Sky Song: Overture Read online

  Our air routes took us all over the different regions of Elsace. I had waded into the Poison Sea in Amaranthia, gathered sand of the Wastes into bottles and nearly frozen to death in the harrowing mountain ranges of Leffen, but of all the experiences a human being might have in his short life, there was none so grand as seeing the world from an airship’s carriage. At twilight the clouds on the horizon could spread like ink on blue vellum. Or in the day they could gather into great masses that took on an array of animal shapes.

  Soaring at this altitude, I saw Elsace as something so much cleaner. Lakes turned to puddles, cities into toys. The squalor of the slums went invisible and everything smelled fresh like rain. It was one of the reasons I loved the Wastrel. I felt so far away from all that misery down below.

  II. A Crying Shame

  I was harnessed to the back of the gondola, frozen cold from the wind chill of the gray and dismal morning. I kept switching my spanner between hands as I balled them in and out of fists to rouse my circulation. Fitz was guiding me through a routine engine inspection. The engines were about the only things on the ship maintained at a high standard. Our balloon had the face of a much beloved rag doll, covered in gray stitched patches with sloppy weatherproofing painted across the envelope. Many steel cables between balloon and gondola were frayed and being reinforced by rappelling rope. Our engines held our pride. They were high-speed cloud-munching machines.

  “Everything is handy dandy,” said Fitz, wiping grease off his hands.

  “Good,” I said through chattering teeth.

  “Wind making ice blocks of your bollocks?” Fitz brayed, juggling his spanner with one hand. His flight specs, a steel plate with horizontal slits running across the eyes, gave him the appearance of a deranged cyclops. He was wiry like me, and made a good mate for arm wrestling because he could make anybody look good. Nobody messed with him though, for three reasons: the first, that he was also friends with Baker, the second, that he was our best mechanic and the third, and most crucial, that he could muster the most horrid shriek. The bloke was off his rocker. I personally did my best not to excite him. “I’d bet you miss your fiddle right about now,” he said.

  “Fiddle can wait,” I stuttered, exhaling hot breath over my exposed fingertips. “Already mastered that. Time to learn something new.”

  “Then learn to invest in a pair of thermal trousers, boy.” He smacked my posterior and used his pulley to climb back on board.

  Equipment was a regular expense. The deck being open to the elements meant all of us had to acquire appropriate gear: goggles, flight caps and gloves. My own cap was fashioned of cotton twill. It had rain guard flaps that hung about each side of my face. Flight shirts had to be both utilitarian and elegant. The cuffs were fitted to the forearm, but the sleeves hung loose for better mobility. Laces up the front of the tunic could be drawn tight to the throat or given slack down to the navel, as the weather warranted. We kept three shirts, a black one for labor, a white one for sleeping and a red one for raiding. When it came to flight jackets, crewmen owned only one made of wool-lined leather. Trousers varied, depending on whether a man preferred agility to insulation.

  Upon returning to deck, Fitz and I discovered our captain pacing, his brow clenched in frustration. With each shift in his walk, his hip scarf whipped about like a tail.

  “Clikk!” he shouted, pointing at me. “There you are. I need to see you.” I blinked in disbelief, glancing around deck to see if there was another man named Clikk. When there wasn’t, I stepped forwards and followed my captain into his chambers. He shut the door behind me, locked it and then circled me in a slow, predatory fashion, sizing me up.

  “Yes. It’s just as I thought.”

  “Captain?” I said.

  Dirk took a seat on a luggage trunk, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, Clikk, poor, sweet Clikk. There is something that I’ve known about you from the start, but I put up with it because you can manage a sword and you fixed my puzzle wheel. It is time we addressed it.”

  “Addressed what?” I asked.

  “Don’t play daft!” he cried. “I know you’re a woman.”

  “Captain, I—”

  “We have a few lads on board who are slight of figure and might even pass for a port in a storm, but if you take off that flight cap, we both know I’ll see it plain as day! You’re more than just a pretty lad with a rasp in his throat. You actually make a fine woman.” My stomach churned. He ripped off my cap, spilling my shorn blonde hair.

