Chapter 14

The strange oblong machine suddenly whirled to life, spitting sparks about the deck of the ship as it bounced back and forth uncontrolled.  Men yelped and jumped out of its ways, fearful of this small mechanical demon.  It was only a little larger than a pigskin football but it made the noise of a train wreck sound tame by comparison and the volume of fire and sparks that flew from it only increased as it moved further down the ship.

“Blast it, boy, I told you to bolt that thing down,” Quincy cried, watching the device rather helplessly, screaming over the noise.  “This’ll set us at least a day or so back.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  It’s not like I meant to do it,” Hank said defensively.  “How do we stop it?”

“Just give it a few minutes.  It’ll die down before too long.”

Everyone on deck simply stood there, powerless, watching the things go completely insane.  After about two minutes of this madness, though, the thing suddenly split in two and issued forth something resembling a small firework show before finally falling silent. Taking his time, Quincy walked down the deck and picked up the two halves, obviously struggling under their surprising weight.  He handed one half to Hank, who had come down to help, and the other to one of the Periwinkle men.

“We’re going to need some new bearings for this one and probably a whole new gyro.  Hope you pirate boys can afford it.”

“We’ll make due,” one of the men said, before shaking his head and walking off.

It had been a week since they had first been captured and they had been very efficient with their time.  After Quincy had told Lloyd all about the airship-killing weapon that he had been a part of building, the pirate captain had been all too happy to keep Quincy on board provided he would construct one for him.  They had even allowed Hank to become Quincy’s assistant, which saved him from the more laborious work that had been in store for the remainder of the crew.

Hank had learned the main reason for the taking of captives only a few days ago.  He had been appalled at first, but after consideration he had to admit that it made a certain amount of sense.  It was, it seemed, rather difficult for a pirate crew to roll into a harbor and stock up on refined sap.  As such, they were generally forced to refine their own.  Therefore, locating their bases in bushes served a dual purpose.  Not only did it provide them physical cover but it also provided them access to Abascal sap.  The crew members that had been taken from the Iron Dove joined others like them in working a small, makeshift mine and refinery right there in the bush.  They were reduced to little more than slaves, working virtually nonstop to produce as much fuel as possible.  The airships didn’t fly off of happy thoughts, Lloyd had pointed out.

Hank, however, was spared from this.  Instead, he spent most of his time on the dubiously name Quicksilver, a hulking cargo ship that the pirates had stolen from some poor soul or another.  It had been chosen – by Quincy – because of its large cargo hold, which the machinist insisted was needed to properly house all of the weapon’s complex machinery.  Lloyd had been more than happy to give the ship to Quincy, as well as a small crew to do with as he pleased.  Amused, the old man had asked if he was actually allowed to take it flying.  “Of course,” Lloyd had said, more than a little too trusting.  “You’ll have to test it some way, right?”

Despite his seemingly trusting words, Hank knew that a few of the members of the crew reported to the captain daily, no doubt telling him about the progress on the gun.  Hank, of course, knew that they weren’t actually building the weapon and he wondered how long they could keep up the charade.  He wasn’t sure, however, about what they were actually building and Quincy refused to tell him.  Whenever he asked, the old man simply chuckled and told him that he would see soon enough.

“Could you hand me that spanner, my boy,” Quincy asked, his head down into the already surprisingly large machine sitting in the Quicksilver’s cargo hold.  So far, Quincy had simply been cobbling together a variety of common place machines.  He said this was because he knew the pirates would have them on hand so he had started on them first.  The others parts were “on order”, as he put it, as they waited for the pirates to steal them from somewhere.  Hank wondered to himself how much of what the machinist was doing was show and how much was actually productive.  This was something else that he didn’t ask, though, lest someone overhear.

“Sure,” he replied, handing the man the tool.  “So what’s this part for?”

“Well, this is basically going to act as a heat sink for the four-stroke engine that goin’ to go where you’re standing.  It’s also going to help heat the water that’ll be comin’ down through the pipe here.  Hopefully we can get enough energy up here at this point to break the sap down into its components.  That’s when the fun begins.”  He then continued his work.

