Airborn by Kenneth Oppel
His crew erupted into raucous laughter, as though this were all the best of fun.
“I would also like keys to the ship’s safe, if you don’t mind, Captain,” said Szpirglas.
It was unpleasant work, rapping on people’s doors at four in the morning and telling them that the ship had been boarded by pirates, that they were requested to please throw on a robe and come to the lounge while their rooms were pillaged.
“I’m sorry,” I told a frail lady and her sister. “No harm will come to you. They only want things.”
“But…we’re very fond of our things,” said one of the ladies wistfully.
“Don’t be daft, Edith. They’re welcome to whatever they want.”
In went Rhino Hand, rummaging through their steamer trunks and bureaus and stealing whatever he wanted. I left him to his work and proceeded down the corridor. By this time, with the alarm and noise, many were already awake, opening their doors and sticking out their heads. I reached the end of the corridor, at the Topkapi stateroom. I’d barely raised my knuckles to rap when the door opened.
It was Miss Simpkins. Her hair was tied up in rags, and she wore a scarf round her head, so she gave me a bit of a shock. Without her makeup she looked quite different, puffier, and her eyes seemed smaller.
“You must come, miss,” I said. “Pirates have boarded the ship.”
“Pirates!” she said in outrage, as though we’d somehow planned this just for her inconvenience.
“You and Miss de Vries must come to the lounge now.”
“We’ll do no such thing, young boy. Now shoo. I’m about to lock my door.”
A great boot hit the door, bursting it open and nearly mashing Miss Simpkins, who gave a squeal as Rhino Hand strode into the room.
“You heard the young lad,” the pirate told her. I hadn’t known he was capable of speech, but he had a very fine British accent as it turned out. “To the lounge, please, ladies. Sorry for the inconvenience. Lashings of apologies.”
By this time, Kate had appeared in her nightdress. “What does this mean?” she whispered to me, face pale, her eyes huge.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve been boarded, but they’ve promised to do no harm as long as we cooperate.”
She hesitated, looking stricken, as the pirate poked about her camera, deciding whether to take it or not. He didn’t in the end, seemingly more interested in the wardrobe drawers where there were plenty of sparkly things to put in his sack.
“Come along,” I said and led them to the lounge, where most of the other passengers were now assembled, sitting stiffly in the wicker chairs, looking like wax dummies under the electric lights. All these people whom I normally saw in dinner jackets and evening dresses, laughing and eating, were now in their pajamas and bathrobes, small and bewildered. A few people tried to talk, but silence weighted the room like thunderclouds. Watchful guards stood at the main entrances. Szpirglas himself was perched on the bar, helping himself to a drink.
“I can guarantee you’re all insured, ladies and gentlemen, and this will be, at worst, an inconvenience. We mustn’t get too attached to our worldly possessions, after all, must we? What are they but things, baubles, trifles, bits of stuff?” He thumped his heart. “It is here we must find our treasures and store them up. And these things know no price.”
A real comedian he was—this was as much a vaudeville performance as a robbery. But if newspaper reports were to be believed, his sense of humor could shrivel up in a second. From a laugh to a gunshot without any warning.
The pirates were efficient, I’ll give them that. It seemed hardly any time at all had passed before they were back, with bulging gunnysacks and big smiles. Then another pirate entered the lounge, a great bearded mountain of a fellow, pushing the chief wireless officer, Mr. Featherstone, ahead of him at gunpoint.
“What’s this, Mr. Crumlin?” Szpirglas asked.
“Caught him down in the wireless room, trying to send an SOS,” Crumlin said.
“Ahhh,” Szpirglas said, as though confronted with a particularly stubborn child. “Sir, I thought we had something of a gentleman’s agreement,” he said, turning to Captain Walken. “You would let us go about our work unmolested, and we would leave you and all aboard unharmed. But trying to radio for help, this is breaking the rules, wouldn’t you agree?”
“He knew nothing of it,” Mr. Featherstone said. “I was acting on my own. Sorry, Captain.”
