Chenda and the Airship Brofman (14 page)

“Wow! What you do with oatmeal is remarkable!” she praised, and Kingston knew it was going to be a great day for his ego. He lived to feed.

As the captain finished eating, Chenda and Verdu entered.

“Good morning!” Chenda greeted the room. “Oh, oatmeal! I'm famished.” Kingston looked pleased as he spun another pair of steaming bowls onto the table as the newcomers sat down.

“Captain,” Verdu said, “Dulal has readied the airship and is awaiting your orders. Would you like me to convey them, sir?”

“No, no. You stay and eat your breakfast. I'm not having Kingston give me the stink-eye because your food got cold.” He winked. “I'm going to check the weather again and make a decision about where we will end up tonight. I'll be back.”

Chenda watched the captain leave and turned her attention to Candice. “You look so much better, not nearly so green around the gills. Is the worst over?”

“I am pretty sure that I have found my airlegs again. You look better yourself. Your eye looks almost healed.”

“Really? I haven't had a chance to look since Kingston worked on it last night. He put some salve on my hands, too. It took just about all of the sting out of the burns.”

Kingston appeared at Chenda's side with a shiny kettle in one hand. “Yes, yes. I'm a genius. Take a look,” he said, holding the makeshift mirror up at eye level.

Chenda was amazed at the improvement. “I just can't thank you enough,” she said. Kingston blushed and shuffled happily back to his stove. Chenda enjoyed a few more bites, and called after him, “What's the secret to this oatmeal anyway? It's remarkable!”

Verdu tsked at her, “He'll never tell. He likes his
secret ingredients
too much.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But I think he boils some peeled apples into a pulp and then adds the oats. I suspect a hint of vanilla in there, too.”

The pleasant eating and conversation went on for a few minutes more. Another series of whistles piped through the ship, and Verdu said, “Hold on!”

Candice and Chenda gripped the edge of the small table, and a second later the airship shot forward. “And we're off on another fine day in the air,” Verdu noted. Stanley and Lincoln ambled in from the passage and sat down. Stanley looked into the bowl Kingston presented. “Woo-hoo! Oatmeal,” he said, feeding Kingston's pride. The young men started inhaling their food. As the cocky cook served up seconds all around, the captain returned.

“What's our course, Captain?” Verdu asked.

“We're going to hit some weather a bit later today,” he replied. “It won't be too rough, but it's going to sap our power a bit. I think it's best for us to play it safe and dock tonight. Our heading is for Atoll Belles.”

Hearing this, the two deck hands hooted loudly and bumped fists. There was also much snickering between them.

The captain gave the pair a hard look. “Don't be too convinced that I will give either of you leave to go ashore tonight. Not after what happened last time.” The boys’ joyful looks suddenly sank. They glanced at each other, then stared sadly at their bowls. The captain said, “Prove to me that you are worth your wages today, and I may reconsider.” The boys jumped up and nearly fell over each other trying to clean up their breakfast dishes and find something useful to do. The whole way out of the galley, Lincoln promised complete satisfaction for the captain, “Yes, sir, you won't regret this, sir, we've learned from our last time, sir, it will never happen again...” and the pair was out the door.

“Oh, I'm sure I'm going to regret it,” the captain muttered to himself, “probably in a new and interesting way.” He sighed. “Those boys...” he started afresh into a rant, but he let the thought drop with a resigned sigh and another mouthful of oatmeal.

“So, what's Atoll Belles?” Chenda asked Captain Endicott.

“It's an independent airship dock almost a day's flight off the coastline. As it hoists neither a flag for the Republic nor for the Tugrulians, it's a pretty popular destination for folks who are avoiding one or the other of those two entities. Mostly, it's Mae-Lyn traders who frequent the place. But some others, much like us, come to conduct business and pleasure.”

Verdu rolled his eyes. “Those boys will be wanting the pleasure of a visit to McNees's Opera House, and that will not end well.”

“They don't seem the opera type,” Chenda noted.

The captain released a sharp, barking laugh, “Let's just say that the boys are interested in the
under
-study of a few chorus girls.”

Chenda missed the joke. The captain tried again, “The boys are hoping to get their instruments tuned.” He laughed again.

