“But where is he getting his sail?” Hevesum insisted.
“I will give you the complete answer: it is that Zhorga is a lunatic. He does not have any sail, beyond his pitiful rags, and he is not going to get any. Would any of us give it to him?” Gawing looked from one to the other. “Of course not! We are not fools. And the Wandering Queen will not even reach the stratosphere, let alone Mars.”
Gebeth was ignored as the quarreling merchants discussed this aspect of the affair. Finally they left the house and he heard the sound of carriages drawing away.
For some time he sat pondering what he had just heard.
Although he mentioned the merchants’ visit to Rachad neither of them succeeded in discussing the question with Zhorga, who became increasingly intractable on the subject. On the eve of the planned day of departure Zhorga announced that the ship, fully provisioned and fitted out, would sail on schedule the next day.
“But Captain,” Rachad asked in a low tone later, “what of the sail?”
“It will be here,” Zhorga answered briefly.
Many others of the crew were as mystified as he. That night Zhorga forbade anyone to leave the ship but instead sent out for some kegs of ale which was drunk without much merriment. Rachad settled down to sleep early, but throughout the night his rest was interrupted by thumps, shouts and bellows as Zhorga and the mate apprehended those who were trying to sneak over the side.
Dawn broke clear and bright. The ship ground stirred and seemed to shake itself, this being the hour of departure. Zhorga came from his cabin and gave orders to Clabert, whose voice then rang out over the Wandering Queen.
“We are taking off now? Without sail?” asked Rachad, joining Zhorga on the quarterdeck. His expression changed from puzzlement to despair as he began to doubt the man’s sanity.
Whatever the Captain might have replied was lost for the familiar unearthly shrieking smote them all as the first ships to depart put out ether sail. Along with the others Rachad plugged his ears. Then he turned to watch with wonderment the sudden blossoming of pale blue sail, the miracle as big ships lifted off the ground and went streaming away with the sun behind them.
Now the Wandering Queen added herself to the dawn migration. A new shriek penetrated Rachad’s eardrums as hands hauled on windlasses and the yards drew up Captain Zhorga’s patchwork sails. A shudder ran through the frame of the ship. There was a groaning and creaking of timbers as futtocks, ribs and wales braced themselves to take the strain; and then the ether, the most powerful force known to man, more invisible than the wind and ungraspable by hand or eye, caught hold of the galleon and lifted her into the air. There was a jarring bump as she fell back a moment or two later, but the second time she surged free and up. Soon the panorama of the ship ground was below her. She entered the great avenue by which the vessels gained the open skies.
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.