Chasing the Lantern (21 page)

The end of the rammer fit into the cannon bore. Fengel forced it down and then threw himself back at the deck. Lightning flashed, bright and actinic and impossibly close. Distantly, he felt his right arm go numb. When he hit the water-slick wood of the deck the world seemed to cave in with a rumbling crack that almost drove the sense from him.

The numbness faded to an unpleasant tingle. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over. For a second, madly, he thought it was Natasha. But no, it was Miss Stone, looking down at him with wide, frightened eyes. Fengel realized he was smoldering.

Sarah Lome crawled over to him. "Captain," she said. "Are you—"

Another crackling blast impacted nearby, followed by a thunderous roar. Fengel flinched, then looked over to the makeshift lightning rod.

It worked. The wood was charring all around the cannon, its metal glowing dull red and hot. The iron gaff-pole was almost white, the metal hook on its end drooping like a piece of string. As they watched, another blast licked out from the storm, only to twist mid-course towards the rod.

Fengel laughed. He ached, and his sword had fallen free to skitter along the deck at his fall. But he felt wonderful. "Just capital!" he cried to his gunnery mistress. "Absolutely capital." He climbed to his feet. "Now let's do it again on the other side. Quickly now, before we all get blown to smithereens."

They hastily performed the same maneuver on the starboard-side, again just narrowly avoiding electrocution. Once done, Fengel ran up to the bow to laugh and shake his fist at the storm. The crew all stared at him in awe.

Bolt after bolt exploded throughout the cloud of the storm. The rains lashed the deck, and the winds pummeled them. The crew clung for dear life, offering up prayers, promises, curses, and whatever else they thought might convince the Goddess to let them live through the raging fury they flew upon.

And then they were through.

The Stormwall parted before them. Green jungle spread out beneath the
Copper Queen
, twisting and rolling as far as Fengel could see. Distant mountains rose up through the haze of the horizon, and rivers shone like silver under the late afternoon sun. Clouds scudded across the sky, pushed down and out to the base of the Stormwall on this side, but further inland the skies were clear.

Fengel turned back to the ship and let out a yell. The crew, bedraggled and soaked, looked up at him. They took up the cry after a moment, sounding amazed to be alive. As he watched, the makeshift lightning rods collapsed, the wooden rammers crumbling away to ashen flinders that blew away in the strong gale so close to the Stormwall. The cannons still glowed red-hot, charring the wood of their mountings.

Lucian made his way up to the bow, along with Sarah Lome and Miss Stone. Henry Smalls appeared, looking soaked. The little steward stared at the cannons, shaking his head. Lucian gave his captain a smile. "I cannot believe you did that."

Fengel straightened his monocle. "I only did what was needed," he replied in his most authoritative voice. "Lucian, take stock and make sure no one was unduly injured. Also, get aloft and make doubly certain that we don't have any fires." The ship was listing slightly, more so than usual. "I'm not worried," he continued, "but better safe than sorry. Check on the lookouts. Now, it's a slim chance, but let's get out that logbook. We need to discern where that wreck should be, if it did in fact float upriver."

"No need, Captain," said Lina. "Look."

The pirates all turned to follow her gesture. She pointed starboard, south of the ship. There flowed a thick river like a lazy snake, wide and argent in the light of the sun. Clouds from the Stormwall obscured it, but a wrecked sail ship was clearly visible at a wide bend in the river several hundred feet below them. The vessel lay on its side, caught between a sandbar and the shore. Past the bend on its opposite side an airship floated just a dozen feet above the river: the
Dawnhawk
.

Fengel made a small, animal noise in his throat.
It worked. It worked, and I have you.
He almost cackled with glee. Instead he spoke over his shoulder at the crew. "Lucian, get back up to Maxim, see if he can conjure us more clouds, or at least a concealing mist. Henry, get out all the spare ropes we have. I want ladders, drop-lines, anything that'll help us take them from above. Gunny Lome, get everyone armed." He patted his hip, then frowned. "Miss Stone?"

The waif looked up. "Yes?"

"Fetch me my sword."

Chapter Twelve

"Fifteen degrees starboard," cried the lookout up on the bow.

