by Travis Perry
A bird and a dragon approached just as Durga and Ragnar had done. They kept close on each other, but the dragon touched down a few seconds before the bird. The crowd on the aerie roof groaned.
Ian searched there for Astrid, but saw no sign of her white-blonde head. The spectators returned to ground level by way of stairs on one end of the building.
Soon after the remaining racers had arrived, the nobles adjourned to the brick building, presumably for their dinner. Ian’s guts knotted at the prospect of going below to endure Cook’s temperament, but his stomach yawned for whatever she had prepared.
The meal, though served with as much rancor as ever, was nevertheless a hearty combination of chicken, potatoes, and cheese baked in a clay dish. The count who had recommended her couldn’t be faulted.
When they’d finished eating, the crew retired to their cabins, but Ian climbed back up to the main deck. Gaspar had not fed the furnace since demonstrating it to Astrid, so they’d lost about a meter of lift. The ropes had gone slack. He tightened them. Then he returned to his drawings. All they needed were libraries and laboratories, Astrid had said. But Isidora and Basil Demetriou had both, yet they’d been unable to construct the control mechanism Ian envisioned. They needed more—metalworkers and artificers of all kinds. Nevertheless, he worked at it a little longer, feeding on the scrap of hope she’d given him. If they could do it, we can.
Sometime later—no telling how long, but he’d filled two pages with schematic sketches—he heard a woman’s shout below. “Ahoy!”
He slid his reed pen into its holder and strode toward the door. Would Astrid know that expression? She seemed to know a lot about ships. But no, even before he reached the gunnel, he had placed the crisp, light voice.
Govnor Stuart stood on the ground below with her secretary and several noblemen. “May we give the king and my colleagues a tour, Captain?”
“Of course, Your Ladyship. Please stand back. Give me two minutes.” He ran below and knocked on cabin doors. “His Majesty coming aboard. Stations.”
“Aye, sir.” Olivera and Triston ran to the ladder.
“Bring the ship down,” Ian told Gaspar. “I’ll stay here and open the gangway.”
“Yes, sir.” Gaspar turned to his task.
“Shall I prepare refreshments?” Cook stood in the doorway of her cabin.
“If you like, and if you’re prepared to deliver them to the bridge yourself.”
She sighed. “It’s not appropriate for a woman to climb ladders.” She gripped her skirt in her fists.
“As long as there’s not a man behind you, I don’t see that it matters,” he answered.
“Oh! Young, impudent…”
“No insubordination, Cook, especially not in front of the king. I won’t have it.”
“Huh.” She made for the kitchen.
He walked aft to the gangway. Soon he heard the great chuff of air releasing from the envelope, and the ship dropped. He opened the gangway. It hit the ground at a steep angle. He ran outside.
Govnor Stuart introduced him to the govnors in their robes with chains of office draped across their shoulders and King Mateo with his heavier chain and golden crown. Ian mentally calculated what their weight would do to the ship.
He turned and called up to Gaspar. “Down a half-meter!”
The hands hauled on the ropes to draw the ship closer to the ground, first port forward and starboard aft, and then port aft and starboard forward. Had Cook been willing to pitch in as Astrid did, they could have had a spotter on the ground and four at the ropes and been done in half the time.
“How does it do that?” One of the govnors said.
“Captain Kahoon,” Lady Eleanor said, “you will give our guests an explanation of the ship’s principles of flight, won’t you?”
“Gladly, Your Ladyship.”
With the gangway at a more reasonable angle, they all embarked, and Ian watched the ship sink closer to the ground with each passenger. Nevertheless, the keel did not touch bottom. He followed them aboard.
Lady Eleanor led the tour herself.
While she did so, Ian sent Triston down to help the cook bring up whatever she had prepared. “Just be sure to go up the ladders ahead of her.”
Triston stared blankly for a minute, then snickered and ran to the task.
