Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One)

by Jonathon Burgess

  A wrecked frigate would be quite a bit more worthwhile than a well-armed merchant convoy or walking into a war. Normally Mordecai didn't enjoy salvage operations, but this was ripe for the picking. He did sums as he walked, calculating the duration of already-purchased supplies against distance to the nearby Yulan continent. Shrill laughter distracted him. Another couple, a pirate and his ugly whore, were pointing at the Skydocks and laughing. "I ain't never seen the like!" the woman chuckled as Mordecai passed.

  "Oh, it happens, lovie. But on the Dawnhawk? Someone's got balls o' brass, that's for sure."

  Mordecai stopped. He turned back to look at the couple, then followed the man's finger, pointing up at his ship. A single figure moved about the deck. At this distance he could not tell who it was, but the person's movements were furtive. The figure attached a hook and a satchel to a rope hanging off the deck and slid it down away from the ship to somewhere else, hidden by the rooftops of Haventown and the gas-bags of the other skyships.

  Someone was looting the Dawnhawk.

  Mordecai ran, drawing his saber as he went. Where was Konrad? Or the crewmen set to watch? Were they dead? The idea was preposterous. The navigator was a powerful aetherite, and Mordecai had personally trained the crewmen in swordplay. Who could lay them low? Certainly not a lone thief.

  He ascended to the pier where the Dawnhawk was moored. It was empty, the cargo missing, stolen or loaded aboard. A chemical stink wafted down from the deck to stain the air. The damned cargo. There was something wrong with it. He ran up the gangplank with a growl, heedless of the caustic stink, then stopped abruptly at the scene before him.

  The thief was alone. He wore a leather greatcoat and thick leather gloves, a belt at his waist dangling a sword and brace of pistols. A leather-and-brass miner's mask covered his features, allowing him to breathe safely. Several heavy glass bottles lay cracked and broken about the deck at his feet, the source of the thick chemical fog. The missing crew lay all about, either dead or unconscious. Half of the barrels and crates were stacked neatly near the open cargo hatch, the rest presumably below. Two were open, and the lone figure was busily stuffing the contents into satchels to drop onto the guide-rope leading off the edge of the airship.

  Mordecai rapped the gunwale with the pommel of his saber. The sound echoed out across the deck, startling the figure. "I don't know who you are," said Mordecai, "but by dawn all of Haventown will know who you were. And they will know that you died screaming."

  The thief peered up at Mordecai from across the deck. He held a short pry bar. Turning, he jammed it into the top of the nearest crate and leaned on it. The crate cracked and the lid sprung up, half-opened. Then he turned back to Mordecai, reaching up to pull away his mask. It came away to reveal a smiling, sandy-haired man with bright blue eyes.

  "When I go," said Lucian Thorne, "I plan to die laughing."

  "Thorne," hissed Mordecai.

  "Hello, Mordie. How are you?"

  "This is beyond belief," said Mordecai. "You, all alone, are trying to steal from the Dawnhawk."

  "You leap to conclusions. Always have."

  "And yet," continued Mordecai. "You almost succeeded. Killed off my watch crew and the ship's aetherite. I'll have to replace them. That's slightly vexing."

  Lucian kicked Konrad, the nearest of Natasha's Reavers at hand. He studied the aetherite with a frown. "Oh, not dead. Just unconscious. Should be waking up any minute now, if my apothecary knows his numbers."

  Mordecai took a step forward, raising his blade. "That can't have been cheap. And I happen to know for a fact that your 'captain' is more impoverished than a poxied whore."

  Lucian grimaced. "Yes. Had to pay out of my own pocket for this. I'm not exactly pleased about that, I'll admit." He brightened. "Still though, it let me pull one over on the ol' bitch, so I can't complain."

  "You act as if you're going to get away." Mordecai smiled wickedly. He took another step, savoring the moment. I was content to let you be, you little shit. Now I'll have your heart. "I truly wonder. You've always been foolish. But stupid? Whatever you could have gotten for my ship's supplies wouldn't be nearly worth the risk. Look at you now. Fengel, he might have had a chance. He's good, I'll admit. But you? You're barely a competent swordsman."

  Mordecai took up a guard position and approached. Lucian darted back to the far gunwale where the guide rope was tied to a cleat. He drew a pistol at his belt and leveled it at Mordecai's chest, cocking it with a thumb.