"Fifteen degrees, aye," acknowledged Konrad. He spun the helm wheel until the bow of the
Dawnhawk
shifted to follow the bend in the river.

Mordecai watched Natasha. The pirate captain stood proudly by the helm, smiling, golden eyes bright. She called out orders to the lookouts, having them check every wake below the water to see if it were really wreckage. They prodded at the water with long wooden gaff-poles, so far finding only submerged rocks and startled crocodiles. The
Dawnhawk
floated a dozen feet above the Silverpenny River. They kept a slow pace, moving as little as possible as they hunted for the wreck of the
Albatross.
It was not easy work. Strong gusts from the Stormwall pushed at the ship from the rear, driving it off their course toward the northwest bank and the thick jungle there.

The last day had gone surpassingly well. They had regained their ship and taught a lesson to the thieves who'd dared to take it. The particulars of that lesson had deeply irritated Mordecai at first; were it up to him, they would have just cut the throats of Fengel's Men and been done with it. Natasha's insistence on leaving them alive was foolish. Still though, even that poor choice could not dim the pleasure he felt at being back in his proper place. And, he supposed, in the end the results would be the same; there was no way that Fengel would worm his way out of his predicament. In time the ship would lower enough to drown them all, if simple exposure didn't finish them.

After regaining the
Dawnhawk,
Mordecai and Natasha had conferred with each other, for once finding that they were in complete agreement. His appalling thievery aside, Fengel's lead was a good one. A whole frigate stuffed to bursting with foreign treasure, ripe for the plucking. So why not find and take it for themselves?

They took stock of supplies and damages to the ship. Finding the former ample and the latter minor they had flown on, coasting along the slight curve of Engmann's Run. By the time the dawn rose they'd reached the Yulan coast. From there it had been most of the effort of a day to locate the mouth of the Silverpenny River.

It was rare for any pirate, water or sky, to come this close to the strange eastern land; there simply wasn't anything worth taking. Mordecai found that the rumors of the place were understated, if anything. The Stormwall raged and wailed, pushing them away with violent winds only to create cross-drafts that sucked them back in again. They had spent hours just trying to approach the perpetual storm without plunging straight into it, repeatedly skirting around the edge of it, close enough to examine the mouth of the river.

Because the mouth of the Silverpenny River was empty. No tall ship lay among the rocks scattering the small bay, and no wreckage was visible on the nearby beach below the storm. Ultimately Natasha decided that the
H.M.S. Albatross
must have been sucked upriver by the tidal flow, and Mordecai was forced to agree.

They'd come too far to give up now, and so with great trepidation had entered the Stormwall. Or at least, somewhat. Over the river mouth it weakened, almost opening. Moving carefully they were able to just slip beneath the unnatural weather, the ship itself so low that when a strong gust caught them wrong the
Dawnhawk
brushed the choppy froth of the river. Rain drummed the gas-bag frame, and they lost two men up among the ratlines, blown clean off and lost to the storm. But before long they'd pushed through to the other side. Now they drifted, hunting for treasure with the raging wall of wind at their backs and the Yulan Interior spread out before them.

"Portside," shouted Natasha. "Three yards off. Check it."

The land was strange. Little things all about the airship reminded Mordecai that this was an old continent and an alien one as well. The waters of the river below them were mostly clear, though it shone argent in the light of the setting sun. The banks on either side were made of fine grey sand, so unlike the clean white of the Copper Isles. Beyond that lay jungle, thick and dark. Gibbons and brightly colored lizards hung from the trees. One of the latter took flight, spreading wide wings to flap across the river past the stern of the
Dawnhawk
. Mordecai blinked in surprise as the creature passed on by. Scents of citrus and rich earth wafted out from the jungle, mixing with the ozone smell of the Stormwall behind them. The whole place made Mordecai feel uneasy.

"Just another crocodile," shouted Guye Farrel from the portside ratlines.

"Then keep looking," snarled Natasha.

