by Ash, C. B.
"Watch sharp! It will make another pass."
Wind tossed loose rigging, tugging at the oilcloth slickers of the crew as a nearby lightning from the storm danced between clouds, arcing across the port side netting with a crackle. Still, no sign of the drake appeared. After a moment, Hunter stirred from the bow and eased towards the railing while flexing his grip on the pistols. Krumer walked up beside him. Below them both, the clouds boiled, with blue-white bolts of lightning leaping between cloud banks like mischievous imps. All the while, the ship plunged ahead, cutting through the gray mists of storm clouds like a knife.
"Bad Omen. You’ll ruin a good pistol grip that way,” Krumer said casually.
Hunter smiled grimly, realizing he was clenching his clockwork hand again. “It’ll be back.”
"Of that I’ve no doubt. It’s been stung, but not enough to send it away." Krumer's eyes searched the rolling clouds while lighting danced frantically through the sky. "Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine, just ... remembering." Hunter replied.
"About the one that took your hand?" Krumer asked, giving the captain a quizzical glance.
"Yes.” The captain sighed heavily, wiping rain from his eyes. “Hard memory, that.”
"Be wary of this one. I would hate for you to gain another bad omen," the first mate warned, while turning his eyes back to the furious clouds surrounding the ship.
Hunter barked a short laugh. "Point taken!”
The two chuckled, then returned to scanning the storm. Beyond the railing, gray clouds coiled and swirled thickly like a gray soup being constantly churned in a bowl. Rain fell in alternating sheets, drenching ship and crew alike. The wind howled and tugged at the rigging, making the rope twist and crackle as it stretched. However, despite the enthusiasm of the weather, nothing else moved in the clouds.
“It should have struck by now.” Krumer said warily.
Hunter frowned. “Something’s wrong about this, all of this. It’s angry, but why I’ll be bloody well damned if I know.”
Whitehorse pointed towards a massive shape moving in the soupy clouds, “There! I saw a wing! To arms!”
Almost in reply a shadow broke through the clouds, obscuring the deck. In the next moment an ear-splitting roar muffled any peals of thunder. Through the clouds, the drake dove for the deck, tearing through a few lines of rigging as it landed on the coil of steel mesh stowed on the Griffin’s starboard side.
Hunter backed a few steps away from the beast, being already at point blank range for his sidearms. In a blur, he raised his brace of pistols and fired. His shots were too hasty and the bullets glanced off the drake’s tough hide, skidding along the thicker scales layered at the top of its shoulder. Angered, it swiped a large claw at the captain, tossing him up and back across the deck. He came to a sudden, hard stop against the main mast.
“So much for that idea,” he muttered while he flipped open the pistols, dumped the spent shells, and reloaded.
Chapter 4
The drake thrashed about, spitting more bolts of red lightning and snapping at the crew as the hot sting of bullets bounced off its scaled hide. When the first volley of gunfire from the crew had subsided, the drake leaned back on its hind legs to swipe with its obsidian-black, razor-sharp foreclaws. Realizing the small annoyances were outside its grasp, the beast sniffed the air experimentally, tensed, then lunged at the largest knot of the scrambling crew -- only to find its left foot tangled in the steel mesh of the starboard lightning net.
Anger turned to surprise, then to panic as the drake realized it was securely caught. Frantically it jerked, tore, and clawed at the mesh, causing the metal and rope holding it in place to pop free of the ship! The drake roared defiantly. With renewed vigor, the it ran a long tongue over its fangs while it stalked forward across the deck, dragging the ruined mesh behind it.
Conrad O’Fallon knelt next to the railing on the port side behind one of the lightning cannons and reloaded his revolver. "What be the beastie after?" the Scotsman asked over the roar of the storm.
Krumer reloaded his sidearm, "If it were food, there is easier prey than a ship. However, this could be its hunting grounds."
"Supposedly they kin be hearin' the buzz o' the lightning in the batteries an' it be aggravatin' them." Conrad replied.
“Tall tales,” the first mate scoffed, brushing the rain from his face. “If that were true, there would be drake attacks all along the shipping lanes.”
