The turret gunner popped up and looked around. He spotted the rope around the harpoon gun and gave a shout, but Atlas was already on the move. He pulled once on the rope to check the tension, hauled back, and leapt. He swung out away from the cliff wall and over the top of the airship. He was about to let go, when the rope came loose from the gun turret anyway—the rock spinning free from his hastily tied knot.
Oops.
He dropped.
Atlas let go of the rope and flailed for the canvas of the airship’s envelope. He hit the ship in a belly flop, just shy of the apex of the frame, and bounced slightly, but he dug his fingertips into the fabric as hard as he could to grab hold.
Stop stop stop.
He managed to pinch the fabric just enough to make a wrinkle and arrested his slide with all the strength he had in his fingertips.
The turret gunner pivoted the weapon to face him, surprised by the sudden movement, but whether it was because he was aiming at a kid, or because he was also aiming at the airship, he did nothing else. He merely stared in shock as the aircraft finished rounding the turn and motored up the canyon.
Atlas shimmied his way up the envelope, staying flat and using his clammy palms to spider his way up. Moving slowly, he was able to not slide downward at all, and finally gained the rigid walkway that ran atop the airship’s longitudinal axis. He gripped the narrow rail with satisfaction.
He’d made it.
Atlas folded himself over the low-profile rail and collapsed onto the walkway beyond with one hand still firmly gripping the bar. He looked back to the harpoon turret but the man inside had disappeared. That was probably trouble, but he’d bought himself some time.
He let himself smile, just briefly, but then remembered his mission. He was almost there.
As the ship lofted steadily upward in a turn through the rocky canyons, Atlas worked his way farther astern. The ship passed villages built into the sides of the mountain walls. Recently returned miners and their families were sitting on stoops overhanging deep vertical drop-offs.
The homes themselves were carved directly into the rocks or adapted to fit into previously bored-out tunnels. A few people spotted him atop the airship as it cruised by, but no one opened their mouth to say anything. Everyone viewing the passing ships was doing so with hostility. Not a single one of the children was gazing with the sort of incredulous adulation these aircraft would have received in Womble.
In Womble, the kids would have come racing from their homes, hollering the whole way through the fields and begging for a ride. These children—the few he could spot—stared out from behind mothers and fathers with sullen eyes and snotty noses, not the least bit thrilled to be witnessing this particular aerial wonder.
The ships climbed on, circling the mountain, and eventually reached a passage that bored straight through the mountainside. The passage was lit with lanterns and guarded by more of the stern-faced Air Corps. Atlas slunk aft behind the vertical fin and hid himself on a maintenance deck near the rudder. Careful to not be spotted by the lower-flying airship trailing some distance behind, he climbed down the access ladder and cautiously scanned the aft deck of the ship. There was some type of captain’s quarters built into the stern, and a rear observation deck, but no one was on it.
As he continued down the ladder, he spotted the bulk of the crew. The few that were above decks were huddled along the starboard side of the ship, watching a spectacle coming into view on the other end of the tunnel. It was only then that Atlas saw where they were.
They’d entered the flying city the girl had talked about. He’d made it. For all the climbing and turning over the outside of the mountain, he’d come back to where he started, just a whole lot higher up.
Hundreds of airships hovered in the valley between the cliffs. Big ones, small ones. Atlas hadn’t ever dreamed there were so many in the entire world. In any other circumstance, he would have simply hung there on the ladder and gawked as they drifted by. But now was not the time. His grandfather was aboard this ship, and he was going to find him.
He jimmied the lock on one of the captain’s quarters windows and slipped inside. The cabin was compact, as would be expected aboard an airship, but it did have a few accessories he doubted most other ships boasted. One was a full-sized two-person bed instead of a hammock. The other was a framed oil painting of a man with a bristling black beard and a double-breasted coat seated next to a sickly woman in a flowery dress. There was no plaque or description of the painting, but the position on the main wall of the cabin suggested persons of importance. Atlas didn’t have time to notice anything else because voices sounded just outside the door.
Atlas scrambled for a place to hide, but the only option in the cramped cabin was under the bed. He fell to the floor and rolled underneath, just as the cabin door opened and two men entered.
He couldn’t see much. Two pairs of boots, one shiny and black, one battered and brown, standing near the doorway.
“I don’t care about the crew’s families. They can wait,” Shiny Boots was saying. “My father has reached the wreck. We’ll simply keep the cargo aboard and ferry it out there tomorrow.”
“And the shore leave?” Brown Boots asked.
“They can have leave tonight, but the rest is cancelled. I expect them all back aboard by morning. They can loaf about the saloons when the work is done.” He walked to the mirror. “This is my father’s finest hour and he’s likely to be in a festive mood. Getting what he wants makes him almost bearable to be around. If I’m going to ask for full command of the fleet, this will be the time.”
“Certainly well due, sir,” Brown Boots mumbled.
“My father is giving his speech tonight. Admiral Orloff will no doubt be there. I’ll present him with his gift then. Can’t wait to see the look of jealousy on Orloff’s face. It will be the perfect time for my father to see how irreplaceable my talents are, and note the admiral’s need for a permanent retirement.”
