Somewhere below, Beata heard the ringing call of a horn, long and echoingly loud, followed by several short bursts and another incredibly long drone. Probably someone had sighted The Kraken approaching. A ripple of reaction moved through the crew within earshot, some laughing, some whistling and hooting in similar sequence. Everyone who didn’t have a task at that moment was at the railings, most showing obvious happiness, some few seemed full of simple excited curiosity, which filled Beata to the brim.
By the time the fog had fully dissipated, a pier lay in plain sight at the edge of a seaside village—more a small town, really—with a mooring tower as well as the usual accommodations for seafaring vessels. Three smaller boats were docked at the pier, two with lashed sails and the third, the smallest, with shipped oars lying across the benches.
The ship’s bells rang throughout the airship while a larger sound, like an enormous gong being struck in a slow, almost ponderous cadence, echoed out across the water and back with a few seconds’ delay. People were beginning to appear below, gathering at the pier, some waving and a number calling out words Beata couldn’t decipher at that distance.
Beyond the large island’s green and brown interior, only visible once the fog had gone, were the other islands, extending beyond the first island in a crescent, and Beata wondered if they had once been a larger, single mass, given their proximity and the pattern in which they were set in the water. Water which was astonishingly translucent and ranging from nearly clear to the deepest jewel tones of greenish-blue as it deepened going away from the shore.
As they neared the mooring tower, Beata could see shapes of pale and dark gray-blue in the water, sleek and flowing, swirling together like typical fish shoals and then parting to dive and circle separately. They reminded Beata of dolphins, yet though she could not make out specific detail, there did not seem to be fins and a tail. Just seeing them lifted her heart, and the memory of her dream songs swelled within her. If it hadn’t been so noisy, she felt more than half certain she’d be hearing that music.
Saramay was suddenly there, clutching Beata’s hand, her eyes wide and her voice tremulous as she whispered near Beata’s ear, “Can you hear them singing?”
Temmin stood on Saramay’s other side, only his eyes were closed and he was smiling serenely, his fingers clasped in his sister’s other hand.
Beata swallowed and nodded, unable not to smile. Looking past the fair-haired sibs, Beata noticed that a number of the gathered crew bore similarly sweet smiles, some with their eyes closed, and it looked exactly as if they were hearing the same beautiful sounds.
Even as Beata started to point this out to Seramay, the crew began calling out as they coordinated the mooring lines to the tower. Abruptly, there came a piercing cry from above, followed by the harsh sound of the ship’s klaxon.
“Captain, it’s The Lamprey!” Shouted a lookout from their perch at the highest point of the bow. “Coming high on the starboard side, out of the sun!”
Some were already running even as the captain bellowed, “Battle stations! Bosun Huus!” A deep voice replied from across the ship, but Beata couldn’t see the man through the mass of crewmembers rapidly moving about. Captain Nyx pointed to their portside and ordered, “I want a group ready to escort the hosts down instanter!”
“Aye, Captain!” came the reply, closer this time, and then Huus was calling other names, mustering the group as ordered.
Copper appeared out of nowhere, catching Beata’s arm and attention with a fierce expression. “Get over there to Bosun Huus!” she ordered Beata and the sibs. “We have to make sure you and your own little cargo are kept safe. Gather the others where you see them. Be safe. Go now!”
As soon as she was freed, Beata and the sibs ran toward Bosun Huus at the portside railing near the waist of the airship. Along the way they spotted Dara, back pressed against one of the struts supporting the gas bag, looking frightened. Without trying to speak amidst the chaos, Beata grabbed Dara’s hand and tugged her along in the proper direction.
When they were barely halfway there, the lookout called out again, “Captain, they’re flying the parley banner!”
Captain Nyx looked surprised at this, turning to look in the direction of the approaching airship with her expression shifting to one of narrow-eyed consideration. After a scant few seconds, she turned and pointed upward. “Get back up there and let me know if anything changes.” Turning toward the portside, she called out, “Huus!” Bosun Huus turned to regard the captain, who strode toward him as she continued, “I want you to take the hosts to the grotto. Doc’s coming with to help extract the larvae. Keep them there until we send up a green flare. If you see a red flare, send them to the Old One’s chamber and leave one who’s hosted before with them. The rest of you come back to help us fight.”