  My face got hot with shame. “I’ll leave the ship at the next port.”

  “You will not. I need your help,” he said, meandering towards his large four-post bed cloaked in heavy curtains. “This is my sister Molly,” he said and pulled back the brocade, revealing a red-haired thirteen-year-old girl. Her eyes were damp with tears and her mouth trembled. She clutched the gathered skirt of her striped gown, bunching the black ruffled edge under her nails.

  “Pleased to meet you,” the doll-like child sobbed.

  “I need you to make her stop crying so she can marry the emperor’s heir,” said Dirk. “You, being a woman, can surely understand such issues that plague the fairer sex.”

  I nodded in spite of being completely perplexed and a little insulted. Dirk went out of the room and closed the door, leaving me with the weeping child.

  “Err,” I started, sitting down beside her on the bed. “Hello there. I’m Clikk.”

  The girl said nothing, but cried and cried as if her favorite mutt had just now perished beneath a carriage wheel.

  “What is the matter?” I asked.

  “N-n-nothing!”

  “If there’s nothing wrong then why are you crying?”

  “I don’t know!”

  I tried imagining what made girls cry. I hadn’t wept since beggars cracked my lip with a pewter mug. There were a few tavern songs I’d seen bring a tear to the bar wench’s eye, and I tried to remember what they were about.

  “Do you not want to marry the emperor’s son?” I asked.

  “I should love to marry a prince.” She sniffled. “It is to be a wedding in the clouds on his ship the Crescendo. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed.”

  Tears dribbled down her cheeks. She smothered herself with the captain’s pillow, bawling into it like a dying animal. It bewildered me to see a girl in such a fit without anything the matter. I went and banged on the door.

  Dirk opened it a crack, peeked in and hissed, “What are you doing? She’s still crying!”

  “I don’t know what to do!”

  “You’re a woman! Figure it out!” He shut me in and turned the lock.

  “Bugger!” I kicked the door. “Thinks he can lock me up.” I grumbled a string of filthy words that didn’t make sense in a sequence. If I went back out there as a failure, Captain Dirk would let everybody know Clikk was a woman. The men would never treat me the same again.

  Baker would feel so betrayed. He’d pissed in front of me countless times and had even put faith in me to look at his little pirate whenever he had anything resembling a rash after whoring. Worse yet, I’d heard all his disgusting jokes about wankers and shite and I’d actually laughed. I’d laughed because they were hilarious, but if he knew he was speaking to a woman like that, he’d never have the nerve to face me again.

  Too much was at risk. I went back to the girl, trying to think what helped me the night I was mugged. Beaten and robbed of my coin, I had curled up in the darkness, taking shelter beneath a broken cart as it began to rain. I had wept and pled with the gods to send me to my mother in heaven.

  Then it struck me. This girl was missing the maternal love her sod of a brother couldn’t convey. Whenever I felt sad, my own mother would cradle me in her arms and sing an old song, a song passed down through the generations. I hummed the melody to Molly, surprised I remembered it. The girl rolled over, her teary eyes blinking themselves dry.

  “What is that song?” she asked.

  “I don’t know the name,” I sa
id. “I’m sorry for my voice. I had an accident.”

  “I don’t mind. Please, go on. It lifts my sorrows.”

  I continued to hum, hearing my mother’s voice in my head as I did. The song conjured a feeling inside me that had been numbed for years. It was a yearning for something I knew I could never have again, and while the melody eased this child’s pain, it nearly brought on tears of my own. I heard the lock in the cabin door turn over. Captain Dirk re-entered.

  “You made her see reason!” he cheered. “Oh, Molly. Whatever was the matter?”

  “I swear it was nothing, brother,” she said. “It was the strangest thing. The tears came upon me like a fever.”

  “Thank you, Clikk!” Dirk cried, kissing both my cheeks. “The wedding is the day after next and you’ve saved us.”

  “Happy to help,” I said. “And I hope I may remain on the Wastrel.”

