“Very well,” Swilington said.
“The ship is three degrees up angle, sir. Recommend maintaining three degrees up until we gain altitude,” Haney said. “We have a little breeze hitting us head on.”
Swilington stepped in and read gauges in front of Haney. “Agreed,” he said, after a second and clapping him on the shoulder. “Good.”
Pulling out his watch, Swilington turned once again to Persi and Bull, “Navigator, ship lifted from Pointe-Noir on this date at 1755, heading for Kifuka, Congo. Maneuvering team is secured and topside watch stationed.
Bull nodded. “Aye,” rolled from his lips, like thunder, as he recorded the information in the ship’s log.
Swilington turned to the Captain, smiling. “Captain Genevieve Bourdieu, the ship is safely lifted and away. The ship is lifting to ten thousand feet, and on a proper heading to Kifuca, Congo, on course 090.”
“Very well, Mr. Swilington. Nicely done, as always,” She said. “Senior Chief Haney, I will be in the wardroom should you need me. Persi, shall we adjourn for a drink and perhaps something nourishing?”
Persi said, “Yea ...” but was unable to finish her sentence as an explosion sounded from above and the ship rocked to the left.
“Topside to Control,” Airman Zelinski said from the open deck above. “There is a ship at our starboard stern, approximately 170. It has fired on us.
Chapter 54 – The Black Swan Engages
Swilington took a step toward the tube but the Captain stepped in front of him. “Flag?” she asked into the opening.
“I have a bad angle, ma’am, but it appears to be the Union Jack,” Zelinski’s voice echoed back.
“Hmm, I was afraid of that,” Genevieve said, twisting her lips.
“Why?” Persi asked, stepping up.
“Because I have no wish to go to war,” she said, putting the tube back in its rack. Persi watched the woman’s face but only a portion of a second past before she quickly picked up another tube. “Engine room, all ahead emergency, we are under attack.” Then dropping that tube and picking up another she yelled, “Man battle stations!”
Bells rang from all over the ship as the crew rushed to man stations in preparation for a fight.
“Surely, you are not worried about winning such a battle. I was lead to believe the Swan was the supreme fighting ship currently in the air,” Persi said.
Genevieve smiled, “She is, and I could win, then instead of being the sly and beautiful thief who stole a secret warship no one wants to talk about, I’d be a simple pirate with a bounty on my head needing to fend off each and every airship I encountered.” She looked directly at Persi and smiled ruefully, “There is no freedom in that path.”
Swilington strode across the bridge to the control section. “Haney, report.”
Senior Chief Haney began rattling off information as others entered the bridge and began readying equipment.
“Persi,” Genevieve said, “my plan is to out run our rowdy and misguided friend, but I may need to fight, either way, I must ask you to leave the bridge. It is going to get rather noisy and crowded here.”
Persi nodded her understanding. “Good luck,” she said before turning and leaving.
When she arrived in the wardroom, Boots was already there. She went to him as Captain Genevieve Bourdieu’s voice echoed through the room. “Gentlemen, crew of the Black Swan.”
The cook and stewards stopped their meal preparations and came into the space. Persi imagined everyone throughout the ship had stopped and turned their attention toward the Captain’s voice in much the same way.
“Our guest, Ms. Persi Shuttleworth, has wished us luck,” Genevieve said. “And while I receive it in the kindness it was said and intended,” she paused, “We have no room for luck.”
The cook smiled and nodded, while the young stewards looked nervous.
“This is our old enemy, the British military, and apparently, they are still a little peeved about our borrowing this ship.”
The kitchen staff chuckled as other men drifted in the door from other spaces. As if in response to the Captain’s chiding, a ball whistled up the port side. Since they felt no hit nor heard any explosion, they imagined it missed and was even now falling into the sea.
She continued, “And though I would love explain to them their error in more explosive ways, we do not want to be labeled as pirates. On that path, we can no longer go where we want without constant worry of who will try to take our head for the bounty. Therefore, we will try first to out run them, and second to disable them.”
A disheartened grown emanated throughout the ship.
