“Ready now, men,” said Mr. Chen.
I looked down. The sand was no more than six feet below me.
“Spring to it!” shouted Mr. Chen, and we were out the doors in a second. All across the
Aurora,
stem to stern, starboard and port sides, sixty of us hit the ground at once, each with a line uncoiling behind us, holding the great ship steady. I almost stumbled, the earth strange under my feet. I felt heavy, clumsy, my nose filled with unfamiliar scents. The sand sent me staggering, and I reeled toward a stand of palms. The air was thick. I’d already forgotten how much I hated being landlocked. Twice I wrapped my line around a palm trunk, awaiting orders from the second officer. A sudden morning breeze pummeled the ship, and the line burned through my fingers, sending smoke from the tree’s bark.
“Hold tight!” came the cry, and for a moment I was afraid we’d lose her as she lifted and leaned back out toward sea, as if lonesome for the sky. She was still lighter than air, just, but she was as big as an ocean liner, and when she moved, she moved hard. I dug in with my heels and prayed for her to stop. She did.
“Starboard side, pull her tight!” came the officer’s call, and with all my might I tugged my line, winching it round the trunk.
An incredible sight it was, this massive airship nested down on the shores of a tropical island, palm fronds brushing her flanks. A steamship in the middle of a desert could not have looked more out of place. Amidships, where she was fattest, her belly was almost scraping the beach. Her lower fin was badly crumpled, its tip buried in the sand. The
Aurora
swayed in the humid air. She seemed a mirage.
The great ship’s nose pointed inland. On her starboard side the palms grew quite close, and we’d been tying up her lines to the trunks. Off the
Aurora
’s port side, there was nothing but beach, so the crew was tethering her lines to mooring spikes, driven deep into the sand. I hoped she would hold.
“I want more lines on her!” the captain called from the window of the control car. “Every extra inch I want holding her. Stem and stern and breast lines. See to it, please! We may not have a mooring mast, gentlemen, but I want this vessel tied down as tightly as Gulliver! Houdini could not shift her, nor a typhoon! See to it, men! Heave on those lines and make her snug as if she were in dry dock!”
Still shouting his poetry, the captain dropped down from the control car and rolled up his sleeves and hammered ties and pulled lines along with the rest of us. My knees were shaky. I blinked up at the sun, which had just cleared the hills to the east. I felt unpleasantly hot, the light bouncing off the sand and into my face. I sucked in a big breath, wishing for more breeze.
“She’s snug!” the captain pronounced after a good twenty minutes. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
I headed back to the ship, wanting sleep. At the windows in the passenger quarters I could see faces pressed against the glass. My eyes strayed to the Topkapi stateroom, and there were Kate and Miss Simpkins at their big picture windows. The tropical light flashed off the lens of Kate’s camera. She lifted her hand and waved.
THE ISLAND
The ladies stood beneath their parasols; the gentlemen angled their hats against the sun’s full glare. In their black patent shoes and high-heeled boots, they were having trouble standing upright in the fine white sand. They tilted and swayed. In their dark clothing they looked strangely thin and insubstantial, wavering there on the beach like heat mirages. Strange birds shrieked from the forest, a coconut thudded to the ground, surf crashed against the reef. Captain Walken stood before his assembled passengers, eyes crinkled benevolently.
“Ladies and gentlemen, first let me apologize for this unscheduled stop in our journey to Australia.”
This brought a few grateful chuckles from the crowd, but most people, I noticed, still looked shaken and anxious, some even angry.
“Luckily, thanks to my able crew, we made an exceptionally smooth landing and are snugly berthed. Our ship is largely undamaged, with the critical exception, of course, that we have lost much of our lifting gas. We have the pirates to thank for that.”
“We’re shipwrecked, then!” said one passenger.
“Not at all, sir. Our vessel is in one piece. And she will fly again.”
“When?” a woman with a powerful voice asked. “We are not children, Captain. Tell us the truth.”
