Alphas and Airships Page 6

  Agent Harper went to the wheelstand and spoke to Captain Martin. Not long afterward, the airship lifted out of port and headed north.

  I found a spot near the prow of the ship. Hanging on to a rope, I tried to reassure my stomach that Mrs. Martin’s brew was going to work wonders.

  “We’re headed toward Fair Isle,” Harper said when she joined me.

  “Good.”

  “Clemeny… What will we do if we find them? I mean, what did you and Quinn usually do?”

  “We arrested them if we could.”

  “And if you…if we can’t?”

  “And if we can’t?” I patted the pelt on my belt. “What do you say, Fenton?”

  Agent Harper laughed nervously but didn’t say anything else. I had a feeling that very soon I’d see what Harper was made of.

  Chapter 11: DogFights

  Captain Martin took us up into the clouds. The ride north was uneventful, but when we finally passed over the shore and began flying above the waters north of Scotland, an uneasiness washed over me. And it wasn’t my stomach talking.

  My sixth sense came alive.

  They were there. Somewhere.

  Keeping us hidden amongst the clouds, Captain Martin cruised into the area frequented by the airship Fenrir. The massive airship Jacobite had three propellers, one on each side and one below. The captain instructed his crew to run with only the lower propeller going. It cut the noise significantly. We drifted through the clouds, watching and waiting.

  I stared out into the dense cloudbank.

  We cruised around slowly, Harper using her map as a guide. She’d already identified the most popular shipping and trade routes north. The Viking ship had been lingering around the edges, looking for anyone on which to prey.

  In the distance, I saw a shadow of another ship moving through the clouds.

  I snapped my fingers and pointed.

  The captain lifted his spyglass. I pulled out my tinkered optic and slid it on. Dropping down the magnification lens, I looked out.

  It wasn’t him.

  I looked back toward Captain Martin who shook his head, confirming my assessment.

  A moment later, a raven appeared from somewhere deep within the cloudbank. It circled around the Jacobite. Alighting on a rope, it cawed then flew off in the direction of the other airship. Soon, other black-winged birds appeared, following the first to the vessel off the starboard side. The entire unkindness of birds circled the other airship.

  A sick feeling knotted my stomach. I switched my lens on my optic into night vision mode and looked all around.

  The palms of my hands itched.

  There, moving slowing under the cloud cover, I spied the shadow of a massive wolf head at the prow of an airship. And onboard, glowing red eyes. But they weren’t watching us. I wasn’t even sure if they’d seen us at all. They were moving in slowly, propelled by momentum, toward the second ship. It was like watching a predator stalk its prey.

  “Hell’s bells.” I turned and ran back to the captain.

  The entire crew turned to watch me.

  “There,” I whispered, pointing toward the dense clouds. “They’re hiding in there.”

  Harper followed my gaze, squinting to look.

  The captain lifted his spyglass. “Like shadows,” he whispered then a moment later, he signaled to his crew.

  The men readied their guns. Crewmen rushed belowdecks.

  There was a click as the second and third gears in the galley turned on.

  Captain Martin motioned to the balloonman.

  Hot air hissed as the balloon filled. The airship lifted quickly, my stomach flipping along with it.

  The Jacobite rose out of sight moments before the airship Fenrir launched her attack on the unsuspecting merchant vessel. There were shouts and screams as the Viking warship attacked. Through the misty air, I could hear Skollson barking orders. The merchant ship picked up speed as it tried to escape, the Fenrir racing up alongside her. Damn, that ship was fast.

  The Jacobite turned slowly.

  “Ready the guns,” Captain Martin called.

  The Jacobite turned, aligning herself with the other ships.

  The captain grabbed the rope that led to the signal in the gear galley.

  “Now,” Captain Martin called to his crew, yanking on the line. Below, a bell rang. A moment later, the Jacobite shot off in the direction of the Fenrir and her prey, the Jacobite’s guns at the ready. The captain steered us toward the confrontation.

