Minerva watched in awe as the twins moved in almost perfect unison, swinging their legs over the table bench at the same time and taking the first sip of their soup like a single person in two bodies.
"Hey, short stock. Hold up yer kit. I ain't reachin' down for it."
Minerva spun around to hold up her plate and bowl, and promptly fell dumbstruck. The man serving her food was so massive she needed to look left and right to see both sides of him. The top of his head, carpeted in short curly brown hair, sloped outward from his forehead, down his nose, and continued to expand into his many chins. When it reached his neck, it merged into his chest, which steadily expanded outward towards his huge gut. A great blob of flesh lay draped atop the counter before it tapered away from his belt towards his ankles.
The burning smell of onions and garlic permeated the fabric of his frayed and stained apron, and it was no wonder he refused to lean forward. His tumbling girth could crush her.
"What?" he demanded, before he slopped some soup into her bowl and flopped a piece of bread and an egg onto her plate.
"I was just wondering if there was any cutlery," she stammered, attempting the first excuse that came to mind.
"Yeah, we got it, but I don't wanna wash it, so ye get none."
"Oh," she said, looking down at the bowl of soup.
"What's the matter princess, not good 'nuff for ye? Here, lemme clean it."
Before Minerva could act, the big man grabbed her plate from her grasp, and to her horror, spewed a huge gob of spit down the side. As he wiped the spatter off with his apron he knocked her toast to the floor at the same time.
"Eh, look at that, egg is rotten I bet." Without further warning, he popped the egg into his mouth and mashed it viciously, swallowing the wreckage in a single gulp. "Nah, was fine. Yer soup is probably no good though, lemme git that for ye."
Minerva snatched the bowl towards herself, protecting it from his grasping palms.
The chef laughed cruelly with her egg still squashed between his meaty cheeks as she scurried away, wide-eyed.
For a time, Minerva wandered through the busy galley, searching for a seat at an empty table. As she passed by the rigger twins, something splashed unexpectedly into her now lonely soup. A piece of bread hand landed neatly inside the bowl. Luff, or was it Leech, winked at her quickly, and then went back to his conversation with the other sailors. Despite her wishes, there was no room for her there, so she sat alone in a corner without a table, avoiding the glances and glares of the others, most notably the swabbies.
The bread was obviously stale, but to Minerva's surprise, it tasted quite good when soaked in the soup, which offered a healthy kick of flavor. She had nearly mastered the effort of drinking a full bowl of soup without spilling it down her front when the din of the galley abruptly vanished. Far away, a bell was ringing, hard and fast and without pause.
Plates clattered, benches screeched, and the sound of hundreds of hurrying feet pounded out of the galley. Minerva followed the parade of bodies until she stood in the daylight on the deck, while the sound of a bell smashed loudly in her ears. She found the other swabbies near the stairs to the sterncastle, buckets at the ready.
"What do we do?"
"Stay out of the way," ordered Spit.
"If there's fires or mess, we take care of it," offered Lockjaw, but he said nothing more when Spit turned a harsh glower upon him.
Moments later, the sterncastle doors burst open and Captain Glass strode valiantly out, with his three-point hat tucked under his arm. He smiled at the swabbies, and perhaps overlong at Minerva, before Olbus moved up to him.
"It's Cloudscorch, Captain," he said quietly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear.
"Cloudscorch?" Captain Glass' voice rose an octave halfway through the name. "How's the mast?"
"Damaged, sir."
The captain turned to the stairs, launching himself towards the helm. "Get every rigger up in the sails, boatswain! Maybe we can outrun them!"
"Yes, sir," Olbus confirmed, and then faced the men behind him. "Riggers! To the sails!" he bellowed, so loudly that Minerva winced at the sound.
When the riggers ascended, Minerva could not help but stare. They didn't run to the shrouds to climb up—the wide rope net-ladders that went up from the railings into the rigging—but went instead to the base of the masts, where they coiled a rope around their forearms and ripped out the belaying pin that restrained it. Large sacks of what she assumed to be sand fell from the masts in response, pulling the ropes taut and hauling the men to the tops of the square sails.
