Page 43 of Storm to Victory
Chapter
Thirteen
Fieran rolled out of the bunk where he’d finally fallen asleep sometime in the early hours of the morning.
The stolen airship was now many miles to the south, flying over the long stretches of farm fields that made up the center of the Mongavarian heartland. If Fieran had plotted their course correctly, then they were sticking to a line in the sky inside of the Empress Line that would avoid Mongavarian internal defenses, army bases, or aerodromes.
After washing up as best he could in the little fold-out sink, Fieran picked through his pack to find a fresh set of clothes. They’d been wrapped around a leather case padded with moss, which held six vials of elven juice infused with healing magic. The healing magic wouldn’t be strong enough to heal a mortal wound, but it would speed the healing along and prevent infection if any of them were injured.
Once dressed, he made his way out of the small cabin he’d claimed as his.
The cabin opened into a narrow hallway with a small wardroom across the way. In the wardroom, two tables with benches on either side provided a mess for the officers to hang out. Other cabins opened off this same narrow hallway, andDacha, Uncle Edmund, and Pip had found rooms there as well. It had seemed natural to stick together, especially since these rooms were conveniently close to the bridge or pilot house or whatever it was called on an airship.
No one else was in the mess room, so Fieran looked through the cupboards until he found a can of pears. He opened it, found a fork, and ate the pears right out of the can. Not the best breakfast, but it was something to tide him over until he could find the time to locate the galley and get a better breakfast.
Making his way to the bridge, he stepped inside to find Uncle Edmund still at the helm. His uncle released the wheel long enough to race back across the bridge to move the speed dial a hair. As he ran back to the wheel, he glanced over his shoulder at Fieran. “Glad to see you’re up. I think I kept us on course, but you’ll want to double-check my calculations. It’s rough trying to fly this thing by yourself.”
“This was your plan.” Fieran paused by the chart table, his gaze flicking over the maps and calculations. Everything looked correct, at least at a quick glance.
Figuring out if they were where they thought they were would be more complicated. It wasn’t like he would automatically recognize whatever towns and villages they were flying over the way he would the Escarlish towns. He’d have to do some measurements of the sun or stars and run some calculations to be completely certain.
“I can take the wheel now, if you’d like to get some sleep.” Fieran halted next to Uncle Edmund and reached for the wheel. Another quick glance over the controls indicated that everything seemed in order.
“Sleep sounds rather good.” Uncle Edmund grinned and stepped away from the wheel. “Have you eaten?”
“I had a can of pears.” Fieran closed his fingers over the wheel. A surge of something primal and exhilarating coursedthrough him. He loved flying his aeroplane. He loved the breeze in his hair and the air below his wings.
But there was something about holding the wheel of a ship and piloting it through the sky. It was like he was one of the adventurers who sailed the seas in wooden ships in days of old.
Uncle Edmund slapped him lightly on the back. “Then I’ll get you a proper breakfast before I hit the bunk.”
“Thanks. Have you seen either Pip or Dacha this morning?” Fieran adjusted the airship’s course half a degree.
“Your dacha was here earlier. I think he planned to inspect the engines.” Uncle Edmund headed toward the door. “I haven’t seen Pip yet.”
With that, he disappeared into the corridor, leaving Fieran alone.
Fieran left the wheel and inspected the various knobs and dials more closely. He adjusted a few things, but he couldn’t leave the wheel for long without the airship drifting off course.
This airship wasn’t designed to be run by four people. It was impossible to maintain everything on the ship. Nearly impossible just to keep the engines running and the airship more or less on course.
But it wasn’t like they cared if the ship fell apart around them, as long as it didn’t blow up or crash before they reached their destination, rescued the prisoners, and got everyone back to Escarland.
Pip madeher way through the corridors of the airship, chewing the last of the breakfast of toast and apples she’d made for herself in the galley.
While she wanted to head for the bridge where Fieran was likely piloting the ship even now, it was her duty to see to the engines. After all, she was here because she was a mechanic.
As she neared the aft end of the airship, the rumble of the engines turned into a roar that vibrated through the metal causeways beneath her feet and reverberated into her bones.
She stuffed the elven moss earplugs she’d brought into her ears, muffling the sound, before she stepped into the engine room, its cavernous space laced with layers of catwalks.
The engines were huge compared to the Alliance magically-powered ones. Here, coal-burning boilers heated steam to power the massive drive shafts for the propellers or air screws as they were called for an airship. Everything smelled of heated metal, grease, and coal while the heat here was well over a hundred degrees.
And yet this was all familiar. The trains that crossed the Afristani plains were steam-powered rather than magically-powered, and these engines were similar enough that Pip could read the gauges and decipher what she was seeing in the maze of wiring, pipes, and mechanics.
A pair of booted feet stuck out from beneath one of the blocks of pistons and gears. Pip’s heart leapt into her throat. Was that a dead body? Or one of the enemy mechanics still alive and too deep in the ship to realize his airship had been hijacked?
Pip cast about. She needed a wrench. A hammer. Some kind of weapon.
