Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One)

by Jonathon Burgess

  "Make sure you do," Mordecai replied quietly, dangerously. "Or I'll tie you to the keel and drag you screaming across the sky. This scow needs to work, Mechanist. It needs to fly if we're ever going to catch our quarry."

  He turned back to the deck, striding down it and snarling at anyone in his way. The Brother followed, but stayed quiet, suitably intimidated.

  Mordecai thought black thoughts. Despite his best efforts, Lucian had slipped away again, helped along by his network of allies and a damnable knowledge of the Copper Isles. Though he'd scoured Haventown, the rogue had evaded him, and he'd been forced to return to Natasha empty-handed.

  She hadn't been any more successful. All her nominal allies were missing from port, anyone who would have helped take up the chase. Conspicuously, every other captain in town was suddenly unavailable, hiding on their ships or otherwise busy. There had been only one recourse left, and it galled the both of them.

  But getting the Copper Queen into the air again wasn't easy. Even with Euron's permission, only the hurried, shameful begging of the Brotherhood for a Mechanist had even made it possible, and they'd been forced to make do with the only Brother available, the green pup following him even now. With barely any supplies and a hurried rousting of the crew, Mordecai had gotten the Queen cut free from the dock and up into the sky.

  They had proceeded to drift north with the wind, powerless, for most of the next day.

  Eventually the Mechanist restored the old coal furnace and gave them a modicum of control. Now they were under their own direction once more, pointed southeast towards Fengel's destination along the Yulan and doing their best to make up the time lost. But the old scow wasn't even close to being a decent flying craft. It fought them constantly, forcing them to wrangle it every step of the way.

  The forecastle rose up before Mordecai. He climbed the stair up to its deck. It was empty but for the lone figure of the captain, leaning on the bow where the old-style prow stretched forward. He turned to glare at the Mechanist, warning him to come no closer. The youth jerked to a stop and looked away. Mordecai approached to within a few feet of Natasha, folding his hands behind him.

  The captain said nothing. Mordecai waited, knowing better. He was furious—she would be incandescent.

  "Report," Natasha finally commanded.

  "We're back on course," said Mordecai. "South by southeast heading. We might have over-compensated on our charting. But even under just mechanical power they've got a full two nights gain on us."

  Natasha whirled. "Well, if you wouldn't insist on trying to make this broken old wreck dance, we'd have more gained!"

  Mordecai flushed. "Or we would still be drifting northwards," he replied calmly. "If the Queen collapses under our feet and drowns us all in the Atalian Sea or breaks us on the rocks of the Isles, it won't matter how much of a lead Fengel has."

  She snarled, teeth bared. Natasha stopped, and then turned back to the bow in a huff. "Bastard!" she cried, pounding a fist on the gunwales. "He stole my ship. My ship! And now he's getting away with her! If I ever get my hands on that poncy, fastidious son-of-a-bitch I'm going to jam that ridiculous monocle so far up his arse that he chokes on it!"

  She wheeled back to Mordecai, pointing a finger at his nose. "My father. I had to ask my father if I could take this horrible rust-bucket scow back into the air! And he said yes! He smiled! Like he was proud of me!" Natasha made a horrible face, like she'd swallowed something rancid. "Get us after them, Mordecai. Fling this piece of shit their way. Damn your safeties to the Realms Below. I don't care how many men you kill to do it, or if you cut your own throat in the process. Get it done."

  His captain turned back to the bow. Heat flooded into his face. Mordecai turned back to the deck, lest she see the curl of his own lip.

  Unreasonable bitch. He descended back to the deck, marching back toward the helm atop the stern deck. The crew avoided him, taking the ugly look on his face for the warning that it was.

  Ascending the aftcastle deck he found Konrad in place at the helm, Guye Farrel standing sullenly nearby. "What are you doing here?" Mordecai snapped at the wounded newcomer.

  Guye started. "I was just—"

  "Get up on the frame," Mordecai snarled. "Port-side. Check the cloth for tears. Then get over to the bow and make sure the figurehead is polished."

  Guye frowned, but ducked his head. "Sir," he said, descending to the deck and making his way to the starboard rigging along the gunwales. Mordecai stood beside the ship's wheel, fighting for calm. Konrad eyed him, but wisely, for once, said nothing.

