Skyjackers
Episode 1
A Proper Nuisance
J.C. Staudt
Skyjackers is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 J.C. Staudt
All rights reserved.
Edition 1.0
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Afterword
Foreword
Thanks for checking out Skyjackers, a steampunk adventure-romance serial. What you are about to read is a single installment in an ongoing narrative, akin to watching an episode of your favorite TV show. If you’re picking this up expecting a complete novel with no loose ends or cliffhangers, toss it in the bin now, because that’s not what you’re going to get. Some plot threads find resolution within one or two episodes, while other major story arcs persist throughout the entire season. What you will get is a light, fun adventure with a touch of drama, some colorful characters, and a storyline that moves at breakneck speed. You’ve been initiated. Now by all means, strap in and enjoy yourself!
Chapter 1
It was a beautiful day for a robbery. Or it would’ve been, if Benedict Caine hadn’t been so utterly displeased. True, the skies were clear, and his hair was performing admirably in the high-altitude winds, but that was where Caine’s good fortune ended. He was staring down at the still-wet sign painted across the stern of his brand-new airship, which read: Clodhopper.
“It’s Cloudhopper,” Caine said, turning toward the painter. “Can you spell, Goodfellow? Cloudhopper. Spell it for me.”
Buford Goodfellow, the unfortunate painter who was almost certainly destined for a sooner debarkation than he had planned for, cleared his throat. “Cee el oh you dee, aitch oh pee pee ee are.”
“Very good. Now, what did you do wrong?”
“I’ve left off the U.”
“That’s right. You’re smarter than you look, Goodfellow.”
“Aye, Cap’n Caine. Sorry, Cap’n Caine.”
“For pity’s sake… it’s Commodore Caine. Have you gone completely mutton-headed? Don’t just stand there, man. Get back out there and fix it. I won’t have Captain Thorpe and the sky marshals thinking I run some sort of rinky-dink operation round here. Do you understand me? I won’t have it.”
Goodfellow gulped. “But, sir… we’re aflight…”
“Yes I know we’re aflight. Do you take me for an imbecile? I don’t pay you for your observations, Goodfellow. Put brush to wood, or I’ll have to dock you another day’s wages for a job poorly-done. Now get that swollen tokus of yours overboard and make my boat look pretty.”
Goodfellow opened his mouth to speak, but nothing in his repertoire of stalling tactics, which he employed most often to keep himself from harm despite the Commodore’s best efforts, seemed appropriate. He affixed himself to the rope harness still dangling from the mizzenmast and dropped over the ship’s stern, brush in hand, a canister of paint in each of his two belt-mounted holsters.
Commodore Caine leaned over the starboard railing and peered through his spyglass. His destination was in sight, and it appeared that the rest of his fleet had arrived ahead of schedule. White chairs encircled white tablecloths on a lush green field; silverware gleamed in the sun; guests in white tie mingled over champagne and finger food. This was the place, alright. Isn’t it a marvel, Caine thought. I’m a lucky chap to be surrounded by my family, heeding my life’s calling at the expense of a throng of blathering aristocrats.
It all seemed too good to be true. But then, that was the sort of life Benedict Caine was used to. After all, there was a reason he was the wealthiest pirate in the world: he was very good at it. He’d raised his four children to be good at it too, though most of them had a ways to go in that regard.
The chug of a distant steam engine woke Caine from his whimsy. His eyes focused on a wisp of dark smoke that rose and dissipated from the stacks of a Regency airship, one of the sky marshals’ vessels. Caine slammed a fist on the railing and broke into devious laughter. “It’s that deplorable Jonathan Thorpe,” he said with a grin.
The young upstart had been shadowing Caine’s steps ever since he set out for Finustria three days past. Thorpe’s ambition was becoming known the criminal world over; the fresh-faced young sky marshal was an idealist. He’d somehow come up with the ridiculous notion that he could clean up the skies where his predecessors had failed. A fellow like that, Caine knew, had to be taught a lesson straightaway.