“Very noble of you,” said Szpirglas. “I commend you for your honesty. But this does distress me, it truly does. I’d been quite enjoying myself until now.” Everyone in the lounge was rigid, listening, and Szpirglas addressed us all, as if we were an audience and he was onstage. “You must understand, all I have in the world is my good name. People know me. They know that I might come aboard their ships and take their goodies. They know that I am a pirate. To be an effective pirate, one must be respected and feared. So what would become of me if people started to think they could put one over on old Szpirglas? Try to trick me, try to catch me. No, that wouldn’t do at all. I must protect my good name at all costs.”
He drew his pistol and shot Featherstone pointblank in the head.
A great gasp from all of us sucked the air out of the room as the wireless officer fell to the floor. People were crying and screaming. Doc Halliday was at Featherstone’s side in a second.
“He’s dead,” he said.
“Listen to me!” Szpirglas shouted. “I will not be trifled with. I do not relish killing, but I will do it if I must. If you do not show me the proper respect, you force me to earn it! I bid you all farewell.”
He turned and left the lounge, and his men went with him. We all stood frozen for a moment. My insides were ice. I don’t think anyone really knew what we ought to be doing. Some part of me thought we should be following them, seeing what they were about, making sure they did no mischief to the ship, but no one seemed keen to anger Szpirglas further.
Captain Walken nodded at Mr. Torbay and Mr. Wexler, and they cautiously began to follow the departing pirates. I wasn’t supposed to, but I went too, falling into step behind the officers as they headed down the grand staircase and through the access doorway to the keel catwalk. Overhead, I could see the pirates climbing the companion ladders toward the axial catwalk. I wanted to make sure they kept going; I wanted them off the ship without harming her.
“I can follow them,” I said to Mr. Torbay. “They won’t see me.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Mr. Cruse.”
“They won’t even know I’m there, sir,” I persisted. Mr. Torbay had seen me swing over the ocean on a piece of rope; he knew I could climb and hide myself amid the ship’s rigging.
“You do not have my permission, Mr. Cruse,” he said kindly. “Do not follow us, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
They started up the companion ladder to the axial catwalk. I would not follow them. I would go aft and climb up through the rigging, unseen by officers or pirates. It was unlike me to disobey an order, but there was something going through me, a terrible fear that the ship might be in danger, my home, and I could not just sit in the passenger lounge, blind, hoping everything would be all right.
I raced aft and scampered up the wiring and braces. I could swing my way around the ship like a spider. Up I went, hidden, toward the axial catwalk, my feet springing from wire to wire. Almost level with the catwalk now, I could see the pirates waiting their turn at the next ladder, climbing up to the forward observation hatch. It seemed they really were leaving—without any other evil design on the ship or her passengers—and I felt my heart begin to calm. Maybe it was truly over.
As the last pirate began his climb, I ran down the catwalk and hurried up the ladder to the aft crow’s nest, past the shimmering gossamer skin of the gas cells. I peered out through the domed hatch. The remaining pirates were crouched along the Aurora’s back, grabbing at boarding lines, uncleating them and then holding tight as they were hauled back to thei
We would be free before long. Four more lines needed casting off, and then we’d no longer be tethered to that infernal little pirate ship. Just then I looked beyond Szpirglas’s ship and I saw a great dense mass of darkness against the night sky, and I knew, just by the Aurora’s vibrations, that we were heading into a storm front. Rain started clattering against the ship’s skin, and the Aurora bobbed sharply as the wind hit it.
Above me, Szpirglas’s ship gave a mighty downward lurch before steadying herself. The last of the pirates cast off their spider lines and, pelted by rain, were reeled in, swinging madly in the gathering gale. We were free of the pirate ship, but not the elements. The front was rolling over us now. I was not afraid the Aurora would founder, but the pirate ship. Plowing through a front, you sometimes get a microburst, an intense downward column of wind that can drive you suddenly lower. I snatched up the speaking tube.
“Crow’s nest reporting!”
“Mr. Cruse?” came the captain’s voice. “What the devil are you doing up there?”
