Song of Ramona (Book #1 in Pirates of the Cloudsea Trilogy) (Teaser)

I. The Wastrel

The noise of the sky was terrific, wind howling in my skull, the hum of the engines filling my ears. These sounds, along with the hiss of the hoses that pushed lift into our balloon, made it almost impossible to make out the commands of my superiors.

"Fledglings! Prepare the Hawks for the first wave!" called out our quartermaster Mr. Bentley as he charged down the center of the main deck.

Remembering all the terminology of an airship was challenging in its own right. I knew the business of locks and clocks quite thoroughly, but sky piracy was still a relatively new enterprise for me. I had been at it just under a year.

The Wastrel was a rigid airship of early design that employed many elements of naval engineering in her construction. Beneath her elongated balloon, she carried an enormous gondola suspended by steel cables. These were attached to the riveted framework. A pair of red membranous batwings extended from the ship's sides, catching the wind when we made our descent. If we needed to be more aerodynamic, they could be swept back with the maneuvering of a few ropes, but they usually remained open to stabilize us on the air. The Wastrel also had a rudder to help steer her trajectory. It did not work too well; it had been cracked by a bolt of lightning long before I ever joined the crew, and the captain saw no reason to pour man-hours into fixing it.

The ship had a sort of rugged beauty about her, with embellishments from a time when embellishment was all the rage. Her railings, doors, and archways boasted accents of crown molding and carved sirens. Though the paint was chipping away on these details, the men revered the Wastrel with romantic wonder and took pride in keeping her. She might have been an old bird, but for many of us, she was the only home we knew.

"Full speed ahead!" shouted Captain Dirk from the helm as we chased our prize. At the moment, I could not see the target through the clouds. Only a dim shadow loomed beyond the misty swells.

Our propellers shrieked as we heaved forward, rapidly ascending. Whenever we picked up speed or made a sudden maneuver, it was protocol to hold onto something. I grabbed the nearest rail, training my eye on the other ship as we gained on her.

"Fly the spade!" commanded Captain Dirk.

Every proper pirate had a notorious Jolly Roger, something unique to distinguish himself in the Cloudsea. People in Elsace knew the Roger of the white spade, knew the stories of gore in the clouds, of severed heads raining down from any ship that gave chase to Captain Alexander Dirk. When targets saw the black flag trail out just beneath the cracked rudder, they surrendered every time.

The Wastrel was equipped with twenty-five cannons, a ballista, and enough parachutes to save a hundred and fifty souls. They lined the rails and each and every day, I prayed to all my gods I would never have to use one.

Prayer was a useful thing to sky pirates. It helped us to cope with the unknown, which had become a constant in our lives on the air. We prayed to Ithicus, bird-god of the sky, for lift and smooth air. We prayed to Rheus of the sun and Camilla of the moon to light our way in the dark. The all-father, Throm, controlled the weather. To him, we prayed the most, for a single storm could rip an airship apart. As robust as our vessel appeared in the sky, it was made of only wood, cloth, and rubber. It was a fragile, man-made thing and its keeping to the air continued to amaze every one of us.

The Wastrel pitched starboard to show the Roger. As it did, I toppled off the bulwarks and rolled across the deck. Someone hoisted me up by my jacket collar, shoving me forward.

"Quit tossing about!" shouted Jasper. He was a stout, brown-bearded man with wide shoulders and stiff legs. His beard usually carried breadcrumbs or a stain of white flour. Of all the men on board, I found him the least hygienic. Naturally, he was the ship's cook.