"Either way, this beast is a threat to the crew and ship," Hunter declared flatly. "Cannon will get rid of it, but the body would tangle up things worse. Pistol and rifle shot will chase it off or kill it eventually, but it'll make a mess of the rigging by then." He looked at his first mate, "Krumer, get one of those Daniell cell barrels up here.”
Krumer gave Hunter a measuring look before he spoke, "Right away, Captain.”
“Be havin’ a plan, Cap’n?” O’Fallon asked, watching William run off to ferry a box of ammunition to some of the crew near the far side of the vessel.
“That I do. It’s a bad one, more’n likely, but I’m all out of good ones.”
“Well, at least it’ll be interestin’,” Conrad said with a smirk.
Moments later, Krumer shoved one of the brass and rubber barrels up through the cargo hatch to Hunter and O'Fallon. The two men rolled the barrel to the deck while Hunter waved a hand toward a storage locker near the quarterdeck’s steps.
"O'Fallon, haul out a length of rope from storage. We're going to use this to knock that drake loose and maybe knock some of the fight out of her."
"Aye!"
Hunter turned his eyes back to the drake while it shook its head angrily at another volley of pistol shot. For a moment, a stray thought nagged at him. He frowned, trying to remember what it was, but the sliver of memory eluded him. He wiped a sheen of rainwater from his eyes as Krumer emerged from below.
"Krumer, that vampire we tossed ashore, Broggins. Did anyone get a look at that ‘personal’ cargo he had?" Hunter asked, glancing across the deck to look for the drake. Towards the bow, the creature lashed out with a massive paw, narrowly missing three of the crew.
"Not I." Krumer replied.
Just then, Conrad raced back across the deck through the driving wind and rain.
"O'Fallon!” Hunter called, “What of you? Get a look at that odd cargo we got fined for supposedly having?”
Conrad looked surprised. "Tha’ damn vampire's? Nae so to be recallin' it, but Ah be rememberin' a peculiar symbol stamped on the small crate. Looked mostly smudged but Ah could be makin’ it out in part. It looked tae be a bow an' arrow on a compass." The Scotsman shrugged.
Captain Hunter swore viciously. "Wayfinder's Guild. Among all else they do, they study unusual creatures, like lightning drakes.”
Krumer and O'Fallon exchanged a confused glance while Hunter shook his head in disgust. Towards the bow, the drake roared again in anger. Wood splintered, shattering as if struck by a fist. Gunfire barked in reply.
"Damn that man, I bet he did,” Hunter swore viciously. Krumer and O’Fallon gave the captain a befuddled look. Hunter waved a dismissive hand.
“Well, never mind all that, I'll explain later. Now tie me off. I've got to get that barrel close to that drake,” he explained slipping the leather loop over his revolver to secure it into its holster. “Once close, I’ll cut the lines that have the mesh fouled to its leg. Krumer, hold fast the rope; and O'Fallon, shoot the barrel at one of its connections once the drake is free and the barrel close by. It'll spark and that'll make the drake spit lightning. That much lightning at once will blow it sky high and hopefully knock the beast free.”
O'Fallon looked shaken at the idea, but nodded nonetheless. "Aye, Cap'n."
"I should go." the first mate declared sternly.
"Krumer, we don’t have time to argue. I need your strength here keeping this rope secure. Of the three of us, you're the strongest. O'Fallon is the better shot."
The first mate turned t
hat idea over and found he liked it no better than he did the first time. When he could not come up with an alternative, he frowned, and then lashed one end of the rope to the mast and the other end to Captain Hunter.
"Spirits watch over you, then." Krumer said. He gripped the captain by the shoulder with a hard, calloused green hand for a moment, then let it fall away.
Hunter smiled at his old friend. "I hope so; I'll take any help I can get.”
The sound of screams and the snapping of wood filled the air. On the far side of the vessel, the drake snapped its stained, ivory sharp teeth at the ship’s gunner, a dwarfish man named Flick. The gunner ducked under the massive creature’s bite, rolled forward into a crouch, and squeezed the triggers of his twin Colt pistols. The bullets tore past the drake’s right eye, making the beast flinch.
Again the drake snapped at the man, narrowly missing by inches; the beast’s teeth did not, however, miss the mast, which took a sizeable crack in the wood as payment. Angered at missing the small figure, the drake sidestepped and shook loose rainwater from its hide. The motion rippled along its muscular frame, just intense enough to dislodge the steel mesh from the reptile’s leg. Along the entire length of the Brass Griffin, the ship shuddered violently.
