by E. C. Jarvis
“Cid!” she squealed. “Someone’s trying to get in.”
Cid appeared at her shoulder then scuttled backwards, grabbing a long pole with a hook on one end. He stepped up on the edge and stretched the pole up to the ceiling at an angle past the balloon, attaching the hook to a twisting winch. Larissa watched him without taking a breath, not sure what he was doing but silently praying he would hurry up.
The thumping and scraping at the door subsided into less frequent, heavier blows, causing the table to shift along the floor. Larissa’s lower lip trembled and she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
With one final twist, a length of cable uncoiled and the roof peeled back in sections, folding outwards. Cid wobbled, the pole dropped, and the dirigible slowly rose into the snowy night air.
Cid tumbled back onto the deck and took up position at the controls. He flicked switches and pounded buttons, causing the two rotors at either end to splutter into life. Larissa gripped the rail with one hand to steady her feet as the ship lurched. They rose above the warehouse walls and she saw a line of large men standing outside the door.
Two men took a last run at the door, slamming into it with their shoulders and dislodging the table. Three other men had an array of pistols and shotguns, and a last man wielded a crossbow. As they saw the ship rising into the air, they readied their weapons and took aim.
“Shoot the one with the crossbow first,” Cid called to Larissa. She turned to see him manoeuvring the wheel to turn the ship. “Don’t look at me,” he yelled. “Shoot that fucker!”
She turned back and tried to aim the pistol, squeezing the trigger. A shot rang out, the pistol recoiled, and a vibration shook through her wrist; the shot had no effect. Wherever the bullet had gone it was nowhere near any of the men below.
“Again! Shoot him. If he hits the balloon we’re dead.” Another shot rang out, this time from down below, and she felt air whip past her cheek. She squealed and dropped to the deck, aiming the pistol once again between the balustrades. A thump sounded behind her but she did not turn. Instead, she squeezed the trigger once more. A shot rang out and the man with the crossbow toppled backward, his arrow skittering off to the side.
More gunfire came from the men on the ground; bullets struck the keel, splintering wood in all directions. Larissa buried her face into the floor. The noise deafened her and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for a bullet to hit, waiting for the balloon to collapse, waiting for death.
Eventually the sounds from below ceased, replaced by the gentle, monotonous rotor noises.
Larissa lifted her head and chanced a look through the balustrades. They had risen too high to see much. The light from inside the warehouse made it impossible to focus on the dark streets outside. Frowning, she wriggled backwards and let out a yelp as her hip bumped into something. She turned over and found a pair of legs spread out to either side of her body. She looked up to see a long rifle, aimed over the side of the keel by thick, muscular arms clad in a short-sleeved black shirt.
She knew only one thing; it was not Cid.
Larissa lifted her pistol and aimed into the chest of the man who stood above her. As she squeezed the trigger he moved too quickly for her to react. One arm dropped from his rifle and snatched the pistol out of her hand, the motion continuing as he deftly spun the pistol around his finger and pointed it right back at her. She froze and held her breath, trying to focus on the shadows that danced across the features of the face above her.
“People who aim guns at me don’t usually live to tell the tale,” he stated, his voice deep and rough.
“Friend of yours?” Cid called over, though his focus was on working the wheel and rudder to steer the ship. Larissa did not answer; she was struck dumb. The man had not turned his gaze from her, and now he raised an eyebrow and stepped backwards, giving her space to stand.
“I...” She chanced a glance back to the ground. “Where—who-how?”
Her brain raced to piece together the puzzle, and most of all to place his face. His dark, tousled hair danced atop his head as cold wind whipped across the deck. Larissa tried her best not to notice how darkly handsome he was. He lowered the pistol, hooking it onto his belt, and set to reloading his rifle.
“Perhaps that wine went to your head,” he said, flicking his eyes up at her briefly. “You were much more coherent in the bar.” Then he turned his complete attention back to the rifle.
“You were there? Wait, are you a friend of Serenia?”
“No.”
“You were watching me?”
“Yes.”
“You followed me?”
“Yes.”
The man sighed and slung the rifle over his shoulder and across his back, hooking it into a strap. Larissa let her eyes wander across his body; the black shirt and black trousers pasted him as a dark shadow in the dim lamplight on deck. She could see the outline of his figure and the bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders; the beginnings of a beard covered his chiselled jaw, and a strap filled with an array of knives wrapped around his waist. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed her lingering appraisal, and the flesh on her neck began to burn.
“How did you get on this ship?” she asked, attempting to cover up her ogling.
“He was on the roof,” Cid chimed in, though his attention did not move from the controls.
“Who are you?” Larissa asked.
“My name is Holt.”
“And you’re here because...?”
“I’m looking for Doctor Orother.”
“Oh.” She looked over Holt’s shoulder and exchanged a glance with Cid, whose expression was grim. He shook his head once.
“Well, Mr. Holt, it was nice to meet you and I wish you well in your endeavor. We’ll drop you off now, I think.” She marched past him, already certain that getting him off the ship wouldn’t be that simple.