On the bridge, Ian lit candles and oil lamps and put away his notebook, papers, and maps.
Govnor Stuart’s secretary, Mr. Plasket, a young man of middling height, opened the door. “Her Ladyship requests your presence, Captain.”
Ian returned to the deck. “Yes, Your Ladyship?”
“Would you please explain how the furnace provides lifting force for the ship?”
He did, but from their blank stares, he gathered they didn’t understand. Astrid had caught on right away. On Ian’s third attempt, Govnor Salomon, a thin, white-haired man older than the rest, said, “Ah! It’s like when you put dried leaves in a fire, and burning bits fly upward.”
“Yes, very like that. The dragonskin balloon contains the rising air and brings us with it.”
Finally, heads nodded all around.
“This must have been awfully expensive, Eleanor,” said the govnor of Candor. “Why would you spend so much for a fanciful mode of transport? My dragons are ever at your call whenever you need to travel.”
“Ah, but Umberto, you will charge me richly for the privilege.”
Umberto flinched. “You might do me the favor of my title.”
“I beg your pardon, but if you are going to call me Eleanor, you may be sure I shall address you likewise.”
King Mateo laughed and slapped Umberto on the back. “That’s what you get for being insufferable.”
The other men enjoyed a laugh at Umberto’s expense while Govnor Stuart smiled slyly. Her pale brown hair, graying at the temples, swept back from her face into a roll on top of her head. “I have flown by dragon and by bird, and they both carry the same drawbacks. Exposure to the elements, the inability to carry much baggage, and the necessity of stopping every night at whatever settlement is nearby. This further entails the expense of lodging. Not to mention their inability to fly at the higher elevations found at the western end of my govment.” She spread her hands to take in the ship. “With this, I have access to higher elevations and a compartment that comes with me wherever I go. We’re protected from the weather, and my secretary and I can work at the dining table while we’re en route.”
The noblemen muttered amongst themselves, weighing the benefits of this innovation.
Triston slid a tray onto the deck, then climbed the last few steps. He picked up the tray and looked to Kahoon. “Where, sir?”
“On the bridge. Use the navigation table. I’ve cleared it.”
Ian held the door for the govnors. Cook came huffing, red-faced, up the ladder. She halted, her torso half out the hatch. “Leave that door and take this tray, young man.”
Ian was not about to respond to her order. He continued to hold the door.
Plasket stepped forward and took the tray of fruit and shortbread from her. Gaspar offered her a hand up.
“Glad to see someone aboard is a gentleman.” She straightened her skirts and smoothed her hair. “Now where’s he gone?”
“He took the food inside,” Ian said.
“Oh! I meant to serve His Majesty myself.”
“You may yet do so,” Ian gestured her inside.
She brushed past him without another word.
The bridge was cramped with nine people inside. Plasket excused himself. Ian was tempted to do the same, but he wanted to ensure that Umberto and his colleagues didn’t mistreat the equipment.
“Captain Kahoon,” Govnor Dubois said, “How did you come by such fine instruments?”
“That is the work of Madam Isidora Demetriou. Salvaged from an ancient airship.”
“Lovely specimens.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s a pleasure to serve Your Majesty.” C
ook handed the king a filled mug. “I do apologize that we have such crude utensils to serve such fine people. Our captain does not see fit to invest in better.”
Govnor Stuart’s posture stiffened. “I assure you, careful consideration was given to whether to equip the Phoenix with fine china, which weighs less, or pottery, which is cheaper and more durable. We decided upon the latter because although I certainly could have provided china from my collection, it is rare and costly, and I thought it best not to subject it to the hazards of air travel.”
“Oh. I do beg your pardon, my lady.” Cook dropped a curtsey.
“What sort of hazards?” asked Govnor Finn, a fellow almost as portly as Cook.
“Weather, mainly.” Govnor Stuart looked to Ian. “And then there’s that problem with the wind—what does Master Basil call it?”
