by Arthur Slade
Copyright © 2019 Arthur Slade
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Slade, Arthur G. (Arthur Gregory), author
Death by airship / Arthur Slade.
(Orca currents)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1870-5 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1871-2 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1872-9 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents
PS8587.L343D43 2019 jC813'.54 C2018-904693-7
C2018-904694-5
First published in the United States, 2019
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954153
Summary: In this high-interest novel for middle readers, Prince Conn must solve the mystery of who is killing off all the heirs to the pirate throne.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Edited by Tanya Trafford
Cover artwork by Shutterstock.com/Melkor3D and Deviantart.com/struckdumb
Author photo by Black Box Images/Jerry Humeny
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
22 21 20 19 • 4 3 2 1
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This one goes out to Aargh and Aaargh and Mom.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
An Excerpt from “Bear Market”
Chapter One
Chapter One
If you smell smoke, don’t panic!
My father, Pirate King Jules, used to say that all the time. Usually when he was sitting on his throne of bones, lighting his pipe.
But chances are, if you’re standing on the deck of a creaky wooden airship two hundred fathoms in the air and you smell smoke, you’re going to panic.
I was on the deck of my airship, Cindy. And I did smell smoke. A poop deck full of it. And the panic struck me right to my rotten pirate core. My beloved ship was on fire, and my crew of hardy cutthroats was looking at me for instructions.
“What be your orders, Prince Conn?” Bonnie Brightears asked. Her ears were indeed bright, a glowing red from constant sunburn. Forty years in the sun will do that. She’d been on nearly every type of airship used to traverse the twelve seas—she knew her stuff. Bonnie was my quartermaster, the second in command. Her red ears really set off the blue in her coat.
I didn’t let anyone see the panic on my face. I only allowed my little toe to tremble. They wouldn’t spot that through my leather buccaneer boots. In my fourteen years of life, I’ve learned a lot about how hearty, cutthroat crews react to panic. I watched my dad deal with them. And my mom.
It’s always best to keep a stiff upper lip. Only let your little toe panic. That was Mom’s favorite saying.
I knew that if the flames traveled from the aft deck and ran up the rigging to the sails, we were in big trouble. If they continued to climb up to the giant whale-shaped, bladderlike balloon atop Cindy, we’d be seeing more fireworks than New Year’s Eve night on Skull Island. Heck, the resulting explosion would be visible across the One Hundred and One Islands—Dad’s whole kingdom.
I imagined most of my brothers and sisters would clap with happiness at the sight of me going down in flames. Not that they’re all mean, but they do like a good show. Only Bob, eighth in line to the pirate-king throne, wouldn’t clap. He gave up pirating to be a librarian. We’re all so ashamed of him.
Anyway, the explosion would be mega big, because there’s hydrogen in that whale-shaped balloon. Hydrogen is lighter than air, and it keeps us airborne. But when fire meets hydrogen, it gets messy.
I’m talking no-survivors, blow-us-all-up messy.
“Any orders for the engine room, Captain?” That was Odin, the sailing master. His pale skin was sunburned and pitted with scars. His jacket was bright orange, he was missing an eye, and, as usual, he’d tied daggers in his red beard. Our captives found it intimidating. But he mostly just used the knives to cut up his ham at dinner.
“I’m going to have a nap in my cabin,” I said. “Then I’ll take a look into this problemo.” I was attempting to sound cool and calm. I’d been captaining the ship since I was twelve. They still didn’t get my extremely clever sense of humor.
“We don’t be having time for that!” Bonnie exclaimed. Her ears glowed. “We be on fire, Captain!”
She was right. Bonnie was always right. Except when it came to grammar, but pirates hate grammar! The flames were up the rigging now and had leapt to the sails.
I thought I saw a dark spot in the distance. Another airship perhaps? But there was no time to grab a spyglass. Whatever it was, it was beetling away from us.
We didn’t have any large reserves of water on the ship—no more than a few pails of drinking water. Nor could I afford fancy fire extinguishers. Because I am ninth in line for the throne, when it came time to hand out ships and equipment, all I got were the dregs. That includes my airship Cindy, much as I love her. My oldest brother, Reg, flies Dragonslayer. My oldest sister, Bartha, soars on Crusher, and, well, you get the picture. Cindy is 82.5 percent airworthy.
There was plenty of water below us though. We were sailing over a large empty patch of Aargh Ocean (the Imperial Forces of Angleland, long may their ships burn, had a longer Latin name for it—but we pirates spit at their names. And at their Latin. They rule the nearest continent and see us as pesky flies). The obvious thing to do would be to crash into the sea. Doing so would more than likely douse the flames and save our lives.
