Iron Horsemen (8 page)

“Check the helium bags. Look for leaks.” Mr. Singh opened the hatches. “This section isn't insulated, so it'll be cold and windy. Crawl through and climb in between the bags. Take these patches and glue.”

I nodded and crawled in head first. The wind howled against the hull. It deafened and chilled me to the bone. I moved along the metal planking, excited to see what kept this aero-dirigible afloat. The crawl space ran along the spine of the vessel before opening up above me. Three huge bags, taut to the point of bursting, were secured to the inner bracing by thick metal straps.

Determined to please Mr. Singh and the captain, I squeezed around and felt all the seams of the helium bags. On the third one, I felt a small blast of air, and noticed the bag wasn't as taut as the others. Pulling the patch I'd tucked into my leather strap, I applied the glue to the bag. I smoothed the treated canvas patch over the leak and cleaned up the excess glue with my finger. Unable to feel the draft of escaping gases, I crawled back out and found Mr. Singh and Genevieve waiting.

I smiled big and said, “I plugged the hole on the back bag.”

Mr. Singh corrected me, “You sealed the number drei portside helium container.” Then he showed us the tanks located just outside the engine room to check the pressure in the bag I'd repaired.

Gustav called us for lunch with a cowbell.

I devoured my meal, a mix of salted meats and bread, but all I could think about was the training that would follow. Genevieve looked less enthused but still accompanied me to the top deck after lunch. Captain Baldarich waited with Hunter and Ignatius. Mr. Singh walked behind us and nodded to the captain as we arrived.

Baldarich hit Ignatius's shoulder, “See what this kid has.”

“With pleasure.” He threw off his duster and raised his fists.

My excitement drained, I wanted to learn, but Ignatius looked
too
eager. I raised my fists, but the little voice in the back of my head kept screaming this was a bad idea. I'd
only fought the school bully twice and had lost once, but that was over a year ago.

Ignatius swung and I dodged it, which felt good and I missed the second punch, but not the knee that accompanied it. Doubled over and struggling to breathe, I stood up as much as I could and readied to fight. The voice was right—bad idea. My gut seized up and I couldn't breathe.

The captain grimaced, along with the others standing beside him. “Come on kid, that's not how you fight. Use your surroundings. Keep moving, keep your arms up, and for god's sake keep an eye on him.”

Ignatius chuckled. “You might as well crawl back to the crib if that's the best you got. Try this.”

As the cowboy took his next swing I ran toward the wall, not wanting to get hit again. Ignatius laughed, but I stepped on the railing and sprang off, punching him in the face.

Captain Baldarich clapped his hands. “Excellent, that's how you fight.” He stepped between us as Ignatius charged me. “Let's see if the kid can shoot, then we'll see how they handle the blades.”

Hunter opened the door and the wind rushed in whipping their long coats against them. I stared out at the clouds, the vast ocean below and the majesty of the endless blue above and below shrunk me to a pea. I saw the curve of the horizon, the very shape of the world.

Hunter grabbed a couple of treated canvas balloons and filled them with helium. He brought us to the door. Using a modified shot-put launcher mounted to the wall, he flung the balloons into the open sky, where they drifted away on the wind. Taking a rifle that leaned against the wall, Hunter handed it to me. “Focus your aim, steady your breathing, and when you're ready, ease the trigger, don't jerk it.”

Baldarich laughed. “Pretend it's the Kaiser.”

I raised the rifle and took aim. Easing the trigger, the rifle exploded and kicked like a bucking bronco. The balloon popped, spraying a cloud of black dust through the sky.

Hunter smiled. “I filled them with soot.”

The captain chuckled, “Nice shot, kid!” He turned to Genevieve. “Your turn, let's see if the little lady can shoot.”

Genevieve walked over and took the rifle from me. She opened the breach, popped the shell out and took another cartridge from Hunter. Once loaded she raised the rifle and in a determined voice said, “Pull.” Ignatius and Hunter nodded to each other.

Hunter loaded the next balloon and flung it into the air. Genevieve waited, letting it drift away and then fired. She handed the rifle back to Hunter. Captain Baldarich and I went to the door and looked out. A puff of black hung in the sky and the captain laughed.

