Oculus Nightingale cruised through the perpetual darkness. Zared sat on his bunk in what was laughably called his cabin. Located on the starboard side of the gondola, it comprised a small booth with the fold-up bunk, a foot-wide strip of floor space, and an electric light. A curtain stretched across the opening onto the short corridor gave a semblance of privacy. It swayed whenever people walked by outside.
A small window penetrated the outer hull above the bunk. Zared had been warned against showing any light while the shutter was open when passing through the skies of Dark Side. He didn't need the steward's advice. After one horrified glance at the ground passing so far below, he'd decided he didn't want to see it again until he stood on it. It gave him little comfort to think a thin metal hull was all that lay between him and a terrible gulf of air.
To take his mind away from disquieting thoughts, he checked the double-barrel revolver his uncle had given him days before the voyage on the airship had been booked. "It's a dangerous world, nephew," the older man had said on handing it over. "The City of Night is more dangerous than most, but these captains of the air cannot always be trusted either. I'll try to find a reliable one for the job. In any case, you'll have to defend yourself should the need arise, which it might on this mission. A dagger is fine for show, but never bring a knife to a gun fight."
Zared had felt his insides turn to liquid at the thought of violence to his person. "Is there any likelihood of that, uncle?" he'd quavered.
"Of course, there is!" Erasmus had looked at him with disgust. "Wake up, boy!" He'd gestured to the pistol. "Go somewhere discrete and practice. Gain what proficiency you can in the time you have. Your life might depend on it."
Zared had practiced to a point where he'd become proficient with the weapon. His hand still hurt from the bruising inflicted by the vicious recoil.
Sitting on the bunk he broke the revolver open to examine the components and to ensure the ammunition was free of faults or corrosion. The weapon held seven rounds in a drum-shaped chamber that fired through the main rifled barrel. A smooth-bore barrel under the main held a small shotgun cartridge fired by a separate trigger located behind the first. Zared closed and hefted the weapon, knowing he held the lives of eight people in his hand — possibly more should the shotgun spread catch others close by. It gave him a feeling of unaccustomed power.
A knock sounded on the panel by the curtain, breaking his reverie. Zared pushed the revolver under the pillow on his bunk, straightened his robe and pushed the curtain aside.
Conner the steward stood in the passageway. He sketched a salute. "Cap'n's compliments, sir and she asks if you'll join her in the lounge for dinner."
The steward's grin showed he was well aware that calling the tiny cubbyhole a lounge stretched belief beyond breaking point. Zared gave Conner an uncertain smile in return while considering the state of his stomach. It felt hollow but whether from his fear of flying or hunger, he couldn't decide. He erred on the side of hunger. "Thank you."
Conner nodded and headed off up the passageway toward the front of the gondola. Zared followed. Through some trick of acoustics, the sound of the engines seemed louder here than in the cabin. Conner led him to a doorway at the end of the passageway and gestured for Zared to enter.
He stepped into the lounge, a compartment only three times the size of his cabin with a battered table surrounded by mismatched folding chairs. Zared looked at the worn linen cloth and pretense at silverware. Compared to the dining table in his uncle's house it looked poor indeed, but Zared figured it the best the Oculus Nightingale could offer. He felt pleased to see the shutters on the windows to either side were closed against the night outside.
A sliding door directly opposite let onto the flight deck. Small electric lamps in wire cages lit the room, and he could see small paintings of people and places on the honey-colored wood paneling on the wall. A brass and leather parrot swiveled its head to look at him. He frowned at it, remembering his uncle had spoken of such a contraption.
"Zared, I'm glad you could join me."
He started, not realizing Captain Adena sat at the end of the table.
She rose to give him a formal bow, her cafe-au-lait skin, chestnut hair and dark leather clothing blending in with the general décor. Her choice of clothing bothered him. Used as he was to the covered-up womenfolk of his own extended family, the captain's low-cut halter bodice disturbed him in ways he didn't like to dwell upon. It exposed a good deal of her flat, trim midriff, which displayed a colorful serpentine tattoo and pierced navel. A small jewel twinkled in the little puckered depression. Her full breasts were pushed up by the bodice and were only partly confined by leather cups.
Swallowing, he advanced into the room and returned her bow, wondering if her choice of clothing for the occasion was a deliberate attempt to throw him off balance. "Thank you for your invitation, Captain."
"Please take a seat. Conner will serve us." As they sat, she continued in the same affable manner. "I'm sorry it's taken a while to get dinner ready. The first hour or so out from port is always a trying time for officers and crew."
"In what way?" he asked, his constant nub of anxiety growing inside. "Is there something wrong?"
She smiled. "Oh, nothing's wrong. It's the usual little annoyances that appear when a ship sets out on a voyage. We'll get you there and back safely, don't worry."
He relaxed a little. "I'm pleased to hear it." He looked around and thought of something to say to compliment her. "This is a comfortable room."
"It's a poor place compared to some, but I like it."
Zared wondered then if she'd picked up his mild contempt for the poverty on display, but Conner entered with the first course then and he put the thought aside. "How long will our voyage take, Captain? My uncle was vague."
"If the winds hold fair and we meet no trouble, it should take no more than three days there and a bit quicker on our return leg."
Zared cocked his head. "Our return will be faster?"
