Chasing the Star Garden: The Airship Racing Chronicles (Volume 1) (16 page)

“They are turning aside to miss the island,” Sal called.

While Sal watched what has happening below, I watched the sky above. Not too far above us, a lateral wind was cutting off the thermal. Some smaller cumulus clouds were forming at the top, a foaming bubble on our thermal boil. This was a good thing in that the thermal was releasing. Not being able to keep an eye on altitude would lead us to the same worries we had when we outran the
Burning Rook
in the
Stargazer
. On the other hand, when we reached the top of the thermal, the wind shear could grab us, and it would be a hell of a ride backward or worse. If we were sideways, it could spell disaster. I was not sure that the
Bacchus
could handle it.

“Lily, we must be out of range. They are pulling down the sail and packing in the grappling gun,” Sal said then.

“Fantastic. Now, if the clouds don’t kill us, we might just make it to Kos.” I looked at the sky and calculated.

After a few moments, Sal reported that the metal sea monster was once again diving below the waves. “It’s gone,” he said. I couldn’t help but notice the awe in his voice.

I asked Celeste to have the balloonman keep the burn pan on high. The galleyman had stuck his head out. I instructed him to keep the propeller off. An argument then ensued between the balloonman and the gear galleyman, and for a moment, I felt like Angus and Jessup were with me.

“They are debating, but they think you should turn the propeller on,” Sal said as he listened to the exchange.

Celeste stood at the center of the ship. She had gone completely pale and was holding onto a rope for dear life.

I looked back up at the clouds and considered. “No,” I said then.

Sal looked thoughtful. “No doubt you know best, my Lily.” He then turned and instructed the men to keep as we were.

Silence filled the space as we waited. The cloud bank at the top of the thermal neared. We were still spinning. I held the wheel. The rush of the wind stroked my face, and I began to feel the cool air from the approaching clouds. I closed my eyes. I remembered then the story of Aphrodite, Adonis, and the anemone flower, the blossom that could bloom in and be destroyed by the same strong wind.

It happened so gently. The
Bacchus
popped out of the thermal. A wind caught the ship from behind and pushed it softly forward. Since I’d kept the balloon overfull on hot air, the change in temperature once we were inside the cool cloud never caused the ship to stir. The lift simply slowed, and the
Bacchus
settled into the lateral wind shear. We were inside the cloud. The air felt dewy. I opened my eyes to see the deck of the
Bacchus
draped in mist.

Celeste looked around in surprise. Sal and Roni’s crew were smiling from ear to ear.

“Now, turn the propeller back on. Easy as she goes,” I told the gearman; Sal translated.

The gearman said something in Italian, smiled at me, then went below.

Sal chuckled.

I raised an eyebrow.

“He said, ‘That’s why the Italians can never beat her. She carries the winds in her heart’,” Sal translated.

I smiled. Maybe I did.

Chapter 21

A
fter we were clear of the metallic sea beast, Sal immediately went about taking notes on and drawing everything he had seen. Celeste took a position on the prow of the ship like a masthead as we floated through the clouds toward Kos. I kept our altitude high and in the cloud-cover. The deck of the ship stayed draped in fog, just like it had the evening Mr. Oleander and I had returned to London without Nicolette.

Mr. Oleander had not spoken a single word to me the rest of the trip to Dublin. When we arrived, much to my great relief, Mr. Oleander had gone into the city and had returned with a common street whore. I had lived in terror that he would make me take Nicolette’s usual role. Too frightened of what Mr. Oleander would do to me if I didn’t comply, and grieving over the loss of Nicolette, I had guided the ship into the towers at Dublin with a sick stomach. I had even considered throwing myself overboard. For me, death would have been a better fate than being handed to lusty men. The wild blonde Mr. Oleander had picked up, however, spent the entire trip from Dublin to London naked and dancing on the deck of the
Iphigenia
. She was more than enough entertainment for the hungry-eyed men. They never even noticed me.

When we arrived in London, it took some time for the customers to depart. Mr. Oleander gave the Irish girl a small bag of coin, and she went happily away.

I busied myself taking care of the
Iphigenia
. It was late evening, and the Thames had created a thick bank of fog. The gaslights in the street below shone dimly, their hue dampened by the mist. Once I had gotten the ship tucked in, I sat along the bulwark near the wheelstand and considered what to do. I could not go to the constables. Why would they believe a throwaway like me?

