by B.J. Keeton
He pushed his way past several irritable and drowsy Hosers and climbed up the stairs, all while trying to get his wind-goggles on correctly.
“What’s going on?” Fritz asked, meeting Jude near the entrance out onto the deck.
“I think we’ve reached the storm,” said Jude. Everyone fell forward as the airship lurched once again. Lightning flashed and Jude saw many anxious faces looking out onto the deck. He turned to Fritz. “Here we go.”
Jude and the others scurried out onto the main deck, some people looking more frightened than others. The airship was still above the clouds, but the streaks of lightning illuminated everything outside in quick flashes. A crack of thunder resounded beneath them and the airship seemed to shake in response. Vincent Miles went to the central kiosk were the hydro-hoses were on their racks and turned to face the Hosers.
“Let’s keep this safe,” the second mate said, reverting back to his usual whisper. “But make it fast, you lot.”
A gust of wind blasted through the area, forcing the smokestacks to tremble and groan. Jude wondered what would happen if the smokestack pipes fell and ripped a hole in the gasbag above. Would the ship fall through the sky and crash? Could any of them survive?
Or would the fog eat them all alive long before the airship smashed into the ground?
Jude tried to turn his attention elsewhere, tried to think more pleasant thoughts, but the smokestacks continued to groan as the wind gusted across the deck.
Fritz grabbed his hydro-hose and looked over at Jude, frowning. Without a word, he marched off to the starboard side of the ship. Jude reached for his own hose, but Gwynn bumped into him before he could take it off the rack.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” Gwynn said, his voice cracking. It had been his mantra since leaving the Upturned Tortoise. “A real bad feeling.”
Jude gave him a half-sympathetic smile and took the hose off the rack. With Gwynn still mumbling behind him, Jude headed for his station. Unfortunately, Gwynn’s station was next to Jude’s, so he was only rid of the man’s incessant warnings for the short time it took for Gwynn to get his own hose off the rack and carry it to the port side of the ship.
Finally, Vincent Miles called “Drop the hoses!” and the Hosers obeyed.
Before Miles could continue, Cal Reedy came limping down the stairs from the pilot’s house. Jude guessed the first mate had been injured somehow during that first lurch: Reedy’s coat was flecked with blood and a rag was wrapped tightly around his injured leg. There was a brief pause in the Hosing as Reedy quickly dismissed Miles, and the second mate, looking half-ashamed yet relieved, started back towards the pilot’s house obediently.
“Begin the raking!” Reedy shouted. The thunder roared over his voice.
The wind and lightning made raking the cloud much harder than usual. Jude finally reached the right level, but it was hard work. His arms were already tired and the actual Hosing had yet to begin. He could feel his hands slipping from the hose because his palms were seeping with sweat.
Reedy’s next command was lost to the storm. Just as a powerful gust ripped across the main deck, a bolt of lightning struck the hull of the airship. The Gangly Dirigible dipped below the clouds. For a few brief moments, everyone out on the main deck was underwater. Sheets of rain poured down on the Hosers and Reedy, and Jude’s clothes were instantly drenched. The unfiltered rainwater smelled old and stale, and Jude suddenly feared the fog would get them before Schlocky could bring the airship back above the Skyline.
“Hold steady!” Reedy yelled over the rain.
A streak of lightning bolted out of one of the clouds and hit one of the smokestack pipes. A loud, metallic pang rang through Jude’s ears. The airship started going upward in jerky leaps, but another bolt of lightning hit the main deck and Jude heard someone scream. He didn’t turn around—he knew if he did, he might lose his hose or fall forward, and then it would all be over. The fog would get him.
“Nobody move,” Reedy said. “Everyone stay where you are.”
Trembling, the Gangly Dirigible rose back above the clouds and Jude felt as if he could breathe once again. The airship continued to shake as it circled back around the dark clouds, but Reedy didn’t seem to notice.
“Ready on three!” Reedy commanded. He turned the first lever over on the main kiosk. “One…”
“You can’t be serious!” Jude heard a Hoser yell. “This is too dangerous!”
