“That’s right. One of them just leapt for it. The other followed a few minutes later. Can’t see very well in the dark, I imagine.”
“And after the first one leapt to its death, did it not occur to you that perhaps you ought to have restrained the others?”
“With all due respect, Ben… I don’t know horses from whores.”
“No you don’t. I can vouch for that. And I dare say you’re too ham-fisted to manage a consort with either.”
Poleax cleared his throat and steeled himself. “Whilst I do apologize for my ill-preparedness, I must remind you that my inclusion in this venture was not by choice.”
“Yes, well I shan’t make that mistake again. Wait a minute. Not by choice? Who said it was anything else? Junior told me—” Caine twisted his head around to look at his son, like a snake adjusting to a new target. “Junior. So that’s the way we’re playing it…”
Junior shook his head. “No. Father, it isn’t.”
Caine smiled, a thing pleasant and insidious all at once. “Say, there, son. How would you like to bring your crew on a hunting trip with your old Dad?”
Chapter 7
Alexander Atwell’s apple-red sedan charged down the rain-soaked road, sliding and fishtailing and squirting mud through the tires. Jonathan leaned into it, gripping the wheel and driving the machine forward with every ounce of concentration he could muster. Behind him, the woman moaned. He came to a straight section of road and stomped on the gas.
At last the hospital was in sight, a three-story brick structure with keystone windows. Jonathan was almost there when a slick tearing sound shook the whole motorcar. The ground shot up in front of him like a mountain giving birth. He slammed on the brakes, sending the vehicle into a skid toward the sheer earthen wall in its path.
The car slowed enough that by the time it bumped the still-rising wall of earth and came to a stop, the impact did little damage. Clods of mud and dirt pattered down on the vehicle’s roof and hood. Jonathan punched the gas. The wheels spun mud for a few seconds, then caught traction and sent him hurtling into the sodden fields beside the road.
With a deep rumble, the moving chunk of land lifted off the ground and floated up into the sky, leaving a crater with a footprint five times the size of the Maelstrom. On the far side of the crater, Jonathan was relieved to find the hospital still intact. He glanced back to make sure the woman was still breathing, then breathed a sigh of his own as he maneuvered the motorcar around the gaping hole in the landscape and came to a stop at the hospital’s front entrance.
He exited the car screaming for help. Shortly, a couple of men in white uniforms came outside to bring the woman in. They rushed her to the examination room, where a doctor confirmed she’d sustained a concussion, two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a pair of fractures in her hip and left leg. Jonathan almost left her in the hospital’s care, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to leave. When the medical staff had stabilized the woman, one of the doctors pulled Jonathan out into the hallway.
“Where did you find the girl?” the doctor asked, adjusting his spectacles.
“She was… by the side of the road. Just lying there.” That was Jonathan’s first lie.
“I see. It’s a good thing you got her here when you did. She’s in awful shape.”
“Will she be okay?”
“She has a ways to go yet, but I think she’s going to be fine. It’s clear she was hit by an automobile of some kind. There’s blue paint embedded in some of the lacerations under her skin. What I don’t understand is what kind of monster a person would have to be to have left her there in the first place. And in broad daylight, no less. Strong suspicion of foul play here. Looks like a classic hit-and-run, but I’m willing to bet there’s more to it. In any case, I’ve filed a report with the local constabulary. They’ll question her when she’s feeling up to it. Perhaps she can shed some light on who it might’ve been. Whoever he is, they’ll find the bastard. You can rest easy on that score.”
Jonathan was not resting easy. “Thank you for everything,” he said, and returned to the room. He stayed by her bedside all night and into the next day, pacing the floor each time they wheeled her away for a test, x-ray, or surgical procedure.
By the following afternoon, the woman appeared to be doing a little better. She opened her eyes with a clarity and an awareness Jonathan hadn’t yet seen there. He was startled when she reached out to take his hand. “My name is Lydia,” she said in a thin voice.
“Hello, Lydia. I’m Jonathan.”
