An Airship Named Desire (Take to the Skies Book 1) (6 page)

“We’re still not full West.” The white arrow danced out of reach, “We’re fifteen degrees off.”

“Couldn’t be easy, right? Those degrees will cost us the jet stream,” he growled and let go of the wheel. It whirled back into place, and the ship righted. Already, Desire pulled away from the merchant ship, but we weren’t clear of its firing range yet. Normally we’d zoom past the monolith, but those hits, they slowed us down. If we missed that jet stream, we’d be sunk in no time.

“All right, again,” Geoff called, “on my cue…Go!” He used less force this time and careened her left. Desire lurched under us, her timbers creaking with renewed effort. Spade pressed forward, and the captain lessened his pressure since we didn’t want to overshoot this. Rain drifted in from beyond the slatted overhangs, while around deck, crew members struggled to keep our masts following proper direction. The merchant ship had stopped firing their cannons, but behind us they picked up the speed of pursuit.

I glanced at the compass. The needle landed on West and didn’t stray, minus the occasional interference.

“We hit West!” I called out. “West ahead!” Nervous energy prickled up my arms and across my back. I didn’t like how fast they gained on us. Even if we did find this jet stream, if they found it too we’d have accomplished nothing.

“All right, crew.” Morris took over. “Thrust ahead, we’re going to dodge this ship!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Geoff saluted, and Spade revved the acceleration. Our ship darted forward into the gray skies. With a course, Desire moved fast. We had to be nearing the streams, since gusts of winds whipped around the ship, as fierce as that storm.

“Hey Geoff,” I said. “You had to go and pick the most dangerous route, didn’t you?”

He gave me a wide grin.

“If it wasn’t dangerous, it wouldn’t be any fun,” Morris called over. “Now quit your schoolgirl gossiping and man this station, First Mate.” Captain Morris pointed to the aether manipulators. “I’m going to prepare the crew. We’ll need all the deckhands at full capacity to fight into this jet stream.”

“So this is how the merchant ship won’t follow us,” I mumbled. “They aren’t insane enough to join the party.” The wind carried Morris’ laugh out onto the deck.

Our ship trembled under the voracity of the wind, but Spade and Geoff maintained our position. Captain Morris raced out onto the deck and gathered the crew who snapped to attention at the sound of his bark. Between our crewmates raising the masts and the fast push ahead, our ship zoomed forward into the frenzy of a gale. The tubes of green aether pulsed up and down with the strain of the force. I flipped the switches to my right when the bubbles peaked near the top to stabilize our pressure. The last thing we needed was an engine malfunction.

Behind us, the merchant ship lagged and didn’t keep the same pace they had. Before us, the wind roared like a living beast.

“Ready?” Geoff’s warm gaze met mine.

I matched his grin. “Always.”

I flicked three of the switches on the console, and Spade fired one last request to our accelerators. We pulsed ahead with the wind, soaring straight into the polar jet stream.

Chapter Six

I slumped against the beams behind me, using them for support. Seconds after we entered the jet stream, the roaring gale petered to a minimum, and our ship sailed along the current smoother than a journey through clear sky. With the mellow change of weather, rain no longer assaulted our steps. Personally, I just appreciated the return of feeling to my fingertips.

The waning light of early evening tinted the sky a much more comforting shade of gray than the nonsense from mid-afternoon. A backwards glance towards the stern end of the ship rewarded me with a clear view. We lost the British Merchant ship.

“Not so shabby of an escape route, eh?” Geoff tossed me one of his lopsided grins. Several crooked teeth poked out, and his eyes gleamed from the excitement.

“This is that balmy weather you mentioned,” I purred. “I have to say, I’m a fan.”

Captain Morris lumbered towards us. “Geoff, slick navigating there. You pulled us out of a tighter pinch than we’ve seen in a fortnight, and I’m grateful. We’ll have to break out the absinthe tonight and celebrate before we hit the docks.”

“Should be reaching the docks by tomorrow, sir,” Geoff said. “Besides giving us a smooth, sweet ride, this current’s faster than anything.” Captain Morris nodded and walked across the deck. Our crew faced him.

“Tonight, crew, relax,” he called out, “we’ll be riding fair weather courtesy of the polar jet stream!” A round of cheers filtered through the air. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face and pumped my fist during the next round. Spade laughed. A gentle zephyr swept through the deck and spread hope with a renewed fervor around the ship.

I hopped up and leaned over the aether manipulator. Flipping several switches stabilized the tubes in flux to put the machine on standby.

“I’m going down to the infirmary. I’ll let them know we stopped rolling around like a power turbine.”

“You going to make sure princess Jensen’s hanging tight with his scratch?” Geoff asked.

“Now, now.” I placed a hand on his back. “Jealousy colors you black, Geoff. If you wanted to be a pretty princess too, I would’ve bought you a crown. I’ll be back soon.” I flashed the boys a grin and dashed across the deck.

