The ship settled without any further shuddering, still at speed. All about the deck the crew stood quiet—Fengel and his officers waited for something, anything, to give. He sent a spare crewman below with an order to the Mechanist to cut the engines. After a minute the vibration of the deck changed and the steam-pipe exhaust dwindled. The chain-driven propellers slowed in their spin. Yet the ship kept moving, losing only a little speed. A long minute passed. Then two. Fengel looked to Lucian and the two walked back to the stern. Far below them the waves of the ocean raced by.
"Goddess above," said his first mate. "Smooth as a baby's behind."
The crew cheered, the tension broken. Fengel allowed himself a small smile. They'd stolen the ship, but only now were they really flying it. The skysails and the aetherlines they caught were the true secret of flight, the Brotherhood's amazing discovery. No Haventown airship was really worth flying if it couldn't use them; no one could carry enough coal to make flitting all over the Atalian Sea worth it. But it was not easy to make the skysails, and every vessel was virgin until they had been tried. The Dawnhawk was well and truly theirs now.
"This," said Henry, "is a good ship."
Fengel bent over to inspect the gauges along the gearbox. He blinked at what he saw and peered up at Maxim. "Have you expended a Working?" he asked. The navigator shook his head. "Hmm," mused Fengel. "Then she's even faster than the Flittergrasp was." Despite himself, Fengel was impressed. Not that he'd let it show. "Well and good!" he continued. "Keep to the southeast course then. If Engmann will let us, we'll go all the way to the Yulan. Should only be a day or two until we hit the Stormwall, at this rate." Though the aetherlines didn't run quite straight, they were direct enough, and the coal they saved by not running the propellers would make all the difference. "Lucian, Henry, to the mess. Maxim, send someone down to us if we're needed."
The navigator nodded, resuming his stance before the wheel, focused now on the aetherial current only he could see.
Fengel took his officers down into the ship, over the lower sleeping-deck, and through the aft hatch towards the mess. Passing through the sleeper-rooms he spied the night-watch, slumbering. One of them, the skinny ex-prostitute, caught his eye.
Miss Stone snored uncomfortably in her hammock, arms and legs akimbo, her hands blistered and covered in grease. But she slept soundly. Most green sailors were unsteady and restless aboard their first ship. Indeed, Fengel remembered his own initial voyage all too well. But she was out like a blown lantern. Then again, a whore's used to a rough life. Gunny Lome was a demanding woman, though fair.
With her blonde, knife-hacked hair and oversized clothing, Miss Stone looked even more like the waif she truly was. She was stick-thin, and short from what he remembered, barely up to his shoulder. She was attractive, if somewhat boyish at the moment. Could she really adapt to the life of a pirate? I shall have to keep an eye on her.
The trio pushed on into the mess. It was empty but for Geoffrey Lords, their silent, terrifying cook, cleaning up the breakfast. As they entered he looked up and grinned, showing off his filed-down teeth, then moved wordlessly back into the kitchen to give the three of them privacy. Lucian piled a plate high with leftovers and sat near a porthole with Henry and Fengel.
"Well," said the first mate, jamming a biscuit into his mouth. "I don't mind telling you, this was a hell of a thing to pull off."
Lucian was capable of being subtle when fishing for compliments. He just rarely bothered. "We could not have done it without you," said Fengel dutifully.
His first mate beamed. "Damned right you couldn't have. Oh, but it was worth it, though. Tweaking both Natasha and Mordecai. Right to their faces. That was worth the effort." He laughed. "They were mad as all get-out. Old Mordie chased me down to the Waterdocks, then back up to the top of the terraces and into the jungle. Caught all my blinds, backtracking, and cheap tricks. Almost didn't get away." He paused to take a bite of toast.
"Do you know if she's got any supporters in town?" asked Henry. "Anyone who'll give her a lift after us?"
Lucian shook his head. "When you first cooked this up, I thought Weatherby might throw a wrench in things. But he's delayed, stuck pillaging out west longer than I thought he'd be." The first mate sat back and smiled. "We're free and clear to go wherever we want."