“You’re a marshal,” she said with a soft smile. “And a handsome one, at that.”
Jonathan felt himself blush. She was beautiful, now that he saw the color in her cheeks and the golden hair splayed out on the pillow behind her head. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Well… yes, I am. I mean, no. I’m—what I mean to say is…”
Lydia gave a soft laugh, then grimaced in pain. “I must thank you,” she said. “I never imagined my life would be saved by someone so brave.”
“It should hardly be said that I saved your life, madam. I only brought you along for the help you needed. Do you remember what happened?”
She thought for a moment. “I was walking to market with flowers to sell. I remember a car, speeding down the road. A blue one. It came round the bend in front of me. Next I knew, I was off my feet. I landed in a… ditch, or something. Then I woke up here. I can’t recall much more than that, I’m afraid.”
Jonathan gulped. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Lydia.”
“Thank goodness you were there to find me,” she said weakly, giving his hand a squeeze.
Jonathan pulled back. “Yes, well… so am I. But I must be going now.”
“Your family must be worried about you.”
“More my crew, really. Or rather, me worried about them.”
She gave him a somber smile. “It must be hard being a marshal. Being away from your loved ones all the time.”
“It’s just my mum and my sister now. I reckon they get along without me.”
“You’re not married?”
Jonathan suddenly felt very hot. His collar was choking him. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. “I really ought to be getting back. Best of luck with your recovery, madam.”
“Wait,” she said. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Eh, well… I can’t make any promises. The skies are very busy, you know, this time of year…” He stumbled toward the door.
What Lydia said next stopped him in his tracks. “Please, Jonathan. I should very much like to see you again. Promise you’ll come back and visit me when I’m better.”
He put his back to the door, hand resting on the knob. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I’ll try.”
“Promise?” she asked.
“I—I… yes.” He slipped out and closed the door behind him, then strode down the hallway, ducking past the constables at the front desk. Outside, he got into the apple-red sedan and drove off, encircling the gargantuan pothole in the earth once more to get back to the road. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He kept thinking it all the way back to Alexander Atwell’s house.
The doorman let Jonathan inside and informed him that Alexander was taking afternoon tea in the dining room. Jonathan marched in, hot as an iron. He stopped to greet Mr. Letwidge, the Atwells’ longtime butler, then asked for some privacy and waited for Letwidge to shut the door behind him.
“Alex, we’ve got to talk.”
“Well hello there, old bean. How did everything pan out?”
“She’s alive, Alex.”
“Jolly good. Won’t you have a seat?”
“Doesn’t that make you even the least bit nervous?”
“Why should I be nervous?”
“Because you almost killed the woman.”
Alex waved a dismissive hand. “Honest mistake, mate.”
“You were drunk.”
“What’s all the flap and fluster about, Jon? Accidents happen.
If the woman comes to and decides to press charges, I’ll fill her flower basket with so many gold chips she’ll have to drag it home.”
“She’s come to, Alex. And what of her injuries? What about the fact that she may never walk again, or that she may carry some of these wounds with her for the rest of her life?”
“We all have scars, old bean. They make us who we are.”
“Don’t give me that rubbish,” Jonathan said. “You have a responsibility to make this right. You have the means to do so, and you shouldn’t wait until she steps forward with evidence against you. They’ve already found the blue paint from your car. The very least you could do is go apologize to her.”
Alex wrinkled his nose, disinclined toward the idea. Then something occurred to him. “Oh, I meant to tell you… a chap from your ship radioed the house a few hours ago. Man-taters, or something to that effect.”
“Manchester. What did he say?”
Alex brightened. “Good news, old bean. They’ve taken the crown jewels to Finustria.”
“On the Maelstrom? And left me here?”
“Yes. A bit of high adventure, it would seem. Isn’t it marvelous?”
“No, it isn’t marvelous at all. This marks the second time this week my crew have flown off without me. Probably the twentieth time they’ve defied my orders since I took the command.”
Alex grunted. “Choir boys and parishioners. No respect, those chaps.”
“For the last time, I’m not a priest.”