  The crew were well trained. They kept to their tasks, frantically working to get the rickety vessel shipshape. Other than their shouts and groaning of the makeshift airship, the morning was quiet, the weather calm and pleasant. Though Mordecai worried about sinking, the Copper Isles were visible to their stern, not too far away should he be required to swim it.

  If I could survive the fall. The airship worried him. Damn her obsessions. If this rattletrap contraption sinks into the sea, it'll take us—

  Something caught his eye, to the south along the horizon. Mordecai approached the rail, pulling a spyglass from his jacket. Extending it, he peered through at the black speck floating through the sky. It was too large and far away to be a bird, and flew too fast as well.

  An airship resolved through the lenses of his spyglass. The Dawnhawk. Her skysails were free and glimmering in the morning sun.

  "Ship ahoy!" he cried. "Twelve points to starboard!"

  The crew, trained pirates and sailors all, sprang to the starboard-side to see. The Queen listed dangerously beneath them.

  Natasha ran from the forecastle, leaping down the stairs to the main deck and pushing into the crowd. "Out of my way," she cried. "Damn you. Get out of my way or I'll hang you from the prow by your balls!" She fought her way to the rails and peered out at the speck on the horizon. She cursed, then looked up to Mordecai. "The glass!"

  He tossed it to her. She caught it easily, and jammed it desperately to her eye. A wordless cry left her lips. "It's her! It's my ship!"

  "She's not so far out as I would have thought," mused Mordecai. "They must have swung back to pick up Lucian Thorne."

  "This is it then." Natasha turned to the crew assembled about her. "Men, to arms! Navigator, hard to starboard!"

  Mordecai took in the list of the ship, the squeaking of the rudder assemblies behind him, the precarious dangling of Guye Farrel along the gas-bag frame above. "Wait—"

  "Hard to starboard, aye," intoned Konrad. The aetherite navigator took a breath and then slammed himself bodily into the wheel. It halted under his weight, groaned, and then abruptly spun as the linkages above were forced into compliance. They swung free, moving over as far as they could go.

  The Copper Queen whirled out of control again. She spun madly, spiraling clockwise through the air. Pirates yelled in surprise and clutched to railings, the deck plates, the rigging, and each other to avoid pitching over the side. Konrad lost his balance and flew back to slam into the stern railing, its wooden poles cracking audibly.

  Mordecai grabbed reflexively at the rail behind him, keeping his balance and footing. He grit his teeth and pushed off from the rail, launching himself at the wheel. The gyre of the makeshift airship pulled at him, but his fingers brushed the wooden spokes of the wheel and he clung to it, pulling himself enough to reach with his second hand, bit by bit until he stood before the helm. He heaved with both arms, teeth clenched. The wheel moved beneath his grasp, but before he could return it true it caught, the rusty linkage overhead groaning again in complaint. The ship slowed in its mad dance, a little.

  Mordecai jerked at the wheel. Suddenly Konrad was there, throwing his weight into it as well. Something above them snapped, bits of rusty metal pattering down to the deck about them. They slowed further, still spinning, but not with enough force to dislodge them and send the crew flying over the side. Mordecai turned back to the deck, panting. He spied the Mechanist, gripping the rail
by the stair up to the stern deck for dear life. The youth's face was green and terrified. Meeting Mordecai's gaze, he blanched.

  "Sorry!" cried the Mechanist. "I—I can fix that!"

  Mordecai growled and stalked over to the stair. The Mechanist quivered and covered his head. Mordecai ignored him, glaring about for Natasha. His captain stood still, gripping the rail where she'd been, white knuckled.

  "You daft bint!" he cried. He knew it was improper, knew he shouldn't confront her so in front of the crew. Mordecai would pay for it later. But he didn't care. "There's no way this rustbucket and pile of dry rot can catch the Dawnhawk in a direct chase. She's got her skysails out! She's running on the southeasterly, Engmann's Run. We'd have to burn everything we've got to even have a chance at catching up. They're not burning a thing!"

  Natasha glared up at him, eyes wide and half-crazed. She let loose a wordless cry of anguish, half outrage and half despair, before stalking away again to the bow, watching the spinning horizon hungrily.