Thorpe’s airship was moving fast, and the wind was with him. If Caine didn’t hurry, the sky marshals would arrive at the reception before he did. “Drat it all,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that, Ben?”
“Eh… nothing, my peach,” Caine said, turning to greet his wife Gertrude, whose ability to take him unawares was exceeded only by her desire to curb his use of naughty language. She possessed a resolve like no one Benedict had ever met, and a sharp tongue to match her thin features.
“I don’t think that was nothing I heard,” Gertrude said. “As a matter of fact, it was decidedly not nothing.”
“I was merely expressing my distaste for that meddlesome Captain Thorpe. It seems our plans for today have taken a sour turn on his account. He’s arrived several minutes earlier than I intended him to.”
Gertrude patted him on the cheek. “You’ll think of something, dear. You always do.”
Caine found her touch a welcome comfort. “Give us a kiss, honey-pudding.”
She came in close, then pulled back abruptly. “I dare say. You smell rather of mackerel.”
“It’s what I had for breakfast, turtle dove.”
“Smells as though you’ve managed to save enough for lunch.” She flung herself into her lounger and opened last week’s Delaney Gazette, the most recent edition they’d been able to find the last time they made landfall. “Do shave, dear.”
“But—my darling… I’m about to do battle with the sky marshals. You remember my mention of Captain Jonathan Thorpe, don’t you? The Regency’s most promising young officer? I’ve a mind to steal the Archduchess’s crown jewels right out from under his nose. That’ll teach him, don’t you think?”
Gertrude yawned, thumbing through the paper. “That’s nice, dear.”
“A kiss from my fair lady love would be an inspiration,” he tried.
“You’d best find a lady love better suited to charity. You’ll get no such inspiration here until you’ve had a proper shave.”
In the fields below, the other ships in Caine’s fleet were already landing.
“Confound it.”
“What did you say, dear?”
“Nothing, my little strawberry tart,” he called over his shoulder, beating a hasty retreat belowdecks.
Rummaging through the supply cabinet, Caine located a pair of pistols that hadn’t quite taken to rust yet and shoved them into his belt. He ascended to his quarters and donned his fanciest overcoat, a gilded affair of blue velvet and yellow embroidery, then strapped on his cutlass. Brown leather boots and a black woolen tricorn completed the look, as confirmed by the standing mirror in his boudoir. He returned to the deck in a hurry, desperate to stop hi
s wayward children from botching the operation before he arrived.
Gertrude gave Benedict a glance as he passed and let out a gasp of pleasure. “I say. You do rather look the part, dear.”
He smoothed the lapel of his overcoat. “Do you really think so?”
She smiled up at him, then returned to her paper.
“Mr. Parsons, set a course for… over there,” Caine shouted, pointing.
“Thirty-two degrees, dear,” Gertrude corrected him, without looking up.
“Thirty-two degrees, Parsons. And prepare to land,” said Benedict.
“Thirty-two degrees,” Parsons repeated from the quarterdeck. “Prepare to land.”
The Cloudhopper came in low and fast, drawing a collective cry of astonishment from the wedding guests as it sailed over their heads. The other five vessels in Caine’s fleet were already parked in a semi-circle around the reception. As predicted, their respective captains had been too impatient to stand by and wait for Caine’s arrival. Benedict picked out his son Junior on the deck of his seventy-four-gun dreadnought, the Stratustarian, and gave him a thin salute before debarking his own vessel.
“Greetings, honored attendees of this most prestigious occasion,” Caine boomed through his brass megaphone as he stomped down the gangplank. “If you would be so kind as to surrender your valuables to the gentlemen and ladies passing through the aisles, we’ll finish up here and be on our way before cake.” He made his way to the head table, where he gave the happy couple a bow and a flourish. “Archduke. Archduchess. Splendid to see you both. Congratulations. Beautiful affair. Couldn’t have asked for a lovelier day. My apologies for missing the ceremony. I should’ve liked to get my grubby little mitts all over the sacramental chalice. No purer gold in all the world, they say. I’ve found most priests to be rather generous where worldly treasures are concerned.”
