by Ben Galley
There was a stench to the place; of motor oil and the reluctance to shower. It was a bustle of activity. Men and women rushed about the corridors, wielding spanners and crates. Short, tall, thick in the waistline, or skinny like a pole, they all wore red waistcoats. It was a simple uniform, and a clever way to determine authority and rank. The more faded, ripped, and stained the waistcoat, the longer its owner had flown with the Belle, and the more they got to throw their weight around.
Lurker stood with his arms crossed, wondering who exactly he would be working with. He didn’t like the look of any of them. Maybe they should have just paid the hundred florins. Lilain and Gunderton stood either side of him, quiet and ponderous.
The ship was a hunk of scrap, pure and simple. It was a wonder it was afloat at all. Lurker half-expected the thing to come crashing down in the river, never mind the Iron Ocean. He cast a look over his shoulder at the jittering walkway, still wobbling in the echoes of their footsteps. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
‘What a lovely ship,’ said Lilain.
Higgis’ eyebrows couldn’t decide whether to scowl or scrunch into something to accompany her lopsided grin. She sucked on her cigarette and nodded. ‘She’s a beaut, ain’t she?’
‘Our cabins?’ asked Gunderton.
Higgis pinched her thumb and finger between her lips. The whistle was piercing. ‘Scamp!’
A thin waif of a man scampered around a corner, true to his name. Higgis snapped her fingers. ‘Take these two to their cabins. One and four.’
‘Aye,’ Scamp replied, in a voice that had failed to break. Scamp bent a finger at them and led them down the walkway, pointing out important bits of the airship. ‘Toilet. Another toilet. Captain’s cabin. And there’s the mess. And here you are. One cabin here, and one over there. Pick whichever you want.’
He left them to it. With a wrench of the door handles, they discovered what sixty florins had bought them.
It might have been worse. There could have been a gaping hole in the floor, after all.
Two bunks sulked on either side of the tiny room as if they’d had an argument and hadn’t spoken in years. There were mattresses at least; marginally stained. Bolts studded the walls like iron pimples, and rust seemed to be the only wallpaper on offer.
Lurker looked to Lilain and growled deep in his throat. ‘Still a chance to change our minds.’
‘We don’t have the time,’ said Lilain.
Gunderton was also growling. They could hear him clearly over the rattle of the engines. Apparently he had done no better with his cabin. To his credit, he tugged the hem of his hood and sauntered inwards. His only goodbye was the slam of his door.
‘I don’t like that man,’ murmured Lurker.
‘You don’t like anybody.’
‘That ain’t true. I like Merion. And Jake, wherever he’s got to. That’s about it.’
‘Charming.’
After slinging his coat across his mattress, Lurker went to stare out of their grubby little porthole. The city shone with afternoon glow, even through the murk.
‘I won’t be working very hard, I’ll tell you that.’
Lilain checked the Mistress’ chambers, flicking the metal wheel round and round. ‘I don’t think you’ll be wrong in doing that. Captain Higgis has played us, good and simple. Sixty florins lighter and all we’ve bought is a filthy little floating hole.’ She wiped her finger across the nearest shelf, wrinkling her nose. ‘But at least we’re pointing in the right direction. Maker, I feel like Merion, pining to go east.’
‘Me too. Even if he did leave us behind.’ The method of the young Hark’s departure was a sore subject. They had barely spoken of it since the night of the Bloodmoon. Lurker scratched one of his scars under his hat. ‘Though I’d rather we were goin’ by boat—’
Lilain cut him off. ‘And I’d be chuckin’ several shades of insides over the railing every five minutes.’ She was growing bored of his grumbling.
The sharp cry of a buzzer sounded, blaring out of tiny grills and pipes in the corner of every cabin. A thud followed, and a scraping as the cables were pulled in over the hull.
‘Fancy watching?’ Lilain asked.
Lurker just grunted.
