Fire On the Sand Read online

  A knock sounded on the panel by the curtain, breaking his reverie. Zared pushed the revolver under the pillow on his bunk, straightened his robe and pushed the curtain aside.

  Conner the steward stood in the passageway. He sketched a salute. "Cap'n's compliments, sir and she asks if you'll join her in the lounge for dinner."

  The steward's grin showed he was well aware that calling the tiny cubbyhole a lounge stretched belief beyond breaking point. Zared gave Conner an uncertain smile in return while considering the state of his stomach. It felt hollow but whether from his fear of flying or hunger, he couldn't decide. He erred on the side of hunger. "Thank you."

  Conner nodded and headed off up the passageway toward the front of the gondola. Zared followed. Through some trick of acoustics, the sound of the engines seemed louder here than in the cabin. Conner led him to a doorway at the end of the passageway and gestured for Zared to enter.

  He stepped into the lounge, a compartment only three times the size of his cabin with a battered table surrounded by mismatched folding chairs. Zared looked at the worn linen cloth and pretense at silverware. Compared to the dining table in his uncle's house it looked poor indeed, but Zared figured it the best the Oculus Nightingale could offer. He felt pleased to see the shutters on the windows to either side were closed against the night outside.

  A sliding door directly opposite let onto the flight deck. Small electric lamps in wire cages lit the room, and he could see small paintings of people and places on the honey-colored wood paneling on the wall. A brass and leather parrot swiveled its head to look at him. He frowned at it, remembering his uncle had spoken of such a contraption.

  "Zared, I'm glad you could join me."

  He started, not realizing Captain Adena sat at the end of the table.

  She rose to give him a formal bow, her cafe-au-lait skin, chestnut hair and dark leather clothing blending in with the general décor. Her choice of clothing bothered him. Used as he was to the covered-up womenfolk of his own extended family, the captain's low-cut halter bodice disturbed him in ways he didn't like to dwell upon. It exposed a good deal of her flat, trim midriff, which displayed a colorful serpentine tattoo and pierced navel. A small jewel twinkled in the little puckered depression. Her full breasts were pushed up by the bodice and were only partly confined by leather cups.

  Swallowing, he advanced into the room and returned her bow, wondering if her choice of clothing for the occasion was a deliberate attempt to throw him off balance. "Thank you for your invitation, Captain."

  "Please take a seat. Conner will serve us." As they sat, she continued in the same affable manner. "I'm sorry it's taken a while to get dinner ready. The first hour or so out from port is always a trying time for officers and crew."

  "In what way?" he asked, his constant nub of anxiety growing inside. "Is there something wrong?"

  She smiled. "Oh, nothing's wrong. It's the usual little annoyances that appear when a ship sets out on a voyage. We'll get you there and back safely, don't worry."

  He relaxed a little. "I'm pleased to hear it." He looked around and thought of something to say to compliment her. "This is a comfortable room."

  "It's a poor place compared to some, but I like it."

  Zared wondered then if she'd picked up his mild contempt for the poverty on display, but Conner entered with the first course then and he put the thought aside. "How long will our voyage take, Captain? My uncle was vague."

  "If the winds hold fair and we meet no trouble, it should take no more than three days there and a bit quicker on our return leg."

  Zared cocked his head. "Our return will be faster?"

  "Yes, of course." When he still looked at her mystified, the captain seemed to suppress a sigh. "The tailwind will help us. It blows constantly from dark side to day side, sometimes at a high rate of knots."

  "Fascinating." Zared realized he'd begun to relax. "I confess the thought of flying, of being so high above the ground, scares me, but in this charming room I feel no discomfort."

  Adena's lips quirked. "I'm glad to hear it. Airships are very stable, more so than people believe."

  Zared nodded, tucking into his soup as Conner set out covered dishes. To Zared's surprise the meal comprised hot food. "Do you have a galley aboard, Captain?" He gestured to the bowl. "I'm surprised any means of cooking is allowed aboard, given the risks of explosion."

  "We don't permit naked flames, that's true." She patted the bulkhead with obvious affection. "Oculus may be old, but she has a state-of-the-art electric stove."

