A Children's Tale (3 page)

"Aye Cap'n. Ah'll take first light."

"Well and done, Moira. William?"

William looked up from where he sat mending a small hole in a spare blanket. “Aye Cap'n?”

“Setting watches between the three of us. Moira has first light. What say you? We've quite a lot of night to cover.”

"Now's fine for me Cap'n. Ya can get some sleep. O'Fallon's only just drifted off a bit ago, I kin watch him for awhile. 'Sides, I been needin' ta mend ma blanket for awhile."

"Fair enough," Hunter yawned despite his best efforts to resist it. Methodically, he reached down to wind the mainspring of his clockwork right hand. Carefully he flexed it, the interlocking gears within the chocolate brown rhino-hide leather joints protested at the cold. Hunter winced as the temperature and sensation of the cold gears radiated subtly through his arm. “Watch close, we'll break camp at first light."

The wolf's howl broke the night air again. The trio cast glances into the dark trees around them. Hunter frowned.

“And by all means, eyes sharp tonight. I don't think we're alone.”

Embers glowed in the coals of the fire struggling against the chill the next morning. A dusting of light snow added to the effect, blanketing the camp and everyone in it with a touch of frost. Moira cupped her hands near her mouth and blew. Fog from her breath encircled her head while she walked between the lumps of blankets and coats, rousing the campsite.

Captain Hunter rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Any signs?"

"A bit o' smoke near the ridge. No signs o' the fliers."

"Good, with luck we'll put some distance between us and them." Hunter stood and stretched. A bit more alert against the morning light, he knelt and recovered his blanket. Carefully he knocked the light snow from it and rolled it tight.

Moira, having already packed her blanket, walked over to the two smaller bundles of blankets on the far side of the coals. "Up to it. Let's pack up so's we kin be movin' downslope."

"We gotta?" Came the little boy's whimpering reply.

"Aye that ya do, young sirrah."

While the children rose, stiff and irritable, William stood with a yawning stretch then checked the quartermaster near him. O'Fallon's eyes opened slowly. "Where be we t'day?"

"Same as day afore. Let's check them bandages."
Despite the cold of the snowy mountain air, Hunter stepped a few paces away from the campsite into the tree line. Carefully, he scanned the ridge behind and above them. Just beyond the rocks a thin column of gray smoke, barely visible, rose into the morning air. His thoughts turned over the possibilities in his mind. Some concerned themselves with the immediate necessity of a morning meal, while others were not so pleasant. Namely why their attackers were being so relentless.

"Cap'n?"

Hunter's eyes never left the ridge line. "Yes, Mr. Falke?”

"About packed and ready and ... Cap'n? We've had some company."

Something in the young man's tone struck Hunter as off. In the few years since William had joined his crew, William Falke had displayed a knack for finding the unusual. This time was no exception.

There in the snow, the young man pointed out the light depression of a pair of tracks.

"That's a paw print, oddly shaped though. One too many toes for a wolf or cat. The other I've never seen. Where do these go? Have you trailed them?"

"Only some Cap'n. Picked 'em up outside camp, I did. The big tracks came not far away, watched us a bit then left in a hurry."

"The other?"

"Chasin' the first I 'spect. Big cat or wolf. Just can't figure where'd it come from, though. It kept climbin' trees then jumpin' down. Its almost like it was around the camp watchin' us the whole time."

"That's not a comforting thought. Next time we need to check the tree canopy. We were lucky this time. Had that animal chose, it could've jumped in camp and hurt any of us.”

“Sorry Cap'n.”

“No harm done, I never considered it myself, either. Let's return to camp before our friends above the ridge there get the idea to take a walk."

"Aye Cap'n."

T
onks stood near the starboard railing and watched while four crewmen turned the longskiff loading winches. Suddenly, one of the ropes pulled at a sharper angle than the other four, threatening to snap. The pilot leaned over the rail. Below, the longskiff used by Captain Hunter and his landing party the day before hovered just inside the leather loading harness. The harness was the typical kind, being a wide net of leather straps used to help maneuver such a craft aboard larger vessels, such as the
Griffin
. The ropes from on deck wound their way up through pulleys and over to the harness itself that cradled the unharmed longskiff. The only two crewman aboard the smaller airship were busy with slowly releasing the air from the longskiff's gas bag. The small propellers on the craft, however, turned far too quickly than they should.

