Chapter Twenty

The Fleet—

In Which Serving on Kitchen Duty Proves Unexpectedly Useful

Air World

The duty sergeant, a broad man with a florid face and a mustache like a scrub brush, squinted suspiciously at Audrey and Grady in his green uniform. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Midshipman Grady FitzHarding, newly reinstated. And this is my friend, Andrew Woods. He’d like to enlist.”

Audrey bobbed her head but kept her gaze downcast and her shoulders slouched. She was wearing a baggy men’s shirt and trousers. She’d wrapped her torso to flatten her breasts and widen her chest into a manlier silhouette and let Mae re-butcher her hair, but she couldn’t do anything about the shape of her face or what Grady referred to as her “dainty” wrists.

“Hmmph. This is highly irregular. Just who reinstated you, FitzHarding?”

Grady lifted his chin. “Admiral Harding.” He didn’t need to say “my father.” The words hung in the air.

Audrey had been astonished when she’d arrived at Grady’s to find the whole household in an uproar, getting Grady packed to rejoin the Fleet. His mother had been weeping, terrified because her boy was going to war. Grady had swept Audrey into a too-tight hug. Apparently, the Admiral had stopped in three hours previously and not only reinstated Grady to midshipman, but also informed him that Grady had been written into his will. Grady was flying high: ecstatic, relieved, and determined to do the Admiral proud.

Audrey didn’t have the heart to tell him she suspected the Admiral had decided to acknowledge him because he believed his daughter was in the hands of kidnappers and he might die without an heir.

Grady was convinced she’d engineered his good fortune, so he’d agreed to her plan to dress as a boy and enlist—though he’d shaken his head and told her she wouldn’t make it past the duty sergeant.

Said sergeant harrumphed. “You’ve cut it a bit late, midshipman, but, aye, you’re on the list. Up you go.”

Grady attacked the rope ladder, though not without a backward glance at “Andrew.”

The duty sergeant grunted and eyed her sourly. “You look a bit weedy. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” Audrey pitched her voice low. “I just want to do my part for the war. I have some long-winded talent.” She tried to sound modest, but she expected such a rare skill to seal the deal.

Instead the sergeant snorted. “As if I’d trust a green recruit to pilot the ship or patch the envelope.”

Her heart sank.

As she was turning away, another officer called from above: “Lift off in ten minutes!”

“I’m still six men short!” the duty sergeant called back up.

The other man shrugged. “Not my problem. We loose moorings in ten minutes, with or without any missing crew.”

The sergeant swore ripely, then turned to Audrey. “You, wait.”

Audrey calculated in her head. She’d timed it just right. There was no way Jem could make it home with the note she’d given him in time for her mother to stop the Queen Winifrid from departing Donlon. Now if the sergeant would just relent…

Five minutes more passed with only two more crew returnees.

“Time to pull up the ladder, Sarge,” the man above called down.

Audrey lifted her face hopefully.

The sergeant skewered her with a glare. “You willing to do scut work? Shovel coal, grease gears, run errands?”

She nodded tightly. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you get airsick?”

“No, sir.” Audrey held her breath while the sergeant considered, chewing on his mustache.

“Wannabe hero, eh?” The sergeant made a face, but sighed. “Monkey on up, then. At the very least you’ll be an extra pair of hands.”

The Fleet sailed for Sipar—a three-day journey in this direction with the Grand Current, and a week back—but Audrey barely noticed, stuck peeling potatoes in the bowels of the ship.

…

Two days had passed. Audrey teetered on the edge of exhaustion, not just from the unaccustomed labor but from the strain of pretending to be a boy. Grady had slung a hammock for her in an out-of-the-way corner, but she still tensed anytime someone strolled by. Trips to the necessary were worse.

She didn’t know what she’d thought she could accomplish out here. She hadn’t seen or heard any news of The Phantom or any hint of Qeturah.

She ought to have stayed home. Every time she thought about how frantic her mother must be, guilt drowned her in sticky regret to the point she felt sick to her stomach. When she did make it home, her mother would ground her for life. No more airship cruises.

Grady had midshipman duties, so most of the time, she had no one to talk to either, and when they did speak at meals, they had to be circumspect.

