Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) by Jonathon Burgess Page B
Authors: Jonathon Burgess
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below.
Not again! He turned a corner past the Sindicato mansion where Mr. Grey did his business—and felt his heart drop into his belly.
The Skydocks were a stair-step structure, complete with landings and a rail, surmounting a small hillock at the far end of Nob Terrace opposite the Brotherhood Yards. Otherwise, it was built much the same as the Waterdocks so far below, composed of a series of piers jutting out into space above the rest of the pirate township, buttressed against the cliff face.
Flames licked the gunwales of the two nearest airships. Fengel recognized them: Captain Glastos’s own Powderheart and Captain Duvale’s Windhaunter . Fortunately, the flames were contained to the wooden hulls and had not reached the gasbags themselves. Which meant they only had a little time, as opposed to none at all. The Powderheart was aptly named—Glastos preferred to smash his prey with bombs dropped from above, thus requiring a black-powder magazine aboard his ship. Should the flames reach that, it would be just as catastrophic as if the flammable envelope caught ablaze.
“My ship!” cried Captain Glastos. He darted up the stair to the first Skydock landing where the Powderheart was moored, with Fengel and Natasha just behind. Cranes for unloading cargo stood beside bins of sand along the pier, the latter for emergencies just such as this.
Up close, the fires were burning along the bow, the gunwales, and the stern of the Powderheart , their conflagrations all strangely separate. The sweet char scent of burning wood surrounded them—but not the acrid stink of light-air gas about to ignite. What Fengel could see of the Windhaunter on the next pier above was the same. We can still save both of them, but we’ve got to work fast. Fengel offered up a prayer that the flames hadn’t started belowdecks.
“Lucian! Gunney Lome!” he cried, gesturing. “Get up to the next pier and form a brigade. Henry! Grab Cumbers and Nate Wiley and get some hands started down—”
“To the Realms Below with Duvale’s ship!” yelled Glastos. The pirate captain charged halfway down the first pier to the Powderheart’ s boarding ramp. “We’ve got to save mine first!”
“You squid-arsed sack of bilgewater!” snarled Natasha. “If we don’t save them both, they’re all going to go—”
An explosion cut her short. Fengel acted reflexively, throwing himself at his wife and falling with her to the wooden platform at their feet. He crouched above her, heart in his throat, waiting for the deadly rain of burning debris to shower them. He might be damned and gone, but she had to survive.
None of it came. Fengel opened his eyes to see Natasha, frozen and expectant just as he was. He glanced up to see that the rest of the assembled pirates had crouched as well. But both airships were still intact and ablaze.
A figure stood on the deck of the Powderheart between two of the fires. It was a Bluecoat Marine of the Kingdom of Perinault, unmistakable in his uniform and round black hat, holding a smoking musket. Behind him stood a man with another firearm, passing it up. Incredibly, Fengel recognized him; it was Hayes, the ambitious but incompetent first mate of the H.M.S. Goliath .
The raging fires were no coincidence.
“Take cover!” Fengel cried. “We’re under attack!”
More men appeared on the deck of the Powderheart, who were soon joined by others against the gunwales of the Windhaunter above. They were a mix of naval sailors and Bluecoats, but the muskets in their hands were no less deadly for that.
Fengel crawled behind the nearest wooden sand bin, trusting his wife to do the same. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the other pirates likewise scattering for cover. Captain Glastos himself appeared to be the only casualty so far; he hunkered behind a crane ahead, clutching a bleeding arm.
“Kill them!” shouted Hayes from the deck of the airship. “Kill them all! Especially that one with the
Not again! He turned a corner past the Sindicato mansion where Mr. Grey did his business—and felt his heart drop into his belly.
The Skydocks were a stair-step structure, complete with landings and a rail, surmounting a small hillock at the far end of Nob Terrace opposite the Brotherhood Yards. Otherwise, it was built much the same as the Waterdocks so far below, composed of a series of piers jutting out into space above the rest of the pirate township, buttressed against the cliff face.
Flames licked the gunwales of the two nearest airships. Fengel recognized them: Captain Glastos’s own Powderheart and Captain Duvale’s Windhaunter . Fortunately, the flames were contained to the wooden hulls and had not reached the gasbags themselves. Which meant they only had a little time, as opposed to none at all. The Powderheart was aptly named—Glastos preferred to smash his prey with bombs dropped from above, thus requiring a black-powder magazine aboard his ship. Should the flames reach that, it would be just as catastrophic as if the flammable envelope caught ablaze.
“My ship!” cried Captain Glastos. He darted up the stair to the first Skydock landing where the Powderheart was moored, with Fengel and Natasha just behind. Cranes for unloading cargo stood beside bins of sand along the pier, the latter for emergencies just such as this.
Up close, the fires were burning along the bow, the gunwales, and the stern of the Powderheart , their conflagrations all strangely separate. The sweet char scent of burning wood surrounded them—but not the acrid stink of light-air gas about to ignite. What Fengel could see of the Windhaunter on the next pier above was the same. We can still save both of them, but we’ve got to work fast. Fengel offered up a prayer that the flames hadn’t started belowdecks.
“Lucian! Gunney Lome!” he cried, gesturing. “Get up to the next pier and form a brigade. Henry! Grab Cumbers and Nate Wiley and get some hands started down—”
“To the Realms Below with Duvale’s ship!” yelled Glastos. The pirate captain charged halfway down the first pier to the Powderheart’ s boarding ramp. “We’ve got to save mine first!”
“You squid-arsed sack of bilgewater!” snarled Natasha. “If we don’t save them both, they’re all going to go—”
An explosion cut her short. Fengel acted reflexively, throwing himself at his wife and falling with her to the wooden platform at their feet. He crouched above her, heart in his throat, waiting for the deadly rain of burning debris to shower them. He might be damned and gone, but she had to survive.
None of it came. Fengel opened his eyes to see Natasha, frozen and expectant just as he was. He glanced up to see that the rest of the assembled pirates had crouched as well. But both airships were still intact and ablaze.
A figure stood on the deck of the Powderheart between two of the fires. It was a Bluecoat Marine of the Kingdom of Perinault, unmistakable in his uniform and round black hat, holding a smoking musket. Behind him stood a man with another firearm, passing it up. Incredibly, Fengel recognized him; it was Hayes, the ambitious but incompetent first mate of the H.M.S. Goliath .
The raging fires were no coincidence.
“Take cover!” Fengel cried. “We’re under attack!”
More men appeared on the deck of the Powderheart, who were soon joined by others against the gunwales of the Windhaunter above. They were a mix of naval sailors and Bluecoats, but the muskets in their hands were no less deadly for that.
Fengel crawled behind the nearest wooden sand bin, trusting his wife to do the same. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the other pirates likewise scattering for cover. Captain Glastos himself appeared to be the only casualty so far; he hunkered behind a crane ahead, clutching a bleeding arm.
“Kill them!” shouted Hayes from the deck of the airship. “Kill them all! Especially that one with the
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