“Aye, Captain,” Huus replied with a nod, turning to organize his group.
Arriving at the railing as the captain was moving off to another part of the deck, Beata looked around for Azri.
“Where’s—” she started to ask, but Temmin pointed over the railing, past one of the crew working the mooring pulleys.
“He’s about to go,” Temmin said. They both leaned over to see Azri in a zip harness, being hooked up to the ropes attached to a fixed block and tackle at the base of the mooring tower. Azri’s harness had a separate rope that would be held by those lowering him, acting as a guideline to prevent him from going too fast or so they could reel him back if something went wrong.
Looking over the side, Beata’s stomach dropped at the idea, making her hope she wouldn’t embarrass herself by heaving her last meal all over anyone unfortunate enough to be below her on the way. With the dizzying distance to the pier, she looked at the ship instead of the ground.
For the first time, she appreciated just how sleek and well-crafted it was, the hull painted a bluish-gray fading downward into a paler greenish-gray, with the shadowy suggestion of tentacles beginning halfway along the sides and flowing backward, as they would with the forward motion of a tentacled water creature. Beata could just make out one gleaming dark eye at the port side of the prow and already knew from the plans and drawings in Chief Oskar’s workroom that there was a second in the middle and a third equidistant from it on the starboard side. Of course, like the three tiny dark blue dots on the larvae, and likely the same trait carried through to the adult version of the creatures, which was the inspiration for The Kraken’s detailed hull decoration.
The tentacles looked astonishingly realistic, Beata thought, and then she grinned, because she knew their secret.
“Where’s the doc?” Bosun Huus asked, icy clue eyes intent and pale features drawn in harsh lines. His white-blond hair, normally held back in a queue at his nape, had got loose and fluttered into and out of his face at random, but he gave no sign that he noticed.
“Here,” came a voice behind them, Doc Roban, clutching the strap of his medical kit.
“Right, then,” Huus acknowledged with a curt nod.
Two of the crewmembers started lowering Azri down, but there came a distant buzzing whine, then a loud popping sound, and something hit the ropes attached to the pulleys, shredding the one to which Azri’s harness had been hooked. It held for a scant instant before snapping and zipping through the harness’s metal hook and dropping Azri like a stone.
Beata and the others nearby gasped. Dara screamed and slapped her hands to her mouth, but the two crewmembers who still held the guideline clearly saw what was about to happen and braced themselves. Azri cried out in terror as he fell, then jolted to a halt and swung back under the ship. The foremost crewmember had the rope fed through one of several stanchions used for just such a purpose, and then wrapped around his arm; the second crewmember had the rope around his waist, leaning back to act as a counterweight and to feed forward more rope as needed—or, in this case, to bring it back in.
By the time they had Azri hauled back up and inside the railing, the young man was panting and deathly pale. Sever
al of them grabbed him and supported him as his knees gave out, easing him down into a sitting position. Dara threw her arms around Azri, sobbing, and clung to him. After a few seconds, his arms came up and he returned the embrace, burying his face in her shoulder and just shuddering. Both Saramay and Temmin looked but a small step from crying, as well. Beata felt unnervingly trembly inside at how close Azri had come to what would surely have been his death.
“Captain! They’ve shot out the rope,” Bosun Huus was already shouting, even as they were easing Azri down to the deck. “The only way to get anyone off now is by the mooring tower, and they’ll likely do the same thing if we try.”
The captain growled out something with gritted teeth, words Beata didn’t understand, but she’d have wagered all her scant possessions they weren’t polite. Even as the captain was striding angrily toward the starboard side of the ship, a distant voice came from the direction of The Lamprey. Someone at the railing with a conical device held up to their mouth, but Beata couldn’t make them out yet; the voice was male, though.
“We’re here to parley, Captain Nyx, but we’ll shoot down anyone who tries to leave before we’re through.”
