Airborn (18 page)

I looked at the
Aurora
and everything else seemed suddenly, colossally, unimportant. All that had happened in the hours before—the bones, the cloud cat—faded like a bleached photograph.

“Oh, Lord,” I said, feeling hopeless, “look at her. Look at our ship.”

“The condition of our ship is doubtless no mystery to you,” Captain Walken said.

It was standing room only in the officers’ mess, all the crew assembled for an emergency meeting. We were a dispirited-looking bunch, with our sodden uniforms and sand-crusted faces and hair. I slouched at the very back, feeling I had little right to be here.

“The ship’s frame is still intact,” the captain said, “and the chief sailmaker and I believe we have enough lifting gas left to support the structure and allow the passengers back on. We’re solid. But that, sadly, is an end to the good news. We’ve lost too much hydrium, gentlemen. We can’t fly.”

“Is there no possibility of lightening her some more, sir?” asked Mr. Chen.

“We could remove every crate of cargo and stick of furniture, and every passenger for that matter, and we’d still not have enough lifting power to hop across the lagoon. In our current state it would take the hand of Zeus to lift us. So now we must investigate our options.” He turned to the second wireless officer. “Mr. Chaudhuri, what is the state of our radio equipment?”

“Well, sir, the pirates were quite thorough. The transmitter was pretty much destroyed.”

“What chances of repairing?”

“I’ve been working on it, sir. But even with a fully functioning transmitter, I don’t think we’d be able to send a signal very far from down here.”

“Continue to work on it. A radio can only be an asset to us. We did send out a distress signal when we were about to be boarded by the pirates, but we heard no reply. So I fear we were out of range of any other vessel.”

“We’ll be reported missing by now, sir,” said Mr. Torbay.

“They’ll not have much luck finding us along our route,” said the captain. “The pirates were careful to drive us far off course. Grantham?”

“It was hard to keep track, sir,” the navigation officer replied. “They led us on such a firefly run, but I calculate we are more than two hundred miles off our flight path. We’re in an obscure little corner of the Pacificus here. Chances of seeing any other air traffic are close to nil. And we’ll have no joy waiting for a rescue, I’m afraid. There’s too much ocean. They’ll think we crashed and sunk without a trace.”

This was not a cheering bit of news, and I could see the shoulders of some of the crew visibly sag.

“Well, then,” said the captain, “I believe this may be a good time to organize a party to explore the island.”

“There may be inhabitants, Captain,” said Mr. Rideau.

“Precisely what I am hoping,” said the captain.

“They may be a savage lot, sir, with no love of visitors.”

“We shall have to be exceptionally charming, then,” said the captain. “It may be that they have a means of transport that we can use, perhaps not to carry all of us, but at least to carry a message for help. Who knows, perhaps they even have a wireless. We must make it our business to find out.”

I could see the captain’s eyes trawling the crowd. I looked away.

“Mr. Cruse, you’ve seen something of this island, I believe.”

“I have, sir.”

I could hear a few quiet snickers.

“Have you seen any signs of habitation?”

“No trace of other human beings, sir, not on the eastern slopes of the island and up to the central plateau. But the island is large and stretches miles to the west.”

“There may be a settlement on the windward side of the island, then,” said the captain. “Mr. Cruse, you’ll be with the exploratory team we assemble.”

“Yes, sir.”

I felt my heart lift a bit. I could still be useful, and the captain did not mean to confine me to the ship—a fate I had fully resigned myself to. But perhaps I was fooling myself by thinking the captain wasn’t displeased with me. We were truly shipwrecked now, and our situation was dire, and if he had need of me, he would use me. It did not mean he trusted me.

“There are life rafts,” Mr. Levy suggested. “Some of us could go for help.”

Mr. Grantham was shaking his head. “No. It’s more than a thousand miles to the nearest port, and you’d be working against the trade winds.”

“Too risky, I think,” said the captain.

“Sir?”

I recognized Bruce Lunardi’s voice among the crowd.

“Mr. Lunardi?”

“We studied a similar case at the Academy, sir,” he said.

A few of the crew made little impressed titters at this, and the captain’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Gentlemen, there is no one in this room who is too wise to learn. Mr. Lunardi, please continue.”

