Airships of Marrakesh, Part 11

Author’s note:  Part 11.  11,000 words.  Wow.  I’ve tried doing NaNoWriMo several times, and I always peter out somewhere in the first five to six thousand words.  In this installment I hit eleven thousand, which is impressive to me.  As always, it’s a rough unedited first draft, so errors may occur and research is minimal at this stage.  Thanks for reading.  

 

Several hours out of Marrakesh found the Twilight’s galley jammed with people for the meeting that Janus had called.  Both captains, their first mates(Janus had promoted Mellira), Ibben, Makhi, the lieutenant of the guards, and the supply master were crowded around the galley table.  Maps of the continent lay spread out, weighed down with wooden markers and measuring tools.  The whisky sat near Ford’s hand, not yet open.

“First of all, let me say that I think we hold too many meetings,” began Captain Janus.  “This one, though, is important.  It’s through Captain Ford’s kind generosity that our two crews will be working together for the time being, in our joint venture to get back my airship and kick Ruther Slyne’s ass.  I got stabbed yesterday, but it seems like it happened years ago.  Still hurts like a bitch.”

“So let’s open the whisky and have a drink,” said Ford.  He grabbed the bottle and opened it, then took a long slug straight from the bottle.  It passed to Janus, who did the same, and then around the table, managing to pass around Makhi.  The boy looked after the drink and sighed.

“What have we got, cap’n?” asked Grollo, Ford’s first mate.

“Something that might end up being trouble, not that it isn’t already.  My friend here tells me that the German ambassador knew something about the heist, and that Slyne is making his way to Berlin.  We don’t know much beyond that, but it’s my guess that the Anglo-prussian Empire has something planned.  I think we should get to Berlin before Slyne does and give him a warm welcome.  With our fists and cudgels,” said Janus.  He grinned.  “It’s going to be a hard trip, but we’ll make it because we’re airmen.  We’re loaded with supplies, and the Sky Drake is loaded with a belly full of gold – now tell me which ship’ll be flying faster, and if you say the Drake then I have a lake in the Sahara to sell you.”

“I like that plan,” Ibben said.  ‘What chances have we got to catch up?”

“Ford?” Janus gestured at the American captain, who stepped up and took a quick drink before speaking.

“The Twilight is a good ship, but she’s not as fast as the Drake.  But like Janus said, the Drake is full of gold right now, and gold is heavy.  They have a start on us, but we have two crews – I say we fly in shifts, and go through the night to make up the distance.  It’ll be rough, but I’ve got confidence we can do it.  We’re packed with food, water, and coal, and Slyne will need to stop and refuel at some point.  We don’t know when or where, but we can make some good guesses.  Marcus here is our supply master.  Mellira, if you can let him know what the Drake was carrying when she left, he should be able to plot out some towns where Slyne might be landing.  Grollo will organize the shifts, and we’ll fly until we reach the Iron City.”

The airship was soon filled with the sounds of activity, as Ford’s crew continued the small tasks that ensured the smooth running of an airship, and Janus’ crew made spaces to catch up on sleep before their night shift began.  The Twilight had reached maximum altitude, and the desert lay spread out far beneath like a tan blanket.  The ship took minimal effort once a proper course was set on a clear windless day, which allowed both crews to talk and share air stories.

Janus joined Mellira at the forward rail.  The sun was touching the horizon in the west, and everything was shaded in deep purples and the orange of a fading sunset.  Both wore the heavier jackets that airmen favored, lined with fur and thick enough to insulate against the cold temperatures that flying high always brought.

“It still seems mad to me sometimes,” said Janus.  “When I was tiny boy, the first airship took flight in Scotland.  I remember growing up and watching them come in to London – our small town was in the perfect place for the London approach, so I would sit on my few spare days and watch as they flew overhead, dropping giant shadows over the fields below.  Thirty years ago, and now we have ships like the Drake, that can make distances unheard of when the first airship flew.”

“What made you choose the sky?”

“Adventure.  I wanted to get away from home.  My da was a blacksmith, and I was supposed to apprentice to him.  I suppose I didn’t want to be tied to the same town for the rest of my life.  Being up here, and seeing everything so small down below… that’s what I ran to the sky for.”

Mellira smiled.  “One of my brothers was the same way.  He lost a leg in the war, so he couldn’t join a crew.  I did it for him, and every trip we make on the Sky Drake, each time I come home I bring him something from far away.  He’s getting a pretty large collection, and he always wants to hear my stories.  Doesn’t believe me that most of the time it’s uneventful.  Next time I see him he’ll get an earful, I think.”