  "Again, you leap to conclusions." Lucian smiled even wider, as if he were trying not to laugh. "I am not going to be selling off your hardtack and stale cheese. We appear to have need of that."

  Mordecai smiled wryly. "Really. How did you plan to go after the Albatross without a ship?" Lucian started, surprised for the first time. "Oh yes," continued Mordecai. "I've heard about your little task for Grey."

  "That's not your concern," snapped Lucian. He squared his shoulders. "In any case, I've places to be. Time to be off."

  "You still have to go through me."

  "Mordie, I know full well how deadly you are with a blade. And I've got no intention of fighting you."

  "No?"

  "No."

  Lucian fired. The pistol in his hand roared like thunder. Mordecai was only a dozen paces away. He felt a moment's internal, reflexive panic. Then the earring in his left ear warmed briefly and there was pressure over his chest, right above his heart. The pistol ball whistled past, deflected. Careful not to show, Mordecai breathed out in relief, then smiled up at Lucian.

  The other man stared. "So it's true then. You did come by an aetherite's charm somehow. That's like cheating, really. I'll just have to try again harder next time." With that he bowed, turned, and vaulted over the edge of the ship. The guide rope went taut as he caught it in gloved hands, sliding down out of sight. Mordecai charged forward, caught off guard. He lashed out with his saber, adder-quick, but still missed. Lucian could move damned fast when he wanted to.

  Mordecai caught his balance on the rail and glanced down the guide-line after Lucian. The other pirate slid down the rope, laughing wildly as he fell to another skyship. It lay moored several dozen feet below and three hundred away, at the far end of the Skydocks.

  The Copper Queen.

  Mordecai hacked at the rope furiously, but Lucian landed on the deck of the old air vessel, disappearing from view just before it parted and fell away. He cursed and pounded at the gunwale with his fist. Then his eyes widened. A flurry of activity was taking place on the Queen, pirates moving with purpose along the gunwales, guide-ropes, and the bow.

  "You assume..." Mordecai breathed. Startlement and horror rose up in him. You cheeky little shit. You really weren't going to fence anything. You mean to steal the Queen!

  Konrad stirred at his feet. The navigator groaned and let loose a string of foreign curses. Mordecai turned and kicked the man savagely in the ribs.

  "Up! Get up, Goddess damn you!" Others moved and he went among them, kicking and shouting and chivvying them awake. Slowly, far too slowly, the crew climbed to their feet. They groaned and wasted precious seconds tottering about in confusion.

  "What going on?" asked Konrad. "What happen?"

  Mordecai grabbed the man close. "That bastard Fengel is trying to steal Euron's ship!"

  The navigator's eyes widened. "That's madness!"

  "I know! Now get your arses down there!"

  Lashed on by threats and invective, the crew rushed off the deck and down the Skydock. Mordecai sent one man off to rouse everyone else in the Bleeding Teeth. Hopefully, Natasha was still drunk.

  Brash as always, Lucian's plan was still foolish. The Queen hadn't moved in a decade. Just to get it aloft would take a complete restoration of its light-air gas cells. And the ropes and chains that tethered it were old and hard.

  But.

  The ship was a symbol of Euron's rule. And as much as she hated the sight of the thing and the shadow it cast over her own efforts, Natasha cared about it just
as much as her father did. If Fengel did get away successfully, the Blackheart family would have everyone involved strung up by their toes. And Worked charm or not, Mordecai didn't back his own chances against all of Euron's men, or Natasha pushed past her limits.

  Retribution burned in his mind as Mordecai moved with the crew down the slope of the Skydocks to its base. He took the lead and led the brigands of the Dawnhawk up the gangplank of the Copper Queen. A brawny, shirtless fellow stood at its peak, barring their way. Mordecai cut the man down without a moment's hesitation, pushing past. Bystanders looked on, stunned by the group's charge. He flicked his blade out, slashing and driving them back as the crew followed at his heels.

  Something is wrong, he realized. Fengel's thieves fell back, hands up to ward him away. Mordecai paused to breathe and take in the situation around him. Konrad and the others spread out, quieting as they followed his lead, becoming aware of something...off.