“Uh-huh.  That doesn’t make much sense, Quincy.”

“No, it really doesn’t.  That’s why it took a while to invent.”

Hank just shook his head and stepped back, waiting for his next instruction.  It had been an interesting week, all told.  Their work had been seamless, barring a few minor accidents such as the fireworks football, and Quincy ran his small crew like, well, a ship’s captain.  He had absolutely no problem in ordering the pirates around, or yelling at them when they screwed something up.  For the first few days, Hank had feared their responses but, oddly enough, they really didn’t seem to care.  More than anything else, he found that they were simply glad to have something to do.  It seemed that Lloyd didn’t take them out as much nowadays as he had in the past and they had been growing a little bit antsy.

They were also exceedingly more talkative than Hank had expected.  They talked rather freely about their various misdeeds and close calls with the authorities, wearing them like badges of honor.  In fact, some of the pirates had a knack for storytelling and they often gathered together in the evenings to hear the wild imaginings of these men.  It was all elaboration of things that they had all been a part of – and therefore they knew that the men were lying – but nobody seemed to mind.  They all just laughed and banged their drinks together, glad to relive their previous glory.

For the past few nights, Hank had attended these meetings and they treated him well enough.  It turned out that the men had developed a certain sort of respect for the Iron Dove and her crew.  They had explained to him that it was one of the only ships that had given them an actual fight within the last few months and, even though they had lost friends during the assault, they admitted that Hank and the others had fought rather valiantly.  It was strange to be congratulated for wounding or killing someone’s friend but Hank would smile and nod his thanks all the same.

“You blasted ole Nick right good, you did,” the pirate had said, grinning and slapping the boy on the shoulder.  “Man had been a mean old dog, too, let me tell ya.  Guy once took a bullet to the heart without so much as slowin’.  We had been attacking one of them Guard’s weapons depots, you see, and… well, you’re not interested in that.  But good job, lad.”  It was all rather unnerving.

The Periwinkle Gang was by no means a large gang – it couldn’t compare to the larger bands, such as the Devilfish and their associates – but they had managed to carve out for themselves a small piece of the pirating pie.   They were mainly about surviving beyond the reaches of modern society and tried to make a quick profit at the same time.  They hit the occasional cargo ship, hoping that it was either money or food, and every once in a while raided one of the smaller Reach towns strung out along the railroad tracks.  It wasn’t the most profitable thing, they had come to find, but it was an existence better than some.

When asked why they let Lloyd run the show, most would simply shrug.  He was something of an eccentric, they admitted, but he was apparently a tactical genius; as far as the pirates were concerned, anyway.  He could supposedly orchestrate truly beautiful raids and mid-air heists that would rival even the greatest pirates of the day.  So they allowed his oddities.  The true “leader”, though, they would all quickly point out, was Ivan.  He was silent most of the time but he was fearless and could raise your morale with just a glance.  Everyone admired the giant Russian and insisted that, when the bullets actually started flying and men’s boots hit the deck, it was Ivan that was in charge.  It was a strange duality that they somehow made work.

Overall, they were a surprisingly good group of men – and the occasional woman – and Hank couldn’t shake the feeling that, under different a different situation, he might actually have fun.  Quincy, however, kept him busy enough that his mind didn’t wander down these paths often.  Parts didn’t carry themselves, after all.

It was s short time later that a Claxton sounded from somewhere down below in the main den and the pirates started scurrying about rather hurriedly.  For a time, Hank had no idea what was going on and none of the men spared him any time as they did… whatever it was that they were doing.  Only after the siren finally stopped and people started to calm a bit did he get an answer.

“Irons is coming.”

He, of course, had absolutely no idea what this meant so this didn’t help things much.  He did manage to learn that Irons was a person, but little else, including why it was such a big deal.  Quincy wasn’t much help in this matter, either.  Being new to the expanses of Franklin Reach, he had virtually no grasp of the pirate goings-on.  Instead, he had simply shrugged and continued working on his machine.