“If we don’t hurry, we’ll all be dead,” Reedy replied. He turned the next lever. “Two…”
“This isn’t worth it,” another Hoser cried.
“Codswallop!” said the distinct voice of Robert Thorne. “That’s what this is! A bunch of codswallop!”
Reedy ignored their protests and turned the next lever. “Three,” he said, with a strange shrillness in his voice. “Begin the extraction!”
The hydro-hose was much harder to control in the storm, but Jude tried to keep his arms steady. Against the wind and the lightning, Jude and the others managed to Hose for half an hour without any problems. In that short time, they’d already extracted enough water to fill the next quota, and they were working on another when the airship’s hull was hit by another streak of lightning.
This time, the ship went far below the clouds—far enough that Jude was sure he could see the deathly fog swirling just underneath them. He heard cries from all around of “The fog! The fog!” and “We’re dead!” and “It’s over!” Gwynn dropped his hose and brought his arms over his head, falling to his knees. There were screams from every direction, but Schlocky fought hard against the wind and rain to get the Gangly Dirigible back above the Skyline.
They were nearly back above the clouds when a bolt of lightning seared through the air and someone let out a low, diluted scream. Jude could smell something burning, but he still didn’t dare turn around. Lightning flashed again and again; the wind came in mighty gusts and whipped hard, cold rain against the ship, but Jude tried to hold his hydro-hose steady, even though his whole body was shaking.
“No!” Jude heard Fritz shout. “Get him away from me! Get him away!”
Jude turned around and saw his friend leaning against the railing. Fritz fell to his knees and started to vomit. Next to him, there was a smoking pile of what appeared to be rags and seared meat. It was hard to see through the rain, but Jude thought he knew what the smoking pile really was: the remains of another Hoser. Jude surveyed the deck as best he could and suddenly realized that it was Thorne—lightning must have struck him.
“Calm down,” Reedy said. He started for Fritz and yelled up at the pilot’s house. “Miles, get down here! Pronto, dammit!”
A powerful squall tore through the area and there were more screams. Sheets of rain distorted Jude’s vision, but he saw a rogue hose hurtling toward him and ducked just in time. The nozzle, however, nicked him against the shoulder and pain jolted through his body. The airship rocked, and the Hosers on the port side with Jude all tried their best to keep from falling overboard. As Jude attempted to get back on his feet, he saw that Gwynn was gone. He glanced around at all the pandemonium, but couldn’t find his fellow Hoser anywhere on the main deck.
Carefully, Jude moved to the edge and peered over. Gwynn’s arm was wrapped around his hose, but both man and hose were dangling down into the abyss, incredibly close to the fog floating hungrily beneath them. Jude tried to pull Gwynn up with the hose, but his injured shoulder kept him from using that arm, and it was an impossible task to perform one-handed.
“Help!” Jude called. “Man overboard! I need help!”
Someone ran over to him and a second pair of hands helped Jude hoist Gwynn up. The rain made the hose slippery, and it was extremely difficult to get a good grip, but they heaved and pulled until, finally, Gwynn was safely back on deck. Jude turned to thank whoever had helped and was surprised to see the second mate standing there.
“Thanks,” Jude said, panting.
Miles nodded curtly. “Take
that man to the infirmary. His arm is probably broken.”
Jude leaned down to help Gwynn to his feet, but another gust of wind sent everyone spiraling backwards. The hydro-hose was now wrapped so tightly around Gwynn’s arm that it was impossible to get him free. The skin on Gwynn’s arm was cracked and bloodied, and his hand was turning a sick shade of purple.
“Hang on,” Jude said, remembering he had Roebuck’s knife. He took out the switchblade and started hacking away at the hose. The hose was thick and callous, but Roebuck’s knife was extremely sharp. “I’ve almost got it.”
“Heaven save me!” Gwynn said. His eyes were huge and his whole body started shaking. “Oh, heaven save me…”
Jude turned around to see why Gwynn had panicked. The airship was nearly above the Skyline, but a swirl of dark smoke had started forming from the nearby clouds. Powerful blasts of wind and huge bits of hail started assaulting the Gangly Dirigible now, as a monstrous cyclone started forming. Loose bits of debris flew from the ship as the tornado sucked in everything it could.