  The enemy crew were a motley lot, more a gang of dockside scum rather than any real group of pirates. They stared at Natasha's Reavers in surprise and fear. Not a one bore a weapon. Instead they all held mops, brooms, and buckets. Sudsy water made the deck slick and reflective where the light of the moon peeked past the gas-bag frame above.

  "Where is he?" shouted Mordecai. He wheeled. "Show yourself, Lucian! Where are you, you tricksy bastard?" A sea of frightened faces stared back at him. Mordecai stalked over and grabbed one of the dock scum by his shirt. "I saw him drop down here. Where's Lucian Thorne?"

  The terrified dockworker sputtered. "I don't know! He just ran past, said we should get started. But we waited until the pistol shot! Just like he said!"

  Mordecai backhanded the man with the basket hilt of his cutlass. Blood and teeth flew through the air. "Keep talking! I—"

  "What, by the Goddess' teats, is going on here?" Natasha stormed onto the deck of the Copper Queen, the rest of their crew behind her. She glared about, hair frazzled, and stalked over to Mordecai, stumbling along the way. "Mordecai, what are you doing on my father's ship?"

  Blast and damnation. His captain drank heavily. Unfortunately, that also meant that she had quite a capacity for drink. She was still walking, and talking, when anyone else would be unconscious. Or dead. "These scags were trying to steal Euron's ship," he growled.

  "No!" howled the bleeding man in Mordecai's grasp. "It was a present!" He fell to his knees before Natasha, sobbing now.

  "Captain!" yelled Konrad.

  Natasha held up a hand to her navigator, not looking at him. She glared at the man Mordecai held. "One at a time, damn you all! I'm still rather tipsy." She pointed at the pirate before her. "You," she said, finger wavering slightly. "What do you mean?"

  "It was supposed to be a present!" he sobbed. "Fengel's man came down to the bar, said he needed some men for a surprise on behalf of Fengel for his wife. Paid us a silver apiece to come up here and clean ol' Euron's ship. We, we just had to wait until we heard the pistol shot. So's he could time it right. That's all I know, I swear! It was just supposed to be a present."

  Natasha stared. Then realization struck her. "Fengel? she cried. "Fengel's behind this? That doesn't make any sense. The man wouldn't give me anything unless it was poisonous and had teeth like knives!"

  "Actually Captain," said Mordecai, "I think he had a plan to steal the Queen, but this doesn't—"

  "Captain!" yelled Konrad again. "First mate! Look!"

  Heat burned in Mordecai's breast. How dare the navigator interrupt him. And in front of Natasha! He dropped the sniveling dockworker at his feet and formed a fist. Looking up toward the navigator, he stared.

  Konrad wasn't even looking him, or Natasha. He had crossed to the rail of the ship and peered out up beyond the gasbag. Other crewmen were pointing at something, as well as some of the 'cleaners' involved in Lucian's plot. Mordecai glanced over at Natasha. She met his gaze and the both of them ran to the railing.

  The Dawnhawk was leaving. People scurried about its deck and gasbag in a flurry of activity. The mooring lines were already cut and the ship floated free on the breeze. It rose above the Skydocks, steam puffing from the exhaust-pipes at the rear of the vessel and taking direction as the propellers began to spin. A single figure stood at the helm near the stern.

  "My ship!" cried Natasha.

  The figure moved to the railing and waved down at them. From where he stood, Mordecai could see the tricorn hat and heavy officer's coat. Moonlight glimmered for a moment, reflected, as if from a pair of spectacles. Or a monocle.

  "My ship!" cried Natasha again. "You whoreson bastard! Give me back my ship!" She erupted into a torrent of emotion, a stunning string of profanity that blanched the faces of the hardened pirates around her and even gave Mordecai pause.

  He yelled orders at the crew to run back up to the Dawnhawk's pier. Even as they ran off he knew it would be too late. He turned back to his captain. "Lucian Thorne is still somewhere on this ship. Or in town. He can't have gotten far."

  Natasha wheeled on him, eyes half-mad, panting from lack of breath. "But that bastard husband of mine has my ship!" she screamed in his face.

  "And we will get it back," he vowed. "Because I know where they are going."

  His captain glared. "Search the deck from bilge to the bags," she yelled to her crew. "Tie these sorry bastards up somewhere I can interrogate them properly. And you," she said, pointing to Mordecai, "tell me everything that you know."

