Skybreaker Page 10

  I wanted to dig a little more into her cozy meeting with Slater last night, but Kate had apparently decided the conversation was over. She produced a notebook and began writing down all the things she would need to bring on the trip.

  “Aren’t you making a list?” she asked, looking over at me with some disapproval.

  “I don’t have that much to bring.”

  “I’ve got loads,” she replied, and went back to scribbling.

  I asked her to drop me a block away from the Airship Academy. If Rath and his men were lying in wait for me, I didn’t want to take any chances. I went around back, where a door was usually left ajar by the kitchen staff. I was in luck. I took a stairway down into the steam tunnels. Enormous water pipes ran along the walls, chugging and gurgling, as they carried hot water to the Academy’s many bathrooms and radiators. In cold weather, students sometimes used these tunnels to get to the dining hall, rather than cross the quadrangle. I navigated my way to the basement of Dornier house, then climbed the stairs to my room.

  At the doorway I hesitated, remembering the figure I’d seen behind the glass last night. But it was daylight now, and even if there had been an intruder, surely he was long gone. Carefully I unlocked the door and pushed it open. The room was so small, there could be no place to hide. Just to be sure I bent down to check beneath my bed, and then opened the closet door wide. The room showed no signs at all of being disturbed. No scattered papers or strewn bedding, no broken chairs or upended tables. I got busy.

  I changed out of my uniform, dragged out my duffel bag, and started packing. Shirts, pants, underwear, socks, sweaters, the warmest coat I had, the pair of mittens my mother had knitted for me back in Lionsgate City. I tossed in my aerostat operations manual, my mathematics of flight text, and celestial navigation handbook, figuring that I’d have time to study during the journey there and back. If I had any hope of passing the upcoming exams I needed to use every spare moment.

  Assuming I was even back in time for the exams. I looked at the schedule I’d pinned above my desk. If I missed my exams, I got zero. And that would make it next to impossible to pass the year. For a moment, my sleepless night under the bridge caught up with me, and all the electricity that had been fueling me fizzled out. What sort of fool’s errand was I embarking on? For so much of my life, I had dreamed of attending this Academy, and one day being an officer and even captain of some fine vessel. If I missed my exams, or failed the year, they might kick me out altogether.

  I looked at the notebooks on my desk, the numbers and symbols and scribbles and crossings out. If I stayed I might fail nonetheless.

  But it would not matter if we found the Hyperion. If we found riches, I would not need to serve on a ship. I could buy my own and be captain, like Hal Slater. All these ifs were strung together like an icicle ladder in the blazing sun. Fantastical as they were, they did give me some comfort.

  I sat down at my desk and started a letter.

  Dear Mother, I wrote.

  And stopped. What could I say to her?

  I’m embarking on an idiotic and dangerous quest. I’m writing this to you in case—

  A letter from Paris to Lionsgate City, via regular delivery, would take almost two weeks, by which time I was almost certain to be back in Paris. Was there any point in worrying my mother? Better not to tell her at all, then. But I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if some disaster befell us. She would never know what had happened to me. The thought made me gloomy, and doubtful about the whole affair once again.

  Writing a letter that will only be read if you’re dead is an odd business, and I felt suitably ghostly as I scribbled a few lines to my mother, telling her what I was about to undertake and what I hoped to gain from it. “If you’re reading this, it means I’ve failed at what I tried to do, and perhaps it was very foolish. I wanted to make sure we always had enough, and that we wouldn’t have to worry, or feel sad or desperate.” I signed it with love, sealed it, and then wrote a second letter to Baz in Australia, telling him everything, and folded my mother’s letter into the same envelope. I told Baz that if he hadn’t heard from me in more than a month, he should assume the worst, and forward the letter to my mother.

  Then I scribbled a note to Dean Pruss, saying I would be absent for a number of days, without giving any specifics. I’d mail both letters on my way back to the heliodrome, and put my money back in the bank. It didn’t seem I would need it after all.