At supper on the second day, she saw a light in Grady’s eyes. “Have you heard the news?”

Dread squeezed her stomach. “Has the Siparese Fleet been sighted?”

He shook his head impatiently. “Not yet. But there’s a rumor going around that the Admiral caught a spy.”

Just like that, her stomach plunged all over again. Piers.

“Are those mashed potatoes?” Grady nattered. “I missed them.” He started to stand.

Her hand seized Grady’s in a hard grip. “Is it The Phantom? Tell me now.”

“Ouch!” He glared at her. “I don’t know. I only hear rumors, all right?” He settled back down.

Wordlessly, she pushed her plate over to him. He could have all the mashed potatoes and gravy he liked if he’d just tell her about Piers.

“Thanks! The official word is that the Admiral figured the Siparese might try to sabotage the airship and set up guards. But Jensen told me the guards were carrying something all bundled up in a net. ‘Now why would they use a net?’ I asked myself. A phantom could sneak right by a guard, but if he got trapped in a net, the guards could know they caught something because it wouldn’t lie flat. See?” Grady dug into his mashed potatoes with relish.

Audrey watched him chew, mind spinning. She had to save Piers. Not only did she not want to see him convicted of treason, but locked up, he would be a sitting duck. She couldn’t forget Leah’s insistence that Qeturah planned to murder him. “Where are they keeping him?”

“In the brig, I assume.” Grady swallowed. “Why?”

“No reason,” Audrey said, but she must not have been a very good liar, because her brother’s eyes widened.

“Audrey?” he said softly. “I thought you wanted him caught.”

The Fleet Parade seemed so long ago. She looked around; no one was listening. “He’s the Grand Current’s son. If he’s killed, the whole Fleet may be ripped apart.”

Grady’s mouth hung open. He had shreds of carrot stuck in his teeth. “What?”

Audrey hurriedly explained; Grady’s expression grew ever more incredulous. By the time she finished, his eyes were like saucers.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me any of this earlier. So what are we going to do?”

“I have to see him.”

Grady snickered. “See the invisible boy?”

“Talk to him,” Audrey corrected herself.

“And how are you going to do that? There’s sure to be guards.”

Audrey bit her lip, looking down at her plate. The glimmer of an idea came to her. Prisoners, after all, still had to eat.

“Supper for the prisoner,” Audrey mumbled to the guard, head hanging down. She held her breath. If The Phantom had already been fed, she’d claim it was a mistake, but the wide-shouldered guard would remember her face and later attempts would be harder.

The ensign studied her dubiously. Although he looked five years older than she was, his complexion was acne-spotted. “I’m under orders not to open the door for any reason.”

“How come?” Audrey asked.

“Take a look for yourself.” The ensign gestured to the cell. Like the kitchen and crew quarters, the brig was located inside the envelope’s rigid aluminum rings rather than in the gondola.

The brig had three regular walls, but the side facing the hallway had aluminum bars. It also lacked so much as a stick of furniture.

Her heart leapt at the sight of The Phantom, sitting with his back flattened against the far wall. She studied his wind-blurred features with worry. Had he been roughed up? Was he hurt? “I don’t see anyone,” she lied.

The ensign smirked. “That’s because he’s a phantom. We can’t open the door, or he might slip out.”

Audrey played dumb. “How do you know he’s even in there if you can’t see him? Maybe he already escaped.”

“I said you couldn’t see him,” the ensign said sharply. His blotches turned redder. “Anyone long-winded can. I assure you, he’s still there.”

Audrey shrugged. “So where do I put the food?” The plate wouldn’t fit between the bars.

The ensign huffed amusement. “Turn it sideways, and pass it through the bars.”

Audrey frowned. “But then all the food would fall off.”

He shrugged. “So he’ll have to eat off the floor.”

Petty man. “But—but it’ll be dirty,” Audrey protested, trying to disguise her dislike as stupidity.

“Yes, it will,” he said impatiently.

Audrey shook her head, still frowning. “It isn’t right to waste food.”

“Do you have a better solution?”

Audrey pretended to think, then smiled. “I’ll feed him through the bars.” While the ensign watched, dumbfounded, she sat cross-legged by the bars and scooped some mashed potatoes onto a fork.