  "Fascinating." Zared wished he'd never thought of explosions. Hydrogen gas and fire didn't play nicely together, he knew that much. He'd never thought of journeying aboard such a craft, let alone on an important mission for his uncle. That thought reminded him of something. "Would it be permissible to pay a visit to your hold to check on my uncle's cargo, Captain? He charged me with looking after it."

  "Of course. As supercargo, you have that right. All I ask is that you tell me or one of my officers first. It's for safety reasons."

  "Thank you. I'll go after dinner."

  Conner removed the bowls and served the main course. Zared looked at the food on his plate, large triangles of bread which appeared to be covered with a red sauce, cheese, meat and vegetables. "May I ask what this is, Captain?"

  She'd already begun eating and swallowed a mouthful to reply. "It's called pizza. Something from Earth, or so Cookie says. Try it, it's great."

  He picked up a slice, trying to emulate the way Adena held it, and bit off the sharp end. A wonderful variety of flavors filled his mouth, and he grunted appreciatively in spite of his manners.

  Adena wiped a dribble of sauce from her chin with a napkin and smiled. "Good, isn't it? Cookie learned the recipe off an Earthling refugee from the City of Night. Of course, he can't get all the ingredients the recipe needs, but the refugee told him he's gotten close."

  "I think he's done a creditable job." He swallowed the first delicious bite. "Do you venture to the City of Night often, Captain? I confess I'm apprehensive about going there."

  Adena leaned back in her chair with a glass in her hand, her eyes narrowed in thought. He noticed that, unlike his glass, which held wine, hers contained beer. "You're right to be concerned. The Pure Bloods don't like visitors from outside their domain. Most times they'll tolerate a certain amount of covert trade, but they execute those they dislike in the most horrible ways."

  Zared swallowed his next mouthful before chewing it properly and had to wash it down with a heavy gulp of wine.

  Adena appeared not to notice his discomfort. "Having said that, the Pure Bloods spend most of their time either watching each other for inevitable treachery, or fighting a nasty low-level war between their various Houses. Those times are the best for my work. They tend to let their perimeter guard down. It means I can slip in and out without too much trouble." She smiled. "I hear there's a war on right now, so I'm sure things'll be okay on this run. We'll get you where you want to go."

  Zared thought of the envelope in the inner pocket of his light jacket, sealed with wax, only to be opened one day's journey out from Penumbra City. "I hope so." He gave her a mournful look. "And I sincerely hope we can get back."

  She grinned and reached for the green bottle. "Well, we'll know tomorrow. More wine?"

  After dinner Adena showed Zared to the cargo hold and waited while he checked all was well. Once he'd pronounced himself satisfied, she escorted him to his cabin and headed for the flight deck. Jake Dyer stood next the wheel, his form little more than an outline in the subdued red lighting.

  "All well?" she asked.

  He turned and nodded. "All's well, Cap'n. I took a sighting within the hour. Our course is steady. I ordered running lights doused a few minutes ago."

  "Good. No sense in advertising our presence now we're away from PC." She moved up beside Jake and clapped him on the shoulder then peered out and down. Wind-rippled sand glided by below, smooth and blue in the star
light.

  Jake cocked his eye at her. "How's our passenger settling in, Cap'n?"

  Adena chuckled. "He's nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

  He grinned. "Doesn't like flying, eh?"

  "No, but I think I settled him down."

  "Any clue as to what the cargo is?"

  Adena shrugged. "Zared's close-mouthed. He didn't say. To be honest, I don't think he knows."

  Jake tossed a flop of his auburn hair out of his face and frowned. "I must admit I'm anxious to know exactly where we'll have to go in the City of Night."

  "Agreed. It'll make all the difference as to how hard — or easy — it'll be getting in and out." She sighed. "We'll know tomorrow when Zared gives us the sealed orders. Until then, I'm heading for bed. G'night all."

  A chorus of good-nights followed her from the flight deck and Adena headed for her cabin. Mr. Phibuli had chosen not to join her there to roost on his accustomed perch. She frowned at the empty place. No doubt he has reasons of his own. She settled down in bed, read for a while then turned out the light.