"Yes, of course." When he still looked at her mystified, the captain seemed to suppress a sigh. "The tailwind will help us. It blows constantly from dark side to day side, sometimes at a high rate of knots."
"Fascinating." Zared realized he'd begun to relax. "I confess the thought of flying, of being so high above the ground, scares me, but in this charming room I feel no discomfort."
Adena's lips quirked. "I'm glad to hear it. Airships are very stable, more so than people believe."
Zared nodded, tucking into his soup as Conner set out covered dishes. To Zared's surprise the meal comprised hot food. "Do you have a galley aboard, Captain?" He gestured to the bowl. "I'm surprised any means of cooking is allowed aboard, given the risks of explosion."
"We don't permit naked flames, that's true." She patted the bulkhead with obvious affection. "Oculus may be old, but she has a state-of-the-art electric stove."
"Fascinating." Zared wished he'd never thought of explosions. Hydrogen gas and fire didn't play nicely together, he knew that much. He'd never thought of journeying aboard such a craft, let alone on an important mission for his uncle. That thought reminded him of something. "Would it be permissible to pay a visit to your hold to check on my uncle's cargo, Captain? He charged me with looking after it."
"Of course. As supercargo, you have that right. All I ask is that you tell me or one of my officers first. It's for safety reasons."
"Thank you. I'll go after dinner."
Conner removed the bowls and served the main course. Zared looked at the food on his plate, large triangles of bread which appeared to be covered with a red sauce, cheese, meat and vegetables. "May I ask what this is, Captain?"
She'd already begun eating and swallowed a mouthful to reply. "It's called pizza. Something from Earth, or so Cookie says. Try it, it's great."
He picked up a slice, trying to emulate the way Adena held it, and bit off the sharp end. A wonderful variety of flavors filled his mouth, and he grunted appreciatively in spite of his manners.
Adena wiped a dribble of sauce from her chin with a napkin and smiled. "Good, isn't it? Cookie learned the recipe off an Earthling refugee from the City of Night. Of course, he can't get all the ingredients the recipe needs, but the refugee told him he's gotten close."
"I think he's done a creditable job." He swallowed the first delicious bite. "Do you venture to the City of Night often, Captain? I confess I'm apprehensive about going there."
Adena leaned back in her chair with a glass in her hand, her eyes narrowed in thought. He noticed that, unlike his glass, which held wine, hers contained beer. "You're right to be concerned. The Pure Bloods don't like visitors from outside their domain. Most times they'll tolerate a certain amount of covert trade, but they execute those they dislike in the most horrible ways."
Zared swallowed his next mouthful before chewing it properly and had to wash it down with a heavy gulp of wine.
Adena appeared not to notice his discomfort. "Having said that, the Pure Bloods spend most of their time either watching each other for inevitable treachery, or fighting a nasty low-level war between their various Houses. Those times are the best for my work. They tend to let their perimeter guard down. It means I can slip in and out without too much trouble." She smiled. "I hear there's a war on right now, so I'm sure things'll be okay on this run. We'll get you where you want to go."
Zared thought of the envelope in the inner pocket of his light jacket, sealed with wax, only to be opened one day's journey out from Penumbra City. "I hope so." He gave her a mournful look. "And I sincerely hope we can get back."
She grinned and reached for the green bottle. "Well, we'll know tomorrow. More wine?"
After dinner Adena showed Zared to the cargo hold and waited while he checked all was well. Once he'd pronounced himself satisfied, she escorted him to his cabin and headed for the flight deck. Jake Dyer stood next the wheel, his form little more than an outline in the subdued red lighting.
"All well?" she asked.
He turned and nodded. "All's well, Cap'n. I took a sighting within the hour. Our course is steady. I ordered running lights doused a few minutes ago."
"Good. No sense in advertising our presence now we're away from PC." She moved up beside Jake and clapped him on the shoulder then peered out and down. Wind-rippled sand glided by below, smooth and blue in the starlight.
Jake cocked his eye at her. "How's our passenger settling in, Cap'n?"
Adena chuckled. "He's nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."
He grinned. "Doesn't like flying, eh?"
"No, but I think I settled him down."
"Any clue as to what the cargo is?"
Adena shrugged. "Zared's close-mouthed. He didn't say. To be honest, I don't think he knows."
Jake tossed a flop of his auburn hair out of his face and frowned. "I must admit I'm anxious to know exactly where we'll have to go in the City of Night."
"Agreed. It'll make all the difference as to how hard — or easy — it'll be getting in and out." She sighed. "We'll know tomorrow when Zared gives us the sealed orders. Until then, I'm heading for bed. G'night all."
A chorus of good-nights followed her from the flight deck and Adena headed for her cabin. Mr. Phibuli had chosen not to join her there to roost on his accustomed perch. She frowned at the empty place. No doubt he has reasons of his own. She settled down in bed, read for a while then turned out the light.
In the tiny booth down the passageway Zared tossed and turned in fitful sleep, dreaming of flying and almost crashing. Occasionally, he muttered and whimpered in his sleep.
Mr. Phibuli stood on the perch in the passenger lounge, flexing his claws every so often and brooding on the events of the day. The glow of his eyes illuminated the lounge in soft yellow light.
Down in the cargo hold, the Silver Lady slept and dreamed of fire and ice.