He stumbled into a seedy bar in the cargo terminal— the perfect place to find employment. Even though he had no coin and it was dawn, he ordered a mug of ale. That was what everyone else drank.
“Looking for anything else, sailor?” The human serving woman had seen much better days, age lining her face, breasts sagging in her low-cut blouse.
“I’m looking for employment. I’m a fair gunner and have some experience in fieldwork. If not a job, then passage to someplace where I might find one.” He downed the bitter beverage, trying not to make a face. Fieldwork was air pirate slang for obtaining a take and protecting it while it was delivered to the customer. Did he even have his pistol in his rucksack?
The server, realizing he wasn’t looking for companionship, left. A short while later, a young, spindly man with an eye patch sat down across from him.
“Hear yer looking for a job, stranger.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I know of a few ships looking for crew, but none of them are in port here.”
Kevighn looked at the unnamed man and took a drink as if to say then why are you here?
“I can offer a lift to Chicago if you assist me and my crew by guarding some cargo we aim to take on here.” The man cocked his head. “You pull a fast one and you’ll be tossed over the side of the ship.”
“Fair enough. If you’re sure there’s work in Chicago.” Air pirates had rules–simple rules, but rules nevertheless. Here a man was true to his word until proven otherwise, which generally resulted in said man being tossed off the side of an airship midflight.
The man shrugged. “Can’t promise, of course. Depends on who’s in port. But in Chicago I’ll give you the names of the ships I heard are looking for crew—especially gunners. It’s easy to lose good gunners to the Pineapple Rebellion.”
“That war is still going on?” Kevighn took an absent sip of bad ale. Last time he’d been trolling the skies, Hawaii had been also battling for their freedom. The United States had decided to annex the country, but luckily for the island nation, a group of air pirates helped the Hawaiians out, birthing the Pineapple Rebellion.
“Hawaii did win a couple years back. But the U.S. keeps nipping at their borders since the natives kicked us off their land.” He grinned, revealing a gold tooth. “Guess the powers that be hope this second attack will force them to become part of America. The islanders keep a well-stocked air force and treat their gunners well. It might be a big hunk of dirt, but I hear it’s a pretty hunk of dirt with some even prettier women.”
Kevighn raised his glass in a mock toast. “To pretty women.”
The captain raised his. “Here, here. Name’s Red. Let’s discuss what I need from you.”
“Noli, Noli, are you awake?” Jeff whispered.
“Mmm,” Noli rolled over in her hammock. She didn’t open her eyes.
“I need your help. Please?”
Noli eyes cracked open as she turned toward the voice. “Wha?”
Jeff stood in the doorway of her little room, desperate etched on every inch of his face. “It’s my turn to cook. Only I think I broke breakfast.”
“Broke breakfast? You mean you burned it?” She stretched, trying to make sense of her brother’s words.
“Nooo. I didn’t burn it, but it’s not turning out right. Will you fix it? Please? If we have a nasty breakfast again they’ll toss my boots in the head.”
Her slippered feet touched down on the floor. “Let me dress and I’ll take a look and see how we can save breakfast.”
“Air pirates don’t wear ruffled nightdresses.” He flicked the ruffles on her collar.
Noli shoved him out the door. Recalling Vix’s teasing about her clothing, she donned one of the simple green gowns she’d brought back from the Otherworld. The design was feminine but it easy to move in and do things such as climb on the roof and build sewing machines.
Dressed, she rebraided her hair, slipped on her boots, and made her way upstairs. She yawned as she entered the kitchen area, or the galley as Jeff called it. More sleep sounded divine, but odds were Vix wasn’t one for lie-ins and the last thing she wanted was to garner more disapproval from the captain.
“Now, what exactly is wrong with breakfast?” Noli didn’t smell anything burning.
“How can oatmeal be lumpy and runny at the same time?” Jeff stood over the cast iron stove, stirring a giant copper pot with a long wooden spoon. A bucket of sand sat nearby.
