Fengel blinked away the afterimages as the ship settled again. Of course, he realized. He grabbed up the gaff-pole before it could fly overboard. There was his lightning rod. Now I just need somewhere to anchor it properly. He glanced about the deck and his eyes alighted on the cannon there. Perfect.
This wasn't a job for just one man though. Several pirates tumbled about the deck nearby. Sarah Lome, Miss Stone, and Oscar Pleasant being closest. "You three!" he barked. "Attend me!" He waited for the ship to level out again and then strode confidently up the deck. The three pirates scrambled after him.
Fengel knocked his catch-pole against the middle-most cannon in the row. "Gunny, Oscar, get this fat bastard unmoored. I need it pointed out and up." He turned to the waif. "Miss Stone, get me a rammer and a length of chain. I see two rolling around against the gunwales opposite us."
The three stared at him, bewildered. "But Captain," said Pleasant. "What are we doing—"
Fengel rounded on him. "Do you want to live? Get to work!" The crewman ducked his head. Sarah shrugged and bent to unlock the cannon. Miss Stone scrabbled off across the deck.
The gunnery mistress unshipped the cannon, her braid swinging in the storm as she worked. At Fengel's direction she lifted the cannon up to rest on the wooden rail. The wood complained, but held. He had Oscar secure it in place with a rope. It wouldn't hold for long, but maybe long enough.
Miss Stone returned with a rammer for loading cannon and the length of chain. He had her hold it steady while he bound the gaff-pole to the wooden rod, chain dangling down its length. Now came the hard part.
"Get back, all of you." He stepped towards the edge of the deck. Lightning crackled by, a thunderous blast that scorched the canvas of the gas-bag frame above.
Sarah Lome's eyes widened. "Sir," she said. "You can't mean—"
"Stay back, Gunny," said Fengel. Swallowing, he stepped up to the rail. Then he quickly thrust the rod out, trying to get it placed to slide down the barrel. The iron gaff-pole was heavy, and unwieldy, loosening already against the chain that bound it. Then the small hairs on the backs of his hands stood painfully straight. Fengel tasted something coppery.
The end of the rammer fit into the cannon bore. Fengel forced it down and then threw himself back at the deck. Lightning flashed, bright and actinic and impossibly close. Distantly, he felt his right arm go numb. When he hit the water-slick wood of the deck the world seemed to cave in with a rumbling crack that almost drove the sense from him.
The numbness faded to an unpleasant tingle. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over. For a second, madly, he thought it was Natasha. But no, it was Miss Stone, looking down at him with wide, frightened eyes. Fengel realized he was smoldering.
Sarah Lome crawled over to him. "Captain," she said. "Are you—"
Another crackling blast impacted nearby, followed by a thunderous roar. Fengel flinched, then looked over to the makeshift lightning rod.
It worked. The wood was charring all around the cannon, its metal glowing dull red and hot. The iron gaff-pole was almost white, the metal hook on its end drooping like a piece of string. As they watched, another blast licked out from the storm, only to twist mid-course towards the rod.
Fengel laughed. He ached, and his sword had fallen free to skitter along the deck at his fall. But he felt wonderful. "Just capital!" he cried to his gunnery mistress. "Absolutely capital." He climbed to his feet. "Now let's do it again on the other side. Quickly now, before we all get blown to smithereens."
They hastily performed the same maneuver on the starboard-side, again just narrowly avoiding electrocution. Once done, Fengel ran up to the bow to laugh and shake his fist at the storm. The crew all stared at him in awe.
Bolt after bolt exploded throughout the cloud of the storm. The rains lashed the deck, and the winds pummeled them. The crew clung for dear life, offering up prayers, promises, curses, and whatever else they thought might convince the Goddess to let them live through the raging fury they flew upon.
And then they were through.
The Stormwall parted before them. Green jungle spread out beneath the Copper Queen, twisting and rolling as far as Fengel could see. Distant mountains rose up through the haze of the horizon, and rivers shone like silver under the late afternoon sun. Clouds scudded across the sky, pushed down and out to the base of the Stormwall on this side, but further inland the skies were clear.