  Mordecai sighed. He kicked the Mechanist at his feet in the ribs. "Get this scow to stop spinning. I lose my lunch, you lose your head." The Brother of the Cog blanched again, then scrambled to his feet and ran to the deck below for his tools.

  Mordecai watched him go, and watched the crew pick themselves up again. The ship still listed dangerously. He called out orders, putting things to rights again as best could be.

  The ship gave another lurch as a tailwind caught at it, causing the crew to cry out and grab the rails for safety. With a wild cry, Guye Farrel went flying from the rigging along the frame above. The newcomer flew forward, slamming into the forecastle deck and rolling past a surprised Natasha to fold up just beneath the prow and the figurehead there.

  Mordecai paused, feeling an idea take root in his mind. He examined the space where Farrel had fallen from up above, then the bow, then the deck he would have had to cross normally. He turned to the Mechanist, now swaying on a ladder held by Konrad while he worked on the linkage mechanisms suspended from the gasbag frame above them. "Can you get that mess working in short order?"

  The youth started and almost fell. He looked down to Mordecai, face uncertain. "Y-Yes. I think. I mean, I should be able to. Only a simple line break. The chain was going to go anyway, so rusted through. I can replace it in fifteen minutes perhaps."

  "You've got ten," replied Mordecai, turning to stalk down to the deck. He made his way forward, shouting orders at the crew as he went. Perhaps we can pull this off.

  Natasha stood waiting for him as he climbed up the forecastle. She'd recovered her composure, but now her temper was up. "You tread thin ice, Mordecai," she hissed. "How dare you counteract me on my own ship?"

  "It's my prerogative to do so when you're not thinking straight," he said mildly. "Such as now. This isn't your ship." He pointed to the distant glimmer of the Dawnhawk. "That one is."

  "You think I need reminding?" she asked, voice low, furious.

  "Yes. But more, I think you need to apply yourself again to your post. She's on the Run, skysails out."

  "So? We burn all the coal we brought and we can make up the pace."

  Mordecai shook his head. "For a little time. But they'd see us, and spin back up to speed. With their furnace to full and the aetherline flowing we'd lose them again, and be stranded to boot. No. We can't beat the Dawnhawk directly, she's sleeker than this scow, and has more coal in her holds." He looked up. "But I've got an idea as to how we can catch her."

  Natasha's features smoothed, one delicate eyebrow rising. "Oh? Tell me."

  "We pounce on them at Engmann's Maelstrom."

  His captain blinked. The newcomer Guye Farrel groaned below them. Mordecai outlined his plan. Natasha smiled, and he knew she was convinced.

  They were going to get their ship back.

  Chapter Seven

  "Aether's invisible." said Andrea. The piratess had dark hair and dark eyes. She took a swig from a hip flask and passed it to Lina. "Here. This is Corsair's Cure-all. Have a shot."

  "All right" replied Lina. She sniffed the open end and jerked her head back. The contents had a chemical stench that ate at her sinuses, bringing fresh tears into her eyes.

  "Ah, Cure-all," said Ryan Gae through his scruffy black beard. "Found two casks of the stuff down below. Go on, take a swallow. It'll put hair on your chest."

  Afternoon sunlight lit the ocean beyond the ship, though the deck itself lay in shadow cast by the gas-bag, as usual. The three of them sat amidships, off-watch, against the port-side exhaust-pipes. Here the tubes were free of skysail linkages and pleasantly warm from the steam within. Through them Lina felt the rumble of the furnace in the Mechanist's room belowdecks.

  "That's the second-to-last place that I want hair," Lina said, staring at the flask. She knew she'd have to drink it; her new crewmates were only trying to be friendly. Still though, she worked at getting up the nerve. She'd had many awful drinks before, in similar circumstances. But this stuff promised to be the worst, even more so than the bathtub gin she'd brewed in the slums back home.

  "What's the last place?" asked Ryan, curious.

  "My back," Lina replied with a smile. She wrapped her lips around the flask and tipped it up. Fire shot down her throat, burned out her sinuses and charred her innards. She gave a strangled cry and fell to the deck, arms and legs curling like a dead spider.

