“I don’t know, but—”
A whale.
The massive squared head burst up out of the water, dwarfing the fluyt. Heavy jaws yawned open. Masts snapped, sails crumpling. The monster engulfed the cargo ship in a single bite.
Annika shrieked, clapped her hands over her mouth. The shouts from
Phatéon
’s deck echoed David’s own disbelief.
Impossible.
The jaws clamped shut. The head submerged, followed by the sleek back of the long body as it dove.
The fluyt was gone. A thick swell rolled out from the site, the edges of the water churning.
Annika’s breath came in gasps. “Was that a whale?”
“A machine,” David said, then repeated it as Vashon appeared at the side, looking over with a stunned expression. “It was a machine, Captain. A steel submersible.”
The biggest one he’d ever seen or heard of.
“The megalodons have steel armor,” Vashon said.
“Not armor made of square plates.”
“A submersible, then. Pirates?”
“I didn’t see any people.” But what other reason to come up from beneath to snatch a ship? “It’s a good strategy, if so.”
“Like a whale attacking a seal,” Annika said.
Vashon nodded. “Do you see any survivors?”
“Only crates, a few timbers.” His telescopic lens showed little else. His thermal lens revealed less. If a sailor had dropped into the water, he might not appear much warmer than his surroundings. “A man could be clinging to the other side of one.”
“Thank you. If you ever give up vulcanology, Mr. Kentewess, I will take you on as a lookout.” Vashon clapped him on the shoulder, and called as she walked away, “Forward and on! We’ll fish out any survivors. Fire up the generator! I want a rail cannon on that water.”
Aviators ran to carry out her orders. The quartermaster shouted into the bank of pipes, alerting the rest of the ship. Dooley joined them moments later, shaking his head.
“We’ve just heard. Is it true? A whale swallowed a ship?”
“A submersible did.” He glanced at Annika, who still stood wide-eyed and dumbstruck, her fingers gripping the gunwale as she searched the water for survivors—or another glimpse of the whale. “We’re almost over the site now.”
They all looked over. Floatsam bobbed in the water. No men clung to any of the crates.
A shadow rose beneath the water. A trail of bubbles preceded it, collecting at the surface and washed away by the rolling sea. Beneath the huff of the engine, the deck had gone deathly quiet. Aviators lined the rail, waiting.
Annika’s mittened hand covered his. David froze. She folded her fingers over the back of his gloved hand, their tips curling
round to his palm—holding on as anticipation mounted. Heart pounding, he stared at her profile, watched her full lips part on a gasp. Her fingers tightened, and he felt the impression of each one through the thick wool, the strong clasp of her middle fingers, the soft pressure of her smallest.
Almost dizzy with the unexpected pleasure of it, he followed her gaze down. The top of the whale’s head surfaced, revealing steel sheets riveted like an old ironship hull, so broad that an airship twice
Phatéon
’s length could have landed on the head without wetting its keel. The rest of the body floated beneath the water, the water churning above the tail.
With a hiss, a circular plate near the front opened like a blowhole. Steam billowed out.
Astonished murmurs rose around them. A tremor shook Annika’s fingers.
“Ships and airships.” She looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide with alarm. “Lisbet said that ships
and
airships had been disappearing. Captain Vashon!”
Pulling away, she ran for the quarterdeck. The whine of the electrical generator sounded. The deck crew mounted the rail cannon.
Too late. In a burst of steam, a harpoon launched from the blowhole. Aviators shouted, ducked. David forced himself to wait, to see what happened.
Tipped by a barbed steel head and trailed by a long chain, the massive spear hurtled past the cruiser, ripping through the metal fabric of the envelope and piercing the side of the balloon.
“Dear God in Heaven protect us,” Dooley breathed.
Chaos erupted on the deck. David glanced back, searching for Annika, and saw her racing toward the warmers. Vashon shouted for everyone to toss over their lamps, their cigarillos, to stop all fires on the ship.
With a winding
clack
, the chain drew tight. David braced his
hands against the rail, prepared for the jolt as it dragged them down. It didn’t come. The spear slipped out, fell onto the submersible’s head with a loud clatter. The winding continued, pulling the harpoon back into the blowhole. David glanced up. A narrow hole remained in the metal fabric, the ragged edges fluttering as the hydrogen escaped.
