Chasing the Lantern(30)

"Make sure you do," Mordecai replied quietly, dangerously. "Or I'll tie you to the keel and drag you screaming across the sky. This scow needs to work, Mechanist. It needs to fly if we're ever going to catch our quarry."

He turned back to the deck, striding down it and snarling at anyone in his way. The Brother followed, but stayed quiet, suitably intimidated.

Mordecai thought black thoughts. Despite his best efforts, Lucian had slipped away again, helped along by his network of allies and a damnable knowledge of the Copper Isles. Though he'd scoured Haventown, the rogue had evaded him, and he'd been forced to return to Natasha empty-handed.

She hadn't been any more successful. All her nominal allies were missing from port, anyone who would have helped take up the chase. Conspicuously, every other captain in town was suddenly unavailable, hiding on their ships or otherwise busy. There had been only one recourse left, and it galled the both of them.

But getting the Copper Queen into the air again wasn't easy. Even with Euron's permission, only the hurried, shameful begging of the Brotherhood for a Mechanist had even made it possible, and they'd been forced to make do with the only Brother available, the green pup following him even now. With barely any supplies and a hurried rousting of the crew, Mordecai had gotten the Queen cut free from the dock and up into the sky.

They had proceeded to drift north with the wind, powerless, for most of the next day.

Eventually the Mechanist restored the old coal furnace and gave them a modicum of control. Now they were under their own direction once more, pointed southeast towards Fengel's destination along the Yulan and doing their best to make up the time lost. But the old scow wasn't even close to being a decent flying craft. It fought them constantly, forcing them to wrangle it every step of the way.

The forecastle rose up before Mordecai. He climbed the stair up to its deck. It was empty but for the lone figure of the captain, leaning on the bow where the old-style prow stretched forward. He turned to glare at the Mechanist, warning him to come no closer. The youth jerked to a stop and looked away. Mordecai approached to within a few feet of Natasha, folding his hands behind him.

The captain said nothing. Mordecai waited, knowing better. He was furious—she would be incandescent.

"Report," Natasha finally commanded.

"We're back on course," said Mordecai. "South by southeast heading. We might have over-compensated on our charting. But even under just mechanical power they've got a full two nights gain on us."

Natasha whirled. "Well, if you wouldn't insist on trying to make this broken old wreck dance, we'd have more gained!"

Mordecai flushed. "Or we would still be drifting northwards," he replied calmly. "If the Queen collapses under our feet and drowns us all in the Atalian Sea or breaks us on the rocks of the Isles, it won't matter how much of a lead Fengel has."

She snarled, teeth bared. Natasha stopped, and then turned back to the bow in a huff. "Bastard!" she cried, pounding a fist on the gunwales. "He stole my ship. My ship! And now he's getting away with her! If I ever get my hands on that poncy, fastidious son-of-a-bitch I'm going to jam that ridiculous monocle so far up his arse that he chokes on it!"

She wheeled back to Mordecai, pointing a finger at his nose. "My father. I had to ask my father if I could take this horrible rust-bucket scow back into the air! And he said yes! He smiled! Like he was proud of me!" Natasha made a horrible face, like she'd swallowed something rancid. "Get us after them, Mordecai. Fling this piece of shit their way. Damn your safeties to the Realms Below. I don't care how many men you kill to do it, or if you cut your own throat in the process. Get it done."

His captain turned back to the bow. Heat flooded into his face. Mordecai turned back to the deck, lest she see the curl of his own lip.

Unreasonable bitch. He descended back to the deck, marching back toward the helm atop the stern deck. The crew avoided him, taking the ugly look on his face for the warning that it was.

Ascending the aftcastle deck he found Konrad in place at the helm, Guye Farrel standing sullenly nearby. "What are you doing here?" Mordecai snapped at the wounded newcomer.

Guye started. "I was just—"

"Get up on the frame," Mordecai snarled. "Port-side. Check the cloth for tears. Then get over to the bow and make sure the figurehead is polished."

Guye frowned, but ducked his head. "Sir," he said, descending to the deck and making his way to the starboard rigging along the gunwales. Mordecai stood beside the ship's wheel, fighting for calm. Konrad eyed him, but wisely, for once, said nothing.

The crew were well trained. They kept to their tasks, frantically working to get the rickety vessel shipshape. Other than their shouts and groaning of the makeshift airship, the morning was quiet, the weather calm and pleasant. Though Mordecai worried about sinking, the Copper Isles were visible to their stern, not too far away should he be required to swim it.