by Thomas Sabel
“No need to worry, Walter, the book is safe with them.” came a voice from the doorway. The speaker was the one who had saved Ulrik from the precipice. “We’re safe with them.” The stranger walked to the one called Walter and gently led him back from the table. An abiding peace filled the chamber when he turned to Ulrik and Edgar and said, “Stay for a while, but not too long. The great storm will arrive before you know it. You’ll need to fetch your friend. Pax et Bonum.” He bowed and then left. They watched him walk out to the street before they approached the book on the table. The book’s size and weight were comfortingly familiar. Then they realized that this book was the same as the one hidden in the castle kitchen.
“Uley, that’s a . . .” exclaimed Edgar.
Urlich replied, “I recognize it too, Edgar.”
Walter timidly drew near, saying, “You know of the book?”
“Yes, there’s one back at . . .” the prince stopped himself before he said “castle.”
“Uley, did you forget it was back home in the kitchen? That’s silly!” Edgar laughed.
“Edgar,” he tried to admonish him gently, “no one’s supposed to know.”
“Sorry.” The big man blushed.
Walter said, “Wherever it happens to be does not matter; having the book is an honor, although in these times a dangerous honor.”
Under Walter’s protective attention, Ulrik carefully turned the pages of the book.
“Look at the pictures!” Edgar exclaimed while he pointed to the top of the page. The first letter of each page was transformed by a skilled artist, enlarging it into a miniature painting of bright crimson and cobalt, gold and silver adding a warmth and richness to each page.
Ulrik stopped at a passage and read aloud, “He delivered them from those who hated them, and rescued them from the enemy’s hand.” The words hung in the air around them like the sweet smoke from the burner. Regardless of what lay ahead, he knew it would be all right. Heartened, they left the small chamber and returned to the street.
By the time they stepped back into the market, the weather had taken a drastic change. Off on the horizon, an enormous dark wall formed over the sea, blotting out all behind it. “If you’re going to take off, you’d best get to the sky-ships double quick. This one’s coming in faster and harder than I’ve seen in nigh many a year,” said an old man rushing past them as rapidly as his worn knees could carry him.
Aeolioanopolis became a hive of activity. People rushed to their homes and quickly slammed shut the immense shutters hanging on each harbor side door, window, and opening. Vendors collected their wares and closed their shops. Anything left out in the open was carried inside. The townsfolk moved with practiced speed, without any sense of panic. Everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, had a proper role, moving with a practiced efficiency. No one paid attention to Ulrik and Edgar as they returned to the inn.
Barty lay in bed groaning quietly. When Ulrik and Edgar entered, he turned his head to them but then looked back to the wall.
“Barty, we need to get going and quickly,” said Ulrik.
Barty groaned.
“Come on, we don’t have time. The sky-ship’s leaving soon,” said Ulrik.
Barty groaned again as he rolled toward the edge of the bed. He tried to put his feet on the floor only to collapse back on the bed.
“This is worse than I thought,” Barty said. “I can’t breathe; it hurts too much. Give me a moment.”
Edgar went to his side and with great gentleness helped him to stand while Ulrik packed their few belongings into a bag and threw it over his shoulder. With Edgar’s help, Barty limped on the way to the ship. The streets were quiet and empty except for a few bits of litter blown aimlessly about. The sun shone brightly and the breeze was gentle. Over the sea the great storm rose, spreading darkness and terror across the horizon.
The stillness of the streets contrasted sharply with the great noise and chaos at the Gap. Some ships’ crews continued to work hard at spreading the acres upon acres of silk fabric to their attachments on the mountain’s sides, while others were as frantic in taking theirs down. Arguments between merchants and captains tore the air with curses and threats.
“What do you mean, you won’t fly! My entire life is invested in this trip. If you don’t fly, I’m ruined.” screeched one merchant.