Fengel stole a muffin from Lucian's plate. "Capital. Then we make course east by southeast. Engmann's Run looks strong at the moment, so we'll follow the shortcut of her curve 'til we hit the coast if we can. If Mr. Grey is right, then the Albatross should be wrecked along the mouth of the Silverpenny river." He reached into his coat and pulled out a map. Unrolling it, he spread it out on the table, placing the muffin at a recalcitrant corner to keep it flat. "Surprisingly, Dawnhawk has an excellent stock of maps. This is a recent survey of the south-western coastline." He placed a finger along a poorly sketched portion. "And here is the river."
"So far south of Breachtown," mused Henry. "What was the Albatross doing down there? That's all wilderness and jungle, not even really explored."
Fengel waved this off. "That just means that the ship is ripe for the plucking."
"About that," interrupted Lucian. "This trip isn't going to be as easy as it seems."
Fengel raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
His first mate sighed. "Well, for one, Grey was right. The gemstone's cursed."
Fengel blinked. His steward looked up from the map.
"Really?" asked Henry.
"Really," said Lucian. He paused to take a bite of boiled egg. "Grey's not the first to hear of the thing. It's been causing a stir over in Breachtown since before we left for Triskelion. Grey's been angling for the gem for awhile now. I think he's been watching and waiting for an opportunity just like this one. He's probably been driving his Breachtown contracts all over the place, sniffing about. The Albatross has only been missing for a few days."
That explains the timing. "Interesting," said Fengel aloud. "But what did your contacts say?"
"That the gem's cursed," continued Lucian. "Looks like it was found only a few weeks ago. Adventurer by the name of Silas Thorn brought it back to Breachtown from the Interior."
"Oh!" said Henry. "I've heard of him. The one in all the penny-papers." The steward paused a moment. "You related?"
"No. My name's got an 'e' on the end. Anyway. Silas brought the gem back and sold it to a local merchant. The merchant was fairly discreet, but one of the porters blabbed and it got all over town; a unique gemstone, big as two fists, pale and milky that glows like a lantern. Apparently Thorn got it from some strange tribe in the jungles of the Interior. Porter wouldn't say much more, and died shortly after. Atop that, more than a few people noticed that Thorn's party was a good deal smaller than it had been going out, just the porter and Thorn himself returning. The adventurer wouldn't talk, just got on the next steamship back to the western lands."
The first mate paused to chew more toast. "Now after all that, everyone was quite a bit curious. All sorts of things are being hauled out of the Yulan jungles, knickknacks of the old Voorn race and suchlike. A completely new type of gemstone had everyone's interest. Thing was, though, the merchant? Became all reclusive. Wouldn't see anyone. But midnight one eve, he was suddenly in the streets, running about like mad and babbling nonsense. Fell over stone dead in front of a constable."
Lucian paused to sip from a mug of freshwater. "That hardly sounds like a curse," muttered Fengel.
Henry raised an eyebrow at him. "That sounds exactly like a curse, Captain."
"Hold up," said Lucian. "Our tale isn't finished yet. Listen to this. Our constable, he picks up the gemstone right? Being a sensible and opportunistic sort, he gives it as a gift to his girlfriend. Well, that girl has a lover on the side, and ends up passing the gem to him, only that man's the Major of the local Royal Marine contingent. Lover policeman finds out, kills the girl, and then gets promptly done in by our boy in the Service. The Major's accused of murder, but he's got pull— and quite a handsome
bribe for the Breachtown Governor." Lucian chuckled. "It didn't do him much good. Apparently his dead girl was riddled with syphilis and the Major was shortly committed to a local sanitarium. That's pretty much the end of him. But the Governor now...he was quite taken with his new prize. Held a week of events, galas, masquerades, etcetera, just to show it off. Incidentally, that's also how our stone got its name. But I digress. It was at about this time that our Governor began to make some very, very poor policy decisions. Such as announcing the sovereignty of Breachtown from the Kingdom of Perinault."
Fengel stared. Henry's jaw dropped open.
"Is he insane?" whispered Henry.
"Even with the war in Salomca," said Fengel, "there is no way the King would stand for that. And especially not the Prince. There would be dreadnoughts off the shore of the Colony as soon as they could sail there. Why haven't I heard of this?"