Noli peered into the pot and frowned. Whatever he made, it wouldn’t be oatmeal unless they started over. Like at home, wasting food probably wasn’t an option. However …
She opened cabinets, taking stock of what they had. “Anything off limits?”
“Only if it has someone’s name on it.” Jeff leaned against the counter. “We stocked up in port, but go easy on what you use.”
“Of course.” She eyed the spices and selected a few with no one’s name was on them. Jeff probably didn’t realize how good she’d gotten at making meals using as little as possible. Flour, sugar, baking soda, and a bottle of oil took their place on the counter. A sad looking pouch of dried fruit—sound but hard as a rock—got emptied into a pot of boiling water on the other burner. She turned to Jeff. “I need a frying pan, a colander, and a mixing bowl–a colander is a pot with holes in it that you use to drain things.”
Jeff rummaged through an upper cabinet, then held up a strainer. “You mean this?”
“That’ll do.” She strained the oatmeal. One thing she didn’t see was an icebox or any place to keep food cold. “Do you have any eggs?”
He shook his head as he took a bowl and a frying pan out of another cabinet. “We don’t keep many perishables onboard; when we do we usually cook them up right away.”
Pouring the congealed lumps into a bowl she mixed in some flour, soda, spices, and a dash of sugar. A splash of water from the pot with the fruit in it helped smooth out the batter. The now soft fruit went in as well.
While the oil heated, she formed little cakes and tossed them into the sizzling pan. The fruit water continued to boil and she added sugar and vanilla to make a simple syrup. Someone has purchased good spices. Not what she expected from a group of air pirates.
“Oatmeal pancakes?” Jeff washed the dirty pot in a little sink next to the stove. Where did the water come from? Where did it drain?
“Beats whatever you made.” Noli flipped the cakes over with a fork so they’d cook evenly on both sides. The soda made them puff up slightly and hopefully lighten them into something edible. The thickening syrup bubbled and she stirred it so it wouldn’t burn.
Jeff made coffee and she finished breakfast, pouring the hot syrup into a little pitcher and placing the steaming cakes on a plate. She covered them with a clean dishcloth to keep them warm. The pitcher and cakes went on the table where Jeff had already stacked mismatched plates, forks, mugs, and napkins.
“I suppose you have no milk for the coffee?” Noli preferred tea and she definitely couldn’t choke coffee down without milk.
“I suppose you drink tea?” Vix stood in the doorway between the bridge and the galley, dressed in black trousers and a black shirt. That blue lock of hair still hung in her eyes.
Noli set the table properly. “Mostly, my mother never was one for coffee, even if it is fashionable.”
“There’s nothing wrong with tea.” Jeff rang a metal bell which hung on the wall, the loud clanging made Noli wince. “We have powdered milk; it’s not bad in coffee.” He took a bowl from one of the cupboards and set it on the uncovered table next to the sugar.
Thunderous footsteps followed as two large men bounded up the stairs. Both were the epitome of nefarious, from their wrinkled pocketed vests and trousers, to their tattooed biceps and scars, to their very large frames. One had an eye patch, scruffy brown hair and an equally scruffy beard, the other was darker than she’d ever seen before. “Asa, Thad, this is Noli,” Jeff introduced.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Asa.” The dark man had a British accent.
Dark eyes gleamed nearly as much as his bald head. “Thad.” The man with the eye patch had a guttural voice. He jerked his head in greeting.
“Nice to meet you,” she squeaked, not sure what to do. She never was around men of much—especially giant men of dubious nature.
Vix took a seat at the head of the rectangular table. The man with the brown hair and eye patch looked at breakfast and nodded, taking a sip from a flask at his belt. “We hired a ship keeper? Finally, decent food and someone to darn my socks.”
“Noli, my little sister, is the new ship’s engineer, not a ship keeper. But she’s a better cook than I am.” Jeff put a protective arm around her waist.
“Oh, that’s too bad. I have a lot of socks that need to be darned.” Thad plopped down on a long bench at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee, emptying the golden contents of the flask into the steaming liquid.
