The Star Thief

by Lindsey Becker

  “I wasn’t at school,” he replied. “I ran away with a band of pirates.”

  The laughter came to an abrupt end.

  “Wait, pirates?” Honorine asked as cannons blasted again overhead. “Do you mean those pirates?”

  “The very same!” Francis said proudly. “I came with Nautilus Olyphant, on a steam-powered airship, which is only about this much”—he held up his finger and thumb about an inch apart—“of the unbelievable things I’ve seen since I left. You have to come see it, Honorine. No one will ever appreciate this as much as you.” He hopped up onto the lowest oak branch and reached out to help Honorine after him.

  She had been warned that night that both the Mapmaker and Nautilus Olyphant were terribly dangerous individuals. She didn’t yet know which side to believe. There was certainly nothing dangerous at all about Francis, though. So she took his hand and pulled herself up after him.

  The branch was as wide as a forest trail and covered in a long mat of soft moss that made for decent footing.

  “Did you hear what I said about Lux?” Honorine asked as she picked her way up the curve of the branch behind Francis.

  “Who?” Francis asked as he reached the trunk of the tree and climbed across to a second, narrower branch leading toward an open patch of sky.

  “The wolf,” Honorine said. “You don’t need to shoot at him. He won’t hurt you.”

  She was answered by a deep, rumbling roar from somewhere in the darkness below.

  “Oh right, but there is a lion,” she added. “And I’m not entirely sure about him.”

  “Leo Major,” Francis said. “Who else is out here tonight?”

  “You mean what other Mordant?” Honorine asked as she pulled herself onto the higher branch.

  Francis looked back, impressed. “How did you know they’re called that?”

  “Because your father wrote about them in his book.” Honorine drew the little journal from her pocket. “The Vidalia Field Almanac of the Celestial Constellations Both Known and Extinct.”

  Francis snapped to attention. “Where did you get that?” he asked as the branches rattled all around them. Honorine and Francis grabbed each other’s hands for balance.

  “I found it in the east parlor earlier tonight.” She handed the book to Francis, who turned it over in his hands, admiring it as if it were a lump of precious gold before opening the pages.

  “See?” Honorine said. “That’s what he called them. ‘Mordant.’ Do you know what they are, exactly?”

  “The Mordant?” Francis replied. “Eh… energy, like… electricity… a kind of spirit, I suppose.”

  “Spirit makes me think of ghosts,” Honorine said, “or fairies. The Mordant seem to be something else.”

  “Muses!” Francis said, tapping the pages of the book. “That’s what I meant. You’ve heard of them. In ancient myths, they inspired artists and scholars. They can show you anything, Honorine, about how the world works. People used to know them because they lived all around us, a long time ago. Now most people only know the names of their constellations.”

  Honorine stared up at the stars shimmering above, tiny diamond chips on a field of black velvet. Even though she had met them—a few of them at least—shaken their hands, touched their fur, spoken with them, it was still not quite believable to her. Could a constellation be a living thing? If it could, she was completely awed by the idea that on this very night, she had spoken with some of them in her own home.

  “Ahoy, laddie!” a gravelly voice shouted. Honorine snapped out of her stargazing to see Nautilus’s airship rise up over the trees, the great blue balloon hanging low in the sky, dappled with yellow light from the flames keeping the beast aloft. A stout woman in a blue coat, her long hair held back by a red handkerchief, leaned over the railing with a bundled rope ladder in her arms. “We’re swinging around! Get ready to climb!”

  Francis gave them a signal and then handed the little book back to Honorine, beaming with excitement.

  “Are you ready to climb?” he asked as the ladder tumbled down off the railing of the airship and unfurled like a clumsy flag. He holstered his pistol and reached for the dragging lowest rungs.

  “No, she is not,” said the low, growling voice of Lux.

  Honorine turned to see him standing on the branch behind them near the trunk of the oak, shaded from the view of the airship.

  “Stay back, wolf,” Francis said, reaching nervously for his pistol.

  Lux ignored him, looking instead at Honorine.

