Dragon Airways

by Brian Rathbone

  * * *

  "We're lost," Joren said.

  "I know," Brick replied, giving his father a withering look. They had been over this before.

  "I told you this was a bad idea."

  "I know," Brick said—again.

  "You really shouldn't have thrown that chap overboard."

  "Yes. I know." Brick ground his teeth, trying not to snap at his father. The man was right, but that was not exactly helpful at the moment. What good were the lessons if neither of them lived to act on the knowledge? What he needed at the moment was silence or, at the least, help figuring out how to safely land the airship. They had tried to follow the other two ships and pretend nothing had happened, but not understanding the controls sent them far off course. Now they soared over ubiquitous waves with no land in sight. Even if they did find land, neither had any idea how to safely get off the massive aircraft. From what Brick had seen at Sparrowport, docking an airship involved dozens of people on the ground, not to mention skilled hands at the tiller. They had neither of those things.

  "We've about a day's worth of coal left," Joren continued. "When we run out, this thing is going to come down whether we like it or not."

  Brick refrained from responding, afraid he'd do nothing but shout at the man he loved. His father had never been an easy man to live with, but he cared for Brick like no other. He wanted to teach his son everything, and his methods had always seemed harsh. The older Brick grew, though, the more the things his father taught him had become his greatest assets. Even so, now was hardly the time to pound lessons into his thick skull. Right now he needed a plan. The charts and sextant within the wheelhouse might have been knitting needles for all the good they did him. From what Brick could tell, they were sailing in the right direction. Given the distances involved, even the slightest deviation in course would put them off by hundreds of nautical miles. They might never see land again. If the airship went down in the water, they could do little but cling to the wreckage and hope someone found them. It was a thin hope.

  Trying not to think of that eventuality, Brick held on to the belief they would find the Firstland. He'd seen people jump from planes and airships alike with parachutes, and they had plenty aboard. He'd also seen people soar through the air like flying squirrels wearing strange leather suits with flaps extending between the arms and legs. Few things were more terrifying than falling. Even the idea of a parachute was ludicrous. He and his father both were solidly built men and had trouble jumping even a small distance in the air. Gravity had far too tight a grip on them for a thin layer of canvas to keep them aloft. Surely they would plunge to their deaths. Shaking his head, he tried to chase the images away, but they persisted, taunting him.

  "I'm going to shovel coal," Joren said. "Not making much progress here anyway."

  Brick couldn't argue his father's sentiment. Keeping the ship in the air would require continued effort from them both, and shoveling coal was a big part of it. It was exhausting but necessary; without the fires they would lose both propulsion and the hot air that kept them aloft. As they depleted the stores of coal, they had to carry it a greater distance, which made the task increasingly difficult. These ships normally carried a much larger crew. Brick tried not to remind himself he'd thrown most of that crew overboard. His father regularly made sure he didn't forget it nonetheless.

  Leaving the wheelhouse unattended felt strange and dangerous, but there really wasn't anything for them to run into so far out to sea, and their course had been set long before. All he was really doing was babysitting gauges he really didn't understand and second-guessing himself. With that in mind, Brick left the wheelhouse behind and headed for the galley. The one advantage of having thrown the crew overboard was they had plenty of food. Thankfully the explosion that knocked out the crew happened in an eating area and didn't much affect the food stores. The only thing Joren had spent more effort teaching Brick than blacksmithing was cooking, and he put those skills to use. Soon Joren returned from the boilers, allowing them at least a little bit of pleasant time together. His father had a much more difficult time complaining with his mouth full, and Brick did his best to keep them both well fed. They needed their strength to keep the fires burning and would at least die with full bellies if it came to that.

  It hadn't taken long to find the stashes of whiskey and wine used to keep the crew happy during such long flights, but the two men drank sparingly. They needed their wits about them. Still, a little wine with their meals didn't hurt.

  When Joren did arrive at the galley, he was covered in soot. Even after he washed, only his hands and face were truly clean, which made him look strange. "What have you cooked for us today?"

  "Salt-cured ham and spicy red potatoes," Brick said. "Will you cut us off a wedge of cheese?"

  Joren nodded. Brick had learned long ago the best way to keep his father from lecturing him was to keep him busy. He enjoyed the respite while it lasted. Together they ate in amicable silence. Though Brick had already sworn never to board another airship again, he did have to admit it wasn't the worst way to travel. Such luxury he'd rarely seen, and perhaps if someone who knew their business had been at the helm, he might have actually enjoyed himself. This, of course, reminded him that his father was right about throwing the man at the helm from the ship. He'd always been too impetuous for his father's taste. He hoped it wasn't the end of them both.

  "I've been thinking," Joren said when he finished his meal. "Perhaps the best thing to do is to build ourselves a small boat and toss it overboard before we end up in the water. If we go down with the ship, we might not be able to get away from her when she sinks. She'll likely take us down with her."

  Brick didn't like the idea much, but he couldn't argue with his father's logic. There was no guarantee the airship would float.

  "I pulled the largest of the parachutes from the storehouse," he said, and Brick looked at them dubiously. "And then there were these . . ."

  Laughter burst forth from Brick. His father held two of the leather jumpsuits they had seen people use when leaping from aircraft. The suits did not so much allow people to fly as enable them to fall in a directed fashion. "You don't think we're going to fit into those, do you?"

  His father laughed as well and shook his head. "I know, my boy, I know, but we should at least try." He tossed one of the suits to Brick. Knowing better than to ignore his father, he stripped down to his undershorts and pulled the suit on or at least made the attempt. The legs rode up to the tops of his shins and the arms to his elbows. There was little chance he'd ever get any of the many straps buckled, and he felt like a fool.

  His father's eyes twinkled with mirth. "You look like an overripe melon wrapped in twine."

  "You don't look much better," Brick said. "This is a terrible idea."

  "I know. I know."

  Brick thumped his head against the polished wood walls. Then he looked at his father with new hope.

  "Did you bang an idea into your brain?"

  Brick nodded. "Can't we mix wood in with the coal?"

  Joren looked around at wooden benches, tables, and countertops. "I'm going to need a hammer."