"Fresh news, sir," said Lucian. "And our tale isn't quite over yet. The Marine contingent was leaderless, and easily overcome. The Governor sent them packing back in a merchant ship. However, not everyone sat well with these events. His secretary, a fellow by the name of Joshua Vrey, decided to set things aright. He rallied the militia, deposed the Governor, and restored order. Then, hoping to make amends, he got in touch with the first Naval vessel to make port, our very own H.M.S. Albatross. Joshua fills her holds with gold, silver, and rarer things as an apology to the King, with the Lantern thrown in as well. Then sends her homewards, hoping that she'll be able to beat the Marines back to the Kingdom. Two days ago, an aetherite working in Breachtown, who is also in the employ of our very dear Mr. Grey, divines that she's wrecked, in the mouth of the barely-known Silverpenny River. Which is completely the wrong direction from Edrus, I might add."
The first mate quieted, busily feeding himself another egg while the others absorbed his tale. Fengel blinked. Henry was rubbing at his forehead.
"Cursed treasure," groaned the steward. "We're sailing after cursed treasure."
"Poppycock," said Fengel. He sat up straighter on the bench. "While your tale is incredible, Lucian, it is not at all conclusive evidence that the gemstone in question is cursed and that our quest is doomed."
Silence fell over the room at this pronouncement. Fengel felt the faint vibration of the furnace back in the bowels of the ship.
Lucian furrowed his brow. "But...sir. All the deaths? And the madness? And the rather horrible results from anyone who has touched this silly gem?"
"Come now. While the information is alarming, we only have third-hand supposition about a supernatural jinx upon the Lantern. I need not remind you two not to give in to superstitions. There's no such thing a curse."
"Sir?" asked Henry. "Maxim can tell you they're real. I saw him cast one once, when we had that mix-up with the Red Corsairs in Haventown. Other fellow went all diseased and—"
"Magic, Mister Smalls, is another thing altogether." He turned back to his first mate. "Now the far more interesting thing, Lucian, is this tribute. Grey wants the gem, which we haven't any choice in acquiring for him. But how much was loaded into those holds? It stands to reason, that they should be easily much as valuable there as the Lantern, yes?"
Lucian sighed. "Yes, quite a bit more really."
Fengel beamed. "Capital! Well now. We might have to make a trip or two, I don't know how much we can carry aboard yet and still make good time."
"Sir," said Henry. "The aetherite, remember? If Grey knows where the ship is, everyone else is going to as well."
"That's not all," said Lucian. His first mate looked suddenly sheepish. "Dear old Mordie figured out where we're going somehow too."
Fengel started. "What? But how? Grey wouldn't have gone to Natasha."
"I'm not sure. But he knows. And if he does, then she does too."
Fengel considered. "Well. Obnoxious, but we're still fine. She doesn't have a ship, remember? And even if she can convince someone to come after us, we can make off with more than enough—"
The door to the mess flew open. The crewman, Ryan Gae, burst inside.
"Captain," he cried. "Navigator needs you up on deck."
Fengel didn't waste time. He leapt to his feet and ran to the hatch, his steward and mate close on his heels. A light-air gas leak? Curse it, that's the only thing it could be. Or are we too close to Engmann's Maelstrom? Damnation! This was too easy. I knew it was too good to be true.
Rising up onto the deck, he took in the scene. The crew were all assembled in the stern. Nothing was on fire, and the ship flew smooth and evenly through the sky. He ran over to the throng, pushing through. "Make way for your captain," he cried, and was gratified to see the crowd part.
Maxim stood at the gunwales, peering out past the steam of the exhaust. He noticed Fengel and pointed into the sky behind them. "There," he said, passing over a spyglass.
Fengel took it, extended it, and looked where indicated. At first he saw nothing at all, only blue sky puffy with high-flying clouds. "I don't—" Then he saw it. Barely visible over the jungle to the northwest, a black speck on the horizon.
It was another skyship.
Chapter Six
"Hard to starboard!" screamed Mordecai from halfway up the stairs to the aftcastle deck. "Hard to starboard, damn your eyes!"
