On Discord Isle (3 page)

Ever since their first meeting several months ago, the young Mechanist had followed her around like a lovesick puppy. She’d thought that the supervision of the older Mechanist they had on board would rein him in a bit, or keep him too busy to bother her. She thought wrong. He wasn’t troublesome like other men could be, the ones she’d been forced to cater to for so many years. Just bumbling and annoyingly persistent. She wasn’t in the mood for either anymore, and maybe not ever again.

Allen retreated behind his copy-board. Lina hauled another rug from the scorched crate before them. It was large and heavy, and unleashed a cloud of ash when she pulled it free. The particulates caught her in the face, stinging her eyes. Lina cursed and let the whole thing fall to the deck. When she blinked her eyes clean again, she saw that the rich red fabric was blackened and burnt.

“Ruined too,” said Ryan.

“And the others beneath it?” asked Lina, voice raw.

Ryan peered into the crate. “Total loss,” he said sadly. “We’re not making a single bent sovereign from this load.”

That was going to be a sore spot with the crew. Today’s attack was the fourth failed raid with the integrated crew since their return from the Yulan Interior. The treasure from the
H.M.S. Albatross
had already dwindled, most of it going toward clearing Fengel’s debt with the Sindicato. There hadn’t been any real plunder since, and it was making everyone touchy.

Lina kicked the wooden side of the crate. She whirled away, swearing in frustration. “This is the fourth damned one!” she cried, wheeling back on her friends. “How are we going to take the Breachtown Counting House if we can’t even steal a pile of cheap carpets?”

“Now, lass,” said Ryan, hands up in a calming gesture. “It might not be all that bad. There might be a few we can salvage.” He glanced dubiously at the remaining pile of crates.

“No.
No
. They’re all trash, and this has been a complete waste of effort.” She stepped up to her friend. “I almost died today, Ryan, and it wasn’t a stupid accident or some enemy blade. The captain’s witch of a wife almost shot me. Shot. Me.”

“She didn’t mean to,” said Ryan weakly.

“Because I didn’t catch her attention,” snarled Lina. “Rastalak is still laid up, and last I saw, Henry Smalls wasn’t doing too well either. Even Nate Wiley got caught in the fire, and he’s one of her original crew! Today was a catastrophe, and tomorrow is only going to be worse.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. Runt squirmed on her shoulders, upset by the tone of her voice. Ryan didn’t say anything this time. Allen remained silent as well.

“Look,” she continued. “Keep going through this mess if you want. I’m going up above before the stink makes me puke. I’ll find the first mate and let him know.” Lina turned on her heel and marched to the stair. Ascending it, she climbed through the narrow hatch at its top to the higher decks of the
Dawnhawk
.

She rose into a small alcove, set off to one side in a dim, narrow hall. Down the far end to her left, she knew, would be the engine room and lair of the Mechanist, a member of that peculiar secret society of machine-smiths. Lina shook her head and glanced down the hall the other way, toward the rest of the ship, where the crew bunked on the quarterdecks and another stairwell led up to the stern hatch of the deck, past the captain’s cabin.

Lina had scarcely reached that stairwell when she heard the noise. Shouting, angry and strident. It echoed down to her and into the quarterdeck, only a little muffled. The captains were yelling at each other. Again.

She sighed.
Forward hatch, then
.

What she thought of Natasha hadn’t changed at all. There was a time, though, not too long ago, when her opinion of Fengel had been quite different. Lina had been eager for his attention then, a swarm of butterflies taking flight in her stomach whenever she received it. He’d seemed dashing and handsome, and though she recognized the crush for what it was, she had been powerless to ignore it.

That had changed quickly enough. Though she was still fond of Fengel, he was just as mad, in his own way, as the angry bag of cats that he called his wife. He was just her captain now, nothing more.
I am
done
with that kind of thing. Romance, relationships, any of that; I’m just
done
with it.

Lina strode past the stairwell and into the quarterdeck, going for the mess hall door at its far end. As she moved through, exhausted pirates with bloodshot eyes stared up at her from their hammocks. A few of her crewmates, old and new, tried to muffle the noise of the argument above; blond Tricia had a balled-up shirt over her head, and Geoffrey Lords stuffed pistol-shot wadding into his ears. None of them slept. Fengel and Natasha had probably been going at it for a while now.