Chenda blinked at him.

Captain Endicott's smile faded, clearly annoyed that his best jokes were lost on this demure girl. He looked at Verdu, “Dear gods, help me out, man!” he pleaded to his second officer.

Verdu made a half grin. “Chenda, McNees's is a whorehouse with a musical theme.”

Chenda gasped and then laughed out loud. “There is so much in the world that I just don't understand. I honestly didn't see that coming!”

The captain regained his usual mirth. “They have more than just the girls of negotiable affection, mind you.  You can separate yourself from your money at the card tables, and they've got a decent liquor selection, too.”

Candice eyed, with slight disapproval, her companions around the table. The thoughts of the recent attempts on her and Chenda's lives were still fresh in her mind. “Is it safe?” she asked.

“The Atoll is safe enough, and the trouble one finds as McNees's is of the usual variety: drunkards, swindlers and card sharks,” the captain said. “But enough about me. We'll keep our guard up, nonetheless. Besides, I plan to find you a connection to your final destination there.”

He looked over at Candice's doubting face. “Relax, professor” the captain said. “We do this kind of thing every day. We'll get you where you are going, no problem.”

Chenda stifled a yawn. She was full of delicious oatmeal, and it had been a long, exciting night. She turned to Candice. “Do we need to be doing anything at the moment?”

“I don't think so. Until we cover considerably more ocean, we are obliged to hurry up and wait. Are you finally going to get some rest?”

“Mmm-hmm” Chenda said as she dragged herself out of the galley and into the crew quarters. She sat down on the floor next to her bunk, and squeezed herself onto the tiny slot of a bed. She was snugly warm in her boots and flight coat, and she fell asleep in less than a minute.

Sometime during her slumber, she went from toasty to broiled. Chenda woke up drenched in sweat. She rolled out of her bunk and onto the cool floor, splaying her arms and legs wide trying to throw off the heat. She pulled her flight coat open trying to catch her breath. It wasn't her imagination. The room was hot. Too soggy to sit up, she wiggled out of her coat as she lay there, and peeled her clinging shirtfront away from her skin.

Ewww... I'm sticky. This is going to lead to smelly...

Chenda looked up from her supine misery to see Stanley and Lincoln crowding each other at the mirror over the small sink, each primping like mad.

“Are we there yet?” she croaked in a dry voice.

Lincoln turned around to look at Chenda sprawled on the floor. “We dock in half an hour.”

“And a half hour after that, the captain said we could have
four
hours of shore leave.” Stanley added. “That reminds me. We need to wake Dulal. He'll need to get up to the crow's nest soon.”

Chenda looked back toward the bunks. Just above her empty bed was Fenimore, stripped to the waist and fast asleep. One muscled arm was draped over his eyes and forehead, shielding him from the dim light in the crew quarters. His large frame looked squashed into the too-small space, like a doll shoved into a shoebox. Chenda realized she was staring at his smooth, peachy skin stretched over his muscular torso. She watched his ribs slide under his skin with each breath. Abashed, she blushed.

A balled up, sopping wet washcloth smacked into Fenimore's side with a splat. Chenda was surprised that he didn't smack his head as he flinched awake. Fenimore reached an arm down to grasp the wet projectile that was dripping water onto the edge of his mattress. He rolled onto his stomach and looked down at Chenda.

“You throw this?” he asked sleepily.

“Nope,” Chenda whispered in a raspy voice. She pointed over her head. Fenimore's eyes followed the line of her finger to Lincoln standing at the sink, still working over his looks. “If you will be so kind as to excuse me,” Fenimore said as he quietly stood up and stepped over Chenda, stalking up to Lincoln and Stanley. He raised his giant hand over Lincoln's head and squeezed every last drop out of the washcloth onto the boys’ locks.

“HEY!” Lincoln shouted. For a bit of extra emphasis, Fenimore rubbed the boy's whole hairdo flat, ruining what appeared to be several minutes of thoughtful coiffing.

“Love the hair," Fenimore smirked as he pushed the two younger men to the side and elbowed his way to the sink. “I'm sure that will do the trick tonight with the ladies.” He splashed some water on his face. Lincoln, now separated from his mirror, sulked and sat on his bunk adjacent to Chenda's.