Hank was nothing if not a curious fellow, though, so he excused himself and clambered out of the Quicksilver and onto the main dock.  The dock was, for lack of a better term, a surprisingly precarious structure.  It rested on the top of the massive bush, cut down in a ways in order to conceal the ships that settled there.  It seemed to only be firmly attached at a few points, meaning that it was relatively free to swing and sway a bit as the bush moved in the wind.  Horribly windy stairs and a rickety elevator allowed the men to move up to it from the strange buildings that were tacked on the branches further down into the bush.  Supposedly, there were a few buildings all the way at the bottom, including the mine and refinery, but Hank had never actually seen them in person.  He didn’t really trust the elevator to take him all the way down there.

It seemed as though most of the pirate band had gathered up there to see this Irons fellow coming in.  They all stood around dumbly for a time, simply looking up into the traditionally blue sky.  Just as Hank was starting to get a little frustrated in waiting, though, a small but ridiculously stylish airship came into view over the lip of the bush.  A number of birds rustled and flew away as the ship slipped overhead, its engines making almost no sound at all.  All that could be heard was the beating of propellers.

Upon closer inspection, Hank realized that this airship didn’t have any balloons, armored or otherwise.  It was flying completely under the power of a number of propellers and props that pointed in various directions.  It was small as far as airships went, but Hank had never heard of anything this large flying purely by engine power.  If this wasn’t enough, though, the thing was also flamboyantly painted a brilliant red with two wide yellow and orange stripes running down its length.  It moved through the air expertly; it was obvious a skilled man was at the helm.  A surprising number of gun barrels also poked out the sides of the things, making it an oddly threatening yet awe-inspiring vessel in total.

The ship soon settled softly onto the deck proper and the gangway was extended by unseen crewman.  Like the coming of some royal emperor or something, the gangway appeared to be covered in a crushed red velvet and a small honor guard of sorts slowly moved down it, all dressed identically in orange uniforms and holding Browning Automatic Rifles.  It was an intimidating sight, Hank thought, which was probably the point.  After the honor guard had properly spread itself out across the deck facing the pirates quite passive-aggressively, a man appeared at the top of the gangway and started moving down it.

He was a rather tall man, and would’ve been called lanky if it wasn’t for the small but apparent presence of muscle.  He had a strong-set jaw and a downturned nose, a look on his face of mild disgust.  His hair was a pitch black in color, oiled and nicely combed, and long enough to reach the middle of his upper back.  It was, however, tastefully pulled back and held together by a simple tie of light blue cloth.  His sideburns reached down almost to his jaw line but he had no other visible facial hair.  His dress was marginally peculiar, Hank supposed, as he tried to figure out what era they had come from.  Unfortunately, as far as he was concerned, the clothes didn’t match the ship or the guards’ uniforms.  He had a simply dress coat with a long tail of a strange dark aquamarine color over a white dress shirt with its collar worn up.  His pants were dressy, if simple, and a slightly lighter color than the coat.  Hank couldn’t see any weapon on the man, but he was pretty sure that something could easily be hiding under that coat.

As he reached the dock, he glanced about slightly, his chin tipped up, and waited for Lloyd to scramble forth; which he did, Ivan close behind.  He stopped about five yards from the man, seemingly unable to bring himself any closer.  The other Periwinkle men, by comparison, were keeping a much further distance.

“Mr. Irons, to what do we owe this pleasure,” Lloyd asked, attempting to sound as polite and official as possible.

“McAmis, your tithes are due,” Irons said in a seemingly bored voice.

“But I was under the impression that those were due at the beginning of the month, which is still a week or so away.”

“And yet they are due now,” he said in reply.  His eyes wandered lazily across the deck.

“Of course.  Ivan, if you’d please?”  The large man turned and barked some quick orders at a few of the pirates, who quickly ran off toward the elevators.  “May I ask what brings you out personally, sir?  We are not often graced by the presence of the Devilfish himself, after all.”

“Word has it that you may have taken prisoner a man that I am looking for.”  Hank’s heart quickened and he suddenly found himself wishing he could blend into the background.  “A Quincy Boone, as it happens.  Where is he?”

