Hilemore ordered the ship to one-third speed as evening slipped into night. The weather had stolen the stars from the sky and he was unwilling to risk navigating by dead reckoning in such shallow waters. Running aground in peacetime was a career disaster for a captain, but in times like these it would mean the end of this whole enterprise.
Morning brought calmer waters and an uninterrupted progress to the narrow channel that connected the Lower Torquil to its northern twin. It was a notoriously dangerous strait that had the official name of Tormine’s Cut, another feature named for one of the explorers who had first charted this region. In the habit of sailors, however, it had long since earned the name Terror’s Cut thanks to the number of ships that had fallen foul of its capricious nature. During a three-moon tide it was said the waters of the Cut could reach heights equivalent to a tidal wave. Fortunately, they were in a relatively inactive lunar period and the tides were unlikely to be high. Even so, Hilemore ordered the ship to dead slow as they approached the channel. Partly to gauge the conditions and also to allow the Farlight to catch up, the Blue-hunter having fallen behind during the night.
“Current appears to be flowing north, Captain,” Talmant reported, having trained a spy-glass on the Cut. Hilemore followed suit, tracking his own glass between the headland on either side of the channel. The terrain consisted of the kind of bare, sandy scrub typical to land regularly subjected to the three-moon tide, whilst the waters themselves seemed placid enough, though evidently fast-flowing.
Hilemore checked to ensure the Farlight had closed to a few hundred yards then ordered Talmant to signal the engine room. “Ahead one-third. Captain Okanas to stand by to fire the blood-burner if necessary.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hilemore turned his spy-glass towards the prow, watching as Jack’s spines twisted through the gentle swell towards the Cut. After a moment the spines slipped below the surface as the beast swam ahead to scout their route. “Mr. Steelfine,” Hilemore said, causing the Islander to snap to attention.
“Sir.”
“Line and weight crew to the starboard beam. Best keep an eye on the depth. It’s been awhile since these waters were properly charted.”
“I’ll see to it, sir.” Steelfine saluted and left the bridge, voice carrying the length of the ship as he summoned a pair of crewmen.
The draught had reduced to fifty feet by the time they entered the Cut, and then to thirty when the Superior reached the halfway point. The current was swift but manageable, Scrimshine managing to correct for its occasional shoves to the hull.
“Don’t suppose you ever did any smuggling here, eh, Mr. Scrimshine?” Hilemore enquired.
“Can’t say I have, Skipper,” he replied, turning the wheel three points to port to bring the prow back in line with the compass-needle. “No bugger around here to sell our wares to, see? Done plenty round Stockcombe, though. Many a cosy inlet to be found on that coast . . .”
“Sir!” Talmant broke in, Hilemore raising his gaze to see Clay abruptly straightening at the prow. He turned and sprinted for the bridge, hands waving and shouting. Hilemore heard the word “Stop!” through the bridge window.
“Is that another squall, sir?” Talmant asked, training his glass on something beyond the prow. Hilemore followed his gaze, seeing the waters of the Cut some two hundred yards ahead had begun to roil, as if stirred up by a sudden and vicious wind.
“He couldn’t hear them!” Clay said, appearing in the doorway, breathless and face hard with dire warning. “They were hiding under the silt.”
Hilemore turned back to view the roiling waters. He didn’t need his spy-glass to discern the cause. They were breaking the surface now, verdant scales glittering in the morning sun. Greens. Large aquatic Greens, so many they filled the entire breadth of Terror’s Cut from end to end.
CHAPTER 11
Lizanne
“Estimated maximum altitude of fifteen hundred feet,” Professor Lethridge said. He strolled around the redesigned aerostat, arms clasped behind his back and listing its virtues with a pride Lizanne couldn’t recall being directed at her. “Maximum speed of forty miles an hour on kerosene, eighty-three under thermoplasmic power. A significant improvement in performance thanks to the information provided by you.” He favoured Lizanne with a rare smile. “The aerodynamic refinements to the envelope alone added twenty miles an hour to the top speed, and another ten thanks to the addition of an enclosed gondola.”
The new aerostat was indeed a more impressive specimen than its predecessor. The balloon itself had a more robust and elongated appearance, almost shark-like in the smooth curves achieved by Tinkerer’s internal copper frame. The gondola was no longer just a small boat suspended by ropes from the balloon but a narrow canoe-shaped capsule with glass windows in front and back and hinged port-holes in the side which were wide enough to accommodate a carbine or mini-Growler if the need arose. The engine was suspended from the base of the gondola on a sturdy steel frame that enabled it to be swivelled about by the pilot, facilitating a much greater range of control. Jermayah had wanted to add a second engine but there simply weren’t enough materials on board to construct it. Lizanne’s gaze narrowed as it fell on the ugly bulk of the caloric burner. The way it sprouted through the roof of the gondola spoilt the craft’s otherwise elegant lines.
“A temporary but necessary modification,” her father said, following her gaze. “With no helium or hydrogen on hand it’s the only means of achieving elevation.”
“I’m sure it will work perfectly, Father,” she told him. She turned as Tekela appeared at her side, clad in a heavy seaman’s jacket, the sleeves of which had been trimmed to accommodate her less-than-regulation proportions. She carried a second jacket in her arms and wore a thick woollen hat on her head. Lizanne considered that she might have resembled a child playing dress-up but for the shrewd appraisal she displayed in surveying the aerostat.
“No time for test flight, I suppose?” she asked Jermayah.
“We don’t have the fuel,” he said with a grimace of apology before handing her a leather map-case. “The course is marked and the compass heading already set. The captain advises that the winds tend to swing north over the Red Tides so be sure to account for it.”
Tekela gave a tense nod then hefted the second jacket into Lizanne’s arms. “It gets cold up there,” she said, striding forward. “Shall we?”
Lizanne lingered a moment to exchange a few words with Makario, who had come along with Captain Trumane to see them off. Tinkerer apparently felt no compulsion towards such social niceties and was busy in the workshop improving Jermayah’s mini-Growler. “Keep working on the solargraph,” Lizanne told the musician. “If you should happen to discover the final tune, don’t play it for Tinkerer until I return.”
He nodded, forcing a smile before nodding at the aerostat. Tekela had already climbed the ladder into the gondola and started up the caloric burner with a loud whoosh, causing the craft to lift several inches off the aft deck. “Room in there for a third party?” Makario asked and she was surprised to see he was serious. “Who’ll save your life when you get captured again?” he added.
“I’ll just have to manage,” she said, folding him into a brief embrace before turning to Captain Trumane.
“Our formal proposal,” he said, holding out a sealed envelope. “I’m sure they’ll find the terms generous enough to be tempting.”