Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (3 page)

“Continue course dead ahead!” she called out, for the benefit of the crew. “We’re taking a shortcut and going home!”

The crew gave a cheer. Lina went back to watching as the
Dawnhawk
approached the Copper Isles, her bow aimed for the ore-threaded cliff tops. They grew and grew, then disappeared, replaced by a canopy of vine-shrouded palms fifty feet beneath the hull.

Then the jungle gave way to thin and twisty ravines, each fed by ocean-borne current. Jungle appeared again, only to disappear moments later. The airship flew across a thousand little islets of irregular shape until finally, after a quarter span of the glass, the waterways met to form a great lagoon.

This was the Graveway, and it was large enough for a frigate to maneuver freely within. A dozen small waterways fed it from the west, along with a single greater channel. The path to Haventown continued to the east through a long ravine. An old stone fort perched watchfully above, carved into the coppery walls of the cliff itself. Built in the Salomcani fashion, it was a relic from the early years of the original colonists. A handful of lazy sentinels paced along its crenellations, waving at the
Dawnhawk
as they flew by.

Vines atop the jungle cliffs shrouded the walls of the final approach, crawling down the sides of the ravine like a sleeping giant’s hair. Small, brightly colored birds took flight as the shadow of the airship fell over them, and gibbons climbed up into the upper branches of palm trees to hoot their indignation. Then the waterway widened into one last lagoon, and Lina found herself back in port.

The Haventown lagoon was even wider than that of the Graveway. Several smaller channels fed into the water here, though only one was wide enough for the egress of a sailing vessel. The same thick jungle foliage topped the cliffs, unbroken but for an enclave built atop the far eastern end of the cove. There a town descended a series of natural terraces to the water of the lagoon, a ramshackle settlement of precariously hanging structures interspersed by rope bridges, boardwalks, and great brass pipes.

The
Dawnhawk
made directly for the highest point of the town, where it perched atop the cliff. This was Nob Terrace, home to the rich and powerful: Sindicato fences, important pirates, and even the Mechanists, huddling within the walls of the Brotherhood Yards. Most importantly, though, this is where the Skydocks were. Built at one end of the terrace upon the slope of a low hill, the Skydocks were a stair-step series of wooden piers jutting directly out from the cliff. Almost all of which were full, its berths occupied by airship dirigibles floating serenely in an ascending line. The
Dawnhawk
made to join them, aiming for an empty space near the bottom.

Lina glanced down, taking in the rest of the pirate township. Directly below the cliff top shone the Yellow Lantern Terrace. Easily the most popular district in the town, the Yellow Lantern was where people went to have fun. Bordellos, taverns, gambling halls, smoking parlors and even a small library resided here. And unlike the rest of the town, which was really only appealing after nightfall, Yellow Lantern businesses took pride in their appearance.

Farther down lay the Flophouse Terrace, with all of the hostels and homes that it contained. If Yellow Lantern was where everyone went for fun, Flophouse was where people went to sleep. Lina knew several decent taverns there but avoided it otherwise; most of the buildings were rife with fleas.

Beneath Flophouse lay the Craftwright’s Terrace, the domain of the sailmakers, black apothecaries, and all the other independent professionals who serviced the town. The Gasworks of the Mechanists rose here as well, a mysterious facility of metal boilers and the source of the network of brass pipes that threaded through every other part of town. A towering collection of chimneys and struts rose from the center of the structure, supporting a wide platform that almost reached the terrace above.

At the very bottom lay the lowest and oldest portion of the town, the Waterdocks. Built directly atop the lagoon on a series of old-fashioned piers, the Waterdocks held warehouses and dockworkers’ taverns in a mazelike warren. A few traditional sailing ships were moored at the moment, manned by those few pirate captains without an airship. Though poor and unimpressive, the buildings were paradoxically new; rebuilding had been necessary after the disastrous wedding of Fengel and Natasha burned the whole thing down.

“Make ready to dock!” cried Lucian from back near the helm.

Lina snapped from her reverie and ran to her post along the gunwales. The
Dawnhawk
slipped neatly into a berth between the staggered masses of two other airships: the
Windhaunter
below them, and
Solrun’s Hammer
, above on the left. Lina leaped neatly off the gunwales with a heavy rope in hand and landed upon the planks. Two crewmates joined her in mooring the great airship: the reptilian Rastalak and dour Nate Wiley, whose undead brother still tottered about the hold. Lina made her rope fast to a cleat, then stood aside as Lucian ran out the gangplank.

