Chasing the Lantern (11 page)

The first mate quieted, busily feeding himself another egg while the others absorbed his tale. Fengel blinked. Henry was rubbing at his forehead.

"Cursed treasure," groaned the steward. "We're sailing after cursed treasure."

"Poppycock," said Fengel. He sat up straighter on the bench. "While your tale is incredible, Lucian, it is not at all conclusive evidence that the gemstone in question is cursed and that our quest is doomed."

Silence fell over the room at this pronouncement. Fengel felt the faint vibration of the furnace back in the bowels of the ship.

Lucian furrowed his brow. "But...sir. All the deaths? And the madness? And the rather horrible results from anyone who has touched this silly gem?"

"Come now. While the information is alarming, we only have third-hand supposition about a supernatural jinx upon the Lantern. I need not remind you two not to give in to superstitions. There's no such thing a curse."

"Sir?" asked Henry. "Maxim can tell you they're real. I saw him cast one once, when we had that mix-up with the Red Corsairs in Haventown. Other fellow went all diseased and—"

"Magic, Mister Smalls, is another thing altogether." He turned back to his first mate. "Now the far more interesting thing, Lucian, is this tribute. Grey wants the gem, which we haven't any choice in acquiring for him. But how much was loaded into those holds? It stands to reason, that they should be easily much as valuable there as the Lantern, yes?"

Lucian sighed. "Yes, quite a bit more really."

Fengel beamed. "Capital! Well now. We might have to make a trip or two, I don't know how much we can carry aboard yet and still make good time."

"Sir," said Henry. "The aetherite, remember? If Grey knows where the ship is, everyone else is going to as well."

"That's not all," said Lucian. His first mate looked suddenly sheepish. "Dear old Mordie figured out where we're going somehow too."

Fengel started. "What? But how? Grey wouldn't have gone to Natasha."

"I'm not sure. But he knows. And if he does, then she does too."

Fengel considered. "Well. Obnoxious, but we're still fine. She doesn't have a ship, remember? And even if she can convince someone to come after us, we can make off with more than enough—"

The door to the mess flew open. The crewman, Ryan Gae, burst inside.

"Captain," he cried. "Navigator needs you up on deck."

Fengel didn't waste time. He leapt to his feet and ran to the hatch, his steward and mate close on his heels.
A light-air gas leak? Curse it, that's the only thing it could be. Or are we too close to Engmann's Maelstrom? Damnation! This was too easy. I knew it was too good to be true.

Rising up onto the deck, he took in the scene. The crew were all assembled in the stern. Nothing was on fire, and the ship flew smooth and evenly through the sky. He ran over to the throng, pushing through. "Make way for your captain," he cried, and was gratified to see the crowd part.

Maxim stood at the gunwales, peering out past the steam of the exhaust. He noticed Fengel and pointed into the sky behind them. "There," he said, passing over a spyglass.

Fengel took it, extended it, and looked where indicated. At first he saw nothing at all, only blue sky puffy with high-flying clouds. "I don't—" Then he saw it. Barely visible over the jungle to the northwest, a black speck on the horizon.

It was another skyship.

Chapter Six

"Hard to starboard!" screamed Mordecai from halfway up the stairs to the aftcastle deck. "Hard to
starboard
, damn your eyes!"

Konrad fought with the ship's wheel. Their navigator threw himself bodily at it, trying to force the ship onto its new course. The man swore in his native tongue, face red behind his bushy beard at the effort. Mordecai ignored him, eyes locked on the aft rudder assemblies. They jutted out from either side of the stern of the ship, connected to the gas-bag frame above by pulleys, wire, and old rope. The linkage controls connecting the ship's wheel squealed and groaned, fighting the foreign navigator. All of it was either moldering or rusted, not yet repaired in the hasty retrofitting they'd undergone.

The navigator turned to the invisible daemon on his shoulder. "Scheiss!" he screamed. "Shut up!"  With a growl he threw himself again at the wheel. This time it gave with the sound of metal squealing upon metal, and Konrad went flying past to tumble down the aftcastle deck, landing against the rails, his balance gone. The ship's wheel spun madly, the rudder slamming hard to one side. Mordecai felt butterflies in his stomach as the
Copper Queen
listed. The crew tumbled, yelling and fighting for purchase while shadows cast by the morning sun stretched crazily across the deck.

