If I could survive the fall. The airship worried him. Damn her obsessions. If this rattletrap contraption sinks into the sea, it'll take us—
Something caught his eye, to the south along the horizon. Mordecai approached the rail, pulling a spyglass from his jacket. Extending it, he peered through at the black speck floating through the sky. It was too large and far away to be a bird, and flew too fast as well.
An airship resolved through the lenses of his spyglass. The Dawnhawk. Her skysails were free and glimmering in the morning sun.
"Ship ahoy!" he cried. "Twelve points to starboard!"
The crew, trained pirates and sailors all, sprang to the starboard-side to see. The Queen listed dangerously beneath them.
Natasha ran from the forecastle, leaping down the stairs to the main deck and pushing into the crowd. "Out of my way," she cried. "Damn you. Get out of my way or I'll hang you from the prow by your balls!" She fought her way to the rails and peered out at the speck on the horizon. She cursed, then looked up to Mordecai. "The glass!"
He tossed it to her. She caught it easily, and jammed it desperately to her eye. A wordless cry left her lips. "It's her! It's my ship!"
"She's not so far out as I would have thought," mused Mordecai. "They must have swung back to pick up Lucian Thorne."
"This is it then." Natasha turned to the crew assembled about her. "Men, to arms! Navigator, hard to starboard!"
Mordecai took in the list of the ship, the squeaking of the rudder assemblies behind him, the precarious dangling of Guye Farrel along the gas-bag frame above. "Wait—"
"Hard to starboard, aye," intoned Konrad. The aetherite navigator took a breath and then slammed himself bodily into the wheel. It halted under his weight, groaned, and then abruptly spun as the linkages above were forced into compliance. They swung free, moving over as far as they could go.
The Copper Queen whirled out of control again. She spun madly, spiraling clockwise through the air. Pirates yelled in surprise and clutched to railings, the deck plates, the rigging, and each other to avoid pitching over the side. Konrad lost his balance and flew back to slam into the stern railing, its wooden poles cracking audibly.
Mordecai grabbed reflexively at the rail behind him, keeping his balance and footing. He grit his teeth and pushed off from the rail, launching himself at the wheel. The gyre of the makeshift airship pulled at him, but his fingers brushed the wooden spokes of the wheel and he clung to it, pulling himself enough to reach with his second hand, bit by bit until he stood before the helm. He heaved with both arms, teeth clenched. The wheel moved beneath his grasp, but before he could return it true it caught, the rusty linkage overhead groaning again in complaint. The ship slowed in its mad dance, a little.
Mordecai jerked at the wheel. Suddenly Konrad was there, throwing his weight into it as well. Something above them snapped, bits of rusty metal pattering down to the deck about them. They slowed further, still spinning, but not with enough force to dislodge them and send the crew flying over the side. Mordecai turned back to the deck, panting. He spied the Mechanist, gripping the rail by the stair up to the stern deck for dear life. The youth's face was green and terrified. Meeting Mordecai's gaze, he blanched.
"Sorry!" cried the Mechanist. "I—I can fix that!"
Mordecai growled and stalked over to the stair. The Mechanist quivered and covered his head. Mordecai ignored him, glaring about for Natasha. His captain stood still, gripping the rail where she'd been, white knuckled.
"You daft bint!" he cried. He knew it was improper, knew he shouldn't confront her so in front of the crew. Mordecai would pay for it later. But he didn't care. "There's no way this rustbucket and pile of dry rot can catch the Dawnhawk in a direct chase. She's got her skysails out! She's running on the southeasterly, Engmann's Run. We'd have to burn everything we've got to even have a chance at catching up. They're not burning a thing!"
Natasha glared up at him, eyes wide and half-crazed. She let loose a wordless cry of anguish, half outrage and half despair, before stalking away again to the bow, watching the spinning horizon hungrily.
Mordecai sighed. He kicked the Mechanist at his feet in the ribs. "Get this scow to stop spinning. I lose my lunch, you lose your head." The Brother of the Cog blanched again, then scrambled to his feet and ran to the deck below for his tools.
Mordecai watched him go, and watched the crew pick themselves up again. The ship still listed dangerously. He called out orders, putting things to rights again as best could be.
The ship gave another lurch as a tailwind caught at it, causing the crew to cry out and grab the rails for safety. With a wild cry, Guye Farrel went flying from the rigging along the frame above. The newcomer flew forward, slamming into the forecastle deck and rolling past a surprised Natasha to fold up just beneath the prow and the figurehead there.