The plank fell to the pier with a thump, and she went back aboard with the others. Everyone else was finishing their tasks, making things tight before assembling near the helm where the captains stood. Lina saw that even the outcasts from Almhazlik were here now, finally up from their rooms below. She was acquainted with Etarin and his big friend Farouk. The others—like the boy Paine and ex-soldiers Cumbers and Simon—she knew not at all. Omari was there, of course, looking peevish and uncertain at the small circle of space in the crowd around her. The necromancer was infamous aboard the
Dawnhawk
—Lina moved a bit herself to be farther away.

“Listen up!” cried Natasha, glaring back and forth among the crew. On her shoulder Butterbeak mimicked the motion. “We’re finally home. Means we’ve got a lot to do, but first things first.” She nodded to Fengel, who wheeled about to face Omari and the outcasts.

“To those who’ve found themselves unintentionally aboard the
Dawnhawk
,” he said magnanimously, “you are now free to go. Haventown is full of opportunity, so if you really want a trip back to the continent, you’ll be sure to find it here. However, Natasha and I have consulted; you’ve all proven yourselves, in some fashion, so if you seek a home and gainful employment, there is a berth here aboard the
Dawnhawk
.”

Cumbers and his younger friend looked at each other, then at Etarin, who nodded. The young boy, Paine, sulked and kicked at the deck. “Don’t
wanna
be a pirate,” Lina thought she heard him mutter.

The ex-sergeant put a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “We’ve talked it out,” said Cumbers. “There’s no place for us back on Edrus anymore. We’d all be hung as deserters. So we’ll stay.”

Omari folded her arms tightly. “Not I!” she said. “I have had enough of this ridiculous ship and your piratical endeavors. I’ve made my way in strange places before; I will do so again.”

Fengel nodded sagely. “Good. I was hoping you would say that, Omari. I wish you the best of luck.” He glanced at the boy in the crowd. “Young Paine? Don’t sulk—it’s unbecoming of both an officer
and
a pirate. See Henry Smalls in a moment. He’ll take you into town shortly.” Then Fengel clapped his hands together and smiled. “Ship’s officers! Attend us here. The rest of you are at liberty until tomorrow morning.”

A great cheer erupted across the deck. The assembled pirates moved to flee en masse. Henry Smalls peeled away from Fengel’s side to gather up the newly inducted crewmen.

“Ship’s officers stay put!” hollered Natasha above the din. “Lina Stone, Michael Hockton, and that Mechanist’s apprentice, you get over here too. And the rest of you, don’t go where we can’t round you up tomorrow! We’re off-loading the cargo then, and there’s going to be a whole host of things needed to put this ship back together. Stick to Garvey’s Hole if you’re going to carouse, which I am fairly damned certain you’re all going to.”

Lina watched her crewmates flee the airship.
What in the Realms Above do they want me for?
It wasn’t like she didn’t have things to do in town either, aside from getting falling-down drunk. Lina adjusted Runt sourly, eliciting a grumpy chirp. She moved closer to the captains. At least Michael was still here. She sidled up beside him, bumping him with her hip and then looked dismissive as he glanced at her.

“What’s going on, captains?” asked Lucian Thorne when the deck was otherwise empty. The first mate appeared mildly irritated. “I’m going to need a whole host of hands to get everything off-loaded and our stores restocked. Not to mention the rotting problem in the holds. We’ve got huge damned messes on all decks—there’s cabling and loose canvas everywhere and a ton of things to fix. Now I’m going to have to spend half of tomorrow rounding everyone back up.”

Fengel gave an understanding nod. “I know, Lucian. There’s a task we need to accomplish quietly, beforehand. Those...things down in the hold need taking care of. They need to go before we do anything else, even off-loading our booty.” He turned to Sarah Lome, face grim and unpleasant. “Gunney Lome? Go into town and find a warehouse. Somewhere out of the way down in the Waterdocks. Get those walking corpses off our ship and into...storage. Revenant-Herder Hockton? Mechanist Allen? Go with her. Quick and quietlike. No witnesses. I’ll figure out a better long-term solution later, but for now I don’t want to hear that you’ve slipped up.”

