by Travis Perry
She jerked the curtains closed and fell into a chair, hand over her eyes, weeping.
• • •
When the bugle blew for the first race, Ian left his papers and took his coffee outside. Half a dozen birds lined up in front of the stands and, at the horn bleat, flew downfield low to the ground. A sprint.
“Wish Miss Laakkonen were here,” Triston said, “so we’d know what was going on.”
“I did invite her.” Ian sipped his coffee.
“I bet you did.” Olivera leered, waggling his brows.
Ian choked down the coffee. “I get plenty of that guano from Cook. I won’t take it from you, either.”
Olivera’s smile disappeared, and he took a step back. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”
Perhaps hiring Astrid would be a mistake. A matronly harpy was one thing. A nubile young woman on a ship with four men would only draw criticism.
But she was fit and smart. Well, he’d offer her the job, and she could decide for herself whether the cost to her reputation was worth it. Maybe it would be, since it would get her away from that brute who beat her.
• • •
After spending the morning weeping and praying and, honestly, napping a bit in the library, Astrid grabbed some bread and cheese from the kitchen by way of lunch, and then went down to Ragnar’s box to rouse him.
She prepared him for his race just as she had the day before, though perhaps she talked a bit less than usual. She walked him out to the flight line, where Chaya and Breiner waited.
Chaya frowned. “Are you all right, Astrid?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Your eyes are red.”
“Didn’t sleep well.”
Breiner mumbled a few parting words to Chaya and walked away.
Chaya whispered, “Is he still mad at you for yesterday?”
Astrid nodded. “Of course. He doesn’t take neglect of a bird lightly. Remember that.”
“Oh. All right.”
The bugle sounded, and the master of ceremonies announced the flyers who would race in the final of the distance competition. Astrid tugged lightly on Ragnar’s reins. “You keep up with Durga today, right old man? Get Durga.” She turned to Chaya. “He can’t actually outpace her anymore, but he’ll try. Just do your best, and urge him to do his best. Just like yesterday. You’ll be fine.” She handed over the reins.
“Thank you so much, Astrid.” Chaya led Ragnar into the starting formation.
Astrid looked over her shoulder. The Phoenix rocked gently in the breeze, the peak of its dragonhide balloon thirty meters high.
• • •
Ian spotted Ragnar among the birds and dragons lined up on the field as before. “This must be the departure for the long-distance final.”
“How can you tell?” Triston asked.
“By the formation of the racers,” he answered. “And that tawny one, that’s Durga, who won the first heat yesterday.”
“Which one is Miss Laakkonen’s?”
“Ragnar. The black one in the back.”
“Will she come up once he’s aloft?”
“Maybe.” Ian tried to sound as if he didn’t care whether she did or not, but he suspected he wasn’t fooling anyone.
But still she didn’t appear. Even after three sprints and a middle-distance race had passed. On pretense of fetching more coffee, Ian went below to ensure the hatch was still open and the ladder in place. All was as he had left it, except that cook had retired to her cabin. He could hear her within, snoring.
In the galley, he set up the coffee percolator atop the little pot-bellied stove himself rather than listen to her complaints.
When another two races had gone by with still no sign of Astrid, he started to imagine what might be keeping her. Had she changed her mind? Had he made one too many off-color remarks? Ogled her backside and bosom too much? She had seemed agreeable enough when she left. Maybe she’d gotten into some kind of trouble. Fallen ill or gotten hurt. He envisioned the damage those giant talons could do to a person. Horses were known to kick people. Might birds do something similar?
Speculating was a waste of time. Without a word to anyone, he descended to the mess and then down the rope ladder to the ground. He walked in the front door of the aerie. The entryway led to a corridor that ran past a dining hall out to a brick patio where a few people sat in wooden chairs, watching the races.
“Can I help you?” a woman said.
“I’m looking for Astrid Laakkonen.”
“She’ll be on the flight line, or down at Ragnar’s box.” She pointed to the left.
“Thank you.” Ian walked along the building. After he passed the windows of the dining hall and something like an office, Ian reached a wide room the full height of the building. Double doors almost as tall as the ceiling stood open, revealing the hay-strewn floor. A sign on the lintel bore Durga’s name. Ian quickened his pace.
The box marked Ragnar was six doors down from Durga’s. Empty. He turned, scanning the field for a white-blonde head and round hips.
• • •
Astrid had to stay in the aerie or on the field. But that didn’t mean she had to sit still. She wouldn’t go up on the roof again. Being so close to the Phoenix yet so far from it was worse than watching Ragnar take off without her. She’d had enough of sitting in the library crying, and besides, her tears and prayers had run out. So she paced up and down the flight line, occasionally giving a word of encouragement to a jockey, sometimes glancing into the stands for a glimpse of Govnor Stuart, but mostly silently, wordlessly, clinging to Espíritu Santo to get her through the day.
“Astrid.”
She turned, and found Ian Kahoon walking up the flight line to her. She stifled the desire to call him Ian in return. “Captain! What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. What happened to you?”
He had come all this way, undirected, uninvited, for her. Her heart quavered. “I was late yesterday, getting back after Ragnar’s race. Master Breiner forbid me to return to the Phoenix.”
