Iron Horsemen (6 page)

“Wait, please don't shoot.”

“You can tell your lady friend to stand up too. Nice disguise but your features are a little too soft.”

We stood onto the metal planking. The captain looked over us and laughed. I wondered what was so funny.

The captain let his coat fall and crossed his arms. “You got names?”

“Alexander.” I fell silent as three men came down the corridor. One wore a turban, the other dressed like a cowboy, and the third carried the biggest rifle I'd ever seen.

The three men stood quietly, examining us. Then the cowboy tipped his Stetson to the captain. “I've got a couple of men at the gun-ports in case they come back, and we're ready to depart on your order, captain.” He spoke with an odd combination of Continental accent combined with a southern American drawl. “You want me to drop 'em in the drink?”

“Get us up into the skies. Those guys are coming back.” The captain pointed at the soaked girl. “And you are?”

“Genevieve Kensington.”

Her harsh tone surprised me, and I saw a wet plunge in our future. The men laughed, except for the young Indian man, whose narrow eyes studied her.

A flash of bronze darted through the port. Rodin landed on Genevieve's shoulder, his spread wings and snarling open jaw made it very clear they would have to go through
the ferocious little dragon to hurt her.

“What the hell is that?” The startled captain asked.

Genevieve stood like a proper English noblewoman and announced, “He's my dragon. Now, if you please, may we have the honor of knowing whom we are addressing?”

The men laughed again. “I am Baldarich, captain of this vessel and raider of the sky.” He smiled and bowed. “What brings you to my ship, other than your displeasure with your previous
watery
accommodations? Two young lovers running away? No, I don't think so. Too determined.” He looked us over and ran his fingers along his sideburns and mustache. “I want the truth or you can feed the fishes.”

Genevieve's brow lowered. “You were taking a man to Gibraltar, we were sent to replace him.”

The blue-turbaned teenager, dressed in a matching tunic over white pants, stepped between them. “Captain, I know this girl.”

From the look on Genevieve's face, I could tell she didn't know him.

“I know her father, Baron Kensington.” The Indian man appeared to be slightly older than me. “They have the same spark, and he, too, had a dragon of bronze.”

“What a small world we live in.” The captain leered at us. “Now where is your father?”

I blurted out, “My father was kidnapped and I am trying to rescue him.”

Genevieve said, “And
my
father was going to search for
his
father, but was attacked and poisoned before he had the chance. I now seek his cure.”

The Indian teenager approached Genevieve. Rodin shifted but seemed to smell something familiar and eased his stance. With a look of concern he said, “I am sorry to hear of your father. May my gods and yours bless his health.”

As Genevieve bowed her head in thanks, I asked,
“Captain Baldarich, will you please take us to the Port of Gibraltar? I don't have much to offer, but I'm certain that Queen Victoria would reward you.”

The four men laughed, and the cowboy slapped his knee.

Genevieve stepped forward. “If you'll grant us transport, I can pay you when we arrive back in England.”

Captain Baldarich crossed his arms. “We're on our way to Gibraltar; I could take you there. For a price.”

“Captain, I wish to aid this girl,” the boy in the blue turban said. “Her father helped smuggle me out of India.”

“I understand.” Baldarich nodded. “Well, young lady, this is going to cost you—to Gibraltar and back, plus fighting. 'Cause you know there is going to be fighting. But we are having a deal on saving damsels in distress, and I owe this guy a favor or two. It will cost you a thousand Pounds Sterling. Same offer I made your father.”

I sighed and leaned against the one of the corridor arches. Where would we ever get that kind of money?

Genevieve smiled and nodded. She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

The captain laughed and clasped her hand in his. “Welcome to the Sparrowhawk!”

Baldarich gestured toward the cowboy. “This is my first mate, Ignatius Peacemaker, fastest draw this side of the Atlantic.” The cowboy tipped his hat to us as the captain turned to the man on his left. “That's Hunter, and this beauty is Gretel, his elephant gun. The man you really owe is my boatswain, Indihar Singh. He's in charge of the crew so you call him Mr. Singh.”

I gestured toward the boy. “But he's a kid?”

