Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (16 page)

“Agreed,” said Danton, almost returning to his normal casual tone.
 

“On an unrelated note…” She sat back again and smiled. “Mr. Jensen has agreed to redraw the ship schematics. This will be quite beneficial to me in the future, when I update equipment and such, so I expect that if he requires any assistance with this project, you will spare him the time he needs. He may require an escort into certain areas, so other crewmen should be made aware of his possible presence. We wouldn’t want our passengers to roast in the exhaust ventilation. I can imagine such a smell would be terribly unpleasant for any aboard.”

Silas saw Iris shiver ever so slightly.

“This may give you both some reprieve from your duties regarding young Eddie as well, as Mr. Jensen will require his help at certain stages.”

This small bit of good news was enough to make both the first mate and master-at-arms smile, at which Silas chuckled silently. The boy was quite the challenge.

Eddie was disappointed he wouldn’t be spending as much time learning from the first mate as originally anticipated, but, when Silas told him about their assignment, he cheered up immediately. The boy was thrilled at the prospect of climbing through vents and ducts and learning every last inch of the ship. If Silas wasn’t careful, he was going to lose his apprentice to a life on the high seas.

Silas spent the remainder of the morning scouring the ship for the different things he would need to complete the mapping of the interior. It took hours of searching room after room to track down enough large-sized parchment. He decided to break for lunch before tackling the problem of different colored inks. By his rationale, he would need at least four colors if he wanted to do the job properly.

Lunch was an odd affair full of the shuffling around of large scrolls with one hand, and taking occasional bites of sandwich with the other. Silas was sure he was getting all sorts of odd looks as he tried to keep crumbs and bits of sliced meat off of the plans, but he didn’t much care. He was far too engrossed in the technical wizardry that was the
Antigone’s Wrath
. The design of her sea-to-air transition was truly marvelous. He thought he was very good at what he did, but the mastery that showed in the steel-filament sails and heated-gas pipe construction was astonishing. He made a mental note to ask Rachel the identity of the inventor behind these marvels, and slipped back into immersion of the material before him.

After eating, it was back to looking for supplies. The remainder turned out to be an easier task than he thought it would be. On his way to a lower supply closet, a young crewman ran up to him and handed him four bottles of colored ink, saying the first mate sent him to deliver them. Silas smiled. Iris must be anxious to be rid of her duties as Eddie’s teacher. It looked as though he had nearly everything he needed now. All that was left was to collect his apprentice.

A sudden explosion rocked the ship and flung him into a bulkhead. He instinctively wrapped his arms around the ink bottles to cushion them from the blow. The crewman looked baffled and slightly afraid, and shot off down the passageway. Over the intercom, a horn sounded repeatedly as someone ordered the crew to battle stations. Clearly the blast had been some sort of attack, but from where? And from whom?

Fortunately, Silas wasn’t far from his room. Another hit nearly knocked him off his feet, but he managed to open the door to his quarters with the ink bottles still intact. He wrapped them in his blanket as another detonation struck, and secured the bundle with the bed straps he normally used to keep himself safe at night. With his supplies protected, he rushed to the porthole. From this limited view he caught a glimpse of another ship behind them, but could tell neither the size nor type of vessel it was. He doubted there was much he could do to help, yet it seemed obligatory that he at least ask the captain.

The main deck was a hive of activity, and he pressed himself against the outer wall of the pilothouse to keep out of the way. He slid his way around the corner and up the stairs, clinging to the doorway of the control room as another blast shook the hull.

“How long until we’re in the air?” Rachel shouted over the hiss of steam and rattle of machinery. Both she and the first mate were in constant motion, adjusting valves and throwing switches.

“Firing tank number two!” Iris called over her shoulder, then rushed to another panel after hitting a launch button. “Approximately three minutes, Captain!”

There was a cry of “torpedoes incoming!” from a crewman outside.

“Deploy countermeasures!” Rachel said, and there was a grinding whoosh as Iris pulled down hard on a lever near her head. Before Silas could secure a grip on anything, the captain cranked the wheel hard to port and he fell out of the pilothouse doorway. He nearly flipped over the outer railing, but caught a handhold just in time. He would be painfully bruised later, but if the alternative was ending up overboard, he’d take the small injuries.