I heard the tremor in Lunardi’s voice, and felt sorry for him. “Well, sir, in this case the ship was grounded from loss of hydrium. But the crew managed to stitch together a crude balloon from her gas cells and vent the remaining hydrium into her. It was enough to carry a gondola and three or four crew.”

“I remember this incident,” said Captain Walken. “Only one made it back to shore.”

“Yes, sir. But I was wondering if there might be some way we could balloon back into the shipping lanes, wait there for a passing vessel, and signal for help.”

“Very good, Mr. Lunardi. It is an intriguing idea. Again, riskier than I would like. I have little confidence in air balloons.” I saw the captain sigh, and for the first time, there were obvious traces of sadness on his face. “And your plan means cutting open our hull to extract the gas cells. I am loathe to cannibalize the
Aurora.
But if she truly is of no use to us, perhaps your idea is the best we have so far. I thank you for it. Let me consider it.”

The idea of the ship being sawed up like a cadaver made me feel faint. My home, left in ruins, never to fly again. But even I could see it might be our only chance. I wished I had some brilliant idea to win the captain’s praise—and save the
Aurora
from such an undignified end. But I had nothing to offer.

“If I might interject, sir, there may be another use for such a balloon,” said Mr. Bayard, the junior wireless officer.

“Let’s hear it,” said the captain.

“If Mr. Chaudhuri and I are able to salvage a transmitter, we might be able to send a distress signal. If we could rig an antenna to the balloon and float it high above the island, our range could be considerable.”

“Good,” said the captain. “It looks as if we all entered the wrong profession, gentlemen. We were destined to become balloonists. Very well. We will turn our hands to it. Now, then, immediate concerns. I know that we’ve located an ample stream, not far from the ship, but as for food, how are our supplies, Mr. Vlad?”

“We will not starve!” cried Vlad, and some of us laughed gratefully at his good cheer. “The lagoon alone holds enough food for all.”

“Not all the passengers like fish,” Mr. Lisbon pointed out.

“I am very sorry, but this I did not understand,” Vlad said to the chief steward.

“I merely said that not all of our passengers enjoy fish.”

“Fish, yes, fish is what I am conversing about.”

“Not everyone likes it!” shouted Mr. Lisbon.

“I will teach them to love it!” Vlad said fiercely. “I will make many dishes and soups and delectable things—that is a word, yes? delectable?—and make us all fit and harmonious. Some of our passengers, yes, could lose a little weight, I think you will concur, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vlad. I’m sure they’ll be very grateful.”

“Our supply of fresh meat is almost out,” Mr. Lisbon remarked.

Vlad glared at him. “Meat! Yes, yes, yes, meat is fine, it is delicious, I agree, but what is meat when we have fresh coconut and breadfruit and mango and bananas! Better fruits they did not have on Mount Olympus!”

“They’ll be without bread within two days,” the chief steward told the captain. “We’ll have no more flour or yeast by then. That will have them howling.”

No fresh croissants, I thought with a smile.

“This is a blessing,” Vlad shouted. “Can you not see this? This is opportunity for a culinary rebirth!”

“We look forward to it, Mr. Vlad,” said the captain, eager to stem an all-out battle between his chef and steward. “I am encouraged to know that we will not go hungry with you in charge.”

Vlad stalked off, shooting a serrated look at Mr. Lisbon and muttering about breadfruit and jackfish and crabs and how unappreciated he was. He’d go off and lay out all his sharp knives and feel better.

I wished I could feel better.

We were shipwrecked and discussing how best to get rescued, how best to survive. And it seemed our only course of action was to skin and gut our beloved ship and fashion a balloon.

I was on water duty, hefting buckets back to the ship from the stream. The winds had calmed since the typhoon but were still stiff enough to make me curse as I trudged against them, a heavy sloshing bucket of water wobbling in each fist. I wondered if this was some sort of punishment, or at least some way of keeping me solitary and busy and out of trouble. The captain had said nothing to me after the meeting; it was the chief steward who had glanced at me and said simply, “Mr. Cruse, we’re getting low on water. See to it, please.”

