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Captain Qi Zang clawed her way from the trapdoor onto the upper deck of the Frozen Beauty. Rain lashed her and she was soaked before she was even halfway out. The wind ripped the trapdoor from her fingers and slammed it flat against the deck.
Being on the ship in a rain storm was uncanny. The Faraday device had the strangest effect on rain, causing it to fall at a fraction of its usual speed. But it had no effect on the wind. So the gale still drove the rain which, with almost no inclination to fall, came from the side. Where it landed, it collected in huge, slow-moving globules.
The whole ship swung to port as a gust caught it. She was glad she couldn’t see far. It was early evening and, by rights, the sun should have been lighting up the pass that would guide them into Kerala. Monsoon hadn’t started yet but this storm wasn’t waiting.
The winds built up across the Indian Ocean and picked up their water. They hit the mountains on this side of the Indian sub-continent and dropped that moisture. On most days it was just rain. This time the gods had decided to battle it out around them.
She pulled herself up and allowed her weight to carry her to the central superstructure across the tilting deck before the wind decided to slam the trapdoor back on her. With one hand gripping the edge of the balloon shed, she reached down and pulled the trapdoor up and over. The wind caught it again but she hung on, then slid the latch into place.
The deck swung back and she clung on to stop herself from falling toward the rail. She had given orders to Dingbang to keep them running along the centre of the valley. She wanted more height. They were below the level of the mountains and risked running straight into a cliff, but Remy wasn’t answering the whistle of the communications tube.
Otto had offered to go instead of her, as had Fanning, but Otto was too young to know what to do if Remy was in trouble, and Fanning was just a girl. Even if she thought she was a boy.
Besides it was her ship and if anyone was going to deal with the possibility that Remy was hurt, dead or simply lost overboard—which meant dead—it would be her.
She staggered along the wall of the balloon shed. The Beauty swung again, caught her off balance and slammed her into the wall. She swung round the corner into the relative calm between the shed and the smoke-stack housing. She cursed in Mandarin.
“That is not very ladylike, Madame Capitaine,” drawled Remy Darras. He was wearing wet weather gear: a big oiled cape and a sou’wester. For once he did not look every inch a French gentleman as he usually did.
“We need more altitude,” she shouted. The whole ship lit up in black and white relief from a flash of lightning. The thunder rolled over them like gigantic wave.
She thanked whatever gods were listening that she had taken on Remy Darras and accepted his advice to switch from hydrogen to hot air. In a thunderstorm the lightning could make a hydrogen balloon explode. The Beauty would be the only ship in the sky at a time like this—which was a small mercy—except for perhaps one of the British ships that didn’t use balloons at all.
She pointed upwards. “More height, Monsieur Darras!”
“Oui, madame!”
He pulled open the door to his shack and allowed the swing of the ship to carry him inside. Qi followed him in and shut the door. The noise of the wind screaming through the rigging did not diminish, but the driven rain was held at bay.
The ship surged upwards and they both staggered. She hoped it was just a random updraft and did not indicate they were closer to a cliff. She glanced at the seven sets of dials that showed the pressure of the Beauty’s seven balloon envelopes. The needles oscillated wildly as the balloons were buffeted by the wind. She could even follow a gust as it hit the balloons one after the other, twitching the needles as it travelled the length of the ship.
White light burst round the edges of the door and through the windows and cracks in the ceiling, the needle on the dial monitoring the second balloon from the end suddenly flopped over to zero, the ship lurched and Qi felt lighter than usual.
“Mon dieu,” cried Remy and leapt to the valves on the steam pipes. He spun the one under the zeroed dial. The two of them froze as they listened to the super-heated steam screaming through the pipe. The dial did not even flutter.
“Close that, open others,” shouted Qi, and she leapt for the valve nearest her. Remy spun the other back and closed it off as she got the first open and started on its neighbour.
“Not too much pressure, Capitaine, they will rupture. I will do it!”
Qi paused. Remy knew his equipment better than she. She headed out and clambered back towards the trapdoor. A wall of rock loomed up on the left, less than fifty yards away. An abrupt gust tossed them towards it. She saw the port thruster spinning to push them away from the cliff. Its efforts were almost useless against the raging storm until an updraft lifted the prow and turned the ship away.
It could easily have gone the other way.
She managed to get the trapdoor up, squeezed down until her feet reached touched the ladder, then slipped and fell the rest of the way. Under reduced gravity she sustained only a bruised elbow and slightly damaged pride.
She had not had a chance to latch the trapdoor; the wind flung it open, letting in the storm and a unhurried flurry of icy water. She headed forward and slammed open the door to the bridge.
Ding wrestled with the helm, with Fanning helping him hold the wheel. Mrs Cameron and Otto were nowhere to be seen. Qi strode forward.
“I’ll take the helm,” she ordered as another lightning flash streaked down near them and thunder exploded. Fanning continued to cling to the helm as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. Ding stepped to one side to allow Qi space to take the wheel, but he too continued to hold it even when she placed both hands on it.
“What happened?” said Ding.
Qi glanced round. Mrs Cameron was on the floor tending to Otto, who looked to be unconscious.
“One of the envelopes ruptured. We’re going down.”