Chenda and the Airship Brofman (20 page)

“I've fallen in love with the captain, but somehow that seems irrelevant at the moment.” She sighed. “Really? I missed that much? We were only apart for an hour or so.”

Chenda laughed and said, “Let me catch you up.”

She started at the beginning, and left out no details. Candice sat quietly, nodding at various facts and gasping only occasionally. When Chenda finally finished recapping her last two hours, Chenda said with excitement, “Well, Verdu obviously knows about singing stones! I can't wait to pick his brain about this.”

“
That's
the detail of my night's experience about which you are most excited? Really? The bits about Edison and fate and passion and 'bring Verdu and Fenimore along,' nothing?”

“Yes. All very important details. But there is much more to be learned here. Edison even said so in your vision. I can see why Verdu will be an asset; he speaks the language, and knows the culture. I wonder why Fenimore is 'necessary' in Edison's opinion. Hmm....” Candice tapped an index finger on her chin as she thought.

“I'm glad Edison sent me to you,” Chenda said. “I've never had a friend like you before.”

“It seems to me that, apart from Edison, you never had a friend at all. But I thank you just the same, I think. I am fond of you, too.”

Chenda pulled a sly grin. “So, falling for the Captain, huh? What happened on that walk? Was it romantic?”

“HA! The walk was meant to sober me up, so romance was not called for from the start.” Candice slurred only slightly, proving that the sobering was not quite finished.

“Did you vomit?”

“Oh, worse. I barfed like a sick pig,” Candice said. “However, Max was pleased that at least I did the deed
off
his airship.”

Chenda giggled as Candice reached over to the water pitcher, pouring herself a glass.

“I got about 20 feet outside the whore house and let fly – gracelessly – into the lagoon. Of course, I felt much better after that, but it was so embarrassing. Max just seemed amused. He kept saying that it was fine, and it's happened to better men than me,” she said.

“We walked and talked, my head got clearer, we kept going. We stopped by the marketplace and got some tea, nice minty stuff that really clears away the cobwebs of whatever we drank. Max is quite an interesting fellow. Very bright. Great conversationalist...” Candice trailed.

“Go on!” Chenda said.

“We walked the whole way back to the tower, the long way, and we had an elevator car to ourselves, and...” Candice smiled. “He planted a kiss on me I may just never forget! My arms tingled and I think I even kicked one foot out behind me. He's really good, I must say.”

“A little passion is a good thing,” Chenda said remembering her own kiss with Edison.

Captain Endicott strolled back into the galley, smiling as ever. He glanced at the two ladies, hunched together in conspiring conversation and said, “Oh, I see you are in the middle of something, don't let me interrupt.” He turned to walk out again, but Chenda jumped up and waved Captain Endicott back toward the newly emptied seat near Candice.

“I'm just exhausted,” she announced. “I think, ah, I'll just trot off to bed.” She practically ran past the captain. At the door she turned and winked at Candice. “Good night, Candice, dear.” She flitted across the passageway and into the crew cabin on silent feet. All of the bunks were filled except for her own and Verdu's. The rest of the sleeping men would all be hard at work again in a few short hours. She crept to her floor level bunk and knelt down beside it, her face level to a sleeping Fenimore. She could just make out his profile in the dimness. She moved close enough to smell the fresh scent of soap on his back and hear his soft, slumbering breath.

“Come with me, Fenimore,” she said in the barest of whispers as she slid into her own bunk below his. She held her breath, expecting him to wake, but he didn't stir.
Good
, she thought. As she waited for sleep to overtake her, she thought of Candice and the captain. She felt sympathetic joy for her friend, glad that she found something to spark her long silent heart. At the same time, she worried about the dangers yet to come. Chenda realized that perhaps her friend may change her mind about accompanying her to Kotal. The captain may tempt her to stay with him. Her joy and her fears rattled around in her head until she drifted off into a deep sleep.