Fenimore looked into the mirror and said to Stanley and Lincoln, “Remember boys, it ain't love if you have to pay 'em. Save your money and court some nicer girls.”

Stanley snorted. Fenimore's advice had fallen on deaf ears.

“What time is it?” Chenda asked Lincoln.

“It's near the end of the First Dog,” he grumped.

“Dog-what?” Chenda asked.

“Oh, um, you'd say close to six o'clock, I guess,” Lincoln said distractedly. “Hey, Dulal, the captain says you need to be up-the-nest real soon. We're about to Atoll Belles.”

“Right, sure.” Fenimore mumbled as he walked over to his cupboard. Opening it, he turned and looked down at Chenda still lying on the floor. “You okay?”

“Just hot. Not ready to exert myself to stand yet. Why is it so warm? I thought you said it would be cold the whole time,” she said. He leaned over and propped her on her feet.

“We've dropped altitude, and we've moved significantly south into a tropical zone. You'll feel cooler when you head out on deck where the air is moving.” He opened his cupboard and tossed her a wide belt with several rings on it. “Leave the flight coat. You can clip the bitter-end to that belt. Buckle it tight.”

Chenda hitched up the belt and walked out into the passageway. She saw Kingston toiling in the kitchen and he called out to her, “Too hot for dinner down here. I'm bringing sandwiches up to the deck in a second!”

“Oh, great,” Chenda replied as she made her way toward the steps. She knocked on Candice's door as she passed, but there was no answer. She opened the door and slipped inside, grateful to find a little privacy. She pulled off her shirt and tried to wash off some of the sweat at the tiny sink. Chenda felt a little cleaner and cooler, but dreaded donning her stink-shirt again. Sadly, there was no help for it. She didn't have anything else to put on at the moment. She checked to make sure Edison's singing stones were still secure in their hiding place in her bra as she re-buttoned. A second later, she left the tiny room and climbed the stairs into the cooler, breezy air above deck.

She could see Candice at the far end of the ship, sitting on a long crate shaded by the glowing photovoltaic tubes. She waved. Candice waved back, stood and walked toward Chenda.

“You've missed a boring and increasingly cloudy afternoon at sea,” Candice said. “In fact the clouds have just now broken up and left us.” Candice pointed behind her to a brilliant sunset that highlighted the retreating line of thunderheads. “And look what's ahead!” She turned Chenda toward the bow and a bump on the horizon.

“Is that an island?” Chenda asked.

“No, It's Atoll Belles. It's a wonder of geology, an atoll. Thirty million years in the making. Part blossoming Mother Nature, part decaying Father Earth. Fascinating.”

Chenda smiled at the professor. “You really love your work, don't you?”

“Of course,” Candice said with pride. “Geology can give you quite a bit of perspective on life. Take the atoll, for example. Basically, an island is a mountain sticking up out of the surface of the sea. An island can appear in a day. All it takes is one volcanic eruption, and poof, there it is. An atoll starts out as an island. But slowly, as a reef builds up around that island, millions of years of wind and surf and rain break the land apart until all that remains is a reef with a shallow lagoon in the middle. In all of our human life, we'd never see a change in this atoll, but change it must, very slowly, and by degrees. Forever evolving and becoming new again in its degeneration.”

“That's kind of romantic,” Chenda said.

“Ick. Please, child, it's geology. That's so much better than love.”

Kingston appeared on the deck with a tray full of sandwiches and drinks. The ladies settled once again on the crate in the stern, enjoying the breeze. Chenda couldn't get enough of Kingston's refreshing beverage. It was slightly minty and honey sweet, but had a mild vinegar taste as well.

“What is this?” she finally asked.

“Oxymel. Refreshing, ain't it? Nothing beats the heat like that does. It's good for preventing dehydration. Since some of our boys will be drinkin' tonight.... Well, cheers.” He poured another glass for each of the ladies, then took his tray of sandwiches around to the other crewmen. He tossed a pair of sandwiches tied in a napkin up to Fenimore, who sat high above the deck in the crowsnest.