I wondered how Kate was getting on in the Topkapi stateroom. Would Miss Simpkins have her locked in the bedroom? Would she dare? Kate would tell her nothing. But if the chaperone discovered what was in Kate’s carpetbag, what could Kate possibly say? My goodness, how did those get there? Marjorie, do you have any idea what these are? Even if Miss Simpkins didn’t see the bones, sooner or later she would notice some of her undergarments missing: Kate, have you seen my beige petticoat? I can’t find it anywhere. How odd, Kate would say, trying not to smile. How very unusual.

It made me smile, thinking of it, though mostly all I felt was angry with her. But I’d gone willingly enough. Now was no time to be undone by a girl. Maybe Baz was right. I’d let myself become foolish. Had I just been another one of her servants, temporarily useful.

A bucket slammed against my shin and I swore. Surely there was a better way to get the water to the ship than this. Then I remembered the crates we’d unloaded, the heavy ones marked as rubber hosing. I wondered if the captain would agree to cracking them open and running a pipeline between stream and ship. I’d mention it to him when I had a chance; maybe it would help redeem me in his eyes.

It was clearing overhead, sunlight slanting through from the west, making the trees and silver airship glow against the dark clouds. Suddenly there was a rainbow, the biggest and most complete I’d ever seen, looking like it had been constructed by the bridge builders of Eden. It was stupendous, with all the colors a rainbow is supposed to have but never does. I stared at it, arching over the island. It made things seem not so bad.

Then my smile faded. Two sailmakers were rappelling down the port side of the
Aurora.
I knew what they meant to do. I did not want to see this. The very thought of it sent a razor’s shiver across my belly, as though it was me about to be slit with a knife. Captain Walken had emerged from the control car with Mr. Rideau and was standing back to supervise the work.

I was quite close to the ship now, and I realized I’d stopped walking, was just standing there, staring. I tried to look away but couldn’t. They’d chosen a section where the skin was already limp against a punctured gas cell. I saw the sailmakers take out their knives, their blades flashing. In went the tips. I felt myself flinch. No. No. I couldn’t bear it. I was close enough to hear the tearing fabric and the hiss of the last escaping hydrium. The wind carried the distinctive scent to my nostrils.

And I suddenly remembered the cave: the hiss of the snake, the smell of mangoes.

“Stop!” I shouted up at them. “Don’t!”

The sailmakers paused and looked down at me. The captain and first officer turned.

“What’s the matter, Cruse?” Mr. Rideau said irritably.

“You don’t need to!” I cried out.

“What?”

“There’s hydrium!”

“What’re you on about, boy, we’re busy!”

“Don’t cut the ship! There’s hydrium here on the island!”

“Sir, the boy’s fast becoming a nuisance,” said Rideau.

“Let him speak,” the captain said. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier, Mr. Cruse?”

“I thought it was just mangoes at first, sir, but when I looked there were no trees anywhere around. And it wasn’t mangoes—hydrium smells a bit sweeter. Getting a whiff of it just now made me realize.”

“Where was this?”

“We took shelter in a cave, sir, during the typhoon. I could smell it then, and later when the storm was shushing down I heard a hiss. I thought it was a snake, and we hightailed it out. But it wasn’t a snake at all. It was hydrium, venting from the cave!”

The captain said nothing. The two sailmakers were poised overhead against the ship’s hull, looking down and listening. Mr. Rideau glared at me.

“Be sure of this, boy, for it would be a terrible thing to raise all our hopes.”

“Truly, I’m almost positive,” I said, though I felt less sure now under Rideau’s steely gaze. “The cave went way back, and deep. It must’ve been coming from a vent.”

“This is remarkable news you bring, Mr. Cruse,” said the captain.

“I can take you there, sir.”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

“Even if it’s there, what use is it to us?” said Rideau to the captain. “It might be a crude variety, unrefined. And in any event we’ve no way of transporting it through the forest to the ship.”

“But we do!” I said. “We’ve got miles of rubber hosing! I helped shift it from the cargo hold yesterday. We could run a line from the cave to the ship. With one of the ship’s pumps to draw the gas along, we could easily refill the cells once they’re patched!”

“Should we proceed with our work, Captain?” the sailmakers called down.

“Absolutely not,” said the captain. “Hold off until we’ve visited this cave and seen if Mr. Cruse’s hunch is correct.” The captain laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “I have a lucky feeling it is, knowing you, Mr. Cruse. Was there ever a more remarkable cabin boy?”