Chapter 7 – Riders in the Sky
Askaro twisted to get his feet pointed toward the railing. He felt them make contact and allowed his knees to bend. He pulled Chitano closer. “Hang on!” He pushed away from the railing. They shot back toward the center of the ship’s deck.
Chitano gasped for breath in Askaro’s tight embrace. “What are you doing?”
Askaro was too busy watching where they were going to answer. The deck was a maze of splintered wood and tangled rope. He grabbed one of the dangling ends. His arm burned under the strain of the sudden stop. He let go of Chitano and lay panting on the deck.
There were shouts all around them. Master Elvarian’s face came into focus above his own. “Asko! Can you move?”
Askaro flexed his limbs and managed to roll to his side. “I’ll live.”
“Blazing thunderheads, boy. I thought the two of you were gone for sure.” He held out his hand and helped Askaro to his feet. He shouted to get the attention of a Crewman. “Get a couple of tethers on these boys and lets get this mess cleaned up.”
Yarnel came running with the tethers. “Ye tree folk be half cat for sure. Wished more of your kind had survived longer. There be only a handful of ye left.” He slipped the tether around Askaro and went to help Chitano.
Askaro made sure the younger boy was safe then went to help clear the deck. Master Elvarian called for extra hands to help lash a new yard in place. Bruvano pointed at Askaro. “Get up there and help with that!”
Askaro dropped the splinters he had collected into the barrel. “Yes, sir.” He ran down the starboard main mast to the gallant platform where Master Soret stood, directing the work. “What can I do to help, sir?”
The Master glanced at him. “Get up the shrouds and help steady the topside of the yard. We’re fighting against the wind. If we drop this yard it will be hell to pay. We don’t have another gallant spar to spare.”
Askaro scrambled up the swaying ropes toward the men struggling to hold the top of the long wooden spar in place while the blocks were set around it on the platform below. He noticed one of the slaves didn’t have his tether line attached. “Mostek! Get clipped on, right now!”
Another slave turned to look at him. “Asko, what are you doing up here?”
Askaro took Mostek’s place on the spar so the man had both hands free to connect his tether line. “Hey, Kijo. You know Master Bruvano. He’ll find the most dangerous place to put me every chance he gets.”
Mostek returned his hands to the spar. “He’s sure hopping mad today. Heard him say you was on the Bridge. Is that true?”
The wind gusted and Askaro fought with the others to maintain control of the heavy spar. “I follow the Captain’s orders, just like everyone else.”
Kijo frowned. “And why would the Captain order you on the Bridge? From what I heard, that’s a no zone for slaves.”
Mostek stared at the other man for a moment. “How long have you been on the Falcon? Don’t you know who Asko is?”
Askaro shifted his grip. “It doesn’t matter, Mostek. Right now we have a job to do. Stay focused.”
Master Soret called up to them. “The parrel is locked. We need to get the braces and brail line in place so we can get canvas on her.”
Askaro watched the men climbing up with the various ropes. “Mostek, you and Kejo tend to the upper brace line. I’ll start on the brails.”
The men with the ropes reached them. Mostek took the rope for the upper brace line that would connect the top of the gallant spar to the mid-sail platform. “Just like you, Asko, to give us the easy job and take on the hard one yourself. Come on, Kijo. Let’s get this brace set. I can see Master Goswin coming out with the new canvas.”
Askaro took the brail set. “Tell Master Goswin the brails will be ready for canvas as soon as he can get it hauled up.” He moved his tether clip to the spar and began lashing the brails that would hold the side of the sail to the yard. By the time he reached the end of the upper brail set, the team with the new canvas had hauled it up into place. The slave working the lower half of the yard below the main mast was only half finished with his set.
Master Soret called down to the man. “Hurry up! We need to get this canvas secured. Port is struggling to compensate.”
The slave raised his hand to acknowledge the order. The wind gusted. He lost his grip. He fell, the tether pulling taut with the weight of his body.
Askaro was down the yard before Master Soret could give the order. The slave’s limp body swung wildly in the wind. Askaro got to the point where he’d been lashing the lower brails and looped his tether through a brail bolt. He gave himself just enough slack to be able to push outward from the spar, as if standing on it. He grabbed the man’s tether and hauled up the body.
The men who had been fastening the lower brace lines climbed up the shrouds to help. Unet, a longtime friend, reached out. “Hand him to me, Asko.”
He passed the man to the others. “Get him up top. I’ll finish the lower brails.”
Unet looked up toward the platform. “Be watchful. They are already lowering the bottom of the sail.”
“Just see to the man. I have to get this finished.” Askaro worked as fast as his fingers could secure the lashings. He finished the last one and climbed up the remaining few units that accounted for the arched opening in the middle of the sail that allowed it to clear the mast.
Master Soret grabbed him as he pulled up onto the platform. “Good work, Asko. Go to the mid-sail platform and be ready to set the top rope.”
Askaro finally managed to pull in enough air to talk. “Sir, how is the man?”