“Why not take a load off while you wait for them to come round, old bean? You’ve always got a bed and a roof over your head at the Atwell household. Besides, I’m sure they’ll be back for you in a tick.”
Jonathan felt weary. “I suppose I’ve no other choice.”
***
The first thing Vivian heard as she crept down the hall toward the back parlor was the sound of her mother’s laughter. The door was cracked, and when Vivian came close she could see a sliver of the room’s interior. Mother had not, it seemed, retired to her bedroom. Instead she was leaning over the side of an armchair, speaking softly into the bluewave receiver cupped to her ear.
“No. Ben doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s much too preoccupied these days, cavorting about on these escapades of his.” A pause. “Yes. Keeps the family in business, you know. Well I do appreciate you doing this for me. Oh, it’s going to be delightful. Sweet revenge, ey? He’ll be absolutely horrified. Yes. Right, well I hope you do. Gods know he deserves it. Yes, oh I will. You can count on that. Thank you, Archie. Goodbye.”
Archie, Vivian thought. That name could only refer to one person: Archibald ‘Greenbeard’ McCracken, her father’s most bitter rival in the pirating business. Gertrude rose and strode toward the parlor door, so fast Vivian had to throw herself against the wall to avoid being hit when she came out. She froze and watched her mother march down the hallway and out of sight. Then she doubled back and ascended the servants’ staircase.
When the three sisters convened in Misty’s room a few minutes later, each of them divulged her own theory about what it could all mean.
“Mummy is going to have Daddy killed,” Misty predicted. “She said so.”
Vivian rolled her eyes. “She did not.”
“Did so. And you know who it was she was talking to… Greenbeard. Greenbeard and Gertrude. Hmm. Their names start with the same letter. They must be in league for some nefarious purpose against Father. Oh, I can’t wait to see how it all plays out.” Misty clapped her hands.
“You are truly sick. Do you know that?”
“Mother mentioned revenge,” said Lily. “And she seemed happy about it. Perhaps she means to play a practical joke on him.”
“I think that’s the more likely scenario,” said Vivian. “Dad’s birthday is coming up. Maybe that’s what she’s on about.”
“Mummy is going to run away with Greenbeard on Daddy’s birthday,” Misty said, singsong.
“Oh, will you come off it?”
Misty glared. “Oh, will you get out of my room? I never invited you.”
“Yes you did.”
“Well I’m uninviting you now. Get out.”
“And if I don’t?” Vivian said.
“I’ll scream. I’ll scream so loud it’ll make your eardrums bubble up like blisters.”
“Try me.”
Misty put her hands on her hips. “If you don’t leave, I’ll tell my crew to attack your crew, and kill them all, and burn the Dawnhammer to the ground. And then I’ll carve your name into my own back so Daddy knows you did it.”
“First of all, how would you carve anything into your own back? And second, how would that prove—”
“Get out,” Misty screamed. “Get out no-o-o-o-w.” Halfway through the final word, Misty’s voice shot up to a piercing register and stayed there.
“Alright, alright. I’m going,” Vivian said, pressing her palms to her ears. “Give it a blooming rest.”
No sooner had she entered the hallway than Vivian heard the next-most unwelcome sound in the world.
“Vivian?” Mother called. “What’s all the hubbub?”
Oh, it never ends, Vivian thought. I’m stuck here forever, and it never ends.
Chapter 8
The Marquis of Bixbury might’ve been vexed if he’d seen two of his prized stallions being slathered with mustard and sweet relish, but since Benedict Caine had neither a painter nor a photographer handy, he would be unable to offer any such proof of the occurrence. Junior and the Stratustarian’s crew were covered in yellow and green after having emptied several jars of each onto the animals’ flanks and spread them with their bare hands.
Benedict, meanwhile, sat in his lounger a distance away, drink in hand. “That’s the stuff,” he shouted. “Give ‘em the old man-massage.”
Junior wiped his forehead, leaving behind a chunky yellow streak. “Are we done yet, Dad?”