The cockpit of The Cloudy Belle was a cramped place, but well maintained compared to the rest of the airship. Cogs and levers sprouted from every available surface. Stacks of paper commanded the rest. The vast windows reached almost to the doorframe, flooding the room with sunlight. In front of the central console and a chunky wheel, slouching in an opulent red leather chair that was perhaps a little flea-bitten at the edges, sat Higgis. She worked like a concert pianist; hands flicking over the heads of the levers and teeth of the cogs. A gentleman with a ginger moustache and braided hair sat on her left. A woman with a shaved head and strange tattoos perched on her right, manning a big map with strange lines scrawled all over it. It was no map that Lurker recognised.
‘And we’re away!’ Higgis announced, spying shadows over her shoulder. Gunderton had crept up, too, and was leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed, as seemed to be his habit.
The airship might have been a flying box of rust, but she flew like a dream. Higgis was an expert pilot, bending the ship away from Tower Nine and pointing her firmly at the big blue canvas of the eastern sky. There was barely a cloud in sight; just a thin haze of heat and the fog of eager industry.
‘How long will the journey take?’ rumbled Gunderton.
‘Two days, probably one and a half. That’s if we don’t run into any storms.’
‘Captain don’t like storms,’ yawned the man with the moustache. Lurker eyed its twisted ends, oiled and sharp.
‘Neither do I,’ he said, and Lilain flicked him on the arm.
‘What takes you to London?’ asked the other woman. Judging by the fade of her red waistcoat, she was possibly the first mate. It was practically a greying pink.
‘A number of things,’ answered Lilain. ‘Business, mostly. We’re in guns.’
Higgis’ fingers paused for a moment. ‘Guns?’
The first mate turned and looked them each up and down. ‘All of you?’
Lilain nodded. ‘All of us.’
‘Don’t look like the business sort, if you don’t mind me saying,’ Higgis said, around her cigarette. Her head was wreathed in its smoke.
‘We’re new to it,’ added Lurker.
Higgis sighed in a way that said she knew when secrets were in the air.
‘We’re shipping jam.’
‘Jam?’ Lilain asked.
‘Speciality jams and preserves. Some lord here in the Endless Land has found interesting berries and fruits in the wilderness. Wants to try his luck in the Empire.’
‘Tastes like shit,’ commented the ginger man.
‘You ‘ad some, Smythe?’ Higgis snapped.
The moustache twitched. ‘Sneaked a bit during loading.’
The captain suppressed what looked like a smirk, but then nodded her head to the doorway. ‘Engine room. See to it.’
‘Aye.’ Smythe produced a wrench from his pocket and shuffled out of the cockpit.
‘And as for you, Mr Lurker. I got a few jobs for you.’
Lurker sniffed. ‘Actually, Captain, seein’ as our cabins are so darn fancy, I’d rather just go take a nap. It’s been a long day.’
He could see the grin on Lilain’s face in the corner of his vision. He reached forwards and deposited a coin purse on the vacant seat. ‘You’re lucky we’re still givin’ you sixty.’
‘Tread carefully, prospector,’ said Higgis. But nothing followed. The first mate gave them an irritable scowl.
Lurker tipped his hat and ducked under the cockpit door, and with Gunderton and Lilain in tow, he went to have a good old-fashioned lie down.
*
The new buzzer was a rude one, that was for sure. Its harsh screaming was made more unpleasant by the tin pipes and rusty grills that gave it voice.
Lilain woke with a start. She sat bolt
upright, blinking furiously, thanking the Maker they hadn’t been given bunk beds.
‘Whassat?’ Lurker rasped, wrenched from his dreams; no doubt of goldmines and magpies. He sniffed the air. ‘Salt.’
‘No idea,’ said Lilain. She moved to their porthole and looked out.
‘Waves,’ she murmured, voice still thick from sleep. ‘Closer than I’d like.’
‘Lemme see,’ Lurker’s stubbly cheeks squashed in next to Lilain’s. She could see the dread on his face, and when his nose met the window, she saw it deepen.
‘What in darned hell is goin’ on?’
‘I’m going to see Higgis,’ Lilain said. But Lurker was already at the door before she could get her boots on. He barely waited for her to catch up.
It was then that they noticed the swaying of the ship, and the howling roar of wind and sea spray over the drone of the engines. They were at full power; the shuddering bulkheads and decking was proof of that. Hands held against walls to steady them, they made their way to the cockpit.
