Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (2 page)

“No!” hissed Lina. “I’m not going digging for your spare eyepiece among a bunch of walking corpses!”

“Come now,” Fengel said, before being cut off by the tromp of boots on the steps above.

A massive figure was coming down the stairwell. It was Sarah Lome, one of Fengel’s officers and the gunnery mistress of his nonexistent gunnery crew.   

“Captain,” said Sarah, “we’re almost back to port. You’re wanted on deck.”

“Oh?” replied Fengel. He stood, looking disappointed. “Well. I suppose we can come back down here later, Miss Stone.”

Lina glowered.
Not if I can help it
. She rose to her feet as well, mentally reviewing all the bolt-holes and hiding places she knew aboard the
Dawnhawk
. At least for the moment, she had a reprieve. Lina brightened as she realized she was free to go hunt down Michael Hockton. Just the thought put butterflies in her stomach. She just
had
to see how things with him were progressing.

Captain Fengel led the way up through the bowels of the airship, reaching the mess deck and climbing higher, stopping only briefly outside the captain’s cabin where two pirates were working. They were Andrea Holt and Ryan Gae, both repairing a damaged step under the watchful eye of the dour ship’s Mechanist. Lina waved to her friends; Ryan gave a weak smile before bending again to his task.

It cheered Lina to see him up and about; the older pirate had been gravely injured three months ago. He was quieter now, with thin streaks of grey coloring his hair. Andrea, usually cheerfully remote, had grown quietly protective of the man. She nodded to Lina and took up a hammer.

Fengel tried to hurry past, but the Mechanist looked up sharply. “Captain,” he said in a flat monotone. “We must speak. The
Dawnhawk
has sustained significant wear these last few months. And the Revenant presence in the hold is utterly—”

“Sorry!” said Fengel as he fled up the stair. “About to dock. Find me later, Mechanist!”

Then he was gone. Lina knew the last statement was a challenge, not an offer. By the sour grunt the Mechanist gave, he knew it too. Slipping by, she ascended the stair to the aft hatchway, with Sarah Lome trailing behind.

The midafternoon sun was bright enough to all but banish the shade on the
Dawnhawk’
s deck. Out past the curve of the gas-bag envelope stretched pale blue sky, only lightly touched by white, puffy clouds. Lina felt a warm breeze, scented with the salt spray of the Atalian Sea.

The Mechanist was right; her airship had seen better days. A pumpkin-seed-shaped hull attached to a spindle, the
Dawnhawk
was downright battered. The deck planking was furrowed, gouged by cargo and equipment. Heavy hawsers connecting the gas bag to the deck were frayed and had been poorly reinforced by additional cordage. Steam hissed from a crack in the port-side exhaust pipe where a great dent deformed it, accompanied by a constant teakettle whistle. Half of the linkages connecting the network of skysail armatures together were completely disassembled. Above, the envelope itself was a mess of roughly patched canvas held together by makeshift stitching that bulged oddly in places. Flopping in the breeze along the starboard hull dangled rope cordage running from bow to stern like the patchy locks of an animal’s mane. A toll had been taken on the
Dawnhawk
after her recent adventures. She needed repairs—and a good long rest back in port.

“Captain!” cried a voice. “There you are!”

First Mate Lucian Thorne waved from the helm back near the stern. Beside him stood Henry Smalls, Fengel’s short steward, covered in damp paint and looking particularly aggrieved. At the wheel stood the ship’s magicians, Maxim and Konrad. Each aetherite gripped the
Dawnhawk’
s wheel, fighting for control and glaring at the other.

“What in the Realms Below is going on?” asked Captain Fengel.

“It’s these two idiots!” Lucian growled. He gestured at the two aetherites. “Each one keeps trying to slip away from the helm to woo that damned Yulani necromancer. And they keep setting
traps
to make each other look bad. Poor Henry here walked into a bucket of whitewash set above the door to the privy. I didn’t even know we had whitewash aboard!”

A loud grinding came from the propeller assemblies in the stern, cutting across Lucian’s complaint. Everyone stared up at the mechanisms in alarm. Then the moment passed and the linkages ran smoothly again. Lina winced.
We really need a good, long refit once we’re back in port
.