As they turned around, she stood with her hand on her hip, “As I said, my father trained me—in skeet and sword.”

Next the captain had Mr. Singh test us. Genevieve used the saber she'd brought with her. It was beautiful with a silver hilt and an oval piece of lapis lazuli in the pommel. She and Mr. Singh fought in the enclosed space, and I watched in awe. I'd never seen two better swordsmen.

The captain handed me a cutlass with a bronze hilt and leather wrapped handle.

Mr. Singh popped it out of my hand with the first move and it clattered against the metal planking.

I picked it up and tried to surprise the Indian warrior, but Mr. Singh parried it aside and slapped me on the back. After several more attempts, I finally handed the sword over to Mr. Singh.

“I think I need more work on the sword. Can I go back to shooting things?” I grabbed the black club from my bag. Grooves cut into the cold steel handle hid the mechanics of the club. “Maybe this would help?”

Captain Baldarich stood up and walked over. “Where'd you get a Thumper, kid?”

“I took it off one of the guys who kidnapped my father.” I looked at it. “Why do they call it a Thumper?”

“Here.” The captain took the club and unhinged the handle. “You're in luck, I took this from a guy a week ago. It's a special kind of percussion cap.” He slipped it into the pommel and closed the breach. “Here you go kid, point this out the door and I'll show you.”

I took the Thumper, pointed it out the door and Hunter flung a balloon. As it crossed my aim, I pushed the button and the cap inside ignited. The thick end of the club slid forward like a piston. A concussive force blew out the end, flew through the air and shattered the balloon. The recoil knocked me into the railing. My wide, excited eyes drifted from the small dark cloud to the club. I unhinged the breach and the smoldering brass cap fell to the deck.

“Wow.” I hurt in three places but didn't care.

The captain chuckled. “Just imagine if you hit the bad guy.”

I sat in the sun's warm glow as it poured through the port window, studying the Thumper held firm in my hand. I used the leather strapping wrapped around me to secure a leather holster I'd made to my right leg. I checked to make certain it laid flat. I was having more fun than I'd had in years, but thoughts of my father's captivity brought me out of the clouds.

Genevieve strolled up and sat on the same ledge. I holstered the club and liked feeling its weight pulling at my side. Pushing my hair back I said, “You're an amazing fighter. Why did your father train you so well?”

As I mentioned her father, her face sank. I kicked myself for mentioning him because I'd just been struck by the same pain and didn't like passing it along to her.

She steeled herself and rose to meet my gaze. “For generations, men in my family have been knights of the crown. My grandfather said we're related to St. George the Dragon Slayer. Everyone—men and women—must be able to protect themselves and, if need be, protect the crown.”

On cue, like a Shakespearian actor, Rodin flew in and landed between them. Genevieve scratched his head, and his tail whipped about.

“How'd you find Rodin? Did your father fight his mother?” Rodin whipped my leg and I let out a groan. “Sorry, is that a sore subject?”

Genevieve smiled and pulled the dragon into her lap. “No, he's just being playful. Rodin actually understands quite a bit of English. My grandfather found his egg in a treasure horde. He thought the bronze egg wrapped in studded-leather bands was a medieval relic. I don't know when his mother lived, but he didn't hatch until I was born. We assumed he was the last of his kind, but when my father and I were in India, we heard stories of dragons in the Himalayas.”

“That's amazing.” I had read stories from throughout the millennia about dragons. When my father taught me new languages, I often tried to find stories that piqued my interest rather than boring tales of some pharaoh's failed crops. I hadn't found a culture anywhere that didn't have a dragon.

Genevieve pointed through the bolted-brass window on the other side of the vessel. A large rock rose up from the sea, and I realized the Sparrowhawk had pitched ever-so slightly downward.

Sporadic patches of green shrubs covered grayish-white stone. The port-city nestled at its base had a single main road but its busy docks were packed with people. Seagulls gliding on air currents circled the top of the rock around the airdocks.

I turned to Genevieve and asked, “Where are we?”

“The Rock of Gibraltar, isn't it beautiful?”