“Everyone below deck,” Reedy shouted. “Below deck! Below deck!”
Jude ducked as a wooden crate missed him by inches and smashed into one of the smokestacks. He was so close to having Gwynn’s arm freed, and he couldn’t just leave the man out in the storm. Why was it taking Schlocky so long to bring the ship back above the Skyline? Everyone else rushed to meet Reedy’s latest order and take shelter, but Jude was so close…
“Let’s go,” Miles said, grabbing Jude by the elbow. “You heard Reedy.”
“We can’t leave him,” Jude said, trying to hack away at Gwynn’s hose. “I’m almost finished.”
Miles tried to drag Jude away as Gwynn begged for them not to leave him behind. Miles’ grasp was tight, but Jude managed to shake free, even if the pain in his shoulder caused his ears to ring and his head to swim. Another crate flew through the air and hit Miles in the chest. Both Miles and the crate went hurtling through the air. Jude tried to stop it from happening, but it was too late. Miles’ cries were extinguished as the tornado sucked him in, indifferent to the man’s death.
“Please—please don’t leave me,” Gwynn begged.
As the airship finally jutted back above the Skyline, Jude managed to cut Gwynn free. Both men clamored to get below deck, but most of the dangers seemed beneath them and the clouds. The ship continued gaining altitude, slowly getting further and further away from the storm, but Jude knew he wouldn’t feel safe until the sound of thunder no longer reached his ears.
When they entered the stairwell, a dozen or so hands grabbed at them, pulling the two men to safety. Gwynn almost instantly passed out, crumpling in a heap on the stairs, but Jude made his way through the crowd, trying to get away from everyone. The pain in his shoulder was awful, but it was nothing compared to the things he’d just witnessed. His hands were shaking and he felt dazed—as if this entire night had been a horrible dream.
It wasn’t until Jude was a safe distance away from everyone else that black spots started to appear in his vision. He slumped against the wall and tried to sit down. The ship was still shaking badly, but he no longer cared. As the blackness took him, he couldn’t remember where he was anymore.
For all he knew, he was back outside in the storm, or maybe back in Burrow 12 with his parents and sister. He glanced around the hallway and saw only empty sky…
***
“You’re lucky to be alive,” said a gruff voice. “It was a fool’s thing you did last night.”
Jude blinked several times. Even though he’d been awake for some time, his vision kept getting blurred. Finally, the image of Allister Schlocky came back into focus. Jude rubbed his eyes, which seemed to make his vision slightly clearer.
“How’s Robert?” Jude asked. His shoulder was bandaged tightly, but it still stung. He massaged it with his opposite hand and winced.
“Which one?” Schlocky asked bitterly, taking a seat next to Jude’s cot. “Thorne is dead, but Gwynn is no worse than you. He’s just complaining a bit more than you are.”
Jude nodded. He had meant Gwynn, but only because he’d forgotten about Thorne. He’d also forgotten about Miles, but the image of the second mate flying into the tornado came back to haunt him and Jude thought he might get sick.
“It’s not as bad as I figured,” Schlocky continued. The way he talked out of the side of his mouth, it was hard to tell if he was angry or smiling. “I guess if it hadn’t been for you, there’d be a slightly higher body count.”
“Who died?” Jude asked, knowing how childish it sounded.
“Well, Thorne is dead, but I already told you that,” Schlocky said. He started counting on his fingers. “Two other Hosers are dead: Judith Weiss and Chuck Kesey. Weiss was hit by lightning before Thorne, and the tornado took Kesey. An engineer is dead—the one they all called Twitchy. He was impaled on something down in the boiler room when the ship was turning tricks. And then Vincent Miles is dead, but you already know that, don’t you?”
“Is that what this is about?” Jude asked. He tried to sit up a little straighter. He hated looking so pathetic in front of the captain. “Are you firing me for getting Miles killed?”
“Nah,” Schlocky said. “People get killed. That’s life on an airship. I came down here to tell you I’m giving you his job.”
Jude didn’t say anything. He was half-convinced Schlocky was messing with him.