Winky meandered up the stairs and into the galley, sniffing the air like a rabbit, striped hat askew, round wire glasses sliding down his nose. “Jeff made this?”
Noli laughed at his expression. “I may have helped.
Miss Noli,” Winky bobbed his head. “Now I don’t mean to generalize, however, you wouldn’t by chance be able to manage buttons, would you? I can’t see the holes to sew them back on the way I used to.”
“Maybe you could make a trade?” Jeff pulled out a chair for her and she sat down. “We all have chores we do every day around the ship from making breakfast to cleaning the head. Often we’ll swap. I reckon darning socks and sewing on buttons could be worth something don’t you?” He looked at the other men and grinned.
“I might be up for it.” She’d much rather darn socks than clean the head—which was another word for the necessary.
The captain helped herself to breakfast, then passed the plate on. Noli watched and noted that everyone waited for the captain to start eating before taking their first bite.
“Who’s flying the ship?” she asked Jeff as she stirred sugar and powdered milk into her coffee and took a tentative sip. They had white sugar.
“It’s on auto-pilot, but I keep an eye on it.” He stood, taking his plate with him.
Thad took a bite of oatcake and made happy noises. “Now this is not bad at all. Much better than anything Jeff makes.”
She added more sugar to her coffee and took another sip. Ah, much better.
“This is a very good breakfast,” Asa added, his manners slightly more refined than Thad’s. “We’ve got ourselves a new engineer. We still looking for a gunner? Denver might be a good place to find someone.”
Vix nodded. “Preferably someone with fieldwork experience. Noli won’t be leaving the ship much, and certainly her duties are confined to the engine room.”
The firmness to her voice gave Noli the feeling she meant more than the dangers of stealing or whatever they did.
“Noli’s my little sister, did I mention that?” Jeff stood in the doorway between the galley and the bridge, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing.
“Little sister will be fine,” Asa boomed. “I have little sisters back in England. You’re about sixteen?”
Noli nodded, mouth full of oatcake.
“I wish we’d hire a ship keeper.” Thad licked syrup off his fingers.
“Keep wishing, Thad. We’re not a pleasure boat,” Vix retorted. “We clean our own ship, do our own washing, and fix our own meals.”
It was nice that Vix sniped at more people than her.
“Speaking of pleasure, are we stopping in Denver?” Thad’s eyebrows waggled.
“Yes—and don’t cause any trouble, Thaddeus. We may stop off at a few places along the way, but not for long.” Vix took another pancake, pouring on some syrup. She met Noli’s eyes and gave a nod of approval.
Noli’s insides warmed at the affirmative gesture, she’d done something right.
“What makes a girl like you join a ship like this?” Thad gulped down the rest of his coffee in big slurps.
“It’ll be nice to have a lady onboard,” Winky added shyly. “Appreciate the nice breakfast you made here, Miss Noli.”
“Anytime.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t mind cooking—or sewing—but I can do far more than that,” she added so Vix wouldn’t comment.
“I officially vote for little sister to cook on Jeff’s days,” Thad offered.
“Here, here.” Asa raised his mug and grinned at Jeff.
Jeff waved his hand in a rude gesture, then he blushed. “Umm … excuse me, Noli.”
Vix made an annoyed noise as she eyed them over her mug of coffee. “She’s a woman, not a lady, though honestly, I don’t mind if you decide to use better manners.”
“Yes, Captain,” everyone muttered.
The captain stood and put her dish in the sink. “Personally, I think you should always trade with Jeff so you cook meals when it’s his turn.” She gave him a sly look. “However, I’d name your price high. Very high.”
Jeff snaked his foot out as if he was going to trip her.
She shoved him playfully in return. “As you were, Mr. Braddox,” she laughed.
Noli chuckled. Perhaps Jeff was right and Vix wasn’t so bad after all. She gathered the remaining dishes. “I think if I cook then Jeff should still have to wash up, right?” Looking to Vix she smiled, hoping she wasn’t crossing a line by teasing back.