Maxim pushed the wheel of the helm at Konrad. “If this buffoon would just stay at his post like he is supposed to,” he said, his voice thick with the accent of his native Greisheim, “then it would not be so dangerous aboard.”

“I was off shift!” chimed in Konrad, pushing back.

“You traded that shift yesterday!”

Lina backed away.
Time to make myself scarce
. A few months ago the two aetherites had been like peas in a pod. That all ended when the Yulani native, Omari, came aboard. Since then, both men had reverted back into rivals.

Captain Fengel held his hands up and moved in to mediate. Sarah Lome cracked her knuckles ominously. Lina slipped past the big woman and snuck off for the starboard exhaust pipe running up the ship. Just the thought of seeing Michael made her giddy.

A host of obstacles presented themselves as she made her way up the deck. Lina dodged a draping section of half-sewn canvas only to hop across a broken equipment locker, then a tangle of rope, loosely piled. The crew assigned to these tasks tended to them only lackadaisically. Everyone knew that once this trip back to Haventown was over, they would have a lengthy stay. All the real work could be done then.

An ear-shattering screech pierced her buoyant mood. Lina staggered, then whirled around with fists raised.
That damned bird...

Butterbeak flew past. A rotund, singularly ugly parrot with a butter-yellow beak and brilliant rainbow plumage, Natasha’s new pet was universally hated among the crew. Usually it avoided her on account of Runt, her own pet, a scryn. Still, no one was really safe from the parrot’s malevolence, and there was active competition among the crew to make the bird suffer an inconspicuous yet permanent “accident.”

Before she could take a swipe at the parrot, it landed on the upraised arm of its owner. Captain Natasha Blackheart was striding down the deck, straight for Lina. All thoughts of aviacide evaporated, and suddenly Lina wanted nothing more than to hide.

“There you are!” snarled the
Dawnhawk’
s other captain. She stormed over, stopping just a little too close, within Lina’s personal space.

Natasha Blackheart was the daughter of Euron Blackheart, the notorious pirate king of Haventown. She was tough, ruthless, and more than a little crazed, as likely to gut you as she was to hang you up by your toes. Rumor had been spreading among the crew that she was somehow worse of late....there were whispers that Natasha was trying to be
nice
.

“Where have you been?” demanded Natasha. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Butterbeak peered mockingly down at Lina, somehow looking smug.

Lina glared back at it. “What about, Captain?” she asked. “Only Captain Fengel had me looking for his other spare monocle—”

They both ducked as the port-side exhaust squealed sharply, belching a great gout of steam. When the sound died down, Natasha glared at it. “I’ve been looking for you because this airship is a damned wreck and I need to consult with the Mechanist. You always seem to be running about. Seen him? Also, I wanted to ask how you’ve been.”

Lina blinked, certain she’d misheard. Once, Natasha had strangled a man for mentioning, in passing, that he was cold.

“Just…fine?”

The pirate captain relaxed. “Good.” She shifted Butterbeak to her shoulder before retrieving a small leather folio out from her puffy-sleeved blouse and opening it to a dog-eared page. “Can’t imagine what I’d do if you’d actually said anything of import. Now, I’m not going to smile, because to the Realms Below with that, but it says here that I’m supposed to act like I care to remember your name.”

“I’m Lina, Captain.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Lina Stone. I’ve been on this ship for almost a year now.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“I came up with the idea to mutiny against you and Fengel a short while ago.”

“Really?” Natasha narrowed her eyes, and all the awkward friendliness evaporated. “Well, that’s worth remembering.” She shook her head. “Fortunately for you, you little mutineer, the book makes specific mention that I’m not to decapitate anyone without current reason. So be thankful for that.”

Lina stared at the pirate princess. Then, curious, she craned her head to get a better look at the spine of the book. Natasha snapped it shut, shoving it back down her shirt.

“Enough. Where’s the damned Mechanist?”

“Aft-hatch stairway,” replied Lina, feeling very uncertain.

“Good. Be about your business, Stone.” Then the pirate princess pushed past; Butterbeak glared at Lina until they were out of range.

Lina made a mental effort to put the strange exchange behind her.
Every day on this boat is an adventure
. She shook her head, glancing about the deck. Her mood lightened as she caught sight of Michael Hockton, standing along the port-side exhaust pipes, along with Allen, the apprentice Mechanist. Runt was there as well, lying in a coil atop the steam-heated pipe and chirping sourly in his sleep, ignoring them both.

