Airborn (8 page)

I looked for the date, but found none. It must have been the
Aurora
he’d sighted, but I’d certainly seen no signal from his gondola. Perhaps he’d passed out before he could signal. Doc Halliday had said he’d had pneumonia and possibly a heart seizure too.

I stared at that last page for a while, the final words, the nothingness after it, and it got me feeling strange, so I had to close the book. I felt a keen disappointment. It was hard to know what to make of it all. At first the log had been so clear and reasonable, but by the end, especially with those pictures, it seemed he was dreaming. When did the real end, and the conjurings of a disturbed mind begin?

It was pushing two in the morning now, and I felt thoroughly ill at ease. I put the book on the shelf and eventually slept.

And dreamed all night. Of me and Kate de Vries and winged creatures that looked like cats, and Benjamin Molloy, and Captain Walken, and there were others swirled into the dream, the Lunardi boy and Baz, and a great sense of peril hung over us all, but also exhilaration. My father was there too, and we were suddenly in a gondola, this great group of us, with winged creatures careening all around. Some watched the creatures with intense amazement, some with fear, others with only mild curiosity. But they were flying closer to the balloon, ever closer, and I saw their great curved claws and teeth and was worried they would tear the balloon and we’d no longer be airworthy. “Keep back,” I shouted at them, but closer they came. “Keep back,” I shouted again, but they would not heed me.

I woke feeling as if I hadn’t slept at all, head thrumming like a symphony. I sprang off the bunk, eager to get the journal back to Kate and talk to her. But it wasn’t until lunch that I had a chance. At breakfast I was serving, and Miss Simpkins was at
the table the whole time, and then she whisked Kate out before I could even hand her the journal. Then there was the clearing up and the preparing for lunch.

Around midday we were passing over the Hawaiis, and the captain slowed down and took us lower so the passengers could get a good look. On other trips we sometimes made stops, but this was a direct passage, so everyone had to content themselves with peering down at the lush foliage and hearing the shriek of macaws and spider monkeys and toucans and cockatoos; the heady scent of the islands’ flowers reached us even at a hundred feet. We were close enough so people on the ground waved and cheered, and bathers on the beach shielded their eyes with tanned hands to look up at the great ship as it painted its massive shadow over the sand and water.

We were cruising over the outer islands when the captain entered the lounge, grinning.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a point of interest. Off the starboard side, we’re passing Mount Mataurus, and, if I’m not mistaken, she is about to erupt.”

Nearly everyone put down their forks and knives and rushed to the windows. In the distance was the island with its volcano, a great heap of stone, look
ing more like the devil’s anvil than anything, despite the green hue of its lush vegetation. Great puffs of gray smoke were billowing up from its jaws, and getting darker by the second.

“Thar she blows!” shouted Baz.

Black bits of rock came shooting out from the cone, and the sound hit us a second later, a deep thunderous vibration that passed through the entire ship and rattled the windows. We were upwind of it, or we would have soon been choking on the ash and smoke it was venting high into the sky.

Soon the volcano was spitting out orange and red sparks, and then a glutinous tongue of black and orange lava oozed over the crater’s rim and started a leisurely slide down the slope, incinerating everything in its path. Good thing this was an uninhabited island.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

I glanced over, and Kate was beside me. She was looking out the window, but I knew she wasn’t talking about the volcano. There was no sign of Miss Simpkins, and there was no one else around us; everyone was watching the eruption, talking and pointing excitedly and snapping pictures.

“Incredible,” I said and faltered, uncertain what to say next. I took the journal from my inside breast
pocket and passed it to her. “Thank you.”

“You don’t believe it,” she said coldly.

“I’m not saying that. It’s just…I’m not altogether certain your grandpa really knew what he was seeing.”

“How can you say that? He spent days watching them and taking down notes like a scientist. He couldn’t have made up all these things. Not in such detail!”

It did seem an awful lot to imagine, even if he was delirious. I remembered his drawings. A weak, shaking hand couldn’t have spun those lines.

“He always saw them from a distance,” I pointed out.

“True, but think what he saw! The feeding, the birthing!”

“Those picture toward the end…” I had traversed the skies over Atlanticus and Pacificus and never had I seen such creatures. How to tell her that her grandpa had been ill and his fevered brain had projected these things on thin air for his failing eyes to see? I thought of all her camera equipment, her bottles of chemicals, and could not find it in my heart to speak the plain truth.

“You think like the others,” she said, and there was a new hardness in her voice.

“I think your grandfather was unwell and saw things. Maybe,” I added. All the friendly light in her eyes had frosted away, and it made me feel sick.

“No. He saw them. He’d been watching them for days.”

She clenched the journal in both hands, knuckles white. “He was sick by then, I suppose,” she said. “But maybe he didn’t mean us to think those last drawings were real. He was just imagining.”

“Your grandpa’s not the first to see such things. They’re called sky kelpies. You see them from time to time, reflections on the water mostly. All sorts of weird atmospheric things. Airshipmen used to report them all the time. It’s like how sailors used to think there were mermaids. They were just porpoises and narwhals and such.”

I could see she didn’t like this much. I was insulting her. But what else could I say? I was just telling her the facts.

“Maybe you should talk to the captain about it,” I suggested. “I’m sure he’d talk with you, miss.”

Captain Walken surely must have read the journal last year when we took the gondola on board. I wondered that he’d never spoken of the strange things it contained—but of course he wouldn’t have. He would never have divulged the contents of
another captain’s log to any but the relevant officers and authorities.

