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

X. The Thirst

The crew liked to jest that an airship needed two kinds of fuel: fuel for the engines and fuel for the men. The pun came out of the fact that Skye was explicitly marketed to airmen for its qualities as a stimulant and mild anesthetic. Skye, the fermented concoction of gray bubbly, made a man feel like a supreme being, awake and full of spirit. It numbed all kinds of pains: toothaches, illness, hunger, homesickness, and the boredom that blanketed the hours and days between raids. At present, our Skye stores ran low due to economic collapse throughout Elsace. The thirst came upon us, and we had no means of quenching it in the near future.

The thirst was a mild sort of withdrawal that made men irritable and adverse to authority. During times of thirst, vandalism spiked. Arguments escalated quickly into fistfights. The men became sluggish and missed their shifts. They made mistakes that could put the entire crew in jeopardy. If we ran dry, Captain Dirk would have far more to worry about than a marriage deal with Emperor Perceval. Thus we moored in Briarton to refuel and conduct trade, regardless of our being pressed for time.

Not one of us was allowed to visit any brothel or watering hole. The crew had to fuel the ship and conduct maintenance inspections, while Captain Dirk and Mr. Bentley went to haggle at the general store.

It was a gloomy afternoon full of clouds and light rain. We sported our raingear: coats and caps of oiled leather that reeked of chemicals. I'd wrapped a woolen scarf over my nose to obstruct the fumes and strapped on a pair of kneepads I'd made of linen stuffed with chaff. After preparing myself accordingly, I lowered by rope ladder to the roughly paved ground below. Fitz was already down there, carting a fuel tank with the help of the tower personnel and some of our Hawks, Baker and Pierce amongst them.

There were distinct physical differences between our men and the people of Briarton. Aside from Fitz, ours had the bulk of muscle to fill the sleeves of their heavy dusters to capacity. The shirts and trousers of the tower personnel billowed in the wind around their bony appendages. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes weary.

Everyone wore weatherproof caps except Baker. His dreadlocks absorbed the rain and hung heavy down his back.

"Air pressure is fine," I called to them. "And we've plenty of reserve tanks. All we need is petrol."

"That's not all we need," said Fitz, a hint of desperation in his tone. "We need another kind of fuel."

"You won't get any here," said one of the fuel jockeys. "Spirits are all we have now to make these shortages bearable."

"I have four gold pieces," said Fitz.

The fuel jockey hooted deep in his throat. "Coin is worthless. We barter goods alone."

Fitz looked to Baker, who was working to unwind the fuel hose. "Should we fetch our rations for the day, you think? Split the drink? I know you're aching."

Baker shook his head. "Not worth it."

"Come on, Bakes!" whined Fitz. "Captain won't open that last keg until we've already found our Skye. You know that."

Baker just glared at him.

"What?" Fitz cried. "I'm aching, mate!"

"You ever worked a twelve-hour shift without food? You feel wretched! You make mistakes and let everybody down! We bear the thirst together. As a fucking crew."

"Fine. Gods above. You don't have to go ballistic," muttered Fitz.

Baker turned his back to him. As I wheeled a stepladder aft, I heard his deep voice carry over the squeaky wheels and the trickling rain. "Listen, mate. The captain might yet work out a deal. Chin up."

He followed me with the fuel hose and held my ladder steady as I went up. The engines were high on the back of the gondola. To reach them, I had to balance on the uppermost step.

I removed the fuel cap to the first engine, took the hose, and snapped it in place, waving to signal the boys at the tank that we were ready. The pipe made a soft hiss as it moved fuel. I sat down on the ladder stairs, slumping forward.

"How is the thirst treating you?" Baker asked.

I shrugged a shoulder. "I had aches for a day, but they've passed."

"You're young. Just wait."

"You're hardly old." I paused and gave him a discerning look. Baker could have been five and twenty for all I knew. He behaved like a child, but he was built like a man, and his jaded outlook suggested he had seen enough of life to grow weary of it. "How old are you?"

"How old you think?"

"One and twenty."

Baker laughed. "I'll be lucky to see one and twenty. I'm only two years older than you, ya prig."

I nodded slowly and stared off into space. I had too much on my mind to care what age he was.

I wondered if Baker—like Dirk—had always known the truth of my gender and went on pretending like he didn't. The other men rarely noticed me, and when they did, I tried not to say much.

Baker, however, noticed me plenty. We spent almost every waking minute together. He could not have known my secret. He was not the kind of man who let a woman's presence go unappreciated. In taverns, he liked to whistle at the pretty wenches and see if he could get them to smile for him. He even whistled at the ones who weren't so pretty, called them names like 'popsy' and 'lovey,' and shot them sly winks that left them in a tizzy. He might sometimes disappear with such a woman and return after a half hour with love bites running down his neck, for Baker just couldn't help himself. He tried at any woman who might have him.

We'd been blitzed and alone enough that surely if he knew, he would have made a pass. For to him, women were meant to be teased, scrogged, and forgotten.

"Everything all right?" Baker asked. "Fitz was saying the captain called you into his quarters yesterday. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

My chest got tight. I looked off over my shoulder, unsure how to answer. "No," I said quietly.

"Why didn't you mention it?"

"Because it's my business."

"If you're in trouble, it reflects badly on me, which makes it my business too."

"No trouble. It's a private matter. The captain needs my help, and I'm not to speak of it. I'll be going aboard with him during his trade with the emperor."

"Are you pulling my chain?" Baker grinned wide and gave me a friendly cuff on the arm. "He must see something in you!"

He did indeed.

The sound of petroleum flow went quiet. I unclasped the fuel hose and replaced the cap. "Let's do the next one," I said.

"Hold on tight, flyboy!" Baker shouted, wheeling the ladder down the pavement. I gasped and gripped the railings on either side as I dropped to my kneepads.

"Wanker!" I chuckled.

We came under the next engine tank and began the process again. That was when Captain Dirk and Mr. Bentley returned. By the looks on their faces, we knew there would be no new provisions.

"Shite," Baker grumbled.

"I'm sorry, mate."

The rain picked up. Bakerhiked the collar of his coat up over his hair, groaning aloud. Those dreadlockswould be dripping for days.