But there was a big kink in that plan. Not one of my hearty crew could swim, including me. Pirates are notorious for not knowing how to swim. And we’re too brave to have lifeboats. Maybe brave is the wrong word. Cheap. We do have one launch boat, but it has a hole in it. Getting Odin to fix that is on my to-do list.
“Tighten the aft sails, wing the yardarm and batten the hatches!” I shouted. Then I ran to the ship’s wheel. It was smooth wood, with a few broken spokes.
“What we be prepping for?” Bonnie asked.
“It’s going to be a surprise,” I said. And that was no lie. I had no idea what to do and had just shouted those orders to
keep everyone busy.
I grabbed the wheel tightly, preparing to take action. What kind was not clear yet. Evasive action wouldn’t work in this case. What to do?
My mind drew a blank.
Then it drew another blank.
Make that three blanks.
“Captain!” Bonnie shouted. “We be needing more orders!”
But I had nothing.
And then the answer came to me. It was one of those crazy, death-defying answers that me and my brother princelings and sister princesslings used to come up with when we were kids. It had worked every time when we played in the Bone Palace on Skull Island. We’d used our toy airships to execute the maneuvers. Of course, we had a good grip on them. And we only lost half of our hand-carved crew.
I glanced back. The problem was the flames. They climb. Upward usually. And these flames were climbing to the top of the sails. And licking at the bottom of the airship bladder.
We were moments from exploding.
“All hands on deck!” I shouted. “Anchor your booties! Lash yourselves to the yardarm if you have to.”
Bonnie repeated my orders. The entire crew started securing themselves to the decks. They had better do it quickly, I thought, because there wasn’t much time. I stepped into the metal bands in front of the steering wheel, and Bonnie clamped them over my feet. Then she grabbed a rope.
“Now hang on!” I shouted. I am embarrassed to say my voice creaked a little. Puberty! It’s not for the fainthearted. Then I pushed the lever ahead and we went into a full dive, straight toward the ocean. Bonnie was shouting something, but the wind was whistling so loud that I couldn’t hear. It was something like, “Do you be insane, Captain?” When we were only a few yards from the water and certain destruction, I cranked the wheel and hit the after rudders. Cindy turned sideways, then slowly flipped upside down.
Like I said, my plan had been theoretical until that point. I saw Bonnie staring up at me. She was hanging by a rope. The others also were holding on tight.
Now, cranking an airship upside down is a great way to make things fall out. A cannon broke away from its moorings, bounced off the bladder and splashed into the water. Thankfully, we had tied our anchor, so it couldn’t create drag in the water.
I pushed the wheel a bit forward, until the top of the balloon just touched the water. Skimming along the surface. Another push, and it was deeper in the water. Waves formed on either side, and they began splashing up the sides. Higher. Higher.
I gave the wheel one last good push, and the whole ship began to vibrate. The water splashed even higher, finally reaching the flames. I glanced behind me, because the flames were burning up the ropes now. I dug a little deeper, despite Cindy’s creaking and shivering and shaking. The balloon and the ropes holding it were strained to their very limits. At any second the balloon could rip off and leave us trapped underwater.
Fifty drowned pirates and a dead parrot.
But a giant splash found the last flame. I cranked the wheel, and we flipped upward slowly, oh so slowly. I thought we might end up stuck in the water on our side. But the fantastic Cindy gave another shudder.
The right side came down. The bottom, that is. We were upright in the water, and the fire was out.
My crew burst into spontaneous applause. Even Hooky, who has a hook for a hand, applauded. He said, “Ow, ow, ow” the whole time.
Don’t clap your hands when you have a hook. It’s an old saying.
“Roll call!” I shouted.
Bonnie yelled out the crew names.
“Aye!”
“Aye!”
Fifty living pirates. And one dead parrot. (Did I forget to mention that my parrot, Crackers, had died two weeks earlier from eating gunpowder and a match? There were a lot of feathers to clean up.)
There was also one burned-out arrow.
Odin discovered it wedged into the aft mast. Someone had shot a flaming arrow right into our ship. I thought back to that dark spot I’d seen in the sky. The arrow could only have come from another airship. But if that had been a ship, it had been very far away. A shot would have been nearly impossible from that distance.
There was only one person I knew who could make a shot like that. My sister Bartha.
It was time to pay her a visit.
Chapter Two
There were repairs to do first, of course. Bonnie, Odin and Hooky looked after getting the rest of the crew to do the work. That is, after several of them cleaned out their breeches. A few of the ropes had snapped, but we had plenty of rope. And our spare sails (our only spares) were soon attached to the rigging by pirates climbing like monkeys up and down the main mast.
I ate some salted cod and drank lemon juice, to keep the scurvy away. Man, I would have killed for a banana. We’d been roaming for a fortnight, and our fruit stores were gone.