“Turbulence. Sudden gusts of wind can rock the ship quite dramatically.” While Ian gave a brief lesson about air currents, Govnor Stuart grabbed Cook by the elbow and pulled her into the corner.
“So winds move in different directions, as sea currents do,” Govnor Finn said.
“Exactly, sir.”
Cook soon excused herself, lightening the room by the absence of her weight and acrimony. The nobility finished their tea and dessert and returned to the deck, where the hands had hung up some lanterns. Ian hung back. Unless he were invited, he’d take out his papers and return to work.
“I’ll be with you shortly, Your Majesty,” Govnor Stuart said. The king nodded and went out. She closed the door behind him, leaving herself and Ian the only ones on the bridge. “I had a word with your recalcitrant cook. Perhaps she’ll behave in future.”
Ian picked up a mug from the instrument panel and buffed the wood with his sleeve. “Perhaps.”
“I am sorry. She came with excellent references.”
“Yes, and she is an excellent cook.” He returned the mug to its tray. “But she’s insubordinate. I want to replace her.”
Govnor Stuart set down her cup also. “Of course. As you see fit, Captain.”
“I suppose she resents being outranked by someone so young.”
“Maybe so. If the King of Marineris were half my age, I might resent it, too. But I would do what was required of me anyway and without complaint.”
Ian scanned the room for anything else out of place, and found a plate abandoned on the window seat. He retrieved it.
“Have you anyone in mind for the job?”
“No, I’ll wait until we return to Knossos, and start making inquiries.”
“Very well.” She walked out to join the others.
Ian nearly dropped the plate onto the tray. Astrid. Astrid could do the job. Couldn’t she? She’d be perfect. Never mind that he didn’t actually know whether she could cook.
• • •
Despite the bruises purpling her face and aching her body, Astrid celebrated with the others in the dining hall. Chaya and Ragnar made the final, as she suspected they might, with a flight time just under three and a half hours. Finally, though, Master Breiner rang the dinner-hall bell and sent everyone to bed.
Astrid grabbed Chaya’s arm. “You don’t have to report to the flight line until after lunch, so sleep in tomorrow. Get plenty of rest. I won’t rouse Ragnar until noon, so he’ll be well-rested, too.”
“Thank you, Astrid.” Chaya put out one arm, but hesitated.
Astrid hugged her. “It’s my pleasure. You’re a great jockey, Chaya.”
“Thanks again. Good night.”
“Good night.” Astrid watched her go, biting back the desire to say enjoy it while you can.
Astrid silently washed up, but rather than going to bed, she folded her knitted blanket in half and wrapped it around her as a cloak. She went out to the stairway and climbed to the roof, though the exertion strained her bruised ribs and back.
The Phoenix had dropped back to ground level. The envelope filled her view. The deck of the ship was level with the aerie roof, but it sat a good twelve meters away. A couple of lights glowed in the bridge. Ian hunched over his navigation table. She hoped he was working on his control system. It was brilliant.
Calling out or waving to him would just distract him, so she drew back. Eye contact would only exacerbate the gulf between them. Twelve meters—might as well have been as wide as the Melas Sea.
I forbid you to return to that—airship.
The wrath she’d face if she defied Master Breiner would be worse than what he had already dealt. Trembling, she staggered back to the stairs. The top step creaked under her weight as she sat down, her back toward that beautiful airship. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Ian needed a scullery maid. She could do that work, and more besides, even if the cook thought she was too old and big. She was strong. She could haul ropes as well as those jockey-weight deck hands. But she was indentured. Another two cycles she’d be stuck here, watching birds fly without her while she shoveled their droppings. In two cycles she’d be a free woman, but then what? Where would she go? To Noctis? That was far off at the western end of the kingdom. How would she get there? Ian wouldn’t still need a maid by then.
She’d never see him again. Never fly again.