He hoped to God all of the flames were out.
For a breathless instant, he waited, but they didn’t explode. The balloon would slowly deflate, instead, the ship sinking onto the water. Below
Phatéon
, the whale submerged again—to wait, David realized, like a predator that lamed its prey and waited for it to fall.
Vashon strode to the side of the ship, looked up. For a long moment she stared at the balloon, her jaw clenched. Grief passed through her expression, her face closing in on itself; then she opened her eyes and issued orders in a voice like iron. Aviators scattered.
Annika raced toward him, fear and determination tightening her features. She glanced at Dooley, indicated them both. “Get your things ready, but don’t carry much. We’ll try to make it to shore, but if we can’t, we’ll take the gliders.”
They wouldn’t risk the lifeboats with the whale in the water. “Are you coming directly back?”
“Not yet. I have to stoke her as high as possible—we’ll let the engine take us as far as she can back to shore before they ring the bell to abandon ship. I must go.” She backed away, holding his gaze. “Safe journey, David. Mr. Dooley.”
She turned and ran for the ladder. David glanced at Dooley.
“They’ll put the passengers off before the crew. When they evacuate, you take the first round of jumps. I’ll stay back until Annika goes.”
Dismay filled his friend’s face. “I’m not thinking that’s—”
“I’ll help her shovel. I need you to look over my aunt, take her with you. Please.”
“It’s an arseways time for you to fall in love.” Dooley clasped his hand, gave a firm shake. “All right. So long as you’re off when the crew goes.”
“I will be.”
Because he’d be making damn sure that Annika made it off, too.
Though Annika wished David had stayed above, she was
glad to see him—and she couldn’t afford to reject his help. She gave him two pieces of cotton for his ears and a shovel, then steered him toward the furnace. She climbed up to the engine room and saw Mary coming in. With the engine already at full steam and David helping below, there was nothing for Mary to do here but wring her hands. Annika shoved her out to collect their things and to wait for evacuation.
Down to the boiler room again. David had stripped off his coat and jacket, tossed them over her blue mantle. In his shirtsleeves, he rhythmically scooped shovelfuls from the rolling bin to the furnace. Annika dumped the bin onto the boards, left him a small hill of coal. She pushed the bin to the coal bunker and refilled it before jettisoning the rest through the emergency chute.
She felt faintly sick. Fifty tons of coal, straight into the drink—but it would lighten the ship, give them more of a chance. Digging her boots in, she hauled the full bin back to the furnace, grabbed another shovel.
Scoop and toss. Scoop and toss.
Her world narrowed to that single motion, repeated over and over again. Her back ached. Her face itched with sweat. How far had they been from shore when the harpoon had struck the balloon? Ten miles, perhaps. At full steam, a little over fifteen minutes. They had to be close. She hadn’t yet heard the bell signaling the order to abandon ship. Perhaps they would make it to shore? If so, she needed to close all of the hatches, stop the engine before they landed or risk their own propellers tearing
Phatéon
apart.
She glanced at David. The white-hot glow from the furnace glinted off his beads and eyepiece, glistening over the sheen of perspiration. Unlike Annika, his pace hadn’t slowed. He looked as if he could keep this up for hours—and with the nanoagents, perhaps he could. “I’m going to see where we are!” she shouted.
He nodded without breaking the rhythm: scoop and toss. Annika’s sweaty hands almost slipped on the ladder rungs. She hauled herself up into the engine room and stopped, her heart thumping.
She could see Iceland’s shoreline through the portholes. Oh, that couldn’t be right. They were at the tail of the ship, the portholes on the sides, and
Phatéon
was supposed to be flying toward the island; she should have only been able to see the ocean. And the ship was low, low—only a few yards above the surface. Was Vashon hoping to settle into the water and let the propellers drive them in, like the engine of an old ironship?
It wouldn’t work.
Phatéon
would float for a short time, but the weight of the engine made her draft on the stern too deep. The engine room would flood, water pouring in through the hull along the propeller shafts and vents. She’d drown within minutes.
Annika yanked the cotton from her ears and shouted into the pipes. “Captain!” No answer. But someone
had
to be on the bridge.
