Chasing the Lantern (14 page)

Nearby a pirate stumbled, the usually silent Geoffrey Lords. He cursed and lashed wildly about with a saber. That earned him a brief respite, just long enough to notice another scryn swooping up from behind. The pirate whirled to defend against it and slammed up against the exhaust-pipes. Something broke free of his belt and clattered against the deck next to her.

A hip flask.

The Cure-all
. Her scryn had been extremely attracted to it and Ryan said he'd found two barrels of the stuff. They'd be in the cargo deck below, where she hadn't been yet. But pirates were sailors first, and if she knew sailors, then Ryan would probably have kept some somewhere personal. An idea took root in her mind.

Lina waited for a break in the action, then bolted down the deck toward the rear hatch. She ducked and weaved past screaming scryn and yelling pirates. Sharp cracks sounded as those with pistols fired them, sending plumes of smoke billowing about a deck that pitched and rolled.

Lina reached the hatch. Past it near the helm, Fengel and Lucian stood back to back, fending off scryn while Maxim fought against the swarm with caustic light. She paused, breath caught in her throat.

Maxim's magic was impressive, but the captain was an elegant blur. His saber flashed through the air, neatly separating the wing of a scryn before whipping about to skewer another. He stood with his back stiff, his off hand neatly held behind him in a classic fencer's pose.

"This must be a new colony," cried Lucian as he swatted at another of the flying creatures. "Territorial little bastards! I should have known when that new girl saw one of them earlier!"

"Keep fighting," said Fengel, loud yet calm. "Keep them off long enough to get us through the Maelstrom!"

They don't see the real danger
. They had to get control of the ship again, and soon, before the sails were torn away. But there were just too many scryn. She had to get rid of those first.

Lina dove down the aft hatch. Darkness enclosed her and the sounds of the strife on the deck above became muted and distant. Down the short hall she found herself in the crew room again, hammocks swaying in the air.

She moved through them, pulling out sea chests and upending sailor's bags. Knickknacks, weapons, bent cards and spare clothing went flying across the room. Lina looked for something, anything, that would hold a drink or three. Shoved into a corner beneath a hammock, hidden underneath a pile of blankets she found a keg.
Would Ryan have just grabbed the whole thing?

Lina threw the blankets aside and hefted the cask. It was heavy, and sloshed when she pulled it out into the room. It was already breached, a cork now plugging the hole. She drew a dagger and wedged it out. A pungent stink immediately wafted from it to fill the room. Lina fell back, choking. This was Corsair's Cure-all, all right.

She held her face away and hoisted the keg. Lina grit her teeth and moved on, making her way back to the stair and tottering up it to through the hatch onto the deck.

Pandemonium still reigned. She did he best to ignore it, the cry of battle and the groaning of the ship. Lina took as straight a path as she dared to the starboard-side. There she shifted the cask to sit atop the exhaust-pipes and peered over the rail. The islets were still there, though they were just passing the last of them. It was large, and flat at the top like a pillar.

Groaning, Lina lifted the cask up to balance on the rail. She made sure to splash Cure-all out of the open bung onto the hot metal pipes. The air filled with the pungent, acidic scent of the stuff.

The scryn nearest stopped their screaming to look in her direction. Lina dropped to the deck, curling into a ball, and wedged herself under the exhaust-pipe as much as she could. The air above her filled with cacophony as the scryn swarmed, irresistibly attracted to the alcohol. They screeched and squabbled, fighting to be first. Lina heard the cask scrape against the wooden railing as the mass of creatures shoved it overboard. The red glow along the deck all about her darkened.

Lina look up. The massed scryn were gone, though she heard them just out of sight. A few still fought, though most of those were circling around her and the place where the Cure-all had spilled. She scrabbled away, climbing to her feet. The crew had the upper hand now, and quickly dispatched the remaining sky-rays.

Fengel moved up beside her, blade dripping black scryn ichors. "What happened?" he asked. "What did you do?"

"No time," she cried. "The Maelstrom is ripping us apart!"

Captain Fengel blinked at her. Then he looked up at the Maelstrom around them and cursed, taking notice of the groaning cries of his ship. "Hard to port!" he yelled, whirling back to face the helm. "Maxim! We've gained too much velocity! Get us turned hard to port and ride the wind!"

Those crew unwounded scrambled back to their stations. She glanced at the Maelstrom, at the skysails.
No. That won't work.
They had to pull the sails
in
.

