Voyage of the Silver Dawn: Stonewind Sky, #5

By Ged Maybury

How could a bar-fight change the lives of everyone aboard the Silver Dawn? Or for that matter: how could the frail (and mysterious) Miss Malikarv do the same? But toss in Rocket Hampster and his sex-crazed lover, a stowaway and a peg-legged man and you soon get Chaos!

A leisurely cruise turns into a nightmare as Captain Zak's fabulous airship runs foul of saboteurs, storms, steam-pirates, pterodactyls and mad scientists. Then, when all seems settled, who should turn up but an 'aquainance' from Book One with evil plans of her own; plans that could wreak havoc on all of Varste! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ged Maybury
• Release date: May 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393936060

Ged Maybury

Ged Maybury is an Australasian author of children's and YA novelist, with 14 books conventionally published (not counting this series) and a lot more in the pipeline. Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 1994: “The Triggerstone” Finalist - NZ Children's Book Awards 2001: “Crab Apples” He began 1994 in his favourite genre: Science Fiction, later adding comedy and slice-of-life, and finally returned to his sci-fi roots with Steampunk. This series is aimed at young adults and anyone else who likes an engaging adventure, but as far as any full-on “adult” content goes: well that's just not his thing. (Okay – there's a bit of it.) He was born in Christchurch, New Zealand, and grew up in Dunedin; dux of his school; blah-blah-blah … Went into architecture, ended up in the performing arts and has been writing plays, poetry and books ever since. He also has earned some notoriety as a Cosplayer and Costumer, Steampunk Sculptor, Performance Poet and Story-teller. Occasionally he writes plays and films. Even more occasionally they get produced. WORLD-FIRST: Maybury lays claim to the world's first custom-written theme-song to a book. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRQ29QkfKNE He currently lives in Brisbane, Australia. He has a blog and a Wikipedia entry, and is on Facebook.

Book preview

COVER:

Ichikawa Fusae (市川 房枝) was a Japanese feminist, politician and women's suffrage leader. Ms Ichikawa was a key supporter of women's suffrage in Japan, and was instrumental in achieving the inclusion of women in politics post-WW2.

She was elected to the Japanese Diet a total of four times!

[Image presumably from her passport.]

Style & Graphic Design: Paul Potiki

Colourising & final composition, Ged.M

CHAPTER ONE

Punch-up at the Rope and Winch

CAPTAIN RODNEY HOVERRIM was just about to enjoy a gin and tonic. It wasn't exactly the time of year for it but in this pleasant establishment, with the hubbub of a dozen languages and the crowded masculine bodies of fifty or sixty airshipmen (not to mention the buxom lasses who wove through them with drinks and steaming dinners and the occasion slap for anyone getting too fresh) ... no, actually. If the truth be known, he’d have much preferred a beer, but suddenly felt uneasy about it. It seemed the last three times he’d indulged in said beverage, things soon turned to whalesquirt (to use one of Romarny Skijypzee’s favourite expressions); violence, death, evil scientists and entirely too many people pointing guns at his face. He shuddered.

So, said Mr Chunga right then, one of his companions, how do you know our Cap’n Zak, then?

Rod was glad to be distracted from his darkening thoughts, but immediately faced a new challenge. I ... ah ... just met him by chance, in Crucible.

He seems awfully fond of you, added First Mate Abb.

These two stout fellows, senior men on the Silver Dawn, had been scouring Lowtown for supplies before tomorrow’s lift-away. Rod had been ordered to tag along and was actually glad of their company. Since his Jazzenberg adventure, he was prone to melancholy if left idle.

He shrugged, Perhaps I remind him of someone. Like a – a long-lost son. He laughed it off.

Who knows, mon, but you’re a damn lucky man, is all. Chunga paused to frighten a few locals from a small table, set down their tankards and shucked off his heavy pack. Tomorrow we fly to Salvadoria. You’ll love it, Rodernay.

It only takes a day?

Three, usually. But is that little putter of yours really up to it?

It’ll be fine. What’s it like? Salvadoria?

Beautiful, answered Abb, And I’m not just talking about the women!

Never been a war there, added Chunga, least-ways not for fifty years.

Sixty.

Ehhh, whatever, mon! Cheers, Mr Hov’rim!