“More slack in your bag! Cut your engine or you'll snap the moorin' lines!”

“Aye!” Came the reply from crew aboard the longskiff.

“Problem, Mr. Wilkerson?”

Tonks turned to see Krumer Whitehorse approach. “Nay anythin' that some closer attention would cover, sir.”

“Understood. Anything found aboard the 'skiff?”

“Some lads went through it close. Blankets and a few supplies are missing, but not all the travel packs are gone. No sign of the landing party yet. The wreck's a mess though, and they found gunshot and other sign of a fight. Got some scourin' that now, maybe make some sense of it.”

Krumer nodded, his jaw set, his mouth in a hard line of concern. He folded his arms over his chest then tapped a finger idly on one of his short tusks. “Did they find any idea who did the attacking? Same group as found us?”

“Hard ta say. Plenty of damage from the same kind 'a ordinance that they were usin' on us. Lightning guns and all that. They'll send word when they find somethin' or if somethin' finds them.”

Krumer paused in thought, watching the crew slowly haul the longskiff aboard. He let his eyes play over the craft from its partially deflated gas bag to snow-covered skids and undamaged hull. “Just the blankets are gone, might mean they are camped nearby.”

“We kept spotters through the night, but none claimed ta see campfire. A'course the treeline's thicker downslope. If they headed that way, we might've missed them.”

Krumer swore under his breath a moment. “All of this. This cannot be just coincidence. If those were pirates that happened across us, that longskiff would be missing anything not nailed down.”

“Aye, true that. Searchers I've got down there had sent word about the lightning gunfire. It was all about on ground, trees and what's left of the
Marie Celeste
. Krumer, we're bein' hunted. Ya know it, as do I. I just can't tell who they're gunnin' for.”

“Also, if they were hunting us, why here? Why now? This isn't the most well-traveled flight path for most ships. Cargo ships take the more southern route. News of the
Celeste
going down wasn't known when when we set out this way. How did these pirates find us or this place?”

Tonks looked stunned. “Yer not claimin' a spy aboard? Can't be, we've not taken on crew in better on two years, no one'd be disloyal here.”

Krumer shook his head. “I'm not saying a spy. Like you just said, it couldn't be. We're a small ship and a tight crew. We all know each other too well. I'm wondering what we took aboard. Maybe something in our supplies or any cargo?”

The pilot frowned. “We've got a tracker on us.”

“I think so. Worst case, the more elaborate ones can pick up sound like an opti-telegraphic, but they would have to be nearly as large also. Spread the word, but do it quietly. Search the ship. Something's aboard with us and we need to find it.”

Tonks nodded with a frown. “Aye ta that.”

Word spread quietly, yet quickly among the nearly twenty crew members aboard. Immediately all bent themselves to the task. Repairing the damage the
Brass Griffin
had sustained was important. Making sure they were not being hunted like a rabbit was more so. The more common areas such as the main deck, midship area below decks for meals and crew storage, the hold and so on were searched more than once. Each man and woman took to searching their belongings and sleeping hammock - or cabin in the case of Krumer and Tonks -on their own. Searchers even prowled through the various places for lookouts to stand watch on the bow or above on the gas bag.

An hour later, the search had uncovered little more than frustration and a growing anxiety that they may be attacked again. Only this time, they would not be fully prepared to withstand it. In the small, plain cabin that served as a common room for the captain and the
Griffin
's officers' quarters, Tonks lifted a long wooden case that held the bundle of navigational charts for the ship. He flipped the latch open and dumped the contents unceremoniously on the small wooden table in the room. Parchment charts fell out, some partially unrolling. He shook the box twice then, convinced it was empty, set it on the table with a sigh of frustration. Most of the ship had been searched thoroughly, some places twice over and no one had anything to show for it.

Krumer walked out of his cabin with an expression similar to that Tonks wore. “Anything?”

“Nay a bloody thing. Krumer. If there's one ta be had, its hidden tight.”

“Or worse yet, hiddin on the landing party.” Krumer's rising frustration was readily apparent in his voice now. “Which if it is, we cannot contact them and warn them! I cannot believe …”

Tonks waved a hand at his friend. “Hush, now. Wait. Didya hear that?”

Krumer bottled his temper and frowned in concentration.

“Hear what? I don't …”

Then he stopped in mid-sentence when a faint, fleeting buzz reached his ears.