“Use a spoon!” the ensign said urgently. “We can’t risk him getting a weapon.”

Audrey obediently switched utensils, loading the spoon with potatoes and poking it through the bars. “Here, Phantom. Suppertime,” she caroled as if to a dog.

Piers’s wind-blurred face looked at her in, first, outrage, then astonished recognition.

“Come on,” she coaxed.

“That won’t work,” the ensign predicted.

Piers approached. He didn’t move like he was in pain. He crouched down and ate the mashed potatoes.

Audrey victoriously waved the empty spoon at the ensign. “I think he’s hungry.”

Rolling his eyes, the ensign walked down to the end of the hall. He was still within earshot, but no longer watching as closely.

“Zephyr, guard our speech,” Piers whispered. A breeze swirled around them. “There. We can talk now. First, any chance you have the key concealed about your lovely person?”

Blushing, she shook her head.

“The ensign must have it,” he muttered. “He isn’t long-winded, no matter what he claims. If he’d just come close enough, I could pick his pocket. Now then, Audrey, not that it isn’t a treat to see you, but what on earth are you doing here?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Don’t call me Audrey. Right now I’m Andrew.”

He laughed. “Andrew, huh? Soon you’ll have as many secret identities as I do. Have you turned spy?” he teased.

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here after I warned you there was a trap?” For form’s sake, she offered more potatoes.

He spoke around a mouthful. “The wind took me to the woman pretending to be my mother.”

“Qeturah,” Audrey supplied.

His fists clenched. “She was hiding out in a warehouse. I was going to confront her—kill her like she killed my mother—but I heard her talking about the Mirror Device Norton built. I don’t think it does what your father thinks it does.”

The ensign walked by again, eyes boring into her.

Audrey kept her face blank and dished up a spoonful of peas.

Piers curled his lip at the mushy green orbs. “Ugh.” He tipped them on the floor.

The ensign brayed a laugh. “So much for not making a mess.”

Audrey spooned up more potatoes. She waited in an agony of suspense while the ensign lingered through three more mouthfuls before finally turning and resuming his patrol of the short hallway. “What does the Device do?”

Piers shook his head, blurring. “I dunno. Some long-winded brat saw me hovering outside the window and started throwing stones. By the time I returned, she was gone. I stowed away on a dirigible, and I’ve been leapfrogging from ship to ship, trying to get close to the Device. I thought I glimpsed Billy boy once.”

“Where?” Audrey asked, then fell silent at another footfall. Her skin prickled with irritation. Couldn’t the blotchy ensign just stand guard like he was supposed to?

But then she heard a deep, familiar voice say, “Ensign Smathers.”

She froze.

“Admiral Harding, sir!” The ensign threw his shoulders back and saluted.

“At ease. Has the prisoner given you any trouble?”

“None, sir! That is, I can’t see him, so I’m not sure.” The ensign flushed, trailing off into confusion.

“What’s this?” Now her father stood right behind her.

Her stomached knotted. Audrey kept her head bowed instead of jumping to her feet and saluting. If her father saw her face… Disaster. She’d end up stuffed back in a dress, confined to quarters, and not allowed to talk to anybody, much less Piers.

“Supper for the prisoner, sir,” Ensign Smathers said. “I didn’t think it wise to open the door.” He sounded worried.

“Certainly not. Nevertheless, I think the prisoner has had enough food for now.”

Still keeping her gaze lowered, Audrey scrambled to her feet, almost tipping the plate in the process. She headed down the hall toward the kitchens.

One step. Two.

“Private!” Her father’s voice arrested her in her tracks. “Stand and salute your superior officer.”

No help for it. She turned, shoulders thrown back, spine straight. Fixing her gaze on his chin, she saluted. Please, let my disguise hold.

Piers tried to help, whacking the bars with his hand. “Let me out!”

Ensign Smathers jumped.

Her father merely shot Piers an irritated glance, then resumed glaring at Audrey. “You’re a new recruit, so I’ll let you off with a warning this…” He stopped. Blinked.

A wave of cold horror swept over Audrey. She met her father’s gaze and saw disbelief, followed by anger. “Smathers,” he snapped at the ensign, “guard the end of the hallway. Private, come here.”