The two crewmen drank deeply, but Rod did not rush his moment. He first savoured the subtle aromas, and was about to sip when a large man loomed alongside him.

Captain Hov’rim, is it?

Rodney twisted to peer up at this gigantic fellow. He had a huge ginger beard and half a leg missing. Left leg to be precise. He looked like a pretty rough piece of work, too. He eased his weight on his sturdy crutch and waited for an answer. Rod immediately felt troubled. It was not like he knew many large hairy strangers in this world, especially missing half a leg, but he knew there was no point in denying himself. Anyone with a working set of ears could have heard the exchange at the bar when the manager had loudly recognised him as ‘The Hero at The Bridge’.

So he rose to his feet, trying to remain calm. Yes indeed it is, sir. And you?

You don't know me, but I've been tracking you down for some time.

Oh?

By this time, Chunga and Abb had slowly risen to their feet as well. The hubbub in the Rope and Winch began to die off as more and more people turned to see what was up.

Yes, continued the stranger, Last time we met we was enemies, and there was a fair bit o’ shooting. That's how I lost me leg, remember?

Rodney's mind raced, but drew a blank. The trouble was that most of the recent occasions in his life involving shooting tended to result in remarkably few survivors. Sorry to hear about it, he replied diplomatically, but I assure you, sir, you've got the wrong man.

Oh no. I don’t forget you, Cap'n Hov’rim. See: you rather spoiled my cosy existence, sir... the stranger was now reaching inside his dirty leather uniform jacket, ...but all that aside, I had to track you down and pay you back ...

Chunga surreptitiously reached for his knife. Abb did too. Rod braced himself for action. The room went very quiet. Off to one side he heard an excited voice murmur, Oh goody! Bar fight!

Hey, mon, boomed the rich baritone of Chunga suddenly, his huge knife quickly out, "hold dat hand right there or yo’ll be needing two crutches!"

Bar fight!! Bar fight!!! called that voice again. Sounded as if the annoying fellow was mad keen to get things started. Rod took a moment to turn and glare at him crossly. Little idiot.

Hey, whoa!  Sorry now, said the bearded stranger suddenly, pulling his hand very slowly back into view, Now don't get me wrong, boys. I'm meaning no harm to Cap'n Hovrim here. See? S’all I got. He opened his hand. 

It contained half a dozen golden buttons.

And then the penny dropped. Rod's mouth fell open, but no sound came out. The problem was he could not remember the fellow’s name. Remembered the exact time and place; remembered the fellow’s blood; remarkable how much blood could pour out of a man’s leg. But no name.

The stranger continued. Apparently I owe y’ me life, Cap’n. They said it were you who strapped me leg up in the nick o’ time and got me away to ‘ospital. Saved me life! He then glanced down sadly, But not me leg. Arrrr well, I'm getting by without it now.  Anyway, here's your buttons back. Very tempting it were to sell ’em, but I ... I...

The stranger suddenly became lost for works. He trust the gold buttons at Rodney and made him take them all, grimaced as a man does who is holding back intense emotions, then put forth his hand for a shake, "Fank you, sir, fank you!"

Rod took the handshake. Don't mention it, really, it was no trouble at all.

So, interjected a disappointed voice from the side, aren't we gonna have no bar fight then?

No, snapped Rod at him, definitely not!

Awww-uh. The nuggety little stranger with the broken nose scowled and shook his head in disappointment, then sighed and turned back to his game of cards. Everyone else slowly resumed their talking, eating and drinking. The stranger still leaned on his crutch as if needing to say more.

Rod got in first, Um, you'll have to excuse me, sir, but your name has quite escaped me.

Bernard, sir.  (It was said ‘Ber-NARD’)

"Bernard? Excellent. So, nice to see you back on your feet – foot! Um, so, I take it you're no longer in the employ of, ah, Hubert Von Heulenstein?"

No.

Oh. Damned shame. Rod felt a pang of guilt.

He were an idiot. A dangerous idiot.

Yes, well... true, that.

Damn it: the conversation had reminded him yet again of the five exhilarating hours he had spend engaged to the sumptuous Karla Cluely. He swiftly reached for his drink, then felt Bernard’s gaze still upon him.

Care for a beer, Bernard?

Arrrr, fank you, sir! Yes.

Rod fetched another beer and delivered it. Bernard was sitting quietly at the table on his return, and fell upon the drink with some enthusiasm. Rod sipped his G & T, studying the fellow.