Konrad fought with the ship's wheel. Their navigator threw himself bodily at it, trying to force the ship onto its new course. The man swore in his native tongue, face red behind his bushy beard at the effort. Mordecai ignored him, eyes locked on the aft rudder assemblies. They jutted out from either side of the stern of the ship, connected to the gas-bag frame above by pulleys, wire, and old rope. The linkage controls connecting the ship's wheel squealed and groaned, fighting the foreign navigator. All of it was either moldering or rusted, not yet repaired in the hasty retrofitting they'd undergone.
The navigator turned to the invisible daemon on his shoulder. "Scheiss!" he screamed. "Shut up!" With a growl he threw himself again at the wheel. This time it gave with the sound of metal squealing upon metal, and Konrad went flying past to tumble down the aftcastle deck, landing against the rails, his balance gone. The ship's wheel spun madly, the rudder slamming hard to one side. Mordecai felt butterflies in his stomach as the Copper Queen listed. The crew tumbled, yelling and fighting for purchase while shadows cast by the morning sun stretched crazily across the deck.
Mordecai reflexively grabbed the rail along the stair, holding fast as the ship spun. He pulled himself up the steps to the deck, determined to get this scow of an airship back under control. Just as he reached the top a flash flew across his vision; Guye Farrel, the new crewman, leaping up from where he'd fallen to take the wheel. He latched on, yelling in pain as it cracked him across the face, but refused to loosen his grip. Farrel slowly brought the wheel back to even keel against the wind. The ship righted a little, and the crew climbed back to their feet and back to their stations, swearing and groaning.
"Well!" said the Mechanist. "It actually worked. That's a good sign, yes?"
Mordecai turned back to the Brother of the Cog. He stood just below him on the stair, still clutching its rail in a white-knuckled grip. The Brother was young, red haired and freckle-faced. Like all his kind he wore a leather greatcoat, so massive and baggy that it was impossible to tell the shape of his frame underneath. However, unlike the more senior members of his order, his coat was pristine, still smelling of oil rather than the burned leather and engine-grease stink that denoted experience among his kind. The youth beamed up at Mordecai, his silly grin making the peach-fuzz stubble on his upper lip even more apparent.
At Mordecai's withering glare he swallowed. "Of...of course there are still a few kinks to be worked out. Bound to, a ship this old." He rallied. "But I'm positive that I can get that rudder moving smoothly by suppertime."
Mordecai didn't bother with a response. He glanced back at the wheel, where Guye Farrel stood proud and assured as he kept the ship on course, brown hair flying in the wind. The pirate was shirtless but for th
e bandage wrapped around his chest, holding in place a pad along his ribs where Natasha had shot him two nights ago. He was obviously still in pain, though trying not to show it, still eager to prove himself. Mordecai knew his type; Farrel was convinced he was the star of his own personal penny-play. He would show the man his place as soon as he had the time, after they caught up to their prey.
Farrel caught Mordecai's gaze and smiled, awaiting a sign of approval. Behind him Konrad climbed back to his feet, then roughly shouldered the newcomer aside, still swearing unintelligible foreign invective. He gripped the wheel, then turned his fury to Farrel. The newcomer fell back, startled. Mordecai smiled and turned his attention back to the deck.
The Copper Queen stretched out before him, an improbably flying mess of dark wood. His crew scurried everywhere, replacing rope and cable, hauling light-air gas canisters up to the frame above. The ship was loud, creaking constantly. It groaned, sighed, and generally complained like an arthritic old man.
Mordecai glowered. What a miserable wreck.
Only one figure wasn't frantically moving about. Natasha stood atop the forecastle on the bow of the ship, staring fixedly ahead. Mordecai sighed and made his way down toward her, straightening his sword and his jacket.
The Mechanist followed his descent, trailing like a lonely puppy. "Those linkages are old; once we get back into port I can swap them for the new pulleys Rontpellier designed. That should increase the speed of the ship's turning by a good ten percent at least."
Mordecai halted, wheeling to face the Mechanist. "Can you keep the ship from wallowing like a drunken sow every time we change course? Can you do that now?"
The young Brother quieted, looked at his feet. "I'm...I'm sure I can fix that," he finally said.
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 8