“I hope we won’t regret this.  The more I brood on it, the more I feel that we never knew Slyne at all, that he had a mask he wore just for us.  It worries me, and I don’t know what we’ll find at the bottom of this.”

“I trust you, Captain,” said Mellira.  “The crew will follow you anywhere, and Ruther will remember the day before he took the Drake as the last good one in his miserable life.”

Janus nodded and gave her a smile, and together they watched as the sun set over the last stretch of the Sahara.

Airships of Marrakesh, Part 7

Author’s note:  Rough unedited first draft.  I’m writing with no research done, just ideas, and what you’re reading could change drastically.  Thanks for reading.  

 

The sun rose slowly over Marrakesh, shadows drawing back into alleys, between houses, into the nooks and crannies that every city had in abundance.  The heat would come back as it always did, but here, now, in the early light of dawn, it was still bearable.  The inhabitants had dealt with the sun for millennia, but the hundreds of visitors, traders, tourists, investors and newcomers all faced the desert heat in different ways.

The small inn at the edge of the trade district was a hive of activity.  Crew from the Sky Drake had been arriving in small groups, staggering in to find food and relief from the previous night’s drinking.  Makhi, who had returned with much of the same information as Ibben, ran messages and went from tavern to tavern, rousing those crew members who needed more than a quick kick to get them moving.

Ibben and Mellira flanked the captain as he stepped out, cigar clenched in his teeth.  Passersby avoided the trio, who looked ready to take on Hell itself.  None of them had slept, and Ibben in particular was grimy and filthy from the previous night’s adventure.  Together they headed in the direction of the air-port, seeking the captain of the Twilight.

The air-port had grown on the outside of the city, getting larger every year as airship travel exploded and merchants the world over realized the profits to be made in trading goods that could be delivered anywhere, much faster than by any other method.  Already loud and bustling with traders, captains, crew, and porters, the air-port only grew busier as the day went on.  The very nature of the airship meant that there was plenty of shade to be found, even if it did move slightly with the wind.

The Twilight was moored at the edge of the port, tethered with thick ropes to a four story tower that contained stairs and a mechanical lift for easier loading of cargo.  The airship resembled the Sky Drake with only a few minor differences.  The Twilight was three meters longer, and had a deeper belly for larger cargo loads.  The aft engines were heavier, and the Drake was slightly more maneuverable.

The trio climbed the tower and paused on the landing platform to take in the view.  Marrakesh spread out before them, saturated in the warm tones of early morning.  The city was murmuring as it woke, residents getting up to start their daily tasks.  The great market square was busy, vendors setting up their stalls to catch the early customers, shouting their wares.

“Who goes there? Mellira, is that you?” The voice came from the deck of the Twilight, and belonged to a balding man with wire spectacles.  He held a staff casually at his side and peered at Janus and his crew from less than ten feet away across the gap between airship and tower.

“Tomas!” The redhead grinned and waved.  “How are you doing, you old dog?  Are the kids doing well?”

“It is you, by god.  I’d recognize that red hair and that pretty arse anywhere.  The kids are doing great, Betsy is a wonderful mother.  Can’t say as I’m the best dad in the world, but I try to bring ‘em something every visit,” Tomas said.  He set down the staff and laid out the gangplank.  “What brings you to the Twilight?  Captain Janus, good to see you too.  Ibben.  Come aboard, come aboard!  Ford is in his cabin, go right on in.”

Mellira ran the plank and jumped at Tomas, giving him a warm hug as she pecked his cheek.  The men were more reserved, and stuck to handshakes.  The deck was quiet, though a pile of crates had begun forming at the base of the tower, and a small number of porters were standing in a group, waiting to load the ship.

“Is he awake? It’s early yet, but we need to see him,” said Janus.  He looked back toward the cabins and frowned.

“If he’s not, you can wake him up,” said Tomas.  “He should be up, though.  Breakfast, I think.  I’ll have something brought for you as well.”

Janus nodded and led the way aft.  It was time to call in the favors.  The cut on his chest hurt, and he was more than exhausted.  The theft of the Sky Drake had caused him more grief than he wanted to show, and the anger at Slyne’s betrayal fueled him now.  He had left home twenty years ago, signed up with an airship crew, and never looked back.  Back then, airships were slow and bulky, but designs had improved drastically in the years he’d been in the air.  The Sky Drake was only a few years old, and she was his.  He had worked his way up from deck crew to captain, and no whoreson bastard would ever take that from him.  He clenched a fist and heard his knuckles pop.  The door to the captain’s cabin was ajar, and Janus took a deep breath and stepped inside.

