Page 44 of Storm to Victory
Then she glanced at her hands. What was she thinking? She had magic. She could just shield herself. She drew on her magic, placing a small shield around herself as she called, “Hello?”
The boots moved. Then a figure wiggled out from beneath the engine and sat up.
Not a dead body. Not an enemy either.
Pip bit down on her squeal, her breath seizing in her chest.
Prince Farrendel Laesornyshwas sitting on the catwalk staring at her, goggles over his eyes, his hair loosely tied back to keep it out of his way. Dark smears of coal dust smudged his clothes and face. He pushed the goggles up, revealing his silver-blue eyes focused squarely on her.
Breathe. She needed to breathe. She could do this. She had to do this. He was Fieran’s dacha. And there were only the four of them on this airship. She needed to act normal around him.
“Um, I…” She sucked in a deep breath and dropped her magical shield. “I wanted to check the engines. Because I’m the mechanic. Not that I mind that you’re here. I…”
This was awkward. So awkward. If only magic could turn her invisible.
Prince Farrendel stared at her for a long moment before he blinked and made a stilted motion toward the engine. Like her, he raised his voice when he spoke. “I wanted to check the engines too.”
“Ah. Good.” Pip shifted from foot to foot as he remained where he was, not moving.
There was something in his posture. In the tension of the line of his shoulders. He reminded her of Tryndar. Or, rather, Tryndar had inherited those mannerisms from him.
She liked Tryndar. Surely she could have a normal conversation with Fieran’s and Tryndar’s dacha.
“I…uh…wondered if there was a way we could power the engines with magic. Or make the coal distribution automatic.” Pip made her own stiff gesture toward the engines. “I don’t want to spend our whole trip shoveling coal.”
“Indeed. My thoughts as well.” Prince Farrendel turned back toward the engine, picking up one of the wrenches. “It does not appear that we can rig these engines to run on magic.”
“Is the wiring the problem? Or a place to hold the magic?” Pip crept closer and held up her hand. “My magic can reinforceinferior metal to be able to work with the magic of the ancient kings.”
“I considered that.” Prince Farrendel slid beneath the engine again. “Still I do not believe it would be possible to convert the engines from burning coal to running on magic without significant time and energy. I believe an automatic distribution system might be more achievable with what we have. But please have a look for yourself. You might be able to come up with a solution that I cannot.”
Anyone else might have said those last two lines sarcastically. But Prince Farrendel’s words held nothing but a genuine invitation to join him in tinkering with the engines.
“Maybe. But you have far more experience with magical engines than I have.” Pip climbed onto the catwalk above the engines and lowered herself onto her stomach to peer into the inner workings.
Something inside her eased. A mechanical project. She could handle that.
Fieran gripped the wheel,scanning the sky through the wide windows lining the pilot house of the gondola. He hadn’t seen anything but birds sharing the sky with them, but he kept the airship at a high elevation to prevent being spotted from the ground.
His stomach rumbled yet again, and he glanced around. Breakfast had been a long time ago, and it was now approaching time for a late lunch.
Could he lash the wheel into place so that he could get food? How much would the airship drift if he just let it fly itself for a while?
Uncle Edmund’s plan had merits, but trying to fly this thing with only four people was proving a challenge.
“I brought lunch. I see no one has relieved you yet.” Uncle Edmund strode into the pilot house with a tray in both hands.
“I haven’t seen Dacha or Pip at all today.” Fieran stepped away from the wheel to relinquish it to Uncle Edmund. “But the engines have made some weird sounds and cut out briefly here and there throughout the morning. So I’m guessing Pip, at least, is tinkering with them.”
“That would explain the jolt that woke me up.” Uncle Edmund set the tray on the map table before he took the wheel. “Eat, then see about catching a few hours of sleep if you can.”
“Thanks.” Fieran grabbed one of the plates from the tray. After giving Uncle Edmund a few notes on their heading, the wind speed, and their location, Fieran strolled from the room.
He ate the sandwich as he worked his way through the airship, stuffing the last bite in his mouth as he reached the kitchens. Raiding the cupboards, he prepared two more sandwiches—one with just ham and butter and the other with every sandwich topping he could find—located another tray, and set out once again.
He peeked out the windows as he worked his way along the inner corridor, but he couldn’t spot his dacha on the catwalk ringing the outside of the airship. Oh, well. If he didn’t find Dacha by the time he reached Pip in the engine room, he’d just eat the sandwich himself, even if it was rather plain.
At least the engine room wasn’t hard to locate. All catwalks and corridors led there eventually if he kept going toward the stern. Not to mention that the reverberating roar pounding through the airship was a beacon.