Warmth and damp humidity from the passed storm glued my leather boots against my legs, and my matted waves shifted across my back in a large clumpy mass. Under the changed light, the mahogany panels of the deck sparkled from the brand new storm wash, better than any crew could accomplish.

I stomped down the steps to enter the cabin’s canopy. Blood still hummed through my veins like a chant after the day’s excitement, and my damp boots squelched along the cabin flooring. Dim light filtered in amidst the electric candles decorating the halls, but the shadows deepened with the onset of night, chilling my skin. I paused before passing my room. After three costume changes in one day, I should’ve stolen away with those vaudeville girls, but I claimed this one as necessary.

The door creaked when I pushed it open, and I crept inside the darkened room. After grabbing the lamp on my dresser, I flicked the electric candle on as false light flickered from its brassy cage. The smell of lemons and salt water permeated my room, even though we were well above the ocean. My chemise and pants clung to me like a second uncomfortable skin, so tight they outlined the deep ropy scars over my left thigh. At least I’d escaped alive. I couldn’t say the same for the smuggler who gave me that scar.

My clothes landed with a squish onto the floor. With one foot, I nudged the sodden mess towards the bed before rummaging through the clothing in my trunk. We’d be celebrating tonight.

I pulled on a black ruched skirt, pinned up twice in the front. A little ruffled, yes, but I had to remind the crew of my feminine side once in awhile. My leather boots needed to air dry, so I left them under the narrow window. Instead, I yanked out trendy taupe slippers from Thailand. I strapped on a forest green bodice with considerably less boning and tied back my sodden locks with a piece of twine. The simple change of clothes transformed me into a new person again.

After exiting my chambers, I made a short detour along the way. Seth always stayed close by the engine room to keep an eye on the important machinery and fixed it when parts loosened, so she ran at optimum efficiency. But we were celebrating tonight, and he could afford to cut loose. I made the first right into the descending stairwell, following the turns I knew by heart. When I first arrived on the ship, I helped Seth out most days because ship mechanics made more sense than navigation. Give me a wrench and diagnostics issue over the crazy jiggery pokery Geoff did any day.

The second floor hallway stretched out like a boardwalk since it spanned the entire length of the ship. When I reached the end of the corridor, I made another right down the next stairwell. Midway down the set of steps, the air grew hotter, and steam drifted from the door of the engine room in hot humid tufts. I snorted before rounding the corner. What was I thinking? Seth wouldn’t want to join in our merriment. The sober ex-marine avoided most of our shenanigans.

“Seth.” I peered in past the doorframe. My voice echoed around the wide room, bouncing off the boiler tank.

His stout figure almost vanished under the dominance of the giant aether towers, huge pipes that lined the sides of the room like organ tubes. Bubbles slid up and down in unison with the flow of the large engine pumping out billows of steam. Airships swarmed the sky mere decades after they began harvesting aether, and these batteries converted to the steam that fueled the Desire. The mist outlined him from where he stood by the engine, but once he walked over, his flushed face contrasted the murky room.

“Beatrice, how have you been?”

His expression rarely faltered from serious, but when the crew got silly he’d bestow us with one of his small smirks. Seth stood a foot shorter than me, but his extra muscle gave him a burly profile. Oil stains covered his dark blue jumper and patches of sweat drenched his wife-beater. Tools lined his pockets, which he could’ve kept in the toolboxes lining the room, but Seth preferred to be prepared. Steam made his ruddy skin glisten with droplets of fresh moisture.

“Peachy.” My arms swung along my sides. “Just an average day robbing British merchants, running through a storm, and dodging fire from an enemy ship.” 

“Dodging, you say?” He lifted an eyebrow. “From the damage to the hull and how much the ricochet offset her pressure sensitizers, I’d say you did a pretty poor job at dodging.”

“So we may have a received a couple of nicks along the way, but that’s why you’re here!” I slung an arm around his shoulders.

“You’re telling me we’re heading to a port soon, right? That enemy ship knocked more than a couple screws loose. The hull breach caused enough of an issue that once we dock I’ll need a crew to repair the siding and take care of the bent metal of the exhaust case unless we want to be inhaling toxic fumes.”

“No worries, we’ll be sailing into port within the day.” I played with one of the leather straps along my bodice. “We’re following the polar jet stream right now, so at least the smooth current will take some of the stress from her. We’re celebrating the escape tonight if you’d like to join us, Seth.” I pursed my lips.

He gave me a look, because both of us knew his reply. “I have a handle of rum down here, I’ll take a swig.”

“You’d take a swig regardless.” I slapped him on the back and headed towards the door. “Don’t come crying to me when you’re lonely down here.”

“How could I get lonely?”  He patted the giant boiler of an engine with a gloved hand. “She’s always talking, never shuts up.” The side of his mouth quirked into a half smile. Seth saw a couple wars years back, so he didn’t associate drinking with merriment—for him the swill took the edge off bitter memories. He and the captain fought in the Great European War together, but Captain took his mind off his past by barking orders instead of drinking in the engine room. Even still, a smile from Seth warranted the trip down to ask. I waggled my fingers before jogging up the steps. The voices grew louder the closer I approached the infirmary, so I threw the door open.