“Jeremiah Ford! Your ship isn’t fit to carry pigshit!  What are you teaching that crew of yours?”  Ford looked up from his breakfast plate, eyes wide with a fork halfway to his lips.  The bacon slipped from the fork, and the small captain grinned as he saw who had called his name.

“Well if it isn’t my old friend Captain Janus van Koonns!  What brings you to this old flying crate?”  The two captains embraced, and room was made around the table for everyone.

“I’m calling the favor, Jere.  Slyne took off with the Drake and left us all hanging with our balls to the wind.  He flew just before dawn, from what we can tell.”

“That backstabbing sum’ bitch… What do you need from me?  I’m at your disposal, you know that.  I’m set to load up on cloth goods, but it’s a small cargo,the load-in shouldn’t take long at all.  We can set out in an hour.  Where’s Slyne headed?”

“We don’t actually know.  We think he’s going for Spain, and he’s got Ben on board as hostage.  He had Ben write a letter that was delivered to me, but he didn’t specify any reasons.  Nothing but long-winded gloating about why he was better than me.”

“Then forget about it for now, and relax and have some breakfast while you can.  I’ll have another pot of coffee sent in,” said Ford.  He was American, born in Pennsylvania, and in the way of most Americans was endlessly optimistic.  He leaned back now in his chair, in shirtsleeves and suspenders, and pulled out a pipe.

The rest of the hour passed quietly, and Janus and crew enjoyed the simple breakfast provided.  Finally they pushed back plates and mugs and stood, stretching.

“I’ll get the crew, and meet you back here,” said Mellira.  They walked out to the gangplank with Ford, discussing plans, and were surprised to see several of the city watch on the tower’s platform.

“Captain Janus?” said one of the guard.  They were in the traditional red ceremonial garb, and carried short halberds.

“Yes?”  Janus traded glances with Ibben, and shook his head ever so slightly.

“We regret to inform you that you are under arrest, under orders from the Duke of Marrakesh.  You will be accompanying us to the city’s jails, please.  Come peacefully, or you will come bruised and beaten.”  The men stepped forward, flanking Janus as their leader tied Janus’ hands.  Mell, Ibben, and Ford watched in silence as he was escorted down the tower stairs, shock on their faces.

 

Airships of Marrakesh, Part 3

Note:  This is a rough, rough, rough unedited draft of something I’m working on.  You’re essentially getting the fiction feed directly from brain to the word document with no editing or filter in between.  This is a continuation of a work I’m calling Airships of Marrakesh, and Parts 1 and 2 can be found in this blog as well.  Enjoy!

 

“This is bad, very bad.  You have lost much blood.  I have sewn up the wound, but you must take care, and move the arm and shoulder as little as possible in the next few days.” Fahn translated the doctor’s instructions, Arabic to French.  He was pale under his desert tan, and could barely watch while the doctor had passed needle and thread through Janus’ skin.

The trip to Fahn’s shop had been difficult.  Janus was a big man, and the wound had bled more than he’d imagined it could.  Makhi supported him, helped him stumble along, and cursed him in several dialects and languages when he stopped and refused to move.  Janus had passed out soon after reaching the little shop where Fahn sold his goods, waking up only when the doctor had started sewing.  Now he listened, Fahn’s face coming in and out of focus as he blinked groggy eyes.

“Time? What time is it?” They were scheduled to leave just after dawn, and the crew would be worried.  Mellira was expecting him.

“Several hours after dark.  Makhi has gone to find information.  He was worried about you.  You were quite a difficulty to bring here.”  A wet cloth was swabbed over his forehead, and Fahn stepped to the side as the doctor continued working.  A balm was applied over the stitches, followed by several layers of cloth bandages and a tight wrapping.

“I have to make it back to the inn.  Crew needs to know what happened.  Have to make ready for morning.”  Janus tried to stand, and both doctor and shopkeeper pushed him back down at the same time.

“No no no no,” said the doctor, Fahn translating as fast as the words formed.  “The more you move, the longer you take to heal.  You must rest and do as little possible until the cut scabs and closes.  Eat plenty of food, read many books.  But do not move.”

“I captain a bloody airship!” he roared.  All three men paused in shock.  “I can’t afford not to move until this thing heals.  If I did, I would be out of a job faster than my crew downs their beer.”

“Then move everything but your arm,” said the doctor.  “The cut is deeper than you think.  You move the arm, and you will damage your ability to move the whole thing, shoulder included.”

Janus scratched at his chin.  “I might be able to do that.  But I still need to get to the inn and make sure my crew is safe.  Can I walk?  Can we hire a rickshaw?”