Lina moved through the inner passages of the
Dawnhawk,
the captain’s tirade fading to blissful quiet. Lina felt more comfortable here, less aggravated. She found the forward stair and climbed up through its hatch to the outside world above.  

Cool night air washed over her. It smelled of salt and the sea, clean and welcome after the ashy stench of the hold. Above her floated the gas-bag envelope, a ridged canvas ovoid that held the airship aloft in the sky. Heavy chains and cables connected the deck to the gasbag, along with ratlines and rigging on the port and starboard rails. Secured oil lanterns and ambient moonlight shed soft illumination over the deck of the vessel.

The wind changed, bringing with it a myriad of irritated shouts. Runt tensed at the noise and Lina looked to the deck. The sound came from the evening watch crew, split into two distinct, arguing groups. Lina watched the nearest pair as they squabbled over a bucket and mop. Charlie Green was one of Natasha’s Reavers originally, and Elly Minel had served with Fengel for years now. Past them near the port-side railing, two more pirates hung suspended from the gasbag as they checked the hawsers connecting it to the airship. Fat Thomlin and grizzled Jeremiah Frey had belonged to different captains originally as well, and they looked over each connection twice before shouting its status over each other down to where a third person waited below. But most of the noise came from a large crowd down near the helm.

Lina’s irritation returned full force.
It’s not enough that Fengel and Natasha squabble like a pair of children, they’ve got us fighting too.
Lina shook her head.
Enough.
She had to get away from this, somewhere quiet, peaceful. But that was the trouble with a ship; there were only so many places one could go.

Her eyes caught on the rigging that stretched up to the gas bag and beyond.
That’ll do
. Lina adjusted Runt and moved over to the gunwales. She clambered atop the exhaust pipe onto the rigging. Her bruised limbs protested, but Lina ignored the pain. She climbed, yet as she did the voices from the squabbling near the helm rose up to her.

“Loaded, you overgrown cow!”

Lina glanced back down to see Reaver Jane, Natasha’s current right-hand woman, in a heated argument with Sarah Lome, Fengel’s huge red-headed gunnery mistress. The two were positioned on either side of an equipment locker, just up from the helm. Members of both sides of the crew surrounded the pair, watching intently. The locker was open and its contents had been pulled out: muskets, cutlasses and maintenance equipment for each.

“Keeping them loaded is insane!” roared Sarah Lome.

“They’re going to be uncocked,” replied Reaver Jane. “So what’s the problem?” The piratess was of average height and weight, with dark hair cut shoulder length. Lina disliked her. The woman was shrewd and dangerous.

“Standing orders from the captain are to keep all weapons unloaded and unarmed, to prevent any misfires, wet powder, and so forth. As gunnery mistress, it’s my responsibility to see that order carried out,” said Sarah Lome.

“And
my
captain wants us to be ready should we need these guns. Which won’t do a damned bit of good if they aren’t loaded. Why do we even need a gunnery mistress when we don’t have any Goddess-forsaken cannons?”

“Your captain is a drunken whore who hasn’t the first idea how to run a proper ship!”

“And yours is a fop who can’t give a hard order to save his life!”

The argument escalated, the crew now shouting encouragement. Even the aetherite navigators, Konrad and Maxim, called out from their shared station.

So much pointless, wasteful bickering
. Lina shook her head and continued her climb. When the argument below was occluded by the curve of the gasbag, she paused to rest. With her good hand and leg mooring her to the rigging, Lina looked out onto the world.

Night enclosed the airship in a single sheet of velvet that stretched across the sky. The brilliant coin of the moon and the pinprick light of the stars starkly illuminated the
Dawnhawk
, high above the twisting chop of the Atalian Sea. For a moment nothing seemed to exist but the sea, the airship, and the cold light of the sky. Then the faint shouting from the deck below rose up to her.

It’s like we’re the only ones in the world, and yet we still can’t stop fighting.
All of Lina’s anger drained, leaving only frustration and melancholy.
What am I going to do? I can’t leave. This is my home.
If only there were some simple way to fix things, to restore order, to get people working together....Lina shook her head and continued her climb.