  “Come back down. Do not get on that ship with him.”

  She looked at the glittering white wolf. His eyes were wide and cold and yellow. He had absolutely no fear in him, not even after being shot by Francis only a few minutes ago.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Honorine,” said Lux. “You know that.” And she believed him.

  “And you won’t hurt Francis, either?” she asked.

  Lux’s nose twitched. He tilted his head.

  “You have my word. I will not hurt—”

  Right in the middle of his sentence, Lux burst into a cloud of white sparks. Again.

  “Why’d you do that?” Honorine shouted at Francis. “I told you not to shoot him again!”

  “I didn’t!” Francis said.

  “He was right in the middle of promising not to hurt you!”

  “I didn’t shoot him! Well, not this time!” Francis insisted, holding out his hands and letting go of the ladder. “I don’t even have my weapon!”

  “We got ’im!” came a gleeful, raspy shout, and Honorine and Francis looked down to see Salton and Bloom come tumbling out of the dark, right up to the base of the tree.

  “What are you waiting for?” Bloom called. “Get up that ladder, boy!”

  “Where is the lion?” Salton shouted. “We drove him this way. Have you seen him?”

  With a roar so deep it shook the old oak from the roots up, the lion finally appeared from the dark forest, bounding toward Salton and Bloom as they scampered up into the refuge of the tree. Honorine stared in amazement.

  It was three times the size of the Barbary lion in the parlor, which was already a formidable beast. His golden coat crackled with light nearly as blinding as the sun. Blazing orange embers burst out from the ground with each step he took, and tiny spots of fire dripped from the wild tangles of his mane.

  “Leo Major,” Francis said, his eyes wide in awe as his hand closed on the handle of his copper pistol.

  “Francis!” Honorine shouted, feeling somehow offended that he would even consider shooting the gigantic, fiery lion, even though it also seemed like the reasonable thing to do in this very peculiar situation.

  “Yeah, stow it for now, lad,” Bloom agreed as he stumbled and wobbled up the tree. “That doesn’t even knock the wind out of this one.”

  “We need something heavier,” Salton said, indicating the cannons on the airship above. “But it’s too close to fire now. They’ll just hit this tree and knock us all right down into the beast’s gullet.”

  “Just climb!” Honorine shouted as the rope ladder dangled within reach of Francis. “He’s going to jump!” Even if she had never seen a gigantic lion made of fire before, she had seen ordinary cats, and she knew what it meant when Leo crouched down, the brush end of his long tail whipping through the air, his orange hellfire eyes locked on the branch above.

  “You first,” Francis said as he grabbed the lowest rungs and held the ladder as steadily as he could manage for Honorine.

  Cannon smoke surrounded them, blinding Honorine, who coughed and gasped as her hands closed around the ladder rungs.

  “Wait a bloody minute, you trigger-happy rat bag!” Bloom cursed, his hands flailing as he regained his balance on the branch.

  “I’m trying to give you a bit of cover, you coopered old bludger!” shouted the lady at the top of the ladder.

  “You’ll blow the lot of us to hell!” Bloom replied.

  “Climb a bit faster, would you, love?�
� Salton asked as Honorine pulled herself to the next rung, creeping up through the thick, sulfurous fog. The underside of the huge airship hung overhead, dripping more tendrils of the thick yellow-green smoke. Lights flashed and popped around them like fireworks, and the ladder lurched as the cannons were fired once more. Bloom shouted another garbled curse from below.

  Then the airship began to rise, lifting Honorine suddenly out of the smoke, over the cloud of fog and the crowns of the oak trees. She looked down briefly, to confirm that Francis had not been left behind. He was on the ladder right behind her, and behind him, a few rungs farther, were Bloom and Salton, somehow climbing with pistols in their hands. Below them was such a dizzying sight as the trees fell away that Honorine thought she would be ill.

  “Don’t look down!” Francis warned. “Just keep climbing!”

  The crew began hauling the ladder in from above. Just as she reached the railing, a callused hand grabbed Honorine by the straps of her overalls and dragged her aboard, where she landed in a pile on the rough wooden deck.

