"We're rising into it now," said Maxim.
"Give the word, first mate," said Fengel.
Lucian cupped his hands and bellowed out at the crew. "Ready the deck!"
The pirates dropped what they were doing and ran to their pre-assigned stations. Some climbed the ratlines to be near the gas-bag. Others ran up to the bow or back to the stern. Hatches were tightened and lines hurriedly coiled.
Fengel felt a slight shudder travel through the ship. It jolted, as if in a strong crosswind, though none was blowing. Slowly, it spun counter-clockwise without aid of their rudders, until they pointed southeast, nose out toward the blue sky over the ocean. The skysails along the outer hull rippled, caught by a force that only Maxim could see.
"Dead set," said the navigator.
"Run out the skysails," ordered Lucian.
The navigator reached over to the gearbox and pulled a large lever. A loud, mechanical clank echoed from within, and the gear-link mechanisms running down the length of the pipes stuttered and whirred. The shimmer-cloth of the skysails stretched, opening like the wings of a bat or a dragon stretched wide. The skysails flared brilliantly along the ship and they jolted forward, picking up speed as they went.
The ship settled without any further shuddering, still at speed. All about the deck the crew stood quiet—Fengel and his officers waited for something, anything, to give. He sent a spare crewman below with an order to the Mechanist to cut the engines. After a minute the vibration of the deck changed and the steam-pipe exhaust dwindled. The chain-driven propellers slowed in their spin. Yet the ship kept moving, losing only a little speed. A long minute passed. Then two. Fengel looked to Lucian and the two walked back to the stern. Far below them the waves of the ocean raced by.
"Goddess above," said his first mate. "Smooth as a baby's behind."
The crew cheered, the tension broken. Fengel allowed himself a small smile. They'd stolen the ship, but only now were they really flying it. The skysails and the aetherlines they caught were the true secret of flight, the Brotherhood's amazing discovery. No Haventown airship was really worth flying if it couldn't use them; no one could carry enough coal to make flitting all over the Atalian Sea worth it. But it was not easy to make the skysails, and every vessel was virgin until they had been tried. The Dawnhawk was well and truly theirs now.
"This," said Henry, "is a good ship."
Fengel bent over to inspect the gauges along the gearbox. He blinked at what he saw and peered up at Maxim. "Have you expended a Working?" he asked. The navigator shook his head. "Hmm," mused Fengel. "Then she's even faster than the Flittergrasp was." Despite himself, Fengel was impressed. Not that he'd let it show. "Well and good!" he continued. "Keep to the southeast course then. If Engmann will let us, we'll go all the way to the Yulan. Should only be a day or two until we hit the Stormwall, at this rate." Though the aetherlines didn't run quite straight, they were direct enough, and the coal they saved by not running the propellers would make all the difference. "Lucian, Henry, to the mess. Maxim, send someone down to us if we're needed."
The navigator nodded, resuming his stance before the wheel, focused now on the aetherial current only he could see.
Fengel took his officers down into the ship, over the lower sleeping-deck, and through the aft hatch towards the mess. Passing through the sleeper-rooms he spied the night-watch, slumbering. One of them, the skinny ex-prostitute, caught his eye.
Miss Stone snored uncomfortably in her hammock, arms and legs akimbo, her hands blistered and covered in grease. But she slept soundly. Most green sailors were unsteady and restless aboard their first ship. Indeed, Fengel remembered his own initial voyage all too well. But she was out like a blown lantern. Then again, a whore's used to a rough life. Gunny Lome was a demanding woman, though fair.
With her blonde, knife-hacked hair and oversized clothing, Miss Stone looked even more like the waif she truly was. She was stick-thin, and short from what he remembered, barely up to his shoulder. She was attractive, if somewhat boyish at the moment. Could she really adapt to the life of a pirate? I shall have to keep an eye on her.
The trio pushed on into the mess. It was empty but for Geoffrey Lords, their silent, terrifying cook, cleaning up the breakfast. As they entered he looked up and grinned, showing off his filed-down teeth, then moved wordlessly back into the kitchen to give the three of them privacy. Lucian piled a plate high with leftovers and sat near a porthole with Henry and Fengel.
"Well," said the first mate, jamming a biscuit into his mouth. "I don't mind telling you, this was a hell of a thing to pull off."