing wires trembled. Our torch beams struck rainbow colors from the ice. Our breath steamed before us. After my nightmare, I feared I would see some frozen crew member, revivified by anger or confusion, lurching toward us out of the shadows.
I thought of Kate and Hal exploring the ship together. If she were frightened, she might clutch his arm, press close against him. He would thrust out his chest and reassure her with his manly talk. She would feel safe with him. He had her all to himself. He could propose at any moment. And what would she say? If she said yes, maybe it would be a mercy to me. We had about as much in common as a fish and kangaroo—that’s what my good friend Baz had told me last year. I was thinking he might be right after all.
I glanced over at Nadira, strands of her dark hair escaping the hood. I thought of our kiss, as I often did. She was very beautiful. In many ways I had more in common with her than with Kate. We knew what it was to be underlings, to make our own way. We’d both lost our fathers. When I was with her, I did not feel I had to prove myself. I did not know what to make of our kiss in the crow’s nest. Perhaps she was just carried away by her joy at escaping a dreadful marriage and it meant nothing to her. The thought disappointed me somehow. And yet my feelings were a puzzle. It was as if the Hyperion’s cold had frozen part of my heart and my own pulse was lost to me. I tried to think only of the work ahead of us.
When we reached the last door on the catwalk’s port side we stopped. I touched the handle and felt a tremor of premonition. Gritting my teeth I pushed the door wide.
We entered, and at first I was hopeful, for the room was filled with wooden crates. After I raised the nearest lid, though, I realized the crate contained not gold, but food. Sacks of cereals and rice were stacked high against the walls. Crate after crate revealed tins of all kinds: peaches, calves’ brains, lettuce, whole rabbits, fur and all. There were provisions enough here to mount an expedition across Antarctica. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised since, according to the captain’s log, the Hyperion’s journey was meant to be a long one, and she would not be allowed to reprovision along the way.
We moved on. The next room we came to was a landing bay. A great track ran along the ceiling, and suspended from their docking trapezes were two of the oddest-looking flying machines I’d ever seen. The ornithopters I was familiar with were feathered, with a pair of wings that flapped to give lift and thrust. But Grunel’s seemed more bat than bird. Their wings bore no feathers, but were made of some kind of supple leathery material, furled strangely and ribbed. Two propellers were mounted above the wings and cockpit. Certainly it was an ungainly thing, flimsy-looking too. And yet I saw it had room for not one but four passengers, so it obviously was quite powerful.
The ornithopters hung just a few feet above the floor, and I took a closer look at one. There was a metal handle jutting from its breastbone, like the starter crank for a motorcar. Along the machine’s leathery flank, I found a hatch, opened it, and shone my torchlight into its sparkly innards: gears and pulleys and sprockets and more little parts than could be found in all the factories of Switzerland. There was no combustion engine that I could see.
“It’s all clockwork,” I said to Nadira in amazement. “It doesn’t even need fuel.”
I’d never heard of such a thing: an engine that didn’t rely on Aruba fuel. In the floor of the hangar were the launching bay doors, firmly shut and filmed in ice. Had these strange craft ever taken to the skies, or were they just another of Grunel’s works in progress? I remembered his wonderful sketches of the aerial city, and the numerous ornithopters that had flecked the surrounding skies. And flying
people too….
There, fixed to the far wall of the hangar, was a pair of huge artificial wings. I walked over for a better look. Each wing was densely feathered, pleated like a fan so it could be retracted. They were connected to an elaborate frame that strapped on to your chest, arms, and legs—for there seemed to be a tail segment as well, which could be steered with your feet.
“Does it work, do you think?” I asked Nadira.
“Care to take a test flight?”
I laughed. The crew of the Aurora used to joke that I was lighter than air. And some small, defiant part of me, even now, believed that if I were ever to fall, the sky would hold me aloft. I stroked the feathered wings once more. How I would have loved to try them.
Nadira had already moved on. She was like Hal. Grunel’s inventions were just distractions to her. I joined her, and we checked the rest of the hangar. There was not much else to investigate, apart from some chests of spare parts and mechanics’ tools. We took a short break, and Nadira breathed some tanked oxygen. I was feeling the altitude, and even walking was labor, but I was not out of breath yet, and I wanted to save my oxygen for when it was really needed.
“Do you think Kate’s feeling all right?” Nadira asked, removing her mask.
“What do you mean?”
“She just seems a bit ill-tempered lately, especially with you.”
“Oh,” I said carelessly, “I think she blames me for wrecking the Saga.”
Maybe Hal was right about her: she had an iron will, and I had come between her and her heart’s desire. She wanted all Grunel’s specimens; she wanted Hal.
“That’s ridiculous,” Nadira said.
“She doesn’t see it that way. And neither does Hal.”
“He doesn’t give you the credit you deserve. You risked your life saving Kami Sherpa.”
I felt very grateful to Nadira then, for Kate had never said those words to me.
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