  “Whoops,” said a gruff voice, and she was pulled back up to her feet by the blue-coated woman with the ladder. “Hang on. The ride gets bumpy.”

  She moved Honorine toward an inner railing made of heavy rope strung between stout pine timbers that divided a small walkway along the outer railing of the ship from a slightly lower level in the center. Honorine grabbed the rope banister to steady herself as the ship bobbed and swayed on the wind. When she had caught her breath and managed to look around her, she instantly knew why Francis had run away from school.

  The ship was a marvel of mechanics and sailing technology. Honorine looked up at the blue silk balloon, down silk lines strung with pennants infused with tiny yellow crystals, to the railing of the deck. Nearly every inch of the perimeter of the ship seemed to be packed with some kind of scientific instrument or mechanical contraption crafted from polished wood and brass and copper with touches of green patina. She was so busy taking in the sight of the ship that she didn’t hear Francis, Salton, or Bloom rolling over the railing and flopping onto the deck behind her, where they lay for a moment like beached porpoises.

  Francis was the first to recover, scrambling up to the railing beside her, then taking a moment to catch his breath after the long climb through the cold air and choking fog. “This is the Nighthawk,” he finally said. “We use this when we have to travel inland, away from our main ship, or for communication when we’re on a hunt.”

  “Uh-huh,” Honorine muttered, enraptured with the airship. Her washing machine motors and clockwork elephants and battery-powered lanterns seemed a bit less fantastic now.

  “And now who’s this, then?” asked Bloom gruffly, before wiping a residue of green smoke from his nose with a ragged handkerchief.

  “This is Honorine,” said Francis, stepping in. “She’s one of the most brilliant inventors and machinists you will ever meet, gentlemen.”

  Honorine smiled sheepishly at this introduction as she stood on the deck in her muddy bare feet and oily overalls.

  “Is she now?” asked Bloom.

  “Welcome aboard, then,” said Salton in between rattling coughs. “Need all the help we can get.”

  Bloom dusted his hand on the soot-stained lapel of his coat and then thrust it out toward Honorine.

  “Winston Rutherford Cornelius Bloom,” he said. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Since she was on their ship, it was no use being impolite, she reasoned. So Honorine took his offered hand and shook it firmly. Bloom looked surprised and snapped his hand away.

  “Gave me a little shock, this one!” he said, then smiled with amusement as he shook his fingertips a bit.

  Salton took her hand gingerly, as if he were being careful not to crush it in his massive mitt of a hand. “They just call me Salton,” he said with a nod. “You can, too.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” Honorine said with a curtsy.

  “Am I late? Have I missed the introductions?” asked an unfamiliar voice. Honorine turned around to see a gentleman walking purposefully toward them, his boots tapping boldly across the deck.

  He wasn’t a very large man. In fact, he was quite slim and short of stature, but there was an immense presence about him. He wore all black clothing, with silver-and-pearl buttons on his waistcoat. He had a short, neatly clipped beard, and very dark brown hair that fell in waves at his shoulders. He held one hand casually at his side, resting on the handle of a stout copper pistol in a tooled black leather holster. His fingers on both hands were covered in silver rings, much like the ones in his ears, and with one look at him, Honorine knew exactly who he was. Francis introduced them anyway.

  “Captain,” he said to the man dressed in black. “This is my very dear friend, Honorine. Honorine, this is Captain Nautilus Olyphant.”

  Nautilus Olyphant did not look particularly dangerous to Honorine upon first introduction. He seemed dignified and refined, and possibly a bit of a snob. But something about him reminded her of all the delicate yet deadly creatures displayed in the east parlor—the fragile butterflies and beautiful, spiny fish and charming little frogs that looked so harmless and alluring, but were in fact brimming with lethal poison.

  “Welcome aboard… Honorine,” he said. He did not offer his hand the way Salton or Bloom or even the Mapmaker had done.

  “Thank you,” Honorine said without a bow or curtsy.

  “So, you are a friend of Francis’s?” Nautilus asked.