“Winky, why don’t you ensure Noli knows everything she needs to about the ship.” Vix picked up her coffee mug and shoved it in Jeff’s hands. “Jeff will wash up. I’ll take the helm.” She strode onto the bridge with as much poise as Queen Tiana.
“And that is our beloved ship’s captain.” The corners of Thad’s lips twitched as he leaned on the back legs of his chair, the unpatched eye gleaming.
Jeff shook his head, smiling to himself, as he began to wash up.
Noli brought him the stack of plates. “You sure know how to pick them.”
He laughed. “Oh, Noli, you have no idea.”
Seven
Detour
“If I ever seen another potato it’ll be too soon,” James moaned as they disembarked the passenger ship in Chicago, their rucksacks slung over their shoulders.
“Considering we’re not in North Carolina yet, you’ll probably will,” Steven replied, tired of his brother’s complaining. “Let’s see if we can talk our way onto a ship to Atlanta then a connection to Raleigh. The cook told me we could definitely get there from Atlanta.” They had a belly full of food, a meal for the road, and even though the captain said it didn’t pay, they’d gotten a couple coins for their work.
“Can’t we go directly there?” James whined as they made their way toward the main part of the terminal. People from all walks of life passed by—from ladies with maids and steam trunks to lowly kitchen boys shuffling along.
Steven studied the large board hanging in the main lobby which displayed arrivals and departures. “I don’t see any direct flights to Raleigh today or tomorrow—not that I was expecting one.” He frowned at the listings. “It looks as if there are a few ships going to Atlanta and one might be in port right now. Should we see if we can gain passage?”
James’ face scrunched in disgust. “Can’t we try cargo ships? Maybe someone’s going by Raleigh? Could we simply stop someplace and ask? I just want to get there.”
Steven studied his pocket watch then glanced back at the board. Checking cargo ships meant they’d probably miss the first airship to Atlanta. But there was another later today and one tomorrow. Never would he have pegged Chicago to Atlanta as a popular route.
“We’ll check, but don’t get your hopes up. If nothing surfaces, we’re heading to Atlanta with no complaints.” What he wanted was for James to stop whining, which he’d been doing constantly since they’d left Los Angeles.
“Deal. Let’s see what we can find.” James led them through the terminal until they found a smoky bar, filled with ship workers drinking and eating, even at this early hour.
&nb
sp; The stench of sour ale, stale food, and unwashed bodies made Steven’s nose wrinkle. This wasn’t a place where first class passengers or captains of luxury ships dined. No, this establishment catered to lower workers, cargo haulers, and aeronautical entrepreneurs—those people otherwise known as air pirates.
Like he was perfectly comfortable with places such as this, James strode over, took a stool at the counter, and ordered coffee for both of them from a one-eyed man.
“Coffee? I’d rather have tea.” Steven’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he slid onto the none-too-clean stool next to his brother.
James snorted in distain. “Tea? We’re not at one of your silly social events. Really, we should be drinking beer.”
Beer? Steven wiped the counter in front of him with his handkerchief, trying not to show his blatant repugnance at this substandard establishment. His spine prickled. There were people from the Otherworld here. He should have guessed. Many of their kind who lingered in this realm involved themselves with persons of the lowest common denominator. He and his brother would have to avoid contact so they wouldn’t be recognized. The last thing he wanted was for the queen to know where they headed.
The one-eyed bartender plunked two chipped mugs in front of them filled with something resembling engine grease. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your quest?”
Steven’s heart tumbled. Of course James would lead them into a shady bar run by one of the Fae. He wanted to smack himself in the forehead.
James leaned forward, looked both ways, and lowered his voice. “We’re trying to get to Raleigh. Know anyone headed that way?”
Warning bells clanged in Steven’s head. What was James doing? Did he want everyone to know their destination? Maybe it was his sorrow—usually James was more careful than this.
“No, we’re not going to Raleigh, remember?” Steven hissed. “We’re going to … San Francisco.” It was the first city that popped into his head. “Yes, we need to get there as soon as possible—and we’re not the princes. I hear we resemble them a little. Is that true?”
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