Higgis was in the middle of a flurry of curses, muttered low and wrapped in smoke. Her fingers flew over the controls, tapping and clicking like punctuation to her stream of expletives. Something was clearly wrong. Lilain didn’t have to be an airship captain, or any one of the grim-faced crew standing behind her chair, to see that.
A stormy view greeted them through the huge windows. It forced Lilain’s stomach into a sickening knot. The Cloudy Belle was unimaginably low in the dark sky, perched but a few feet from the towering waves of the Iron Ocean. The storm was in full swing, and the slate-grey sea surged and swelled, frothing and crashing. Now and again some of the waves even managed to lick the hull. Lilain could hear the whump of frothing water, and it made her heart miss a beat every time. Rain and salt-spray clattered against the thick panes. Every inch of the Belle groaned as the thrust of her powerful engines fought with the storm-winds. Unintelligible squawking poured from a square grill amidst the controls. It was all so deafening in such a small cage of metal and glass.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Lilain demanded, yelling over the furore.
Nobody said a thing. They just swayed with the rocking of the ship, knuckles bleached and every muscle tensed.
‘Are you mad, Higgis?’ Lurker bellowed.
Smythe flashed him a scowl. ‘Pipe down back there! It’s all under control!’
If this was control, Lilain couldn’t even begin to imagine what chaos looked like. She could feel the colour draining from her face. She didn’t mind flying, but there was a limit, and for her that was somewhere around where it came to mixing flying with swimming.
Lightning seared the sky, momentarily turning the boiling sea into a vast landscape of ruptured marble. Then, darkness, as their eyes fought off the afterglow. Thunder rolled in the lightning’s wake, making every bone in Lilain’s body shudder.
‘There!’ Higgis blurted, her hand mashing the big red button next to the metal speaker. ‘Shut up and listen up! Two degrees starboard! Half a mile! Get the ropes ready!’
‘Ropes?!’ Lilain blurted, nearly falling as Higgis drove the throttles forward and sent the Belle gliding down the face of a rearing wave. The dark blue and grey waters rushed past the window, a blur of froth and cold anger. Even some of the crew bared their teeth and winced at the manoeuvre.
Within moments, they were driving upwards again, engines blasting any water that dared to come too close. The wheel juddered ferociously in Higgis’ hands as she turned it left, right, left, right, constantly battling the wind.
‘We’re picking up cargo!’ the captain yelled, finally replying to Lilain’s hollering.
‘Couldn’t we have done this in an actual port?’
‘Our cargo don’t stay in port very long!’
‘So you were late?’ shouted Lurker.
‘You could say that!’
Lilain smacked a hand to her forehead and clung on to a metal shelf as Higgis brought the Belle to a halt in the sky, letting the ship hover over the seething ocean.
Grabbing Lurker’s collar, Lilain hauled him back into the corridor and to the nearest set of steps. They spiralled downwards into the darker belly of the Belle—the hold—where other crew members raced back and forth, lugging rope and brushing seawater out of the wide doorway. If the cockpit had been deafening, this was a hellish cacophony. Lilain and Lurker stood with their backs to a bulkhead, staring out at the ocean with grim faces. It was all far too close for their liking.
‘There’s the Beastie!’ bellowed a burly man standing by the door. His bushy black beard waved in the wind as if it was trying to escape his cheeks and chin.
Places were taken. Gloves donned. Ropes set. All to a frenzied rhythm.
‘What the hell is goin’ on?’ Lurker shouted in Lilain’s ear.
Lilain crept forward through the bustle, hands wavering for balance, and spied the ship in the water. It was a schooner—the quick kind—with few sails and a clockwork engine for coastal runs. She had seen them in the docks of Chicago, and knew very well the kind that sailed them. This one was painted grey, with slick tin-plated sides for cutting through the waves. It even had a cannon or two for good measure.
‘Smugglers!’ she hissed, only as loud as she dared. ‘Look!’ She waved him forward and pointed to the boat. Lurker was as unsteady as a newborn calf, tottering over the decking as if the ocean would jump in through the door at any moment.