The ship shook violently, first to one side and then the other. It swayed like a drunken horse. She opened her mouth to yell back to the captain.
No. Not enough time.
She had to do it herself.

Lina raced up the deck to the bow. She reached the first skysail along the starboard-side and the chain linkage that controlled it. A series of pulleys ran fine cord out from the mechanism to the skysail, attached to the linkage by a spool mounted on an axle, like the reel of a fishing rod. The cords hummed, taut against the invisible pressure of the Maelstrom. The thin metal armatures that suspended the sails squealed at the stress.

She placed her hands upon the reel and twisted. It gave only a little. Lina threw herself at it. The reel wound a little bit, and the skysail moved inward slightly. Bit by bit, swearing under her breath, she pulled it in. Finished, she stepped back to view it. The skysail wriggled and twisted, even folded up. But it would hold.

The ship still shook. There were five more sails to go.

Through the yelling of the captain and the frantic movement of the crew, Lina raced unnoticed. One by one she pulled them in, the second, third, fourth, and fifth. The ship shook less, leveled out. She was working on the sixth, near the helm in the stern, when a hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her about.

Lucian Thorne stood before her, Captain Fengel and Henry Smalls just behind. Smalls looked confused and the captain impassive, like stone. Maxim, stood at the helm past them, staring at the eye of the Maelstrom, as if seeing nothing else.

"What are you
doing,
girl?" The first mate glared down at her, furious. "We need to tack around the edge of the storm!"

Lina wanted to wince, to shrink away. "It was too late!" she said. "We were already caught up in the Maelstrom, and the skysails were tearing away!"

"The skysails would have been fine!" shouted Lucian. The dashing, easygoing man she'd seen was gone, replaced by the rough second-in-command of a crew of brigands and rogues. "We've taken them through aetherstorms like this just fine. You think you know better? We're going to be stuck in the eye now until we can fire up the furnace again and propel our way out! We've lost hours of travel because of you!"

"The girl is correct." Everyone turned at the harsh, almost mechanical voice. The Mechanist stalked over from the mouth of the rear hatchway, moving like a machine. "This ship is not your
Flittergrasp.
You presume too much about her capabilities." He turned to Captain Fengel. "The skysails installed upon the
Dawnhawk
are light, and will speed you more efficiently than any built by the Brotherhood so far. But they are fragile. You should have consulted me before adopting this tactic. A penalty will be applied to the fee after the voyage, as well as costs to repair the skysails, should they prove necessary."

Dismay flashed across Fengel's face. Whether at the fee or the possible damage to the ship, Lina could not say. Her captain visibly regained his composure, then nodded stiffly at the Mechanist. "My apologies, sir. The Brothers of the Cog know their own equipment best, of course." He glanced over to Lucian and Lina. "Miss Stone," he said, changing the subject. "What was it you did to lure away the scryn?"

Lina blinked in surprise. "Corsair's Cure-all," she said. "It's how I got rid of the one from earlier."

Captain Fengel raised an eyebrow. Then he moved to the rail to peer overboard. Lina shrugged off Lucian's hand and took a step back, glancing over the gunwales as well. Below them flew the cloud of scryn. They swarmed around the last islet where the cask had fallen and shattered. The creatures screeched and fought, but ignored the
Dawnhawk
in favor of the spilled liquor.

Fengel turned back to face them. "I see," he said. "Lucian. It appears that Miss Stone has acted both quickly and cleverly. She is to be commended. Sir Mechanist, please bring up the furnace, if you would, before beginning your inspection."

Lina released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The Mechanist glared at them all, but gave a nod and moved away belowdecks to comply. Lucian sighed and shook his head. He turned away to shout orders at the pirate crew scattered about. Fengel made to move back to the helm where Maxim stood. He paused.

"Miss Stone?" he said, half-turning. His green eyes pinned her, not pleasantly.

Lina swallowed. "Sir?"

"Initiative is prized. But in the future, I would appreciate it if you would notify me of such intentions before acting upon them."

Lina blushed. "I would have, sir. But there wasn't time. We'd have lost the skysails, at the least."

"Duly noted." The captain walked away, shouting orders for the wounded to be taken below and the ship to be seen to.

Lina frowned, not sure what to think or how to feel. She realized that one person still stood at her side. Henry Smalls leaned in. "How did you know we wouldn't be becalmed?" he asked.