  I wondered what counsel my father would have offered me. From my desk I took the brass compass he’d given me when I was a child, and carefully placed it in my duffel bag. He died when I was twelve, but he was still often in my thoughts and dreams. I finished packing. Probably I should have made a list like Kate. I hefted my bag. I couldn’t remember it ever feeling this heavy.

  You’re looking at it all wrong, I tried to tell myself. Think of this as another training tour. With a bit of luck and fine weather you’ll be back in Paris not much later than the other students, only you’ll be coming back rich as the king of Babylon.

  I arrived back at the heliodrome at three o’clock, and made my way to the Sagarmatha’s berth. Setting eyes on her again, I felt a familiar, giddy swirl in my stomach—the same feeling I got whenever I was about to embark on a ship. It wasn’t so unlike the first time I saw Kate de Vries, and something in me seemed to know right away that things would never be the same again.

  Slater’s crew was busy fueling the ship, topping up her gas cells with hydrium, loading cargo—and Hal Slater was directing them all like a conductor, though a talkative one who wasn’t afraid of colorful language.

  “Good,” he said when he saw me. “Dump your bag in the mess for now and lend a hand with the loading.”

  I wasn’t sure this was exactly the kind of relationship I wanted with Slater, him ordering me around like crew, but there was a restless fluttering in my stomach, and I was glad enough to work.

  I walked up the gangway, turned down the main corridor, and stopped dead at the sight of Miss Marjorie Simpkins.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to cope in such small quarters,” she was lamenting to Kate, who’d just emerged from the cabin doorway. “I really must have a word with Mr. Slater.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, Marjorie,” Kate told her severely. “Our quarters are ample.”

  “There are bunks,” Miss Simpkins said, her voice tremulous with woe. “And you snore, Kate, you know you do.”

  “I do no such thing,” she said, her nostrils narrowing. “I’m not too thrilled to be sharing a room with you either, Marjorie. But adventure has its price.”

  Miss Simpkins turned and saw me, and pursed her mouth disapprovingly. Then, with a small despairing moan, she hurried back into her cabin, closing the door after her. I stared at Kate in disbelief.

  “I know, I know,” she said, walking toward me, hands raised as if to calm a dangerous beast.

  “She’s not coming,” I said.

  “She’s coming.”

  “She can’t.”

  “She’s coming. Or she’ll tell.” Kate sounded about six years old. “I was hoping I could just sneak out and leave a note, but she caught me packing. Then she started packing. She said she could not possibly allow me to go off on such an outlandish trip—on a ship crammed with strange, sweaty men—without a chaperone.”

  “What about the blind eye?” I demanded.

  “She’s had a miracle recovery.” Kate drew closer, lowering her voice. “Do you know what I think it is? I think she rather fancies Hal Slater herself.”

  “This is too much.”

  “If she tells my parents, they will move me back home and lock me in a room for the rest of my life. I’m quite serious.” She must have seen my smile, because she said, “No, that would not be a good thing, Matt Cruse. No Sorbonne, no fame and fortune, no jollies whatsoever. My life would be over.”

  “What did Slater say?” I asked.

  “As long as she keeps out of the way, he doesn�
��t care.”

  “She doesn’t even like flying!”

  “I know. She thinks she’s being a real martyr.”

  “She probably wants a cut of the loot too,” I scoffed.

  Kate winced. “Actually—”

  “You’re joking!”

  “I promised I’d give her something out of my share.”

  “But you’re only getting the taxidermy!” I reminded her.

  “I’ll give her a yak or something. She can turn it into a coat.”

  I rubbed my forehead. This was far from ideal. “Has Nadira arrived?” I asked.

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  She wasn’t late yet, but I couldn’t shrug off the suspicion she might indeed be in league with the pirates, and meant to lead them to us.

  “I’m off to help prep the ship,” I told Kate.

  “Is that all you brought?” she said, looking at my duffel bag. “Gosh, you do travel light.”

  Stacked in the corridor outside her cabin were about eight suitcases and trunks.

  “I’m amazed he let you bring all that,” I said.

