Chasing the Lantern(58)
The waif looked up. "Yes?"
"Fetch me my sword."
Chapter Twelve
"Fifteen degrees starboard," cried the lookout up on the bow.
"Fifteen degrees, aye," acknowledged Konrad. He spun the helm wheel until the bow of the Dawnhawk shifted to follow the bend in the river.
Mordecai watched Natasha. The pirate captain stood proudly by the helm, smiling, golden eyes bright. She called out orders to the lookouts, having them check every wake below the water to see if it were really wreckage. They prodded at the water with long wooden gaff-poles, so far finding only submerged rocks and startled crocodiles. The Dawnhawk floated a dozen feet above the Silverpenny River. They kept a slow pace, moving as little as possible as they hunted for the wreck of the Albatross. It was not easy work. Strong gusts from the Stormwall pushed at the ship from the rear, driving it off their course toward the northwest bank and the thick jungle there.
The last day had gone surpassingly well. They had regained their ship and taught a lesson to the thieves who'd dared to take it. The particulars of that lesson had deeply irritated Mordecai at first; were it up to him, they would have just cut the throats of Fengel's Men and been done with it. Natasha's insistence on leaving them alive was foolish. Still though, even that poor choice could not dim the pleasure he felt at being back in his proper place. And, he supposed, in the end the results would be the same; there was no way that Fengel would worm his way out of his predicament. In time the ship would lower enough to drown them all, if simple exposure didn't finish them.
After regaining the Dawnhawk, Mordecai and Natasha had conferred with each other, for once finding that they were in complete agreement. His appalling thievery aside, Fengel's lead was a good one. A whole frigate stuffed to bursting with foreign treasure, ripe for the plucking. So why not find and take it for themselves?
They took stock of supplies and damages to the ship. Finding the former ample and the latter minor they had flown on, coasting along the slight curve of Engmann's Run. By the time the dawn rose they'd reached the Yulan coast. From there it had been most of the effort of a day to locate the mouth of the Silverpenny River.
It was rare for any pirate, water or sky, to come this close to the strange eastern land; there simply wasn't anything worth taking. Mordecai found that the rumors of the place were understated, if anything. The Stormwall raged and wailed, pushing them away with violent winds only to create cross-drafts that sucked them back in again. They had spent hours just trying to approach the perpetual storm without plunging straight into it, repeatedly skirting around the edge of it, close enough to examine the mouth of the river.
Because the mouth of the Silverpenny River was empty. No tall ship lay among the rocks scattering the small bay, and no wreckage was visible on the nearby beach below the storm. Ultimately Natasha decided that the H.M.S. Albatross must have been sucked upriver by the tidal flow, and Mordecai was forced to agree.
They'd come too far to give up now, and so with great trepidation had entered the Stormwall. Or at least, somewhat. Over the river mouth it weakened, almost opening. Moving carefully they were able to just slip beneath the unnatural weather, the ship itself so low that when a strong gust caught them wrong the Dawnhawk brushed the choppy froth of the river. Rain drummed the gas-bag frame, and they lost two men up among the ratlines, blown clean off and lost to the storm. But before long they'd pushed through to the other side. Now they drifted, hunting for treasure with the raging wall of wind at their backs and the Yulan Interior spread out before them.
"Portside," shouted Natasha. "Three yards off. Check it."
The land was strange. Little things all about the airship reminded Mordecai that this was an old continent and an alien one as well. The waters of the river below them were mostly clear, though it shone argent in the light of the setting sun. The banks on either side were made of fine grey sand, so unlike the clean white of the Copper Isles. Beyond that lay jungle, thick and dark. Gibbons and brightly colored lizards hung from the trees. One of the latter took flight, spreading wide wings to flap across the river past the stern of the Dawnhawk. Mordecai blinked in surprise as the creature passed on by. Scents of citrus and rich earth wafted out from the jungle, mixing with the ozone smell of the Stormwall behind them. The whole place made Mordecai feel uneasy.
"Just another crocodile," shouted Guye Farrel from the portside ratlines.
"Then keep looking," snarled Natasha.
The new pirate glowered, but turned back to the river before he thought they could see him. Mordecai was amused. The man had been beaten, berated, and all around battered since joining their crew. His once well-groomed brown hair was limp and oily. Life as one of Natasha's Reavers was likely not turning out the way he thought it would have. During the fight with Fengel's Men he had acquitted himself well enough, though he had lost a pair of fingers to Lucian's sword. Yesterday, well after the fight, he had appeared from down belowdecks with an ugly red boil swelling on the side of his neck. Farrel claimed that he had been attacked by an angry beast down in the bowels of the ship's storage. Mordecai thought it far more likely that he was drinking something unusual that Fengel's crew had left behind.