“You need me.” His tone was dry.
“I do not need you. Seeing as I’m the one with the ship, I think you’re the one who needs me, and this voyage is not accepting passengers.”
“If it weren’t for me, this ship would have crashed to the ground. You need me.”
“You may have shot a few of those men, but we were pulling away and their gunfire merely poked a few holes in the underside. I shot the one with the crossbow. I do not need you.”
“I shot the one with the crossbow. You shot the lamppost on the other side of the street.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank.
“An airship will get me to the mountains much faster than a train, it’ll be much easier than trying to get past the security on the ground, and I can’t fly it by myself. So, you are of some use to me, for now.”
“Who says we’re going to the mountains?” Cid asked.
“I do,” Larissa and Holt answered in unison. Larissa rolled her eyes.
“Fine, you can come with us, but I need some assurance that you’re not a psychotic lunatic.”
“I am not a psychotic lunatic,” Holt said.
“Wonderful, that’s very reassuring,” Larissa said, forcing her eyes to not roll a second time in as many minutes.
“I’ll stay out of your way and take shifts at the controls.”
Larissa regarded Holt for a moment. Now that he had brought it up, it did seem to make sense. If it were just Cid and Larissa, they’d probably have to land every now and then to rest, even if they took shifts. There was the furnace to feed, the tanks to control, and the navigation and steering to consider. It was too much for just a pair of people to do over any significant distance, and Meridina was a long way off. With Holt on board they would get there far quicker, and something in the back of her mind told Larissa that time was not on her side.
“Very well,” she said to Holt and he nodded, heading towards the furnace to shovel coal. Larissa watched him leave, her gaze lingering even after he was out of sight. After a moment, she noticed Cid was watching her, a scowl etched across his face.
“I know th
is isn’t what you wanted, Cid. You must understand you can’t just hide away for the rest of your life. Don’t you want to know what’s happened to the Professor?” She laid her hand on his arm and he grunted, wrinkling his nose. He pulled on the wheel and the dirigible slowly turned in the sky, creeping along its new course.
“You should get some rest,” he told her, pointing to the cabin up front.
“When you’re refreshed, I want you to explain to me how the hell you became an expert on airship operation in such a short time.”
CHAPTER TEN
An odd sensation tickled the hairs on the back of Larissa’s neck. She had been in a fitful sleep; that much was easy to ascertain. Now, something dragged her back into reality. Her eyes felt so heavy that she struggled to will them open. As her mind slowly crawled back to awareness, she noticed something hot blowing across the side of her neck. Breath. Her senses snapped into focus but she kept her eyes shut. The hot breath moved from her neck down to her chest, and she couldn’t ignore the sensation of someone leaning over the hammock.
Her mind raced with thoughts; what she should do, how she should react. Cid wasn’t the sort to get so close, but the new guy—Holt. She had no idea what sort of a man he was. Despite his claim that he was not a psychotic lunatic, there really hadn’t been any assurance. After all, mad people rarely introduce themselves as such. Something brushed her arm—a hand, snaking its way across her torso, not touching though close enough she could tell where it was. The slightest contact scraped across the flesh at top of her corset and she felt her skin breaking into goose bumps. After a moment the arm withdrew and the figure disappeared.
She sucked in a lungful of air, not realizing that she had been holding her breath, and she opened her eyes. It was daytime and lighter than she’d expected it to be.
“I wonder.” A gruff voice came from behind the hammock and she jumped so hard that the hammock twisted and deposited her straight onto the floor with a heavy thump. She clambered to her feet and glared at Holt, who leaned against the wall with the lockbox in his hand, staring at it intently.
“What is in here?” he asked, looking across at her. When he saw her both his eyebrows raised.
“What kind of a man are you? You thief,” she said, meaning to yell but instead barely managing a whisper. She patted herself down, catching sight of her own breasts as they threatened to pop free from the undershirt and corset. She shrieked and spun around to tuck herself back in. The entire top half of her torso, neck, and face burned with a blush; the whole embarrassing debacle made her sick.
“Give that back,” she commanded over her shoulder to him.
“You’re giving me orders?”
She spun around, stomped up to him, snatched the box out of his hand, and marched out to the deck to find Cid standing at the wheel. He wore a large coat with a dark purple scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and thick gloves. His bruised eyes had turned a mixture of colors and were sunken into the sockets.
“You look awful,” Larissa said as she looked him up and down, clutching her cloak across her body in the cool daylight air.
“I’ll survive.” Cid caught sight of Holt emerging from the cabin and his brow furrowed.
“I didn’t see him go in there. Did he...do anything?”
“No...it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“He’s dangerous.”
“I figured that much out. You should get some rest. I can take control for a while.”
“I don’t want to leave you out here alone with him,” Cid said quietly.
“It’s okay. I get the impression we’ll be all right as long as we’re useful to him.”
“And when we stop being useful?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Hmmm.” Cid scratched his stubbly chin and gave Larissa an odd, appraising look.
“What is it?”
“I couldn’t see it before...now I guess he was right.”