  Mordecai took a calming breath, and did so.

  Chapter Four

  Is this supposed to be my new home?

  Flying on a real airship was nothing like Lina had expected. Her flight from Triskelion on their makeshift conveyance had been a dicey and terrifying experience, as the vessel seemed constantly about to crash into the sea, which it finally had. The Dawnhawk was altogether different. It rocked gently but solidly beneath her feet, its deck swaying left and then right at irregular intervals, prodded along by the whim of the wind. The sensation was strange, similar and yet altogether different from travelling a seagoing ship upon the open ocean. These incongruities surprised her, kept her from any easy acclimation. And there were others. It was quiet. No waves crashed against the hull, and no seabirds screamed. While the wind still whistled over the deck and the wood of the vessel creaked, these were hushed, small sounds.

  "A bit different, eh?" asked Henry Smalls.

  Lina turned. The ship's steward walked up to where she stood in the middle of the deck. His bulldog features were still drawn with fatigue, but she sensed enthusiasm and energy from him.

  "Very," she said with a nod. "Quieter, too."

  Though different, the airship still had much in common with a normal seagoing vessel. Its deck was long and flat, hanging parallel below the gas-bag frame above. There was a bow and a stern, but neither end rose up in a forecastle or stern deck; the whole ship was uniformly flat from end to end. Three hatches led down below: a large one for cargo in the middle, and two smaller openings placed fore and aft for crew use. Low, flat equipment lockers were placed between the hatches, like wardrobes set on their sides. From thick rings bolted along the gunwales, rigging and cable work rose up the way they did on any sail ship. But there the similarities ended.

  The gas-bag frame hung two dozen feet above the deck, a fixed axis tethering the vessel to the sky. The ropes and cables anchored to eyebolts extruded from the fabric along the ribs of the frame while ratlines and other rigging crawled up out of sight above. Along the deck lay two thick pipes, one on each side of the ship, parallel along the gunwales. They were anchored up near the bow and ran back out past the stern, blowing exhaust. Mounted along their tops and to the railing were complex chain link mechanisms connected to strange half-sails attached along the outer hull of the ship. The sails were folded now like a lady's fan, their cloth shimmering strangely in the pre-dawn light. Mixed in with them near the stern were more gearwork and the wide propellers that pushed the vessel along. The ship's wheel sat amidst all this near the stern, re
markably normal, save a large gearbox rising up beside it.

  Darkness dominated beyond the borders of the airship. Lina hadn't been brave enough to approach the railings yet, to catch a glimpse of the Copper Isles, which she knew would be spread out far below. Instead she stood atop the closed cargo hatch. Until now her only company had been a skeleton shift of the more rested and able hands. Their theft successful, Fengel had reinstated Henry as acting first mate, given orders to the few hands hale enough to maintain the ship, then gone with the others below to rest. Presumably Henry knew where they were going. Though exhausted, Lina was too unsettled by the strangeness of the ship and her place upon it to sleep. She settled for staying out of the way, watching. But as dawn approached she moved up and down the deck, trying to understand the world she found herself in.

  "That's the gulls yer missing," said Henry. "Those vermin are everywhere, even followed us in that damned longboat. They'll do the same up here, but it's early still. Once things warm up a bit the pests will be screaming and shitting everywhere. When you get put to work atop the frame you'll have your fill of them; that's where they go to roost when it's quiet. The little freeloaders like to hitch a ride." He sighed. "What are you doing here, lass?"

  She frowned at him. "Wasn't sure where I should sleep. Or if I should be or not."

  "Not that. Why did you tag along back in Triskelion? This is a hard life, lass. Not like in the penny plays."

  Lina sighed. "Ever slept with a man for money, Mister Smalls?"

  Henry blinked. "Can't say that I have."

  "Well, I have. And there's only three ways you end up. Dead, diseased, or acting the madame yourself. I figured that I'd rather try my hand at piracy."

  "We don't end much differently."

  "Maybe not," agreed Lina, "but at least I get the chance to fly." Beneath them the deck swayed as a strong crosswind pushed at them. "Though I'm not sure what I think about that, now that I'm here."

  Both fell silent, looking out at the gloom beyond the ship. To the east rose a faint glow, herald of the coming sun.