  Orange gunsmoke lit up the clouds as the airship Fenrir attacked the merchant vessel. Captain Martin sped toward them, but we were still hiding aloft. Once we neared the fray, Captain Martin motioned to the balloonman who yanked open the flap at the top of the balloon. The airship quickly started to sink.

  Grabbing on to a rope, I inhaled deeply as my stomach heaved. With many, many blessings heaped on Captain Martin’s wife, the contents of my stomach stayed in my stomach.

  Once again, a raven flew near our ship.

  This time, however, it cawed loudly. The entire unkindness of birds headed toward us.

  Steadying myself, I rushed to the front of the ship. The merchant vessel was moving fast, trying to outrun the Fenrir, but the Viking ship had already pulled up alongside her and was edging in to tether to the second ship.

  When the Jacobite descended from the clouds, I heard shouting from the Fenrir.

  A moment later, Zayde Skollson appeared at the stern.

  Standing at the front of the ship, my red cape swirling around me, I waved to him.

  The werewolf’s eyes flashed red.

  He shouted something over his shoulder, and at once, the Viking ship began to disengage. Looking angry, he turned and stalked back onto the deck of his ship and out of sight.

  “Starboard side. Guns ready,” Captain Martin shouted.

  As the Jacobite approached the Fenrir, the Viking ship turned in an effort to make a hasty getaway.

  “Fire,” Captain Martin shouted.

  Guns blasting, I heard the wood on the gondola of the airship Fenrir crack. Moving quickly, the airship turned and headed back toward the cover of the thick clouds. The propeller at the back of the Viking airship came up to speed, and a moment later, the airship sped away from the Jacobite’s assault.

  Captain Martin began to make chase. “Speed. We need more speed,” he called to the gear galley.

  Two men toting long-range guns raced toward the front of the airship and continued the barrage.

  Despite the fact that the gears below were turning rapidly, we quickly lost pace. I watched as the Fenrir slowly disappeared back into the clouds.

  “Dammit! We’re losing him. More speed,” Captain Martin barked.

  The Jacobite lurched then moved ahead.

  But not quickly enough.

  The lightweight Fenrir, far more agile than the hulking Jacobite, disappeared.

  As it did, the ravens followed along behind it.

  “They’re using the bloody birds as scouts,” I said, turning to Agent Harper who nodded.

  “Clever pirates,” one of the crewmen standing nearby grumbled.

  “Not pirates. Vikings,” Harper said with a smirk.

  Clever, clever Vikings.

  We spent the rest of the day hunting the Fenrir, but it was no use. The airship had retreated.

  “Take Harper and me to the port at Thurso,” I told Captain Martin. “We’ll go by sea to Fair Isle.”

  “By sea?”

  I nodded. “The Jacobite can head back to Edinburgh. We’ll return to the city tomorrow or the day after.”

  “But Agent Louvel—”

  “No offense, Captain Martin. You’ve done all you could here. The Fenrir is too fast for the Jacobite. I’ll flush him out my way.”

  “Of course, Agent,” Captain Martin said, and the airship turned, heading back toward land.

  “You have an idea?” Agent Harper asked me.

  I nodded. “He knows we’re looking for him aloft. So
, let’s go find him where he isn’t expecting us.”

  “On the ground?”

  “You got it.”

  “And then?”

  “And then… Well, we’ll see.”

  Chapter 12: Thurso

  The airship port at Thurso was rudimentary, to say the least. The northern village had been occupied since the days Thorfinn the Mighty terrorized the seas. Today, it was filled with fishermen, villagers, and drunks.

  But the local pub was always the best place to find gossip and a charter. To our luck—or was it a detriment? From the smell I wasn’t sure—there was a pub not far from the airship tower where the Jacobite had left us.

  “Come on,” I told Harper, leading her to The Salty Mermaid which sat on the cart path between the airship towers and the seaport. Thurso was decidedly unmodernized. It might as well have been the eighteenth century here.

  We headed inside The Salty Mermaid. Grabbing a table that had a good view of both the back door and the front, Harper and I slid into our seats.

