Captain Gravenor’s Airship Equinox (Steampunk Smugglers)

by Hiestand, Heather

  Thank God it was lighter than the standard design or it would have crushed them both. Pushing at the fabric, he belly crawled back to the bridge.

  “Ouch!” Philadelphia complained as he kicked her leg with his boot while trying to find a place to flatten on the narrow platform.

  “Shhh. Even if they can’t see us, they might be able to hear us.”

  “I wish I could see the spyglass.”

  “Patience.” As his senses sharpened, he heard chugging to the south, the familiar sound of an airship. “There they are, the rotters.”

  “Not too long ago, I believed ardently in their mission.”

  He wondered what had happened, though not enough to risk a conversation now. How did a beautiful woman nearly become a suicide? “I’d say you changed your mind.”

  She shushed him now, as the chugging came so close that they could hear voices over the airship noises. Nothing distinct, just faint shouts on the wind. From the sound, Brecon could tell the Blockaders had continued to move.

  A minute later Philadelphia moved against him. He shot out his good hand and placed it on her back to keep her still. Even through his glove he could feel the sticky warmth of her back. “They might fly a pattern over us. We’ve got to stay down here until dark.”

  The airship rocked again.

  “Is it airtight?” she whispered

  He could feel her quivering under his hand. “Depends on what damage we did on the cliff.”

  She sighed, her breath warm against his ear. At least she didn’t want to die anymore.

  “I’m sorry I cut your back. How much damage did I do?”

  “I don’t think it’s very bad, but I think I shall stay on my stomach.”

  It was hard to get a sense of the pain she might be in from a whisper, but the blood he felt and smelled worried him. “Where is that handkerchief of yours? I can cover the wound, at least.”

  Her fingers fumbled against the wood for a minute. When she mewled, he knew her hands had found a splinter. The deck hadn’t been treated and varnished properly yet. How had a simple test run gone so wrong? He should have gone out closer to dark.

  “Never mind,” she said after a moment. “I have no idea where it is.”

  He heard more chugging. The airship was flying a tight pattern. Had they seen something suspicious? “Then rest.”

  “And don’t think about drowning?”

  “Exactly. I don’t think we are sinking, anyway.” He didn’t hear any cries of success from above either. Had he hidden them properly?

  “From your mouth to God’s ear.”

  The gentle sway of the airship on the water relaxed him, until he heard the chugging again some indeterminate amount of time later. As expected, they were going to keep looking, for a while, at least. He wondered if he’d be able to get his airship aloft again. He’d never tried to do it from the water. At least airships were designed from water craft, not wagons. His family designed boats as well as airships. In fact, most of their airship work was black market, for the smuggling trade, which was how he’d managed to fall across Terrwyn Fenna’s path on Valentine’s Day. Her family, revered among smugglers, had decided to have a new airship built when old Gladstone fell from power and they thought the skies would be safer again. But she was an escapee from prison, and when the Blockaders recognized her, she and her family had tried to escape Cardiff with Brecon aboard to help. They had escaped, it was true, but he’d lost his hand in the process. He’d thrown in his lot with the Red Kite free traders once he’d healed sufficiently to leave the fishing family who had nursed him back to health, since he knew better than to show his face in Cardiff again.

  Still, he didn’t begrudge Terrwyn her freedom. She had a daughter to care for, and a new man, from all reports. He’d heard they were in France. But he’d lost all urge to woo her, even if she had been the most beautiful woman in Cardiff. Beauty could get you killed.

  The woman lying next to him, now no one would call her a Fenna-quality beauty, from what he had seen. Her features, while balanced, were a bit too defined. Her nose had a razor edge, her sharp chin jutted above a long, thin neck, which hardly seemed able to hold up the patrician head and overabundance of bright blond hair. What she had was personality.

  “Do you have a husband somewhere, or children?” he asked, after the chugging had gone away.

  “No. I lived with my brother, but he died in June, so I went to live with my cousin, since his widow didn’t want me at the estate.”

  “Why not?”

  There was a long pause, during which he began to hear a faint pinging, which he recognized as rain against the balloon. At least they were warm and dry, trapped in an air pocket under the fabric.

  “She blamed me for his death. When she returned from Italy, where she had been living, she ordered all my things destroyed and cast my sister and me out.”

  “Was his death your fault?”

  “Certainly not,” she snapped.

  “Where is your sister?”

  “She has fallen into the role of housekeeper for my cousin. Her interests have always been more domestic than mine.”

  “Why did your brother’s wife blame you and not your sister?”

  “That is a very long tale,” she said.

  He kept his chuckle low. “I have the time, madam.”

  She sighed. “I showed mechanical talent from an early age, strange in a female,” she began.

  Then he heard chugging again and squeezed her arm to stop her speech. The chugging intensified as the airship flew overhead. It moved south a bit, then turned and circled back, crossing directly over their location, then travelled north-west.

  Would it turn again? Yes. Ahh, he recognized it now. “We’re clear,” he said with satisfaction when the airship turned again.

  “How do you know?”

  “They flew a figure-eight pattern. It’s the free traders. We must be clear.”

  “They were searching for you?”