Mr. Oleander crossed the deck of the
Iphigenia
toward me. In this mist, I could not make out his features. He lumbered toward me like an evil spirit in the fog.

“Go down to the gear galley,” he said, his voice rough and serious.

I didn’t move.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, girl. Just go,” he told me.

I rose, my hands and knees shaking, and went below.

The gear galley is a cramped space suitable for two adults at maximum. The complex mechanical gears for the propeller lay just below the deck of the ship. A small galley increased the aerodynamic features of a ship and weighed less: the smaller the galley the better. The
Iphigenia
’s galley was tightly built. Below, a small lantern burnt. The sharp smell of grease and metal filled the space. It was a smell I usually loved. In that moment, however, I feared it would perfume my dying breath.

Mr. Oleander crawled in behind me and pulled the galley door shut with a bang. Still drunk, he was barely able to keep himself upright in the narrow space.

“Take your clothes off,” he told me.

I froze and tried to back away.

“Aye, pretty kitty, I know Fletcher is keen for you, but we need to come to an understanding. I’m going to teach you why you need to keep your mouth shut,” he said as he began to unbuckle his pants.

“I won’t tell. I promise. There is no need. Please, Sir. There is no need. I won’t tell,” I said. I was trapped.

Mr. Oleander reached forward and ripped my shirt open. I stood aghast. Just a girl, I had little to show for my womanliness. In fact, my courses had only come on me a few months preceding.

“Come on now, pretty kitty,” he whispered dangerously, reaching toward me. He grabbed my shirt by the sleeve and tugged it off of me.

I turned and fled, slipping between the galley gears. The propeller off, I was able to slide deep into the back of the ship where Mr. Oleander was too large to follow. He reached out and tried to grab me, catching hold of my foot, but I pulled my leg free, leaving my boot in his hand. I scratched my skin on a piece of sharp metal in the effort, but moments later, I had escaped Mr. Oleander’s grasp. Behind me, the old man cursed.

“Have it your way, pretty kitty. Let’s see how you like spending the night in the dark. Come morning, perhaps you will be more receptive to our new arrangement,” Mr. Oleander said with a laugh then crawled out of the galley. I heard the galley door slap shut. Mr. Oleander laughed as he slid the bolt through the lock.

“Try that for size,” he yelled then strode off the ship.

Moments later I was alone in the dark. The
Iphigenia
rocked in the cool evening air. I put my head on my knees and cried. There was no way to get out of the galley. Nicolette was gone, and I was trapped. I sat in misery, half asleep and half hysterical, until I was awakened by the sound of steps on the deck of the ship. Thinking Mr. Oleander had returned, terror seized me. I listened and soon heard the familiar humming of Mr. Fletcher.

“Sir?” I called from below. “Mr. Fletcher? Is that you, Sir?”

The boot steps stopped. “Lily? Where are you?”

“In the galley,” I moaned miserably and started climbing back through the gears toward the door.

“Why is the galley locked?” Mr. Fletcher puzzled aloud as he slid the bolt. “Lily?” he called as he opened the door.

I shimmied through the gears.

Mr. Fletcher caught sight of my shirt and boot lying on the floor. He picked them up and looked at them. “Lily? What happened? Come out, girl.”

He led me back onto the deck of the ship. It must have been very early morning. It was still very dark, and the mist was very thick. He removed his coat and dropped it over my shoulders.

“My girl,” he said, taking me by the chin, “are you hurt?”

I shook my head but the tears had already started flowing.

“Where is Oleander?” he asked, bewildered.

I could not answer him. I burst into tears in reply.

Mr. Fletcher, who had previously looked perplexed, started to put the pieces of the puzzle together. His face went red and stiff with anger. “Where did Oleander go?” he asked me again.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Where is Nicolette?”

I moaned miserably. It was too terrible to speak.

Mr. Fletcher put his hands to his lips and considered. “Come,” he said. Carrying his lantern in front of us, he led me to the Captain’s Room. He sat me down on a chaise. “Lay down, Lily. Rest. Don’t come out unless I call you. I’ll be on the deck,” he told me. Just before he blew out the lantern, I saw that the lines on his face look deeply grooved. His eyes looked wild with anger.

I pulled his coat up to my chin and breathed in the smell of him. My savior. As Mr. Fletcher opened the door to go back onto the deck of the ship, I finally found the courage to speak.

