Airborn (9 page)

“I hope you see them,” I said. “I really do.”

6

SZPIRGLAS

Back in the crow’s nest, nestled beneath the stars. Trying to imagine winged creatures above me, creatures who never needed to land, who’d never felt earth beneath their feet. Sitting under that glass dome, looking up at the sky’s bigger black dome, always put me in a talkative frame of mind. Of course, it was all talking to myself.

Before starting my watch I’d gone down to the navigation room, and Mr. Grantham had patiently let me gawk at his charts. Our projected route was a dotted line, with a few little zigzag markings where we’d deviated because of wind and weather. I looked for the coordinates Kate’s grandfather had written in his journal. There was no island marked on Grantham’s charts, not even a little dot. I could imagine Kate’s look when I told her that. Her nostrils would narrow a bit, her chin would lift, and she’d say something like, “Surely, Mr. Cruse, you’re not suggesting that every drop of the ocean has been charted?”

And she’d be right, of course.

“What is it you’re looking for, lad?” Grantham had asked in his friendly way.

“What’s over here? Much?”

“Don’t think so. We try to stay out of that region, actually.”

“Why’s that?”

“Winds are capricious all through there—that’s why it’s called the Sisyphus Triangle. There’s been airships that went in and never came out. I’ve heard rumors about garbled distress calls, compass needles spinning madly, instruments all screwy. Luckily there’s not much need to use those airways. They don’t lead anywhere of particular interest.”

I looked at the dotted line of our course and made a quick calculation. Tomorrow at breakfast we’d be as close to the invisible island as we were likely to get.

At dinner, I’d left a note in Kate’s napkin, telling her what I’d learned. Baz caught me folding it up. He didn’t say anything, just gave me a look, like a cat that had taken an entire budgie in its mouth and was sitting very still, hoping no one would notice. Then he winked and walked off. I blushed…

And almost blushed again now in the crow’s nest as I remembered it. I liked talking to her, but sometimes I’d feel her eyes on me and I’d be painfully aware of the way my words sounded or of my body hanging around me like a big floppy suit of clothing, and I wouldn’t know how to stand properly, and what was my arm doing there, and was there a bit of spit on my upper lip?

I wondered if she was awake, sitting up already at her stateroom windows, camera ready, waiting for first light. Midnight was long past; the passengers were all asleep, and only the crew and the
Aurora
were awake, working and moving through the sky.

At night when the sky is scalloped with clouds and the moon does a vanishing act, you fall back on instinct when looking for moving objects. Almost like looking for shadows on shadow.

I was gazing off our port stern when I felt one of those little shifts in the sky. From the corner of my eye, some of the stars seemed to disappear. I looked back, and of course there was nothing. But it spooked me some. My imagination was all riled up from Kate’s story and her grandpa’s journal.

Then more stars were suddenly snuffed out, and a long slash of darkness tilted across the sky. I blinked. At first it was impossible to tell how big it was or how close, and I was squinting, face pressed so close against the glass dome I was starting to fog it up. The moon slid out from behind the clouds, and I fell back in surprise as an enormous pair of dark wings soared over me. I swirled around, nearly braining myself against the glass, but the moon was blotted out once again and all I had to see by were a few listless stars.

Something had landed on the
Aurora.

In shadow it hunched there, not fifty feet from my observation post. Its enormous wings were half folded back like some fearsome gargoyle. An eye flashed as its head turned slightly. It took a step toward me. I lost my wits, I’ll admit, and my mind flooded with nightmare thoughts. I should call the bridge, I should call Kate, I should get down that ladder faster than a fireman on a pole! It was one thing to think about mysterious creatures, another to have one a few feet away.

It took another step.

The moon came back, and the creature’s white feathered body gleamed in the light. Right away I noticed its beak, a long hooked thing. It had webbed feet.

It was nothing more than an albatross. It folded its wings against its body and took a few more steps toward my post.

I was mightily relieved I hadn’t called the bridge. I could imagine my half-throttled voice reporting a giant seagull. The jokes would become legendary: Young Matt Cruse gave himself a bit of a fright when a seagull flew by. I heard it was a budgie. But you know how much bigger things look at night! Perhaps we should’ve allowed him to take his teddy bear on watch with him.