“Yes, I know, but understand, if this is not possible, we will send her into the sea.”
The crew erupted in a cheer.
Persi looked at Boots, eyes wide. “There is more than a hint of hidden blood thirstiness here,”
“Apparently, my love,” Boots agreed.
The Captain’s voice rose. “So, there is little room for margin, me mateys. Each man must perform to the top of his abilities. The engine must be kept stoked, the ship must steer true, and should it come to it, our shots must hit their mark.” She paused again then shouted, “Three for the Swan and its courageous crew, hip hip,”
“Hurray!” rumbled through the ship.
“Hip, hip,” she yelled again.
“Hurray!” the crew returned.
“Hip ...” she began for the third time but was interrupted by an explosion that rippled through each plank.
Persi and Boots, who were just forward of the explosion, were thrown to the floor, as were the stewards. The old cook had been holding onto the door jam and remained upright. They crawled back to their feet as Zelinski’s voice erupted through the room.
“Captain, I think they made a direct hit on your cabin.”
“Aye, understood. Middle deck, provide a damage report,” she shouted. “If they have soiled my ball gowns I shall reverse course and become a pirate!”
“Engines at emergency output,” the engine room reported.
“At full emergency, aye,” she replied. “Zelinski, report their range.”
“Aye, range to the warship, approximately 1800 yards, Captain.”
“Eighteen hundred yards,” she exclaimed, “they are shooting something special, we should be honored. Topside, is the range increasing or decreasing?”
There was a pause, then Zelinski yelled, “Increasing, Captain.”
“Well, that’s something,” she said.
“Captain, another shot. It’s ...”
He never finished as an explosion rumbled above.
“Zelinski, report,” Genevieve ordered.
Pause, no response.
“Zelinski, report,” she ordered again but again, no response.
After another short pause, in which Persi imagined Genevieve was cursing in Portuguese, she said, “Engine room, all ahead full. Helm, hard right rudder, course, 270. Ships Controls, ascend to 13,000 feet. Mister Burke, ready guns 2 and 6. I want you to persuade the British to choose another course. Remember, disable.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Burke replied, his burr more pronounced than usual. “I shall be as gentle as Sister Mary Elisabeth was with me the time she caught me in the kitchen after hours.”
Persi looked at Boots, shaking her head, “Oh, that cannot be good.”
The ship began to roll in the turn as Boots replied, “Well, perhaps not, but maybe he recognizes that he is still alive, even after the good sister’s reprimand.”
“This is Barros, topside. Zelinski is gone, as is part of the aft railing.”
“Very well,” Genevieve said without emotion, knowing this was not the time.
“ADRD, report range to target,” Burke ordered.
“I think she made a good call,” Boots said. “By increasing altitude, it allows us to shoot down slightly and causes them to shoot at a harsher angle and against gravity.”
“Range, 1200 yards and closing,” a voice said. Persi
supposed it was the ADRD operator.
“Twelve hundred yards, aye,” Burke said. After a moment he spoke again. “Prepare to shoot on my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”
Two explosions erupted from below and the ship lurched to the left a couple inches, throwing the agents off balance again. Fortunately, this time they stood next to the table and grabbed the edge for stability.
“Barros, report if our shots hit. ADRD, report range,” Burke ordered.
“Two hits, both direct on the bow,” Barros acknowledged.
“Confirm, 1000 yards,” said the ADRD operator.
“She’s ascending, coming up even with us, sir, at around 1000 yards,” Barros said. “Men on deck,” Barros reported.
“Hmm,” Boots said.
“What is it, Boots?” Persi asked.
“As fool hardy as it would be, ‘men on deck’ might mean they are preparing to board.”
“Which means Genevieve will be forced to put them in the ocean.”
“Yes, and all that comes with that.”
“They are hoisting a white flag,” Captain.
Cheers rang throughout the ship.
“Very well, Chief Barros,” the Captain said over the roar of the crew. “Keep an eye on them.”
“Aye, they are sending up a message.”