You look as if you have fallen on hard times, old chap.

Bernard sprayed froth from his whiskers as he replied, Could say that, yarrr.

Well, um ... I’d like to reward you then for your sincerity and, ah, your long and no doubt difficult journey to find me. Here: Rod dug out the gold buttons and handed them back, consider it a reward from the Gods, if you will.

Bernard stared at the offering, his big simple face struggling yet again with strong emotions. Fank you, sir, but I ... ah, I was rather hoping ... If I might beg a different kind of favour?

Oh?

Bernard’s eyes fixed shakily upon Rodney’s. I owe you me life, sir, so if it should please you; I’d like to offer meself into your service until I have discharged the debt.

It was the last thing Rodney expected, and as he sat contemplating all the implications of this remarkable offer (one of them being that he would have to persuade his father to take the fellow aboard the Silver Dawn, effectively as another crewman), there came a noise from outside.

A cacophony, actually.

First there was a noise like an aeromotor running hard. As it grew louder, so too did a chorus of shouts and curses that filtered in from outdoors. Expressions such as: Fools! Get it out of here! No airships over-town! and Look out for my washing! but mostly in other languages – thus Rodney was spared having to record all the expletives. He leaped up. That sounds like the Lizzie! and ran for the door, no mean feat since every other man in the place had the same idea. 

The shouting outside then reached a crescendo. Look out!

There was a loud crash directly overhead. The ceiling shivered.

Rodney redoubled his efforts to get out. Perhaps it was his obvious frenzy to do so, or possibly the fact that Chunga was now surging through the crowd like a sort of human plough, but either way the crowd parted and let them through. Outdoors, all eyes were focused upon the roof of the Rope and Winch. Rod turned about and looked up, then gasped in dismay. His precious little airship was right there, just ten or so yards away, snagged upon the tiles of the roof and perilously close to one of the cast-iron chimneys. In the dim lights of the street he could barely make it all out, but it was definitely the Lizzie. The envelope was safe, looming over the entire scene like a pale yellow ghost, but the gondola was in danger of being reduced to scrap. The motor had been shut off by then, so at least some danger had been removed.

Sorry about that, called down a familiar voice.

Bloody hell! roared Rodney in a fury, what in the Deep are you doing, Mr Jollie!?

Jollie, looking fraught, opened his mouth to reply but at the same moment there was a gush of ballast-water from beneath the airship’s gondola and a hiss of steam as it hit the nearest chimney.  The Lizzie strained to get away from the snag.  Jollie turned his attentions to shout at the other shadowy figure on board, Go easy, you fool! 

There was a creaking noise, something snapped, and just as the airship pulled loose the other occupant landing with a thud upon the tiles. The ship went up fast, its underside in tatters.

Damn you, sir! shouted Jollie as he ascended into darkness, What a fool thing to do!

Whoever was on the roof made short work of his descent. He stumbled down the tiles, tripped, rolled three times, went over the edge, bounced twice upon the timber-shake veranda then pitched perfectly into the street.  Rod was there just in time to break the man’s fall.

They both slowly picked themselves up from the muddy roadway, Rodney somewhat winded and bruised. He turned his fury upon the man he had just saved, and gasped in recognition.

Rocket Hampster!

The little fellow’s face lit up at once, Roddy Lorange! Just the man I wanted to see! The smell of liquor upon the man’s breath only added to Rod’s fury. 

"What in Deep are you doing here? And what the hell were you doing with my airship!?"

He made me do it, shouted Jollie’s voice from on high, Sorry, Captain!  He tricked me!

Much as he loved Rocket Hampster – known as The Fastest Man Alive (via airship and with impressionable women) – this really did seem to be pushing a friendship too far. In a moment of barely controlled fury, Rodney seized Rocket by his stylish collar and dragged him the rest of the way to his feet. Rocket, still cheerful, managed to squeeze out five half-strangled words.

You’ve got to hide me!

"Hide you? I'd rather give you a damn good hiding!"

Bar fight! Bar fight! shouted that familiar voice.

Shut up! roared Rodney at the same little chap, This is NOT a bar-fight!

Awww-uh.

At the mention of the word ‘bar’, Rocket’s attention turned to the warm glow within. Oh I say! he said aloud, how about a drink, old chap? Hey everyone; a free drink on me!

