Before she could take a swipe at the parrot, it landed on the upraised arm of its owner. Captain Natasha Blackheart was striding down the deck, straight for Lina. All thoughts of aviacide evaporated, and suddenly Lina wanted nothing more than to hide.
“There you are!” snarled the Dawnhawk’s other captain. She stormed over, stopping just a little too close, within Lina’s personal space.
Natasha Blackheart was the daughter of Euron Blackheart, the notorious pirate king of Haventown. She was tough, ruthless, and more than a little crazed, as likely to gut you as she was to hang you up by your toes. Rumor had been spreading among the crew that she was somehow worse of late....there were whispers that Natasha was trying to be nice.
“Where have you been?” demanded Natasha. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Butterbeak peered mockingly down at Lina, somehow looking smug.
Lina glared back at it. “What about, Captain?” she asked. “Only Captain Fengel had me looking for his other spare monocle—”
They both ducked as the port-side exhaust squealed sharply, belching a great gout of steam. When the sound died down, Natasha glared at it. “I’ve been looking for you because this airship is a damned wreck and I need to consult with the Mechanist. You always seem to be running about. Seen him? Also, I wanted to ask how you’ve been.”
Lina blinked, certain she’d misheard. Once, Natasha had strangled a man for mentioning, in passing, that he was cold.
“Just…fine?”
The pirate captain relaxed. “Good.” She shifted Butterbeak to her shoulder before retrieving a small leather folio out from her puffy-sleeved blouse and opening it to a dog-eared page. “Can’t imagine what I’d do if you’d actually said anything of import. Now, I’m not going to smile, because to the Realms Below with that, but it says here that I’m supposed to act like I care to remember your name.”
“I’m Lina, Captain.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Lina Stone. I’ve been on this ship for almost a year now.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”
“I came up with the idea to mutiny against you and Fengel a short while ago.”
“Really?” Natasha narrowed her eyes, and all the awkward friendliness evaporated. “Well, that’s worth remembering.” She shook her head. “Fortunately for you, you little mutineer, the book makes specific mention that I’m not to decapitate anyone without current reason. So be thankful for that.”
Lina stared at the pirate princess. Then, curious, she craned her head to get a better look at the spine of the book. Natasha snapped it shut, shoving it back down her shirt.
“Enough. Where’s the damned Mechanist?”
“Aft-hatch stairway,” replied Lina, feeling very uncertain.
“Good. Be about your business, Stone.” Then the pirate princess pushed past; Butterbeak glared at Lina until they were out of range.
Lina made a mental effort to put the strange exchange behind her. Every day on this boat is an adventure. She shook her head, glancing about the deck. Her mood lightened as she caught sight of Michael Hockton, standing along the port-side exhaust pipes, along with Allen, the apprentice Mechanist. Runt was there as well, lying in a coil atop the steam-heated pipe and chirping sourly in his sleep, ignoring them both.
Butterflies fluttered through her stomach. She ignored the feeling, trying for focus instead. Now it was time to test him. Again.
Michael wasn’t tall or muscular, though compared to Allen he seemed a hero straight from some theater stage. Both young men leaned against the pipe, greasing the chain assembly that controlled the skysail armatures running alongside the ship. They shared the pot of grease sullenly, yanking it away from the other as each reached for another fistful.
Lina forced herself to calm. She put on a practiced scowl of disapproval and placed her hands on her hips. “You two need to work faster,” she said as she approached, “if you’re going to be done by the time we dock.”
Both men whirled in surprise. Michael recovered first. “Lina!” he exclaimed. “You’re looking radiant, as always.”
She fought to keep the scowl in place, which she’d copied almost exactly from Captain Blackheart. He was just so Goddess-blamed cute. “You’re sweet. But I know I stink of old corpse. The captain had me in the hold for a good half hour.”
“Even were you entirely malodorous,” said Allen, “you could not be more lovely.”
Lina blinked. “Well, thank you, Allen. I think.”
She stepped past them both to where Runt lay coiled. He slept soundly, tormenting something in his dreams. Lina grabbed him up, staggering under his weight, and wrapped him around her shoulders like a great wormy shawl. He stirred awake, chirping questioningly. Lately he’d been especially irascible. It seemed Runt was only happy after eating, which he had been doing way too much, competing with the White Ape atop the gasbag for seagulls.