I looked at the albatross. An impressive thing it was, the sheer size of its feathered body. Made me realize right then how easy it would be to mistake these birds for something more, for mysterious winged mammals, for flying cats even. It made me sad.

I’m not sure if the albatross even saw me beneath the dome, watching it. It hunkered down atop the
Aurora.
With its wings folded, it didn’t look nearly so huge; in fact, it was hard to imagine where all that wing came from when they were folded up. I didn’t want to scare it, but I didn’t want it on the ship, putting a nick in our skin with those pointy feet.

I rapped sharply on the glass.

The bird’s neck straightened a bit, and its head turned a smidgen.

I rapped again.

This time the bird just lowered its head into its body, settling down for a nice snooze. Happy to let someone else do the flying for a while. I was sure he must be tuckered out, this far over the ocean. Look at him, comfy as could be. His feathers didn’t even look ruffled, even though there was a stiff wind blowing on him.

“Come on, clear off,” I said, waving my arms and hands.

The bird looked at me, unimpressed.

Being ignored by a bird, even as grand a one as an albatross, is rather hard on the self-esteem. I had to get it off, but carefully. No one liked the idea of maltreating an albatross. Before sailors took to the air, there’d been an abundance of stories about the bad luck that would befall any who harmed an albatross. “The Very Longe Poeme of the Venerable Mariner” was one of them. The lads in that one, they shot an albatross, cooked it up for dinner, and had no end of bad luck.

I took the speaking tube.

“Crow’s nest.”

“Yes, Cruse.”

It was First Officer Rideau on duty. Lucky me.

“Sir, there’s an albatross landed atop the ship. I’ve tried to scare him off, but he’s going nowhere. He’s near the crow’s nest. Permission to open the hatch and shoo him off.”

“Very well. Take all precautions, please. And report back when you’re finished.”

“Very good, sir.”

I put my goggles on and carefully unlatched the hatch. I clipped a safety line to my belt and tipped the domed hatch up and back. The wind met my face at eighty miles an hour. I turned my head slightly so I could breathe. The simple movement of the hatch made the albatross stand up in surprise. And when he saw my head and shoulders rise up out of the crow’s nest, he shuffled back a bit.

“Go on, clear off, mate!” I shouted. The wind hurled my words back over my shoulder. I doubt the bird could hear me. So I waved my arms around over my head.

This was one stubborn bird.

I knew I’d have to let him see who was the boss. Standing up, the bird was no midget. His head came to my waist, and I didn’t fancy getting snapped at with that beak.

I stepped over the rim and onto the
Aurora
’s broad back. The wind met me full on. There was a guide line along the ship’s spine, and I took it with one hand, crouching, keeping my head low so the wind shot over my neck and shoulders rather than catching me full in the chest.

I took a few steps toward the bird. It took a few steps back, wings arched threateningly. I had to admire his nerve. Was he was planning to walk me all the way along the ship to the bow and see who could fly better? I wasn’t afraid of falling. Heights didn’t mean a thing to me, never had. But I did start to wonder if this bird and I were in for a long game of follow the leader. This wouldn’t do.

In the end, I made my meanest face and lunged at him. Those amazing eight-foot wings swelled open, and the albatross lifted off the
Aurora.
I watched him for a moment. He banked sharply to the east, and as he turned he unblocked a view of something else in the night.

An airship, still distant, but headed right for us.

I stared for a moment, to make sure. Then, hunched over, I ran back to the crow’s nest and jumped in, pulling the hatch closed after me. I yanked the speaking tube to my mouth.

“Crow’s nest,” I panted.

“Are we bird-free, Mr. Cruse?”

“Sir, there’s a ship headed toward us!”

The airship was small, and I could now see why I’d not picked her out earlier. Her skin was painted black, and she carried no running beacons anywhere on her. No light emanated from the control car either. Her side bore no markings, no name or number. It was only her dark sheen from the moon’s light that made her visible at all.

“She’s at ten o’clock and sailing straight for us, half a mile.”

“Bear away,” I heard the first officer tell his rudder man. “Elevator up six degrees. Summon the captain.”

