Chasing the Lantern(59)

"Dead ahead," called the bow lookout as the airship rounded a bend in the river. "Wreckage dead ahead!"

Mordecai met Natasha's eyes. She turned and strode up the deck eagerly. "Bring us in slow," he said to Konrad. Their navigator nodded and Mordecai moved to follow his captain.

They passed the Mechanist on their way up to the bow. The Brother of the Cog was oblivious to their journey, only mildly interested in the strange new continent. Of far greater concern to him was the care of his ship. He moved along the skysail mounts with two press-ganged pirates in tow, examining the damage wrought by the Stormwall and by Fengel's crew back at the Maelstrom. This man was made of different stuff than the milksop youngling they'd had back on the Copper Queen, and it pleased Mordecai.

Natasha slowed her pace toward the front of the ship. "How go the repairs?" she asked the Brother of the Cog.

The older man paused. "You are continually pushing this vessel beyond its designed capacity."

"Our apologies," said Mordecai. "But it was necessary to breach the Stormwall."

The Mechanist grunted. "I do not refer solely to that. This entire excursion has exceeded the recommended equipment margins that you agreed to upon taking ownership of this vessel. A penalty shall be applied once we return to the Yards."

Mordecai glowered. "Now see here—"

"It appears I misspoke," said the Mechanist, cutting him off. "A larger penalty shall now be applied once we return to the Yards. Do not force me to increase that number." With that, the Mechanist turned and stalked off. Natasha glanced at him and shook her head. Her meaning was clear; the Mechanist was stodgy, and not worth irritating further for the sake of pride.

Mordecai and his captain reached the bow just as the whole ship rounded the bend. The river continued more northeasterly from here, wide and flat. But it was bisected directly ahead by a sandbar. On it lay a warship.

The H.M.S. Albatross was a newer vessel, a steam frigate. It was long and heavy, made of dark seasoned oak. Like any sailing vessel it had three masts hosting a magnificent array of sails. But amidships were two massive paddlewheels with armored housings. Cannons poked their stubby noses out in regular intervals along the top deck and those below. She had been recently painted and was a pretty vessel indeed.

Well, almost. The Perinese warship lay beached on its port-side, a gaping hole in its belly open to the river. One mast was broken and its sails dangled from the others, their rigging torn and tangled. Shattered wood, rope, and other flotsam floated in the water at the base of the hulk, where the sandbar made a small tidal pool.

"Yes," hissed Natasha in pleasure. She flashed Mordecai a feral, wicked grin and turned back to the ship. "Everyone on deck!" she yelled. "Get the holds open, and prepare to go ashore! Konrad, bring us in to a holding pattern."

Mordecai caught her eye. "We should arm." His captain raised an eyebrow and he continued. "According to our sources, that vessel only wrecked on the rocks a week ago. There's bound to be someone left aboard, even if the tide sucked her up here past the Stormwall."

"You don't think they went back to Breachtown?"

He nodded. "Certainly they sent someone. But this is a Perinese ship. Her captain wouldn't have dared risk losing all that gold and silver; he'd be strung up, or cashiered at the very least."

Natasha nodded. "Wise." She raised her voice again down the deck and gave the order to bring blades and guns to hand.

They approached the wreck. The crew assumed their customary positions, ready to throw ropes from either side of the deck and quickly rappel down. Konrad was uncharacteristically quiet, and brought them in slow and steady. The Mechanist disappeared back to his warrens. Mordecai stood with Natasha at the bow, a hand-picked crew of five others ready to join them in descending to the treasure-ship.

A thousand feet became five hundred, then two hundred and fifty. "Close enough," said Natasha. She let out a cry and it echoed about the deck. Ropes were thrown over the side and the pirate captain went first, leather gloves letting her slide down to the sand below.

Mordecai shoved the others toward the line. As first mate it fell to him to be more calculated, more reasonable. If Perinese sailors were waiting, he needed to be able to call out warning from his higher vantage.

No one arose on the wreck of the Albatross. Heads didn't poke up from behind the gunwales or from beneath the forecastle. No crewmen ducked out in alarm at the noise on the beach. Natasha hit the sand followed by the others in the first wave, seeming for all the world the only ones around.

Mordecai frowned at the lack of reaction and took the bow-rope in his own gloved hands. He slid down it, shoulder aching still from the arcane attack he'd suffered during the fight with Fengel's Men. He touched the sand of the beach with a thump and drew his sword.