  “Yes, of course!” Dirk’s celebration was a bit premature; once again, little Molly began to cry. “Oh no no no no! What’s wrong now?”

  “I… can’t… stop…” She had to force the words out as she choked on her sobs.

  “Clikk! Do something!”

  “Shhh,” I hushed her and began to hum again. The tears vanished.

  “Don’t you see?” the girl said, exhausted. “The song helps me think clearly.”

  “Well then by all means, keep humming it, Clikk!”

  I did as my captain asked, but I couldn’t very well do this for the rest of the girl’s natural life, so I halted to present my theory on what was going on. “This has to be the witch’s curse.”

  Molly began to weep yet again. Dirk bit his lip and scratched his head, pacing about the chamber.

  “Damn. Damn. Damn,” he kept saying. Molly sniveled helplessly. “Ugh! Clikk!” Dirk snarled. “Would you please keep humming while I think?”

  “Yes, sir! Hmm-hmm-hmm,” I continued.

  “Only stop humming to answer me. What is that song?”

  “I don’t know the name! Hmm-hmm.”

  “Do you know any of the words?”

  “No!”

  Molly tried humming it for herself and I stopped to see if she could keep up the tune. She could not, and collapsed back into her crying fit.

  Dirk rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. “All right, you’ll just have to be singing that song when we board the emperor’s ship, as well as throughout the wedding ceremony.”

  “Captain. My voice is rubbish, but I do play fiddle. I could be playing the tune softly so it would be more pleasing to the ear.”

  “Yes! Of course!” he exclaimed, whacking me on the back. I almost fell forwards. “You must practice the song.”

  “Yes, Captain,” I said, bowing my head.

  “Miss Clikk?” said Molly, sniffling. “Could you perhaps sing to me just a bit more? It is so hard for me to fall asleep.”

  “I suppose,” I said, and began humming the melody from the beginning.

  The girl lay on her side and closed her eyes. The cushion beneath her head was damp, so I turned it over and fluffed it for her. I pulled the fleece over her shoulder. This was a strange role for me, as I had never taken care of anyone but myself. My only example of nurture came from memories as distant as the stars.

  Dirk watched in silence, eyes unfocused, arms folded. As much as he pretended to have a callous heart, deep down lurked some familial compassion for the girl. Big brothers pretend not to care about their younger siblings, and pirates are the most adept men in the world at hiding their sentiments, but I could see the relief in his eyes as Molly drifted off to sleep.

  III. Falling

  The thirst came upon us, but our Skye stores ran low due to shortages throughout Elsace. Skye, the fermented concoction of gray bubbly, made a man feel like a supreme being, awake and full of spirit. It numbed all kinds of pains: toothaches, illness, hunger, homesickness and the boredom that blanketed the hours and days between raids. The crew always jested an airship needed two kinds of Skye, Skye for the balloon and Skye for the men. It wasn’t that original of a pun, as the latter had been named after the first. Regardless, if we ran dry, Captain Dirk would have a lot more to worry about than a marriage deal with Emperor Perceval.

  A few days without the drink made men irritable and derisive to authority, but the captain said we were on too tight a schedule to visit a port, and so we flew on upon a flat plane of cloud-sea that extended into the horizon. Along the way we sighted a shadow lurking just beyond a thick mist. A dirigible soared not far off our course. Determined to replenish our supplies, we hunted her.

  The navigator pinched a spyglass to his eye. The rest of us stood clenched in ready position as we waited for his call. Wind pummeled our flight shirts. “Cruiser,” he said. “Should have plenty of Skye.”

  “Rich folk, I’d wager, which means good Skye,” said Captain Dirk. There was a general murmur of approval. “She’s a big girl, so we’ll have to operate tactically and make her think we’re bigger. Hawks! Suit up!”