Captain Nyx turned to give an order, but Nan came running up to her with a metal cone bearing a simple handle. Nodding in thanks, the captain put it to her mouth and shouted through it, her voice amplified somewhat by the shape of the cone. “Captain Vittori, shooting at my crew isn’t something in keeping with the rules of parley.”
“My sharpshooter knows what she’s doing,” came the faint, but understandable reply. “We shot at the rope, not your crew. I want to parley, maybe make a bargain, not go to war with you, but if that’s what you want, I am prepared to do that, instead.”
Far up on the rigging of The Lamprey, Beata could see someone sitting amidst the ropes, a long rifle in their hands. As she watched, they were cranking rapidly, charging the rifle for another shot. Normally, most guns would fire several times on one charge, unless the bullet was meant to travel faster and farther, as with a sniper rifle, in which the full charge would then be expended in one shot. She wondered if The Kraken had a sharpshooter, too.
“What do you want to bargain for, Captain Vittori?” Captain Nyx demanded.
“Nothing of importance,” replied Captain Vittori. In the distance he made a casually dismissive gesture. “Nothing worth fighting over.”
Captain Nyx turned to Copper, and then Nan, giving them a nod. Copper returned the nod, as did Nan, and they went in opposite directions. Nan slipped through the gathered crew, heading aft. Copper went below-decks after signaling one of the crew to follow her. Meanwhile, Captain Nyx was calling across to Captain Vittori again. “Stop dancing around it and just speak plainly!”
“Very well, then.” Captain Vittori sounded more amused than combative. “I want to buy a slave off you. One we didn’t mean to sell to the flesh market.”
“We’ve already off-loaded those slaves, you’re too late,” Captain Nyx replied without even turning her head to look at the five slaves left of the six bought at the flesh market.
Heart suddenly pounding and icy-cold hands clasped together before her, Beata didn’t even think about hiding, she just suddenly found herself behind Saramay and Temmin, and then Doc Roban’s hand was sweeping her even further back, in amongst the crew gathered with Bosun Huus.
“Now, now, Nyx, let’s not dishonor this parley with blatant lies,” Captain Vittori called back, sounding less amused. “The little brown-skinned girl, with the black hair and eyes. I and my second, Navien, saw her still on your ship at Skycove. You haven’t stopped since. Sell her to me and I’ll pay ten percent above what you paid for her. No need for a fight, no need for any trouble at all. Just business.”
Beata could hardly breathe with the fear welling up in her. She knew her single life could not possibly be worth however many lives would be lost if the two airships fought in earnest. She would be sold to the ones who’d stolen her in the first place, of course, and she had no illusions that the man she’d stabbed had plans to be kind to her.
“In the spirit of fairness, since we’re under your banner of parley,” Captain Nyx said without a hint of apprehension or doubt. “I think I should remind you that you’ve come upon us at our home port. Should it come to a fight, you must realize you’re outnumbered, Captain Vittori.”
“Your crew and mine number about the same, Nyx,” said Captain Vittori. “If it comes to that, I’m fairly confident we outgun you. But come now. It’s one little slave. Why the fuss?”
“She’s one of ours now,” Captain Nyx said, bite in every syllable. “She’s made the pact. No going back on that, Vittori.”
A murmuring rose amongst the crew, though Beata couldn’t tell if it was in support of Captain Nyx or not. She felt a strange sense of foreboding, as if something terrible was going to happen, but the whole shouted conversation going on at that moment was certainly explanation enough for such a sensation.
“You’re as bad as old Rikard was. You lot and your pacts!” Captain Vittori practically spat the word. “Oh, it makes for wonderful drama when telling tall tales at the tavern, but will your crew prove so loyal in reality? Do they wish to die for one little slave girl?”
Beata felt a rumbling through the deck, like when the engines were running hard against a strong headwind or...when the big old steam engine was running. She gasped softly, looking up at the gas bag for a moment before slowly, carefully, easing away while everyone’s attention was focused on the loud conversation between the two captains. In a few moments, she’d reached one of the hatches leading below-decks, pausing only a moment when the captain answered Vittori’s knowing question.