The new pirate glowered, but turned back to the river before he thought they could see him. Mordecai was amused. The man had been beaten, berated, and all around battered since joining their crew. His once well-groomed brown hair was limp and oily. Life as one of Natasha's Reavers was likely not turning out the way he thought it would have. During the fight with Fengel's Men he had acquitted himself well enough, though he had lost a pair of fingers to Lucian's sword. Yesterday, well after the fight, he had appeared from down belowdecks with an ugly red boil swelling on the side of his neck. Farrel claimed that he had been attacked by an angry beast down in the bowels of the ship's storage. Mordecai thought it far more likely that he was drinking something unusual that Fengel's crew had left behind.

"Dead ahead," called the bow lookout as the airship rounded a bend in the river. "Wreckage dead ahead!"

Mordecai met Natasha's eyes. She turned and strode up the deck eagerly. "Bring us in slow," he said to Konrad. Their navigator nodded and Mordecai moved to follow his captain.

They passed the Mechanist on their way up to the bow. The Brother of the Cog was oblivious to their journey, only mildly interested in the strange new continent. Of far greater concern to him was the care of his ship. He moved along the skysail mounts with two press-ganged pirates in tow, examining the damage wrought by the Stormwall and by Fengel's crew back at the Maelstrom. This man was made of different stuff than the milksop youngling they'd had back on the
Copper Queen
, and it pleased Mordecai.

Natasha slowed her pace toward the front of the ship. "How go the repairs?" she asked the Brother of the Cog.

The older man paused. "You are continually pushing this vessel beyond its designed capacity."

"Our apologies," said Mordecai. "But it was necessary to breach the Stormwall."

The Mechanist grunted. "I do not refer solely to that. This entire excursion has exceeded the recommended equipment margins that you agreed to upon taking ownership of this vessel. A penalty shall be applied once we return to the Yards."

Mordecai glowered. "Now see here—"

"It appears I misspoke," said the Mechanist, cutting him off. "A
larger
penalty shall now be applied once we return to the Yards. Do not force me to increase that number." With that, the Mechanist turned and stalked off. Natasha glanced at him and shook her head. Her meaning was clear; the Mechanist was stodgy, and not worth irritating further for the sake of pride.

Mordecai and his captain reached the bow just as the whole ship rounded the bend. The river continued more northeasterly from here, wide and flat. But it was bisected directly ahead by a sandbar. On it lay a warship.

The
H.M.S. Albatross
was a newer vessel, a steam frigate. It was long and heavy, made of dark seasoned oak. Like any sailing vessel it had three masts hosting a magnificent array of sails. But amidships were two massive paddlewheels with armored housings. Cannons poked their stubby noses out in regular intervals along the top deck and those below. She had been recently painted and was a pretty vessel indeed.

Well, almost. The Perinese warship lay beached on its port-side, a gaping hole in its belly open to the river. One mast was broken and its sails dangled from the others, their rigging torn and tangled. Shattered wood, rope, and other flotsam floated in the water at the base of the hulk, where the sandbar made a small tidal pool.

"Yes," hissed Natasha in pleasure. She flashed Mordecai a feral, wicked grin and turned back to the ship. "Everyone on deck!" she yelled. "Get the holds open, and prepare to go ashore! Konrad, bring us in to a holding pattern."

Mordecai caught her eye. "We should arm." His captain raised an eyebrow and he continued. "According to our sources, that vessel only wrecked on the rocks a week ago. There's bound to be someone left aboard, even if the tide sucked her up here past the Stormwall."

"You don't think they went back to Breachtown?"

He nodded. "Certainly they sent someone. But this is a Perinese ship. Her captain wouldn't have dared risk losing all that gold and silver; he'd be strung up, or cashiered at the very least."

Natasha nodded. "Wise." She raised her voice again down the deck and gave the order to bring blades and guns to hand.

They approached the wreck. The crew assumed their customary positions, ready to throw ropes from either side of the deck and quickly rappel down. Konrad was uncharacteristically quiet, and brought them in slow and steady. The Mechanist disappeared back to his warrens. Mordecai stood with Natasha at the bow, a hand-picked crew of five others ready to join them in descending to the treasure-ship.

A thousand feet became five hundred, then two hundred and fifty. "Close enough," said Natasha. She let out a cry and it echoed about the deck. Ropes were thrown over the side and the pirate captain went first, leather gloves letting her slide down to the sand below.