“Signal flags,” Boots said. “We’ve never had the need to use it on the Daedalus, but certainly the larger cargo, and military ships use it when they want to communicate with another ship.”
“My love, I am fortunate to have the benefit of your military experience, of course, but I do know what signal flags are,” Persi replied.
Boots raised an eyebrow in challenge.
Persi raised her own eyebrow in reply, “It is a series of flags, each with a separate meaning. Raised separately, or placed in the correct order, convey the intended message.
“I think the other captain wants a parley, Captain,” Barros said.
“Very well, Engine room, all stop, prepare for reverse power on my mark.”
“Engine room stands ready, Captain.”
“My dear,” Boots said, “Perhaps we can make our way to the Bridge.”
“Or better yet, topside.” Persi said with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.
“Perhaps we will do just that,” he smiled and extended his hand.
Chapter 55 – The HMS J.H. Grant Parleys
Once topside, they could see the damage to the Swan, and the crew already cleaning it up. The ball had come up at an angle from below, taking a piece of the hull, and the rail where Zelinski had undoubtedly been standing. A look past what was left of the rail showed Boots that the other ship, a small brigantine, was retracting her guns as the Swan slowly maneuvered closer. If he had to guess, he would say she was a little over 110 feet long with a 30-foot beam. It floated stationary, men swarming the bow, removing wreckage and beginning repairs.
“The Captain of the J.H. Grant wishes to line over to speak with you, Captain,” Barros yelled into the tube.
“Very well,” Genevieve replied. “Mr. Burke, take three of your men and offer their captain our hospitality.”
Burke’s voice bellowed from the tube. “And by hospitality you mean ...”
“I mean hospitality, Mr. Burke, this is parley, remember,” she said.
“Yes, Captain,” Burke answered respectfully, but clearly disappointed.
Barros spoke to a young man holding a rope, a box of flags below him. He suspected it was a Boatswain, and more to the point, a signalman. This was proved when he bent and in a flurry of motion, connected several flags together and hoisted them high into the air. On the other ship, the original string of flags was lowered and second string rose in its place.
“The Grant acknowledges and are increasing their altitude in preparation for the line,” Barros yelled into the tube. “Airman Araullo, on deck and prepare for a line and personnel transfer.”
Araullo must have been nearby for in less than thirty seconds, the uniformed airman was on deck and at the rail. A shot from the Grant, preceded a “Heads up,” from Araullo as a tightly knotted ball bounced onto the deck, trailing a thin cord. He picked up the cord and began to pull it onto the deck. Soon, the cord pulled a thicker line over the rail, then a much thicker line which he carried and wove into a large iron ring bolted to the deck.
“Line is secure,” he said to Barros.
“Line is secured, aye.” He turned to the signalman. “Signal the Grant they may tighten the line and send their passenger.”
The signalman nodded, lowered the string of flags, reattached others to the rope and raised them. The Grant, now fifty feet higher than the Swan, acknowledged the flags with a set of their own. Then an iron rig, looking like a cross between a velocipede and a metal cage, was attached to the now taunt rope. A man climbed into it and with a puff of steam from a small steam engine connected beneath the seat, it tipped over the edge and slid toward the Swan. Boots figured the steam plant was for the passenger’s return trip since gravity was the only motivator needed for his descent.
The man kept his hand on a bar near the wheel that rode the rope, using it to break as he closed on the Swan. When he was only twelve inches from the deck, he stopped the rig, unbuckled himself and jumped to the deck.
Mr. Burke and three of his men encircled the Grant’s Captain. “Your name, sir?” Burke asked.
“Mario,” Boots said, stepping forward.
“Ahh, Mister Boots, I was hoping I would see you.” Mario said, turning to Burke and offering his hand, “Mario D’Cruz.”
Burke looked at his hand, ignored it and to Boots’ ears, might have emitted a quiet snarl.
“Mario, why did you shoot at us?” Persi said, stepping into the mix. “We told you we would do what we could for your sister.”
“Yes, but I didn’t shoot at you, the British did, and would still be if my men and I hadn’t taken control.”