Master Soret shook his head. “You did all that you could for him. Looks like his back snapped when he hit the bottom of the tether. He was already dead.” He put a hand on Askaro’s shoulder. “You’re a credit to this ship.”
Askaro felt numb. He focused on getting from the gallant platform to the mid-sail platform without falling off the mast.
Crewman Yarnel was working there, shouting orders to the men preparing to haul the sheets of the gallant sail to their tackles on the mid yard. “Are you ready to run rope?”
Askaro pushed his thoughts of the dead man away. “Aye, sir. Master Soret assigned me to the top rope.”
Yarnel chuckled. “No extra fun this time, Asko.”
“No, sir.” Askaro climbed back into the shrouds. He caught the end of the gallant top rope and fed it through the pulley of the tackle set next to the top brace bolt of the mid-sail. A slave had climbed up to receive the end. Askaro passed it to him. “I’m right behind you.”
The slave’s face was pale in the darkening night. “Does this storm not frighten you?”
Askaro looked toward stern where the updraft was quickly catching up with them. “This isn’t even the storm yet, just the forward winds.” Lightening streaked across the clouds. Askaro counted only six units before the deafening roll of thunder shook the ship.
The slave had looped his arms through the lanyards of the shrouds so he could cover his ears. His eyes were ringed with white when he looked back at Askaro. “The gods are surely angry with us.”
Askaro took the rope and helped him untangle his arms. “Gods have nothing to do with it. It’s just a storm. Lets get this line down so it can be secured.”
They climbed down together. Master Soret had joined Crewman Yarnel on the mid-sail platform. “Asko, pass off that rope to Unet. Master Ofalo wants you in the rope pit.”
Askaro did as ordered and headed back to the ship. He climbed the Forecastle stairs to the top deck. He felt weary but knew there would be no rest anytime soon.
Master Ofalo was standing at the open hatch of the starboard rope pit, shouting down at those inside. “You idiots! Now you have the mizzen sheets tangled! What if we need to replace any of those lines in a hurry?” He noticed Askaro. “Thank the stars you’re here. Go down there and get everything untangled and organized again. We could need any rope at a moment’s notice.”
“Yes, sir.” Askaro scrambled down the stairs and took charge of the chaos. Rain began pouring down into the open hatch. Ropes were called for and he quickly got the orders filled. He vaguely heard the bells for Fifth Watch ring but he was too busy to even think about it. His stomach grumbled in protest.
Master Bruvano came in the lower door of the rope pit sometime in the middle of Fifth Watch. “I’ve told Master Ofalo that I’m reassigning you. Report to Master Danul on the Sky Deck.”
“Yes, sir.” Askaro forced his weary body forward. He retrieved his tether from a hook on the wall and went out the lower door of the rope pit. He could hear the commotion of orders being given on the Bridge. He hurried out the starboard door of the Forecastle. Crews were scattered across the deck, changing tension on various ropes as the storm tried to tear the Falcon apart. He clipped on to the weather line that ran down the center of the main deck to the mid-ship stairs and hurried along it. He climbed the stairs, passing through the interior of the dirigible. The heat of the hot air chambers relieved some of the chill that had crept into his body. He continued upward and came to the top door of the stairs.
Crewman Ocala met him at the door. “It’s about time. Master Bruvano went to find you nearly a half turn ago. Master Danul is waiting by the forward rail.”
Askaro stepped out onto the Sky Deck. The storm winds tore at him and the driving rain stole all the warmth he’d collected while inside the dirigible. He clipped his tether to the weather line of the Sky Deck and hurried toward the Master. Of the Falcon’s three Sail Masters, Master Danul was the least liked. He was stiff and harsh. No slave wanted to work under him. Askaro stopped beside the Master. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”
The Master’s face was shrouded by the hood of his oilskin jacket. “You took your time in getting here.” Askaro said nothing. The Master pointed toward the heavy lines that ran from the forward point of the sky deck to the end of the bow sprit spar. Four jib sails twisted and snapped in the wind on each side. “The clew of the forward port jib is fraying. I sent a slave out to repair it but he failed. Go out and do the job correctly.” The master kicked a leather tool bag toward Askaro.
He picked up the bag, reset his tether line to the stay of the forward shrouds, and carefully worked his way toward the damaged sail. The winds howled around him and the rain beat on him hard enough to welt his skin. He clung to the soaked ropes. Lightening streaked across the sky, blinding him and the immediate clap of thunder made his ears ring.
He got to the jib, released the sheet line and clipped it to a stay. He cut away the damaged clew and sewed a new one into place. He replaced the sheet clip and signaled the line man to put tension on the rope. He made his way back up the forward shrouds. A hand reached through the gap in the railing of the Sky deck. He took it.
In the dim light of the madly swaying lanterns, his father’s face looked ghostly. “The Captain has ordered us dismissed from extended watch.”
Askaro turned to Master Danul, who stood a few paces behind the Chief Engineer. “The clew is replaced and tension is back on the jib, sir.”
The Master’s face seemed to crawl. “So I see.” He glanced at Jakaro then back at Askaro. “It seems you are dismissed.”