“Captain!”
What the devil was going on?
Her stomach sank, and she knew. Panic followed her to the
porthole again. She pressed shaking hands against the thick glass, stared toward the shoreline. There, the winged figures in the air. Gliders.
They’d already abandoned ship…and she hadn’t heard the bell.
Terror exploded within her. They had to go
now
. She hauled the engine lever back to
STOP
, blew the vents open wide, and raced to the hatch. “
David!
”
He looked up at her scream, dropped his shovel.
“They’ve abandoned ship! Take your coat. Run, run!”
He did, scooping up her mantle and his coat. His boots rang against the ladder rungs as he climbed. Though slowing, the engine still huffed, but it was nothing to the pounding of her heart in her ears.
She took the mantle, dragged it on as they raced down the passageways, up the stairs. She burst up onto the main deck, chest heaving.
“Oh, sweet heavens.”
The balloon was sinking in on itself like a swaybacked pony.
Phatéon
barely skimmed above the waves.
David gestured to the shore, where black sands stretched back to a low plain, then rose abruptly into cliffs. “It’s not far. Are there any more gliders?”
“We can’t jump from this height.” They’d just fall into the ocean. Annika pushed her hands into her hair, mind racing. “A lifeboat. The moment
Phatéon
settles into the water, we’ll swing it over and row to shore.”
“And the whale?” He looked behind them. “They’re likely waiting.”
“We’ll row fast. If they’re after cargo, they shouldn’t bother with us.” Annika hoped so, anyway. She studied the familiar shoreline. They’d still be twenty miles from Vik, walking all the way. “We need clothes. As fast as you can, as warm as you can find, only what you can carry. And a weapon, if you have one.”
She worried more about the dogs than the pirates.
“How long until we land?”
“Three minutes, perhaps.”
“Christ.”
She hurried with him down to the second deck; she continued to the next. The pack that she’d carried from Hannasvik still lay in the trunk beneath her bunk. She dragged it out, stuffed the sack full of old clothes. Her new outfits would be lost—but she could make more. She grabbed her spark lighter, wrapped it in oilcloth to keep out the wet. The spanners still tucked in her belt would have to serve as weapons.
David met her at the companionway, a pistol holstered at his thigh and a similar pack slung over his shoulder. Taking her hand, he raced with her to the main deck, then amidships, where the boat was cabled against a mast.
She stopped, out of breath. “I thought you didn’t run?”
“Metaphorically.” His quick smile drew a laugh from her. “How do we free this boat?”
“We have to wait until
Phatéon
’s belly is in the water and she’s stopped.” It would be a rough ride until then. She pointed to the pulley and the long arm. “As soon as we do, you heft that rope, I’ll swing her to the side. We’ll get in and drop down by pulling that release.”
He tossed his pack into the boat, then hers. The engine gave a final huff. The sound of the ocean rushed in, the wind sharp against her face. Annika looked over the bow. Even with the propellers stopped, they still flew quickly over the waves. So quickly.
She faced David again. “There’s going to be a jolt when we hit those swells! We’ll skip along before—”
The deck reared, knocking her to the deck. Icy spray crashed over the bow. Annika sat up, wrapped her arms around the mast. David crouched beside her, gripped the timber with his steel hand.
His gaze searched hers. A fine mist covered his lens, matted his lashes. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. Another jolt bucked her forward, then backward as the ship bounced off another wave like a stone skipping across the water. Around them,
Phatéon
shuddered, creaked.
Another jolt. Pain tore across her shoulder as the force of the impact ripped her away from the mast—threw her toward the bow. A crate skidded beside her and smashed into the bulwark. A heavy wave crashed over the side in a thick wall, pounded onto her back like fists. Salty, freezing water surrounded her, burned her eyes and nose. She couldn’t breathe. The wave receded over the bow, dragging her with it. Her hands scrabbled against the boards, searching for anything solid. A rope slid through her mittens and slithered away too quickly to grasp.
Her collar pulled tight. David hauled her back onto the deck, features harsh, the edges of his lips white. “Annika!”
“I’m all right.” She struggled to her feet, coughing.
Phatéon
rocked beneath her feet, water lapping at her sides. The last crash into the wave had stopped them. “Get the boat.”