Minerva spotted Luff and Leech skipping sideways up a mast. At their stations, the twins vigorously scrubbed the surfaces of the sails with long-handled stout-headed brooms, and shouted orders to the riggers that were still arriving.
Rising high, the Skyraker's sails filled with a wind that cut bitterly through Minerva's shirt and trousers. The sound of a wooden mechanism rumbled behind her and the ship banked with the current, causing her to stumble into Lockjaw, who kindly held her up.
"There!" Spit's call of alarm snapped her attention to a distant ship made of blackened wood and singed sails that approached from low across the horizon. The crew of the Skyraker went silent. They pointed and stared at the closing ship.
"What is it?" Minerva demanded, grabbing Lockjaw by the shoulder.
"Cloudscorch. One of Captain Black's ships."
"Captain Black?"
Minerva remembered the name from when Lintumen explained to her about the Phoenix, and judging by Lockjaw's reaction, he was clearly someone that everyone knew.
"He's the meanest pirate in the skies."
"Aren't you pirates as well?"
"We're not all in the same group," Grunts snapped.
"So, we fight them," she concluded. "It's smaller than we are. We can defeat it."
Lockjaw sighed, as if he had already been defeated. "Ships like this are for plundering and looting. They're not for sinking other ships. Not on purpose, anyway."
"And?"
"Cloudscorch sinks ships. They say it can breathe fire more than double its hull length, and that it burns sails and sailors alike. Captain Black uses it for killing, not for plundering."
Minerva stared out over the rail at the infamous Cloudscorch. "Do our cannons shoot further than their fires?"
"On a good shot, yeah. Why?"
"And how fast can they sink us?"
"I don't know. Probably takes a bit to sink something with fire. Not like knocking a mast off with cannons. Hard to stop it, though."
"Then if we do our jobs, and put out the fires, we win, right?" She stared the other swabbies in the eye, demanding their attention. "It can't sink a ship that's not on fire, right?"
Spit narrowed his gaze and glared at Minerva. "Everyone just listen to me. I've done this sort of battle before," he ordered, and then looked away.
Minerva realized right there, from the looks on their faces and the ways that they stood, that none of them had ever done anything like this before. It made her feel entirely helpless, standing with her so-called friends with nothing more than a handful of buckets between them.
The injured Skyraker quickened its pace over the trees with the menacing Cloudscorch hot on its stern. Several times, perhaps out of preparation, or perhaps as a show of power, the enemy belched huge plumes of fire from its gun ports. Following each display, the crew of the Skyraker burst into panicked shouts and whispers. Many demanded that they land and run for their lives. It was only when Olbus stood among them and threatened the sailors with the rod that they went back to work.
Captain Glass stood quietly at the helm, clearly concerned as he glanced over his shoulder at their pursuer. Several times Minerva caught him looking at her, to which he offered a feeble grin before looking away.
"The gun deck is prepared to fire, Captain," Olbus said.
"How many cannons did we save?"
"Two dozen, sir."
Captain Glass went from worried to st
ricken. It was obviously a much lower number than he had hoped. Regardless, he leaned in towards a brass cone near the helm, similar to the one in Lintumen's room. "Gunner! Bring all the cannons to starboard side. Do your best to—"
Something crackled and whistled behind the Captain, and he crouched instinctively. For what lacked a better description in Minerva's mind, a clay pot full of fire drifted overhead before smashing hard against the port side of the Skyraker.
Searing heat and the hiss of blistering flames exploded against Minerva, and she grabbed the first full bucket she could reach, thrusting it into Spit's arms. "Pass it down!" At her direction, they formed a line and moved the buckets forward, splashing the water down the side of the ship.
"Keep dumping!" Spit yelled, when their supply ran low. Then he grabbed Lockjaw and Grunts and ran down the stairs towards the pumps.
Minerva did as ordered, doing her best to remain standing while the ship bobbed and listed wildly in its flight. This isn't right, her mind insisted, unable to rationalize the persistence of the flames. When she moved to hand Patch the last full bucket, he didn't take it. He only stood and stared over her shoulder with his eyes held wide.