I pressed against the window. “I've always wanted to see the Pillars of Hercules; he struck them with his sword so he could travel to Hades.”

“It's a British colony,” Genevieve said. “It's been years since I was last here, but my father always insisted on stopping before sailing on into the Mediterranean.”

The airdocks, a set of moorings atop a ridge just below the mountain's peak, came into view as the Sparrowhawk made the last turn of its final approach. The vessel landed on a mesh of metal planking as large iron docking clamps gripped the vessel. The clattering echoed through the hull and across the docks.

Mr. Singh charged by where we were sitting, accompanied by several airmen. The crew threw open the bay door and extended a crane stowed in the ceiling. A couple of airmen opened the large cargo bay doors in the floor as more opened the doors of the floors below.

Baldarich came from the bridge and surveyed his crew's work. He nodded to Mr. Singh, who bowed in return, and then approached Genevieve and I. “Just stay out of their way, and don't go near the cargo doors. You might fall all the way to the bottom and that would mean I don't get paid.” He turned back to Mr. Singh. “Don't unload all of this until I've negotiated the price with the dockmaster.”

“Aye, captain.” Mr. Singh turned to a man maneuvering the large iron arm. “Get that crane secured!”

Genevieve and I chased after the captain, catching him on the docks. I tugged at his coat. “Can we come with you and see the city?”

“No. I have to sell the stuff we acquired and buy new supplies.” He shook his head and smiled. “Alright. You can go ashore, I suppose. You can't get in too much trouble here. Stick together and stay out of people's way. Be back in an hour.”

As we ran off, I called out, “We'll be back, promise.”

Rodin flew after us as Genevieve and I ran past some swarthy-looking men working to secure a zeppelin. I wondered if we shouldn't have asked Ignatius to join us as we scoured the island looking for clues to my father's kidnappers. Once we got off the docks, we slowed and walked down the mountain road as Rodin flew above
us chasing the seagulls. I gawked at every detail. White buildings topped with terra cotta Spanish tiled roofs, brightly lit by the sun. The sweet smell of the salty sea, the narrow streets filled with every race of the world, the docks holding ships from every harbor—it was beautiful.

We passed through the market where the strong aroma of Moroccan spices drew me closer. Golden trinkets from North Africa and ceramic relics from the holy land lined every shop. I stopped at a man selling blades from Toledo, Spain, as Genevieve drifted over to the Italian silver jewelry. We passed stands with food I had never seen before. I smiled at Genevieve and swiped a pomegranate from a distracted vendor. Ducking into an alleyway between two buildings, I split the fruit in two and handed her half. She grinned and bit into the fruit. Its juices ran down her fingers and chin. I took a bite and laughed using my cuff to wipe off the juice. I felt free, free from responsibility and free from my burdens.

And then a sandy-brown fuzz ball, a Barbary macaque, leapt down from above and swiped my fruit. Genevieve laughed as I chased the monkey around the alley. It screeched at me and then sprang to a window sill on the second floor.

“Wait,” she said. “You can't hurt them. A legend says if the monkeys ever leave so will the British, much like the ravens of the Tower of London.” She handed me the remainder of her half. “Here, have a bite of mine.”

“I wasn't going to hurt him, just scare him. Thanks.”

We shared her fruit and watched the macaque, which was quickly joined by several others. Genevieve and I laughed at the antics, as all tried to sneak a bit of pomegranate from the first monkey. Bounding around the alley and up the building, they sprang from one spot to the next, screeching and calling as they tried to get some fruit. Rodin dove and scattered the troop. The little bronze dragon delighted in
chasing them, but Genevieve called Rodin to her shoulder so he'd stop annoying the monkeys.

“We should keep an eye out for any leads on my father,” I said, bringing us back to the reality of why we were in Gibraltar in the first place.

“Agreed, Gibraltar was where my father was to start looking,” she said.

Slipping between two buildings, we stayed off the main road, hoping to avoid any problems with the city's inhabitants. We walked beneath a stone archway, a strange circular arch that didn't appear as old as the stone buildings on either side. Symbols etched on the back of the stone caught my eye, a mix of several languages and symbols.