“Indeed I am, madam. Repairs are under way as I speak. Which is why I have asked for all of you to disembark. A temporary measure, I assure you. Right now, I need the
Aurora
as light as possible until we’ve sealed every leak.”
I looked over at the ship. She hovered only inches above the sand. Several crewmen were already busy digging her tail fin free. If the
Aurora
lost any more hydrium, she would be forced to start bearing her own weight—something no airship was designed to do. Without enough hydrium, she would collapse upon herself. Inside, the sailmakers would be in a frenzy, seeking out every tear in her gossamer gas cells. Outside, the hull crawled with more crew, patching all those holes we’d missed. I wished I was with them. Lunardi was up there. But here I was, shimmied halfway up a coconut palm, trying to string a tarpaulin to make some shade for our precious passengers.
“But will we be able to lift off again?” someone else demanded.
“With our current load I am most doubtful. We may need to remove cargo and furniture and other nonessential items. We won’t know how much hydrium we have until repairs are finished. At the moment, we have plenty of food and drinking water. The weather is fine, and we are all unharmed—with the tragic exception of our chief wireless officer, Mr. Featherstone.”
The captain paused for a moment, and I saw him sigh. I don’t think anyone who’d been in the A-Deck lounge would be able to clear the images from their mind’s eye. The way Szpirglas had lifted the gun, so casually and unflinchingly, and squeezed the trigger. An explosion of blood and bone and a life gone forever.
“We still have cause to be grateful,” said our captain. “An encounter with the likes of Mr. Szpirglas could have been much, much worse. I intend to be under way as soon as possible. I will keep you abreast of all developments. The cabin crew is, as aloft, at your disposal. The ship’s schedule will remain unchanged, with meals served at the usual times. However, your safety is my first concern, so I would urge you to stay within sight of the
Aurora.
The beach looks very pleasant, and the lagoon sheltered. If you wish, please sunbathe and swim, but do keep an eye open for sharks. I must also ask you to refrain from straying inland unless accompanied by a crew member. I hope that you will be able to return to the ship before much longer. Our cabin crew will be serving a full breakfast on the beach shortly. Now you must excuse me while I tend to the ship.”
It was a reassuring oration, I thought, but the passengers were not all soothed. I heard a fair bit of grumbling and caught plenty of worried looks. I turned back to Baz, who was cinching the other end of the tarp to a palm. It made a good screen, enough to keep the ladies’ faces from being blemished by the sun.
The captain had quietly told me, Baz, and the other cabin crew to keep an eye out for any island inhabitants. I can’t say the idea made me very happy. What if they weren’t friendly? So when I wasn’t stealing glances into the darkness of the trees, I was watching the
Aurora
, afraid something disastrous would befall her. Afraid she would get blown away, or taken over by cannibals, or, more likely, crushed into the sand by her own unaccustomed weight. I didn’t want to be here. I looked up at the sky, a deep cobalt blue. A frigate bird circled high.
Baz and I strung up a few more tarps and then set about serving breakfast with the rest of the cabin crew. It was quite an undertaking, laying out blankets for the passengers, setting up the trestle tables for the buffet, then lugging out the plates and cutlery and napkins and food. It all seemed nonsense to me right now, when the
Aurora
was ailing. I kept watching her belly, gauging how much more she’d slumped into the sand.
I didn’t want to be outside. Didn’t want to be reminded that I was on an island, with the
Aurora
aground. I wanted to be inside, helping the ship right now, instead of pampering our passengers.
“How do you expect them to eat?” Baz asked in mock horror when I grumbled all this to him. We were headed back to the ship, teetering with dirty dishes.
“Let them hack open a few coconuts,” I muttered.
“And what next?” he asked. “Wrangling their own sharks? Buttering their own bread? These people did without fresh croissants this morning, Matt. That’s right. These poor people, washed ashore like Robinson Crusoe, making do without croissants. Have some pity, boy.”
“Oh, shut up,” I said, grinning.
He looked at me, then back at the
Aurora.