Lina looked at him blankly. "We're on an
airship
. There isn't even any wind trapping us here. It's just the aether, right?" She looked after Lucian, and the captain, suddenly worried. "Should I...?"

"No. Just give them a bit. You did the right thing, twice over. Lucian just feels guilty he didn't solve the problems, and the Captain didn't like you going against his orders. Still, he commended you. And if he said it, he meant it; I know the man. Maybe just...find somewhere unobtrusive for a bit, eh?"

The steward patted her shoulder and followed his captain. Lina sighed, then moved back to where she wouldn't be in the way. The ship no longer shook. Rather, it seemed unnaturally calm for the roiling Maelstrom they were passing through. The eye of the storm was just off the port-side now, an empty hole in the cloudbank. Lina stared at it, and she almost, almost thought she saw something in the middle, perhaps a long shadow against the clouds where none should be. Andrea's talk of daemons came back to her and she shuddered, looking back to Maxim at the helm. The man stared at the empty space as well, pale and shaking, tears rolling down his face. Captain Fengel was pulling him quietly away from the helm, letting Henry Smalls step in to take his place. Lina shook her head at the strangeness of the world.

Something landed with a thump on the exhaust-pipes beside her. Lina whirled to see a scryn only inches away. She opened her mouth to yell warning, then paused. It was a runty creature, the small one she'd met earlier today.

"Chirr!" The patterns on its belly lit up in dancing, drunken whorls. It coiled, ready to leap forward at her arm.

It suddenly belched, then fell down behind the exhaust-pipe with a thud.

Chapter Eight

Fengel removed his monocle. He wiped at it with the cuff of his sleeve, trying to clean away the thick, black ichors coating it. The glass fogged as he rubbed, smearing. Scryn blood was foul stuff, sticky and rank. With a sigh, he gave up for the moment and replaced his eye-piece, making a mental note to give it a more thorough washing later.

Groans echoed down to him from the rest of the deck. His crew lay about in the aftermath of the attack, resting and looking over their wounds. Lucian moved among them, looking for anything serious enough to need real attention. Fengel's heart went out to them, and he cursed himself again for missing the danger until it was too late. He glanced over at the helm where his gray-haired steward stood, keeping them on course for the moment.

"Henry." The little man glanced over at him. Fengel gestured toward the bow. "I'll take the wheel for a bit. Get some bandages and go help with the wounded."

"You sure, sir?"

"Aye. I misspoke to the Mechanist. I'm going to bring us out of the Maelstrom, then to a full stop. We're already losing our momentum. We might as well see to the injured and take stock, be certain that nothing was seriously damaged." He looked over to the port-side railing where Maxim stood, silent and paler than usual, staring up at the empty eye of the windless storm. "Take Maxim with you."

Henry looked to their navigator and gave a nod. He passed the wheel to Fengel and walked over to the man. Maxim started when Henry touched his elbow, but went along when the steward pulled him up the deck. Fengel set himself behind the helm and took quick stock of the console of the gearbox, the wavering needles of the compass, altimeter, and barometer.

Fengel glanced at the great open space within the middle of the storm, now rolling past them on the starboard-side. Supposedly a daemon sat in its middle, unheard and unseen, trapped in its center like a fly caught in amber. Or so Maxim swore. Fengel had never seen it himself; he hadn't a lick of the strange inborn ability that revealed such hidden mysteries. On the whole, he appreciated that. The world was a very strange place sometimes, and he had more than enough to worry about on his own.

The
Dawnhawk
finished skirting the eye. Fengel spun the wheel, using their latent momentum and the small head of steam built up in the furnace beneath his feet to push them away from its whorl. The roiling cloudbank washed over the bow of the ship, enclosing them in misty gloom. Fengel checked the gearbox instruments again. They were still on course. Minutes passed, and the churning fog of the Maelstrom brightened. Bit by bit it thinned, then finally parted as his vessel emerged from the perpetual storm and back into bright blue skies. The Atalian Sea spread out beneath them again, empty and white-capped. Thick, puffy clouds scudded low across the sky, far more than had been on the other side of the Maelstrom. This was common, for some reason, in the places so close to the Yulan. Fengel never understood why. He and the crew preferred the west, but a few adventures had brought him this way over the years. Each time the seas nearby were cloudy, and he had never heard of it being otherwise.