Wedding guests swooned as Benedict began removing the Archduchess’s various jeweled accessories: earrings, tiara, necklace, bracelet, and rings, each fashioned of fine white gold and encrusted with pearls.
The Archduke shot to his feet. “Now hold on just a moment. This is reprehensible behavior.”
Benedict drew one of the rusted flintlocks from his belt. The hammer squealed with disuse when he cocked it. “Reprehensible is what I do best, old chap. I must implore Your Royal Highness to kindly sit down. I simply cannot allow you to ruin such a delightful occasion with ill-advised gallantry.” He pressed the muzzle to the Archduke’s chest and pushed gently until His Royal Highness plopped back into his chair. The weapon was loaded with neither ball nor powder, but it did leave a thin crescent of rust on the Archduke’s white overcoat.
“You won’t get away with this, Caine,” someone shouted.
Caine lifted the megaphone toward the crowd. “I beg your pardon? Who said that?” He waited a moment. When no one responded, he put lips to brass again and said, “Come, now. Don’t be shy. We haven’t all the time in the world, you know.”
“Let it go, Daddy,” said Lily, suddenly standing beside him. Benedict’s middle daughter was the picture of innocence, it seemed to him, with pointed features like her mother’s and flowing shoulder-length hair the color of autumn wheat. Her ship, the Swan’s Sorrow, was the meekest in his fleet, boasting a paltry eight cannon.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Lily-Billy,” Caine told her. “Daddy won’t hurt the man… so long as he apologizes.”
“You said that last time, and I seem to recall a lot of screaming and begging for mercy.”
“Yes, well… she didn’t say she was sorry. Daddy gave her every opportunity to be cordial and get her dolls back, yet she insisted on—”
A call from the deck of the Moonmist interrupted Benedict’s diatribe. “Marshals coming in, Dad.” It was his second-youngest, Misty, dark hair blowing in the breeze, voice stronger than a gale wind.
“Thank you, Poppet,” he called back. “You look absolutely radiant this morning.”
She smiled. “Shall I shoot them, Dad?”
“That won’t be necessary, sugar-lamb. We’ll be off in a flash.”
She stamped her foot. “But I’ll have them in range for a broadside any second now.”
“That’s alright, dear. You can broadside them next time.”
Her eyes lit up. She hopped up and down and let out a tiny squeal. “Do you promise?”
“Daddy… promises…” He gave her a dismissive wave, then leaned toward Lily and whispered sharply. “Where is your older sister?”
“Vivian is holding her weekly bridge game, Daddy.”
“Card-playing? At a time like this?”
“She figured we had it handled between the five of us.”
Benedict scoffed. “Well, I never… We’re a team, this family. I can see I shall need to give your sister a bit of a talking-to.”
“She’s too old for that anymore, Daddy.”
“Nonsense. My children are never too old for a good dose of fatherly wisdom and some proper old-fashioned philosophy.” He lifted the megaphone again. “That’s right. Keep the good stuff coming. Let’s move it along, people. I want everything. Jewelry, purses, pocket watches, cufflinks, all of it. If any of my sailors discovers you’ve been holding out on them, you shall be summarily ridiculed in front of your friends and relatives.”
Captain Thorpe’s vessel was getting close. All Benedict wanted was for Thorpe to see him committing the robbery. If the sky marshals landed, they’d try putting a stop to the caper, and Benedict couldn’t have that. He needed to finish up and get going if he wanted to avoid a confrontation—which, of course, he did.
***
Jonathan Thorpe was late.
He’d received a tip four days ago via bluewave radio that the notorious Caine family was planning to steal the Archduchess’s crown jewels on her wedding day. Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Benedict Caine had sent the tip himself.
“Full steam, lads,” Jonathan shouted from behind the wheel of his airship, the Maelstrom. The engine chugged black smoke, venting steam, and the Maelstrom rumbled forward with the wind at its back.