Brown Boots walked to the windows. “It seems your sister beat us to port by a matter of some hours. I heard she paid off the Restless Fury.”
“I couldn’t care less what Erin does with that rattletrap bucket,” Shiny Boots said. “She’s Father’s problem, not mine.”
“So no more deals with Borgram?”
“Undercutting my sister’s harvesting earnings is small potatoes now, Aspen. You need to show some imagination. You’re never going to get anywhere in life if you don’t learn to improve upon your ambitions.”
“What would you like done with the captive, sir?”
“Is he still chained up?”
“Aye.”
“Given you any trouble?”
“None to speak of, unless you count his snoring. Makes a din with that. But he’s an old wreck. Suppose we all can expect that at his age.”
Shiny Boots walked to the writing desk and scribbled something. “Leave the old man aboard. Does he still have the relic key?”
“Hangs on to it for dear life anytime the men get near him. We could get it away from him, but we’d have to break a few fingers.”
“Let the old man hold on to it for a few more hours. We’ll bring him to my father once I’ve had time to present him with the relic. No use spoiling the surprise. Take this message to my father’s attendants as soon as we dock. Inform them I’ll be along presently.”
“I was planning to dress for the party, sir.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Aspen. No one will be looking at you anyway. Now get out. We’re nearly there.”
Brown Boots left and the door was shut roughly behind him. Shiny Boots walked to a cupboard and poured something into a glass. The first contribution disappeared quickly, but when the bottle clinked against the glass a second time, he stood there for some minutes sipping it. It was another fifteen minutes by the time he’d finished standing in front of the mirror and primping. Finally, when Atlas was despairing of ever escaping from under the bed, the man dropped his coat over the footboard, retrieved an
other from the closet, and exited the room.
Atlas waited five more minutes before climbing out from under the bed. He crept to the door and listened, but the passage was quiet. He snuck out into the mid-decks, found the stairs heading upward, but only poked his head up far enough to spot the sentry, leaned lazily against the stern rail and spitting something over the side. The ship was docked.
Atlas crept back down the ladder and peered into the other cabins. All were empty, but there was another set of steps at the forward right of the ship, just aft of the cockpit. Atlas descended quietly and emerged in the cargo hold.
The space was crammed with supplies and ballast tanks. What little room there was left had been stuffed with miscellaneous lift pods. None were especially well cared for and a few were oozing goo from punctures due to rough handling.
Atlas crept along the narrow keel corridor until he reached the center of the ship. He found a wooden pen with bits of straw protruding under the door. The pen looked to have been used to haul livestock of some kind, but when Atlas reached it and peered over the top, there were no animals inside. Instead, he found Enzo, curled up in a ball in the hay, and chained to a wall.
“Grandpa!” Atlas flung the latch open and swung the door wide. He sprang through the doorway and fell to his knees, skidding across the straw to the side of his grandfather.
Enzo stirred in the hay and rolled over to face him. When he saw who it was, he broke into a smile. He raised a weathered hand to clasp his grandson’s. “Atlas, my boy. I knew you’d come.”
30
MARLOW
Samra felt lighter than air. She wasn’t at the moment—not technically speaking, as she still had the persistent weight of the locked chain around her waist—but the thrill of her victory in Borgram’s wager made her euphoric nonetheless. She’d saved the Fury, ensured the jobs of the crew, and now she was rich!
She read the bank note she’d been given by the games master. Twenty thousand marks. She didn’t know what she’d buy with it, but it surely meant she was important now. She was a rope fall champion. The title brought a grin to her face.
She followed the crew over the gangplank of the jump ship and across the valley via the web of bridges and floating platforms toward the main cluster of ships that made up the city.
People were bustling about, dizzy with apprehension about the arrival of Lord Savage’s skyship. Some she passed were thrilled at the prospect. Ladies in fancy jewelry and men in fine clothing scurried to primp and fine-tune their looks for the evening. Ship captains and crewmen frowned and complained over notices being handed out by the Air Corps and the crew from the newly-arrived ship.
The skiffs had deployed to different parts of the city, making announcements and giving notices. Sunburn grabbed one of the slips of paper from a passing messenger and scoured the writing, spelling out the words and attempting to read it aloud. He wasn’t making much progress.
“My father is giving a speech,” Captain Savage said. “He’s issuing orders to move the city.” She’d only taken a quick glance at the paper. “And of course throwing a party. Heaven forbid we ever get anything done in this town that doesn’t require an excuse to show off. At least my brother will be happy.”
A party? Samra wondered if she’d be invited. Would they celebrate her rope fall victory there?
Samra stopped smiling when she saw another skiff pull up from the direction of the sandfall. Four men were aboard carrying a stretcher. They hoisted it over the bulwark of the ship and handed it off to men in white uniforms on the dock. The men leaned over the woman in the stretcher, probing her arms and legs, then lifted the stretcher and carried it in Samra’s direction. The crew of the Fury stepped aside as the medics passed. Samra had a long look at the person in the stretcher. It was Ms. Turngrass, the woman Ranginui had forced into the falls.
