The coal mine was visible at the far northern edge of the town, marked by its darker smudge surrounded by the white of new snow.
“You can land me and the prince here,” Sykes said, when they were still a mile from the town proper. He clapped the prince on the shoulder, saying, “Are you prepared for your part, my prince?”
Prince Nestor smiled at him. “Indeed I am!”
“Prepare to lower the cargo!” Ford called and a crew assembled at the side of the ship. Nestor and Sykes climbed aboard the cargo net and a rope was attached to the capstan. The crew slowly lowered the pair to the soft snow below. Sykes helped the Crown Prince out of the netting, waved to Ford in the airship three hundred feet above, and led the prince away toward the road and the village beyond.
#
Ford would have never guessed that the guard and the prince get along at all, let alone so well. But Sykes had curried the prince’s favor with all the tact of a courtesan. His job was made easier by the fact that practically no one spent time with the prince, so he was always lonely and looking for any sign of recognition.
“I’ve met his type before,” Sykes had said when Knox commented on the unlikely friendship, though he gave no further explanation.
The guard had had no problem engaging the prince in his plan. Nestor was terrified of Annabelle — something which the witch encouraged pointedly as she had no time “for useless princelings.” So when Sykes explained that the witch had brewed a special tea and that they would use it to steal three tons of coal, and other miscellany, the prince was more than intrigued. He was passionate in learning his lines and thrilled with every bit of encouragement Sykes gave him.
What probably shouldn’t have surprised Ford was that the prince was a natural-born actor.
“He’d have to be to survive this long,” Annabelle had replied sourly when Ford had commented on it to her. She shrugged. “I don’t care how bad he is, really, just as long as they deliver their goods to the mine and make the pitch.”
#
The delivery itself was simple. Sykes and the prince would go to the mine, find the first person they could and argue volubly about the prince’s royalty. With Sykes continuing to doubt the prince’s claim and the prince exclaiming how valuable he was for ransom, they figured the guard and whomever would be easily sold on the next part.
Sykes would swear that he had a truth serum which they could give to the prince. The prince claimed he couldn’t be drugged. In their argument they would enlist whoever they met into proving the claims one way or another. Tea would be brewed and all would drink it.
Of course, as Sykes and the prince were already immune to the tea, courtesy of Annabelle ‘providing’ them with the antidote, only their new ‘friends’ would succumb.
At which point the guards and personnel would be told of the secret mission to bring the prince to the north in a flying ship created by the god Ophidian just for that very purpose. Sykes would put another set of leaves in a fire burning outside which would turn the smoke green, the signal to Spite that the plot had worked. If it hadn’t, Sykes was to try to get a different set of leaves in a fire which would produce red smoke in warning.
#
Fortunately, Sykes didn’t need the red smoke.
“Green smoke, sir!” the lookout called to Ford. Ford went forward to see for himself and spied Sykes, Crown Prince Nestor, and five other men rushing about, pulling wagon after wagon out the front gates.
“Land ship!” Ford called. He spied Reedis amidships. “Mage Reedis! You may start the descent!”
“Aye, sir!” Reedis called back, waving in additional acknowledgement.
The airship landed neatly just beside the first wagon.
“Hands to the sides!” Ford called. “Hatches open!”
Several hands, detailed for just this task, leaped over the side to the top of the laden wagon and began to build a human chain, hauling the sacks of coal up to Spite. Another group took the sacks and lowered them into the coal bunkers.
They were finished in less than an hour.
Long before that Sykes and Crown Prince Nestor returned, driving a wagon loaded with food.
“Turns out the local mayor was visiting when we arrived,” Sykes said with a grin. “So he provided food and goods for our journey.”
Prince Nestor added, “They think much of Ophidian up here, being so cold and all.”
“That makes sense,” Ford agreed. He looked to Sykes. “And the water?”
Sykes pointed to the snow all around them. “Why can’t we just put that in our barrels?”
“What about to drink, man!” Knox replied irritably.
“It will work,” Annabelle said from where she was ordering the hands with the supplies. “I can make it work, just as long as it’s clean snow.”
“No yellow snow, then,” Reedis snorted. The witch gave him a dark look through lidded eyes. Reedis shook his head. “It was a joke, witch.”
“A bad one,” Annabelle agreed. She turned back to her work.
“What are they going to do when they recover?” Reedis said to her, looking at the silly drugged smirks on the guards and the mayor.
“They’re not going to recover,” Annabelle said.
“What?” Reedis cried. “You’re not going to kill them!”
“No, you silly fool,” Annabelle scolded. “They’re going to live their lives thinking that they aided Ophidian in his quest.” She pointed to the wooden deck below them. “They won’t forget this ship for a long while.”
“Why choose Ophidian? Why not Vorg or Veva?” Reedis asked, referring to the god and goddess of fire.
“They are more likely to turn you into a pile of burning ashes if you evoke their names.” Annabelle replied.
“What would Ophidian do?” Reedis asked.
“Nothing if he doesn’t find out about it, ” Annabelle said.