Huzzah! cheered the crowd, and promptly began draining their tankards in anticipation of the promised refill. Additionally, ever since Rod had uttered Rocket Hampster’s name the crowd had been abuzz about his arrival, and now that the little fellow with the distinctive fop of dark hair had announced free drinks, he instantly had five dozen new friends. Since the building had survived reasonably intact and since the Lizzie had now drifted up to a safe distance, everyone’s attention turned upon their new and generous visitor. The crowd poured indoors where a few of them returned to their half-eaten dinners but most began crowding the bar. The manager and barman, quickly ascertaining the veracity of Rocket Hampster (for his picture was often seen in the papers), began on the refilling. Soon the place was so full of noise and good cheer that Rodney could hardly hear a word Rocket was saying. A dense crowd was still bracing the bar and everyone was talking at once.

What, sorry, I missed that, Rod kept saying, Speak up!

I need to disappear for a few months, repeated Rocket between downing a drink he had somehow acquired ahead of everyone else.

What? Why?

Disappear; go into hiding; vanish away.

"Yes, alright, but why?"

She’s after me! I got wind of it just in time. Had to leave my lovely airship behind. You see Solly’s still got her in pieces. Patching her up after that bit of fun we had last month...

"Yes, yes, alright, but who’s after you?"

"You know!"

No I ... Ah, I think someone wants a word with you.

Huh? Rocket looked around. It was the manager.

Excuse me, Mr Hampster, but this’ll all be coming to twelve crowns if you don’t mind, sir.

Oh, oh yes, of course. Roddy old chum, could you cover this? I haven't got a single crown with me.

"What? You want me to pay for this?"

Rocket was as cheerful as ever, I’ll square you up later, old chum. No problem.

Bugger that! Rocket had pulled this trick on Rod entirely too many times. He always had the money. So Rod said, All very well, oh chum, but I haven’t got twelve crowns on me either!

As Rocket stood stunned, the manager turned to his barman. Stop pouring! They can’t pay!

WHAT?!? shouted about twenty men at once. Someone immediately tried to grab the last free beer. An elbow hit someone in the face. A fist soon followed. A beer-mug hit the flagstone with a dull smash just as a familiar voice roared in delight, Bar fight! and the owner of said voice hurled himself at the first available target, his fists a blur of action. In moments there were men flying at each other, tankards smashing, tables overturning, angry shouting and the steady wet smack of fist on lip and tooth. 

Someone soon collided with Rodney, propelling him into another fellow who roared with fury. Rod ducked the drunken punch that came at him and heard it connect just behind.

Hey! Dirty trick!

His escape was short-lived. A meaty hand grasped him and dragged him around, but his next assailant hesitated in his plan to punch Rodney’s lamps out. You Cap’n Hov’rim?

Yes indeed.

Rodney found himself between the two rough-necks, both of them squaring up to give him a drubbing and both, it seemed, now working as a team. There seemed little hope of rescue; Chunga and Abb were a good five yards away. But being recognised was a good sign. His hopes lifted. Then the angry airshipman pulled his fist back for an even more powerful strike.

You stopped my free beer! 

Suddenly there was sweeping motion close over his scalp, followed by two closely timed wooden cracks. The rough-necks wobbled and fell to the floor. Rod glanced around at his saviour, noting that the instrument in question had been a wooden crutch.

Why thank you, Bernard.

Ber-NARD.

Sorry...  Look out!

A chair broke over Bernard’s head. He shook off the splinters and turned to see who had committed this offense. It was the little chap who had been so keen on fighting. He just stood aghast, the remnants of the chair in his hands. Oops, was all he said.

Bernard’s ham-sized fist shot forth like a piston. His attacker staggered back, his face breaking into a grin of admiration before he measured his length upon the sawdust floor.

Come on, sir, said Bernard, this way. Rod gladly fell in behind as the one-legged giant sailed across the seething room in a series of blacksmith-grade punches. Rod covered the rear, cold-cocking one chap swinging a table leg before laying out the next, who was swinging the rest of the table.

A third assailant came at him with a gin bottle. 

Hold it! cried Rod.

Why?

That’s gin! Lovely stuff! You can’t waste it!