She reached the pinnacle of the gas bag, where the rigging swept up and over the top before falling back down the other side. Her first time up here had been a terrifying experience. Now it was simply precarious, if no less daunting. At the very apex was a thin wooden deck, running the length of the airship and sewn into the canvas, allowing slightly less risky movement. Halfway down the length of the ’bag was a shallow wooden cupola. Lina spied the tops of four heads poking up over its edge.

Curious, she moved over. The inhabitants resolved into Henry Smalls, first mate Lucian Thorne, Gabley the lookout, and a white ape. All four were playing cards.

“I call,” said Lucian. “Four knaves.”

He threw down his hand as the other two groaned in disgust. The white ape bared its fangs at him.

“Well, it’s not my fault you ate the first hand we gave you,” Lucian told it. The first mate was blond, dashing, and handsome; everything that a pirate straight out of the penny-plays was meant to be. “It was a good one, too.”

The ape growled low in its throat, then bent to pick at the fleas in its fur. Lina didn’t know quite where it had come from, or how it had even gotten up here. The thing subsisted on morning dew, rainwater, and the seabirds that frequently perched atop the gas bag. It had proven almost impossible to remove, far more vicious and adept at moving around the top of the gas bag than anyone else so far. Fortunately, it seemed fond of Gabley, and the nervous young man had thus been put permanently on lookout duty.

“Chirr,” said Runt. Lina’s pet did not get along with the ape. After consulting a disgraced animal doctor back in Haventown, she’d learned that not only was Runt male, but that fighting with other members of his sex was common among the scryn. The white-furred beast looked up at the noise and bared its teeth in unhappy surprise.

Lucian stopped gathering up the ship’s biscuits they were playing for and glanced at Lina. “Miss Stone,” he said in greeting. “Hallo. What brings you up here?”

“Cargo’s a lost cause,” said Lina, voice flat. She felt tired. “Sorry, Henry; you got burned for nothing. What are you two doing up here?”

The steward sighed. His hands were covered by bandages, with another wrapped around his head. Henry Smalls, Nate Wiley, and Rastalak had all been in the hold when the fire started. Natasha’s flung lantern had come perilously close to crippling or killing them all.

“The captains,” said Lucian, “are having a spat. As their second in command, I decided it was prudent to hide for awhile.” Lucian shook his head, then started shuffling the cards together. “Feel free to join us for a game.”

Lina stayed where she was. “Counting house raid’s going to be a fiasco,” she said.

Lucian paused. Then he went back to cutting the cards. “Probably so,” he said with a rueful smile. “I think it just might be the end of us all.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Henry Smalls.

The first mate stacked the deck and set it aside. The white ape promptly picked it up and put it in its mouth, letting out a happy
ook
.

Lucian frowned. “Gabley, get those back for me.” He turned to the steward. “Henry, we’re supposed to be working together. A divided crew can’t fly an airship, and a divided crew sure as spit won’t be able to make a raid on the largest Perinese colony on this side of the world.”

The steward frowned. He looked down at the bandages swathing his hands, at a loss for words. The wind whistled about them. Lina did not shiver. This far south, the weather was warm even at night.

“It’s Natasha’s fault,” said Henry after a moment. “When she shows up, Captain Fengel can’t think straight, can’t help but fight her.”

“It’s not just her, old stick,” said Lucian gently. “It’s the both of them. And we’re all of us too much a part of their crew to walk away. It’ll be the end of us, like as not.”

Henry nodded slowly. Gabley gave a muffled cry for help. The white ape was gnawing distractedly on his head.

It’s
their
fault though, not ours.
Lina’s indignation and frustration mounted again.
There has to be a way out. But what? Jump ship? No! This is my home! But what can I do? Damnation! Fengel and Natasha; if only they could work together, or even better, just weren’t in the damned way anymore.

She started as it came to her.

“I’ve a suggestion,” Lina said aloud. “I think it’ll solve all of our problems too, the counting house raid and everything else. But it’s something that everyone needs to hear. Lucian, let’s all go back down below, and you can stop Sarah and Jane from killing each other. Then I’ll tell you what I think.”