  In the tiny booth down the passageway Zared tossed and turned in fitful sleep, dreaming of flying and almost crashing. Occasionally, he muttered and whimpered in his sleep.

  Mr. Phibuli stood on the perch in the passenger lounge, flexing his claws every so often and brooding on the events of the day. The glow of his eyes illuminated the lounge in soft yellow light.

  Down in the cargo hold, the Silver Lady slept and dreamed of fire and ice.

  Chapter 4

  Adena woke with a start. The speaking tube whistle over her cot blasted again, and she sat up and clutched at it. Fitting the headband she adjusted the mouthpiece and answered. "What is it?"

  Jake's voice spoke from the ear tubes. "Captain, we've sighted a large fire on the horizon off our port bow. I estimate it's where the Pure Blood coal mine is."

  "The one by the railroad?"

  "Aye. We're seeing big billowing flames over there. It doesn't look normal."

  She shook her head to clear it of sleep. "No kidding? I'll come up."

  It took a few moments to pull on clothing and splash water in her face from the small vanity unit bowl. Dressed and more or less awake, she headed for the flight deck.

  "Captain on the bridge," Jake called.

  "As you were. Great gods!" She stared at the yellow glare of light on the horizon. "There's trouble over yonder, all right."

  Jake nodded. The light flared bright enough to show his face clearly. "We're on course to pass it by several miles."

  Adena rubbed a thumb across her eyebrow. "I'm thinking we should do a fly-by, Jake, at least close enough to make out what's going on. Sound action stations."

  He nodded. "Aye aye. Sound action stations." A crewman tripped the alarm switch, and the gondola resounded to the sound of bells. Adena heard feet pounding through the passageway as off-duty crew responded. Jake ordered the already dim red night-lights dimmed further then directed his attention to the helm. "Come about ten-degrees port rudder."

  The helmsman acknowledged. Oculus Nightingale swayed beneath their feet as she began a long, leisurely turn. The blaze in the distance swung through a short arc until it hung almost in the center of the view forwards. The relay board aft on the flight deck chimed and small colored disks flipped over to show the battle stations reporting readiness.

  Adena crossed to the port window array and put her head into the observation bay. Peering along the length of the gondola she saw the rotary cannon mounted halfway along the length swing slowly back and forth then up and down as the gun crew tested its traverse mechanism. A swift check the other side showed the starboard gun in similar readiness.

  Jake checked the bearing. "Midships!" The airship steadied on course. He picked up a sextant and took a reading. "Here we have her, Captain. We should pass about a quarter-mile to the left of the fire and be well clear of the hills."

  "Good work, Jake." Adena stepped over to the heavy brass binoculars suspended from a rail that ran around the flight deck roof. She adjusted the height and peered through them. "It looks like somebody torched a flylzem mound over there."

  The miles slipped by. The blaze grew brighter. Adena fancied she could feel the heat of it on her face. The contrast between the dark silver-blue of the starlit sands and the bright yellow of the fire made her think of a picture she'd once seen, a copy of one painted by an Earth artist. Van something or other. I think he'd love to see this!

  For a moment, Greg despaired. Everything seemed to come crashing down on him. I'm going to die here, on this freezing dark world, far from everyone and everything I've ever known. The bitterness of his fate weighed more than the rock he'd burrowed beneath in the mines. His knees almost buckled.

  Then from some hidden depth within his soul, a small hot flame of defiance exploded into life. New strength surged through his limbs and he stood up, clenching his fist. "No!" He roared at the oncoming ogres. "If I'm to die here, I'll damned well go down fighting!"

  Lumps of coal and rock had fallen from the carts over time, littering the slope. The ogres seemed lax about the debris, not even bothering to whip the slaves into clearing it up. Greg stooped, picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it like a baseball at the oncoming host. It disappeared among them, and he thought he heard a yelp of pain. He swept up another rock and sent it after the first. Childhood memories of pitching from the mound at his local ballpark came to mind. I haven't lost the knack.