Mordecai reflexively grabbed the rail along the stair, holding fast as the ship spun. He pulled himself up the steps to the deck, determined to get this scow of an airship back under control. Just as he reached the top a flash flew across his vision; Guye Farrel, the new crewman, leaping up from where he'd fallen to take the wheel. He latched on, yelling in pain as it cracked him across the face, but refused to loosen his grip. Farrel slowly brought the wheel back to even keel against the wind. The ship righted a little, and the crew climbed back to their feet and back to their stations, swearing and groaning.

"Well!" said the Mechanist. "It actually worked. That's a good sign, yes?"

Mordecai turned back to the Brother of the Cog. He stood just below him on the stair, still clutching its rail in a white-knuckled grip. The Brother was young, red haired and freckle-faced. Like all his kind he wore a leather greatcoat, so massive and baggy that it was impossible to tell the shape of his frame underneath. However, unlike the more senior members of his order, his coat was pristine, still smelling of oil rather than the burned leather and engine-grease stink that denoted experience among his kind. The youth beamed up at Mordecai, his silly grin making the peach-fuzz stubble on his upper lip even more apparent.

At Mordecai's withering glare he swallowed. "Of...of course there are still a few kinks to be worked out. Bound to, a ship this old." He rallied. "But I'm positive that I can get that rudder moving smoothly by suppertime."

Mordecai didn't bother with a response. He glanced back at the wheel, where Guye Farrel stood proud and assured as he kept the ship on course, brown hair flying in the wind. The pirate was shirtless but for the bandage wrapped around his chest, holding in place a pad along his ribs where Natasha had shot him two nights ago. He was obviously still in pain, though trying not to show it, still eager to prove himself. Mordecai knew his type; Farrel was convinced he was the star of his own personal penny-play. He would show the man his place as soon as he had the time, after they caught up to their prey.

Farrel caught Mordecai's gaze and smiled, awaiting a sign of approval. Behind him Konrad climbed back to his feet, then roughly shouldered the newcomer aside, still swearing unintelligible foreign invective. He gripped the wheel, then turned his fury to Farrel. The newcomer fell back, startled. Mordecai smiled and turned his attention back to the deck.

The
Copper Queen
stretched out before him, an improbably flying mess of dark wood. His crew scurried everywhere, replacing rope and cable, hauling light-air gas canisters up to the frame above. The ship was loud, creaking constantly. It groaned, sighed, and generally complained like an arthritic old man.

Mordecai glowered.
What a miserable wreck.

Only one figure wasn't frantically moving about. Natasha stood atop the forecastle on the bow of the ship, staring fixedly ahead. Mordecai sighed and made his way down toward her, straightening his sword and his jacket.

The Mechanist followed his descent, trailing like a lonely puppy. "Those linkages are old; once we get back into port I can swap them for the new pulleys Rontpellier designed. That should increase the speed of the ship's turning by a good ten percent at least."

Mordecai halted, wheeling to face the Mechanist. "Can you keep the ship from wallowing like a drunken sow every time we change course? Can you do that
now
?"

The young Brother quieted, looked at his feet. "I'm...I'm sure I can fix that," he finally said.

"Make sure you do," Mordecai replied quietly, dangerously. "Or I'll tie you to the keel and drag you screaming across the sky. This scow needs to
work
, Mechanist. It needs to
fly
if we're ever going to catch our quarry."

He turned back to the deck, striding down it and snarling at anyone in his way. The Brother followed, but stayed quiet, suitably intimidated.

Mordecai thought black thoughts. Despite his best efforts, Lucian had slipped away
again
, helped along by his network of allies and a damnable knowledge of the Copper Isles. Though he'd scoured Haventown, the rogue had evaded him, and he'd been forced to return to Natasha empty-handed.

She hadn't been any more successful. All her nominal allies were missing from port, anyone who would have helped take up the chase. Conspicuously, every other captain in town was suddenly unavailable, hiding on their ships or otherwise busy. There had been only one recourse left, and it galled the both of them.