Benedict considered. “You missed a spot between the brown one’s cheeks, son.
Junior muttered to himself and moved to obey.
Benedict laughed. “Not those cheeks. The other ones. Never mind, Junior. I’ve seen enough. Release them.”
Poleax blinked. “What was that?”
“You heard me correctly, Poleax.” Benedict stood and took the musket from the crewman standing beside him, replacing it with his half-full glass of cognac. “Stay close behind me, now,” he told the man. “I may need a drink at a moment’s notice.”
“You’re setting two horses loose in the jungle?” Poleax said. “That’ll be like dipping two fingers into a pool of piranhas.”
“Precisely,” Caine said. “Two delicious fingers slathered in pickles and mustard. Those horses will attract every apex carnivore from here to the abandoned city.”
“But these are rare and expensive animals,” Poleax insisted.
“Yes, and well-documented, too. Try selling them, if you fancy a ten-year stint in a Roathean prison.”
“You can’t just sacrifice them…”
“Can’t I? Fat lot of good they’re doing for me here. Might as well get an exotic pelt or two out of the deal. I’m planning to make a gift of one for my Gertrude.”
“What about the ransom?” said Poleax.
“The ransom was intended to include twelve stallions. Two won’t fetch me enough to pay someone to kick your arse for failing me. No, my dear Poleax. I am afraid it is time to cut our losses and move on.”
Poleax Longworth was far from the bravest man alive, but he had a distinct problem with cruelty to animals. He decided then that he would save those horses—even if he had to battle ferocious tigers to do so.
***
When the Maelstrom touched down outside Alexander Atwell’s castle, Jonathan Thorpe couldn’t have said goodbye to his old friend quickly enough. He was aboard in two seconds flat, ready to give Manchester and the others a piece of his mind. Vin Harlow interrupted him as he was about to call an all-hands meeting.
“Admiral’s on the line
for you, Cap’n,” Harlow said.
“For me?”
“Aye. He’s just finished congratulating Mr. Manchester on the successful retrieval of the Finustrian crown jewels.”
“Wait. What? Manchester didn’t retrieve them… I did.”
“Well, sir, since you retrieved the jewels, and Manchester retrieved you… that’s got a roundabout way of working out, as I figure it.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Just telling you what I know, sir.”
Jonathan reached the radio room in time to hear Manchester laying on the charm. “It was nothing, sir. Nothing at all. Just doing what I could in the line of duty. Any man worth his salt would’ve done the same.”
Jonathan nearly crashed through the door. “Hello, Manchester. Would you like some bread to go with all that buttering-up?”
“Captain Thorpe. I beg your pardon, sir. I was just begging the Admiral here not to go so hard on you. He’s awfully keen to speak with you. Here you are.” Manchester handed Jonathan the receiver and stepped away.
Jonathan muffled it against his chest and said, “I’ll deal with you later.”
Manchester tightened his lips, but said nothing.
“Admiral Farrelly,” Jonathan said into the radio. “I—”
“Thorpe.”
Jonathan knew from the first word that this wasn’t going to go well.
“Thorpe, you’ve got a lot of nerve. I might’ve expected behavior like this from some plebian cadet pulling pranks at the academy. For a man of your rank, this is wholly unacceptable.”
“If you’ll just let me explain, sir.”
“Manchester gave me all the explanation I need. For a captain to abandon his post is shameful. Just shameful.”
“I didn’t abandon my post. They left without me.”
“How did they leave without you if you were at your post?”
“I—they—I only left for a short while.”
“And what’s all this business about you tangling with the Caines again? I thought I gave you very specific instructions to the contrary.”
“You did, Admiral Farrelly. I was able to get the crown jewels back, though.”
“And you put your ship and the lives of your crew at risk to do so. I’m told that redheaded bitch nearly blew the Maelstrom out of the sky. Have you any idea the expense you might’ve caused the fleet, thanks to your carelessness?”
Skyjackers: Episode 1: A Proper Nuisance (Skyjackers: Season One) Page 6