  He found himself surrounded by his fellow escapees. Inspired by his example, they all grabbed and hurled rocks and lumps of coal until the air filled with flying missiles. The ogres stopped in their tracks and cowered under the barrage. Faced with such defiance they began to retreat down the slope.

  Greg raised a rock in his fist. "At ‘em!"

  The slaves raised a raucous cheer and tumbled down the slope. A few crossbow bolts slashed through the air and found marks. Men fell, but the slaves poured over the ogres, kicking, punching, grappling and biting.

  Greg found himself in front of a brute the size of a dumptruck. It raised a vicious-looking halberd, ready to cleave him in two. He ducked, leaped, and slammed the rock into an evil yellow eye, pulping it instantly. The beast roared and clutched him about the waist. Greg felt his bruised ribs creak under the pressure, but his arms were still free and on a level with the beast's head. Desperately he swung the rock again and again at the ogre's temple until bone crunched. The beast collapsed, taking him down with it. Its enfolding arms fell away. Greg rolled clear.

  Something sliced his shoulder as he tumbled, sending a sensation like ice through his body. He had fallen upon the ogre's halberd blade. Staggering upright, he picked up the weapon and leaned on it for a moment to recover.

  The fight surged around him and spilled down the slope. His fellow slaves fought with every ounce of strength they possessed, but Greg sensed the battle wasn’t yet won. The ogres had been surprised, but they were big, tough, well-armed and well-fed — and the slaves weren't.

  At his feet, the ogre groaned and rolled onto its side. Greg swung the halberd up and over his head, letting gravity and the heavy blade do the work after that. It took the top off the ogre's head.

  Greg stepped back. "Reinforcements. We need help here." He looked around. "Where the heck's Mungenast?" The hairy brute was nowhere to be seen. "Did he survive?"

  "Yes. He went further into the mine," one of his fellow slaves said, gasping for air between words. "Took some guys with him."

  "Why would he do that?"

  The man shrugged and continued on his way.

  Greg sighed and looked down the slope. The slaves at the coal heaps milled around, still chained together and unable to escape or to help their brethren. Using the halberd as a crutch, Greg stumbled down the hill toward them, circling the fight as best he could. His feet burned with pain and cold, but the downward slope helped, and somehow he made it.

  As he walked into the pool of light from the braziers, desper
ate men clutched at him, moaning, their eyes wild. Greg looked around. The ogres favored a simple, but standard method of securing their slaves at the workplace. He saw the main rod holding their chains and brought the blade down on the lock, hitting it again and again until it broke apart. Eager hands fell upon the rod and hauled it back, freeing the chains.

  "Go!" Greg pointed up the slope. "Get the scumbags who did this to you."

  Most left to wreak their vengeance. Others slipped away into the darkness, heading for the slave quarters. Greg felt tired beyond measure. Looking around he saw bigger huts that served as quarters for the ogres, set around a small courtyard. Braziers burned there. The idea of finding warmth over-rode all other considerations in Greg's mind. He headed that way.

  Passing a hut doorway, he shrank from the rank odor emanating from the opening. He kicked against something on the ground. Looking down, he spied a cloth-wrapped bundle from which spilled a ration of greasy-looking food, no doubt dropped by some ogre caught in the middle of his snack. Pulling a crate up to a brazier, Greg sat by it, warmth seeping through him, and began to eat.

  As he chewed and grew warm at last, he watched the fight on the hillside. A strange feeling of detachment stole over him as adrenaline, shock, and fatigue set in. Reinforced by those he'd freed from the coal heaps, the slaves began to win the fight by sheer numbers. The battle spilled down the slope and spread out as ogres fell or were chased into the darkness.

  A brazier overturned, bouncing and rolling down the hill trailing sparks and embers like a meteor. It hit a stack of barrels that oozed a black fluid. A second later the stack blew up in a huge fireball. Barrels and kegs shot out, trailing flames through the night sky to land and explode elsewhere in the compound. Fire spread rapidly, overwhelming crates, barrels, huts and stacks of mine props.

  Greg giggled like a drunk and held his hands up to the heat. "Warm at last!"