Cloudscorch sailed up on their broadside, but above the height of their masts. Wooden machines, hung with many ropes and a giant sling, dominated its deck. In each one, a hefty brown jar of flames licked at its small mouth. Many men occupied the deck of the enemy ship, blackened with ash and soot. They screamed and bellowed, howling like wild animals, eager for the kill. The two ships were close enough that Minerva could see the dirtied clothes, bare feet, and even the filthy unkempt hair of the enemy sailors. Their bright teeth stood in stark contrast to their sullied faces.
One of the men raised their hand and dropped it to his side, and the wooden machines turned and creaked, sending their flaming clay volley whistling and crackling through the air.
There's a reason the fire won't go out, her mind reminded her.
Minerva panicked quietly as the clay pots rolled over in the sky towards her, having just realized what was in them.
Chapter 8
Cloudscorch
Shattered clay and burning fuel washed across the deck of the Skyraker. Spit narrowly avoided a direct impact with a flying urn as he returned with his bucket, and he threw his water across the flames out of reflex.
Minerva watched in horror as the fires sparked and flared, and slithered wider across the wood, seeping into every crack and crevice as it went.
Lockjaw appeared beside Spit with his own sloshing bucket, and pulled back to release it.
"No!" Minerva screamed, rushing forward. It was just enough of a distraction to stay his hand. She threw herself headlong into both swabbies with her arms outstretched. In a jumble of limbs and grunts, they crashed in a soaking heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Spit shoved Minerva off violently, swearing and nursing a large gash on his forehead.
"It's oil!" she pleaded, frantically disengaging from the pile of people and rising to her feet. Lockjaw shoved past her, knocking her aside as he went up the stairs, but she rose again, pulling herself ahead of them. "We can't use water!"
Back on deck, fire burned everywhere and its smoke choked everything. Amid it all, she could hear the hopeless screams of the crew. Minerva grabbed Spit by the collar. "It's a grease fire! Water will make it spread!" He seemed to be listening to her now.
Minerva's mind raced. A grease fire in a kitchen was small. She could put it out with a pot lid. This was different. This fire was huge.
"We need to suffocate it," she said, still clinging onto Spit and thinking aloud. "Go and get any spare sheets you can find!" She grabbed Grunts next. "Get those bags of sand near the mast! As many bags as you can carry!"
The massive form of Olbus materialized beside her. His shirt stretched up to cover his nose and his face twisted against the heat. He looked like he had something very important to say, but she didn't let him say it. Inspiration had struck.
"Bring me any spare sails that we have!"
For a moment, she questioned the propriety of ordering him to do her bidding, but then he rushed away down the stairs, touching only two with his feet.
While the Skyraker burned, Cloudscorch retreated out of range. It had no need to press a victory clearly within its grasp.
Awaiting the return of her requested supplies, Minerva stood watching the fire, gripping the rail for support as the ship heaved on the winds. She had barely enough time to orient herself before Olbus returned with a large white cloth draped across his back. She pulled the sail from his shoulders and unfolded it across the flaming oil. Where the edges caught fire, she stamped it out.
When Grunts returned with the bags, she poured the sand on the cloth to absorb the oil, and Olbus called for assistance as she worked. A few men arrived at first, then more with another sail. The beautiful white cloth went brown then black, soaking up the deadly liquid. Some sails they draped over the sides, snuffing the fires that burned the hull, and when a sail entirely caught fire they threw it overboard. Slowly, the smoke thinned to reveal a burned and bruised ship. A handful of flames still smoldered in the corners and across the hull, but the crew was winning. The fires were going out. The men began cheering, but the victory was short lived.
"It's tacking back around!"
Minerva flailed wildly as the Skyraker listed unexpectedly, forcing her to cling tightly to the nearest mast, and her attention focused only on what was in front of her. There's teeth marks in the belaying pins, she thought. Not now, she scolded herself, and tucked the thought away.