  The Hawks were our first wave of offense, an elite team of twenty-five of Dirk’s fiercest. They infiltrated before we could be seen and assessed; this offered the target’s crew a chance to surrender peacefully. If they yielded their valuables, we would leave them unscathed. If they refused, the Hawks would signal for support, and a hundred grappling hooks would latch onto their ship. Sky pirates crazy with the thirst would flood in, spilling blood until we were wading ankle deep in it. We would take what we could carry in our packs, and once we cleared her, the gunners would blow her balloon. Due to Captain Dirk’s reputation, I had only twice seen a ship forgo surrender. It was an ugly bit of business, but we lived in an ugly world.

  I looked to my friend at my side. Baker stepped into his leathery wing suit. I buckled the straps around his wrists, ankles and throat. The fledglings had to squire a Hawk their first year. My year was finished and the men no longer called me ‘birdie’ or ‘chickadee,’ but I had not yet received a new job assignment. Inspecting Baker’s equipment was my duty, and simple enough, but every time I dressed him before a raid, my heart pounded in my chest as if I were the one about to ride the wind.

  Baker turned to face me as he adjusted his crimson goggles. His dynamite’s outline was visible just left of his heart. If anything went wrong, it was protocol to threaten total annihilation. Blowing the ship up from within was a last resort if the Hawks could not signal for assistance.

  Although I had never seen any man use his boom stick, it still disturbed me to see Baker strapped with an explosive. “What’s wrong, friend?” he asked.

  “Just jealous,” I said nonchalantly, examining all eight pistols on his chest. I inspected the grappling hook mechanism on his forearm and the dagger strapped in under his boot. “Have fun.”

  “Hey, now that you’re all chummy with the captain, he’d probably let you ride the wind if you asked. Maybe he’ll even make you his boatswain.”

  “Bugger off,” I said, giving him a shove. Baker laughed, silver tooth winking in the sun. He backed up to the rail and spread his arms like a swan. With a salute, he said, “See you topside, Clikk,” and tipped over backwards, plummeting headfirst. I ran to the railing to watch as he dived and spun and glided on the air. The other Hawks soared at his side. The Wastrel descended upon the cruiser and circled, settling just twenty yards above the aircraft. She was a beauty. Her elongated balloon had to house at least half a dozen gas cells. The gondola ran along the bottom of the envelope in two levels, having enough room for at least two hundred passengers, not including crew.

  The Hawks grappled onto the base of the cruiser’s envelope, zipping up to the rigid framework. They climbed down and kicked the round windows with their steel-tipped boots, swinging their bodies inside.

  We waited for the white flag to appear in the window. Ten minutes passed without any signal.

  “What is happening in there?” I heard the navigator whisper.

  A blast rocked the body of our ship. Clouds of fire erupte
d from the cruiser, bursting from its gondola. Debris and carcasses spilled out of the hole, including one of our Hawks, unrecognizable beneath all the soot and blood that caked his scorched head. A man wearing a militant blue uniform fell out as well. There were Blue Dusk on board.

  One of the cruiser’s gas cells began to deflate in the middle of its balloon. Passengers jumped of their own volition, some with parachutes, others without. My lips and fingers went numb and a screeching whistle filled my head. In the thickness of this physical terror, I heard Captain Dirk as he said, “Abort. They are lost.”

  “No!” I growled, my voice as raw as rough stone.

  Captain Dirk’s eyes flashed with rage. He never had to explain his orders and would throw men to the clouds for insubordination. “Their chance to grapple back on board has passed.”

  “Captain, we can go under and catch them.”

  Dirk snagged me by my collar and yanked me in so close I could see the sun freckles under his eyes. “Did you not see that uniform?” he whispered. “If we let a single man leave that ship alive, the emperor will cancel the wedding and have us hunted to the ends of the world.” He shoved me into the rail and turned to address the crew. “We cannot rescue our men without risking our going down with her! The Hawks have been compromised! Send that ship to Tartarus, gunny!”

  The mechanisms vibrated beneath my feet as our guns aimed at the cruiser. Captain Dirk didn’t need the Hawks. He could train new men and have new wing suits fashioned in the Wastes. But there was something he had clearly forgotten. If he wanted his deal with the emperor, he needed me.

  I didn’t think. I didn’t give myself time to be afraid. I threw a rope ladder overboard.