“It’s free! We’re out of time!” Hunter shouted over the wind.
Chapter 5
Whitehorse scrambled to finish the knot while Hunter shoved the barrel onto its side.
O’Fallon nodded. “Luck, Cap’n.”
“I may need it,” Hunter replied, then charged the drake, rolling the barrel rapidly across the deck.
A few yards away, the flying reptile, unaware of the pending danger, snapped its jaws at two of the crew brandishing harpoons. The drake bit down once, then twice at the nimble figures. However, this only earned the beast a sharp rap on the side of the head as one of the crew managed to use his harpoon like a club. With a roar, the reptile jerked its head away from harm, then batted the crewmen with a massive paw. The two men were hurled across the deck like toys.
Anthony was only a few feet away when the beast heard the rumble of the barrel. It sensed danger, and lashed out at the captain. Too close to the drake to change direction, Captain Hunter vanished from sight beneath the its claws.
"Cap'n!" O'Fallon yelled, jerking his rifle up to his shoulder. The quartermaster took quick aim, but hesitated when the Captain reappeared again, flying up off the deck as the drake yanked at the rope attached to Anthony! O’Fallon kept the iron sights of the rifle square on the barrel, but again hesitated.
Anthony crashed into the drake’s side. Immediately, the reptile snatched him up in a massive paw. The rope securing Captain Hunter to the mast went rigid, then started to fray. At the other end, Krumer braced his feet against the rough wooden mast; his teeth were bared in a determined snarl, his arms flexing while he strained to prevent the rope from slipping free of the mast.
"O'Fallon! Shoot!" Hunter yelled over the storm. The captain winced as a searing pain burned along his left side and arm when the drake flexed its paw. At the beast’s feet, the barrel and its volatile contents lumbered back and forth in time to the rocking motion of the Brass Griffin.
"Cap'n, ye'll get caught when she blows!" Conrad yelled back.
"Damn it, man! Fire!" Anthony snapped.
“Shoot, O’Fallon! Now!” Whitehorse added with a roar.
Reflexively, the quartermaster shouldered the rifle and squeezed the trigger. His shot struck home, ricocheting off the large connector of the insulated barrel. Startled, the drake spat a burst of hot red lightning at the barrel, overcharging two Tesla coils and canisters of zinc and copper sulphate.
The blast engulfed the barrel, drowning it in a torrent of primal energy. At first, nothing happened, other than the wooden skin of the container immediately turning a scorched black. The barrel split apart in a blinding explosion, unable to house the wash of power and heat that rapidly built up inside. As flash and sound subsided, both the drake and Captain Anthony Hunter had completely vanished. Where they had been, a hole was gouged out of the deck plates, and the section of railing behind was completely missing. For a moment – the space of two heartbeats – the main deck was deathly calm. All that could be heard was the rain pounding out a rhythmic, almost staccato, sound like the tapping of a telegraph key. The Griffin seemed to moan sullenly, as if in pain.
"Check the netting!" Mr. Whitehorse ordered, pointing to the ruined steel mesh that hung loose from the ship's starboard side.
Those not stunned either ran for the rail to reel in the battered mesh or helped those who suffered the direct impact of the blast to regain their senses. Krumer and O'Fallon looked over the railing at the rolling storm clouds, searching for any sign of Captain Hunter or the drake. William quickly scaled the rigging to one of the lookout’s stands attached to the gas bag’s frame, high above. All around the vessel, the clouds boiled and churned like thick, curdled milk that had been turned a sickly gray. Eyes scanned the storm, but there was no sign of the flying reptile or the captain.
"Damn it all! Krumer, dae ya think there be a chance?" O’Fallon asked quickly.
Krumer closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply. "There's always that, however slim it may be. Mr. Wilkerson! Come about! Lay us into that cloudbank, four degrees down!”
A shout returned from the pilot's wheel, "Aye, Sirrah!” With another groan of taxed wood and metal, the Griffin’s trim sails tilted, and the vessel bow nosed down at an angle. The thick bottom layer of thunderclouds loomed ahead of the ship.