“Look at that storm, you idiot! If I try in this storm, I’ll be the one to die in a vicious crash. Have you ever seen a crash on the other side? I have. There’s nothing left to bury after the storm has worked her evil on you. You may lose a fortune, but I’ll not risk my life or that of my crew today,” said the captain.
The merchant tore his clothes, collapsed to the ground and wailed.
Another merchant, his cargo carried by a parade of servants, ran from captain to captain, from hope to hope, only to be turned down at every attempt. The servants, who kept their eyes on the storm, finally dropped their wares at the merchant’s feet and disappeared into the safety of their homes. The merchant stood in the midst of his merchandise looking for help that no longer existed.
Above the fray one voice could be heard, strong and commanding. Bombastus Euphrates stood at the base of the Hurricane’s Handmaiden. The ship, the epitome of the ship weaver’s art, hung beneath the acres of outstretched sail. She was shaped like an upside-down teardrop with a central core of woven oak strips. Sprouting from the core was a bamboo framework which supported the fourteen decks. Surrounding the framework was the outer hull of wicker and ash strips, woven so densely that waterproofing was unnecessary.
“Tighten up the lee lines, loosen the windward. This is going to be a big one, boys. Look at her building her wrath upon the sea. She’s angry and she wants her due, but it’s a far future before she gets the best of me,” the captain roared with confidence. As the three approached him a woman rushed past them carrying a substantial bundle in her arms.
“Mildred, not now!” he said to her, continuing, “We’re about to set sail. Oh, bother, what do you want?”
“Bombastus, look at me when I’m talking to you so I know you’re paying attention. This is very important. Make sure Celeste gets this right away. The last time, she told me that you forgot until the starter dough spoiled. This is for the friendship bread, not for dead bread. Look at me! The storm’s not here yet. Be sure to thank her for cloud-berry jam; the boys gobbled it up so fast that little Adele barely got a mouthful! If she could send another, I’d greatly appreciate it. Would you pay attention one more minute? Bombastus Euphrates! Make sure you have her rub some of this liniment that I’ve enclosed on your back, all the way down. You know how stiff you get without it. And I’ve written her a good long letter. Make sure she gets it and have one of the girls read it to her if her eyes aren’t any better. And . . .” the woman said.
“Enough, woman! Come here and kiss me good-bye.” he yelled as he wrapped his arms around her, parcel and all, and kissed her long and hard. “That should keep you for a while. Good-bye. I love you. And now get home before it’s too late,” he ordered.
Somewhat dazed, she turned and hurried off until she realized she was still carrying the package. She rushed back, thrust it into his arms and kissed him on the cheek one last time, then hurried home.
“Wives,” he said, “Don’t know what I’d do without them.” He noticed Ulrik’s puzzlement. “Aye, wives. One at each end of the desert, like most who ride the storm over to the other side. Six months here, six there. Mr. Christian doesn’t cotton to the idea, but he’s got a few strange ideas anyway. Great worker, though. Trustworthy too, unlike some of the Gap-rats working the ships. Trust him with my life. Ah, speak his name and he shall appear.”
The one Euphrates called Mr. Christian was the one Ulrik and the others had encountered before, the one who knew more about them than they wished. “Ahoy, Mr. Christian, come here!” he called. “That’s not his real name. No idea what his name is but since he says he’s a Christian, that’s what I call him.
“H
ere take them aboard and tie ‘em down tight. Be careful with that one,” he pointed to Barty, “He’s been knocked around enough.”
“Captain Euphrates, I came to tell you that O’Reilly hasn’t reported in,” Christian informed him.
“What! O’Reilly! Where in Zephyr’s teeth am I going to find a good high-top sail rider now?
“You say you need a high-top sail rider?” said a short, wiry man with a lean and spiteful look. Euphrates stared at him from top to bottom. “I’ve sailed both wind and water,” the man said.
“So your mouth says. Go aloft and if you’re still with us when we sail, you’re hired. But mind you, my crew doesn’t put up with nonsense. They’ll as soon chuck you over as endanger their lives.” The wiry man climbed up the ropes at a runner’s pace.