  “Why would they not? Test flights are notoriously unreliable, and we’ve been down here for hours.” He heard a clank above them, then a metallic squeak. “Move quickly now.”

  He grabbed for her hand and squeezed, then reached around until he found the two steps leading up to the platform and crawled down them. “We need to make for the railing for safety.”

  Just as they reached the deck, something large slammed against the balloon.

  “They’ll be trying to hook the chain handle at the top of the balloon.”

  “Not an exact science,” she said, crawling along the deck with him.

  “Which is why it is best we are far from the center of the airship.” The deck rocked beneath them as the crew tried to hook the chain again, but hit off center. “They cannot see very well in this gloom.”

  “Is it still raining?” she asked.

  “I cannot tell with all the noise.” He heard swearing above them, then someone shushed the swearer.

  “Do you find that rain changes the efficiency of your airship? Or a change in the barometric pressure in general?”

  “It certainly affects the crew.” He winced as another loud clank offended his ears. They did realize that their iron hook could damage the deck underneath the balloon, did they not?

  “Has anyone ever been killed during this hook and eye maneuver?” she asked.

  Whoever this woman was, she was too interested in the mechanics of the Red Kite operations. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “I’m guessing they aren’t fishermen,” she muttered. “Or they would starve.”

  “Light travels faster than sound, which is why these idiots appear bright until you hear them speak.”

  “Ha.”

  There. He heard the sound of metal sliding along metal. “It takes them four times to calculate properly in this weather, apparently.”

  “I suspect it was luck.”

  “Come along, and do not forget to be appreciative to them who have rescued you.” He put out his hand, finding where
the hull began, and started his ten foot crawl toward the coal bucket and the ladder to the burner.

  “I was trying to die.”

  “You had not made the ultimate decision as of yet,” he returned.

  By the time he’d reached his bucket, the balloon had been partially winched above the deck. It would inflate completely before they had the risk of being smothered with fumes. He filled his bucket and crept up the ladder to relight the engine. Once he had it going he climbed down the ladder and checked the vat of water, instrumental in the creation of hydrogen for the balloon. It was still more than half full, and the two large tubes for oxygen and hydrogen hadn’t been damaged, so he returned to the platform to begin the arduous charging of the batteries that would allow the balloon to refill.

  As the balloon inflated above them, the chugging noise from above intensified and moved away.

  “They are leaving us?” she asked, picking up the spyglass from where it had rolled next to the base of the wheel.

  “No need for all of us to be out here.”

  As if on cue, he saw a puff of white smoke drift up from her hand. At first, he was grateful the spyglass hadn’t been damaged, but then he thought of what the signal meant. “Bloody hell. Here come the Blockaders.”

  The Red Kite airship tacked, turning back toward them.

  “Get back to camp,” said an amplified voice from above. “We’re armed.”

  One of these days, the Blockaders would get their mailed fists on the technology that the Red Kites used for their heater cannons, but for now, they was far from assured a fair fight. Underneath his feet, Brecon felt the deck shift.

  “Are we going to get lift?”

  “I’ve never tried it like this.”

  He heard deep, rattling chugging as the Blockader airship lumbered toward them. The deck rocked again, and Philadelphia caught his arm. He widened his stance, bracing himself as the airship tried to break free from the inky rainwater holding them hostage.

  “You didn’t drop anchor, did you?” she asked.

  “No, I was too busy deflating the balloon when we came in.” They rocked violently. He grabbed for the wheel. Her arms were clutching his bad arm like it was a life preserver now. He couldn’t see her face but her breath came in sharp pants. She was terrified.

  In an attempt to distract her, he asked, “Why are you so frightened of the Blockaders? Most people consider us the villains.” The deck lurched again. He swore and pushed up the trap door to get at the pedals. She bent to lever them up and he began pressing against them, hoping the balloon would inflate more quickly.

  Above, he heard an shrieking whirr as cannon shot flew by. The Blockaders hadn’t even announced themselves or called a warning. Perhaps Gladstone’s retirement hadn’t softened them as much as the free traders had hoped.

  He saw red streaks cross the sky, just underneath the filling balloon. The deck lurched violently.

  “Lash yourself to a railing,” he ordered.

  “With what?” she shot back, flinging herself against him.

  A barrage of cannon fire blasted overhead. Even if the water finally gave way, they were going to ascend directly into a cannon ball. And the two fragile human bodies aboard had no protection. No wheelhouse, no quarters below. Just them, growing increasingly more exposed as the balloon lifted.

  He heard mingled cries from above as crew on both airships were hit. Then, a screeching whirr began again, increasing in intensity. He toppled over as something hit the deck in front of the platform. Gas blew in a windy hiss from the balloon.

  We’re going to die.

  No, not if he could help it. He shouted an order. “Jump!”

  ~*~

  CHAPTER TWO

  Brecon dived off the platform as Philadelphia tumbled down the steps in front of him. His feet tangled in the pedals and he felt his ankle wrench, but then he was on the deck, his hands clutched at the edge of a very large hole.

  He heard the screams of dying men overhead, then the entire world shook. A ball of orange red fire exploded to the west. The Blockader airship, hitting earth.