She brought her mind back to the matter at hand. “As I was saying, though, you two had best finish up if you want to go out. Myself, I’m looking forward to having a drink or ten down at Garvey’s Hole.”
The ex-soldier and the apprentice Mechanist started, then glared at each other. Both leaped for the pot of grease at the same time.
It was clear Michael felt something for her, which made her want to squeal in delight. Allen was merely nursing a longtime crush, both painful and obvious. The two men feuded constantly whenever she was around. Which was a good thing, to her mind. For all that she was taken with Michael Hockton, she didn’t really know him, just that he’d been a Bluecoat soldier—that is, before she’d thrown Runt in his face. So she’d come up with a kind of game; she kept both men in competition with each other for her favor, spreading her praise equally. The more Michael warred with Allen, the more she’d learn about him, and the more she could be certain he was worth her time. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d sworn off romance entirely, after all.
“Land ho!” came a cry.
Lina glanced over to the starboard rigging, where Reaver Jane hung on the ratlines leading atop the gas-bag envelope. “Lookout spies the Copper Isles, off the starboard bow!” She gestured, and Lina followed her outstretched arm to spy a dim speck on the horizon to the north.
Everyone aboard the deck let out a cheer. She joined in and ran up to the bow, pressing through the crowd collecting there to watch the final approach. After a few minutes, the dark speck grew into a chain of islands. The waves crashed high against beachless cliffs of dun-colored rock shot through with veins of coppery ore. Green jungle foliage grew atop each isle, thick and verdant.
Seen from above, the Copper Isles appeared shattered, broken and flooded by some great tectonic upheaval now eons gone. The only entrances into the interior of the island chain were the waterways threading it, a confusing and treacherous labyrinth whose single real approach lay along the western edge of the isles.
Unless you could fly, of course. Which made any such impediments moot. Still, Lina knew there was a loose agreement among the pirate crews of Haventown; in order to keep the pirate port hidden, all were required to approach properly, even in an airship.
The Dawnhawk lost altitude as Sarah forced the feuding aetherites to make the proper changes to their approach. Lina groaned at the thought of the route ahead, and judging by the muttered whispers of the crew beside her, she wasn’t the only one unhappy at the delay. Swinging westward just so they could turn around and head east again...it would take another hour or more. And her poor airship was so battered. What was the point? It wasn’t like there was anything out there they needed to see.
She glanced back at the helm where the captains stood. Fengel was arguing with Natasha now. He shook his head as she jabbed him in the chest and then pointed at the battered deck and the forest of draping ropes and canvas. Finally, he threw his hands up, turned on his heel, and stormed off. Natasha smiled, obviously having won.
“Continue course dead ahead!” she called out, for the benefit of the crew. “We’re taking a short
cut and going home!”
The crew gave a cheer. Lina went back to watching as the Dawnhawk approached the Copper Isles, her bow aimed for the ore-threaded cliff tops. They grew and grew, then disappeared, replaced by a canopy of vine-shrouded palms fifty feet beneath the hull.
Then the jungle gave way to thin and twisty ravines, each fed by ocean-borne current. Jungle appeared again, only to disappear moments later. The airship flew across a thousand little islets of irregular shape until finally, after a quarter span of the glass, the waterways met to form a great lagoon.
This was the Graveway, and it was large enough for a frigate to maneuver freely within. A dozen small waterways fed it from the west, along with a single greater channel. The path to Haventown continued to the east through a long ravine. An old stone fort perched watchfully above, carved into the coppery walls of the cliff itself. Built in the Salomcani fashion, it was a relic from the early years of the original colonists. A handful of lazy sentinels paced along its crenellations, waving at the Dawnhawk as they flew by.
Vines atop the jungle cliffs shrouded the walls of the final approach, crawling down the sides of the ravine like a sleeping giant’s hair. Small, brightly colored birds took flight as the shadow of the airship fell over them, and gibbons climbed up into the upper branches of palm trees to hoot their indignation. Then the waterway widened into one last lagoon, and Lina found herself back in port.