O'Fallon gave the first mate a concerned look. "How long dae we look?"
"We'll look as long as we're able," Krumer replied, a tired sound to his voice. "Spirits willing, we'll find him. Captain Hunter never leaves crew if he can help it, and neither will we.”
"If there’s anything tae be findin’," Conrad added.
"We’ll find him," Krumer said with a heavy sigh, then wiped rain and damp dreadlocks from his face. The orc stared off into the boiling gray sky, his own thoughts mirroring the view. He knew from long association that Anthony Hunter was a rather stubborn man, especially with regards to his potential demise. The first mate recalled when Anthony had faced off against another lightning drake in defense of the Griffin and some of her crew. By the time the drake had been driven off, despite all appearances at having been crushed under the animal’s claws, Captain Hunter had instead only lost his hand. Something deep inside Krumer whispered to him that this time would be no different. Hunter would find a way.
"Spirits willing,” Krumer said again, “we’ll find him."
Chapter 6
A sapphire blue sky with the occasional puff of clouds stretched wide over the ramshackle port town of Briggs' Reach. Ships in their coming and goings dotted the small fishing town’s harbor and sky. Of anyone, the broad-shouldered Peter Townsend was as recognizable a feature in Briggs' Reach as the brightly colored fishing cottages in the town. A former sky pirate, then later privateer for the Queen, Pete was rarely surprised these days. It was a unique qualification, so he was told, that made him well suited as dockmaster for Briggs' Reach. However, as the Brass Griffin touched water and drifted toward an empty slip in the docks, he whistled low in astonishment.
"Ahoy aboard!" Townsend bellowed to the Griffin, lighting his pipe and walking toward the damaged schooner. The dockmaster had witnessed ravaged airships before, but this much wreckage a person just did not see every day on a ship still air-worthy
The Griffin’s bow was scoured with long, clawed gashes. The grooves were cut deep into her timbers, but fortunately stopped above the waterline. Blackened wood, burnt and pitted, marred the remaining railing and belaying pins along the length of her port side. The sails were stained with soot and peppered with small charred holes. Through some miracle the gas bag itself seemed dirty, but intact.
Krumer appeared on the quarterdeck a moment later while two of the crew scrambled to the dock to tie off the mooring lines.
The fi
rst mate held up a hand at the dockmaster’s call and waved with a tired smile. "Ahoy, Townsend!”
Peter took a slow pull off his pipe, scowling at the Griffin’s damage, "looks like ya took a beatin' this trip. What took ta chewin’ on ya?”
"Lightning drake," Krumer replied with a brittle tone.
Townsend glanced up at Krumer for a moment when he heard the orc’s harsh tone. The dockmaster simply nodded in acknowledgement before he continued to survey the damage, "ah, they can make a mess of a ship. I heard tell of one causin’ a fair share of trouble along the shipping lanes. Good ta see ya still sailin’. So, Cap'n Hunter about?”
Krumer hesitated, "missing since the drake attack. Beast took him overboard.”
Townsend took a thoughtful pull from his pipe, letting a respectful quiet settle between them. Eventually, he replied, "my sympathies, lad; he was a good Captain.”
The first mate set his mouth in a thin line, then folded his thick, scarred arms over his chest. He scowled from beneath the black dreadlocks that framed his face, "missing isn’t lost, Peter. We've hope, still. We didn't find a body on ground.”
Townsend finally tore his attention away from the condition of the Griffin. He gave Krumer a sad, understanding look. "Good ta keep hopes up, but at a good sailin' height ... how'd he be able to survive?" The dockmaster blew out a ring of smoke that coiled about his head, “yer likely chasin’ phantoms lad. Not that I blame ya. Been chasin’ my own, lately. So much so, I’ve been neglectin’ checkin’ all the ships comin’ in over the past few days.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” Mr. Whitehorse replied.
Townsend frowned a moment while he dredged up the recent events in his mind. “Had some odd thefts lately. Little things, like a pair of iron padlocks, one combination lock. A few burlap sacks that happened to have some salted fish. What worries me is the dead rabbit I found just yesterday.”
“Missing locks, that is odd. What was so off about the rabbit?” The first mate asked, his curiosity piqued.