“Sir, the pirate ship has cast off, but we’re heading into a storm front.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Cruse. Now get down from there.”
“Sir, the other ship, she’s awfully close…”
At that moment the wind took the Aurora in her grip and gave us a mighty downward shove. I heard our engines roar to full throttle, felt the elevators struggling to keep us level. From above, I saw Szpirglas’s ship, a fraction of our size, come hurtling down toward us, driven by the same wind.
“She’s coming down on us!”
I felt the Aurora start to dive and roll, but we were too late. The pirate ship veered into us, tried to pull away, but another gust of wind pushed us together again. I saw and heard Szpirglas’s propellers come toward us, two great whirling blades on her starboard side, slashing the night and then—
The Aurora. The propellers caught in our skin and kept cutting, through the taut fabric, through the gas cells inside. The propellers slashed through our port side, from stern to amidships. I felt the horrible chainsaw vibration rattle the entire ship.
“We’re breeched!” I hollered into the speaking tube.
The pirate ship slewed away from us, and came back once more, its propellers rushing right toward me. I dropped down the ladder and was nearly thrown off the rungs when the blades cut through the hull. Then they were gone, wrenched back into the sky. I clung to the ladder, panting, listening to the roar of the propellers fade.
And then there was a new sound.
The mango-scented gush of escaping hydrium.
7
SINKING
We all knew what had happened, and what needed doing. The sailmakers were charging along the catwalks, pulling tool belts and patching kits from the storage lockers, springing up into the ship’s rigging to start repairs on the torn gas cells. The reek of mangoes made my eyes water. The whole ship was exhaling, like the last long sigh of a dying man. From underfoot there was a metallic creak as the ballast tanks along the keel opened, and tons of water tumbled out to the sea below. The captain was trying to lighten the ship.
I saw another team of sailmakers heading for the upper hatches and ran over.
“Cruse, you’ll help?” asked Mr. Levy, the chief sailmaker.
“Yes.”
“Good, lad. We could use you up top.”
He tossed me a safety harness and pointed me toward the locker. I kicked off my shoes and slipped my feet into snug rubber-soled slippers. I grabbed a helmet, tested the lamp mounted on top. Tightening a tool belt around my hips, I crammed it full of patching materials. Bruce Lunardi was already in his gear, looking pale as he mounted the ladder. I climbed up after him, my feet dancing up the rungs.
We’ll see who’s the better sailmaker, I thought, even at that moment.
We came out the aft hatch onto the ship’s back. Her massive dorsal fin towered above us like a mountain peak. I could see the Aurora’s elevators angled high, trying to keep the ship’s nose up. Over the wind in my ears, I heard the fierce drone of the four engine cars at full power, straining to fly us level as the Aurora gushed her precious hydrium. Below, all around us, the sea was dark as mercury, and closer than I liked.
“Cruse, you’re over here! Starboard side!” shouted Mr. Levy. I hurried along the ship’s spine to where I was needed. I hooked my safety line to the cleat, fitted the goggles over my face, and turned on my lamp. The sailmaker passed me a bucket of patching glue and a small satchel of patches, and I clipped them both to my harness. Then I walked backward, down over the ship’s side, paying out line. My rubber-soled shoes gave me a fine grip, even though the wind pushed at me. All across the Aurora’s bulging flank were other sailmakers, hanging from their lines, examining the ship’s fabric skin. I swept my lamp back and forth, searching for gashes.
They were all too easy to find, huge jagged swaths, hissing angrily as hydrium escaped from the torn gas cells within the hull. It gave me a pain in my chest to see them.
I tied my line to one of the many safety cleats across the ship’s flank. Then I got to work. With my brush I swiped glue over the skin, pressed hard with the patch, and counted to five. It was fast-setting stuff, this glue, and you had work quickly, make sure every edge was sealed tight. Hydrium was restless, the lightest thing in the world, and if it saw a way out, it would take it. Brush, press, hold, listen, move on. I liked it when the hissing sound stopped or at least grew fainter. Little by little, I was helping heal the ship. Every breath of hydrium saved was more to lift the Aurora.