The storm suddenly shut out the sun, bringing night to the day. “Damn! She’s a big one this year and comin’ on fast. Get them below and get back up here before you can blink twice,” Euphrates ordered. Realizing he was still holding Mildred’s package, he thrust it into Ulrik’s already burdened arms. “Take that into my cabin. Now!”
Without knowing where he was going, Ulrik ran after Barty, Edgar and Christian who were climbing up the gangway leading to the entry door. The ship’s interior of narrow passageways wrapped around each other like coils of a rope centered on a hollow core lined with ladders. Christian took them to a small room holding three hammocks attached to great springs, one above the other. Heavy straps were attached to each hammock.
“We’ll put you in the middle,” he said to Barty, easing him in with Edgar’s help, and then strapping him down like a mummy. “The take-off can be rough.” They felt the ship shift to one side. “I need to go. Put yourself in the bottom one and make sure you fasten all the buckles,” he said to Edgar as he darted out of the cabin. Ulrik still held Mildred’s package as well as their own bags. He threw their stuff in a locker and began to step out the door.
“Ulrik,” Barty groaned, “that new man he hired—he was the one who pressed the torch to my chest. Be careful.”
“I will. Edgar, strap yourself in. I’ll return as quickly as possible,” said Ulrik as he left the cabin. The ship shifted again as he ran into the confusing array of passages. Fortunately, he found a crew member who directed him to the main ladder, telling him the captain’s quarters were immediately below the top deck. “Climb until you can’t climb anymore.” the crewman called before running off to his duties.
Ulrik climbed up the seven decks to the uppermost interior deck, which was the true showcase for the weavers’ talents. Reed, cane, palm branches, willow, and lashed pine-needles created a lattice work of incredible beauty depicting the moment the great storm wind caught the sails and carried the sky-ship aloft. The door to the captain’s cabin was framed in an intricate weaving of white willow. When Ulrik opened the door he was surprised at the utter disarray. It looked like the hurricane had already been through it. He stored the parcel in the safest hamper he could find. The ship shifted again, almost knocking him off his feet. Above his head, Euphrates’s resounding voice echoed. Curiosity pulled him out of the safety of the ship’s interior to the uppermost deck.
“Hold, boys, hold,” commanded the captain. He stood at the windward railing. He glared at the eye of the storm which seemed to glare back. They were sizing each other up. Far below, away from the loading area, Ulrik could see people scurrying for cover. The sails of a recently abandoned sky ship flopped uncontrollably, being ripped to shreds.
“Come on, you great storm, come on you ugly beast,” taunted Euphrates, his hands firmly holding the bamboo railing. “Get ready, hold fair. Release on my command,” he called out.
The vast expanse of silken sails filled the sky. The storm winds inflated them, billowing them tight against the ropes. They pushed like a giant cloud trying to free itself from the earth. The ropes stretched tighter and tighter. As the wind strengthened, the ropes began to vibrate and hum loudly.
“Come on, you ugly witch; blow, great wind; crack your cheeks. You haven’t bested Bombastus Euphrates.” The dark edge of the storm hurled itself at the captain. “I know your heart; blow your worst!” he taunted.
The storm’s eye went black in response and sped toward him. As the dark edge came within a hand’s breadth of the ship, Euphrates bellowed, “Now!”
With a sudden lurch Ulrik was thrown to the deck. He grabbed one of the balusters and clung on until the blood drained from his hand. His ears popped again and again as the Hurricane’s Handmaiden shot into the sky, riding the edge of storm.
CHAPTER NINE
The upward thrust of the ship’s rise pinned Ulrik against the deck so strongly he felt he was being pushed into the decking. The rise took little more than a minute, but to him, hours passed. The climb ended as quickly as it began.
“You all right, lad?” said Euphrates, straddling him. “Let me help you up. I didn’t see you standing there. Lucky you made it. You must be sturdier than you look.” Ulrik reached up to accept the captain’s outstretched hand.
