Knowing the sounds of his ship as well as any good captain, Vance could hear the lift in the engine room above him begin its decent from the upper section of the vessel and through the connecting dorsal to come to a rest on his level. He knew, tobacco or cinnamon, he was about to get an earful.
“Saints preserve us!” came a petite, though stern voice as the door to the lift opened. “It’s bad enough ya smoke that bleedin’ thing in the first place! Do ya have to do it where you know I’ll be walkin?”
Knowing he was in trouble anyway, plus the fact his pipe was pretty well smoked out, Vance attempted to blow one last smoke ring, again a dismal failure, in the direction of the grease covered woman who now stood near him. “I’m sorry Wingnut, I had no idea you’d be passing this way,” he said a little too unconvincingly.
Molly, whom everyone simply called Wingnut, narrowed her eyes at him, “That’s a bald-faced lie and ya know it, sir.” She only called him ‘sir’ when she wanted to pick a fight, like a parent using a child’s full name to drive a point home. “And just where do ya think I’d be comin’ from? There’s only so many ways to get from the engine room to the rest o’ this blasted ship!”
Both of them stared at each other for a few seconds, Vance was the first to start smiling. Wingnut, unable to carry on the ruse of real anger, let out a laugh, though she did punch Vance in the arm, fairly hard, her Irish blood making up for her small stature.
“How are we set for coal?” Vance asked his engineer as he tapped out the remains of his pipe.
“We should be fine,” Wingnut answered. We’re going on half steam right now, which is more than enough given the nice weather we’re flying through.” It always amused Vance to see the change in the level of accent that accompanied Wingnut’s moods. The accent itself was clearly there to stay no matter how long she remained absent from the Emerald Isle, though the angrier she got, even in jest, the louder and more heavily accented her speech became. When she was truly angry, her speech could be nigh near incomprehensible. Given her propensity for swearing when angry, it was probably for the best. She continued, “The coal we gave those stranded folks really didn’t cut into our supply too much. I wouldn’t want to cross any oceans, but we should be fine till we get to Germany.” She added somewhat distantly, “I’m glad we helped them.”
“As am I,” Vance replied remembering the stranded ship they aided two days ago. It had been a moderately sized vessel, full of a few families looking for an uninhabited upland to carve a new life out of. They had run out of coal and had been adrift for two days, floating at about two thousand feet. Their burner had been consuming the ore very inefficiently, a problem Wingnut had been quick to identify. With a few spare parts she had quickly fixed the problem while teaching their mechanic in the process. When they had first seen the disabled ship, their crew were considering descending to the surface to find some coal or wood to burn and get their boilers going again. Vance had strenuously advised against that; the area they were flying over was fairly remote, and landing their families in an unarmed craft, could prove dangerous. After consulting with his crew, as the value of the coal was partially theirs, Vance had presented them with enough to get to a nearby city, where they could find work to refuel, resupply, and hopefully be on their way. They had offered payment of course, but Vance had dismissed that notion, seeing their near indigent circumstances.
Without further conversation, she returned to the lift and continued on to the deck below. Apparently she had only stopped the lift to berate his smoking near ‘her’ area of the ship. Vance watched her go, her small frame almost swimming in the overlarge jumpsuit that was the de facto working outfit, which seemed to be all the time. The jumpsuit was old, and showed signs of repair and mending through the ever present grease stains. A dozen pockets held all sorts of tools, the purpose of some Vance could only guess. It was this same jumpsuit she had been wearing the day they had met, and although he knew she wore it only to remember the past, to him it had always seemed a mute accusation, a reminder of a singular action he had spent the past seven years quietly trying to make up for. However, he had to admit as her head disappeared below the deck, that Wingnut, Molly, had come a long way. Though she would always bear more than her share of grief, she had again found joy in life. She often now sang as she worked, though she would never admit it. The bar fights she got into now seemed sometimes more for the fun of it rather than a bellicose need to lash out at the world and punish some unsuspecting bar fly for her hard life. Also, as dirty and greasy as she was when she was working on Kingship’s engines, her raven hair was always done up in a manner more becoming a princess in an evening gown attending a ball, than an engineer working on a fifty-year old aethership wearing her deceased husband’s jumpsuit.