Fengel turned back to the ship and let out a yell. The crew, bedraggled and soaked, looked up at him. They took up the cry after a moment, sounding amazed to be alive. As he watched, the makeshift lightning rods collapsed, the wooden rammers crumbling away to ashen flinders that blew away in the strong gale so close to the Stormwall. The cannons still glowed red-hot, charring the wood of their mountings.
Lucian made his way up to the bow, along with Sarah Lome and Miss Stone. Henry Smalls appeared, looking soaked. The little steward stared at the cannons, shaking his head. Lucian gave his captain a smile. "I cannot believe you did that."
Fengel straightened his monocle. "I only did what was needed," he replied in his most authoritative voice. "Lucian, take stock and make sure no one was unduly injured. Also, get aloft and make doubly certain that we don't have any fires." The ship was listing slightly, more so than usual. "I'm not worried," he continued, "but better safe than sorry. Check on the lookouts. Now, it's a slim chance, but let's get out that logbook. We need to discern where that wreck should be, if it did in fact float upriver."
"No need, Captain," said Lina. "Look."
The pirates all turned to follow her gesture. She pointed starboard, south of the ship. There flowed a thick river like a lazy snake, wide and argent in the light of the sun. Clouds from the Stormwall obscured it, but a wrecked sail ship was clearly visible at a wide bend in the river several hundred feet below them. The vessel lay on its side, caught between a sandbar and the shore. Past the bend on its opposite side an airship floated just a dozen feet above the river: the Dawnhawk.
Fengel made a small, animal noise in his throat. It worked. It worked, and I have you. He almost cackled with glee. Instead he spoke over his shoulder at the crew. "Lucian, get back up to Maxim, see if he can conjure us more clouds, or at least a concealing mist. Henry, get out all the spare ropes we have. I want ladders, drop-lines, anything that'll help us take them from above. Gunny Lome, get everyone armed." He patted his hip, then frowned. "Miss Stone?"
The waif looked up. "Yes?"
"Fetch me my sword."
Chapter Twelve
"Fifteen degrees starboard," cried the lookout up on the bow.
"Fifteen degrees, aye," acknowledged Konrad. He spun the helm wheel until the bow of the Dawnhawk shifted to follow the bend in the river.
Mordecai watched Natasha. The pirate captain stood proudly by the helm, smiling, golden eyes bright. She called out orders to the lookouts, having them check every wake below the water to see if it were really wreckage. They prodded at the water with long wooden gaff-poles, so far finding only submerged rocks and startled crocodiles. The Dawnhawk floated a dozen feet above the Silverpenny River. They kept a slow pace, moving as little as possible as they hunted for the wreck of the Albatross. It was not easy work. Strong gusts from the Stormwall pushed at the ship from the rear, driving it off their course toward the northwest bank and the thick jungle there.
The last day had gone surpassingly well. They had regained their ship and taught a lesson to the thieves who'd dared to take it. The particulars of that lesson had deeply irritated Mordecai at first; were it up to him, they would have just cut the throats of Fengel's Men and been done with it. Natasha's insistence on leaving them alive was foolish. Still though, even that poor choice could not dim the pleasure he felt at being back in his proper place. And, he supposed, in the end the results would be the same; there was no way that Fengel would worm his way out of his predicament. In time the ship would lower enough to drown them all, if simple exposure didn't finish them.
Aft
er regaining the Dawnhawk, Mordecai and Natasha had conferred with each other, for once finding that they were in complete agreement. His appalling thievery aside, Fengel's lead was a good one. A whole frigate stuffed to bursting with foreign treasure, ripe for the plucking. So why not find and take it for themselves?
They took stock of supplies and damages to the ship. Finding the former ample and the latter minor they had flown on, coasting along the slight curve of Engmann's Run. By the time the dawn rose they'd reached the Yulan coast. From there it had been most of the effort of a day to locate the mouth of the Silverpenny River.
It was rare for any pirate, water or sky, to come this close to the strange eastern land; there simply wasn't anything worth taking. Mordecai found that the rumors of the place were understated, if anything. The Stormwall raged and wailed, pushing them away with violent winds only to create cross-drafts that sucked them back in again. They had spent hours just trying to approach the perpetual storm without plunging straight into it, repeatedly skirting around the edge of it, close enough to examine the mouth of the river.
