* * *
Straining to pull himself up, hand over hand, Brick for once wished he weighed a bit less. His brawn had served him well over the years, but gravity held on to him more tightly than it did others. Only the sight of his father making progress in his climb gave him hope. Riette had been taken aboard a different airship, and he was determined not to let that vessel out of his sight. She'd slipped through his fingers once, and he wasn't about to let it happen again. Meeting his father's gaze, he nodded. The need for silence was understood. So far no one appeared to have realized they were there. The airship moved higher in the skies, making them ever more vulnerable. It would be a simple task to knock them from the ropes and send them tumbling to the rocky shoreline below. Moving east, the three airships lacked the speed of other aircraft, but their flight was stable and their capacity great.
After a brief rest, Joren and Brick resumed their climb, wanting to reach the deck at the same moment. They had spent their entire lives working together, and Brick was grateful for their ability to communicate using few if any words. There had been many times over the years he'd lamented working in a confined space with someone who knew his every weakness. Now he understood just how much his father had taught him. Without that knowledge, he'd never have been able to help save the people of Sparrowport. His father had done his part, no doubt, but it had been Brick who'd rallied the people and come up with a plan. Why the people had chosen to follow his lead, he might never know, but it gave him a sense of pride. Never would he take credit for what the people had done to save themselves, but it was clear his voice had given them direction, purpose, and focus.
It had been Joren's skills that had produced the long gun—skills he'd passed along to his son. He deserved as much credit as anyone, but he was content to let Brick take a leadership role. Even now, his father had followed him to the airship and joined in what might turn out to be complete folly. He had no idea what they were going to do next. There had been no time. Bravery was perhaps about doing what needed to be done in the moment without considering the consequences. If he'd waited to determine the best course of action, he would likely have missed his chance. Only time would tell if his impetuous decision would make him a hero or a martyr. Either way, he'd done what was right.
Riette was among the strongest people he'd ever met, even if she'd always thought herself weak. When her mother died, she'd taken over the family business and kept them from losing what they had. Then her father was called to war. Brick had heard the tales of his bravery and his presumed demise, and he wasn't sure he would have been so brave, even while hanging from a rope suspended above his homeland.
Joren struggled with the climb, and Brick found himself waiting for the sake of his father. No one knew what awaited them on deck, and surely they would be more effective together. Brick suspected that was the only reason his father had come at all. Neither were trained fighters, though both had been in their fair share of scuffles. Defending Riette and Emmet alone had provided Brick with more than a few bruises and scars. It had been his muscles that had gotten him through. No matter how much he'd hated having to work the forge in his childhood, the work had made him stronger than steel. While the other children had played, he'd endured the heat and had become as tough as an anvil. Remembering Joren saying those exact words, Brick smiled in spite of his current circumstances. A single glance told Brick his father was ready to make one final effort to reach the deck.
No matter their plans, Brick got there first. Before pulling himself over the rail, he looked about and saw no one. With a final grunting effort, he hoisted himself aboard. A moment later, he grabbed his father's wrist and helped him over the rail. The older man's chest heaved from the exertion, and he placed a finger over his lips. Brick nodded. He held both hands out to his father, palms first, indicating they should rest for a few moments before proceeding.
After what felt like an eternity, Joren regained his breath and nodded to his son, a look of such pride in his eyes, Brick grew misty eyed. His father was a man of strength—both physical and of character—but he'd never been one to issue easy praise. To know he'd gained his father's respect was overwhelming, but this was no time for sentimentality. Riette and Tuck needed him. He'd just met the boy, but already Tuck had a special place in the smith's heart. Anyone who cared for Riette and Emmet was all right in his judgment.
After a nod from his father, Brick looked around, surprised to see no one on the ship. The deck itself was far narrower than a seafaring ship, surrounding a deckhouse that protruded from the bottom of the giant canvas-covered latticework filled with lighter-than-air gasses. Brick understood something of the construction, having salvaged parts from downed airships to create the weapons used to defend Sparrowport. They weren't far from the galley, and that was where he headed first. The airships had moved out over the water and continued heading east. Brick could only assume they would make for the Firstland and deliver the prisoners to Argus Kind. He was determined not to let that happen.
Before reaching the galley, they passed the weapons hold. Holding up a finger, Brick motioned for his father to keep watch. The door opened with a creak. Brick was immediately met with force. Only a fool left powerful weapons unguarded, and the Zjhon were not fools. Two men in light armor waited within. The first swung a heavy cudgel at Brick's head, while the other made for a handle in the wall that Brick presumed would sound the alarm. Ducking beneath the cudgel, Brick lunged at the second man. After passing the first, Brick turned and shoved him hard in the back, sending him toward the deck where Joren waited. Only the man's scream becoming softer and distant told Brick he would cause them no more trouble. The second man closed his hand around the lever. Brick punched him in the face with all his might. Moments later, the second man went over the rail without a sound.
It didn't take Brick long to find what he was looking for. Stored in crates filled with wood shavings, clay spheres rested, evenly spaced. Gently Brick grabbed two, knowing how potent these weapons could be. Plenty had been dropped on Sparrowport. Though lacking the potency of the massive bombs used to demolish the bunkers, these would be more than sufficient for his purposes.
Luck was with him. Laughter and song emanated from the galley. These soldiers had been spared battle and were headed home. Their celebration would meet an abrupt end. Without any hesitation, Brick yanked the portal open and threw the clay spheres in, slamming the rounded, metal door shut. The weapons detonated with concussive force, most of which was contained within the galley. It took all his strength to yank the twisted portal open again, and smoke clogged the air when he did. At least a dozen soldiers were scattered around the galley in various states of disarray.
Joren charged in first, no longer willing to watch his son fight alone. In a short time, they tossed the stunned, semiconscious soldiers overboard. Surprise was no longer on their side, and the two men made their way to the wheelhouse in wary silence. Brick counted down on his fingers before yanking open the portal. The instant he stepped across the threshold, the pilot opened fire. Pain erupted in Brick's chest, but he ignored it. Still able to breathe and move, he thanked the gods the man was armed with only an air pistol, which lacked the punch of larger weapons. Before his father could say a word, Brick grabbed the pilot and threw him out of the wheelhouse like a hay bale. Joren tried to catch the man but failed. Instead, the pilot went overboard with the rest of the crew.
Sitting down hard, Brick pulled his shirt open and looked at the blood running down his chest. The stinging grew worse as he examined the wounds—two small, red holes in his pectoral muscles. Wincing, he squeezed on either side of the first hole, and a metal pellet emerged. After doing the same with the other, he allowed his father to clean and dress the wounds.
"I think I'll live," Brick said.
"You were well named, m'boy. You're thicker than a brick."
After grinning at his father, Brick winced when he stood. That was going to sting for a while.
"As proud as I am of yo
u, my son, sometimes you just don't think."
Looking at the array of controls before him, Brick didn't have to ask what the older man meant. Throwing the pilot overboard might have been a mistake. He had no idea how to fly this ship, and any mistakes could prove fatal. "I wonder what this lever does," he said.
Joren shook his head.
Dragon Airways Page 51