“Did he? And did he do that?” He pointed to her cheek. “I’ll have a word with him.”
“No, Captain, he has every right.”
“How can he possibly—”
“Master Breiner has oversight of all the grooms.”
The glower on his face eased, but he still looked tense. “Forbid you…that’s why you didn’t return today.”
“Yes. Believe me, I wanted to. More than anything.”
He nodded, frowning. “Can you cook?”
“What? A bit. Haven’t had to in ages. Why?”
“I’ve an offer for you, Miss Laakkonen.”
Astrid rocked back on one leg, arms folded. “Have you.” She could imagine.
“I need a new cook.”
She’d expected another salacious remark. Its absence distracted her for a moment. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you do.”
“She doesn’t pull her weight, complains all the time. You heard her. Insubordinate. Do you want the job?”
“Do I?” Her heart took off like Ragnar leaping to a race. “I’d like nothing better, but…I can’t.”
A smile flickered and died in his eyes. “Why not?”
“I’m indentured. Govnor Dubois bought me out of the orphanage when I was six to train as a jockey.”
“How much longer on your contract?”
“Another two cycles.”
“Oh.”
The end of a sprint brought a cheer from the stands. The noisy crowd seemed to mock her loss.
• • •
“What’s this?” a deep male voice barked.
Ian turned to find a portly man approaching.
“Oh. Master Breiner,” Astrid said, “this is Ian Kahoon. Captain of the Phoenix.”
Ian put out his hand, but Breiner looked over his head. “That thing?”
“Yes, sir.” Ian’s hand still hovered midair. “Pleased to meet you.”
Breiner didn’t return the handshake. “Only
flyers, grooms, and trainers are permitted on the field,” he growled. He turned on Astrid. “You know better.”
“My fault entirely.” Ian dropped his hand to his side. “I came looking for her.”
“Well, you’ve found her, and she has work to do, so now you’ll leave.” Breiner jabbed a finger toward the ship.
Ian paused, taking measure of Breiner. “Very well, sir.” Ian turned to Astrid. “I’ll see you later.”
“I hope so, Captain.”
Ian made a little bow and walked back toward the aerie door. As he did, he heard Breiner grumble, “No, you won’t, girl.”
• • •
Astrid balled her fists, watching Ian walk away. See you later? How? How could he possibly…?
Breiner clamped his meaty fist around her arm and shook her. “You should have shown him off the field the instant he showed up. Instead you stood here flirting”—he shook her again—“how long?”
“He offered me a job. I told him I was indentured. That was the end of it.”
“Bah.” Breiner shoved her backward. She staggered, but kept her feet. “If he shows his face again, I’ll set the govnor’s guards on him.”
Astrid didn’t doubt it. For the first time, she prayed she wouldn’t see Ian again.
• • •
Ragnar and Chaya finished fifth overall, and the grin on Chaya’s face convinced Astrid that the girl finally understood what an accomplishment that was. The evening’s celebration ran late into the night, and Govnor Dubois himself put in an appearance to congratulate the jockeys. The grooms he passed without a word. Did he even remember her?
Astrid lay awake half the night. If she ran away, would Dubois notice? Breiner would. He’d have the bounty hunters on her immediately. There was no way she could join the crew of the Phoenix.
If her bunkmates heard her weeping, they said nothing.
• • •
At breakfast, Astrid picked at her porridge.
From the doorway, Master Breiner bellowed, “Astrid! In my office.”
Her heart thudded. She left her food and walked down the hall, bracing for another beating. Jesu Christo, give me strength.
Waiting in Master Breiner’s office were Ian and Govnor Stuart.
Astrid halted in the doorway. “Sir?”
His face remained rigid. “Close the door.”
She did, and moved to stand in front of the desk.
Govnor Stuart stepped forward and put out her hand. “Astrid. So good to see you again. You used to ride Ragnar, didn’t you?”
“I—Yes, Your Ladyship. How did you remember?”
“I confess I didn’t. Ian reminded me.” She reached into her pocket. “Though once he did, I remembered that you asked a dozen questions about this.” She drew out her clock. Computer, as Ian had called it.
“Did I? I’m sorry, I was very…foolish then.”
“Not at all. Very smart and curious.” Govnor Stuart tapped the glass a few times, then turned the device to face Astrid. “What do you make of that?”
Astrid gasped. The screen showed a picture of a man lying in a biplane. She’d seen that drawing in the library. But this was different. “The Wright Flyer. But that’s not a drawing, it’s…what is it?”
Govnor Stuart’s eyebrows arched. “Heavens, Ian, you weren’t joking.”
He snickered.
“It’s a photograph.” Govnor Stuart tapped some more.
Astrid didn’t know that word, but she wanted to.
Govnor Stuart turned the screen toward her again. “Read that.”
Astrid squinted at the screen, which was filled with lines of text. “Constructors in…Am…er…ica…have hitherto mainly developed one type of airplane, the tractor biplane re…” Oh, she couldn’t fail now. She faked it. “Re…conn…ai…ssance machine. But with the rapid development of military aeronautics”—hah, she knew that one—“airplanes are evolving into distinct classes—”
Govnor Stuart withdrew the screen. “Remarkable, Astrid.” She glared at Master Breiner. “It is unusual for such a literate person to be kept in such humble service.”