Tonks nodded, a smile of satisfaction slowly grew on his face. “I'm hearin' it too.”

Slowly, carefully, the pair turned to face different parts of the room. They each listened, and when they heard the faint buzz again, took a careful step in that direction. In no time, they found themselves staring at a blank corner. Krumer looked to Tonks quizzically. Tonks shrugged, a little confused himself. Then an idea struck him, the narrow cabinets high on the wall to his right could hold the source of the sound. He gestured at them and reached for the knob of the closet cabinet. As if on cue, they heard the buzz again from behind the cabinet door.

Tonks smiled as Krumer tensed to grab whatever the source of the sound was. The pilot took a slow breath. If the device could fit in a small cabinet it would have to be small. Perhaps no larger than a person's open palm. Especially given that cabinet was only used to store spare twine and cotton rags for cleaning. He had dealt with such items in the past when he worked for the Foreign Service. Never had he expected to see them again, especially here. He yanked open the cabinet door.

Immediately a small object shrieked in alarm and shot out of a dark space beside a stack of cotton cloths. A glint of brass among the blur was all they saw as it raced around the room.

Krumer dove immediately for it but crashed into the wall. His hands clutched at air where it had been. “Missed!”

Tonks watched the small brass blur fly about the room as it looked for an opening to escape. “Ya can't grab at it like that, it'll expect that. We can't let it outta our sight, though. We'll lose it for sure.”

“How do we catch it then?”

A thought came to the pilot. “Burlap! Them stacks of old coffee bags we've got from the last cargo we hauled. Catch it with that or some other kinda cloth. Like catchin' fish with a net.”

Krumer got to his feet and raced out of the cabin, calling for the crew. Tonks eyed the blur with an impish grin. “Oh you're wantin' loose, I can tell it. Well, we're not gonna hurt ya, but we gotta know what ya know or who ya workin' for.”

The little blur darted this way and that, Tonks did his best to jump in the way to block it, but in the end it outmaneuvered him. It raced out out the cabin door. “It's on deck!” Tonks shouted, fast in pursuit of it.

Above, the crew scrambled with old brown burlap bags stamped with either plantation names or simply 'coffee' on them. They swatted and waved at the blur but none could catch it. They managed to barely prevent it from flying off ship. Finally, the brass blur dodged one crewman, sailed beneath Krumer's legs and soared upward towards the gas bag and rigging.

“Don't let it leave the ship!” Krumer shouted in a mix of anger and disbelief.

Suddenly a shirtless Tonks Wilkerson threw himself from the rigging directly at the blur. Man and flying object collided in mid air. No sooner than that, Tonks wrapped his shirt around the buzzing creature like he would bag a bird. Just as he finished, he and his captive fell to the wooden deck sideways in a hard landing. He held the shirt closed tight, inside his captive struggled fiercely. Finally, the struggles and angry buzzing subsided. The pilot carefully unwrapped part of his catch.

In his shirt was a brass dragonfly, no longer than ten inches in length and an inch and a half wide at its thickest point. Its wings were a gossamer, copper metal mesh and its body a series of brass tubes jointed with some unusual gray leather. The teardrop-shaped head with its ruby faceted eyes looked at Tonks then around at the crew nervously.

Tonks stood slowly, careful not to harm his small captive. “Mr Whitehorse. Looks like ya were right. We've been bugged.”

“Good work Mr. Wilkerson. Can we learn anything from it?”

The pilot raised an eyebrow at the brass dragonfly with a grin. “More'n a bit I'd suspect. Depends on how helpful it'll be. Now little bug, just so yer on the same terms I am, all we want ta know is what yer doin' here and who sent ya. No harms comin' to ya. Understand?”

After a moment of consideration, the brass dragonfly nodded slowly, nervously and buzzed once.

T
he group broke camp just past dawn after a quiet meal of jerked beef, dried fruit and a three-inch-round barley biscuits still referred to by its ancient name, 'salschoon'. Morning wore into mid-day while the knots of gray clouds that had lasted since morning slowly made way for pale streams of daylight. Following a game trail William discovered, the group descended, leaving the trees behind for a wide clearing. There, snow lay in thick drifts of white powder on the ground and pine trees that dotted the gentle slope. Despite events of the previous day, spirits rose just as the sun reached its zenith at noon.