“The question you should be asking, Captain Vittori,” said Captain Nyx. “Is whether you wish to die for one little slave girl.” Taking the cone away from her mouth, she took several long strides to the propped-open doors leading below-decks and shouted, “Now, Copper!”
The next moment, a deep booming sound came from the bow of the ship, much like the horn that had been blown by one of the islanders upon their approach, only many times louder and deeper. That strange, incredibly loud sound followed Beata down the hatch.
She ran as fast as she could to the maintenance areas, dodging some others running to their tasks, and nearly throwing herself down one of the steep ladder-like stairwells before reaching the chamber housing the old steam engine. It was running full on, with two crewmembers flinging dark greenish-black things the approximate size of dinner plates in amongst the coal already burning away. Each one was like a flattened teardrop, more rounded at one end than the other, and when they landed in the flames, they sizzled and started burning with bright bluish flames. If she were more given to fancy, she’d have guessed they were scales, enormous fish scales, because they had that general appearance. Strangely, though they burned brightly, they weren’t consumed as rapidly as it seemed they ought to be, but Beata didn’t have time to think about that at the moment. She was about to ask one of the two stoking the steam engine’s fires where Chief Oskar or Engineer Veteen could be found, but heard the sounds of heavy steps coming toward the door.
“Grease monkey, what’re you doing down here?” Chief Oskar said from behind her as she was already turning, his expression shifting from what had looked like grim determination to one of concern.
“You heard the horn, didn’t you, Chief?” she asked. “That was the one you told me about, right?”
Oskar’s face split into a fierce grin. “That it was. Don’t want to miss your chance, eh?” She shook her head, ready to move on the instant, and he went to the much-abused workbench across the room and pulled down a pair of long gloves. “I’ve sent Mikal to the portside valves already. Do you remember what I showed you, bee? I’d rather be here to do what’s needed, but—”
“I remember! I can do it, Chief!” Beata interrupted, perhaps rudely, but knew they both understood the urgency.
“Then, go!” he said, his agreement impl
icit. She went.
The narrow companionway going across-ship was nearly snug for Beata, who wasn’t at all large, and she could touch both sides without straightening her arms more than halfway. When she’d gone far enough it felt like she ought to be bursting out through the side of the ship, she reached a ladder up to a catwalk of metal and padded canvas. A row of small portholes, barely big enough that Beata could have got her face through one, though not her head, were placed in a line above the metal catwalk. In between each porthole were two valves with lever-style handles—pull down to open and push up to close—and pressure gauges mounted just beneath these. Each pair of valves had an upward-pointing arrow painted above the left-hand valve and a downward-pointing arrow above the right-hand valve. All the gauges showed good pressure; the old-fashioned steam power was ready to use.
Standing on tip-toe, Beata could see The Lamprey through the little portholes. It was moving closer, still higher in the air than The Kraken. As Oskar had shown her so recently, she pulled on the too-large gloves as she moved to the end closest to the other airship, and started pulling the left-hand levers halfway down, one after the other, until the whole row of them were hissing.
Peering outside as she went, she could just make out shapes unfurling from the gas bag, which would be closer to The Lamprey than the airship’s hull; several thin strips of canvas fluttering downward as the temporary fasteners were popped off by the pressure filling the flattened canvas tubes. Her angle wasn’t great, but she could see well enough as what seemed like snaking tentacles loosened themselves from The Kraken’s painted gas bag to flail and writhe menacingly. Beata wished she could hear better, but the portholes weren’t made to open and the whooshing sound of the steam feeding through the valves drowned out most anything she might have otherwise heard from outside.
The Lamprey slowly angled downward a little, moving into a position where Beata worried they might be better able to fire upon the decks of The Kraken. She hurried to start pulling down the levers on the right-hand side. Steam hissed, the gauges’ little needles flickered and moved, and when she peered downward, the painted tentacles along the hull seemed to grow from mere flat representations to real, moving, grasping things reaching out from The Kraken’s sides.
Phantasmical Contraptions & Other Errors Page 25