 Michael started in dismay beside Lina. “But...sir. The Waterdocks are those piers on the bottom terrace, right? How are we to get fifty walking corpses—”

The captain raised an eyebrow at him. “Mr. Hockton. I thought you’d told me three months ago that you wished to be a pirate?”

“Well, yes.” He glanced at Lina. “Sort of...”

“Then on this ship, at least, you’ll follow the
captain’s
orders. Which goes for both my lovely wife and myself. Am I clear?”

Michael hung his head. “Aye, sir.”

Lina winced. For some reason, Fengel had taken an instant dislike to Michael. She couldn’t fathom why, really. But he wasn’t the only one upset at the news. Allen frowned in dismay, though he was too much the coward to protest. Even Sarah Lome grimaced.

Natasha caught the first mate’s eye. “Lucian,” she said flatly. “You’re a slippery bastard when you wish to be, so you’re busy tonight too. Get along after that Yulani witch, Omari. I’d have just dumped her overboard, but my little book says that’s impolite.” She paused to reach up and thump Butterbeak, who was chewing on her hair. “Walking around on her own, there’s bound to be more Revenants. Especially once the locals begins drinking and gutting each other in earnest. Get them down to whatever lockup Gunney Lome here discovers. If it gets bad enough...take steps. Reaver Jane? You’re in charge of getting the hold reasonably clean. Use plenty of bleach and soapy water.”

The first mate gave a weary nod while Reaver Jane stared in despair.

Fengel clapped. “So! That’s that, then. Off you go.”

Lina frowned as the others went to their tasks. “Wait, captains? What did you call me up for?” Runt wriggled along her shoulders, and she put a hand up to quiet him.

Natasha looked at her. “We’ve got to give our obeisance to Father,” she said. “Fengel insists you come along.”

“Indeed,” continued her husband. “I’ve come to see you as a bit of good fortune, Miss Stone. Also, like me, you’re clever in a pinch.”

“Even if you’re a mutinous little traitor,” said Natasha flatly.

They separated just after that, with Lina trailing sullenly along after Fengel and Natasha. The pirate king, Euron Blackheart, held court at the Bleeding Teeth, a Nob Terrace tavern just a short distance away from the Skydocks. The trip proved quick enough, and before long she followed the captains into a wide taproom.

Lina
hated
the Bleeding Teeth. It was always sweltering, the heat coming from a plethora of lit lanterns and sconces that covered every available space. Souvenirs, it was said, from every place that Euron Blackheart had ever raided. Combined, they bathed the room in daylight brilliance.

It was also surprisingly busy. Lina stared at the collection of pirates milling around the room, like so many brilliantly colored birds.

Wait. There are captains here.Is something going on?
She spied Khalid Al-Murdawzi and Brunehilde of the
Solrun’s Hammer
. There was James Glastos of the
Powderheart
as well.

Euron Blackheart himself, the pirate king, sat in a great high-backed chair before the crackling fireplace. Beneath his outdated and faded finery, he was bent and gnarled, like an old tree grown in on itself. Eyes like hard glass peered out from above a hawk-like nose and a bushy grey beard shot through with black. A full tankard of foamy ale sat on an armrest beside him, but the pirate king was intently studying an older wooden mug, cracked and punctured as if someone had shot it with a pistol.

Beside Lina, Fengel stiffened. Natasha changed as well, her carefree nonchalance turning into something tight and brittle. They looked to one another, then strode forth as one across the taproom to stand in front of the pirate king. Lina followed, but she tried to do so inconspicuously.

Old Euron looked up from the wooden mug, his eyes widening at the sight of Natasha. “Avast!” he called out. “Why, it be my darling girl, returned home!” He glared at Fengel. “And her primping popinjay of a husband.”

Natasha actually blushed, looking embarrassedly around at the assembled captains. Fengel, on the other hand, set his jaw. He bent in a low bow. “The crew of the
Dawnhawk
has returned to port,” he said loudly, “and thus, I have come to give our obeisance to the rule of Blackheart.”

“And it be my damned poor fortune that I have to take it,” replied Euron sourly. He leaned back, still clutching the broken mug in his hoary old hands. “Ye know, back in my day a proper pirate captain wouldn’t have been bowin’ and scrapin’ like so before me. He would have damned well stood straight and told me to go off to the Realms Below!”