“What?”
“The Professor never usually put so much effort into women. I asked him what it was he saw in you, besides the obvious.”
“And?”
“Potential.” Cid sniffed and gestured for her to take the wheel, launching into a lengthy description of how to operate the rudder, wheel, and controls, the significance of maintaining static-equilibrium and navigation via dead reckoning. Regardless of the fact that Larissa had already read about each topic in the book, she listened attentively. Eventually, after he let her take control for a time to prove she wasn’t going to immediately crash the ship to the ground, he headed into the cabin for a rest, stopping only to mutter a brief comment to Holt as he passed by.
Holt stood opposite Larissa, leaning against the strut that held up the front rotor. He had donned a long black overcoat; she could see a slight glimmer of a knife blade resting against his chest just inside the coat, and he still had the rifle strapped across his back. Holt took out a small sheet of paper from one of his coat pockets. He eyed it carefully for a moment and then returned it to its place. Larissa noticed the action, making a mental note to ask him about it later. When Cid disappeared, Holt stepped forward.
“You need to shovel coal,” she said before he had a chance to speak.
“I prefer to know a woman’s name before I let her boss me about.”
“You give me your name first.”
“I gave you my name.”
“You gave me part of your name.”
“The only part I’m willing to give.”
“Fine, have it your way. My name is Miss Markus.”
“Miss Markus.” He rubbed his hand across his chin, his cool blue eyes darkening.
“Larissa Markus?”
“What? How could you possibly know that?”
“Because you’re famous.” He stepped back and picked up a black satchel he had stashed behind a barrel, opened it, and pulled out a newspaper—the Sallarium Express with yesterday’s date. He handed it to her, and one look at the front cover made her knees go weak.
Disaster at the Hub!
That was the headline. A rough sketch of the burning building with several city firefighters armed with fire hoses covered the front page, along with the beginning of a report at the bottom:
A large explosion rocked the heart of Sallarium City last night, tearing the Central Administration Hub to the ground. Several dead and many more wounded. Suspects Miss Larissa Markus and Mister Cid Mendle are being sought by city enforcers for questioning. Professor Maximillian Watts has also been reported as missing. Early statements suggest he has been kidnapped by Miss Markus and Mister Mendle for ransom or some other malevolent purpose.
She opened the paper with shaking fingers and read the report. It was filled with false information about the explosion; the scathing account painted her at best as a wanton harlot and at worst as a dangerous criminal. She handled the account as well as possible until the reporter mentioned her parents. Her dear dead mother...and the mere mention of her father’s name in print was enough to push her over the edge. She slammed the paper shut and threw it to the ground, unable to read on. Hot, salty tears burst from her eyes and she gripped the wheel with both hands, attempting to stop herself from collapsing to the deck in a sobbing heap.
Holt looked on with an expressionless visage. After giving her a few minutes for composure, he spoke. “So, Doctor Orother took the Professor?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re running off to rescue him?”
“You already know all this. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Holt stepped closer, his tall, bulky frame casting a shadow across her features. “Is he your father?”
Something inside her snapped. In one swift motion her hand flew across the wheel with all her strength, aiming for Holt’s cheek. Holt simply reached up and caught her wrist in his hand, the reaction requiring minimal exertion on his part, denying her the satisfaction for her effort.
“Sore subject?” He raised an eyebrow, although his face did
n’t quite crack into a smirk.
“What do you know about my father?” she spat through gritted teeth, trying to yank her hand away from his. His grip tightened, holding her fast.
“Not much, save for what is written in the article, and judging by how inaccurate the rest of the story is I can only assume the majority of their facts aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. Still, I need to understand your reasons for taking this voyage, so I can decide on what to do with you when we get there.”
“The Professor is not my father.” She ripped her hand away and grabbed the wheel as they had started to drift.
“So, he’s your lover?”
Larissa didn’t answer; instead, she tried to focus on stilling her shaky breathing.
What answer could she give him? Could she really class herself as a lover after only three dates and one passionate kiss? After everything that had happened in the last few days, did the Professor really deserve to have her come and rescue him? She put so much energy into trying to figure out the how, only now, in the clear winter sky, hovering over fields and wastelands blanketed in thick pure snow, did her mind begin to question the why.
To clear your name, if nothing else.
She nodded to herself silently, though it seemed like a weak concession given the gravity of the task ahead.
“I know you won’t want to hear this,” Holt began after waiting in silence for a while. “A sweet little thing like you doesn’t stand a chance against Doctor Orother.”
“Sweet? Little? Gods you’re an irritating man. Doctor Orother has already failed to kill me once. Twice, in fact, presuming those men at the warehouse were sent by him. He underestimates me. Everyone underestimates me.” She sighed.
“So, you’ve escaped death twice. Though let’s not forget the reason you survived the last attack. You couldn’t hit the side of a stationary freight train with your aim.”
“Right. I survived because some creepy guy came out of nowhere, hopped on my airship without a ticket, shot all the bad guys, and then refused to tell me anything about himself.”
