“We’ve just gotten a ping, Captain.” The airman rushed into the dining room, disturbing their breakfast, which, like the last two weeks, had been quiet. The captain and Philip had been pleasant, though distant, companions. Or rather she and the captain had been distant. Philip tended to be gregarious when he could get either to talk.
The young airman held a hand-sized metal box topped with a horn similar to that on a phonograph. Prism’s stomach tightened, something about his manner, a mixture of eagerness and fear, alarming her. Just what was a ping?
“How long do we have?” Davy tossed his napkin onto the table as he rose, Philip doing likewise.
“Not long, sir, but not imminent.”
“Miss Andrews.” Davy turned to her. “I suggest you change into something more suitable for a pirate attack. Philip, please see that the cargo is secured, and stay with it.”
“What’s a ping?” Prism asked as she rose, Philip pulling her chair out for her. “What has that to do with pirates?” Prism barely stopped a gasp as Philip slipped the handle of a throwing knife into her palm. He winked at her, then followed the captain to the door.
“Look after yourself, Davy,” Philip said, clapping the captain on the shoulder, distracting him while Prism stowed the knife in her skirt pocket. “And don’t neglect our guest.” He grinned at her, then left.
Davy turned back to her, and Prism forced a bright smile. His brow furrowed. She toned down the smile. “A ping, Captain?”
He raised an eyebrow, shot a look after Philip, then held out his arm to her. “We send signals through the air; they bounce back to us when they hit something. It’s how bats fly and find food. It tells us another ship is hiding in the clouds.”
A ping meant pirates.
Where was the closest parachute?
Stiffening her spine, she tossed the idea overboard. She had offered to help, and she would. She took Davy’s arm.
Feeling the captain’s eyes on her as he escorted her to her quarters, Prism wondered if he was regretting his bargain with her father. She lifted her chin. She was not going to get in the way or faint or go into hysterics. She hoped.
As they reached the door to her quarters, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then released her. “We’ve not lost a fight yet, Miss Andrews. We’ll see that you’re kept safe, even if in an unconventional manner.”
Prism glared up at him, wondering vaguely if her glares would be as effective without the threat of her father to back them up. “You are not locking me in my room.”
They’d obviously lost their effect, for one corner of the captain’s mouth curved. “I wouldn’t dream of it. There’s a window that opens.” He winked at her, a charming twinkle in his brown eyes. Prism’s mouth dropped open. He bowed, then strode away, a confidence in his manner that soothed her concerns despite herself. He disappeared around a corner.
Belatedly, Prism huffed. A window that opens, indeed.
“Wear something that allows for freedom of movement,” he called back to her, making Prism jump. Huffing again, she hurried inside, butterflies of two different kinds swarming in her stomach.
Prism changed into an appropriate costume, collected her small pistol and belted on the knife. It was one of hers. The captain and his men hadn’t searched her, but they’d apparently searched her trunks. Had they returned everything to her?
A few minutes later, dressed in boots, loose trousers, a vest and blouse, and a jacket, Prism stepped onto the deck and adjusted her goggles to match the outdoor lighting, dim though it was through the clouds. Down the deck a ways, Davy and his men stood in conference beside a long, cylindrical weapon of some sort. Its horizontally elongated arm was partly covered by a tarp and mounted on a swivel base. A giant coil of rope lay in a bucket beside it. A modified harpoon gun? What did they hope to spear in the air?
“What say you, men?” The captain’s cheerful question arrested her attention. “Colin? Shall we employ Chance today?”
While the majority of sailors whooped, Colin, the tall blond with the wrist tattoo and passable knife throwing skills, nodded, a strangely earnest look on his face. At least three others shared that look.
A man’s whistle captured the airmen’s attention and flung it to Prism, where it stayed. Her jaw tightened. The stares always took a while to get used to, even after a lifetime of performances and wearing goggles everywhere. Despite having been on board two weeks, she hadn’t mingled with the crew; they were strangers to each other. She ate with Davy and Philip, sometimes being joined by the three men who’d given her a tour; took her scheduled exercise alone; and occasionally joined Davy and Philip in the evenings. The crew’s stares were friendly and kind, but she didn’t particularly like being the center of attention, unless it was during her act.