Caine’s whole fleet was already there, his pirates frisking the wedding guests and accepting mandatory donations in heavy flour sacks. The Archduke’s royal guardsmen were lying in the grass amongst the tables, bound and gagged. Jonathan realized then that he was probably walking into a trap, or at least a situation cleverly designed to appear trap-like. There were half a dozen airships filled with dastardly pirates to his one, and most of his men were still wet behind the ears. When the Maelstrom touched down, Jonathan debarked with a complement of sky marshals at his back.
Benedict Caine raised his megaphone to greet the marshals as they approached. “Well, if it isn’t Captain Jonathan Thorpe. How interesting to finally meet you.”
Caine was the embodiment of propriety, his garb flamboyant, his accent upper-class sharp. Not attributes Jonathan would’ve expected to find in a bloodthirsty buccaneer. “You know me?” he asked, surprised.
“Indeed. And I dare say, I should like to have known your mother. If there’s a wench as pretty as you in this world, it’s a travesty I didn’t get there first… if you catch my meaning.”
“I do,” Jonathan said, “and I’ll thank you to hold your tongue.”
“Oh, you needn’t thank me. Flattery is always free. While we’re speaking of tongues, I find it rather annoying that yours seems to be the name on everyone’s, these days. The young and admirable Jonathan Thorpe, whose written examination scores broke the academy’s every record, and who, after an early graduation, has been given a captaincy whilst his classmates peel potatoes and mend gasbags aboard freightliners. Your fame is widespread. And short-lived, I fear, unless you allow us to part ways without rancor.”
Jonathan straightened. So the villain has been doing his research, he thought. “I am an officer of the Regency, sir. We do not cater to pirates.”
“Pirates?” Caine laughed. “Heh. Awfully presumptuous. Don’t you think, Lily-Billy?”
“Yes, Father,” Lily said. “I rather do.”
Jonathan touched the hilt of his rapier. “Nomenclature aside, you’ve stolen from these people. Give back what you’ve taken, or I’ll be forced to arrest you.”
Benedict groaned. “Ah, yes, this is all very dashing, Mr. Thorpe. Now leave off, or I’ll have to see your threats and raise you a bit of violence.”
“I’ve never been much for gambling,” said Jonathan. That was when he caught sight of the most magnificent creature he had ever seen in his life. A pirate host was coming down the gangplank of one of Caine’s larger ships when Jonathan locked eyes with a vision. She was tall and fair-skinned, with hair like liquid fire. The look she gave him might’ve stopped his heart, if not for all the pounding it was doing instead.
“There you are, Viv,” Caine said, glancing over his shoulder at the woman. “How punctual of you.”
“Is he the reason my card game has been interrupted?” Vivian asked, jutting a finger toward Jonathan.
Caine smiled. “The very same. Thank you for your service to the Regency, Captain Thorpe. My life wouldn’t be nearly so amusing without men like you to assume deadly risk and long hours in exchange for low pay and terrible benefits. I’m afraid I must be going now. Do enjoy a rousing, yet life-threatening contest, compliments of my daughter Vivian. Good day.” With that, Benedict Caine shuffled off toward his ship.
Vivian drew her cutlass and gave Jonathan a curtsy and a flourish. “Your move, Captain.”
Jonathan lifted his hands. “There’s no need for bloodshed, madam.”
She smirked. “Not mine, anyway.”
“I could never hurt a—”
Vivian’s blade flashed.
Jonathan leaned away, avoiding a cut to the face at the last instant.
“That was smart,” Vivian said.
“That was a dirty trick,” said Jonathan, drawing his rapier.
“I tend to prefer that sort,” Vivian said, before making a low cut that sent Jonathan hopping backward a step.
Around them, Vivian’s pirates began to engage Jonathan’s marshals.
Skyjackers: Episode 1: A Proper Nuisance (Skyjackers: Season One) Page 1