  “I’ve known him my whole life,” she replied. “That I can remember, anyway.”

  “Really,” Nautilus said without making it either a question or a statement. “You must belong to the Vidalia house, then?”

  “I am—or was—a maid for Lady Vidalia,” Honorine replied.

  “Really,” Nautilus said again with a slight tilt of his head. “And before that?”

  Honorine shrugged. “I don’t recall anything before that. I was quite little when I started working with Agnes. She’s the head parlor maid.”

  “Fascinating,” Nautilus said drily. “Well, this is a scientific ship—”

  A cannon fired, and Nautilus paused long enough for the echo of the blast to fade.

  “So, Francis will be able to keep you from getting into trouble,” he continued. “Just stay near him, and you shouldn’t cause any problems.”

  Honorine frowned. This was a bit insulting, but Nautilus was the captain of the ship, and they were flying five hundred feet or higher over the trees. She wasn’t in a position to argue.

  “Well,” she said instead, “this airship certainly is magnificent.”

  “Thank Francis,” Nautilus replied. “He helped build it.”

  Francis ducked his head humbly and nodded. “I did a little,” he said.

  “If by ‘a little’ you mean that you were instrumental in every aspect of design, fabrication, and experimental construction,” Nautilus said. “Now, a report is in order. Who did you encounter on the ground?”

  “Leo,” Francis replied. “Major, I mean. And Lupus. I saw them firsthand.”

  Nautilus raised his eyebrows.

  “At what range?” he asked.

  “Oh… ten feet,” Francis replied.

  “That sounds like a confirmed identification, then,” Nautilus said, looking impressed. “So, the lion and the wolf. What about Virgo?”

  Francis shook his head.

  “We found feathers,” Salton offered.

  Nautilus replied with a single raised eyebrow.

  “I didn’t spot her,” Francis continued. “Though I still believe she’s among the Mordant rebels, Captain.”

  “She?” Honorine asked. “Who are you talking about? What’s a Virgo?”

  “A girl,” Nautilus explained. “About your size, but with black wings.”

  He was talking about Astraea. Virgo must be the name of her constellation, Honorine realized.

  “You saw her, didn’t you?” Nautilus asked. Suddenly, his full at
tention was focused on Honorine.

  A little wriggling instinct deep in her gut told Honorine to be cautious, not to reveal too much information too quickly.

  “Come, now, it’s hard to forget something like that,” Nautilus continued. “You don’t remember a girl with black feathered wings, flying about your mistress’s garden?”

  She had to distract him with something more interesting than Astraea.

  “No, just your men here,” Honorine said, pointing over her shoulder at Salton and Bloom. “They were in the east parlor earlier today, looking for this.”

  She pulled the journal from her pocket and held it out to Nautilus.

  He took it slowly, almost suspiciously, and stood for quite a while looking at page after page.

  “Well,” he said eventually, “I’m glad someone could complete the task. Even if it wasn’t my carefully trained and well-armed crew.”

  He looked pointedly at Salton and Bloom. Then he turned to address the crew scattered over the rest of the ship.

  “Good news, loyal crew!” he shouted, his voice booming out across the deck of the Nighthawk. It was a surprising amount of volume to come out of his modestly sized body. “We have confirmation of both Leo and Lupus on the ground this very evening! To your stations! Time to get hunting!”

  A cheer went up as deckhands went immediately to work on various bits of equipment across the ship. Salton and Bloom disappeared into the bustle of the ship as well.

  “Francis, Honorine,” Nautilus said, “follow me.”

  He marched toward the forward deck, weaving among machinery and supplies and ropes with ease, even as the ship tilted and pitched on the wind. Near the front of the ship, on a little platform covered with an overgrown garden of telescopes and spyglasses and lenses of every color on poles of brass and copper, they met with a woman very much familiar to Honorine.

  “Professor du Ciel,” Nautilus said as the lady turned toward them, one half of her face covered with a rippling blue glass lens that made her eye look enormous and sideways. “Do we have a general heading on the Carina?”

  Professor du Ciel lifted the blue lens.