Really? The man wrenched out the cork and took a mighty swig, then spluttered in horror.  "Gods, that’s crap!"

Rod punched him for blasphemy.

Moments later they were joined by Abb and Chunga, both grinning widely and swinging wildly. Since the main door was blocked, Chunga flung himself at the winter shutters and broke through. They crashed out into the street where a few sporadic fights were continuing. As a tight group of four they were unassailable, and they soon created an effective redoubt in the centre of the street. Mr Chunga, effectively clearing the area by his very size, took a moment to glance around.

"So, where’s da little turd who started all this?"

Huh?

Dat Hampster twit.

"Oh crap."

Rocket was nowhere in sight. Rod was about to charge back into the bar when he heard a woman giggling. He turned full about. There, on the boardwalk on the other side of the street, leaning on a horse rail and watching the stoush, was Rocket Hampster amidst the serving girls from the Rope and Winch. Even more galling, Rocket was just in the act of finishing off Rodney’s G & T.

He spied Rod and grinned happily, I say, this isn’t half bad!

Without a word, Rodney walked over, seized Hampster by the shirtfront and began dragging him away in the direction of the airship field, hissing and snarling incomprehensibly.

Hey, Rodernay, called Chunga cheerfully, wrong way, mon!

ROCKET HAMPSTER DIDN’T bother protesting for long. After breaking into song for a half-minute, he lapsed into a drunken stupor unfit even for walking. Without a word, Chunga tossed him over his shoulder and they hurried away. For Rodney it was less a desire to evade consequences, but more his urgency to get back to  the airfield. Had Mr Jollie saved the Lizzie? He hadn't heard the motor in the sky for some time now. 

Gods! What in blazes had Rocket been up to, and why had Jollie been so gullible as to let the little pisspot onto the Lizzie in the first place? If the motor failed now, Jollie would have no option but to vent gas and land somewhere beyond the town, and that would be disastrous if he fell into the forests. Rod increased his pace, his right hand throbbing painfully after that final punch.

There were three vast arenas for airships on the southern edges of Lowtown: one for Deeping-class ships, a smaller one for Oversky-class, and another for Royalty and suchlike. The Silver Dawn was winched down on the Deeping-class field and enjoyed no royal privileges, although Rodney’s father had stumped up for an extra roster of mercenaries, plus the usual fees – which gave them a secure perimeter, armed patrols on the perimeter, a fire watch, and pass-out papers. And it was that detail that would soon present them with a bit of a problem.

Uh, fellows, said Rodney, drawing up short as the gateway came into view, we don’t have papers for everyone.

Let me handle it, Mr Hoverrim, said First Mate Abb without stopping. 

This was a decent archway of stonework thick enough on the sides for a guardhouse on the left and administration offices on the right. At each side of this grand barrier, two strong streetlamps lit the scene. Once again Rodney’s eye went up to the firmament, turning all about in the hope of spotting the ghostly shape of the Lizzie coming home, and once again he felt a desire to start slapping Rocket Hampster and once again he restrained himself. After all, Hampster was the unsung hero involved with saving the King. (And a fine drinking friend in better circumstances.)

The main gates were shut, of course. Only the archway leading past the guardhouse was lit. Two guards stood in there enjoyed the slight warmth remaining in the stonework. They slouched to attention as Rod’s party approached; two lumpen men in garish uniforms (none too clean) and each with a pistol and sword. They were not the same guards he had seen much earlier in the day when he had departed on other business.

Evening gentlemen, they said, You’re back early from the taverns.

Abb didn’t bother with pleasantries. He held forth his papers and proclaimed, I’m First Mate Abb of the Silver Dawn. We have procured two new crew members and they’re joining ship tonight. Let us pass.

So, said the brightest of the guards, glancing around at their number, that means they don’t have their papers yet, don’t it?

"Well this man doesn’t need papers. I’m sure you know him."

Taking his cue, Chunga set Hampster onto his feet and held him upright, adding, Dis is der famous Rocket Hampster. Don’ try an’ make me think you don’ know him.

Both guards seemed to recognise Rocket. In fact for a moment they seemed quite amazed and perplexed. Had they already let him in this evening? Must have, or how else had he charmed Jollie into that foolish escapade?

Now, now, gentlemen, said the smarter of the guards, you know the rules. You can’t sneak any extras in without paperwork, ladies excluded. And he made a quick discrete gesture –  mimicking the counting of banknotes.