Vance was pulled from any further musings by the ring of an alarm bell. Two short blasts meant no emergency, just a request for the captain to report to the bridge. If it had been really important he would have been addressed via a ship wide announcement. Pocketing his still warm pipe, he made his way towards the front of the vessel, walking down the red carpeted main corridor, past the lavish crew quarters that once served as state rooms for visiting dignitaries. Reaching the beautifully decorated iron wrought staircase, Vance descended from the main deck down to the crew deck, the lowest of the triple decked ship, and made his way to the bow where he found Winston and Afa in heated, but friendly discussion.
“I’m tellin’ ya lad,” Winston was saying is his thick Scottish brogue, “that cursed thing’s squakin’ more and more these days. Best thing to do would be ta tear it out and toss it overboard.”
“That equipment is a part of this ship,” replied Afa, his soft voice belying his enormous stature. “To remove it would equate removing a piece of its history, and soul.”
Winston’s reply was immediate, “Don’t be lecturin’ me lad! I know the ‘soul’ of this old girl better than any of you wee ones, and I’ll say it again, it’s only some kind of fangled telegraph, none of us ever could get it to work quite right none too often. And the few times it did? Well, believe me, bad things always followed.”
Vance smiled as he watched the exchange between his aged but spry pilot, Winston, and Afa, a man whose sheer size, exotic Polynesian heritage, and intimidating manner had quickly earned him the title of ‘The Negotiator’. The two took, it seemed, a childlike delight in arguing with one another, though Afa never really argued. He would always calmly make his points and counterpoints allowing Winston’s blustering to grow louder and more nonsensical. In truth, they both respected the other and found boisterous discussion a great way to pass the leagues upon leagues of open air the Kingship traveled. Their argument was one that had been recurring off and on for the past several months.
The problem had begun with a few muffled sounds of a screeching static, a sound similar to interference from wireless Morse. At first the crew had ignored it, as it had only happened a handful of times and even then it had not been overly loud. No one could quite figure out the source of it, the faint vibrations making their way through the various talk tubes and passageways. As old as she was, the Kingship was prone to more than her share of strange sounds, and it had eventually been chalked up to yet another personality quirk of the vessel they called home. After a few weeks it had grown less frequent, and finally ceased altogether. One evening some two weeks later, the crew was gathered in one corner of the large common room by the kitchen where Afa had just cooked up one of his many famous recipes. As they began to tuck in, the sound again was heard, this time with a magnitude that rattled windows and forced protective fingers into ears. The sound was clearly emanating from the bridge and all five crew members went to investigate only to be met with silence, the controls secured as Winston had set them when he left for dinner. They had looked around for several minutes and were about to give up when the sound happened again, the shrill static-filled screeching had been loud enough to dull the senses. This sound was unique not only in sheer
volume, but that another sound seemed to be carried along as well, a faint whisper that dripped with a deep malignancy. Vance would have regulated the whisper and accompanying feeling of dread to his imagination or his mind attempting to apply logic to the unfamiliar, however the looks on the other four crew confirmed he had not been alone.
It had been clear the sound had come from behind a panel in the radio room, a small windowless office to the rear of the bridge. Wingnut had removed the panel to revel a contraption that resembled some form of radio, though far more advanced and alien than anything Vance had seen in his career. Winston spat a curse at its discovery, muttering that he had thought that blasted relic would have been removed, stating he never knew exactly how the thing worked, nor did he care to. Stating no good could come from a cursed wireless, he would elaborate no further, nor go anywhere near it. Vance knew if Winston was being tightlipped, it was probably best not to ask.
“What seems to be the problem gentlemen?” Vance asked the two, emerging from the door into the control and valve laden room.