“Mario D’Cruz, did I hear?” Genevieve said, approaching the group. “I am Genevieve Bourdieu, Captain of the Black Swan. I believe we have common acquaintances in the black market.”
“Possibly,” he said, warily. “But few people have not heard your name, Miss Bourdieu.” He bowed, “I am honored.”
“Thank you, now, perhaps we can go below and speak of these things,” she said with a sweep of here hand.
Burke went first, followed by the Captain, then one of Burke’s men, a rather stocky brute they called, Fisk. Mario followed him, then the other guard with Persi and Boots bringing up the rear. It was clear that given a choice, Burke would rather hold this meeting in the engine room where Mario’s screams would not be heard.
When they entered the Captain’s cabin, Mr. Burke seated Genevieve, then Mario with a guard on either side. He took a position just behind the Captain’s massive chair, his eyes never leaving their latest guest. Boots seated his wife then took a chair beside her.
“Well, now,” Genevieve began, “Mister D’Cruz, you were about to tell us why you are the Captain of the J.H. Grant, but are not responsible for the deaths and injuries of my crew, and the damage to my ship.”
“My apologies for that, I was not fast enough.” He dropped his head and seemed to be remorseful.
“Yes, well, please continue,” Genevieve said. She would not be pulled into emotions this quickly.
“No more than an hour after the Swan lifted from Natal, crewmen from a newly moored airship flying the British flag, came in for a drink. They were overheard discussing their mission to capture or down the ship called the Black Swan. Because of our previous arrangement, it was not in my best interest to allow this ship to leave port, so as my men and I resupplied their ship, I spoke with the Captain, James Tanner Bigglesworth. He was a rather, rough and harsh man, and did not carry himself as other Captains I had met. He ordered his men around, not with confidence but with brute force, even cuffing them for the slightest variation of his order. The men seemed nervous also, apprehensive, and I began to get an idea of the
situation.”
The stewards arrived with coffee and cakes and the conversation stalled while the food and drink were served. In time, Mario started again. “I told the Captain I had information of the Swan’s heading and destination and if he would allow myself and a few selected crew to cross with him, I would share this information. Not being as total idiot, he asked why I would do this and I told him that not only had the crew stolen from me and assaulted my sister, but the Swan was hauling a $200,000 pounds in gold bullion, that I would gladly split with Bigglesworth. The smile the Captain gave me told me he was interested, and that he would slit my throat and dump me into the sea after we had retrieved the gold.
“I took five of my men, each ex-airmen and knowledgeable in some area of airships and we went aboard. The crew was suspicious but when they found that we had included four kegs of ale in their stores, they were less so. I also brought a present of whiskey and tobacco for the Captain, and told him of the fine willing women of Pointe-Noir, and how I could introduce him. He only nodded but his eyes told of his lecherous nature.”
Boots glanced at Persi, who kept her composure at the mentioned of the woman, but had developed a little more color in her cheeks than was normal.
Mario continued, “We followed the Swan to Pointe-Noir and arrived just as the Swan was lifting. I suggested holding back until the Swan was away from the city but the dear captain would not and began to fire before I could implement my plan.”
“And your plan, Senhor Mario?” Genevieve asked.
Mario smiled and tilted his head in a bow. “We had smuggled our own weapons, some pneumatic fire arms, and even a Dragon steam cannon.”
Burke stepped forward, “A Dragon?”
“You know of them, Mister Burke?” Mario asked.
He looked as if it hurt to answer the man he blamed for the loss of his men. “Yes, it is the largest gun that can be manually fired by a human.”
“Just so,” Mario agreed. “But it was loaded in a trunk and we had no time to retrieve it, initially that is. Once they fired the first shot, my men and I ran to our preplanned positions. There was a little opposition, poor Pepe, he was killed in the magazine where he was to disrupt the flow of cannon balls to the gun crew. I went to the bridge where I would use my pistol politely to ask the captain to desist, which I did but not before he ordered the second shot. There was a short tussle between the captain and I, in which he was shot in the foot and died.”
The Lightning Lord Page 33