Star Winds

As soon as they were free of the interference fringe everyone removed their earplugs. Rachad was exhilarated. This was the first time he had flown and it was every bit as delirious an experience as he had imagined. The wind sang in the rigging and blew clean and fresh in his face. He noticed that running the length of the decks were lines to which some crewmen attached themselves by running ringhooks, presumably as a precaution against falling overboard.

When they were well clear of the ship ground they set some windsail for steering and moved off toward the south. The haphazard squadron of flying ships that had sprung up dissipated, the vessels dwindling in the sky as they all took themselves toward their various destinations.

Rachad still could not guess what was in Zhorga’s mind, but eventually, since their course seemed purposeful, he hoped that he had arranged a rendezvous which would bring them their needed silk. A couple of times Zhorga altered course to bring them farther round to the south, so that they traveled roughly in an arc. The rendezvous would have to be soon if they were to make space today, for Gebeth had said they should enter the super-atmospheric slipstream before midday.

For about an hour they flew over rolling moors dotted with small woods and spinneys. At first there were villages and hamlets, but after a while they were passing over land that seemed wholly uninhabited. Zhorga paced the quarterdeck, anxiously scanning the sky and occasionally sweeping the horizon with a folding telescope. At last he gave a cry.

“There she is! Twenty degrees east, Master Clabert—and bring up the bombards!”

Tacks and braces were worked and the ship swung round. They were making, Rachad saw, for a ship that had appeared, somewhat lower in the sky than themselves. As they approached he recognized her as another galleon, the Sperus, he had seen on the ship field. Presumably she had taken off after the Wandering Queen.

Zhorga cackled. “There you are, my boy. The capital ship of Master Druro, merchant of Olam.”

“So you did have a deal with one of them,” murmured Rachad. Then he noticed the activity on the foredeck, where two heavy cylinders of black gunmetal were being heaved into place on raised platforms. He recalled what Zhorga had once mentioned—that the Wandering Queen had originally been a fighting vessel.

They drew nearer the Sperus, threatening to cut across her bows.

“Give her a shot amidships!” bellowed Zhorga.

Before Rachad’s disbelieving eyes one of the bombards fired, bucking and giving off a cloud of smoke to the accompaniment of a loud explosion. He glimpsed the ball before it crashed into the other galleon and shattered some of her side strakes.

The crew, even Zhorga’s old hands, responded with whoops and cheers.

“Heave to and descend!” Zhorga roared through a megaphone. “Heave to and descend!”

The answer was a running to and fro on the other’s decks, a raising of more sail and a quickening of the Sperus’s pace. Unlike the Wandering Queen’s tatty silk her sails were whole and she had enough of them. She might well have got away but Zhorga, with a roar of rage, leaped from the afterdeck and bounded the length of the main deck to the bombards. Frantically he worked the aiming handles, then snatched the taper from a nearby sailor and put it to the touch-hole.

He was either very lucky or divinely inspired, because the ball struck the Sperus’s middle mast. The mast splintered and broke away under the force of the sail it carried; the galleon swung wildly from side to side in the air, lost speed and began to fall alarmingly. The Wandering Queen’s sailors guided her directly over the crippled ship, following her down.

Zhorga brandished a short broadsword, cursing violently and all but foaming at the mouth. “Board her, you bastards!” he screamed. “Get yourselves aboard!”

His own men hesitated, but some of the newcomers among his crew were no strangers to air piracy. Lines went over the side, and while the crew of the Sperus fought to stabilize their vessel they found invaders dropping onto their decks with sword, knife and pistol. The fight was brief and soon both ships were grounded on the heather-covered moor.

It was the work of but half an hour to strip the merchant ship of her silk and carry it on board the pirate. For good measure they set the Sperus on fire (“Well, she can’t sail without silk,” Captain Zhorga said), leaving her crew on the moor, and she burned merrily below them as they once again ascended into the air.

A few miles away they landed again. Zhorga glanced at the sun. Rachad could see the tension in his eyes.

“A couple of hours left to get ready,” Zhorga muttered. “I don’t want to miss that slipstream. By God, I wish we’d been able to make those practice runs.”