“Now that you’re safe and sound with me, take a gander at what few men ever see,” said Euphrates, who pointed over the railing’s edge to where they had been but a few minutes before. Ulrik lost his breath at the sight. The storm churned all its ugliness out on the desert below. The black heart squeezed through the Gap, twisted into a band of tornadoes rending the desert into a chaos of rain, wind, and sand. He gave thanks that he was safe on the deck of the Hurricane’s Handmaiden, nothing could survive in the destruction below.
The uppermost edge of the storm continued to lift the ship higher and higher until the havoc below shrunk to an indistinguishable black shadow. Ulrik felt little more than a breeze on his face yet he knew they flew on at a terrific speed.
“Nothing like it, lad; nothing this side of paradise,” said the captain as he looked up at the cloud of silk, noticing every pucker and flutter. “Master Phelps, see to that pucker on the lee, adjust the third right, windward mid-left, and watch you don’t over-tighten the Grand Five.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered Phelps who rushed off to obey.
“Has anyone seen Mr. Christian?” Euphrates called, his voice carrying throughout the ship. Before he could ask again, Christian appeared. “Take this lad below and see to his banged-up friend. You’re the closest thing we’ve got to doctor, and the launch must have hurt him like the Grinsome Fryar,” said Euphrates.
Ulrik and Christian entered the cabin to find Edgar leaning over Barty, who continued to moan. Christian set down the medical bag he carried and gently released the straps. “Let’s take a look, Barty. Do you mind if I call you that?” No protest came from Barty. Christian eased open Barty’s shirt, newly bloodied from the rough launch. Barty winced as the fabric’s threads pulled at the burn. “I’m sorry, Barty, but this has to be done.” Edgar tried to move in closer to see what was happening to his friend. Christian turned to him and calmly said, “I know you are his friend, but I need you to do something for Barty. I need you to step out into the passage and pray for him.” Both Edgar and Ulrik waited on the other side of the door and began to pray, and as they were praying they heard Christian begin to sing quite softly; and as he sang, the moaning eased until it ceased all together. Soon Christian came out only to close the door quickly behind him, being careful so the latch made no noise when he shut it.
“Let him sleep now. He’ll be all right. His healing will take time, and I’ll look after him the best I can. Why don’t you two go and see what a real sky-ship is like?” he suggested.
Trusting in what he said, they left Barty and began their explorations with the uppermost deck. The weather remained as fair as when Ulrik had gone below, with the ship unmoved by the storm that was slowly wearing itself out over the desert sands below. The sun shone brightly upon them as they raced above the clouds. The huge sails shaded the deck. Then Edgar grabbed at his chest. “Uley, I don’t feel good. Head hurts; hard to breathe.”
Ulrik was
having the same trouble; no matter how hard he breathed, he didn’t seem to be getting enough air into his lungs; along with the headache he felt tired, and his stomach began to hurt.
“Can’t catch your breath? Flew too high, too quick? ” asked the wiry man whom Euphrates hired at the last minute. They had no choice but to face him. Flying thousands of feet off the ground left them no place to run. As the man leaned near to him, Ulrik saw his broken teeth and smelled his vile breath.
“Some folks never get used to it. They stay in their bunks – that’s the safest place for mysterious travelers,” he leered and returned to his duties.
“Uley, what’ll we do?”
“We need to be very careful. Stay close to me and far away from him.”
“Record time, record time,” Euphrates said while walking the deck. He knew a record run would not only boost his reputation but would also provide ample bonuses for him and the crew. The likelihood of bonuses spurred the crew to work together as one. Without a word passing between them and with only the occasional glance from the captain, they crawled over the immense rigging like spiders, knowing every cable, line, and knot by feel and experience. The only man out of place was the wiry little man. Euphrates quickly saw that his boast consisted of words, so he put him to the mundane work of scrubbing the decks throughout the ship. Wherever Ulrik was, he was nearby swabbing away, not making genuine progress, but only moving his bucket.