Chenda awoke with bitter coldness biting into her bare legs. Her eyes fluttered open and the room was bright with natural light. She'd missed their take off from Atoll Belles. Judging by the gentle sway of the ship and the cold temperature, they were pretty high in the air. Stiffly, she rolled on her side and tucked her legs up into Fenimore's loose shirt in an attempt to hold in a bit of heat, but the thin fabric was outdone by the chill. She saw on the floor next to her bunk that someone had placed her flight coat, one of her own shirts and her quilted pants, all dry and neatly folded.  Her aeronaut boots stood next to the clothes.

She pulled on her coat first, telling herself that it was just too cold right then to take off Fenimore's shirt to change back into her own. With relief, she pulled on her quilted pants, cutting the air's icy touch to her thighs and calves. As she pushed her foot down into her boot, her toe poked something warm and a slightly squishy. She turned the boot over and out fell a baked potato, still warm. Chenda smiled.
Boot warmers! How sweet
.

She buckled on her toasty boots, gathered up the edible heaters and crossed over to the galley where she found Kingston cleaning up. Chenda guessed she had missed breakfast, but the plump man pulled a heaping plate from of a warming drawer in the stove.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Here's one o' the house specialties.” He placed the plate before her with a flourish. “Curried eggs with pan fried toast.” Chenda stared at the overflowing plate of speckled yellows and golden browns. The smell was heavenly.

“Thank you!” Chenda salivated. “And thanks for the boot warmers, too.” She dove into the plate of savory eggs.

“Boot what?” Kingston asked.

Chenda mumbled through a mouthful of toast “I found these in my boots this morning when I got up. It made my feet nice and warm. I thought the idea was yours.” She handed the potatoes to Kingston while she scooped in more eggs.

“Ah,” Kingston muttered, mostly to himself. “I wondered why Verdu wanted baked potatoes for breakfast - 'hold the salt,' he says to me. I see now.” He shuffled back to the stove and threw the potatoes into the warming drawer as he hummed a zippy tune.

Chenda mulled over how she would thank her dark friend as she joyfully worked through her breakfast. Between mouthfuls, she quizzed Kingston.

“Did the captain tell you where we are going?”

“More or less,” he said, his tone suddenly grumpy. “I can't say that I am happy that we are heading so far east. You'll be wanting to keep those boots tight to your feet now, my missy. The further east we go, the higher we will be. We'll be wanting ourselves out of sight and out of range from any Tugrulians in the waters off the coast.”

Chenda downed her last bite of toast and chewed slowly. “So, what happens if we are spotted by Tugrulians?”

Kingston pulled a chair up beside Chenda and leaned in toward the table. “You're young, but I'm sure you've seen veterans of the war, right? Scarred and broken. The Tugrulian venom bombs are the maker of that misery. From the decks of their sailing ships, the Tugrulians could launch these flaming bombs. A lucky hit from one of those fireballs could burn airships out of the sky, but even a graze could cripple near every man aboard. All sorts of nasty bits in some of those bombs. Sometimes it would be acid that would eat through parts of the airships and their crews; other bombs, when they exploded, would spray a venom around the ship. Horrible, gasping deaths went along with them buggers. Tugrulian weapons are spiteful and unpredictable - always horrible. That's why our best option to protect the
Brofman
is to stay very high, above the clouds if we can. They can't hit what they can't see.” Kingston patted Chenda on the back reassuringly. “We can be hard to hit if need be.”

“How long will it take us to get where we are going?” Chenda asked.

“Oh,” Kingston thought a moment, scratching absently at the silver stubble on his ample cheek. “We'll likely be where we're heading by tomorrow evening.”

“That's sooner than I thought.” Chenda said, pleased but suddenly anxious.

“Captain said you and Candice would be leaving us then. I don't like it, missy, not at all. It's too close to a very dangerous part of the world. I worry the gods won't look after you there.” His lips pressed into a disapproving line and he shook his head. “No good ever came out of that place.”

“Verdu came out of that place,” she said. “He seems better than good.”