The Haventown lagoon was even wider than that of the Graveway. Several smaller channels fed into the water here, though only one was wide enough for the egress of a sailing vessel. The same thick jungle foliage topped the cliffs, unbroken but for an enclave built atop the far eastern end of the cove. There a town descended a series of natural terraces to the water of the lagoon, a ramshackle settlement of precariously hanging structures interspersed by rope bridges, boardwalks, and great brass pipes.
The Dawnhawk made directly for the highest point of the town, where it perched atop the cliff. This was Nob Terrace, home to the rich and powerful: Sindicato fences, important pirates, and even the Mechanists, huddling within the walls of the Brotherhood Yards. Most importantly, though, this is where the Skydocks were. Built at one end of the terrace upon the slope of a low hill, the Skydocks were a stair-step series of wooden piers jutting directly out from the cliff. Almost all of which were full, its berths occupied by airship dirigibles floating serenely in an ascending line. The Dawnhawk made to join them, aiming for an empty space near the bottom.
Lina glanced down, taking in the rest of the pirate township. Directly below the cliff top shone the Yellow Lantern Terrace. Easily the most popular district in the town, the Yellow Lantern was where people went to have fun. Bordellos, taverns, gambling halls, smoking parlors and even a small library resided here. And unlike the rest of the town, which was really only appealing after nightfall, Yellow Lantern businesses took pride in their appearance.
Farther down lay the Flophouse Terrace, with all of the hostels and homes that it contained. If Yellow Lantern was where everyone went for fun, Flophouse was where people went to sleep. Lina knew several decent taverns there but avoided it otherwise; most of the buildings were rife with fleas.
Beneath Flophouse lay the Craftwright’s Terrace, the domain of the sailmakers, black apothecaries, and all the other independent professionals who serviced the town. The Gasworks of the Mechanists rose here as well, a mysterious facility of metal boilers and the source of the network of brass pipes that threaded through every other part of town. A towering collection of chimneys and struts rose from the center of the structure, supporting a wide platform that almost reached the terrace above.
At the very bottom lay the lowest and oldest portion of the town, the Waterdocks. Built directly atop the lagoon on a series of old-fashioned piers, the Waterdocks held warehouses and dockworkers’ taverns in a mazelike warren. A few traditional sailing ships were moored at the moment, manned by those few pirate captains without an airship. Though poor and unimpressive, the buildings were paradoxically new; rebuilding had been necessary after the disastrous wedding of Fengel and Natasha burned the whole thing down.
“Make ready to dock!” cried Lucian from back near the helm.
Lina snapped from her reverie and ran to her post along the gunwales. The Dawnhawk slipped neatly into a berth between the staggered masses of two other airships: the Windhaunter below them, and Solrun’s Hammer, above on the left. Lina leaped neatly off the gunwales with a heavy rope in hand and landed upon the planks. Two crewmates joined her in mooring the great airship: the reptilian Rastalak and dour Nate Wiley, whose undead brother still tottered about the hold. Lina made her rope fast to a cleat, then stood aside as Lucian ran out the gangplank.
The plank fell to the pier with a thump, and she went back aboard with the others. Everyone else was finishing their tasks, making things tight before assembling near the helm where the captains stood. Lina saw that even the outcasts from Almhazlik were here now, finally up from their rooms below. She was acquainted with Etarin and his big friend Farouk. The others—like the boy Paine and ex-soldiers Cumbers and Simon—she knew not at all. Omari was there, of course, looking peevish and uncertain at the small circle of space in the crowd around her. The necromancer was infamous aboard the Dawnhawk—Lina moved a bit herself to be farther away.
“Listen up!” cried Natasha, glaring back and forth among the crew. On her shoulder Butterbeak mimicked the motion. “We’re finally home. Means we’ve got a lot to do, but first things first.” She nodded to Fengel, who wheeled about to face Omari and the outcasts.
“To those who’ve found themselves unintentionally aboard the Dawnhawk,” he said magnanimously, “you are now free to go. Haventown is full of opportunity, so if you really want a trip back to the continent, you’ll be sure to find it here. However, Natasha and I have consulted; you’ve all proven yourselves, in some fashion, so if you seek a home and gainful employment, there is a berth here aboard the Dawnhawk.”