Because the mouth of the Silverpenny River was empty. No tall ship lay among the rocks scattering the small bay, and no wreckage was visible on the nearby beach below the storm. Ultimately Natasha decided that the H.M.S. Albatross must have been sucked upriver by the tidal flow, and Mordecai was forced to agree.
They'd come too far to give up now, and so with great trepidation had entered the Stormwall. Or at least, somewhat. Over the river mouth it weakened, almost opening. Moving carefully they were able to just slip beneath the unnatural weather, the ship itself so low that when a strong gust caught them wrong the Dawnhawk brushed the choppy froth of the river. Rain drummed the gas-bag frame, and they lost two men up among the ratlines, blown clean off and lost to the storm. But before long they'd pushed through to the other side. Now they drifted, hunting for treasure with the raging wall of wind at their backs and the Yulan Interior spread out before them.
"Portside," shouted Natasha. "Three yards off. Check it."
The land was strange. Little things all about the airship reminded Mordecai that this was an old continent and an alien one as well. The waters of the river below them were mostly clear, though it shone argent in the light of the setting sun. The banks on either side were made of fine grey sand, so unlike the clean white of the Copper Isles. Beyond that lay jungle, thick and dark. Gibbons and brightly colored lizards hung from the trees. One of the latter took flight, spreading wide wings to flap across the river past the stern of the Dawnhawk. Mordecai blinked in surprise as the creature passed on by. Scents of citrus and rich earth wafted out from the jungle, mixing with the ozone smell of the Stormwall behind them. The whole place made Mordecai feel uneasy.
"Just another crocodile," shouted Guye Farrel from the portside ratlines.
"Then keep looking," snarled Natasha.
The new pirate glowered, but turned back to the river before he thought they could see him. Mordecai was amused. The man had been beaten, berated, and all around battered since joining their crew. His once well-groomed brown hair was limp and oily. Life as one of Natasha's Reavers was likely not turning out the way he thought it would have. During the fight with Fengel's Men he had acquitted himself well enough, though he had lost a pair of fingers to Lucian's sword. Yesterday, well after the fight, he had appeared from down belowdecks with an ugly red boil swelling on the side of his neck. Farrel claimed that he had been attacked by an angry beast down in the bowels of the ship's storage. Mordecai thought it far more likely that he was drinking something unusual that Fengel's crew had left behind.
"Dead ahead," called the bow lookout as the airship rounded a bend in the river. "Wreckage dead ahead!"
Mordecai met Natasha's eyes. She turned and strode up the deck eagerly. "Bring us in slow," he said to Konrad. Their navigator nodded and Mordecai moved to follow his captain.
They passed the Mechanist on their way up to the bow. The Brother of the Cog was oblivious to their journey, only mildly interested in the strange new continent. Of far greater concern to him was the care of his ship. He moved along the skysail mounts with two press-ganged pirates in tow, examining the damage wrought by the Stormwall and by Fengel's crew back at the Maelstrom. This man was made of different stuff than the milksop youngling they'd had back on the Copper Queen, and it pleased Mordecai.
Natasha slowed her pace toward the front of the ship. "How go the repairs?" she asked the Brother of the Cog.
The older man paused. "You are continually pushing this vessel beyond its designed capacity."
"Our apologies," said Mordecai. "But it was necessary to breach the Stormwall."
The Mechanist grunted. "I do not refer solely to that. This entire excursion has exceeded the recommended equipment margins that you agreed to upon taking ownership of this vessel. A penalty shall be applied once we return to the Yards."
Mordecai glowered. "Now see here—"
"It appears I misspoke," said the Mechanist, cutting him off. "A larger penalty shall now be applied once we return to the Yards. Do not force me to increase that number." With that, the Mechanist turned and stalked off. Natasha glanced at him and shook her head. Her meaning was clear; the Mechanist was stodgy, and not worth irritating further for the sake of pride.
Mordecai and his captain reached the bow just as the whole ship rounded the bend. The river continued more northeasterly from here, wide and flat. But it was bisected directly ahead by a sandbar. On it lay a warship.
