Fengel understood. The initial surveyors had been amazed at the perpetual nature of the Stormwall, but even more confused by how thin it was. According to the logbook, as well as rumors Fengel had heard from Breachtown, the Stormwall was only several hundred feet deep. So long as they could stay on course they would punch right through.
But the Stormwall fought. It twisted, pushed, and pulled. Maxim wrenched the wheel back and forth, twisting the rudder assembly and the sails it was attached to as best he could. The steam-driven propellers pushed, moving them slowly, slowly forward.
A brilliant spear of light illuminated the deck. The lightning bolt licked out from the storm to strike at the port-side gunwales. The railings blew apart, burning flinders flying up and past Fengel and his officers.
Fengel's shut his eyes til they passed, then watched as more jagged bolts tore across the sky, increasing in frequency. He fought his way to the port-side rail and leaned over. They whirled, and clouds streamed down past them. The ship was rising, buoyed by the mad currents of air and right to where the storm-bolts played.
Another lambent blast cast stark illumination across the deck. The thunder that followed was deafening. Fengel clapped his ears while Lucian and Maxim dropped to their knees. Fengel threw himself at the wheel, catching it before they lost their course. The wood was slick between his fingers though, and fought.
The ship swayed violently. Maxim slid away, rolling up against the starboard gunwales. Fengel reached down and grabbed Lucian. "Take the wheel!" he shouted.
His first mate climbed to his feet and grabbed the ship's wheel, more to anchor himself than out of duty. "What?" he yelled, sandy hair flying in the wind. "What are you going to do?"
The answer was obvious. "If those blasts catch the gas-bag alight," said Fengel, "we're done for. We need a rod!"
Lucian shook his head. "I didn't see one on board! Where are you going to find one?"
Fengel glanced about the deck. Tools and equipment rolled all about, knocked free from their lockers or not packed entirely away in the first place. There had to be something he could do.
"I'll figure something out," he said to Lucian. "Don't worry about that, just get us through this storm!"
He left his first mate to the wheel and descended to the deck. The ship swayed as he climbed, the wood of the stepladder slippery from rain. Fengel took a breath and shimmied nimbly down. He'd been through worse as a sailor.
The deck was chaos. Storm clouds obscured everything beyond the ship. The crew clung to anchor points and railings, a few dangling from cables they'd tied themselves to. The cannons were locked in place still, thankfully. More than once had he seen artillery slide free from its mount during a squall to crush some hapless bystander.
A wailing gust slammed into the airship. The deck beneath them swayed madly, tilting up almost thirty degrees. Buckets, ropes, and tools slid past him to go flying overboard. One, the long metal gaff-pole that Miss Stone had been using, caught at the hem of his jacket. Lightning blasted again, this bolt connecting with the wooden railing beside him. The spindles exploded, pelting him with burning flinders.
Fengel blinked away the afterimages as the ship settled again. Of course, he realized. He grabbed up the gaff-pole before it could fly overboard. There was his lightning rod. Now I just need somewhere to anchor it properly. He glanced about the deck and his eyes alighted on the cannon there. Perfect.
This wasn't a job for just one man though. Several pirates tumbled about the deck nearby. Sarah Lome, Miss Stone, and Oscar Pleasant being closest. "You three!" he barked. "Attend me!" He waited for the ship to level out again and then strode confidently up the deck. The three pirates scrambled after him.
Fengel knocked his catch-pole against the middle-most cannon in the row. "Gunny, Oscar, get this fat bastard unmoored. I need it pointed out and up." He turned to the waif. "Miss Stone, get me a rammer and a length of chain. I see two rolling around against the gunwales opposite us."
The three stared at him, bewildered. "But Captain," said Pleasant. "What are we doing—"
Fengel rounded on him. "Do you want to live? Get to work!" The crewman ducked his head. Sarah shrugged and bent to unlock the cannon. Miss Stone scrabbled off across the deck.
The gunnery mistress unshipped the cannon, her braid swinging in the storm as she worked. At Fengel's direction she lifted the cannon up to rest on the wooden rail. The wood complained, but held. He had Oscar secure it in place with a rope. It wouldn't hold for long, but maybe long enough.
Miss Stone returned with a rammer for loading cannon and the length of chain. He had her hold it steady while he bound the gaff-pole to the wooden rod, chain dangling down its length. Now came the hard part.