But getting the Copper Queen into the air again wasn't easy. Even with Euron's permission, only the hurried, shameful begging of the Brotherhood for a Mechanist had even made it possible, and they'd been forced to make do with the only Brother available, the green pup following him even now. With barely any supplies and a hurried rousting of the crew, Mordecai had gotten the
Queen
cut free from the dock and up into the sky.

They had proceeded to drift north with the wind, powerless, for most of the next day.

Eventually the Mechanist restored the old coal furnace and gave them a modicum of control. Now they were under their own direction once more, pointed southeast towards Fengel's destination along the Yulan and doing their best to make up the time lost. But the old scow wasn't even close to being a decent flying craft. It fought them constantly, forcing them to wrangle it every step of the way.

The forecastle rose up before Mordecai. He climbed the stair up to its deck. It was empty but for the lone figure of the captain, leaning on the bow where the old-style prow stretched forward. He turned to glare at the Mechanist, warning him to come no closer. The youth jerked to a stop and looked away. Mordecai approached to within a few feet of Natasha, folding his hands behind him.

The captain said nothing. Mordecai waited, knowing better. He was furious—she would be incandescent.

"Report," Natasha finally commanded.

"We're back on course," said Mordecai. "South by southeast heading. We might have over-compensated on our charting. But even under just mechanical power they've got a full two nights gain on us."

Natasha whirled. "Well, if you wouldn't insist on trying to make this broken old wreck dance, we'd have more gained!"

Mordecai flushed. "Or we would still be drifting northwards," he replied calmly. "If the
Queen
collapses under our feet and drowns us all in the Atalian Sea or breaks us on the rocks of the Isles, it won't matter how much of a lead Fengel has."

She snarled, teeth bared. Natasha stopped, and then turned back to the bow in a huff. "Bastard!" she cried, pounding a fist on the gunwales. "He stole my ship. My
ship!
And now he's getting away with her! If I ever get my hands on that poncy, fastidious son-of-a-bitch I'm going to jam that ridiculous monocle so far up his arse that he chokes on it!"

She wheeled back to Mordecai, pointing a finger at his nose. "My father. I had to
ask
my father if I could take this horrible rust-bucket scow back into the air! And he said yes! He
smiled!
Like he was proud of me!" Natasha made a horrible face, like she'd swallowed something rancid. "Get us after them, Mordecai. Fling this piece of shit their way. Damn your safeties to the Realms Below. I don't care how many men you kill to do it, or if you cut your own throat in the process. Get it done."

His captain turned back to the bow. Heat flooded into his face. Mordecai turned back to the deck, lest she see the curl of his own lip.

Unreasonable bitch
. He descended back to the deck, marching back toward the helm atop the stern deck. The crew avoided him, taking the ugly look on his face for the warning that it was.

Ascending the aftcastle deck he found Konrad in place at the helm, Guye Farrel standing sullenly nearby. "What are you doing here?" Mordecai snapped at the wounded newcomer.

Guye started. "I was just—"

"Get up on the frame," Mordecai snarled. "Port-side. Check the cloth for tears. Then get over to the bow and make sure the figurehead is polished."

Guye frowned, but ducked his head. "Sir," he said, descending to the deck and making his way to the starboard rigging along the gunwales. Mordecai stood beside the ship's wheel, fighting for calm. Konrad eyed him, but wisely, for once, said nothing.

The crew were well trained. They kept to their tasks, frantically working to get the rickety vessel shipshape. Other than their shouts and groaning of the makeshift airship, the morning was quiet, the weather calm and pleasant. Though Mordecai worried about sinking, the Copper Isles were visible to their stern, not too far away should he be required to swim it.

If I could survive the fall
. The airship worried him.
Damn her obsessions. If this rattletrap contraption sinks into the sea, it'll take us—

Something caught his eye, to the south along the horizon. Mordecai approached the rail, pulling a spyglass from his jacket. Extending it, he peered through at the black speck floating through the sky. It was too large and far away to be a bird, and flew too fast as well.

An airship resolved through the lenses of his spyglass. The
Dawnhawk
. Her skysails were free and glimmering in the morning sun.