  “I have a great deal of gear. I thought I was very restrained.”

  “I’m sure you were.”

  Down the gangway I went, and found Slater talking to one of his crew, a short, compact man who looked of Himalayan descent.

  “Cruse, this is my first mate, Dorje Tenzing.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Dorje’s been with me from the start,” Slater said, “and there’s no one in the world I trust more. I’d close my eyes and jump from the control car if he told me to.”

  “It is often tempting,” Dorje said with a chuckle. I liked the way his almond eyes became crescents when he smiled.

  “Most of my crew are Sherpas,” Slater told me proudly. “No one’s better at working high altitude. They were born to it. Dorje has summited Everest five times, most recently with me. I carried his pack, I seem to recall.”

  “Only because I was carrying you,” Dorje replied.

  Slater gave me a wink.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “There’s still plenty to load,” Dorje said.

  I rolled up my sleeves and got to work alongside Thomas Dalkey, a fortress of a man who greeted me with a friendly nod and sweaty handshake.

  “Cruse,” he said. “From Eire, are you?”

  “My parents were.”

  “Come over in the great migration?”

  I nodded. “And I was born halfway over the Atlanticus.”

  “That’s something. My family used to own an island in the old country. Castle and all. But that was six hundred years ago. The goats tend it now. Grab hold of this, lad…”

  Dalkey talked a streak as we worked, and I enjoyed listening to him, savoring some of the same expressions I’d heard my parents use. There was something intensely satisfying about getting your ship ready to sail, bringing aboard the provisions, the extra tanks of Aruba fuel, oil for the engines, reams of goldbeater’s skin in case patching was needed—and knowing in your gut that your departure was near.

  As I hefted aboard some crates of spare parts, Kami Sherpa came to help, and we introduced ourselves. He was slender, with dark, grave eyes, short black hair, and the ghost of a moustache on his upper lip. I thought he looked even younger than me. But watching him lift, I could tell he had muscles and sinew of alumiron. He was not even breathing hard.

  “How long have you worked with Slater?” I asked.

  “Two years.”

  “Two days,” said another crewman, joining us.

  “This is Ang Jeta,” Kami Sherpa said, throwing his arm affectionately around him. “He’s my cousin. I put in a word for him with the captain.”

  “I got tired of staring at mountains,” said Ang Jeta with merry eyes. He looked older than Kami, his face much more weather-lined, and I noticed that he was missing the little fingers of both hands. Frostbite, no doubt.

  I met the final crew member, Jangbu Sherpa, as we were pumping the last of our fresh water. Slater was indeed fortunate to have Sherpas as crew; they had become legendary for their skills as pilots and navigators, guiding ships across the globe’s sometimes treacherous skyways. The only person I hadn’t met yet was the cook, Mrs. Ram, whom I was told was best left alone until she’d put her kitchen in order. I wondered if all ship’s cooks were as volatile as Chef Vlad.

  Slater approached as I was coiling up the water hose.

  “Your gypsy girl’s late. I had to grease a few palms for an early launch slot and I don’t want to miss it. My tow’s coming now.”

  I saw a motortruck with a huge towing rig backing toward the nose of the Sagarmatha. In a hangar this size, it was necessary for the ships to be piloted in and out at specific times.

  “We miss our slot and we might end up waiting till tomorrow,” said Slater. “I can’t wait for her. Go up to the catwalks and see if you can spy her.”

  “I was just about to,” I told him.

  I climbed the two hundred fifty spiral steps to the catwalks. Inside the heliodrome, illuminated by the great tungsten lamps fixed to the ceiling, it was brighter than the Paris afternoon. Through the vast hangar doors I could see ships being towed in and out. Atop the catwalk, I strolled to the center of the heliodrome and gazed down at the traffic below, looking toward the east entrance, where Nadira was most likely to enter, given her lodgings at the rue Zeppelin.

  A huge group of tourists was being herded inside by a guide holding a scarlet umbrella. But there was no sign of Nadira.