  “Come along! We’re taking on water!” the woman called.

  The balloon deflated as gasses leaked from the holes. “Do you know how to tread water?”

  “Yes, do you?”

  “Yes.” He came alongside her, against the railing, trying to judge how much room was between the hull and the earthen wall of the old basement.

  She grabbed his hand. “I’m not willing to die this way.”

  “We just need to float long enough to be found. The free traders didn’t go down.” At least he didn’t think so. A soft landing might have escaped his notice, with the balloon impeding his vision.

  He felt something clunk against his foot and bent down to pick it up. His spyglass. He tucked it into his belt then put his arms around Philadelphia and lifted her to the railing. She pulled her legs over the side as he joined her.

  “Ready?”

  “Into the unknown.”

  “Stay close, but not too close, I don’t want to hook you again.”

  “Right. Three, two, one.”

  Together, they pushed themselves off the railing and into the water. It wasn’t much of a fall, really, since the airship was little more than a large rowboat in design.

  She coughed as a splash caught her in the face.

  “Don’t swallow,” he advised. “I don’t like the smell.”

  “This isn’t rainwater,” she spluttered. “Someone is using this as a refuse cistern.”

  He swam a few feet forward, reaching for the basement wall, then lifted his spyglass from his belt and raised it into the air. It still puffed white smoke. Whatever caused the reaction hadn’t been eliminated from the downed airship, then.

  Philadelphia swam to him, then scrabbled against the wall, trying to find something to anchor herself with.

  “I wouldn’t do that. We don’t know how stable the wall is and we don’t want it to collapse.”

  She sighed. “Good point.”

  He heard chugging move their way again before a dark shape obscured the sky completely. He tucked his spyglass back into his belt as something dropped into the water between them and the sinking airship. Swimming forward, his hands touched wicker. He felt along it, judging it large enough for one person.

  “Climb in,” he ordered.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Is this?” he countered.

  She reached for the edge of the basket. He found her rather shapely bottom under the foul water with his good hand and gave her a push. She fell over the side.

  “Hold onto the center rope and give it a tug. They’ll pull you up.”

  She righted herself and pulled hard at the rope, then stared into the gloom above as she began to rise.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will not let them leave without you.”

  “Very funny.” He waited, treading inky water, wondering how the Red Kite crew would react to pulling a strange woman from below. She wasn’t one of them and had a sharp tongue that would not serve her well among dangerous strangers. How would she persuade them that she wouldn’t betray the organization?

  At least, though they might be a band of thieves, they weren’t murderers.

  A couple of minutes later, the basket dropped again and he climbed in, then tugged the rope that would return him to the skies. As soon as his feet hit the deck he called for the captain.

  “We can’t leave my airship below,” Brecon said tersely. “It has technology we don’t want to share with the Blockaders, and they’ll come for their downed airship soon.”

  The captain sneezed hugely and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “We can’t fly over the countryside towing a dead airship.”

  “It’s small. Can’t we pull it out and throw it on a wagon?”

  The captain shook his head. “I’m taking us back to camp. You can discuss the matter with Captain Red Kite when we get there.”

  “The Blockaders will come for their a
irship soon. We need to fix this now.” Brecon clenched his good fist, and felt the ghost of his lost fist do the same.

  Philadelphia stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “It should be safe enough until morning, unless they have some sort of detection device for your airship. All the BAE men must have perished, so no one knows to look for an experimental airship nearby.”

  Brecon glanced over the rail. Every part of him railed against leaving his hard work behind, but she was right. As long as they were back by daylight there was little chance of it being spotted. The balloon was not inflated, courtesy of the cannonball, and it was painted black.

  He nodded. “We are in your hands, captain.”

  The other man sighed wearily, and he noticed the bloody tear in the man’s sleeve. These men had battled for his life. The least he could do was allow them to go back to camp and tend their wounds. The captain went to his wheelhouse and gave the orders.

  Brecon sat down, his back against the wheelhouse, and watched the faint figures of men climb the ratlines in the light of the lanterns. Fire was never wise around hydrogen. He wanted to convert the lamps to electrical ones, but the Red Kites didn’t have money for the extra batteries. They were a young smuggler outfit. Most of their money went to the heater cannons that were their trademark and their salvation from the Blockaders.

  A mint and camphor-scented body dropped down next to him. Philadelphia’s head tapped against the hull as she leaned back. “What will they do with me?” she whispered.

  “Captain Red Kite has a sheen of Robin Hood to the mystique,” Brecon said. “You needn’t worry.”

  She shook her head, but didn’t say anything else.

  “Are you afraid you shall try to off yourself again, once we hit land?”

  “I wanted an escape from my life,” she said in a sepulchral tone. “I believe I have found it.”

  He couldn’t help his grin. “Yes. I believe you did.”

  Half an hour later, they landed in a field behind the crumbling sandstone farmhouse that was Red Kite headquarters. The surrounding acres were fenced off as pasture land, and the hilly country kept anyone from seeing activity in the center of the property. Brecon had heard rumors that the late owner of the property had gifted it to Captain Red Kite in her will, but he had no idea, nor any curiosity, about the history. It didn’t pay to know too much about smugglers.