At noon a white dove landed on the sail and made a cooing noise. My heart leapt, and I did a jig for joy. Not because I’m a birdwatcher or because I particularly love doves (although they do taste good in a stew), but because I know only one person who uses hunter-seeker doves like this.
A moment later a shining white spot appeared in the sky, with white wings that swooped on either side. It was a one-person swan boat, aptly named Swandiver. And the balloon keeping it aloft was also as white as snow.
It winged its way down to us and pulled alongside. The young occupant, who was blond and had the fairest skin in all the pirate islands and the three continents, was dressed in an ivory-colored dress. She gently tossed her anchor across and then gracefully walked along the extended gangplank. She was holding a rather large silk bag.
Crystal is her name. She is fifteen years old, and we are dating.
Well, I’m not quite sure dating is the right word. Almost dating would be more accurate. She took a liking to me after I shared notes with her in Pirate Ethics class. She is studying to be a nurse in Stitch-Me-Up Island. It’s a sanctuary where anyone with a wound in their mind or body can go to be fixed up. It’s the one place no pirate or pirate-hunting Imperial ship will ever attack. It’s run by Edith Mack, a blind woman who can still stitch up twenty pirates or soldiers a day. Like I said she’s blind to your past and present—her only goal is to keep people together.
Crystal had taken the ethics class with me because it is important that nurses be able to understand pirate language and customs so they don’t hurt their feelings while they are attaching peg legs or strapping on eye patches. I had promised to show her the pirate life from the inside out. She’d get extra credit for that.
And I’d get extra time with her.
The dove landed on her shoulder. The whole cutthroat crew took a deep breath at the perfect beauty of that moment. It was like a painting come to life.
“I finally found you,” Crystal said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Prince Conn. For a week.”
“We’ve been roving,” I said.
She hugged me, and I hugged her back, even though it had been some time since I’d showered. She smelled like cinnamon.
Just to let you know, even though we’ve been almost dating for a while now, we’ve never actually kissed.
Not yet.
“And how has your pirating been going?” she asked.
“We captured a tea vessel and a salt ship and a toy ship too.”
“Toy ship?”
“I mean a ship full of toys.” I pulled a figurine out of my pocket. It was a girl in a wedding dress on a boat. I’d known as soon as I saw it that Crystal would love it. I handed it to her.
“I love, love, love, love it,” said Crystal. She was very excited about everything in life.
I’ve never been to Cloud Island, where she grew up. All I know about it is that it is very far away. And that there are lots of clouds there. And bananas.
I mention that detail because when she lowered the bag she was holding, dozens of bananas, oranges and apples tumbled out. “I thought you might appreciate these,” she said. “I brought enough to sha
re.”
The cutthroats let out a hardy “hip hip hooray!”
“You are so very kind to us,” I said.
“You and your crew are my special project. Especially you.” She sniffed. It was a very beautiful sniff. There wasn’t even the slightest gurgling of snot. “I smell smoke.”
“Smoke? Oh, nothing to worry about. Just some pirate stuff. I will be taking care of it really soon.”
“A full stomach of fruit will help with getting pirate stuff done,” she said. Then she sniffed again. This time there was only the slightest snoogling of snot. It still sounded heavenly.
“Have you seen any amazing sights lately?” she asked.
I did watch Odin playing ping-pong with his glass eye, I nearly said. Then I remembered that ladies probably don’t like that sort of talk. “I have seen some amazing sunsets. They were very, very...” I searched for a romantic word. “Sunny. Err, but they got less sunny as they set. And the color red was involved.”
“Oh, that does sound divine. Perhaps someday we could watch the sun set together.” Crystal glanced up at the sun. “Well, I must be going now. I have Lower Gut Wounds class in a few hours.” She reached in for another hug. I puckered up my lips just in case, but she managed to avoid them. Instead she kissed the air a few inches away. An almost kiss. “Don’t forget our plans for a picnic lunch on your birthday,” she said.
Then she was back on the swan ship. And swanning away.
All the cutthroats watched her go, swooning away.
“Get back to swabbing the decks!” I shouted.
“Swab the decks!” Bonnie repeated. “We be swabbing hard!”
We met in seventh grade. Not Bonnie and me, but Crystal and I. The same year I got Cindy. Crystal had been impressed to meet a real pirate prince. I’m pretty sure she’s still impressed.
By high noon the rigging was fixed. I have to admit, this crew is made up of mostly good, strong and hard workers. “Captain Conn,” Bonnie reported, “we be fully repaired at 82.5 percent.”
Well, the ship couldn’t get better repaired than that. “Then set the tack for the northeast,” I said. “I want to pay my sister Bartha a little visit. Full speed ahead.”
