Iron Horsemen (12 page)

Gustav smiled and put the platter in front of Ignatius as Gears tried to reach for another.

The hatch swung open and Captain Baldarich strolled
in. He saw Gustav's platter of rolls and rushed forward, forcing Gears to divert around the damaged engine. “Potato rolls! And you drizzled them in honey butter. This is why I'll never have another chef.”

Gustav smiled and swung the platter around. “Only the best.”

Captain Baldarich snagged two rolls and pulled Genevieve and I closer. “Gustav is the best chef I've ever known, he probably would have served the Kaiser if he'd been born to a higher station. But the Kaiser's loss keeps my belly round.”

Gustav chuckled and offered the captain another roll. With a sweep of his free hand, he looked around the engine room at the sweaty, greasy group and said, “Who wants to serve the Kaiser when you can see the world and meet a much better class of people?”

We all laughed and Baldarich swiped two more rolls. He tossed one in his mouth. Gears came around the engine and reached for one, but Gustav swung the tray away from him again.

Baldarich, his mouth crammed with rolls said, “Gears … just who I was lookin' for.” He held up his hand and swallowed. “Can we repair the engine on route?”

“Yeah, I think I can get her running. Give me half a day and one of those rolls. I'll have her purring like a kitten.”

Gustav eyed Gears, and Baldarich asked Ignatius, “We all patched?”

He lifted the dark-lens goggles and smiled. “Aye captain. There wasn't as much damage as there could have been.”

Captain Baldarich swiped another roll and stopped at the door. “Ignatius, I want you to verify that all the repairs have been made. I want everything water tight. Gears, get that engine purring. I want all three engines by the time we get to Malta.” Pointing his roll at Genevieve and I he said, “You two, clean up in here, and thanks for all your
help. Gustav, give Gears some rolls and then make another batch.”

The captain left and Ignatius followed. Gustav huffed and stood with the platter on his shoulder. A few inches short, Gears took the needle-nose pliers from his belt and snagged a roll, but before Gustav could walk away, he tossed it to his open hand and snagged one more. Gustav swung around and saw the smug look on Gears dirt smudged face. Gustav begrudgingly smiled and left as the contented engineer stuck his head back into the engine.

I couldn't help but laugh at Gustav and Gears, Baldarich and Ignatius, men whom I now considered my friends, and pledged that I would live up to their example. For a start, I made certain I thoroughly cleaned the welding torch and placed it in the storage locker. As Genevieve picked up the tools she and Gears used to fix the steam pipes, I stepped over and swung around the pipe in front of her. As the hot metal seared my palms, I let go and jumped back, waiving and blowing on my hands for relief. Genevieve laughed as I danced around, but she reached out to check my palms, a hint of concern in her eyes. I smiled to make light of it, but I'm sure my “smile” was nothing more than a pained and red-faced grimace. I tried to cover up the mistake by leaning oh-so-nonchalantly against the hull and ignoring the red blooming on my skin. The injury could have been much worse and was probably only a first-degree burn. The real injury I suffered was from third-degree embarrassment.

Rodin flew through the door and fluttered around Genevieve. He landed on her shoulder with a roll tucked between his claws. Rodin tore into the top of the bread where the drizzled honey butter pooled. Genevieve and I looked toward the door wondering if Gustav would be running through.

No knife-wielding, yelling chef appeared; the little dragon was safe.

We slipped down to our room on the gun-deck and sat on the crates. Rodin flew over to his spot and tucked up with the last of his roll.

“I didn't think he'd like bread. I assumed he'd be a meat-eater.”

“Don't let him fool you, he wanted the honey. He has a taste for sweets.”

I laughed. “We have a lot in common, then. I like sweets, too.”

Genevieve was quiet, and I wondered what she was thinking. I shifted in my seat trying to think of something else to say, but I was afraid anything that came out of my mouth might be mushy or sound stupid, so I said nothing. After a moment, she spoke again. “I wish you could have seen Zerelda's face when she saw her ship.”

“I heard her, for sure. She sounded none too happy.”

“You've made an enemy of a dangerous pirate, aren't you afraid?”

“Nah, I don't plan to become her friend, and besides if she comes around again, you'll be here to protect me. You and your sword.”

“You Americans, so cavalier, so free, sometimes I envy you.” She got up and climbed into her hammock. “Instead of sword fighting, I'll end up having to attend to my husband's courtly obligations, imprisoned in bejeweled high collars and caged in whalebone corsets.”

“Never!” I jumped on a crate and drew out an imaginary sword. “You'll end up like Shakespeare's Kate.”

“You call me a shrew?” Genevieve protested.

“No!” I sputtered. “I'm just saying … you'll never be tamed by a corset, whalebone or otherwise.” I chuckled. “I think Shakespeare must have had you in mind when he wrote the tale.”

Genevieve closed her eyes and a wide smile crept across her face. My heart thudded in against my ribcage. I jumped
and almost fell off the crate when she sat up suddenly, her hammock swaying. She looked down at her dirty hands, “I'm a mess. I'm going to wash up before dinner.”

She scooted out of the hammock and headed for the door, then stopped. She turned, walked back to where I was still standing on the crate. Puzzled I gazed down at her, and she rose to her tip toes, slipped her hands along the side of my face, drew me down to her, and kissed me lightly, her full lips brushing mine for what must have been just an instant but felt like an eternity. Electricity coursed through me and I was still standing there dumbfounded and dizzy as she turned and darted through the door. My fingertips rubbed the spot where her lips had been mere moments before, and my smile grew to goofy dimensions as everything went blurry.

I now understood Zerelda's interest in electricity.