“He pushed Nicolette into the sea.” The words heaved out of me in a giant exhale. I sucked air back into me after I spoke, just barely keeping myself from hyperventilating.

Mr. Fletcher had his back to me. I saw him stiffen at my words. He did not turn around. “I know,” he said and closed the door behind him.

I did not move from the chaise, but I heard Mr. Fletcher moving around on the deck of the ship. About an hour after Mr. Fletcher rescued me from the galley, I heard Mr. Oleander mumbling to himself as he made his way down the loading platform toward the
Iphigenia
. His heavy footsteps hit the deck of the ship with a thud.

“Good morning, brother,” I heard Mr. Fletcher say. His voice was low and dangerous.

“What, ho! Back so soon? By God, about time. The Dublin trip was a disaster, by God.”

“By God, was it so?”

“Indeed, brother. You won’t believe what ill fate has befallen us.”

“Perhaps I won’t. Do tell,” Mr. Fletcher said, and I heard the warning in his voice. Mr. Oleander, too lost in the bottom of a bottle of something, had missed it.

Now more curious than afraid, I quietly slid off the chaise and snuck to the door. The seal on the Captain’s Room never closed properly and left a sizeable gap. If I knelt, I could see outside. Mr. Oleander was leaning against the side of the ship. Mr. Fletcher stood at the center of the ship holding onto the balloon ropes.

“Ehh, yeah. Nicolette has run off. Turns out she was pregnant by some lad. She musta stolen away to meet the boy.”

“How do you know she was pregnant?”

“Oh, our Lily, solid little lass, told me.”

“Where is Lily?”

“I left her sleepin’ in the galley. She was tuckered out from the trip. Curled up down there amongst the gears. It’s bad luck, brother. Bad luck, I say.”

“Bad luck. Just like when Laura died. Bad luck then too.”

“No, my brother, that was the worst of luck. Your sister was beautiful, but lord knows, she was none too graceful. I can’t cross the Channel without seeing her ghost in the waves.”

“How, exactly, was it that Laura came to fall? Can you tell me again?”

“You know, I’ve had a bit to drink, brother, and would rather not live over again something more than twenty years behind us,” he slurred but continued. “My heart hurts for that little bird. She just toppled in, right over the rail and into the brink. Waves took her before I even got the ship low enough to look for her.”

My hands flew to my mouth as I suppressed a gasp.

Mr. Fletcher was silent for a long time. In the mist, I could only see the shadow of his figure. Mr. Oleander started to fidget.

“Fog is thick tonight,” Mr. Fletcher said then.

“Isn’t it though? I half worried about falling from the tower on my way back. Can’t see five feet in front of ya.”

Mr. Fletcher laughed. “Come on now, brother. Can you give me a hand? I purchased a new chronometer. Come take a look.”

“I can’t see a damned thing. Where is your lantern?” Mr. Oleander asked.

“I left it at the back. Wick got too wet to light.”

Their voices retreated toward the back of the ship. I stood to watch them from the window. Their figures became mere shadows in the fog. I gripped the handle on the door so hard my hand hurt. I knew it was coming. I knew. I just didn’t do anything about it. It seemed like it took an eternity. But in reality, it was just moments later when I heard Mr. Oleander scream. His loud yell echoed through the foggy darkness as he fell to the ground. In the lingering silence of the early morning, I even heard his body hit cobblestones below.

I clambered back to the chaise and pulled Mr. Fletcher’s coat over my head, feeling both relieved and sick. I heard him cross the deck of the ship and open the door of the Captain’s Room.

“Mr. Oleander fell from the ship. Come with me. We need to call the constables,” he said then opened a trunk and pulled out one of Nicolette’s old lacey blouses. “Put this on. I need you dressed,” he added and handed it to me.

I slid his coat off and pulled on my boot. He lit the lantern as I redressed. I could not help but feel his watchful eyes on me as I moved, topless, in the glaring light of the lantern. His dark eyes were glued to my small breasts. I turned from his gaze and slid the top on.

Mr. Fletcher pulled his coat on and took my hand. We crossed the deck of the
Iphigenia
hand in hand. I could hear footsteps pounding down the loading platform as someone ran toward our ship.

“He was drunk. He fell,” Mr. Fletcher whispered, looking down at me.

“I know. I saw,” I replied.

“Sweet Lily,” he said, kissing me on my head, and we went together to tell a lie.