Chapter Six
"Hard to starboard!" screamed Mordecai from halfway up the stairs to the aftcastle deck. "Hard to starboard, damn your eyes!"
Konrad fought with the ship's wheel. Their navigator threw himself bodily at it, trying to force the ship onto its new course. The man swore in his native tongue, face red behind his bushy beard at the effort. Mordecai ignored him, eyes locked on the aft rudder assemblies. They jutted out from either side of the stern of the ship, connected to the gas-bag frame above by pulleys, wire, and old rope. The linkage controls connecting the ship's wheel squealed and groaned, fighting the foreign navigator. All of it was either moldering or rusted, not yet repaired in the hasty retrofitting they'd undergone.
The navigator turned to the invisible daemon on his shoulder. "Scheiss!" he screamed. "Shut up!" With a growl he threw himself again at the wheel. This time it gave with the sound of metal squealing upon metal, and Konrad went flying past to tumble down the aftcastle deck, landing against the rails, his balance gone. The ship's wheel spun madly, the rudder slamming hard to one side. Mordecai felt butterflies in his stomach as the Copper Queen listed. The crew tumbled, yelling and fighting for purchase while shadows cast by the morning sun stretched crazily across the deck.
Mordecai reflexively grabbed the rail along the stair, holding fast as the ship spun. He pulled himself up the steps to the deck, determined to get this scow of an airship back under control. Just as he reached the top a flash flew across his vision; Guye Farrel, the new crewman, leaping up from where he'd fallen to take the wheel. He latched on, yelling in pain as it cracked him across the face, but refused to loosen his grip. Farrel slowly brought the wheel back to even keel against the wind. The ship righted a little, and the crew climbed back to their feet and back to their stations, swearing and groaning.
"Well!" said the Mechanist. "It actually worked. That's a good sign, yes?"
Mordecai turned back to the Brother of the Cog. He stood just below him on the stair, still clutching its rail in a white-knuckled grip. The Brother was young, red haired and freckle-faced. Like all his kind he wore a leather greatcoat, so massive and baggy that it was impossible to tell the shape of his frame underneath. However, unlike the more senior members of his order, his coat was pristine, still smelling of oil rather than the burned leather and engine-grease stink that denoted experience among his kind. The youth beamed up at Mordecai, his silly grin making the peach-fuzz stubble on his upper lip even more apparent.
At Mordecai's withering glare he swallowed. "Of...of course there are still a few kinks to be worked out. Bound to, a ship this old." He rallied. "But I'm positive that I can get that rudder moving smoothly by suppertime."
Mordecai didn't bother with a response. He glanced back at the wheel, where Guye Farrel stood proud and assured as he kept the ship on course, brown hair flying in the wind. The pirate was shirtless but for the bandage wrapped around his chest, holding in place a pad along his ribs where Natasha had shot him two nights ago. He was obviously still in pain, though trying not to show it, still eager to prove himself. Mordecai knew his type; Farrel was convinced he was the star of his own personal penny-play. He would show the man his place as soon as he had the time, after they caught up to their prey.
Farrel caught Mordecai's gaze and smiled, awaiting a sign of approval. Behind him Konrad climbed back to his feet, then roughly shouldered the newcomer aside, still swearing unintelligible foreign invective. He gripped the wheel, then turned his fury to Farrel. The newcomer fell back, startled. Mordecai smiled and turned his attention back to the deck.
The Copper Queen stretched out before him, an improbably flying mess of dark wood. His crew scurried everywhere, replacing rope and cable, hauling light-air gas canisters up to the frame above. The ship was loud, creaking constantly. It groaned, sighed, and generally complained like an arthritic old man.
Mordecai glowered. What a miserable wreck.
Only one figure wasn't frantically moving about. Natasha stood atop the forecastle on the bow of the ship, staring fixedly ahead. Mordecai sighed and made his way down toward her, straightening his sword and his jacket.
The Mechanist followed his descent, trailing like a lonely puppy. "Those linkages are old; once we get back into port I can swap them for the new pulleys Rontpellier designed. That should increase the speed of the ship's turning by a good ten percent at least."
Mordecai halted, wheeling to face the Mechanist. "Can you keep the ship from wallowing like a drunken sow every time we change course? Can you do that now?"
The young Brother quieted, looked at his feet. "I'm...I'm sure I can fix that," he finally said.