“Quincy Boone, you say?  I don’t recognize the name.  May I ask what he looks like?”

“Don’t play the fool with me, McAmis.  Some of your men are not quite as loyal as you may think.  Bring him to me and I may forgive this little memory lapse of yours.”

“My apologies, Archibald, but I honestly don’t recall holding anyone by that name.  But if I did, he would obviously be down in the refinery.  You’re more than free to wander down there if you’d like.”

“I would rather not wander through this little children’s fort of yours.”  Ivan snarled and took a step forward, but Lloyd put his hand out to stop him.  Irons, however, more than noticed.  “Is something wrong?  Is your little Russian actually capable of understanding civilized speech?  I’m impressed; you’ve trained him well.”

Lloyd’s hand wasn’t enough to stop Ivan this time.  The crossed the distance quickly and came to stand in front of Irons.  Clenching his fist, he pulled it back as if to strike.  Before he could, however, Archibald’s hand swept around like lightning, cracking into the side of the Russian’s head, hard.  Ivan took a step backward, stunned.  In an instance, the guards leveled their weapons at the gathered pirates as they, in turn, drew pistols and knives from their belts.  Hank gasped and tried to move backward a little.  This could turn very bad very quickly.

“You were not given permission to approach me, peasant,” Irons said matter-of-factly.

“Ivan, please come back over here,” Lloyd said, his voice quiet.  “We don’t want to cause any more trouble for our guest.”

Grunting and rubbing his face slightly, Ivan turned and slowly moved back to Lloyd’s side.  Hank had never seen anyone act like that toward Ivan.  He doubted that many did, or could more than once.  This Archibald Irons was a powerful man; that much was clear.

“One more chance, Lloyd.  Where is the machinist, Quincy Boone?”

“I don’t know, but I promise you we’ll do our best to find him.  And let you know as soon as we do, of course.”  Lloyd gave him another smile and even bowed slightly.

“Very well.  But know that if I find you are lying to me, I will crush this little playground gang of yours.  Recall that you exist in the first place because I allow it.  Paying your tithe does not allow you to do as you wish.”

“Of course.”

“My men will wait for your payment,” Irons said before turning and promptly moving back up the gangway and disappearing from view.

True to his word, his armed guard remained unmoving on the dock until the Periwinkle boys finally brought forth four duffle bags which, Hank later learned, were full of cash.  After receiving the “tithe”, the guards had then turned as easily as their commander and returned to the ship.  The gangway had only just begun to be pulled up – again by unseen crewmen of some sort – the ship began to rise up out of the docking area.  In a simple matter of moments, it was gone again, replaced by nothing but open sky.

The tension that had filled the room was replaced by curses, some of which were new to Hank’s ears, as the pirates slowly shuffled off back to their respective duties.  Hank spared a glance at Ivan, but then quickly looked away.  The man appeared as though he could completely eviscerate the first person that said anything to him and Hank didn’t want that to be him.  Instead, he quickly returned to the cargo hold of the Quicksilver, which he suddenly saw as his own personal little refuge.

“So what was all that commotion about, then,” Quincy asked distractedly, his head still down inside of the machine.  “Sounded like one of those newer ships.”

“It was Archibald Irons, the Devilfish.  He was looking for you.”  That got the old man’s attention.  He stood up and looked at the boy.

“He was looking for me, you say?  Hmm.  And what did our Blue Fist say?”

“Said he had never heard of you and that you definitely weren’t here.”

“Rather brave of him.”

Aye.  Irons threatened to destroy him if he was lying.”

“I see.  I wonder how they knew I was here.”

“Not sure,” Hank said, shrugging.  “Irons said something about Lloyd’s men not being as loyal as he thought they were.  Maybe somebody gave you up.”

“And it may just be false talk in order to spook our fine pirate captain.  Oh well,” Quincy responded before sticking his head back into the engine.  “I’m sure it’ll all work out well in the end.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

Either way, though, Hank was going to see about getting his revolver back.