“You can say no,” Schlocky said, keeping his piercing gaze on Jude. “But keep in mind that if you do, you’re off the ship the next time we get to port. I’m not exactly asking, if you understand me. You did get Miles killed, but he and I are just as much to blame as you. Either way, we still need a second mate, so you’re taking his job.”
“But I’m just a Hoser,” Jude said.
“I was a Hoser once, too,” said Schlocky. He laughed bitterly and started to stand. “What—you thought captains were just born?”
Jude shook his head. “I just meant that I’m not sure if I’m the right person for the job. I’ve only been in the air for a year. I’m still new.”
Schlocky threw a badge at Jude. It bore the emblem of a dirigible with GD sewn into it: the badge that all of the captain’s crew wore on the Gangly Dirigible. Jude looked at the badge and then back at Schlocky.
“I’ll give you a few days to rest up before you start your new job,” he said with a pirate’s grin.
Then, he turned and left.
Chapter Six
They called me the Interloper when they should have called me king. I have learned my lessons about trust and power. If you trust someone else, then you can have no true power. Loyalty and respect are meaningless terms that idiots and buffoons spew like vomit. True power is never shared. Remember that.
***
“What in the name of the god-king is this?” Rucca asked.
It had been days since Rucca had seen Gully the bum, and he had hoped to keep it that way. After saving him from a templar’s beating, Rucca had found it rather difficult to shake the old drunk, who had become more of a worshipper than anything else.
When Rucca had told Gully to get him an airship, he had only been half-serious. It had been a good way to send his follower away and keep him distracted. Now, though, Rucca regretted the remark.
In front of him was a score of bums, some even more detestable than Gully himself. There were two things wrong with the situation as Rucca saw it: the first being that bums usually avoided one another, marking their territory and fighting for their begging spots like rabid animals. A group like this was uncommon. The second was what actually bothered him. The twenty-odd beggars in front of him were either kneeling or bowing, as though they were offering fealty.
He had been wheeling around Tier Two when Gully had spotted him from below. Rucca had tried to maneuver away, but the bum had been relentless, yelling so loudly that Rucca was forced to head down the ramp just to avoid making another scene.
Now, Rucca saw that Gully h
ad no intention of leaving him alone. Ever.
As Rucca stared slack-jawed at the gathering of beggars, Gully knelt next to the steamchair. He said, “We’re yours to command, your majesty.”
Rucca motioned toward the gathered crowd. “Stand up, all of you. Stop that. I am not your king or commander.”
Low murmuring came from the group, but they obeyed. Once standing, they still looked toward Rucca reverently.
“Gully, why have you done this?”
“I did this for you, majesty. You said to get you an airship, and I thought to myself, Gully, I thought, what good does an airship do with no crew? So I went around and got my lord a crew!”
“Gully, that’s not…I mean, you did well, but…this is ridiculous. Who are these people?”
“They’re your people, majesty. I went and talked to them all myself, I did. Told how you saved me from that armored god-tard. I told them how there was finally a noble who cared enough about us to do something. And when I told them about your crown and how it—”
“Gully,” Rucca said, reaching up and touching the goggles, “this is not a crown.”
“I think it is, majesty, beg your pardon.”
“It’s not, Gully.” Rucca reached up and removed the goggles from his head. He hadn’t been wearing them over his eyes. Instead, they were pushed up and resting on his forehead. Like a crown. He sighed. “They’re just goggles. Wind-goggles like any crewman on an airship would have, see?”
He held the goggles out toward Gully, indicating he should take them. Gully backed away and bumped into one of the women behind him. “No, no, your majesty. I can’t take your crown. No, sir, no. I’m no royal, no noble, no king. No.”
“Neither am I, Gully.” And just then, at that very moment, Rucca realized how deeply he could be in trouble. “If my father finds out about this, you’ll all be executed. Or at least imprisoned. Probably tortured. Gully, we have a god-king, and I’m not him. Even suggesting that I am…well, that’s blasphemy. The High Prelate isn’t exactly kind to blasphemers and heretics.”
Believe me.
“But, majesty, we were just…” Gully stammered.