From this precarious vantage point, he could see their pursuers quite clearly. The ship behind them was a squat vessel that sat on the water much as a hen in her nest. How it managed to keep up was a mystery. Its shape did not lend itself to speed. The peaked roof over the brassy hull reminded him of the Chinese fishing boats he had seen in a book of Asian woodblock prints. There must be some massively powerful engines propelling it through the ocean. His mind tossed over fuel and thrust ratios until another jerk of the ship returned him to his predicament. Looking out over the water, a giant spray shot into the air as the enemy torpedoes connected with the decoys. Silas gulped and threw himself back into the pilothouse.

“Pressure gauges indicate a go for lift off!” The cacophony of engine noise and grinding gears made it nearly impossible for Iris to be heard.

Rachel threw her entire body weight against a lever, resulting in a screeching noise that deafened them all. With gritted teeth and hands over his ears, Silas saw the sails of the
Antigone’s Wrath
expanding into great balloons from his limited view out the windows. Watching this almost took his mind off the racket created by the ship’s protestation. The vessel was not at all happy with the abrupt reconfiguration, and it was very vocal about it.

Silas did not notice Rachel motioning wildly for him to secure himself. Her frustrated ranting went unheard above the din. When she could wait no longer, she flipped the last switch and grabbed the emergency line stuffed beneath the captain’s chair. As she mouthed a few last curses at him, she lassoed him and yanked him to her side. Not wasting another moment, she tied the other end around her bolted-down seat. A quick glance told her Iris was buckled into the jump seat at the back. The entire boat rattled dangerously. She drew in a quick breath and said a silent prayer as she released the brake.

The first bounce was the worst. The
Antigone’s Wrath
lifted ten feet into the air, then slammed back down to the surface. Silas hit the floor a second later. There were no extra seats to tie him to. Rachel felt a little badly for this, but the impossible man was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was lucky he wasn’t dead. Without the little securing she’d done he’d have gone out the window, or even back out the door and over the side. Silas didn’t know this. After the second bounce, he was no longer conscious.

The third and fourth bounces weren’t so much bounces as they were quick dips. The fifth only registered as such on the altimeter. Undoing the rope with a tug, the captain sprang from her seat and began stabilizing the controls. She and the first mate created a strange ballet as pressures were lowered and speeds adjusted, and even their breathing took on a rhythm in time with their actions. This practiced precision was unmatched by any other crew she knew. Iris knew Rachel’s movements better than anyone, and the
Antigone’s Wrath
responded to this harmony in kind. When the last bursts of poorly aimed shells were far behind them, Rachel relaxed. She looked down at the still form on the floor. The shallow, but steady rise and fall of his chest told her Silas was alive. She supposed this was a good thing; she still needed him.

This thought needled her and brought her irritation back to a simmer. Hopefully she’d be rid of him and all this Brotherhood nonsense soon and could get back to her usual sort of mayhem.

“That was amazing!” Eddie burst into the room with more than his normal excitement; a feat Rachel thought impossible before now. “We’re flying! I mean, we’re really in the air! Where’s Mr. Jen—” He looked down to where Silas lay. “Oh. Is he all right?”

“Well, I daresay he’ll need a cold compress for the headache he’ll have when he wakes up.” Rachel adjusted some of the controls to straighten their heading. “But it’s nothing a glass of scotch won’t cure. Be a dear and have someone help you haul him down to the infirmary, won’t you? He’s a bit in the way where he is now.”

Eddie gave a snappy salute and stomped down the metal steps in search of someone to move the limp machinist.

Rachel stared out the bridge windows. “Iris, I’m concerned about that pursuer just now.”

“You think we were attacked earlier than usual as well?” Iris tapped at a gauge absently.

Rachel nodded. “We were barely past the Liberian border before that ship was on us. Did you by chance see the vessel?”

Iris shook her head. “It began before I could study it closely. The range on their weapons was astounding.”

“Think this one saw anything?” She nudged Silas with her foot then sighed tiredly. “Not that he’s of any help right now.”