Rocket, finding himself upright, woke up enough to resume his song from where he had left off ten minutes earlier, then stopped and looked around, slurring, Hey, where’s my lovelies?

Really, my good sirs, butted in Rodney, "this is a special occasion for you! Not only do you get to meet the famous Rocket Hampster, but also his famous friend The Hero of the Bridge: that is – myself." He tried to sound modest as he presented his papers. The two guards peered at the pages, but Rod soon began to realise that neither of them could read. As this delay was happening, a door squeaked open deep inside the archway and the captain of the guard came out. 

Having a bit of bother, boys?

He don’t have no papers, sir. They pointed at Rocket.

Rocket looked up at him sheepishly. Not again?

Again, said the chief.

Rocket reached a hand inside his topcoat, dug around in his various pockets, and pulled forth a huge bundle of banknotes. He peered at it for several seconds to ascertain that he was selecting the correct denominations, then parted with three low-value notes.

Thank you, sir, smiled the guard, Please, go right on in.

And that is what Rocket Hampster did, ignoring the others.

"Excuse me, Rod finally thundered, have your fellows already extracted some sort of cash incentive from that man? How dare you! His fury was not really caused by the guards, however. It had once again been inflamed by Hampster. I’ll have the King informed about this!"

Abb glanced at Chunga and heaved a tired sigh as the chief guard smiled cautiously and said, Sorry? And you are ...?

Rod snatched his papers from the dozy junior guard and thrust then at the chief. "I am Captain Rodernay ... I mean Rodney Hoverrim; Hero of The Field, AND of The Bridge! And I can arrange for you three to be busted down to boot-boys if I so choose!"

The chief guard stood unmoved, then a slow smile spread over his face. Sure you can, sir, as all the many who have tried the same story on me before. Now, seeing as your papers are in order, you may go through. And who is this? He meant Bernard.

Bernard swung forward on his leg and crutch until he loomed over the three guards, just within striking range. Rodney, on the edge of utter fury, spoke quickly as he has seen the guards’ hands stray toward their pistols.

"This is Bernard. Perfectly harmless. He’s .. ah, my newly appointed manservant."

Well, you must understand, sir, that Bernard is going to need some ‘papers’, sir. Once again that gesture. Rod glowered as he reached into a pocket, recalling that he had perhaps three banknotes upon him, and none of the lowest denomination.

[It needs to be mentioned that banknotes were long favoured around airships, being much lighter than coin, and that a variety of smaller denominations had long been in use: the half-maccar and the quarter-maccar in particular. However a ‘crown’ was always exactly that: a coin, and this fact had caused the momentary confusion in Rod’s addled mind back at the Rope and Winch. On reflection, he could easily have paid for that round of drinks.]

He extracted a one-maccar note, folded it to a stiff wedge, and presented it to the chief with as much hatred as he could muster.

The chief guard just stared at it superciliously, "There are three of us, sir."

Then find a pair of scissors! snapped Rodney.

The chief began to shake his head sadly, and just then, high in the air overhead, they all heard the soft steady putter of a British aeromotor. Rod looked up, his face breaking into a happy smile.

He’s alright!

Who? asked the chief guard suspiciously.

Just a friend of mine, coming back.

The chief put forth his hand, Then I think you’d better provide me with his ‘papers’ too –  

THOCK.

Bernard’s patience had run out. The chief peeled backwards like bark off a tree. As the other two gasped in surprise, and long before their hands reached their weapons, Bernard laid them low. In seconds there were three unconscious men in a heap on the ground. First Mate Abb quickly extracted all four banknotes from the chief’s pocket as Chunga extracted a flask of whiskey from his own. He uncorked it and proceeded to pour small splashes into the soldier’s mouths. To ensure they did not choke, he tilted their heads sideways.

They breathe it up, eh; get really pissed!

Finally he shoved the empty flask into the chief’s limp hand, extracting another few banknotes to pay for the flask and its contents. An excessive fee, thought Rod, but he said nothing.

Alright, we move.

Without another word, and long before the perimeter patrol returned, they were through the gate and well on their way across the mile-wide field towards the Silver Dawn.

Behind them, un-noticed, a furtive figure followed.