“I don’t need to talk to the captain about it. I expect I’d get much the same as what I’ve just heard from you.”

“It’s not that I haven’t looked,” I blurted out as she turned to leave. “I’ve looked, for all sorts of things, you can take my word on it. Every flicker in the sky.” I shook my head. “I’ve never seen anything. But I’d love to. What your grandpa described is amazing. It sent shivers across my belly and then up into my armpits.”

“Me too!” she said, nodding with a frown. “That tingly feeling. I get it every time I read it, and I’ve read it a hundred times now.”

All the passengers in the lounge, including Miss Simpkins luckily, were still crowded around the windows, riveted by the eruption. The volcano was putting on quite a show. Half the island was aflame now, lava crackling and steaming as it poured into the water.

“Have you shown the journal to anyone else?” I asked her. “Your parents surely.”

I saw her nostrils narrow as she sucked in an angry breath. “They’re embarrassed by the whole business. Mother always thought he was odd. The
traveling, the balloons. Just silly. They always thought he was a bit of a nutter. Hallucinations, that’s what they said. ‘Let’s just forget the whole thing.’ That’s why I had to send the letter to the Zoological Society myself!”

I blinked.

“I couldn’t let my parents stop this from getting out to the world! This is a major discovery—a new animal! I wrote them a letter describing more or less what my grandfather saw and asked them if they’d care to see a facsimile of his journal.”

“Did they reply?”

“Oh, yes.”

From her handbag she produced a letter. It was folded square, the creases so worn you could tell she’d folded and unfolded it many times. I could imagine her face when she read it, getting mad all over again. It wasn’t a long letter, and I read it quickly:

Dear Miss de Vries,

Thank you for your letter. Firstly, let us say how sorry we are to hear of the death of your grandfather. We wish you and your family the best in this trying time. We appreciate your taking the time to tell us
about your grandfather’s observations on his balloon voyage, namely the sighting of “some kind of winged mammal.”

We feel strongly that should such a creature exist it would surely have been sighted and documented long ago. Every year there are hundreds of unsubstantiated sightings of monstrous creatures in land, air, and sea and we feel it is our duty as men of science to gently remind you that your grandfather was not trained, and in his state of health, he may have suffered additional deficiencies of observation.

“Additional deficiencies of observation,’” Kate scoffed, reading over my shoulder. “They mean he was seeing things. Why don’t they call him a senile old goat!”

I turned away a bit so I could finish the letter.

Our suggestion to you would be to put your grandfather’s writings out of your mind and turn your interests elsewhere, to more comfortable young ladies’ pursuits.

“Did you get to the ‘young ladies’ pursuits’ part?” she demanded.

“Just now, yes.”

“I suppose they mean darning socks and needlepoint or making iced butter balls for the dinner table.”

“Most likely,” I said. “Can I just finish—”

“You’re taking a long time,” she said.

I whisked the letter down. “With you interrupting!”

She seemed to realize she was being a pest, and her haughty gaze fell to the carpet.

The rest of the letter was the usual “yours sincerely” and “thank you for your interest in the Zoological Society,” etcetera, etcetera. It was signed Sir Hugh Snuffler. I saw him in my mind’s eye. Short and balding with a big loud voice.

“Arrogant old farts,” Kate muttered. “As if they’ve explored every inch of the planet. As if anyone has! And what about you?” she fairly shouted.

“What about me?”

“You’ve flown for years, yes?”

“Well, three.”

“And how much of the actual sky have you traversed?”

“Not much, when you put it that way.”

“Exactly. Ships have their routes and, as you say, deviate from them only when necessary. That must leave millions and millions of miles of unexplored sky and sea!”

“I imagine you’re right,” I said, nodding.

“And how long have airships really been flying?”

“Fifty years or so now.”

“Hardly any time at all, in other words. So how can we possibly know they don’t exist?”

“Especially out here over the Pacificus,” I said, surprising myself. “The skyways and sea lanes are much less well traveled, compared to the Atlanticus.”

“Exactly,” she said, beaming.

“Do your parents know you wrote to the Zoological Society?”

“Heavens, no! They would’ve locked me in my room without pen or paper! They’d have been mortified! Telling someone outside the family! Spreading his mad rantings! I wish he’d been
my
father. Wasting all his stories on my mother. She hasn’t an imaginative bone in her body!”

“But you do. Question is, is this all imagination or real?”

“The coordinates he wrote down, for the island.
Do we pass over them?”

“I’d have to check, but I think not.”

“Will you check, though?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And if we don’t pass over, will you tell me when we’ll be nearest the spot?”

“I’ll do that.”

“Will you really?” She seemed amazed.

“Yes.”

“Grandpa thought they were migrating, and this is the same time of year. We could see them.”

I thought of her fancy camera.

“And what if you get a picture? What’ll you do with it?”

“I’ll send it directly to Sir Hugh Snufflynose at the Zoological Society. That’ll set him straight.”

I laughed. “I’m sure it will, miss.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘miss.’”

“What should I call you?”

“Kate, of course.”

“If I start calling you Kate now when it’s just the two of us, I might slip up in public, and that’d be seen as impertinent.”

“Silly rules.”

“People like you invented them. Not me.”

“Good point,” she said appreciatively, a thoughtful
crease in her brow. “Really good point.”

“Here’s what I’ll do,” I said. “When I get off duty, I’ll check the charts and find out when we’ll be closest.”

“Thank you. I just hope it’s during daylight.”

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

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.