  I walked on, hoping I’d see her soon. Down below, an impressive ship caught my eye. She was long and lean and had a military aspect to her, yet I couldn’t make out any markings on her flanks. Her crew wore no uniforms as they prepped her. Two men emerged from the gangway and paused at the bottom, talking. Right away I recognized one of them by his size, and ginger hair and beard. John Rath.

  I quickly turned my back to them, feeling as though a dozen spotlights were aimed at me. What if they looked up? I exhaled, glancing at the heliodrome’s ceiling—and realized I needn’t worry. With the intense glare of the lamps behind me, I was nothing but a silhouette to those below.

  I looked back. Rath was still speaking to the other gentleman. He was thin and frail looking, and I got the impression he was elderly. In his camel hair coat, he was the very image of a respectable gentleman, and I wondered what on earth he was doing with the likes of Rath.

  Anxiously I looked back toward the east entrance, and saw Nadira just entering the heliodrome. She wore her leather overcoat and had a big haversack slung over her shoulder. She headed for the stairs up to the pedestrian catwalk, but stopped when she saw they were completely glutted with gawking tourists.

  Feeling sick, I watched as she started across the heliodrome floor—a route that, within seconds would take her right past John Rath. I dared not shout out, for fear of attracting his attention. I stood frozen, watching in horror as Nadira strode through Rath’s berth. I stopped breathing. She walked by, not ten feet from the two men at the gangway. She didn’t notice Rath; he didn’t notice her. I let out my breath in little puffs, scarcely believing our good luck.

  Suddenly, there was a flash of reflected light as a window opened in the ship’s Control Car, and one of Rath’s crew was shouting and pointing in Nadira’s direction. Rath and the elderly gentleman whirled.

  Nadira ran. She careened through berths and ramps and maintenance areas, moving so quickly she blazed a kind of trail as people and carts swerved to avoid her. In her wake came Rath and two of his men. Their fists clenched pistols. Their shouts wafted up to me, muted in the vast atmosphere of the heliodrome.

  “Gypsy thief!” I heard Rath cry out. “Stop! Stop her!”

  I lost sight of Nadira briefly, then caught her again as she vaulted a tow rig. She had a good lead, but the pirates weren’t far behind. I started running back to the Sagarmatha, making better time than Nad
ira, for I had no obstacles in my path. When I was directly over our berth, I bellowed down at Slater.

  “We need to go! Now!”

  He squinted up at me, and seemed to grasp instinctively what was happening, for he started shouting orders at his crew and they all went running.

  I grabbed the banister, lifted my feet off the steps, and slid down the staircase, fourteen stories, swirling faster and faster until my palms burned. Gasping, I ran for the Sagarmatha’s gangway.

  “John Rath,” I panted to Slater. “Chasing Nadira.”

  “How many?”

  “Three.”

  “Will she make it?”

  “Just.”

  “Guns?”

  “Yes.”

  Slater turned to the tow-truck driver, who was about to affix his rig to the ship’s bow lines.

  “No thank you!” Slater called out to him.

  “You don’t want a tow?” the man demanded irritably.

  Slater whirled toward the control car and made a bullhorn of his hands. “Dorje! Prime the engines!”

  “You can’t go starting your props in here!” the tow driver exclaimed.

  “Difficult to fly without them,” Slater replied.

  “There’s no flying in the heliodrome!” the driver shouted. “I’ll be reporting you to the harbor master, sir!”

  A volley of gunshots rang out in the distance.

  “Report that while you’re at it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have to make a rather hasty departure. Cruse, slip her stern and breast lines.” Slater ran for the gangway. “Get Nadira inside and haul up the gangway.”

  “What about the bow line?” I asked, seeing it was still tied.

  “It’s on an automatic coupling,” he yelled back over his shoulder. “I can free it from the control car.”

  Luckily there weren’t many lines on the Sagarmatha. There didn’t need to be in the shelter of the heliodrome. Frantically I loosed the knots. A low, well-oiled, and intensely satisfying hum emanated from each of the six engine cars, and the powerful propellers began to turn, very slowly at first, and then with increasing speed.