CHAPTER TWO

Duties and Burdens

RODNEY BROKE INTO A run. Somewhere ahead he could once again hear the Lizzie, and from the short bursts of motor power he guessed it was manoeuvering to land. The Silver Dawn was the third ship in, somewhere near the centre of the field, and the Lizzie would be landing beside it. The first intervening ship loomed ahead of him like a titanic ghost, its underbelly lit by a ring of lamps set about its anchor ropes.  Within this ring he could just make out the armed guard. 

But right now there was a far more pressing danger – something these hired thugs could do nothing about: Jollie, begin unfamiliar with the motor, might ram a bigger ship. And hydrogen was entirely too easy to ignite – as Rod knew only too well!

He skirted the first ship, having been warned of the trouble he could cause by straying into their patch, and veered back on line. He saw suspicious eyes following his motion. Some of the men rose to their feet, weapons drawn, then relaxing as he thundered by.

He passed the next ship to the other side in similar fashion, then the dimly lit underbelly of the Silver Dawn became visible ahead of him (or at least he hoped it was, for they all looked so similar at night), and he began looking for the Lizzie. Ah! 

He breathed a sigh of relief. The Lizzie was back in place and crewmen were already winching her down using the portable weighted winches Captain Zak had hired for this precise purpose. Rod veered towards the scene and arrived seconds later, puffing and blowing. Jollie was already lying underneath the Lizzie. 

Mr Jollie! Are you alright?

Jollie clambered out from below, whole and hale, but rather pale.

Gods what a cock-up! Forgive me, sir! He tricked me into taking off, then took her over. It was all I could do to keep us from worse consequences.

It’s alright, puffed Rod, glancing around and wondering where the little fool was at that moment, Just tell me, what’s the damage? Will she be ready to fly again tomorrow?

Not a chance. Ballast bag ripped, three spars broken, and I think the frame under the engine has ... hang on, I was about to check it. Jollie crawled underneath the gondola again and stuck his head entirely into the huge hole that was so very apparent. One of the crew held a lamp close for him. The vessel shook as he tested the joints. 

Damn it, yes, came his muffled voice, the entire joint is broken!

Rod ground his teeth in a fury. I’ll kill that man!

I’d gladly help, agreed Jollie, re-emerging, "But I fear they’ll still call it murder. What in all the wide Deep was he on about?"

Some lady is chasing him, said Rod, getting under the gondola for himself.

No surprises there. Any idea who?

Oh hell! said Rod suddenly.

What? Jollie dropped down and peered under, thinking Rod had discovered more bad news.

Just an alarming thought. Did you ever meet Sergeant Bunzsen?

No.

Pray you never do. Rod was now groping the Lizzie’s rump, feeling for the broken spars, Surely we can just patch her up? I want to stick to Captain Zak’s schedule.

No, no, no, no, no. Just flying her in right now I could feel the floor shifting under the motor and I wasn’t pushing it. At top speed the motor could tear entirely loose. Catastrophic! Jollie tugged at one of the stays, causing the flabby envelope to wobble as he suppressed a few sobs. And she’s going to need re-gassing too. Gods what a mess!

At which point the others arrived. It seemed they had been sidetracked into rescuing Rocket Hampster from trying to go aboard the wrong ship. As the famous racer came into their circle of lamp-light an uncomfortable silence fell. Rocket stared at the Lizzie, his drunken gaze somewhat adrift. Finally it fixed on Rodney. Then his eyes went wide and soft like those of a puppy.

I’m terribly sorry, Roddy. I guess I just panicked. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

Rod Hoverrim just scowled at him, then remembering the wad of banknotes the man was packing. Oh don’t worry about it, old chap. No real harm done. There’s a far worse problem. I just found out that they haven’t restocked the bar, Rod glanced up at the Silver Dawn, so if you want to escape in the morning we’ll have to wait until the banks open. Big delay. He turned with a wink, Mr Jollie, what’ll you need to cover for a full restock?

Jollie took up the sham seamlessly, Oh now, let me think... He studied the Lizzie and Rod saw him counting on his fingers. Gods! Could he make it any more obvious? ...Ahhh, probably a good thirty maccas should cover it.

Without a blink, Hampster took out his money. Here: take forty. Can’t do these things by halves, you know. And he handed it over.

Well, that’s settled then, said Rod, utterly stunned by the success of his dirty trick, Let’s go up and ... have a nightcap!