“What, a party and I wasn’t invited?” I called in. Isabella, Jensen, and Edwin huddled around a table in the back, but Isabella turned her head at the sound of my voice. I sauntered over to the table. A pile of cards and some loose coin lay scattered across it. “Playing Faro, eh? You lot missed a bunch of fun. Our friends visited, you know, the ones Jensen and I made on our trip.”

“I heard them.”  Jensen pressed his palms against the table. “They were begging me to come out and play. Loudly.”

“Neither of you should leave the infirmary until you’re well. Running amok atop deck will land you back in here and worse off than before,” Edwin piped up in his reedy tone. He presented himself as authoritative without even trying. Pointed eyebrows and dark eyes transformed his long face and beak of a nose into a disapproving look. Bony elbows protruded from his oversized ash suit jacket, and the long pants hovered above the ankles of his lanky legs. If he popped on a pair of glasses and a lab coat, the man would be the perfect illustration of a mad scientist.

“Doc, it’s only a graze. I’ll be walking smooth on this leg in a couple of days, so no need to chain me here much longer.” 

“Jensen, you’re being too cruel,” Isabella chided. “Edwin’s been a lovely companion down here. Besides, if we have one more player, we’ll have enough to play cribbage next.” Isabella pushed on the knob above her tea press and the filter squashed the fragile leaves to the bottom. Several of the dark black flecks escaped and floated to the top while she poured herself another cup.

“Why thank you.” Edwin waved a hand toward her. “It’s been a pleasure having you ill. You’ve provided a welcome distraction from my studies.”

“I’m sure Isabella’s loved being out of commission.” I enjoyed her sour frown and slapped her on the back. She met my gaze with a weary one of her own. “Now Edwin, what has she been keeping you from? More of those potions you made at your shop back in China?”

“Don’t tell me it’s another meal supplement.” Jensen groaned. I swung a nearby chair over and took a seat around the table.

“Look,” Edwin said. “Had my one calculation not been off, we would have dined on those supplements for months.”

Isabella smirked. “Instead we puked for weeks.”

“I don’t know why I try with any of you ruffians. No appreciation for the finer aspects of experimentation and the sciences.” He sniffed.

“We appreciate you, Edwin,” I said. “Our digestive systems just don’t remember you fondly.”

“This is why we need a cook,” Jensen interrupted. “A whole crew and nobody can make a decent meal. Hell, you and Isabella can’t even make sandwiches. What kind of women are you anyway?”

“Obviously subpar. I mean, what am I doing here?” Sarcasm flowed from my mouth in tomes. “I should be landed and popping out babies, not getting stabbed and shot at thousands of feet above ground.”

“Is that what your people do?” Isabella lifted one elegant brow. “Mine have always roamed, for centuries. The sky’s our next frontier for travel.”

“You mean your gypsy clans?” Jensen placed one of his beefy arms onto the table. “I thought you people always stayed in groups.”

“Usually.” Isabella drank a quick sip of tea and avoided Jensen’s comment. “My people have remained throughout time, past industry, and weathered every war. We’ve never been captured or enslaved. We know no nation, no leader, only governed by an open sky like an eagle at flight.” Her mixed accent of British and French threaded her words with a musical resonance.

“Here, you want to know more about my people?” She wandered over toward her bags and rummaged through the nearest one. From it she pulled a larger pack of cards sealed in an engraved bronze box under a twisting latch.

“Not your mumbo-jumbo witchcraft again.” Jensen rolled his eyes and stretched his arms over his head, uninterested in the whole idea before we’d begun.

She pursed her lips while arching an eyebrow. “It’s called tarot, my dear. It’s a shame not everyone shares your boorish inflections.”

“I’m from America, haven’t you ever paid attention to stereotypes?”

“So am I, don’t go looping me in with you, boy-o.” I rested my hand on my hip and gave him the side eye.

Isabella snorted. “Well, I’ll read your fortunes. A tarot reading from a gypsy woman is the best telling of the art.”

“Count me out.” Edwin shook his head. “I’m not a fan of the arcane or predictions that can’t be quantified. They don’t follow any projectors, and the hypothetical objectives cast such a wide net they’ll always find some form of emotional manipulation to fit the scheme.”

“It’s called mysticism, sweetie.” Isabella placed a hand on her hip. “And we’ve been practicing it for years. You can’t put the power behind tarot into a classification box.”

“How to you explain the conclusions you come to then?” His eyes glinted in excitement for the onset of a debate. “For if you’re referencing any level of belief, that’s a subjective experience manifested by the brain as a coping mechanism.”

“People aren’t robots.”  Isabella shot him a dirty look. “We feel, we make our own choices, and those choices make us unpredictable.” Her words clipped with frustration, but from the smile on Edwin’s face, his argument had just begun. “Haven’t you done anything rash, something that couldn’t be explained away?”