Plans were made to hire a discrete rickshaw driver, and Janus ate while they waited.  The shopkeeper had set out a small meal in his tiny kitchen, and the table took up most of the room.  Janus’ big frame left even less space, and everything felt crowded too closely together.  Makhi still had not returned, and Janus was starting to worry.

“He will be fine, I assure you,” said Fahn.  He smiled and plucked a fig from the bowl on the table.  “I hired him because he is good at what he does – finding information.  It is invaluable in this business to know more than your fellow business owners. I will leave him a note to direct him after us.”

“How far is it to the inn from here? It’s been too long since I saw you, I don’t remember the distances.”

“A little less than two miles, I believe.  Not far to travel at all, under cover of darkness.  The city quiets at nightfall, and we will move swiftly.”

“Good.  I’ve got a pistol on the ship, exactly where it will do me the least good.  Teach me to leave the firearms at home before going out in a strange city.”

“Guns draw attention, much more so than knives.  You know this, Janus.  The government frowns on such weapons.  We will have no problems.  Ah, I believe the driver is here,” he said, this last in response to a furtive knock at the door.  Fahn dimmed the lamp, and went to pull open the door.  The rickshaw driver was small, but had no problems helping the shopkeeper lift Janus into the light conveyance’s seat.  A quiet conversation in Arabic passed into the captain’s ear, and they were off.

Marrakesh at night was empty and silent, shuttered and dark.  The residents had all retired, taking advantage of the desert’s drop in temperature to sleep, and very few lights remained.  The one exception was near the air-port, where inns, taverns, and brothels did their business through the night, and the air-port itself where crews caroused on their ships.  The airships’ lights lent a festive air to that district of the city, and stayed a constant reminder that change was here.  The old ways were going, and the new were taking their places.

The inn was still brightly lit, though by now it was nearly midnight.  The main room would be filled with crews from all over the continent, drinking and spending their last coins before heading back into the open skies.  Fahn had the driver pull into the innyard, then sent one of the stable boys to fetch the innkeeper for a small private room.  Half asleep on his feet, the man barely noticed them.

A short time later the shopkeeper and the captain were sharing a plate of olives, and the rickshaw driver had been dismissed with extra coins in his pocket for his silence.  The tread of heavy boots sounded nearby, along with a muttered tirade of profanities, obscenities, and slang filthy enough to embarrass even the most hardened whore.

“That’ll be her,” said Janus, just as the door slammed open.

“What’s the bloody meaning of this…” Mellira trailed off as she took in the room’s occupants and their midnight snack.  Janus grinned and waved, while Fahn looked slightly embarrassed to have played part in her anger, which must have disturbed most, if not all, of the inn’s sleepers.

“You son of a whore,” she said, and let go of the stable boy’s ear. He took his chance and ran.  “That one comes up and starts knocking on my door, quiet but insistent, and won’t go away for nothing.  So I talk with him, but he won’t say why he needs me to go down to the third dining room, or who sent him, or anything useful at all.  You’re lucky I didn’t bring a gun with me and shoot first, question later.”

“Safe is better than sorry.  I apologize if we caused trouble, but your captain felt it better to not pass names around after what he went through earlier.”

Mellira closed the door behind her, and gasped as she noticed the bloodstained jacket.  “What the hell happened?”

“I got knifed.  What’s it look like? I got the guy, but I’ve been holed up at Fahn’s shop while I got stitched up.  Came as soon as I could, wanted to make sure things were good on your end.  Are they?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘good’.  I sent Ibben out to look for you a couple hours ago, after you failed to show up.  He hasn’t come back yet, nor have I heard from him.  Who knifed you?”

“We don’t know.  Fahn’s assistant went out as well, and he’s not back either.  Maybe he and Ibben will meet in the middle after coming up with half an answer each.  All I know is that he knew what he was doing, it didn’t seem like a cutpurse.”  Janus shifted position in his chair and winced.  He reached up to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it and ate another olive instead.

“Thieves here are generally very good – the punishment for theft is loss of a hand, so the bad ones don’t make it very long,” said Fahn.

“So what’s the plan, then?  Say the word, captain.  Do we just wait?”  Mellira paced back and forth in front of the table, one hand busy with a knife.

“Best for now, yes.  I don’t want anyone getting into more trouble, and we’re already waiting on two people to come back.  The plan for tomorrow is still to fly out as soon as we’re loaded – that cargo is too valuable to leave sitting in Marrakesh for too long.  Once Ibben and Makhi come back, we’ll gather the crew and spend the rest of the night on the ship.  I’d much rather be somewhere I know, where I can see the knives coming.”