Skyjackers: Episode 1: A Proper Nuisance (Skyjackers: Season One)

by Staudt, J. C.

  “Absolutely not, sir.”

  “Then for heaven’s sake, leave them be. There’s nothing more buoyant to a pirate’s morale than giving us a good punch in the berries. Keep your berries in your trousers, Captain Thorpe. That’s the way things work round here. Best get used to it. Cheerio.”

  “But sir—”

  The Admiral hung up.

  “Tough break, Cap’n,” said Vin Harlow, the radioman.

  “How’s that for a pisser?” Dean Manchester agreed. Jonathan’s first mate was a solid man, tall and bald-headed—the latter by choice. Manchester was older than Jonathan by ten years, and had wanted the Maelstrom’s captaincy more than anything—before the young graduate had been offered it instead. Of course, Manchester had thought better than to mention this fact to Jonathan.

  “It is, Manchester,” Jonathan sighed.

  “If I may speak frankly, Cap’n,” Harlow said.

  Jonathan waved a hand.

  “You’re out of your depth. Admiral’s right. We can’t be bandying about with the likes of pirates.”

  “I think Mr. Jonathan’s got the right idea, personally,” Manchester said. “He’ll just have to make sure he’s successful the next time. The Admiral’s a reasonable man.”

  “No he ain’t,” said Harlow.

  While Jonathan was looking away, Manchester elbowed Harlow in the ribs. “He most certainly is. Least he will be, once our Mr. Jonathan proves he can put a stop to these pirates. Isn’t that right, Mr. Jonathan?”

  “I’m flattered by your confidence in me, Manchester. But even if I were up to recovering the crown jewels… we’ve lost the Caines’ trail, haven’t we?”

  “Maybe not, sir. Might be I could call a friend and ask a favor.”

  ***

  Back at the jungle hideaway, Benedict Caine was in his study trying to plan his next caper. His son Junior, however, was proving a distraction.

  “Why are we pirates, Father?”

  “Because we’re good at it, June Bug.”

  “I’m not good at it.”

  Benedict stammered, searching for a response. He’d thought children were supposed to stop asking hard-to-answer questions as they got older. “Nonsense. You will be. You’ve just got to… you know… grow into it.”

  “When did you grow into it, Father?”

  “I couldn’t have been much older than you are,” Caine lied. “I ventured out into the world to find myself, and didn’t. So I became a pirate instead. Don’t be discouraged, Bug. People can say what they like about us, but I’ve always seen the true honor in our occupation.”

  “Honor?”

  Benedict laughed. “Why yes of course, son. We provide a valuable service to this world; to those who spend their lives drowning in wealth. Like a well-muscled lifeguard, we rescue them from it. We give them a new perspective on things. We teach them that money isn’t everything.”

  “But money is everything… isn’t it?”

  “Yes, well. Not to those without it. Now really, June. I must be getting back to—”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Plotting.”

  “Oh. Can I help?”

  “Absolutely, son. Turn up the lights and close the door on your way out.”

  Junior looked hurt for a moment, but he bounced back. “What I mean to ask is… whether I could help with your plotting.”

  “With the actual ins and outs of it? Well, I don’t think that’s exactly in your wheelhouse, is it?”

  “How am I to be a good pirate if I don’t learn to plot against my enemies?”

  Benedict gave a thick, closed-mouthed sigh. He had made a habit of never sharing plans with his children until the last possible moment. I suppose Junior will have to learn at some point, he thought. He spread his papers across his desk. “Turn up the lights and grab a chair.”

  Junior was smiling as he followed his father’s orders.

  ***

  Jonathan was studying navigational charts in his cabin when there was a knock at the door. “Yes. Come in.”

  Harlow poked his head in. “Call for you on the bluewave, Cap’n.”

  Jonathan looked up. It was late. He checked his pocket watch, gawked at the time, and asked, “Is it the Admiral again?”

  “Not hardly, Cap’n. It’s your mother.”