  The barkeep whistled at a girl who’d been washing cups, motioning for her to wait on us.

  “Ale, misses?” the young girl, who was about twelve or so, asked.

  “What do you have to eat?” I asked.

  “Fish and chips. Kidney pie. Plowman’s platters.”

  “Fish and chips,” Harper said.

  “Same,” I added.

  “And two stouts?” Harper said, looking at me.

  I shook my head. “No, no, no. Have tea?”

  “No, but I have water,” the girl said.

  “Water it will be then. One stout, one water.”

  The girl nodded then headed back.

  I cast a glance around the room. Fishermen, airship crews, and other workers filled the busy pub. Suddenly, I wished I had Lionheart’s ears.

  “Always take a seat where you can see the exits,” I told Harper. “Don’t just watch who is already in the room, keep an eye on who is coming, going, and how you can get the hell out in a hurry.”

  “Front door. Back exit,” Harper said, motioning with her chin.

  “And?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  I motioned to the window. “There’s always a way out if you really need one. Did they give you a gun?”

  She nodded then tapped the satchel she always wore strung around her body bandolier style.

  “Take it out. Wear it on your belt. If you need to pull it in a hurry, you won’t have time to drag it out of your reticule,” I said with a wink.

  “Hey, this isn’t a reticule. It’s a journeyman’s satchel. And it was a gift.”

  “It’s a very nice satchel, I don’t disagree. But not for carrying a weapon,” I said then eyed the leather bag more closely. Someone had taken great care to purchase the bag for Harper. The initials E. H. surrounded by a nice filigree were burned into the leather. “Harper, what’s your first name?”

  “Elaine.”

  I nodded. “Elaine.”

  “And who, Elaine, gave you such a nice satchel?”

  Harper shifted nervously. “A friend…at the Society.”

  The barmaiden returned with the drinks. Harper snatched hers straight away, relieved to find an excuse not to talk more. But now my curiosity was piqued. I leaned back in my seat and sipped my water. I didn’t remember Harper ever spending time with any of the male agents. Well, except for Agent Hunter. The idea that Hunter was the mysterious gift giver suddenly made me feel very jealous. I looked at the satchel once more. It was relatively new. I frowned.

  “Did you ever meet Allan Quartermain?” Agent Harper asked, her voice light and a little nervous.

  Allan Quartermain, who had a reputation as a big game hunter and royalist, was frequently in Africa on behest of Her Majesty. And unbeknownst to most, it wasn’t lions Quartermain was hunting. He was head of the small division that dealt with the preternaturals in the colonies, a job I would wish on no one. But the young agent had a keen eye and good sense for the job. I’d never been introduced to him, but I’d seen him once or twice while he was in the office before heading back out to the field.

  “No, but I know him by reputation.”

  “We’re childhood friends,” Harper replied. “He gave me the satchel before he left for Africa again,” she said then sipped her drink.

  There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. I sensed a lot of unspoken story there, and despite my curiosity, one that didn’t need me digging around into it.

  I smiled. “Well, it’s a nice bag, but put your gun on your belt. Quartermain would never forgive me if I let you get shot. And something tells me I don’t want a man who can shoot me from two miles away on my bad side.”

  At that, Harper laughed then pulled out her pistol and slipped it into her holster.

  Once again, the girl returned. This time, she had two heaping plates loaded with fried fish and chips. My stomach growled hungrily at the sight. Rising, I took the plate from the girl’s hand, popping a burning hot chip as I sat back down. “Thank you,” I told her through bites. Despite the pain, the lure of salt, oil, and potatoes was too much to deny. I took another bite, burning my tongue in the process.

  Harper looked at me, smirking as she gently laid her napkin across her lap.

  Seems I’d been working with Quinn far too long. But then again, Quinn also had better table manners than me, despite Grand-mere’s repeated attempts to teach me.

  “What? I’m hungry,” I said, grabbing another chip. The tavern girl chuckled.