Baldarich laughed. “That's why he's so good. He's a Sikh, only seventeen, but he's the best warrior I got, and the kid
knows
how to airsail.”

I nodded to the three men, relieved to have found some help. The dripping wet Genevieve curtsied in her men's clothes.

Baldarich leaned toward Ignatius, “Get us out here, have bunks prepared and let Gustav know there'll be two more for dinner.” He started to walk off, but stopped and turned around. “Mr. Singh, get them something dry to wear.”

Mr. Singh bowed. “Please, this way.”

Genevieve and I followed as the other two men walked off in a different direction.

The hull opened beside us and the long yardarm swung
out and unfurled the wingsails. The Sparrowhawk lurched. Genevieve and I grabbed the brass-accented wooden handrail to keep from slipping. The outer door closed, leaving open pits where the wingsails had been.

Mr. Singh simply swayed and continued on. Turning back, he smiled. “Your sky legs will come in time.”

The bow rose and I found myself walking uphill. I heard the whirring and
chug chug
of the engines echoing behind me. I couldn't wait to see the Sparrowhawk ascend into the sky. Flying had always been my dream, but until now it had remained only in my fantasies. Now it would be real. And flying with Sky Raiders, too!

Mr. Singh led us down narrow steps to the cargo hold and gun-deck. Crates filled the center, marked with the fleur-de-lis, a golden, stylized, three-pedaled lily, one of the symbols of France.

“Wow, cannon.” Two cannons sat on each side of the gun-deck toward the front, but I stopped next to a contraption that looked like a bunch of guns bound together. “What is that?”

Mr. Singh smiled. “A six-barreled, hand-cranked, rapid fire Gatling gun. Captain picked them up after your country's civil war.”

“Can I crank the handle?”

“No.” Mr. Singh opened the door to the forward compartment and they entered an open room with crates of cannon balls, ammunition, and other supplies for the gun-deck.

The floor sloped upward and I realized we stood at the front of the ship. My broad smile couldn't hide my excitement.

The Sikh smiled and nodded to Genevieve, “I apologize that we don't have better accommodations, but I don't think you should bunk with the rest of the crew.” He bowed to us and said, “Ignatius will bring clothes and I shall return to
give you a tour of the Sparrowhawk.”

“Mr. Singh, I'm afraid this will not suffice.” Genevieve looked around at the room. “I cannot stay here. He's a boy– it simply isn't proper.”

“A boy?” I shook my head. Why didn't she just say a commoner and really dig the knife a little deeper.

Mr. Singh bowed to Genevieve. “Perhaps I can build a wall between the two of you.”

“I wouldn't want to be an imposition.”

“It would not be a problem.”

I crossed my arms. “I still want to know what the problem is?”

Mr. Singh walked over and tugged on several hammocks hung on the walls by ropes woven through the bunched canvas grommets. “Here is your bed. Flip this latch and your hammock will slide over and anchor to that beam.”

I flipped one of the latches on the port side and the canvas unfurled. “I've always wanted to sleep in a hammock.”

Mr. Singh nodded. “You will feel like you are floating.”

Genevieve asked. “This room is for storage, right?”

“Yes.”

Genevieve looked around with a furrowed brow. “But this is also where we sleep?”

“Yes”

Her jaw clenched. “Does everyone sleep this way? Surely you have room set aside for sleeping.”

“No, you are not the captain and only he has his own room.”

Genevieve's expression remained stoic. “I will just have to manage.” She bowed. “My gratitude for your assistance, Mr. Singh.”

As the door shut behind Mr. Singh, I hopped in the hammock, letting my feet dangle.

I noticed Genevieve tried to hide her smile as she watched the water drip from my clothes. She took a piece
of canvas and arranged a place for Rodin, tucked up in the narrowest part of the bow.

The little dragon picked at it with his claws, and with a final wiggle of his butt, settled down into a comfortable spot.

I kicked off my sopping boots. “We have luck on our side.”

“I suppose.” Genevieve cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. She went through her bag, and carefully folded her coat. “But nothing is going the way it was supposed to.”