“The problem? Lad, that bucket o’ banshee cursed parts is caterwauling up and down my bridge again! Like I been sayin’ for two months, we should get rid o’ that thing!”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Vance admitted. “Though I was near the aft of the ship.”
“It wasn’t nearly as loud as before, Fekitoa,” Afa replied, using the nickname he had bestowed upon Vance.
“What in William Wallace's name brought you up to the bridge anyway Afa?” Winston continued. “Look at you tracking dirt and mud onto me spit polished control room! Get back to yer garden and leave the flyin’ to the experts.”
As loud and boisterous as he was being, Winston’s assessment of Afa was not too far off. His shoes were covered in topsoil and he still clutched a muddy spade in one hand. While it was not exactly odd to find Afa on the bridge, he could most often be found in the launch bay turned greenhouse tending to his garden, on deck watching the horizon, or in the Kingship’s galley preparing the fruits of his labor into delicious, though often spicy, meals for the crew. Winston, on the other hand, practically lived here among the valves, dials, switches and enormous windows that made up the bridge of the Kingship.
Vance entered the radio room with Afa, whose size made the small room feel even smaller. He adjusted the knobs and dials, not knowing any more now than what they did before. As usual, no matter what he or any of his crew did, the device was unresponsive. Superficially, it resembled a wireless radiograph, similar to the mundane one Vance had installed when he took the ship out of storage eight years ago. As this model looked to be an original part of the fifty year old ship, it provided a casual mystery Vance was enjoying, as he did not believe the technology had been around that long. Wingnut had all but taken the device apart herself. She probably would have, but even she, with her uncanny technical expertise, was befuddled by its function and couldn't identify more than half of the components. In her opinion, judging by the way the contraption was wired, it probably shouldn’t do anything.
“Well it seems to have quit again,” Vance muttered flipping a few more brass switches, somewhat disappointed he had missed those brief seconds where it had come to life.
“Don’t be fiddlin’ with it too much there, lad,” Winston warned. He had deliberately taken his seat at the pilot’s controls putting at least a little distance between himself and the device. Vance half wondered if he should remind Winston he was captain, even if only in jest. Though he couldn’t really expect a man thirty years his senior who served with his grandfather to consider him more than a lad. Truth be told though, he referred to nearly everyone as ‘lad’ or ‘lass’.
“What do you think Afa?” Vance asked. “What should I do with this?”
“You are the Captain, and it is your ship, the choice lies with you.”
Vance smirked, “I had a feeling that’s what you would say, my friend. I can’t for the life of me figure out how this works, or if it really ever worked. At the same time, it’s a piece of my grandfather’s ship; it feels wrong to just tear it out.”
“Then don’t. Its purpose will reveal itself in time. Purposes always do.”
“I suppose you’re right, Vance replied. “What brought you up to the bridge anyway? I thought you were transferring seedlings today.”
The large man thought for a second, “I’m not sure. It just felt like it was time for this to turn on again, I’m not sure why.”
“Well,” Vance said looking up at Afa, “as always, I rely on your senses as much as my own.”
“Thank you, Fekitoa.”
“Hey lads,” Winston’s voice sounded.
“Want to tell me again why we should throw this thing overboard?”
“Maybe later, Captain, But right now I think you really should see what I’m seeing.”
It was the change in tone of Winston’s voice that alerted Vance, and the fact he had addressed him as ‘Captain’ that drove him and Afa out of the radio room and onto the bridge. Winston wordlessly pointed out of the large curved windows of the bridge. About three miles distant, emerging from the far side of an upland, was an airship whose flying colors meant only one thing, pirates.
Chapter V
“Winston,” Vance said tersely, “sound the alarm. Where’s Burd?”
Last I saw him Cornelius, he was in his workshop,” replied Afa.
