“Naw, just learned from the best. And Alaric, he was the best. He got a cow up on the headman’s roof one time. I have no clue how he did it. But there it was in the morning, mooing up a storm. The mayor’s daughter had to climb up on a ladder and milk the poor beast before they could get it down!”
Their laughter floated out over the bustling docks.
For hours, the men swapped stories about their families, until dusk settled over the harbor. Finally Gwendyrn stood and helped Julius to his feet. “I think it’s time we got down, sir. Hopefully we haven’t been missed. We’re supposed to return to the air later today.”
“That will be a lot of fun now, won’t it?” Julius smiled. “Just as long as you don’t screw up like you did the first time you tried to descend from a ship. I remember-”
Gwendyrn punched him and they both laughed. The conflicts between them settled for now, the two men left the battlement above the ruined city.
Chapter 6
Alexandros
Captain Rufius Tiveri Alexandros paced the length of the bridge of the H.M.A.S. Scioparto. The shining wooden surface was worn with use and age, running a good twenty-five paces or so from starboard to port sides. His pace slowed as he reached the starboard side and looked out the large observation bubble. His mouth puckered as if he had swallowed a lemon, and he maneuvered into the lookout’s chair and pulled the binoculars from a pouch on the bulkhead. Sweeping them left to right along the edge of the curved glass, Alexandros surveyed the destruction and chaos, so similar to what he had seen many times before in his long career.
Days after the initial assault, he could still make out wisps of smoke and steam escaping the ruined city. Surely this could have been avoided, he thought as he zoomed in on the tiny figures surrounding the docks. The docks were about the only structure still intact in the town proper. A few buildings north of the narrow river had survived, and a Roman fort was rapidly being built to span the river, the legionnaires and engineers doing what Romans do best-build.
Still fuming from his survey of the wanton destruction below, Alexandros turned to the watch officer. “I’m going to my cabin. Alert me if anything comes up. We should be expecting Tribune Appius’s 13th Cohort soon.” He’d gone the last twenty-four hours without sleep.
The officer gave a quick salute in acknowledgement before returning to his duties. Confident that the ship was in good hands, Alexandros strode aft down the hallway running the length of the trireme-like airship, the Scioparto mirroring the ocean-going vessels right down to the familiar pointed ram jutting from the bow of the long, sleek airship. That always made Alexandros chuckle. We’d probably bounce off any enemy ship that was that close. Our gasbags would collide first, and we’d bounce off each other like those new-fangled rubber balls the rich use in their games.
He passed through several doorways, here inhaling the enticing aroma of stew wafting from the galley, there overhearing laughter and conversations from the crew quarters. Alexandros did pop his head into the combination galley/mess room to check on lunch. Crewmembers lounged about, eating food from gray iron plates and drinking from lidded metal cups resting before them on tables with lipped edges that kept things from sliding off during turbulence. Several others stood in line before the cook and his helper, grabbing plates and jostling over food. The atmosphere was relaxed. Alexandros paused for a moment, silently drinking in the sense of camaraderie and friendship that he was, by position, prevented from having within the airship community
The tight quarters of the airship limited the ability to have separate messes for officers and crew, but he knew that most officers chose to dine in his first officer’s cabin. Travins was friendly and open, but there was definitely a professional gulf that prevented a closer friendship.
“Officer on deck!” a rating called out, and the men snapped to attention, standing upright and looking straight ahead.
Sighing, Alexandros waved them down. “As you were, lads. Didn’t mean to interrupt lunch. Figured I’d grab a plate as well.” He joined the line and waited behind the men. Alexandros believed he was a relatively popular captain; his ship was tightly run and had few discipline problems, and the crew was fanatically loyal to both ship and officers. Alexandros knew he was infringing upon his men’s rare off time, but he wanted the chance to just talk and listen to his crew talking about things that didn’t involve the day-to-day running of the ship. As he claimed a seat, he asked a few tentative questions, made a few slightly off-color jokes, knowing that the men were following strict naval code for talking in the mess.
We’ve abandoned half of those foolish naval traditions, but we insist on retaining the ones based on food. Because rules about food make the most sense two miles up in the air, he thought sardonically.
When the suddenly oppressive atmosphere in the room refused to lift, Captain Alexandros gave up. He surrendered his plate to the cook’s assistant with a polite word of thanks and a comment about the cooking, then left the room.
He could hear conversation spring up behind him as he left. He paused in the hallway, then shook his head and decided to tour the ship. He headed forward, passing crew and officer cabins, storerooms, the wireless room, and finally reaching the forward staircase that curved tightly between decks. He descended quickly to a lower deck humming with the whir of machinery. The air was thicker here, the smell of oil and cleaning materials mixing with the slight tang of sulfur and coal.
He carefully checked into the long side decks. Lightweight scorpions and their larger ballistae cousins were carefully stowed several feet apart at regular intervals, their ammunition in long lockers against the back wall. The area made Alexandros think of a gymnsaium. Up in the clouds, he amended. There were only a few crewmembers about in the weapons galley. They saluted Alexandros as he passed, and he nodded acknowledgement as he continued aftward.
The hallway zigged around the arsenal, the most protected and heavily armored place in the ship. The ships’ supply of gunpowder, fuses, and more lightweight weapons such as repeating crossbows and a few sets of anti-boarding armor were safely secured here. Involuntarily, Alexandros’ hand reached for the small keys hanging on a chain around his neck, probing the cluster for the arsenal key. Finding it, he sighed with relief. He always feared that he’d discover he’d lost them at the worst possible moment-when he needed them.
As he continued aft, the hum and clatter of machinery grew more noticeable, until he stepped into the engine room itself. The construct took up most of the room, pistons pumping and gears clanking. Alexandros greeted his chief engineer with a quick salute and was not surprised at the halfhearted wave that could, maybe, possibly, have been a return salute. It wasn’t about respect, just that Chief Mechanic Idonis Tuderius was far too busy staring at dials and levels and crankshafts to be bothered by anything as mundane as saluting.
Alexandros had to raise his voice to be heard over the industrial noise. “How is she running? Did you get out the kinks from the refit yet?”
Tuderius’s eyebrows puckered and he cocked his head to the side, looking quizzically at the captain. Alexandros repeated himself, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice this time.
Shaking his head, Tuderius pointed a soot-blackened finger at a series of dials, their needles wavering erratically. “We’re still trying to figure out why we’re getting these incredibly strange readings. My own grandmother could have done a better job installing this than those stupid dockworkers.”
“Is there anything you need that I can provide to help you out? More men or materials?” Alexandros asked.