I
want.”
Stedman called. They waited.
“What’s the hold up?”
“No one’s answering, Commodore.”
“Try again.”
Stedman tried again. There was no answer the second time
either.
In the pasture behind the stables, Junior’s men were
scrambling aboard the Stratustarian , even as the great behemoth left the
ground. Meanwhile, the Marquis’s men were approaching the stables, torches lit
and weapons raised. The Hummingbird ’s crew were scattered across the
fields now. To Benedict’s surprise, a few of them were actually beginning to
catch the stallions. The clever ones had figured out how to use their ropes the
right way, and were leading captured animals up the wide gangplank to the ship.
A musket blazed in the night, yellow spark and white flame.
Shouts filled the air. Poleax’s men returned a volley, flintlocks by the
handful. One of the Marquis’s men fell, clutching his chest.
The crack of cannon fire nearly sent Benedict overboard, a
chest-pounding boom that made the muskets’ pops sound puny by comparison. A bay
window on the manor house caved in. The turret above it toppled over like
something made of blocks. The Marquis’s men dove to the grass, covering their
heads and turning back to gaze at the destruction. A celebratory shout went up
from the Hummingbird as it left the ground. The airship followed the Stratustarian into the night sky, leaving behind a significant portion of its crew and more
than half the horses.
“You can’t be serious,” Caine breathed, numb with disbelief.
“Parsons…”
“Yessir?”
“Did that just happen?”
“I believe it did, sir.”
“Get us out of here. And tomorrow morning, reassign Stedman
to the Moonmist .”
It was well-known among the fleet’s crew that being
reassigned to the Moonmist was Commodore Caine’s premiere method of
punishment. Worse than being dismissed outright, it meant a perpetual term of
service under the command of his daughter Misty.
Stedman went pale. “No… please, sir, I didn’t—”
“Get out of my sight, Stedman. I’m in no mood to be groveled
to. A true radioman might know a thing or two about placing calls that are
answered in a timely fashion.”
Chapter 6
Supper was getting cold, and so was Gertrude Caine.
“Your father isn’t at home. Where the devil has he gone?”
Vivian unfolded her napkin across her lap and sat up in her
chair, wishing she possessed the power to blend in with it like a chameleon.
Misty and Lily sat across the table, the latter still pink-faced and sniffling
as she stroked Mr. Freckles, the orange cat in her lap. Vivian said a silent
prayer, wishing for her mother to call on one of her sisters first.
“Vivian? Did you hear what I said?”
Vivian shut her eyes. “I heard you, Mother. It is rather
impossible to get everyone together for dinner anymore, isn’t it…”
“That goes without saying,” Gertrude said. “And it isn’t what
I asked.”
“If I knew where Father was, don’t you think I’d tell you?”
“No, as a matter of fact I do not. What I think you would do
is to try to finagle your way out of it by answering a question with a
question, as you have done just now, thereby leaving the burden of proof to be
determined by my opinion of you. Which, at the moment, is rather low.”
Vivian caught Misty’s smug grin and glowered back at her.
There was no fooling Mother. “Father and Junior and Poleax went to Bixbury to
steal some horses. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
“I most certainly did. This is the first I’ve heard of it at
all. Horses? What in heaven’s name does your father want with horses?”
“What does he ever want with anything, Mother?”
“A profit, I’ll wager,” said Misty.
“Very good,” Vivian said. “A regular savant, this one.”
“Sod off.”
“Girls. Just because your father is away doesn’t mean it’s
free reign to tear each other’s heads off.”
“I’ll tear Viv’s tits off and make her wear them
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