"Get back, all of you." He stepped towards the edge of the deck. Lightning crackled by, a thunderous blast that scorched the canvas of the gas-bag frame above.
Sarah Lome's eyes widened. "Sir," she said. "You can't mean—"
"Stay back, Gunny," said Fengel. Swallowing, he stepped up to the rail. Then he quickly thrust the rod out, trying to get it placed to slide down the barrel. The iron gaff-pole was heavy, and unwieldy, loosening already against the chain that bound it. Then the small hairs on the backs of his hands stood painfully straight. Fengel tasted something coppery.
The end of the rammer fit into the cannon bore. Fengel forced it down and then threw himself back at the deck. Lightning flashed, bright and actinic and impossibly close. Distantly, he felt his right arm go numb. When he hit the water-slick wood of the deck the world seemed to cave in with a rumbling crack that almost drove the sense from him.
The numbness faded to an unpleasant tingle. Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over. For a second, madly, he thought it was Natasha. But no, it was Miss Stone, looking down at him with wide, frightened eyes. Fengel realized he was smoldering.
Sarah Lome crawled over to him. "Captain," she said. "Are you—"
Another crackling blast impacted nearby, followed by a thunderous roar. Fengel flinched, then looked over to the makeshift lightning rod.
It worked. The wood was charring all around the cannon, its metal glowing dull red and hot. The iron gaff-pole was almost white, the metal hook on its end drooping like a piece of string. As they watched, another blast licked out from the storm, only to twist mid-course towards the rod.
Fengel laughed. He ached, and his sword had fallen free to skitter along the deck at his fall. But he felt wonderful. "Just capital!" he cried to his gunnery mistress. "Absolutely capital." He climbed to his feet. "Now let's do it again on the other side. Quickly now, before we all get blown to smithereens."
They hastily performed the same maneuver on the starboard-side, again just narrowly avoiding electrocution. Once done, Fengel ran up to the bow to laugh and shake his fist at the storm. The crew all stared at him in awe.
Bolt after bolt exploded throughout the cloud of the storm. The rains lashed the deck, and the winds pummeled them. The crew clung for dear life, offering up prayers, promises, curses, and whatever else they thought might convince the Goddess to let them live through the raging fury they flew upon.
And then they were through.
The Stormwall parted before them. Green jungle spread out beneath the Copper Queen, twisting and rolling as far as Fengel could see. Distant mountains rose up through the haze of the horizon, and rivers shone like silver under the late afternoon sun. Clouds scudded across the sky, pushed down and out to the base of the Stormwall on this side, but further inland the skies were clear.
Fengel turned back to the ship and let out a yell. The crew, bedraggled and soaked, looked up at him. They took up the cry after a moment, sounding amazed to be alive. As he watched, the makeshift lightning rods collapsed, the wooden rammers crumbling away to ashen flinders that blew away in the strong gale so close to the Stormwall. The cannons still glowed red-hot, charring the wood of their mountings.
Lucian made his way up to the bow, along with Sarah Lome and Miss Stone. Henry Smalls appeared, looking soaked. The little steward stared at the cannons, shaking his head. Lucian gave his captain a smile. "I cannot believe you did that."
Fengel straightened his monocle. "I only did what was needed," he replied in his most authoritative voice. "Lucian, take stock and make sure no one was unduly injured. Also, get aloft and make doubly certain that we don't have any fires." The ship was listing slightly, more so than usual. "I'm not worried," he continued, "but better safe than sorry. Check on the lookouts. Now, it's a slim chance, but let's get out that logbook. We need to discern where that wreck should be, if it did in fact float upriver."
"No need, Captain," said Lina. "Look."
The pirates all turned to follow her gesture. She pointed starboard, south of the ship. There flowed a thick river like a lazy snake, wide and argent in the light of the sun. Clouds from the Stormwall obscured it, but a wrecked sail ship was clearly visible at a wide bend in the river several hundred feet below them. The vessel lay on its side, caught between a sandbar and the shore. Past the bend on its opposite side an airship floated just a dozen feet above the river: the Dawnhawk.
Fengel made a small, animal noise in his throat. It worked. It worked, and I have you. He almost cackled with glee. Instead he spoke over his shoulder at the crew. "Lucian, get back up to Maxim, see if he can conjure us more clouds, or at least a concealing mist. Henry, get out all the spare ropes we have. I want ladders, drop-lines, anything that'll help us take them from above. Gunny Lome, get everyone armed." He patted his hip, then frowned. "Miss Stone?"