  “At this hour?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He pushed himself up and trudged to the radio room, where Harlow handed him the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Jonathan?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Mother. What are you doing up so late?”

  “Your father and I were just having tea with Mr. and Mrs. Nagle. They asked how you were getting on at boarding school and I realized it had been a while since we’d talked. Are you well, son?”

  Jonathan’s father had been dead for five years. Their friends the Nagles had moved out of the neighborhood three years prior. He could scarcely tell his poor mother that he had graduated boarding school four years ago and was now on the trail of a dangerous pirate, trying to recover a priceless royal heirloom.

  “Everything’s fine, Mother. I’m doing quite well here.”

  “Are you keeping up with your studies? Making lots of friends?”

  “Indeed I am. Mother, listen… did you get the money I sent?”

  “Money? Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t forgotten the semester’s tuition.”

  “No, Mother, you haven’t. Please, listen to me. Is Winny awake?”

  “Your sister is at the babysitter’s. Your father and I wanted the afternoon to ourselves. We’re having company, you see, and—”

  “Yes, I understand. Mother, will you please just…” When she started talking about the Nagles again, Jonathan set the receiver on the table and put his head in his hands. His mother’s voice chirped through the speaker, tiny and distant. He picked it up again. “Mother?”

  She stopped mid-sentence. “Yes, dear?”

  “I love you very much.”

  “I love you too, Charles.”

  His father’s name.

  “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk again soon.” Jonathan handed the receiver back to Harlow. “If she calls again tonight, tell her I’m at my studies and can’t be disturbed. I’ll try calling back in a day or two. She may be having a better day by then.”

  Jonathan returned to his quarters feeling drained. He didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t sleep much at all, anymore.

  ***

  Gilbert Hill was a jeweler with a better reputation than he deserved. Vivian landed her Dawnhammer in the rolling fields outside the village of Dower and walked to Hill’s house, a dwelling he had designed and built in his younger years. It was large and poorly constructed; Gilbert himself often said the place had more angles than a protractor salesman.

  It took three knocks to bring Mr. Hill to the door. When Vivian came inside and handed him the sack holding the crown jewels, Gil’s eyes went wide. He scratched his bald pate, lowered his magnifying lens, and set to work on the appraisal.

  “These are genuine, alright,” he said after a few minutes. “Real beauties. A rare find. Let me write you up a quote.”

  Vivian laughed at the first price he offered her and feigned anger at the second. By her fourth counter-offer, she felt inclined to tell him that at prices like these, she ought to go into the jewelry business herself. She even considered threatening to take her prize elsewhere. But a crooked jeweler who could handle this kind of merchandise wasn’t easy to find, so in the end she settled for a sack of chips so heavy she had to double-bag it. It was heavier than she wanted to bother with, so she ordered her first mate, Cork Buffner, to carry it to the ship for her.

  “I’m pleased we could come to an arrangement,” Vivian said, shaking Hill’s hand. “What’ll you do with them?”

  “Oh, this n’ that. Figured I’d pop off the pearls and melt the rest down. Gold this pure should fetch a dandy price, and no one’ll be the wiser.”

>   “Clever chap. Until next time, Mr. Hill.”

  When Vivian returned to her ship, she found the crew flustered.

  “Marshals, Captain. Coming in fast. Looks like the Maelstrom again.”

  “What the devil is Thorpe doing here?” Vivian said. “Everyone out of sight. You know the drill.”

  When Jonathan and his marshals boarded the Dawnhammer several minutes later, the whole ship appeared to be deserted. He sent the bulk of his men belowdecks to search the cargo hold and the crew cabin while he moved into position to take the captain’s quarters. Manchester kicked in the door, and they stormed inside.

  All was quiet for a moment. Then they heard shouts and the clash of steel beneath their feet. Jonathan sent every man he could spare to help. It wasn’t until he and his remaining men had ventured deep into the room that Vivian and her accomplices materialized from closets and cabinets and desks and beds to engage the sky marshals in fierce battle.