Askaro followed his father along the weather line to the mid-ship entry. Crewman Ocala was still there. He saluted Jakaro and let them pass. His father paused at the midway landing and turned to Askaro. “Are you all right?”
“I am. I should return these tools to the sail loft in case they are needed again.”
Jakaro whistled to get the attention of a Crewman coming down the midway from the Control Room. He hurried forward. His father took the tool bag and handed it to the man. “Crewman Akner, please take these tools to the sail loft.”
“Yes, sir, Mister Jakaro.” The man took the bag and hurried on along the midway toward the bow.
His father pulled Askaro toward the stairs. “Your mother has food put out in the salon. We’ll grab a few bites and get cleaned up.”
He was too tired to argue. They came back out into the storm as the stairs descended out of the dirigible. The wind seemed less intense. Lightening flashed and Askaro counted. It was over ten counts away. “Are we out of the worst of the storm?”
Jakaro clipped their tethers to the weather line that ran sternward to the doors of the Officers’ Deck. “It is moving past us. We’ve seen the worst. It should be just rain now.”
Askaro could hear running water. “Are the collectors open on top? I thought the Captain was worried about weight. Why are we taking on more water?”
They reached the end of the weather line and his father unclipped them. “We want full water tanks when we come into Rokathalon. Water is a commodity there. Being at the top of a mountain has its drawbacks. They are dependent on what falls from the sky or melts from snow.” He opened the door but paused. “Say nothing to your mother of what you just did. Understand?”
He nodded and they went in. Tralora sighed when she saw them. “There you are. I was beginning to worry. You’re both dripping wet and shivering. There’s hot water in the boiler. I’ll bring some food in for you.” She pushed them toward the doors of the family suite.
Jakaro pulled the tether off of Askaro. “You go first. You’ve been out in the storm more than I have.”
He went into the bathroom between his parents’ room and his own. He stripped out of his wet clothes and stepped into the shower. He pulled the chain to release a spray of water from the boiler tank above. This was a special luxury that only the officers were allowed. Masters and Crewmen only had basins. Slaves were given wet rags once a day. The hot water drove the chill from his body. He didn’t want to use it all. He pushed up the lever to stop the flow.
Askaro toweled off and dressed. He added more water to the boiler tank and made sure the fire was still lit. He went to the door and started to open it but stopped. His parents were entwined, sharing a deep kiss. He waited, not wanting to interrupt them.
His mother slowly drew back. “Will we truly be in the city soon?”
Jakaro ran his fingers through her long black hair. “Very soon. Probably by Second Watch tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead. “Does this mean you’ll stop drinking the tea and grant me another child?”
Her face seemed to fade. “I am sorry.” She dropped her head. “Look what they have done to Askaro. And what if it had been a girl?” Her voice broke and she buried her face in Jakaro’s chest.
Askaro couldn’t see his father’s expression but the muscles of his back tensed. He whispered into her hair. “When you are officially my wife, you will have nothing to fear.”
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “One of the pleasers killed herself a few days ago. I heard the Doctor talking about it. She had delivered a baby girl and they tossed it overboard.”
Jakaro pulled her close again. “This ship is a rough place. Even the Officers’ wives and daughters are forbidden to leave the Salon unless they are in port. You have more freedom than they do. A woman, or especially a young girl, would be at risk among so many men. That’s why there are pleasers for the crew.”
She nestled against him. “The only reason I leave this deck is because Bruvano insists I work duty shifts in the kitchen to remind me that I’m still a slave.”
Jakaro lifted her chin and kissed her. “Actually, I think it’s because you cook better than Master Repri.”
She managed a quiet laugh then leaned against him again. “Will we stay aboard the Falcon once we reach Rokathalon?”
His father sighed. “I don’t know. My father had a fine house in the Capital but after my mother died, he could hardly stand to be there.”
The bells rang. Askaro had lost track of time. He cleared his throat and left the bathroom. His parents turned to look at him. His mother smiled. “Well, you don’t look like a drown rat anymore.”
“Thanks, mother. I added more water to the boiler for you, father. Considering all the rain water we’re adding to
the tanks, I doubt it will be missed.”
Jakaro let go of Tralora. “I guess that means it’s my turn. Those were the Sixth Watch bells. Grab a few bites to eat and get a little sleep. We’ll have three and a half turns before the breakfast bell.”
Askaro wished them good night and went to his room. He added his dirty clothes to the laundry bin and laid his belt and wrist bands on his trunk. The pendent clanked against the lid. He picked it up and looked at it. There was an embossed image of a Falcon with outspread wings on one side. He turned it over. On the back was a symbol he didn’t recognize and an inscription carved into the metal in tiny even letters. Askaro held it close to the lantern and read it out loud. “For my grandson, Askaro, my greatest gift. Sky Wizard Delkaro.”
There was a slight rap on his door and his mother peered around it. Her face was taut with concern. “First Mate Osalith was just here. We are expected to be in the Salon promptly at the breakfast bell. Your father has to be in dress uniform and we are to be...” She looked down at her simple tunic. “Presentable.”
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Askaro of the Falcon Page 7