  “You’re going to burn your fingers,” Harper told me then lifted her fork and knife.

  “Already burned my tongue,” I said with a laugh then grabbed my fork.

  “Anything else, misses?” the girl asked.

  Harper shook her head.

  “We need a ferry. Who do you think would talk to us?” I asked the girl.

  She looked over her shoulder, scanning the room. “In the corner by the cabinet. Try them. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said then headed back behind the bar.

  I noted the table the girl had mentioned. There, an ancient man and woman sat nursing their cups. Both looked half-asleep, and from their clothes, very hard up. The girl’s instincts were right. The other men in the room would gossip, ask questions, or be too paranoid to take us anywhere. The old couple? They looked like they could use the coin.

  I turned back to my food, scarfing it down as quickly as I could. The batter in which the fish had been cooked had pools of hot oil that burned my mouth, but the pain was so worth it. Grand-mère had raised me with a snobbish love of French cuisine, but nothing could shake my taste for salty and oily pub food.

  Once I was done, I looked at Harper who still had half her plate.

  She stared at me.

  I winked, washed the meal down with my water, then crossed the room to talk to the old man and woman. I pulled up a seat beside their table, the legs on the chair squeaking. They both looked up at me.

  “My partner and I are looking for a charter,” I told the old couple.

  They were an ancient pair. The old man had tattoos on his arms and face, but they had long since faded. The old woman had long silver hair and light-colored eyes. There was something decidedly unusual about them. They were human, kind of. Maybe it was the glow of the otherworld on them, the nearness of death, or perhaps it was something else, but they were off.

  “To where?” the man asked. His accent was so thick, I could barely make out his words.

  “Fair Isle,” I said in a soft voice so the nosey barman wouldn’t hear.

  “Lots of isles hereabout. You sure you want that one?” the woman asked. To my surprise, she smirked at me.

  “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “I do. Probably best we don’t go out now though. Too close to nightfall.”

  I leaned back in my seat and folded my arms across my chest.

  “Really?”

  The old woman winked at the man sitting across from her. “
The ravens tell me North Ronaldsay would suit better. Wouldn’t you say, love?”

  “Oh, aye.”

  I looked from the man to the woman. I grinned. “All right. Shall I meet you at the port in the morning then?”

  “Aye,” the woman said.

  “Aye,” her companion agreed.

  “Your ship’s name?”

  “The Boudicca,” the woman replied.

  “Very well. Thank you,” I said then rose.

  Odd. Definitely odd.

  I turned and motioned to Harper that it was time to go. Harper dropped some coins on the table then we headed outside.

  “We’ll go in the morning,” I told her.

  “That’s fine. But where are we going to sleep tonight?”

  “What, you don’t have your standard issue bedroll in your fancy journeyman’s satchel?”

  “What? You mean to say we’re going to sleep outside? Clemeny, I don’t think…”

  I laughed. “No, we’re not. There is an inn down the way.”

  “Are we safe here though?”

  “No,” I said with a chuckle. “God knows what strange buggers are lurking about. And then there are the preternaturals.”

  Harper chuckled. “Oh.”

  I wrapped my arm good-naturedly around her shoulder. “Well, at the very least, we aren’t out in the savanna hunting lions like Quartermain.”

  “You know those aren’t really lions, right?”

  “I do. And whatever bogeys he’s chasing, I’m just glad it’s not me.”

  Harper laughed. “Same.”

  And with that, we headed toward the dilapidated building at the edge of town aptly named The Seawolf.

  Chapter 13: North Ronaldsay

  As soon as the sun had risen, Harper and I headed to the port where we found the old couple already waiting. With less than a dozen words spoken between us, we set sail for North Ronaldsay.

  I eyed the old couple carefully. In truth, I knew little of Scottish folklore. These two were a curious pair. My palms didn’t itch when I was around them, but still, there was more to them than met the eye.

  “What is it?” Harper asked as she sat down alongside me.

  “Probably nothing. Just wondering about them,” I said, passing a glance at the couple.