“Gentlemen, Miss Abigail Andrews, our guest until Calandra, is bravely joining our fight today.” Davy stepped to her side, not in the protective way her father often had, but in a comforting way, his manner declaring she could trust his men. “Miss Andrews, allow me to formally introduce my men, the crew of the Dawn Singer, the fastest, highest flying airship in the skies.”
The pride in his voice made her smile. The tightness in her chest eased, until she met his gaze and noted the caution there. Could his men trust her? it asked. What had she done to deserve that look?
Amid the chorus of welcomes, someone cried, “Let her do it. She’d get us a good one. She’s a lucky gal, I can tell.”
The captain’s eyes shuttered, and a shiver raced down Prism’s back. “Would you like to do the honors, Miss Andrews? You claimed marksmanship skills earlier. Here’s your chance to prove them.” He gestured to the harpoon gun.
“What would I be aiming at?” Prism looked past the grinning sailors to the clouds cloaking the ship approaching on the port side. Slight shadows altered the grays and whites of the cloud, its edges growing. An airship was nearing them and fast.
“The pirate’s ship, of course, or rather one pirate in particular, whichever one happens to be in the right spot on the deck.”
Prism cast a look of horror at the harpoon gun, its merciless tip still hidden. “That’s barbaric.”
“My dear Miss Andrews, need I remind you that these are pirates? That they’re about to attack us? That you agreed to help defend the ship?”
“If we made ourselves easy to find, what does that matter?” An airman laughed.
“But they can’t even see you!” Prism protested. “It would be like stabbing a man in the back. And with a harpoon! I repeat, that’s barbaric.”
“They’ve been hunting us, Miss Andrews. If we choose to strike first, what of it? It is part of my duties as an airship captain to protect the skies.” He led her by the elbow toward the harpoon. “Choose your target wisely. Chance hasn’t failed us yet.”
Prism planted her feet and crossed her arms. “I’ll not use that.”
He pointed to the darkening area she’d spotted earlier. “The ship’s just through the clouds there.”
“I’ll not use it.”
Davy shrugged, and she almost thought a corner of his mouth was trying to twitch up. “The lady refuses Second Chance, lads, though I’ve always considered it my best invention. Colin, it’s up to you. Strike fast, for they’ll be upon us soon.”
“But, Captain—” she began. Davy took a firm hold of her arm, and she shut her mouth.
Colin lost no time in stepping to the harpoon and sweeping off its cover, but Prism refused to look at its tip, focusing instead on the blond airman. He aimed toward the growing shadow, bent his head as if in prayer, then released the harpoon.
Prism’s stomach twisted as the rope uncoiled loop by loop. A man’s scream tore through the fog. And grew louder. And full of curses and threats.
“Watch your heads, men,” Davy cried as a black mass bound with ropes and netting hurtled over the bow and sank into the starboard clouds.
As the men raced to the side, grumbling that they couldn’t see for the clouds and guffawing about something, a moan and a hair-raising screech ripped from the very heart of the airship. Prism gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
Davy patted her shoulder. “There, there, Miss Andrews. It’s nothing for you to worry about, just a Banshee we’ve tamed.” His lips twitched, the earlier caution in his eyes having given way to a teasing twinkle.
“Don’t ‘there, there,’ me.” Prism shoved him away. He rocked back on his heels, then took a step back, grinning. “Circus performers aren’t the only ones who deal in illusions, I see, Captain Bowditch. That person dangling over the side is alive, I take it? That wasn’t a harpoon but a net.”
He shrugged. “If one of your fellow pirates vanished from the deck as if grabbed by a spectral hand, and then you heard such a moan and wail through the mist, would you not be tempted to tuck tail and run?” His grin turned smug. “We hardly have to fight at all.”
“Yes, but you could have told—”
Boom!
Davy pulled Prism down beside him as a projectile barely missed the port bow.
“Tuck tail and run, Captain?” Prism said shakily as Davy helped her to her feet.
“I did say hardly.” Davy yelled across the deck, “Parachutes, men! Prepare for action.”
“It’s got to be O’Connor,” one of the airmen yelled. “Only he’s ornery enough to drop an airship without taking the cargo.”
“The pirate whose men were in the parts store?” Prism asked as she ran with Davy to the parachutes. Even she’d heard about the pirate Cavan O’Connor.