Inside, the sailmakers would be frantically sewing and stitching the actual gas cells. They’d be wearing masks by now, breathing tanked oxygen so they wouldn’t pass out. Hydrium wasn’t poisonous, but it would push away all the air, fill up a space fast, and you’d suffocate.
I moved along to another gash ripped by the pirate’s propellers. It was like a terrible wound created by a monster’s claws, ribbons of torn skin flapping in the wind. Warm mango scent washed over me. It was really too big to patch, but I’d just have to do my best. Even with five patches across it, I could still hear a quiet hiss leaking from it. No time to do better, so I had to move on. Everywhere my lamp’s beam touched there were more holes. I wondered how much hydrium we’d lost.
I heard a distant clatter of water and looked down to see more ballast hit the sea. The sea. How had it gotten so close? Surely there could be no more ballast. The captain wouldn’t have dumped so much unless he was quite certain…that we were sinking.
A gust hit, and the Aurora rolled to starboard. I drifted away from the ship’s side, dangling over the water for a moment before the ship righted herself. I bounced back gently against her flank. I heard a yell and looked off to my left to see Bruce Lunardi, upside down in his harness, arms flailing. He must have done a somersault. He was hollering and kicking and not having much success righting himself.
I sighed, then pushed off and swung toward him. I got halfway, fastened my line to a new safety cleat, and took another run at it, paying out line as I swung the rest of the way to Lunardi. My rubber-soled shoes gripped the hull. I cleated myself off on his right side.
“Take hold of my hand and pull.”
His grip was painful as he dragged himself upright in his saddle.
“Thanks,” he muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve. I think he’d thrown up.
Without another word he went back to work. I glanced at his patching. It was excellent, tidier than mine. But I doubted he’d done as much as I had; he was spending too much time.
I nodded good-bye and swung myself back to my place. Like a spider I scuttled across the ship’s flank. Brush, press, hold, listen, brush, press, hold, listen. I hollered up for a second bucket of glue. The gashes seemed endless.
“That’s my girl,” I said to the ship, as I pressed another patch onto her skin. “You’ll be good as new soon. See if you aren’t.”
“Come aboard!” Someone was shouting down at me.
“I’m not done!” I cried back.
“Doesn’t matter! Come aboard!”
I looked down and saw the sea, thick and colorless in the coming dawn. We were lower than ever. This was an altitude I usually only saw when we were coming in for landing. Hand over hand I hauled myself up to the ship’s back. After hanging weightless for so long, my body felt heavy as a stone gargoyle. I crouched, catching my breath, looking at all the other crew, pale from exhaustion. Lunardi nodded at me, too tired to speak.
Inside, Mr. Riddihoff waited for us on the axial catwalk.
“We need to get the passengers to their muster stations and into life jackets,” he said. “You all know the drill.”
But this wasn’t a drill.
“Are we ditching?” I heard Lunardi ask.
“We’ve lost too much hydrium,” Mr. Riddihoff said, his skin waxy. “We can’t stay aloft.”
“Is there no land nearby?” someone else wanted to know.
“We’re in the middle of the Pacificus. The pirates rode us way off course. Nearest charted island is at least a thousand miles. It’s a water landing, gentlemen.”
There was nothing left to say, and we all headed in our different directions, keeping our fears bottled up inside us. Airborne, nothing frightened me. But the idea of crash-landing on the sea, water filling us, made my stomach churn. The Aurora was my home, and I couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning her to the waves.
I shrugged off my harness and patching gear and quickly made my way back to the passenger quarters. With every step, my senses kept track of the angle of the ship. Each movement passed through my feet and into my brain. Right now she felt level enough, but I could tell by the weight in my stomach and the tautness of my eardrums that we were slowly but surely losing height. I had to keep moving.
I vaulted up the grand staircase, knocking on doors, making sure everyone was out of their cabins. Most of the passengers were still assembled in the upper lounge, many with drinks in their hands.