“And if he does?”
“Hopefully, he’ll have a sense of humor,” she replied.
“An angry god means a very short life,” Reedis warned.
“But — oh! — the profits!” Annabelle joked.
Captain Ford frowned as he listened to this exchange. “I’m not sure the king will appreciate that.”
“I doubt he’ll be in a position to complain,” Annabelle said.
“We were supposed to keep this secret,” Ford said. “That’s why the king wanted us to keep off shore.”
“This is winter,” Annabelle said. “How long do you think it will take for a messenger to reach their king all the way south?”
Ford considered the notion dubiously.
“We’ll be long gone, whatever occurs,” Annabelle said. “And how much do you think they’ll believe a report from people who think they were dealing with Ophidian?”
“That depends,” Ford said. Annabelle gave him a look. “Don’t you believe in the gods?”
“Of course!” Annabelle said with a snort. “How could anyone not?”
“So why not believe that…” Ford stopped, giving Annabelle a look of enlightenment.
“Say it,” Annabelle prompted with a smirk.
“... that Ophidian sent an airship on a journey north,” Ford completed with a hangdog expression.
“Exactly,” Annabelle agreed. “So all king Wendel will know is that Ophidian created a ship that flies in the air.”
“That doesn’t exactly keep this a secret,” Ford said pointing to his ship.
“But it does make it clear that only a god — and one particular god — created it,” Annabelle countered.
#
The tea-enspelled inhabitants of Magiron waved excitedly as Reedis caused Spite to rise once again into the sky. Angus Franck performed brilliantly in setting the booms out, engaging the propellers, and speeding the ship on its way.
“Your Hig
hness,” Sykes said when they were aloft, “you were magnificent!”
“Do you really think so?” Nestor asked in surprise.
“I couldn’t agree with Mr. Sykes more,” Ford said to his surprise. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Just as long as you don’t forget that, captain,” Nestor replied haughtily.
“I won’t,” Ford said. He glanced up and then called to the lookout on the balloons, “How fares the weather?”
“It’s snowing captain,” the lookout called back. “Snowing hard and cold.”
Ford could see patches of white fall down from above and looked forward where the sky seemed to turn a forbidding gray with the setting sun.
“Have all hands bundle up tight tonight, Mr. Knox,” Ford said to his lieutenant. “Have the cook be certain to make something hot for the men.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Knox said, saluting.
“It’s bitter now,” Ford said, glancing at the air around. “It’s certain to get worse.”
#
Ford was right. In the next three days, as they steamed their way north, having found an easy pass just beyond Magiron through the hills into Issia, the weather grew colder and colder.
“I’m worried about ice, sir,” Reedis reported one morning, gesturing to the layer that coated parts of the ship. Only the area around the steam engine was clear, covered instead in a thin layer of water. “It adds a fair bit of weight, you see.”
“How much lower does it take us?” Ford asked, trying to gage their altitude.
“Five hundred feet, maybe more,” Reedis guessed.
“And how hard would it be to raise up back to our old level?”
“I can do it,” Reedis allowed, “but it’ll be a strain.”
Ford eyed him critically. The mage looked thinner than he had days back, and haggard.
“You should get more rest,” Ford told him.
“I’m the only one who can keep the ship in the air,” Reedis replied.
“That seems to be an issue,” Ford said.
“You’re the only one who can captain the ship,” Reedis said.
“Not true,” Ford said. “Knox would take over if anything happened to me.”
“I pray that the gods will let nothing happen to you,” Reedis said.
“And I pray even more that the gods will let nothing happen to you,” Ford replied.
“I shouldn’t worry that much,” Reedis said. “My magic will seep from the ship slowly, you’ll be able to land without damage.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Ford said. Reedis gave him a look. “Our mission is to find the wyvern or die trying.”
“There is that,” Reedis agreed. He took a deep breath. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll not raise us back up the five hundred feet.”
“And I’ll get a detail to chip the ice off the ship,” Ford said.
“But not the balloons,” Reedis warned. Ford nodded but, even so, the mage felt compelled to mutter, “Chipping ice off the balloons would doubtless puncture them.”
“And we don’t want that!” Ford agreed. He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and said. “Go! Get some rest.” He turned to the stern and called out, “Mr. Knox! I’ll have a party of airmen chipping off this ice! It’s a hazard in so many ways!”
“We could use salt, sir!” Angus called from his station at the engine. Ford turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Salt will melt the ice.”
“It will,” Ford agreed. “But I don’t think we have enough salt for the whole ship.”
“I’ll check with the cook,” Knox said. “She’s got the salt in her supplies.”
Annabelle was most firm in retaining possession of her precious salt. “You all need the work, anyway!” she shouted when Knox asked her. “Your lazy airmen can get off their duffs and clean this scow up!”
Ford affected not to notice the insult to his ship, merely nodding to Knox and saying, “I’ll be below if you need me.”
#
All the warm clothing, jackets, boots, and undergarments were but little against the cold the heights they were at, particularly in the harsh northern winter.