Cumbers and his younger friend looked at each other, then at Etarin, who nodded. The young boy, Paine, sulked and kicked at the deck. “Don’t wanna be a pirate,” Lina thought she heard him mutter.
The ex-sergeant put a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “We’ve talked it out,” said Cumbers. “There’s no place for us back on Edrus anymore. We’d all be hung as deserters. So we’ll stay.”
Omari folded her arms tightly. “Not I!” she said. “I have had enough of this ridiculous ship and your piratical endeavors. I’ve made my way in strange places before; I will do so again.”
Fengel nodded sagely. “Good. I was hoping you would say that, Omari. I wish you the best of luck.” He glanced at the boy in the crowd. “Young Paine? Don’t sulk—it’s unbecoming of both an officer and a pirate. See Henry Smalls in a moment. He’ll take you into town shortly.” Then Fengel clapped his hands together and smiled. “Ship’s officers! Attend us here. The rest of you are at liberty until tomorrow morning.”
A great cheer erupted across the deck. The assembled pirates moved to flee en masse. Henry Smalls peeled away from Fengel’s side to gather up the newly inducted crewmen.
“Ship’s officers stay put!” hollered Natasha above the din. “Lina Stone, Michael Hockton, and that Mechanist’s apprentice, you get over here too. And the rest of you, don’t go where we can’t round you up tomorrow! We’re off-loading the cargo then, and there’s going to be a whole host of things needed to put this ship back together. Stick to Garvey’s Hole if you’re going to carouse, which I am fairly damned certain you’re all going to.”
Lina watched her crewmates flee the airship. What in the Realms Above do they want me for? It wasn’t like she didn’t have things to do in town either, aside from getting falling-down drunk. Lina adjusted Runt sourly, eliciting a grumpy chirp. She moved closer to the captains. At least Michael was still here. She sidled up beside him, bumping him with her hip and then looked dismissive as he glanced at her.
“What’s going on, captains?” asked Lucia
n Thorne when the deck was otherwise empty. The first mate appeared mildly irritated. “I’m going to need a whole host of hands to get everything off-loaded and our stores restocked. Not to mention the rotting problem in the holds. We’ve got huge damned messes on all decks—there’s cabling and loose canvas everywhere and a ton of things to fix. Now I’m going to have to spend half of tomorrow rounding everyone back up.”
Fengel gave an understanding nod. “I know, Lucian. There’s a task we need to accomplish quietly, beforehand. Those...things down in the hold need taking care of. They need to go before we do anything else, even off-loading our booty.” He turned to Sarah Lome, face grim and unpleasant. “Gunney Lome? Go into town and find a warehouse. Somewhere out of the way down in the Waterdocks. Get those walking corpses off our ship and into...storage. Revenant-Herder Hockton? Mechanist Allen? Go with her. Quick and quietlike. No witnesses. I’ll figure out a better long-term solution later, but for now I don’t want to hear that you’ve slipped up.”
Michael started in dismay beside Lina. “But...sir. The Waterdocks are those piers on the bottom terrace, right? How are we to get fifty walking corpses—”
The captain raised an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Hockton. I thought you’d told me three months ago that you wished to be a pirate?”
“Well, yes.” He glanced at Lina. “Sort of...”
“Then on this ship, at least, you’ll follow the captain’s orders. Which goes for both my lovely wife and myself. Am I clear?”
Michael hung his head. “Aye, sir.”
Lina winced. For some reason, Fengel had taken an instant dislike to Michael. She couldn’t fathom why, really. But he wasn’t the only one upset at the news. Allen frowned in dismay, though he was too much the coward to protest. Even Sarah Lome grimaced.
Natasha caught the first mate’s eye. “Lucian,” she said flatly. “You’re a slippery bastard when you wish to be, so you’re busy tonight too. Get along after that Yulani witch, Omari. I’d have just dumped her overboard, but my little book says that’s impolite.” She paused to reach up and thump Butterbeak, who was chewing on her hair. “Walking around on her own, there’s bound to be more Revenants. Especially once the locals begins drinking and gutting each other in earnest. Get them down to whatever lockup Gunney Lome here discovers. If it gets bad enough...take steps. Reaver Jane? You’re in charge of getting the hold reasonably clean. Use plenty of bleach and soapy water.”
Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) Page 2