Chapter 22
Two days away from Newtonsteign, Scud wakes me with more bad news. “We got company again, Nina. Two more law enforcement ships patrolling across out flight path.”
I can’t believe our bad luck. Either they got the jump on us while we were messing about on Ashcroft Ascent or they have a whole fleet chasing us. Borker’s information network must be more extensive than even Scud’s paranoid imagination can conjure up.
I slam my cabin door on the way out and stomp up the steps to deck. I snatch up a telescope, and cross to where Fernando stands like a sentinel studying the intruders through his own scope.
“Have they seen us?” I demand. I don’t even question the identity of the ships. Since our last encounter, the crew’s confidence has grown noticeably and I see no reason to knock them now. They know what they were doing.
“Not yet. There’s a vicious storm coming in right behind us so we’re still hidden in darkness. We need to turn back before the sun catches us.”
I study the shark-tails: one patrolling well above our cruising altitude and one below, identical to the ones we encountered before.
“They knew we were coming.” I lower the glass to find everyone else staring at me. “Did I just speak that aloud?”
“How?” Fernando demands. “How do they know where we’re headed?”
“Either the journal isn’t as secret as we think it is,” Scud suggests, “or—”
I have an idea and raise the telescope to study the approaching storm.
“—or someone betrayed us.” Izzy finishes.
This time when I lower the telescope they are all staring at Trent. Could Trent have betrayed us? Would he? He seems so happy as part of the team—positively thriving on the camaraderie of a disciplined fully functioning crew, something I guess might be a new experience for him. Besides, what does he have to gain by getting himself caught?
Trent responds to his accusers like a cornered cat. “You think because I’m the last one in I betrayed you?” he wheezes—something he always does under stress. A sign of guilt? “How much did each of you really know about Fernando, Izzy or Scud before they joined your crew, Nina?”
Fernando’s nostrils flare in disgust. “You leave Izzy out of it—she’s the one who’s lost her father here.”
“I’ve known Scud for years, and Izzy is family,” I say quietly.
“An’ families never betray each other, I suppose,” Trent scoffs.
He has a point, especially about, Fernando—all those debts could leave one vulnerable to blackmail. I shake myself, this is pointless speculation and the distrust could tear my crew apart again as surely as the worst storm.
They eye each other suspiciously. I have to put a stop to this. “You are all missing the bigger picture here, guys—Borker is an assassin and a constable, he now knows what we are after and I bet he knows where the other clues are hidden, he’s merely split his forces to cover both bases. So no more talk of traitors—we are one crew and we look out for each other, agreed?”
The others sheepishly nod their heads and mumble apologies.
Disaster averted.
“Good, now let’s deal with these constables,” I growl. No way am I letting them win this time. “I’ve got a plan. All stop!”
This time, the constables suffer from a major weakness—they won’t dare set foot on Newtonsteign. In fact, they are not at all welcome in Microtough airspace. There’s history: independent city states against a centrally controlled empire. There have been several wars over the decades so any official city state ship is automatically suspect. If we can just get passed their patrol we can get to the next clue. And I know exactly how to do it.
The storm whips up behind us and we surf along just inside its leading edge—invisible to the constables, but heading in the right direction for Newtonsteign. A simple and highly dangerous ruse.
“Scud, I need you on the wheel.” Fernando and I are already battling to keep the ship out of the storm’s vortex, but still hidden within the clouds. A third set of hands might just prevent our rigging being mangled, our hydrogen bags punctured, and the whole ship spat into the ground like match sticks.
The compass is useless in this storm and we have no way of seeing where we are going. I am navigating purely by touch now: feeling how the Shonti Bloom responds to the buffeting winds of the storm and compensating to maintain our position. I find it easier to close my eyes. I can visualize the Shonti Bloom in a giant wind tunnel, and let my imagination guide me. Scud and Fernando are just providing extra weight to help me enforce my will on the steering and stop the wheel spinning out of control every time the ship hits a counter blast.
We battle on for hour after exhausting hour. At one point, as night falls, I feel like the storm has flipped us on our heads and is threatening to tear off our tail. Without our tail, we will be a floating dead weight, ripped to shreds. We hang on for dear life, too exhausted to do more than throw our combined weight in one direction or another. Miraculously, the Shonti Bloom rights herself. I breathe a brief sigh of relief before the storm throws us into another confusing vortex.
Sometime during the night, the storm starts to weaken, releasing the Shonti Bloom from its relentless grip. Exhausted, we collapse where we stand and curl up to sleep on the cold hard deck.
Fernando shakes me awake. Sunlight streams across the deck, not a sign of last night’s mega storm. “Nina, constables. Just appeared over the horizon.”
I grab a telescope and laugh when I see the direction Fernando points. “Well done, guys, we got past them.” Their ships must have run ahead of the storm, the safe and sensible course of action. Now, though, they are well away from their stations and we are between them and Newtonsteign.
Izzy grins at the turn of events. “Orders Captain.”
I point away from the shark-tails. “Turnabout and make all possible speed for Newtonsteign.”
Within an hour the constables are gaining on us, but then four pure white airships of the Microtough Navy appear on the horizon ahead of us and the constables withdraw.
We have escaped the constables, all we need to do now is get past the white ships of the Microtough Navy who are training their blast-cannons on us.
An officer, dressed in a pure white uniform, appears on the deck of the closest Microtough ship with a megaphone. “Heave to and prepare to be boarded,” he orders.
This time we cannot run.