They watched as the Beastie and the Belle aligned themselves; the strangest coupling a storm had ever seen. Ropes were flung into the air and lowered to the deck a hundred feet below. It was a precise exercise—many times practised—but that didn’t mean it was safe. The ropes had iron hooks at their tips, and even though the schooner had taken in every scrap of sail, it still had plenty of spars and rigging to catch on, or skulls to perforate. Lilain took a breath as she watched the ropes swing and dance in the wind.
Apparently, Higgis had seen her fair share of hooks gone wayward. She pointed the airship’s nose into the wind and let the ropes hit the water first. When they were thrown against the hull of the Beastie, they were hauled in by the sailors, who looked like termites through the driving rain; scurrying to and fro, looping the hooks through the eye-holes of ropes of boxes and crates. A lantern flashed three times from below, and more shouting filled the hold. Rough hands were put to levers, and a huge, grinding clockwork machine hidden in the rear of the hold began to rattle. There was a groan as the ropes snapped taught; then they began to rasp against their pulleys. The Belle lurched to one side as the weight was added. Lilain and Lurker quickly grabbed for a bulkhead to avoid being pitched into the ocean, their sea-slick hands grasping cold, shuddering metal. As Merion would have said, it was all entirely unpleasant.
‘What on Maker’s earth are you pulling up? The whole ship?!’ Lilain yelled at the nearest crew-member, a young man with a shaved head and a bright red waistcoat. He looked almost as new to the Belle as they were.
‘None of a passenger’s business!’ he shouted, before turning away.
Lurker shifted forward to grab him, nearly lifting him off his toes. ‘Answer the lady!’ he roared, scaring the colour from the lad’s face. ‘What are you idiots bringin’ up?’
‘Guns…’ He was mumbling, so Lurker shook some volume into him. ‘Guns!’ hissed the man, eyes flicking to the rest of the crew, knowing he was blabbing.
Lilain’s palm met her forehead yet again. ‘And we’re the ones who said we were in guns!’
‘Stand to!’ The order cut through the noise. Lilain poked her head out of the doorway, braving the spray. ‘The crates are off the deck,’ she told Lurker, before wiping her face. The prospector let the lad go, and watched him scurry off up the stairs.
The Belle slowly levelled as Higgis got the measure of the weight. It was short-lived satisfaction.
‘Stop the winch!’ screamed the bearded man. ‘Stop it!’
Feet pounded the deck and shouts raised as the winding machine was brought to
a screeching halt. It was already too late; a vicious wave had rocked the schooner sideways, twisting a crate into the rigging and sticking it fast. The Beastie and the Belle were mortally entwined.
It quickly got worse. Lilain had to hold Lurker back against the bulkhead so he couldn’t see. The schooner was now listing. The wave had hit it hard, breaking its back and rolling it onto its side as more waves came crashing down. Tonne after tonne of iron-grey water pounded the Beastie’s decks, wiping them clean of men and cargo in the space of a panicked breath. Their cries were drowned by the roar of water and engines. The Beastie went silently to her death, capsizing on the next wave. The sea buried her with no ceremony.
‘Bloody hell!’ the bearded man yelled, eyes wide. Before he could say another word, the Belle lurched violently to one side and his grip was torn from the strap he clung to. He was thrown from the doorway and tumbled through space until he was swallowed by the dark face of a cresting wave.
‘Shit!’ Lurker dived for the floor. Lilain followed, fingers gripping the holes in the decking and holding fast.
‘Captain!’ one of the crew bellowed into the grille as he fought desperately to stay aboard. The storm had a taste for flesh now. ‘Carlt’s gone! Captain!’
The roar of the struggling engines was deafening. The Belle was lashed to an angry sea, helpless, sinking closer and closer to the waves with every passing moment. Lurker had spied something on the far wall and was crawling towards it. Lilain clung on, watching with slitted eyes, struggling to see through the spray and the stink of battling machinery.
Lurker made a dash for the bulkhead as the Belle swung around, throwing the full weight of her engines at the problem. Lilain saw what he was after: a battered old wood-axe hanging from a bolt. It took several unbearably long seconds for the prospector to seize it and slide back down. Without a word, he begin to hack at the ropes screeching in the pulleys above him. Lilain grasped his ankles as he swung again and again, leaning at a treacherous angle.