Butterflies fluttered through her stomach. She ignored the feeling, trying for focus instead. Now it was time to
test
him. Again.

Michael wasn’t tall or muscular, though compared to Allen he seemed a hero straight from some theater stage. Both young men leaned against the pipe, greasing the chain assembly that controlled the skysail armatures running alongside the ship. They shared the pot of grease sullenly, yanking it away from the other as each reached for another fistful.

Lina forced herself to calm. She put on a practiced scowl of disapproval and placed her hands on her hips. “You two need to work faster,” she said as she approached, “if you’re going to be done by the time we dock.”

Both men whirled in surprise. Michael recovered first. “Lina!” he exclaimed. “You’re looking radiant, as always.”

She fought to keep the scowl in place, which she’d copied almost exactly from Captain Blackheart. He was just so Goddess-blamed
cute
. “You’re sweet. But I know I stink of old corpse. The captain had me in the hold for a good half hour.”

“Even were you entirely malodorous,” said Allen, “you could not be more lovely.”

Lina blinked. “Well, thank you, Allen. I think.”

She stepped past them both to where Runt lay coiled. He slept soundly, tormenting something in his dreams. Lina grabbed him up, staggering under his weight, and wrapped him around her shoulders like a great wormy shawl. He stirred awake, chirping questioningly. Lately he’d been especially irascible. It seemed Runt was only happy after eating, which he had been doing way too much, competing with the White Ape atop the gasbag for seagulls.

She brought her mind back to the matter at hand. “As I was saying, though, you two had best finish up if you want to go out. Myself, I’m looking forward to having a drink or ten down at Garvey’s Hole.”

 The ex-soldier and the apprentice Mechanist started, then glared at each other. Both leaped for the pot of grease at the same time.

It was clear Michael felt something for her, which made her want to squeal in delight. Allen was merely nursing a longtime crush, both painful and obvious. The two men feuded constantly whenever she was around. Which was a good thing, to her mind. For all that she was taken with Michael Hockton, she didn’t really
know
him, just that he’d been a Bluecoat soldier—that is, before she’d thrown Runt in his face. So she’d come up with a kind of game; she kept both men in competition with each other for her favor, spreading her praise equally. The more Michael warred with Allen, the more she’d learn about him, and the more she could be certain he was worth her time. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d sworn off romance entirely, after all.

“Land ho!” came a cry.

Lina glanced over to the starboard rigging, where Reaver Jane hung on the ratlines leading atop the gas-bag envelope. “Lookout spies the Copper Isles, off the starboard bow!” She gestured, and Lina followed her outstretched arm to spy a dim speck on the horizon to the north.

Everyone aboard the deck let out a cheer. She joined in and ran up to the bow, pressing through the crowd collecting there to watch the final approach. After a few minutes, the dark speck grew into a chain of islands. The waves crashed high against beachless cliffs of dun-colored rock shot through with veins of coppery ore. Green jungle foliage grew atop each isle, thick and verdant.

Seen from above, the Copper Isles appeared shattered, broken and flooded by some great tectonic upheaval now eons gone. The only entrances into the interior of the island chain were the waterways threading it, a confusing and treacherous labyrinth whose single real approach lay along the western edge of the isles.

Unless you could fly, of course. Which made any such impediments moot. Still, Lina knew there was a loose agreement among the pirate crews of Haventown; in order to keep the pirate port hidden, all were required to approach properly, even in an airship.

The
Dawnhawk
lost altitude as Sarah forced the feuding aetherites to make the proper changes to their approach. Lina groaned at the thought of the route ahead, and judging by the muttered whispers of the crew beside her, she wasn’t the only one unhappy at the delay. Swinging westward just so they could turn around and head east again...it would take another hour or more. And her poor airship was
so
battered. What was the point? It wasn’t like there was anything out there they needed to see.

She glanced back at the helm where the captains stood. Fengel was arguing with Natasha now. He shook his head as she jabbed him in the chest and then pointed at the battered deck and the forest of draping ropes and canvas. Finally, he threw his hands up, turned on his heel, and stormed off. Natasha smiled, obviously having won.