After dinner, Genevieve and I strolled up to the bridge with the captain. Ignatius sat at the engineer's station, and Coyote was at the wheel, but I noticed the crew wasn't gathered on deck the way they usually were in the evening. Tension tugged at faces, pulling smiles into grim, tight frowns. Few spoke and then only in murmured tones. What was going on?

Ignatius's eyes focused on something in the distance, and I turned to see faint dots of flickering lights amidst a sea of black. An island! I snapped a questioning gaze at the captain.

“Malta.” He nodded and walked to the pilot's wheel. Scanning the darkness, he pointed to an open patch of sea. “There, put us down on that moonlit patch, the water's calm enough.”

Coyote pushed the wheel forward. “Aye, captain.
Shouldn't be an issue, I could probably set down on the edge to hide us in the shadows.”

“Very good,” Baldarich said and turned to Ignatius. “Make certain nothing leaks.” Ignatius nodded and the captain flipped open all four copper messaging pipes. “Extinguish all lights and prepare for a water landing.”

I ran to the window and watched as the black water moved ever closer. The silver moonlight shimmered on the tips of the seemingly small waves.
We were really going to land on water?
This ship never stopped surprising me. What could be next?

The captain leaned into the middle-right copper tube. “Retract the wingsails and seal the outer hatches.”

“The Sparrowhawk can float?”

The captain winked. “She can do more than that.”

“Can it travel below the water as well?” Genevieve asked.

Baldarich just nodded and smiled as the Sparrowhawk skittered across the waves until it settled in, cradled by the water. I looked out and saw about a third of the ship submerged below the waterline. Propellers churned the water and pushed the Sparrowhawk forward, cutting through the black and leaving a frothy wake trailing behind us. The vessel moved like any other ship I had been on.

Then the farthest left copper tube popped open and Gears' thick accent echoed out. “Engines are purring captain. Engine one will be completely fixed by sunrise, especially if I can turn it off.”

“Go ahead.”

Ignatius walked on the bridge. “Any leaks?” the captain asked.

“Not even the patches.”

“Good job,” the captain said, with a quick glance toward me. We all watched as the island drew nearer, and I found myself breathing faster, hands clasped tight on the railing. The captain and Ignatius climbed up the ladder and onto
the conning tower. I couldn't wait. I put my foot on the ladder and turned toward Genevieve. She gave me an excited smile, and up I went with her following close behind me. As we climbed, Rodin flitted around and finally landed on her shoulder.

The captain raised a telescope to his eye, extending the brass and wooden optics with a brisk
snap
. Ignatius kept an eye on the surrounding sky and sea looking for any trouble. I walked along the top of the vessel toward the bow and heard Genevieve behind me with Rodin's wings clicking softly as they ruffled in the breeze.

I stared toward the city of Valetta. Malta didn't look very big, but it was big enough to make finding my father nearly impossible. I sat down, and Genevieve lowered herself beside me. Rodin flew around us then soared out over the water. I felt the light pressure of Genevieve's hand on my shoulder and took comfort in it.

She leaned in, speaking into my ear as if telling me a secret. “Maybe we can sneak onto the island and ask some of the Maltese if they've seen your father?”

“I can
feel
him, almost
see
him. I know he's close.” I stared at the island, but what I felt wasn't longing. More like an intense sense of knowing. “I can see the room he's being held in, it has bars on the window but it looks out to sea.”

“What else do you see?”

“A white building with arches, a walkway of columns that leads to his room. He walks this way every day to go to the library. A white house, but the base is different somehow. There is another room in the bowels of the villa. It's dark … I don't want to see anymore.” I rubbed my hands over my eyes and then threw my hands up and turned toward her. “This is ridiculous. How am I seeing these things? They seem so real, but how can they be? And if they are real, somehow, why am I seeing
places
instead of my father.”

Rodin landed on Genevieve's shoulder with his head
cocked to the side. “I think
you
are seeing him. I don't know how you're doing it, but I think you're seeing where your father is being held.” She scrambled to her feet and ran over to the conning tower. I got up and followed her.

“Captain,” she said, excitement in her voice. “I know this will sound crazy, but I think we're looking for a white villa with an arched colonnade. It will have a sea view and the base is probably a darker stone.”

“How do you know this?” Captain Baldarich looked down at her.

“Alexander saw it. He had a vision, and I think he knows where his father is.”

“Captain, I have no idea what I was saying.” I tried to stop this nonsense before we wasted time on my incoherent ramblings.

Still scanning the shore with his telescope, the captain pointed to the other side of the cove. “No idea what you were saying, huh?”

I gripped the rail and leaned over, peering into the dark. There, perched atop a cliff, was a villa glowing white in the moonlight, complete with an arched, covered walkway leading across the back with a large, plain square building on one side. I couldn't believe it, the villa was exactly as I had described.

Captain Baldarich stepped up to Ignatius. “Have Coyote get as close as he can to that villa.”

“Aye captain.” The gunslinger nodded and slid down the ladder, his coat billowing like an airship's balloon.

The captain ran his fingers along his mustache and sideburns, then pointed at Genevieve and me. “You two go get ready. We're going ashore.”

I motioned to the door like a gentleman. Genevieve curtsied and ran off with Rodin shadowing her. I bowed to the captain and sprinted after her.

Once in our room, I collected everything I might need to free my father. I knew I needed to carry the weapons I'd gathered, so I strapped the Thumper to my leg and slipped my bowie knife into the belt behind my back. The act of securing them to my body and knowing they were there if I'd need them was comforting—and made me feel powerful.
But could I use them again?
I'd fired the Thumper and I'd almost taken down an entire airship, but still the idea of shooting someone deflated me faster than popping a soap bubble.