That meant we were going into a climb. The
Aurora
was responsive as a falcon. Stars streamed to my left as the ship began her turn, angling heavenward. I swiveled in my chair so I could watch the smaller vessel. As we turned and climbed, she turned and climbed with us, keeping herself on a collision course. This was no mistake. She was chasing us. She was smaller and faster than the
Aurora
, and I could feel the vibration of our engines at full capacity. We would not be able to outrun her.

“Where is she, Mr. Cruse?”

“She’s changed course, but still coming right at us. Closing, at eight o’clock.”

“Raise her on the radio!” I heard the first officer shouting out to the wireless officer.

“She’s not responding.”

A collision seemed sure now, but for what purpose?

“Distance, Cruse!”

“Some two hundred yards, sir.”

“Send out a distress call,” I heard Mr. Rideau instruct the wireless operator.

“We’re too far out, sir,” Mr. Bayard replied.

It was clear there was no shaking her, this sleek black raptor shadowing us through the night sky.

“She’s angling up, sir,” I said into the speaking tube, “as though she means to overshoot us.”

“Take us down, Mr. Riddihoff, take us down five degrees, with haste!”

I felt the
Aurora
pivot and her bow dip. My ears popped and heaviness rose through me. I swirled in my seat, peering up and almost over the ship’s stern now as the airship pulled closer, altering course as seamlessly as if she’d anticipated our moves.

“Fifty yards off our stern!” I shouted into the speaking tube. “Forty, thirty…she’s pulling up over our tail.”

And so she was, this predatory airship, skimming over our tail fins and gradually overtaking us, only a few dozen feet overhead.

“She’s directly overhead now, sir, matching us.”

We were leveling out now, and so was the other airship. Less than half our size, she was like some agile black shark hounding a whale.

“Hard about, please.”

It was the captain’s voice I heard now through the speaking tube, and I felt a surge of confidence to know he was on the bridge. He would see us through this. Again the
Aurora
swiveled, trying to throw off her predator, but once more the smaller ship matched our movements, slinking over the top of us like a shadow. A spotlight flared from its underside, and I saw ropes springing from open bay doors and unfurling toward the
Aurora.

“She’s dropping lines on us!” I shouted into the speaking tube.

Pirates. That was all they could be.

“They’re trying to board,” the captain said. “Dive and roll to starboard, please.”

The lines were weighted, for they hit the ship and didn’t slide off. I saw six men already dropping down toward me. But then the
Aurora
banked sharply, dipped, and the lines slewed off the
Aurora
’s back, leaving the men dangling in midair.

“Ha! You’ll not have us!” I shouted, shaking my fist.

But the pirate airship was already adjusting its course, keeping pace, and as it forced us closer to the waves, we would have less space to maneuver. There was a great flash from the pirate ship’s underbelly, and a thunderous volley of cannon fire scorched the night sky across our bow.

A voice carried by bullhorn shuddered the air: “Put your nose to the wind and cut speed.”

There was no need for me to repeat this into the speaking tube. I knew they had heard it in the control car. There was a moment of silence, and I could imagine them all down there, standing very straight and still, the elevator men and rudder men watching the captain, awaiting his command. He had no choice. That cannon could sink us in an instant.

“Level off and put her into the wind, please,” said Captain Walken. “Throttle back the engines to one quarter. Thank you.”

The pirate ship glided over us. Once more the boarding lines hit the
Aurora
’s back and down slid six men, clothed in black, with more already on the way. The first set touched down and made fast their lines to mooring cleats. Spotlights swept the ship, giving the pirates light. We were connected now, the
Aurora
and this diabolical little ship. She had us like a harpooned whale, and there was nothing we could do to throw her off. At four hundred feet over the waves we cruised along in tandem.

“They’re on us, sir,” I said into the speaking tube. “Six of them and six more coming. Maybe more, I can’t tell.”

Half were heading toward the aft hatch, the other half toward mine, single file, hunched over, hands barely grasping the guide wire. They were quick. In the spotlight’s glare, the man in the lead was a terrible sight to behold, his hair tied back, his face hollowed out by shadow, eyes narrowed against the wind. He must’ve seen me, for he gave a most unpleasant smile that made my stomach roll over. I caught the dull sheen of metal in his belt: a pry bar and, beside it, a pistol.