Lord, help me. Tears ran down her face, dripping off her chin to dampen the brown wool blanket. If I’m not meant to fly, why do I love it so much? And if I’m not meant to visit Ian again, why do I want nothing else? Please help me be content. Make me stop wanting things I can’t have!
A sob broke through her defense, and she shuddered, choking and gasping, her tears spilling out prayers she could no longer form with words.
• • •
Ian learned that, rather than sleeping in her compartment aboard the Phoenix, Govnor Stuart had sensibly accepted Govnor Dubois’s offer of hospitality and stayed the night in the brick building Dubois called the estate house. Mr. Plasket was not so fortunate, and slept in his cabin.
So in the morning Gaspar had to let him out through the gangway. Once he’d closed it, he returned to the mess. “Will you want to take the ship aloft again, Captain?”
“Yes, I think it’s the best way to watch the races.”
“I’ll go stoke the furnace, then.”
“Thank you.”
Gaspar climbed the ladder. Olivera and Triston soon followed, leaving Ian at the table with Cook.
Ian poured the last of the coffee into his mug. “Cook, put on another pot of coffee, please?”
“I don’t think you realize how expensive coffee is. You drink it like water.”
He lowered his mug with a thump. “I did say please.”
“Huh.” She shoved against the table, hauling her thirty-kig self out of the seat. She snatched up the pot and returned to the kitchen.
Yes, coffee was expensive, but much of it was grown in the highland plain south of Knossos, in Lady Eleanor’s own govment. Though it was one of her primary trade goods, she could keep back as much for her own use as she liked. Cook must know that. Did she think Ian didn’t?
The govnor provided a plentiful store of the stuff, so Ian would drink more of it than water all day. Between working on his mechanism and fantasizing about Astrid’s brilliant mind and voluptuous body—not necessarily in that order—he’d hardly slept.
There’d been no sign of her. He was eager for her return, and not only because he wanted to offer her a job. Probably she had to stay with Ragnar until he took off on his race. No telling when that might be.
From his cabin he fetched the mechanical textbook he had hand-copied from one in Master Basil’s collection of books written during the era most people called the Time of Magic. Ian read until the cook returned with the coffee. “If you give me a tray and mugs for the others, I’ll take it up.”
She nodded and for once did as he said without remark.
Ian opened the hatch and dropped the whole of the rope ladder onto the ground, just a meter below. When he stood, Cook was standing there with the tray.
“Expecting your young miss, then?”
He took the tray. “She was invited.”
She harrumphed and returned to the kitchen.
Carrying the tray up two ladders required balance, but he’d been scampering about ships all his life, so it was second nature.
He put the coffee on the navigation table and let the men know it was available.
Gaspar came in to fill a cup, but the hands continued lounging on the deck. “We can lift off when you’re ready, Captain.”
They raised the ship as before, with Gaspar at his usual starboard aft station. Ian scoured the field, but no one was about yet. He returned to the bridge to work.
• • •
Despite a long, mostly sleepless night, Astrid was required to be up at dawn with the others for breakfast, or she’d go hungry. As it was, she had no appetite. She picked at her food, avoiding conversation with the others.
Timothy, Durga’s groom, leaned across the table. “You all right, Astrid? Awfully quiet this morning.”
She gestured to her bruised face. “You know how it is.”
His gaze dropped back to his plate. “Right. Just buck up and lie low.”
She nodded. Evading Breiner’s fist was only one of her worries. How could she get word to Ian that she couldn’t join him? She couldn’t even say farewell. Sending someone with a message would mean taking them from their work. All of her bunkmates would be busy with their birds.
Lord, help me. Take away this ache in my heart.
While the others went out to their tasks, Astrid walked to the end of the building, to the flight masters’ library. The chapel was over in the estate house, so going there would mean asking permission from Breiner, which he was sure to refuse. The library was the next best place. Except that its window overlooked the front lawn. The Phoenix cast its shadow against the aerie wall. The rope ladder hung there, barely touching the ground. Twelve meters.