The H.M.S. Albatross was a newer vessel, a steam frigate. It was long and heavy, made of dark seasoned oak. Like any sailing vessel it had three masts hosting a magnificent array of sails. But amidships were two massive paddlewheels with armored housings. Cannons poked their stubby noses out in regular intervals along the top deck and those below. She had been recently painted and was a pretty vessel indeed.
Well, almost. The Perinese warship lay beached on its port-side, a gaping hole in its belly open to the river. One mast was broken and its sails dangled from the others, their rigging torn and tangled. Shattered wood, rope, and other flotsam floated in the water at the base of the hulk, where the sandbar made a small tidal pool.
"Yes," hissed Natasha in pleasure. She flashed Mordecai a feral, wicked grin and turned back to the ship. "Everyone on deck!" she yelled. "Get the holds open, and prepare to go ashore! Konrad, bring us in to a holding pattern."
Mordecai caught her eye. "We should arm." His captain raised an eyebrow and he continued. "According to our sources, that vessel only wrecked on the rocks a week ago. There's bound to be someone left aboard, even if the tide sucked her up here past the Stormwall."
"You don't think they went back to Breachtown?"
He nodded. "Certainly they sent someone. But this is a Perinese ship. Her captain wouldn't have dared risk losing all that gold and silver; he'd be strung up, or cashiered at the very least."
Natasha nodded. "Wise." She raised her voice again down the deck and gave the order to bring blades and guns to hand.
They approached the wreck. The crew assumed their customary positions, ready to throw ropes from either side of the deck and quickly rappel down. Konrad was uncharacteristically quiet, and brought them in slow and steady. The Mechanist disappeared back to his warrens. Mordecai stood with Natasha at the bow, a hand-picked crew of five others ready to join them in descending to the treasure-ship.
A thousand feet became five hundred, then two hundred and fifty. "Close enough," said Natasha. She let out a cry and it echoed about the deck. Ropes were thrown over the side and the pirate captain went first, leather gloves letting her slide down to the sand below.
Mordecai shoved the others toward the line. As first mate it fell to him to be more calculated, more reasonable. If Perinese sailors were waiting, he needed to be able to call out warning from his higher vantage.
No one arose on the wreck of the Albatross. Heads didn't poke up from behind the gunwales or from beneath the forecastle. No crew
men ducked out in alarm at the noise on the beach. Natasha hit the sand followed by the others in the first wave, seeming for all the world the only ones around.
Mordecai frowned at the lack of reaction and took the bow-rope in his own gloved hands. He slid down it, shoulder aching still from the arcane attack he'd suffered during the fight with Fengel's Men. He touched the sand of the beach with a thump and drew his sword.
The crew were faltering in their charge. No one rose up to fight them off; they weren't certain how to proceed. Mordecai ran up to Natasha, walking now at the lead. His captain had quieted as well, wary and watching still for defenders or sudden ambush.
The Albatross merely sat there. Long shadows cast by the setting sun fell down from the rigging onto the argent river. The only noises to be heard were the raspy calls of the flying lizards in the trees, the whirr of the Dawnhawk's propellers, and the occasional hoot of a gibbon.
Natasha came to a stop three dozen feet from the broken hull. "Where are all the sailors?" she asked.
Mordecai glanced about. "There should be a few here."
"Maybe I was right."
He shook his head. "No. They wouldn't have left this all alone, and they couldn't carry all the treasure on foot, not all the way to Breachtown."
Natasha smiled. "Well then. A mystery." She turned back to her crewmen on the beach. "All right, lads! Get aboard and search it out!" She looked at Mordecai. "I never had much patience for mysteries. Let's see if Fengel's information was good."
The crew threw ropes and grapples up onto the gunwales to climb aboard. Mordecai picked four of the ablest standing nearby, and followed Natasha up to the breach in the hull. The opening was just past the sandbar, where the waters of the river formed a large tidal pool. Ropes, broken wood, and other junk floated just beneath it. Whatever rock had cracked the ship had done its job well. The breach in the hull was as wide as three men.
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 16