Cloudscorch swooped in high against the sails of the Skyraker, vomiting flames from its tiny gun ports as it approached. Gazing upward, between the sails and the rigging, only a few men still worked. The rest had fled or fallen when the smoke rose around them. Luff and Leech valiantly did their best to keep the ship aloft, but couldn't match Cloudscorch's ascent on their own.
Below her feet, Minerva felt the cannons fire, and the deck trembled as the sound of splintering wood hailed a successful attack. The Skyraker banked away while the gun crews reloaded, hard enough that every man on deck stood askew. Meanwhile, Cloudscorch peeled away to attempt another approach.
Before the deck stood still again, Minerva heard a terrified call overhead, where she saw a man dashing to the far end of a boom. He tumbled forward with one arm outstretched in panic. It was one of the twins, and he was reaching for his brother, who now dangled weakly by his fingers from the far end of the spar.
An overwhelming desire to prevent the demise of a friend pushed every other thought from Minerva's mind. She grabbed the loose end of the nearest coil of rigging and spun it around her arm. Then she ran down the slope of the ship towards the railing, unspooling the line behind her. The hot, ashen deck felt slick beneath her feet and it burned her soles, spurring her onward. Nearly to the edge, with her eyes locked onto the twin, her throat seized and her guts churned as the twin lost his grip. Strands of his hair lagged in the fall, loose and free, as gravity first took hold of the rigger's body.
Devoid of fear, Minerva jumped to the railing and pushed off into the air in a tilted sprint. A great length of rope uncoiled from her arm, trailing behind her as she sailed out over the canopy of the forest. Her simple, thoughtless goal consisted of nothing other than catching the man before he fell too far and too fast.
For a brief instant, fully committed to her leap, Minerva felt as though she were truly flying. She imagined herself as free and wild, like a bird on the wind. The sky kissed her cheeks and tussled her hair.
The twin fell hard, and Minerva had jumped too early, flying out beyond his position. However, the cord that trailed behind her cut across his descent and it ensnared him as he came down. His sudden arrival snapped Minerva painfully backwards on the end of the line.
In a graceful arc with a thunderous end, Minerva and the twin circled back towards the ship. Entirely by luck, Minerva's partner went headlong into an empty gun port, and
by an equally complete stroke of bad luck, Minerva bounced off the hull, above the port but below the deck, with nothing to hold.
The beautiful blue paint of the Skyraker drifted away from Minerva's fingers, and for the second time in no time at all, she felt as though she were truly flying.
In the adrenaline-filled existence of a person expecting to die, Minerva simply closed her eyes and waited for the landing. Many thoughts crowded her mind, prepping her for the sound of crashing branches and the sudden blackness at the end of a long fall, but it never came. She heard the muffled yells of a distant battle and the constant sound of her own panicked breathing. Then she felt the wind across her bare stomach and the sensation of a painful vice around her leg, and she looked up at her feet. In the frantic chaos of her daring leap, the rope had tightly entangled her leg, and she now dangled by her foot like bait on a lure.
Everything moved slowly beneath the Skyraker. She could see Cloudscorch pulling in for the kill with its wicked ashen body disgorging flame from every orifice, and she saw a slick black trail that ran across its belly beneath the hold. Being below the action, where the voices were quiet and the smell of burnt wood didn't stifle her thoughts, she realized something important. Their hold is leaking oil.
That's why the sailors are so filthy. Just like the Skyraker, Cloudscorch must have a cistern in its hold, but theirs is filled with oil.
Despite the pain in her arms and legs, Minerva pulled herself into an upright position and climbed quickly, inspired by her discovery. Their hold is leaking oil, she repeated to herself, and had barely begun to rise when the rope pulled up on its own. When she arrived at the top, Luff and Leech grabbed her by the shirt and pants and hauled her disgracefully into the gun deck. Before she could even thank them for her rescue, they lifted her to her feet, cheering wildly and hugging her.
The gun deck was one of many places aboard the Skyraker that Minerva had never seen, and so she needed to orient herself appropriately. At the far end, the lead gunner stood ready to call a shot as Cloudscorch sailed in.
"Let me go. I have a plan," she begged, peeling away from the twins.
The Maiden in the Mirror Page 4