Ford took it upon himself to wake at various hours of the night, grab a flask of something warm from the kitchen and climb up to the heights of the balloons to check on the lookout stationed there. He spent a few minutes chatting with him, then went to the bowsprit to perform the same deed with that lookout before returning aft to check with the helmsman and return to his interrupted slumber.
He did this more often after the night when he woke and found that there was no lookout atop the balloons. A hurried inquiry revealed that the assigned lookout was the old man, Quirrel, and that he was not in his bunk.
“He relieved me, sir, right and proper,” the man on the previous watch said when angrily woken by Ford and Knox. “I swear, he was up there!”
The blood drained from Ford’s face. He turned to Knox. “Mark him as DD in the roster and have someone collect his things.”
‘DD’ stood for ‘Discharged, Dead.’
After that, Ford woke up more often to check on the lookouts and ensured that the ballooneer was secured to the nettings that held the ship with the balloons.
#
Two nights later, Ford woke as the ship lurched. How he made it out the door, up to the deck fully clothed with his boots unlaced and pea-jacket wrapped around him, he could never figure but he was there.
“What happened?” Ford called to the helmsman.
“Dunno, sir,” the man replied. “The ship just lurched. She’s down in the head, like she took on water.”
Ford reflected on that for a moment, then looked up. “The balloons!” He shouted to the helmsman even as he ascended the lines to the balloons above, “Call for Mr. Reedis! Have him on deck! It’s an emergency!”
He was up to the top of the balloons before he heard a reply. When he could see enough in the dark night, he shouted out, “Stop right there!”
“Ha!” Jens called back from the ruin of the foremost top balloon. “Not so mighty now are you captain?”
Ford made no reply, lunging for the ex-lieutenant and the sharp knife in his hands — the knife that had already shredded the first balloon.
Jens twisted to meet Ford’s attack, his knife at the ready.
Ford reached to his side only to realize that of all that he’d put on, he hadn’t put on his belt… or his knife in its sheath.
Jens saw him reach to his side and smiled. “So what’ll it be, captain?” Jens said. “Do I cut you or burst another one of your baubles?”
Ford leaped at the man, grabbing onto his collar with his left hand even as Jens swung with the knife. Ford’s jacket deflected the worst of the blow, and Ford pulled back his right fist and slammed it into Jens’ face. The ex-lieutenant went limp and dropped the blade but Ford continued to pummel him until the man’s face was a bloodied mess and he was limp in Ford’s grasp.
“I need a man up here!” Ford bellowed down to the deck below.
“I’m here, captain!” Reedis cried. “Oh, my gods!” he said as he caught sight of the burst balloon.
“I trust you’ve got a spare,” Ford said, glancing sourly at the mess.
“I’ve got a rope,” Sykes said, climbing up behind Reedis. “D’you want to hang him now or later?”
“He won’t hang,” Ford said, releasing the unconscious form to the ex-guard.
“He won’t?” Sykes asked in an angry, raspy tone.
“I’ve got something better planned,” Ford told him grimly, brushing past him and starting back down to the deck. “Have him brought down and put him in chains.”
#
“So, how bad is it?” Annabelle asked when she came in early the next morning to the captain’s cabin with a tray of warm gruel.
“Reedis has a spare,” Ford said. “It’ll take some hard work to get it placed and harder work still from the mage to get it inflated, but we’ll get our tenth balloon back.”
“And?” Annabelle prompted.
“Jens will get his due,” Ford said. “Best have some rum ready for after.”
“What about the prince?” Annabelle asked. “I’ve heard he faints at the merest mention of blood.”
“Nothing to worry about in this case,” Ford replied grimly.
#
“All hands! All hands! Stand to hear punishment!” Knox called loudly from amidships. The crew assembled quickly and quietly, looking at the long plank that had been rigged at the side port. A plank that ended in thin air.
“Are the hands ready?” Ford asked a moment later.
“They are, sir!” Knox called back.
“Have the prisoner brought forward,” Ford said. He gestured to the Crown Prince who, forewarned, came to his side and stood at attention.
Jens was brought up, shackled and bound, marching between Sykes and Jenkins, the two former guards. They stopped so that Jens was standing just in front of Ford.
“Read the articles, if you please,” Ford said to Crown Prince Nestor.
“Ahem,” Nestor cleared his throat and scanned the parchment. “Here ye, here ye, here ye! By order of the His Most Noble Majesty, King Markel, hear my words!”
Eyes turned toward him as the crew recalled that the speaker was the king’s son and heir to the throne. Nestor continued, slowly but steadily through the articles, his voice rising as he said:
“Article Eleven. Every person in the fleet, who shall not duly observe the orders of his superior officer, shall suffer death.”
All eyes flicked toward Jens who lowered his head. Ford cast a warning glance toward the other four mutineers whom he’d recaptured from Warrior. They caught his look and lowered their heads in shame.
Twin Soul Series Omnibus 1: Books 1-5 (Twin Soul Series Book Sets) Page 19