Master Breiner grumbled, “We need grooms who know the birds well. Who better than former jockeys?”
“Hmm.” Govnor Stuart returned the device to her pocket.
Astrid wanted to read more about the distinct classes of airplanes.
“Who better than a former jockey,” Govnor Stuart said, “to teach sailors to fly?”
Astrid bit her lip.
Govnor Stuart made a tight little smile. “I’ve bought your contract from Govnor Dubois. You’ll return to Knossos with us. We leave tomorrow.”
“You—Oh, Your Ladyship, that’s…unspeakably kind of you.”
“Not at all. You’re expected to work out your contract and earn your keep.”
Master Breiner turned his back on them and opened a cupboard.
“Yes, Your Ladyship…I can’t thank you enough.”
“You may thank Captain Kahoon. He convinced me that you’d be a better addition to the crew than…the person we currently have in the role.”
Breiner turned around and tossed a canvas shoulder bag across the desk. Astrid caught it.
“Pack up your things.”
“Yes. Tomorrow?”
“You’ll pack now,” Breiner barked. “You’re no longer our concern.” He handed a paper to Govnor Stuart. “The contract.”
Astrid turned to Ian and Govnor Stuart.
The govnor smiled. “I’m sure we can make a place for you on the Phoenix right away. Yes, Captain?”
“Yes, my lady. And Astrid can come into town with Cook and I this afternoon. We need to resupply for the trip home.”
“Very good. I’ll be in the estate house the rest of the day meeting with the king and the other govnors. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ian said.
Govnor Stuart walked out, and Breiner glowered at Ian. “You can wait in your ship, then. Astrid knows where to find you.”
Ian made a tiny bow and headed for the door. As he passed, he gave Astrid a wink.
She stifled a snicker. “Thank you, Master Breiner.” She turned to go.
“Astrid.”
She turned back.
“I—We’re sorry to see you go. You were a champion flyer, and you’ve been an excellent groom—until yesterday. We’ll miss you.”
He’d never spoken to her that way before. “Thank you, sir.”
“Just remember if those air sailors—whatever they call themselves—if they do you wrong, you let me know. I’ll give them what for.”
She laughed. Never before had she envisioned Breiner as her protector. “Yes, sir.”
• • •
After packing her clothes and notebook in the sack Breiner had given her, Astrid walked out to the Phoenix. It lay near to the ground, as it had when she’d first seen it, the gangway open as if waiting for her. She was a member of the crew now. She supposed she needn’t wait for permission to board. Nevertheless, she felt a bit like a prowler climbing the ramp unescorted.
She heard voices in the mess, so she walked that way.
“There she is!” Gaspar crowed.
Ian rose from his chair, and Olivera and Triston, sitting on the bench, clapped.
“Good morning.” Astrid hitched the bag higher on her shoulder.
“That girl?” Cook squealed. “You hired your little hussy as my scullery maid?”
Ian rounded on her. “She’s no hussy, and unless you wish to walk home, you’ll treat Miss Laakkonen politely.”
Triston snickered.
Astrid’s heart swelled at Ian’s swift defense.
Cook rose from the table and vanished into the kitchen.
Ian’s shoulders slumped. He turned back to Astrid. “Sorry. Let’s go up to the bridge and talk. You can leave your bag here.” He took her bag and put it in on his chair, then led her up the ladder to the bridge. He stopped between the instrument console and t
he navigation table. “I’m sorry about that. We just have to get through a week with her.”
“Will she teach me to cook? I haven’t cooked since I left the orphanage.”
“If she doesn’t, we’ll find you a teacher in Knossos. Anyway, we’re not a demanding bunch. Although…if you can…”
“Yes?”
He grinned, eyes sparkling. “See if you can find out what the spread is she puts on her sandwiches.”
She chuckled. “Sandwich spread, yes sir. Thank you for taking me on, even though I’m too old and big for the job—”
“You’re not. You’re smart and handy. And you—you wouldn’t mind if I asked you to do other tasks, would you?”
She frowned, wondering what sort of tasks.
“Honest ones.” He smiled. “Spotting landing sites from the focsle. Helping tie down the ship. Hauling charcoal for Gaspar. Pedaling us out of the doldrums.”
“I’ve never shirked honest work, Captain. I can pull my own weight.”
“And then some, I wager. How much do you weigh?”
She hesitated. “Umm…twenty-seven kigs, but I can bring that down a bit—”
“No need.” He raised a hand. “At least you answered honestly. Cook wouldn’t answer at all, and Madam Isidora had to put her on the scale.” He rolled his eyes. “That was a day. And she’s well over thirty kigs, so it’s a net reduction.”
“Except you’ll have to carry both of us awhile, won’t you?”
“Just this run back to Knossos, and we haven’t any cargo, so it’s no problem. Then I’ll put her off the ship, and good riddance.” He leaned against the window seat. “What’s more, you can’t get in a snit because you’re being ordered about by a fellow younger than you. How old are you?”