  Most of Jonathan’s men were inexperienced and outmatched. So when Dean Manchester gave the order to fall back, they listened to him instead of waiting for Jonathan’s command. Jonathan suddenly found himself alone, a dozen flintlocks pointed in his direction and Vivian’s sword at his throat, while his crew retreated across the deck outside. That would’ve been humiliating enough on its own. When Jonathan saw the Maelstrom lift off and float away without him, his dismay reached new heights.

  “Follow them,” Vivian commanded. “Tie him up.”

  Pirates confiscated Jonathan’s weapons and bound his wrists. Meanwhile, the Dawnhammer left ground in hot pursuit of the Maelstrom. They brought Jonathan outside and tied him to a chair on the deck, where he was made to wait until Vivian joined him again.

  She stood studying him for a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

  Jonathan felt himself flush. “Y—you have?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, giving him a sweet smile. “No one makes me feel half so competent as you do, Captain Thorpe.”

  Jonathan frowned. “You’re very cruel.”

  “I’m a loathsome, bloodthirsty pirate,” she said. “It’s part of the job.” She leaned in until her lips were inches from his ear, so close he could smell the thin, flowery scent of her perfume. “Besides… I rather enjoy it.”

  It took Jonathan a moment to get hold of himself. “Call me old-fashioned,” he said, “but in the stories I grew up hearing, even the bitterest enemies had the decency to treat one another with respect.”

  “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for a decent person. A pirate never wastes an opportunity to gain the upper hand. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you are a terribly easy man to fool. And hardly more than a tolerable swordsman.”

  “That’s a heartless thing to say.”

  “I disagree,” Vivian said. “In fact, I mean to let you go. If you promise to leave my family alone from now on.”

  “That is a promise I cannot make, madam.”

  Vivian raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “You must return the Archduchess’s crown jewels. They are priceless heirlooms.”

  “Priceless? They’re worth more by weight than I could get for them on the street.”

  “They may not be worth much to you, but to the Archduke’s family, they are a symbol of history and tradition. Be reasonable. Surely your own family has its traditions.”

  Vivian wrinkled her mouth. “It would be none of your business if we did. Now then. You’re my captive. Seeing as I’ve wrangled my very own sky marshal, what am I to do with him? Hmm. Perhaps I ought to send the Regency a message about what happens to those who cross the Caine family.”

  “Please don’t,” Jonathan said with a nervous grin.

  “It’s too late for begging, Captain Thorpe. I suppose, since you have refused my request, that I shall simply have to throw you overboard and scuttle your ship. Let your whole crew watch you fall before they fall themselves. Yes. That seems the decent thing to do.” She produced a red bandana and blindfolded him with it.

  Jonathan spoke quickly. “It’s my fault the crown jewels were stolen. Return them to me and I’ll give you whatever they’re worth. I’ll pay for it out of my salary.”

  “How very selfless of you. No, I don’t think your salary would quite cover it.”

  Jonathan was getting nervous now. “I warn you that if you do not return what you’ve stolen, you’ll face the consequences. You can take me down if you like, but there will be others. The Regency does not tolerate brutality against its own.”

  “Oh, how precious. You actually think someone’s going to care. I must say, I admire your childlike faith in the Regency. What is it they say about justice always winning in the end? I can’t recall. However, I have seen many endings to the contrary. Yours will be no different.”

  “This is entirely unfair, Vivian. I was only doing my duty.”

  “Your duty,” she said, “is getting in the way of mine. Now, be a good lad and don’t scream. It isn’t becoming.” Vivian dragged him across the deck, chair legs scraping. She left about four feet of space between Jonathan’s chair and the ship’s railing, then pretended to look over the side. “My, my. It is a long way down, isn’t it?” She was only looking as far down as her boots, of course, but her fictitious observation produced the calculated effect.

  “Please,” Jonathan said. “Don’t do this.”

  “Are you afraid of death, Captain Thorpe?”

  Jonathan steeled himself with a sigh. “I’ll admit I never thought I was due for it so soon.”

  “You really are no fun at all,” she said. “You should be soiling your britches right about now.”

  “One step ahead of you.”