“He doesn’t care for me,” Davy answered quickly.
“Captain Bowditch stole his best gunner from him.” An airman guffawed as he tossed Davy a parachute.
“Who also happened to be his only son,” another chimed in. “Snatched him right off the deck and let him be presumed dead.”
“What?” Prism tried to read Davy’s face, but he kept his head down as he strapped a parachute on her.
“This is no time for explanations. Peter, is the Escaper ready?”
“Yes, Captain.” He handed Davy a parachute.
“Right. Colin O’Connor’s in charge here. Miss Andrews and I are going over. We’ll be back shortly.”
“Going where?” Prism asked as Davy dragged her into the bowels of the Dawn Singer, down corridor after corridor until she felt the weight of the entire vessel above her. “The pirate ship?”
“Where else would you suggest, Miss Andrews? If pirates are boarding your ship, naturally, the safest place to be is on their ship.”
Prism pursed her lips. Teasing man. “So you’re abandoning your crew to fight alone? I’d thought better of you than that, Captain Bowditch.” She barely managed not to bump into him as he spun around.
“That’s not—” He caught her gaze, which was a touch impish. Frowning, he tugged her forward again. “We need something from the other ship, and I’m the best one to get it.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“I’m saving my breath for speed, as you should.”
He led her into a hold made narrow by the miniature airships filling it. With a bottom like a wooden boat, each Escaper had two benches and a small shelf in the back, enough seating for five men. It had a propeller in back and a glass windscreen in front protecting the control panel. A folded leather topper padded the craft’s sides, ready to be pulled up at need to make a closed cylinder of the ship. A steel beam arced over the craft, forming a spine for a pair of wings, folded and as brightly smeared with color as an oil sheen when the sky crystals were at full glow. The Escaper sat on wheels, making it seem like the decorated toy wagon of a boy who dreamed of flying.
Prism turned her attention back to the hold. Shelves lined one wall, large red buttons the other. Davy grabbed a box labeled “PullLine” off one of the shelves, drew out a metal-and-leather gauntlet and harness and fastened the gauntlet around her arm, leaving her to secure the chest harness. He snatched a crate off the bottom shelf, and Prism spied another of the small machines with the phonograph horn, a few pairs of odd shoes, and a baseball in it before he urged her into the copilot’s seat in the craft.
She buckled herself in and kept her hand well away from the controls in front of her. “I’m quite competent as a trapeze artist, but I’m a touch rusty on piloting.”
“Hopefully, you won’t need to brush up on it. Hold tight.” After stowing the crate under his seat, he handed her the ping reader and hurled the baseball at a large red button on the wall. The baseball depressed the button and fell into a basket below it. The floor underneath them dropped away.
The familiar thrill of a plunge surged through Prism, and for one moment it was the circus’s sandy ring below her, her partner’s outstretched arms, and the awed gasps of the crowd around her. Then the cries of Chance’s victim—and a recording of what sounded like Holy Scripture—blasted her out of her pleasant dream of being at home.
They dropped about thirty feet before wings stretched themselves wide and propellers whirred into motion and sent them through the thick clouds toward the belly of the pirate ship.
“Wind up the ping reader using the crank on its side and watch for it to indicate we’re under the pirate ship. I don’t want to fly too far past it.”
Prism did as requested, though she was able to see the ship’s influence on the grays of the cloud cover as well as the reader could detect it. She pointed out the ship just as the reader pinged, earning her a strange look from Davy. He piloted the Escaper just portside of the pirate ship. Taking one hand off the controls, he launched a line from his gauntlet, attaching it beside a porthole, and then did the same with a line attached to the Escaper’s bow. He dove back down, directly under the pirate vessel, and docked the Escaper against the hull.
“All right, Miss Andrews,” he said, strapping on the odd shoes. “Here’s where you earn your keep. Guard the Escaper. If I’m not back before the battle’s won, well … there’s a manual on how to fly this thing in the box under the seat.”
“But—”
He yanked twice on his PullLine, scampered up the Escaper, and jogged up the side of the pirate ship, using the PullLine to reel himself up. His long blue coat flying out behind him, he disappeared around the curve of the hull.
Another boom concussed the air, and Prism got the feeling the captain was walking into more danger than he’d bargained for. And that he had a good reason for doing so. But what was it?