“She’ll be fine, you know.”
“I know.” I blinked away tears.
“Been a bit much for everyone, hasn’t it?” Baz sighed. “Especially without fresh croissants.”
I laughed. Baz could always cheer me up.
After a hurried breakfast in the crew’s mess, the chief steward, Mr. Lisbon, told me to get some sleep.
“They could probably use an extra hand up top,” I replied, thinking of the sailmakers repairing the ship’s skin.
He shook his head. “Sleep first. Captain’s orders, not mine.”
I was glad there was no one else around to hear this; I knew the captain meant it kindly but it had the ring of being sent to bed by your parents. I got a sudden lump in my throat. My father, who would never send me off to bed again. My mother and sisters back home. The truth was I didn’t want to sleep. On land I never slept well. My lungs didn’t get enough air; my heart clattered. I panicked when I could not feel the sky beneath me, when I could not feel my father near. I just wanted to work.
“Were we able to send off a distress message, sir?” I asked Mr. Lisbon.
“The pirates smashed all the radio gear. Mr. Chaudhuri’s trying to repair it.”
“Perhaps he could use a—”
“You’re off duty, Mr. Cruse. I suggest you sleep now when you’ve got the chance. We’ve all plenty of work ahead of us.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. I walked mournfully to my cabin and stood beside my bunk. I felt like a six-year-old, not wanting bedtime to come, afraid of the dark. I could feel how tired my body was; maybe I could sleep just a little. Very slowly I took off my trousers and jacket and shirt and climbed up to my bunk. I slid down under the covers, pushed my cheek against the pillow.
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend we were still aloft, still moving. But the smell of mango permeated the ship, and I could not forget we were leaking. All through the ship I heard the soft thuds of crew working on her skin, crew working above me in the bracing wires, crew coming up and down the corridor. I could feel my heart start beating faster. I swallowed, tried to breathe slow and deep. I was aloft. I could fly. I was soaring alongside the ship. I was falling.
My eyes opened. I felt myself start to shake. Out my porthole I could not see the clouds or open sky, only palms and a sweep of beach and some of the passengers promenading on the sand. I heard the waves crashing against the reef. Landlocked.
Shipwrecked.
I threw back the covers, jumped down to the floor, and yanked on my off duty clothes: a pair of trousers, shirt, suspenders, and flat-soled shoes. I could not stay here in the cabin; right now it was just like my room at home, motionless, small, collapsing in on me.
No, not shipwrecked. We would fly again, the captain had promised. I would fly again. I just had to keep moving. I opened the cabin door and practically ran out into the corridor. I nearly collided with Baz and Bruce Lunardi. They looked like they were going somewhere.
“You two need a hand?” I asked.
“If you like,” said Baz. “The captain’s asked us to find some fresh water.”
“We’re not out,” I said, with some alarm. “Are we?”
“Not yet,” Baz said, “but he had to dump most of it last night. We’ve got enough to last maybe one more day.”
“We’ll be gone by then,” I said confidently.
“Even so we’ll need to take on more to make it to Sydney,” Lunardi pointed out. “Plus we need ballast.”
“I know that,” I said, annoyed he was telling me about my ship, and annoyed at myself for forgetting all the ballast we’d dumped. We walked down the gangway onto the beach, squinting in the sudden sun. Bruce and Baz were walking ahead of me, side by side, and I noticed they were about the same height. I supposed they were about the same age too. I wondered when they’d got so chummy; I’d never seen them together before. Suddenly I felt like a little brother, tagging along, unwanted.
“You all right after last night?” I asked Bruce. “Seemed like you were having a rough time up there.”
“I was,” he said, turning around and giving me a smile. It wasn’t a matinee idol smile; it wasn’t cocky enough. This smile was humble, and it took me back some. “Thanks for helping me out,” he said. “I really appreciate it.”
“It was nothing.”
“I don’t have much of a head for heights.”
“You’re in the wrong line of work, then,” I said.