“I think this is a good thing. I've always wanted to travel in an aero-dirigible.” The Sparrowhawk leveled off and my hammock swung on its hooks. The buffeting winds pushed the whole craft up and down, and side to side as the unceasing whistling permeated the hull. “Moving though the sky will take some getting used to.”

The door opened and Ignatius Peacemaker walked in. He tossed me some clothes, then walked over to Genevieve and set a bundle before her. “We ain't got much in the way of women's clothes but we recently
borrowed
a few crates from a French merchant ship.”

Genevieve nodded. “Thank you.”

Ignatius left, and Genevieve picked through the clothes. I threw off my wet shirt and reached for a rag to wipe off. I looked at her, fumbled for the door and tripped over a crate of cannonballs. “Ow!” I rubbed my leg. “Sorry, you change. I'll be outside … sorry.”

Closing the door, I sat on one of the cannons, and felt the chilling draft whip around me. I rubbed my arms to keep from shivering.

The door opened, Genevieve stepped out and smiled. “Room's all yours. You should really get out of those wet clothes.”

My head snapped up. I did a double take, and tried to keep from staring. She looked so different from the ladies
I saw walking around London. White pants tucked into high, brown leather boots rose above the knee with a flap at the top. A dark-brown leather corset with three brass-buckles covered a white top. A long, blue military overcoat gave her a noble appearance. Her fingers toyed with her locket's silver chain. Whipping my gaze away, I ran for the room.

Pulling my bundle of clothes apart, I found dark brown pants, a white button down, and brown boots. After dressing, I needed a belt. I took a leather strap from the wall and buckled it around my waist, but several feet remained. Without a proper knife to cut the strap, I kept wrapping it around myself—up over my shoulders and then down my right leg, where I buckled the end just above my knee.

Looking down at my new attire, a surge of confidence stirred deep within. I stood a little taller. I'd never liked school uniforms, too constraining, and I could almost hear my schoolmates' taunts. It made me smile; stiff suits were not my style.

Genevieve waited for me by one of the cannons. Her eyes widened. I walked up to her and asked, “So is the strapping too much?”

“No,” she quickly replied.

I smiled. “You look good, like a soldier, but in a noble way.”

Her face lit up, but Mr. Singh interrupted and bowed. Genevieve returned the gesture and I tried, but my bow lacked their grace.

“I am to show you the Sparrowhawk. Your duties will be assigned later.”

“Duties?” Baldarich fired one last burst

Mr. Singh laughed. “Come, the captain is waiting.”

I ascended the stairs to the main deck, the middle of the three, and walked forward toward the bow. We passed a room with a two long rows of hammocks stacked atop
each other on the curved outer wall. From the other side, I heard pots banging as heavy footsteps thundered from the galley. I wanted to peek, and the smell was very enticing, but Genevieve pulled me along.

Mr. Singh walked by a small door in the bow. “This is the forward gun-deck.”

I wanted to see but we continued. “The Sparrowhawk is well armed,” I remarked.

Mr. Singh smiled. “The captain is good at acquiring things.”

Genevieve shot Mr. Singh a look with one eyebrow raised. “Things?”

“All kinds of things.”

He led us aft to the engine room, through a corridor lined with several large tanks. Three immense engines, their pistons and cranks revolving in syncopated rhythm, drove the vessel through the sky. Steam pipes twisted around the walls and ceiling, their segmented copper sections and brass fittings reminding me of my anatomy classes back at Eton. A man climbed through the rotating gears and propeller shafts but Mr. Singh continued before I saw him clearly.

Genevieve stepped forward. “Pardon me, how did you meet my father?”

Mr. Singh smiled with a pleasant expression. “It was a few years ago. Your father traveled throughout the Punjab fighting a rebel threatening the region.”

“I remember that trip.”

“The day the rebels exterminated my family, I drew my Kirpan.” He patted a curved dagger tucked into the sash around his waist. “I charged in to avenge them and would have been killed, but your father saved me. He smuggled me to some traders traveling the Silk Road. From there I made my way to Europe.”

“I don't remember that part. He never told me that story.”

“Have you gone back since then?” I asked.