Excellent suggestion! declared Hampster, striding directly to the cargo ramp of the Silver Dawn. Abb hurried after him like a mother anxious to head off further chaos while Chunga paused to lean close to Rod.

Shall I fix him something special, Rodernay? How long do you want him asleep?

Gods, if you could! How about until midday tomorrow?

No problem, Rodernay. Chunga grinned and went up too.

Rod turned to Jollie. Is that going to be enough, sir?

More than enough. Jollie folded away the cash. But I have to confess I can’t stay and do it all myself. Cap’n Zak needs me out east. Got big plans, he has. Can’t delay. But I know a good bloke just down the road here. He’ll take care of her.

Thanks, Mr Jollie, said Rod, his fury having melted away, you’re a fine friend.

You too. And who do we have here? He glanced around at Bernard, still standing patiently.

Oh, frightfully sorry, said Rod, "this is Bernard. Bernard, Mr Jollie ... Sorry: Master Aerosmith Jollie."

The two men, almost twins of each other, shook hands as Rod explained, Bernard is going to be my bodyguard for a while. He’s rather handy with, um, trouble. Rod glanced down at the fellow’s missing leg and got an idea. Mr Jollie, any chance you can make him a new leg? That should be well enough healed now, don’t you think, Bernard?

Pain don’t bovver me, was all he said, Fank you sir, you’re a proper gennelman.

Now there’s a challenge, said Jollie, studying Bernard’s shanks, Haven’t done one of them in yonks. Come on, let’s get you measured up. Should have you sorted by morning. He gestured towards the ramp, and they too went up. 

Rodney stayed, placing his hands on the gunwale of his little airship and gazing into its interior, still feeling fury towards Hampster. After today’s quick repairs [see Book IV: "Into the Lair of Le Roosh)], he had been ready to accompany the Silver Dawn to Salvadoria – the kingdom his father called home – but that plan was now thoroughly dashed. Crushed by the setback, he recalled every single piece of bad luck he had had since leaving Britain. Damn it! he snarled aloud, I wish I’d never accepted that blasted charm!

What’s that, my boy?

Oh, he quickly remembered how to address his father, Captain Zak. Good evening, sir.

What the Deep happened here?

Spot of bother with that fool Rocket Hampster.

He’s here?!

Went aboard five minutes ago. Chunga is going to fix him something special, keep him quiet. Seems the idiot went and messed up some woman who’s now after him with a hat pin. He gave a hasty description of the evening’s events, ending with the way they had duped Hampster out of forty maccas. Captain Zak hooted with laughter at this, but had otherwise been quietly glanced into and under the damaged gondola and shaking his head in amazement at the absurd tale.

Bugger, was all he said when it was done, slapping the little ship’s gunwale and turning away. But don’t worry, we’ll have it looked after.

Couldn’t we ... began Rod, glancing towards the Silver Dawn.

Not this time. We’re pressed for cargo space. Zak turned to go aboard.

Look, said Rod decisively, I’ll stay here with the Lizzie and catch up when ...

Absolutely not! No, you’re coming with me. Besides, I’ve got my doubts about this little putter. If that motor fails once you get out over the ocean ...

"The what?"

‘Ocean’. It’s like a huge lake, goes for six hundred miles ...

Impossible!

Roddy, you know almost nothing about the Deep, do you?

Rod glanced around. They were alone, Please, don’t talk to me as if I’m ten years old.

Oh Gods, we’re not going to start that again, are we?

Sorry, but I’ve had a damned awful evening and I think I might have broken something. Rod held up his right hand. It was rather swollen, and throbbed. He suspected his lip was puffed up too, and fingered it cautiously.

Hah! chucked his father, noting these details in the better light, My little boy holding his own in a punch-up. Good on you, lad! He punched Rod playfully on the shoulder, then turned back to the Lizzie, thumping the gunwale in annoyance. Damn! I bet Jollie was upset.

Yes, rather!

So, Zak lowered his voice, I want the motor out. We’ll bring it with us.

Why?

Well... and his voice went quieter still, It’s just that I don’t want anyone getting their mitts on it, that’s why. It’s the best of British aero-engineering: they’ll be copying it like crazy. 

I’m sure it’ll be fine...

"Not in this town, no. Oh and don’t worry,