“Probably. Do you think there’s any hope for me?”
I felt bad. “It looked good, your patching,” I told him. “Very tidy.”
“Really?”
I grunted.
“Well, that’s encouraging. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”
I didn’t want him to feel too encouraged, so I said nothing more.
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find water,” Baz said. “The island looks fairly big. There’s got to be a stream somewhere.”
“Let’s start over there,” said Lunardi, pointing to the far end of the beach.
We walked along the sand, away from the ship, past the makeshift marquees we’d thrown up to shade the passengers. I caught a glimpse of Miss Simpkins stretched out on a wicker lounge chair. She appeared to be dozing, like many of the others. I didn’t see Kate until we were farther along the beach. She was standing close to the water, her back to the lagoon, staring up into the forest and hills. She wore a long white summer dress and a simple white hat with a single magnificent rose on it. Her hair hung around her shoulders in two loose plaits, each tied with a red bow. In one hand she held a parasol, in the other was a book—her grandfather’s journal, I realized. Her chin was tilted up, and she was peering off into the distance. Occasionally she put down her parasol on the sand so she could write something in her book. She looked very intent.
“Who’s that there?” Lunardi asked, squinting. “She’s rather attractive, wouldn’t you say, gentlemen?”
“That’s Miss Kate de Vries,” Baz told him. “And you’ll have stiff competition from Matt. He’s already set his sights on her.” Baz gave me a playful poke with his elbow.
“Don’t talk rubbish,” I muttered.
“Kate de Vries,” Bruce said, surprised. “I do believe I know her.”
“Really?” I said coldly.
“Hmmm,” he said vaguely.
As we approached, Kate looked up and waved.
“Hello!” she called out.
“Are you all right, miss?” Baz asked. “Can we help?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m just taking notes.” She smiled at me. “Hello, Mr. Cruse. How are you today?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“Hello, Miss de Vries,” said Lunardi, “I believe we’ve met before.” He suddenly seemed much older and sure of himself, almost suave.
Kate looked up at him. “Yes, I think you’re right,” she replied. She thinks he’s handsome, I thought forlornly. Plus he was in his uniform and looked very crisp and sharp. I felt shabby in my off duty clothes. His gold steering wheel insignia gleamed in the sun. Cover those up, I wanted to growl. You haven’t earned them. Better yet, tear them off and give them to me.
“Was it at the Wolfram gala last year?” Kate asked.
“Indeed it was,” said Lunardi. “Your mother and mine were on the same fund-raising committee.”
“Yes,” Kate said, “of course. How nice to see you again.”
“What are you taking notes on?” Lunardi asked her.
“Oh, just the local flora and fauna,” Kate said, closing her notebook.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable with the others, miss?” said Baz. “We’re off to find a stream.”
“Oh, it’s over there a ways,” said Kate. “I spotted it earlier. Not far.”
“Really?” I asked, impressed. “You’ve been doing a little exploring?”
“Hardly,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”
Bruce laughed. “Well, she’s saved us a lot of work, gentlemen. Thank you, Miss de Vries. Perhaps we can consult you again when we’re foraging for food.”
“Food won’t be any problem either,” Kate said.
“Found a nice restaurant nearby, have you?” Baz joked.
“Look at those trees,” she said, pointing. “Do you know what they are?”
“Can’t say I do,” said Lunardi.
“Breadfruit trees,” she told him.
“Breadfruit trees,” Lunardi said with a laugh. “Very creative.”
“That’s what they’re called,” she said. I saw her nostrils narrow, and Lunardi’s smile dissolved, his matinee idol suaveness with it. “See the fruit up there in its branches?” Kate went on. “They’re a tremendously filling food. If you split it open. Starchy, but filling. We’re lucky to have them. We won’t starve here, gentlemen. And look, coconut, and mango, and I think that’s pineapple over there. In terms of other food sources, we’ve got an abundance of marine life. Just take a peek in the lagoon. We’ve got many varieties of fish and shellfish.”