Samra’s good mood disappeared as the woman was borne past. Both of her legs were in splints as well as her left arm. Her right arm was the only one still working and she had her hand over her mouth, sobbing softly into it. Her watery eyes found Samra’s for an instant as she went by.
Samra recalled Jake’s warning about Ranginui and how she had stepped aside to let the woman take her place next to their tattooed competitor. No one had warned this woman, already desperate, and now even worse off for her bravery.
The crew of the Fury moved on, up to the next ship deck they needed to traverse, but Samra was frozen on the floating dock, watching the medics prepare to cross the next rope bridge. Captain Savage turned and waved her on. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”
But Samra couldn’t leave. She spun around and shouted to the medics. “Wait!” They paused near the bridge and Samra sprinted back to them. She positioned herself at Ms. Turngrass’s side and grasped her good hand. The woman recoiled in surprise at first, but Samra held onto her hand and pressed the note with her winnings into the woman’s palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you.”
The woman lifted the note and tried to read it.
“It’s twenty-thousand marks,” Samra said, “I hope it helps.”
The woman’s eyes widened, then welled with tears again. She clutched the note to her chest and sobbed. Samra stepped back and the medics hoisted the stretcher again, carrying the woman away across the rope bridge.
When Samra reached the deck of the next ship, the crew of the Fury was still waiting. They were all studying her.
“You know those winnings would have provisioned the Fury for a year,” Captain Savage said.
“Or you could have bought your own skiff,” Landy added.
“I know,” Samra said. It was a lie. She had no idea what an airship cost. But she didn’t want them to second-guess her decision.
“Could have bought a lifetime of ale,” Cogs muttered from behind Landy.
“Not the way you go through it,” Landy replied.
“I think you did a noble thing,” Sunburn said. “I don’t know that I could have been so generous.”
Captain Savage turned on her heel and led the way on again. “Let’s move. If we don’t answer my father’s summons, he’ll be considerably less than generous with us.”
The black skyship had moved to the center of the city, high above the other ships. It was docking at the glass-paned Library of Knowledge. Observation decks and balconies overlooked the rest of the city from the library, and they provided a view of every part of the valley. Samra noticed that a main portion of the building was held up by a netted cluster of globe sons.
The crew crowded onto an elevator operated by one of the Air Corps guards and were propelled upward toward the pinnacle of the city via a system of weights and pulleys. As they climbed, there were more of the sunburst flags flying on the ships. Some ships had hoisted other colors as well, but the sunburst flag always rode on top.
“Why does your father need to see you?” Samra asked. “Does he miss you?”
The captain laughed. “A daughter should be so lucky. My father is not much for sentiment. He only has one interest these days, and it’s not me.”
“He likes Eric better?”
“Probably,” Captain Savage sighed. “But Eric won’t win my father’s attention either. You can’t compete with mad obsession, and that’s what my father’s goals have become to him.”
Samra studied one of the flags as they passed it. A motto under the starburst read, “Family First.” She considered the captain’s statements about her father, and wondered if in the Grounder culture the words meant something different than at home.
The elevator stopped at a row of landing docks near the peak of the city. They were met by a quartet of armed Air Corps guards. Two held crossbow-powered harpoon launchers, and the others carried sabers.
“Your crew will have to wait outside, Miss Savage,” the head guard said. “Your father wishes to speak to you alone.”
“It’s Captain Savage,” she corrected.
The guard nodded. “Yes, ma’am. If you’d please follow me?” He led the
way through a gate wrought from ornate hollow tubes, then he and the captain promptly disappeared inside the library. The other Air Corps guards resumed positions blocking the entrance. Samra and the rest of the crew were abandoned unceremoniously on the docks and left to their own devices.
“Could have at least invited us inside for something to drink,” Cogs said. “Waiting around goes a bit easier with something cold and wet in hand.”
Landy turned to Sunburn. “You still have that notice?” Sunburn pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket. “Can I have it?” Landy asked.
Sunburn handed over the piece of paper and Landy studied it. Samra noticed she was having an easier time reading it. Landy straightened up and looked around. “Look. I’ve got to see about something. Will you tell the captain I had to go? I’ll be back by morning. I’ll meet you at the docks.”
“Sounds like we’ll be leaving early,” Sunburn said. “It’s a fair piece of flying out to the dig site, and treacherous terrain.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be sober, if that’s what you’re implying,” Landy replied. “Just let her know. I’ll be back in the morning.” She pocketed the notice and moved to the elevator. The attendant frowned but dutifully climbed back inside with her and actuated the lever. The ropes creaked and the pulleys shimmied as the elevator disappeared again below the landing.
“Where’s she going?” Samra asked.
“Well, she’s got a man in town, don’t she?” Cogs said. “Running off to see him no doubt. Night of frivolity while the rest of us mind the captain. Should have lit out by now myself. Bet ol’ Wallace and Hodges are having a good time in the pubs. Could’ve gone with them, not bandied about with you lot all night.”
“You haven’t got any credit at the pubs anymore,” Sunburn said. “We all know they won’t serve you.”
Faster Than Falling: The Skylighter Adventures Page 29