“An exception that proves the rule,” Kingston snorted. “But if he hadn't made it out as a baby, I wonder if you'd be singing a different tune about him. The point is- you ladies won't be safe. No, sir.”

“Well, safe or not, that's where we are going,” she said firmly. She patted his hand and spoke in a softer tone as she stood up to leave, “The eggs were divine. Thanks for keeping me so well fed.”

“You're welcome. I aim to feed.” He said, glowing in her praise.

Chenda secured her bitter-end and stepped on deck where the cold wind sliced past her and thready clouds scratched across the sky in every direction. She saw Verdu in the wheelhouse and Fenimore in his usual position in the bow, looking out toward the horizon.

Verdu tapped on the glass and waved at Chenda; she grinned back at him and pulled her knee up to rub her boot as if warming it, then hugged herself. Verdu acknowledged her thanks with a small bow and turned back to the helm. Chenda giggled as she left the windbreak of the wheelhouse and walked toward Fenimore in the bow. She wondered if she should press him for an answer or if she should wait a little longer. As she approached she decided to let Fenimore speak first.

She stood by his side and leaned on the railing opposite him. He broke his gaze from the horizon to glance her way, but his serious expression made no change.  Refocusing again on the sky to the east, he said nothing. She waited silently. The minutes ticked by and Chenda began to sense that no amount of talk would help Fenimore make his decision. She put her hand on his elbow and let it travel down his arm, pulling his hand into hers. Fenimore resisted her at first but quickly relented. She laced her fingers into his and gave a reassuring squeeze.

She didn't want to speak and break the moment.
Whatever you decide is fine
, she thought,
but I want you to come with me.

Fenimore glanced at her again, his eyebrows drawn quizzically together. She met his eyes, released his hand and backed away. He blinked, his features returning to neutral contemplation as maintained his vigil at the bow.

Chenda spent the remainder of the day learning what she could about the Tugrulian Empire from Verdu. His manner of educating her was a bit exotic, but fairly entertaining. They stood side by side in the wheelhouse as Verdu sang Tugrulian songs to her. After each performance, he translated. Verdu's people seemed to have a song for everything. Some songs were political, and touted the strength of Tugrulian men and how they could best serve the Empire. Other songs illustrated the basics of Tugrulian religion and how to live one's life in a way pleasing to the One True God. Some strains were practical, describing how to find water in the desert, make poisons and medicines from various mushrooms and how to make a type of pancake bread from moss and algae. Verdu even sang a few children's songs, including one that listed a variety of animals and the sounds they made. As the most plentiful Tugrulian creatures are lizards and deep cave fish – silent creatures for the most part – it was a highly ridiculous song.

Verdu, who had always been friendly and jovial toward Chenda, seemed more formal with her now, and he expanded the physical distance between them. She felt like he was holding a bubble of space between them, like a cushion. He touched her as little as possible in the wheelhouse's confined space. What he held back in physical contact, he replaced with other attentions. He continually asked after her comfort: was she tired, or could he bring her something to eat or drink, perhaps another song? Chenda didn't know what to make of the subtle change.

At seven bells, Lincoln came to the wheelhouse. “Captain sent me to relieve you, Verdu. He asked if you would be so kind as to drop by his quarters for a word.”

“Of course,” Verdu replied. He turned to Chenda, “Forgive me, great lady, duty calls.”

As he hopped down onto the deck, Chenda also left the wheelhouse, but she decided not to head below. She saw that Fenimore had not moved from his position at the bow.

Not knowing what else to do, Chenda stepped to the front of the wheelhouse and squatted on her heels. She sat behind a coil of mooring lines and watched Fenimore's unending vigil over the horizon. Her eyes flicked from the distant sea to his silhouette. She wondered where his thoughts were leading and pushed down her urge to run to his side to beg him to come with her.

The minutes moved glacially.
I hate waiting,
she thought, but forced herself to give Fenimore the time he asked for, the space he deserved to sort things out.

Chenda heard Captain Endicott roaring at Fenimore before she saw him charging past the wheelhouse toward the bow.