  Things felt different aboard the Dawnhawk today. Exhausted after throwing Oscar overboard the night before, she had left him to his friends and gone down below to pass out in her hammock. Now there was a subtle change in the crew, they were less wary and more welcoming. Those she passed nodded or gave her a smile.

  After rising around noon she'd made her way to the mess, where Andrea and Ryan Gae had made her acquaintance. They were friendly enough, and she liked them. Andrea loved to talk, and Ryan laughed loudly. Now the three of them idled about abovedeck. Apparently there had been some alarm earlier, a sighting of another skyship. It wasn't chasing after them, though, and the Dawnhawk had left it quickly behind.

  "Good stuff, eh?" Ryan took the flask of Cure-all from her and downed a swig, then pushed it back into her hands.

  Oh Goddess. The world swam above Lina. She clutched at the flask, trying for focus. Climbing back up from the deck seemed an impossible task.

  "Anyway," continued Andrea as if nothing was wrong, "aether's invisible. Only an aetherite can see it. That's why they call 'em that."

  Lina dimly realized that she was still expected to partake in the conversation. She opened her mouth to say something, but only succeeded in gasping.

  "That's the real secret of flight," said Ryan. "The light-air gas we fly on, I mean, sure, that's important. And coal to push the propellers. But all the kingdoms and city-states back west have got that figured out. The Mechanists have kept anyone from finding out exactly what it is, but everyone knows it's a gas."

  "By riding the aetherlines for long stretches," said Andrea, "That's how we get anywhere." The piratess slid down next to Lina. "It's about efficiency. Coal furnace and propellers blow us along, but we have to fight the wind sometimes. Or burn hard to get out of a storm. Or any other damn thing, just like an ocean-going sail ship or steamship. So long as you've got skysails like ours, it doesn't cost a thing. Captain can order the furnace cold and we just ride along, not losing fuel. Then, when we need to, we can burn coal to leave the lines and chase down prey, though you have to heat the furnace again. It's always better to ride the aetherlines, if you can. Those poor bastards on the older models of airship have to make due, and pillage coal from their victims to boot."

  Lina thought about this. "Like that old one I saw in port? The Copper Queen?"

  Andrea snorted. "Queen hasn't flown in years. Probably can't." She rubbed her forehead and pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "Though if she did, yeah, she'd be burning just coal, relying on propellers. No skysails in Euron's time." She belched. "Heck, could probably put on a bit of speed, that one, assuming it didn't fall apart
and the captain also didn't mind losing all their fuel." She shook her head. "But I'm getting sidetracked. Imagine it. Invisible roadways of aether stretching from one end of the ocean to the other, slightly curving. They probably cross the whole of the world. I'd give damned near anything to be able to see them." Andrea gave a sigh and fell silent.

  "But you can't?" said Lina.

  "Nope," said Ryan. "Gotta be a magician, an aetherite, for that. And most of them can't do it alone, even then. So they bind daemons to help them. Goddess knows how the Mechanists came up with the sails. I wouldn't be surprised if they've aetherites amongst their number. But by and large they're Rationalists. It's probably something to do with Insubstantial Torque and Havelmann's Applied Rationality."

  Lina blinked. "I don't know what any of that is."

  "High concept mathematics," replied Ryan. "We may be just pirates, but we've got more practical knowledge concerning aether and flight dynamics than any college-bound hack."

  "Yarr," agreed Andrea.

  Lina slowly recovered from the horrible drink. It didn't smell so bad after all, and the next sip left her feeling warm and relaxed. They chatted easily, Ryan and Andrea relating knowledge about Lina's new career, Lina freely telling some of the more embarrassing stories from her childhood on the streets.

  "Can you fight?" asked Ryan after a time. He climbed up to his feet.

  Lina giggled a little. "Knife, broken bottle, hairpin."

  Andrea gave an approving nod. "Dirty."

  "You're going to want something with more reach," said Ryan. "Usually most merchants just heave-to and surrender when we drop out of the sky. But there are some that put up a fight. Between that and the bit of rough play back in Haventown, it always comes down to a scrap. Let me show you..."

  The pirate trailed off, staring at something behind Lina's head. Andrea glanced behind them, then scrabbled away from the pipe to her feet with a curse.

  Lina blinked up at them, confused. "What?"

  Andrea hissed at her: "Get away!"