Vance turned and ran off the bridge back to one of the rooms that used to be designated as crew quarters but now housed Cornelius Burd’s toy workshop. As he ran he heard the alarm bell sounding, two quick blasts, followed by two more sets of the same. Unsurprisingly, he met Burd at the entry to his workshop. Unlike the rest of the crew, who had a definite place to be if the alarm rang, Burd’s skill set required him to be more flexible. So, rather than waiting for him to report to the bridge, Vance decided to intersect him en route.
“What’s going on Cap’n?” the man asked, emerging from his workshop with a half built wooden fire engine in one hand, and a small pistol in the other.
“Looks like some pirates are floating our way,” Vance replied. “Doesn’t look too serious, at first glance, but best to be cautious.”
“Suit up then?” Burd said with eyebrows raised and an excited gleam in his eye.
“You’d be terribly disappointed if you didn’t get the chance,” Vance smiled back.
“Righto Cap’n. Not too serious you say? Who should I take?”
Vance already had an answer for his old friend, “Jessica, she hasn’t been out for a while.”
Without another word a smiling Burd was off to his quarters up on the main deck to don one of his several rocket-packs, each having different capabilities, and each bearing a lady’s name. Vance suspected these names originated either from previous romantic encounters or the dozens of vessels he had served on in his murky military career. Whatever the source Vance considered it ungentlemanly to ask, given the many painful memories his friend faced. Spinning on his heel he made his way back onto the bridge where the telephone, another modern oddity considering the age of the Kingship, was ringing. He knew it would be Wingnut, indicating she was in the engine room and was ready to receive instructions. Her love of technology and gadgetry always drove her to use the phone instead of the ship-wide myriad of voice pipes Vance found to be more than reliable. Picking up the receiver Vance could hear the sounds of the engine room, “Wingnut?”
“Aye sir, what be goin’ on down there?”
“Looks like pirates. Nothing we can’t handle though I want you to stoke the fires, get us up to full steam in case we need to do some rather dexterous maneuvering. Got it?”
“Aye, but remind Winston the port aft steam thruster is still a little slow to open. Just have him keep it in mind if we need to turn suddenly.”
Unable to resist trying to get a rise out of her despite the circumstances, Vance challenged, “I thought you already fixed that.” He wasn’t disappointed in th
e reaction which followed.
“I told you the parts I needed two weeks ago ya’ ungrateful git of a captain!”
Smiling Vance replied, “Well you’ll get all the spare parts you want after we deal with these guys and get to Germany.”
“I’m holdin’ ya to that, sir.”
Vance hung up the receiver and turned to inform Winston of the issue with the maneuvering thruster. Despite the banter that often went on during the anxious moments, his crew knew what to do. Even Afa who lacked the military training and discipline found in the rest, was always cool under pressure. This fact was proven by the various gauges already showing an increase in steam pressure throughout the ship’s systems, mute evidence of Wingnut’s ability to do the job of three people in an engine room. Reaching into a small storage compartment he pulled out a hefty pair of command goggles, a souvenir, one of many, from his abrupt departure from military service. Placing them on his head he plugged their long cable into the ship’s electrical system. It took only a few seconds for the system to warm up displaying a compass, tactical grid and distancing numbers. These goggles had seen use through many battles in the past and the worn leather straps that held them firmly in place lent the Kingship’s Captain an extra level of confidence. Vance gazed upon the situation a few miles distant. The airship was a medium sized zeppelin, by the looks of the design it had once been an American vessel. How it came to be a pirate ship plaguing the skies of Belgium would undoubtably be an interesting tale. By now it had fully emerged from the upland it had been hiding none too well behind which itself was not very remarkable. It was a few acres in size, with little flat ground to be seen. Clumps of vegetation grew here and there though there were no trees nor buildings to be seen. It was essentially a giant floating rock in the sky. Adjusting the magnification with a series of dials built into the side of the goggles, Vance was able to get a better look at the zeppelin which was fairly well armed with a motley assortment of both plasmatic and gunpowder weaponry, though the ship itself, like all lighter than air vessels, appeared to be on the fragile side. It was certainly not the type of airship Vance himself would consider taking into combat, even against unarmed ships.
Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1) Page 3