  Vivian wrinkled her nose and stifled a laugh. She didn’t intend to kill him, of course. She was only following her father’s example: a bit of ruthless intimidation before she let him go. So far, the tactic had worked passing well on every constable and sky marshal who’d proved unresponsive to lesser tactics. The offering of bribes and the promise of future harm were effective in silencing most people. Captain Thorpe was a special case, so it seemed bolder measures were required.

  Vivian tossed a pair of pillows down behind Jonathan’s chair. Then, placing her boot against his chest, she said, “It’s been ghastly to meet your acquaintance, Captain Thorpe. Happy sailing.” With that, she gave him a shove.

  The chair rocked up on its rear legs. Despite Vivian’s advice, Jonathan let out a high-pitched squawk, like a seagull in a shark attack. He was still screaming when he crashed into goose-down softness. The blindfold came loose, and he took stock of his surroundings.

  Vivian laughed at him for a moment. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Wha… what? What did you do?”

  “I’ve sent you on a short trip. The next one will be longer. And I can promise you, you won’t enjoy the landing. Remember that, Captain Thorpe. For your own sake, I hope I never have to.”

  “Why are you following my ship?”

  “For fun,” Vivian said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your crew deserves a bit of a scare as well, don’t you think? Mr. Buffner, swing round for a broadside.”

  “No, please,” Jonathan said. “Don’t harm them. You can do all you like with me. Just leave them out of this. They were only following my orders.”

  “Swing round,” shouted Cork Buffner, a wild-haired man with rings through his nose and ears.

  The Dawnhammer drifted across the Maelstrom’s stern. Vivian gave the command. Jonathan watched in horror as the cannons thundered, wincing at the explosion and bracing himself against the damage to his vessel and crew.

  Nothing happened.

  “There we are,” Vivian said. “A bit of empty cannonry to bring the afternoon to a satisfactory end. That should do it. Mr. Buffner, if you would be so kind as to harness Captain Thorpe and lower him to the ground…”

  “Aye, Captain Caine.” Buffner and another man wound a length of rope through Jonathan’s
crotch and tied it off around his chest, then led him to the railing.

  “I suppose I’m really going over this time,” Jonathan said.

  Buffner nudged him toward the edge. “Off you go.”

  “But wait. What about my things?”

  Buffner opened the gate in the railing and shoved him through.

  Jonathan’s stomach heaved as the ground came up to meet him. The rope went taut, jerking him like a worm on a fishing line. The Dawnhammer was still moving fast, so when he hit the ground he had to run to keep up. They toyed with him for a short while before letting him go. A second later, his effects rained down around him.

  He stood and watched the Dawnhammer rise into the clouds until it was little more than a speck against the afternoon sunlight. His men had abandoned him, and it seemed Vivian Caine was getting away with the crown jewels. What Jonathan didn’t realize, of course, was that Vivian had already sold them to Gil Hill and was making off with the profits.

  Chapter 4

  Lily and Poleax were running away together. Not together in the sense that they were romantically involved or anything so dubious as that, but in the sense that Second-Cousin-Once-Removed Poleax was sympathetic toward Lily’s plight and had offered to help her in any way he could. Since hacking through jungle undergrowth with a machete to clear the way for a dozen porters carrying luggage, food, and Lily’s menagerie of housecats was the most imminent form of help Poleax could provide, he was now a tired, sweaty mess, combed hair flopping off the side of his head like wilted lettuce.

  Despondent and full of regret, Lily plopped herself down on a fallen log and put her face in her hands. “Oh, Poleax. What have I done?”

  Poleax stopped his hacking and turned around. “What do you mean? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  The porters, who were actually the crew of the Swan’s Sorrow, stood patiently as the wooden chests and cat cages they were carrying wore deep gouges into their backs and fingers.

  “Oh, I just don’t know anymore,” Lily said. “I thought life away from home would be so adventurous… but it’s really a slog, isn’t it? This place is hotter and stickier than I would’ve imagined. I knew we should’ve taken the ship.”