Eddie clattered back onto the bridge with a burly crewman in tow. The man looked irritated at being tasked with this particular chore, but his face morphed into disciplined compliance when the captain raised an eyebrow at him.

“Take this man down to the infirmary. Have him seen to,” she ordered the crewman.

With a sigh and no further instruction needed, the man slung Silas over his shoulder as though he were a sack of dirty laundry. Rachel motioned to Eddie that he should follow. With marked disappointment at being dismissed, the boy turned and shuffled out after his unconscious caretaker.
 

“Let me know as soon as he wakes!” she called out after him.

Silas did not sit up or open his eyes when Captain Sterling came to check on him later. He ached from head to toe and was not in the mood for her brand of witty banter. The very thought of her worsened his headache.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. I have a question for you.”

“Why yes,” Silas said. “I’m feeling absolutely top drawer, thanks for asking. Tell me, though, next time you attempt to kill me, could I have a bit of notice?”

“Attempt to kill—” Rachel sputtered. “I saved your life, you ungrateful idiot! If I hadn’t got that rope around you, you’d be shark excrement by now! And consequently, what on earth were you thinking coming up to the bridge? There’s barely room for two there, let alone adding a fool who thinks he’s being helpful!”

He cringed. He knew he had no one to blame but himself for his current state of discomfort. “Perhaps I wasn’tt where I should have been. I apologize.” Silas wasn’t sure what hurt more, the wound to his pride or the bruises on his body. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Rachel crossed her arms in front of her. “On one of your trips outside the pilothouse, did you get a look at the vessel firing on us?”

Silas cocked his head to the side and thought. “I did, actually. Odd-looking thing. Not like any of the boats I’ve seen before.” He told her about the other ship as well as his memory would allow, but didn’t see any spark of recognition on Rachel’s face until he used the fishing boat description. Her eyes went wide in surprise.
 

“You’ve seen this type of ship before?” he asked.

“Yes, but never this side of Africa,” she said slowly.

“Who were they?”

“Yong Wu’s men.” She stared up at the ceiling. Silas had no idea what she was thinking, but apparently this news was disturbing.

“Yong who?” Silas propped himself up with a pained groan.

“No. Yong
Wu
. If there’s trade going in or out of southern Asia, it’s only on his say so.” She sighed. “I thought with our cargo being his property, we’d be in the clear. Either they haven’t got the message yet, or Yong Wu is hoping to avoid payment.”

“And which is more likely?” Silas gulped.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “It’s more likely they didn’t get the message, especially if he finds out who it is that’s transporting his precious tea. He has no great love for me, but he knows I’d dump the stuff in the ocean before I’d let him walk off with it.”

“I take it we weren’t pursued then?”

She shot him an insulted look. “You think every ship can convert like this one? I think not. The
Antigone’s Wrath
is a one-off, Mr. Jensen. The conditions weren’t ideal, but we’re airborne now and over land. There’s still a chance of anti-airship weaponry, but once we’re past Cameroon it’ll be easier. With luck, we’ll be in Baraawe in three days. That’s when the going gets rough.” She turned to leave, but stopped with her hand on the door. “Get all the rest you can, now, Mr. Jensen. After that, life will get…” Rachel smirked, “interesting.”

With that, she departed, leaving Silas dreading the days to come.

The journey over Africa was miraculously free of any further incident. With Eddie’s assistance, Silas was able to complete the schematic outline of the ship and was halfway finished mapping out the electrical work when they reached Baraawe. Rachel was quite impressed with their progress. He and Eddie watched from an out-of-the-way corner of the top deck as the
Antigone’s Wrath
pulled up to the docking platform. The excitement of pulling into port was dampened by the night and misty drizzle of rain. Rachel watched Silas duck down lower into his coat, turning up the collar to keep out the chill. Eddie, his pep barely affected by the weather, was rattling off a lengthy list of trivia he learned about this destination from his time with the first mate and the master-at-arms. The crew on a whole was much happier with young Edison out of their way, and he had learned enough during their journey that he was beginning to be more of a help and less of a hindrance. His tasks were still menial, but he went at them with a passion that surprised the captain.