Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

It was a reflective captain who stowed and locked down the reel before making his way back to the bridge. He had thought that their assigned height had been a symptom of this whole poorly thought-out affair. Too low to hide but still high enough to fall hard. But he was reassessing that now. He was convinced that Oublenmach’s departure, as spontaneous as he had tried to make it appear, had been part of the man’s plan from the start and that the duke was in for an unpleasant surprise. What else was he misjudging?

He glanced out the window in time to see one of the freakishly odd birds of Mechanicsburg squawk at the sight of the ship and veer off. “We’re still pink,” he grumbled. “Let’s not forget that.”

He ran an eye over the bridge trying to see it with fresh eyes, and what he saw was not good. On a milk run like this, the bridge crew should be relaxed. Making idle chatter. Checking out a new town was always a source of entertainment, with crews observing the ebb and flow of the street traffic and making bets as to the locations of the best taverns and sporting houses.

But there was none of that here. The entire watch was on edge. With a practiced eye, the captain scanned the crew and found the center of the storm. It was Kraddock—and that was worrying all by itself.

Mr. Kraddock had started as a “rigger rat” when he was nine and claimed that he could still count the number of times since then that he’d actually touched ground. He’d fought skywurms in the realms of the Polar Ice Lords and seen the Great Western Wall of Fire. He’d survived air pirates, storms, hypothermia, blowouts, and the skybends, yet here he was at his wheel, fretting like a dirt-foot.

With a sigh, the captain stepped up behind the man. It was a sign of Kraddock’s level of distraction that it wasn’t until the captain leaned in and quietly asked, “A problem with your wheel, Mr. Kraddock?” that the old fellow snapped into a textbook picture of attention.

“No, sir!” he barked. “Wheel is secure, sir!”

The captain came around so that he was looking the man in the face. Oh, he was worried about something, all right. “Well what is it, then? Come on, out with it, old-timer.”

The wheelman grimaced and tried to avoid his captain’s eyes. “Well, Captain, I don’t like to second-guess orders. ’Specially with an officer that’s been around like yourself, sir. Not my place, you know? But… we’re in Mechanicsburg airspace.”

And that said it all right there. A lot of the newer crewmen were listening in, without trying to look like they were. No doubt they’d already got an earful of stories about the place. Outside the windows, in the light of day, the town looked positively picturesque. But Kraddock—and the captain—knew that that was just a new coat of paint on a sleeping dragon.

The wheelman saw the look in the captain’s eyes, and felt emboldened. “A lot of the old hands…we…we don’t like it. Sir.”

But this was a bit too close to participatory democracy for the captain’s taste. He stiffened. “The Baron has proved that Mechanicsburg airspace has been safe for close to twenty years, Mr. Kraddock,” he said loudly.

Kraddock nodded vigorously. “Oh, yessir …but…”

Abelard knew he’d regret asking. “—But?”

“But, beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but everyone knows it… We’re kind of…conquerin’ it, ain’t we?”

And with a start, the captain realized that, like Kraddock, he was terrified at the thought of what they were involved in. He’d just tamped it down so far that he hadn’t even known it.

But it had been twenty years… “Yes,” he admitted. “Just like the Baron did. So?”

Kraddock hesitated. The captain rolled his eyes. It was too late to tell him to hold his tongue now. The best way to deal with this would be to lance it and let it all spill out. “You may speak.”

The old wheelman nodded. “The Baron, yes. But… he was…an old friend of the family, as it were. And if he’s ruling the place, he’s doing it with a mighty light touch on the wheel, if I may say so, sir. Whereas, our…young lady…” He took a deep breath and his voice dropped to a whisper. “She ain’t really a Heterodyne.” He paused. “Is she?”

Captain Abelard made it a practice to never lie to the crew. On the other hand, he knew when to stop talking. He pulled down the General Address speaking tube.

“All hands—” he said crisply, “are to keep a weather eye out. Immediately report anything odd to two officers!”

A sigh of relief blew through the bridge. Strategically, nothing had changed, but they knew that their captain was taking things seriously. Kraddock saluted sharply and stood a bit taller. “Very good, Captain.”

Abelard returned the salute and, with a measured calm, sat in the command chair. He felt a little better, but not much. For the thousandth time, he wondered why they had made the damn balloon—

“Pink,” Gilgamesh marveled. He leaned full against the stone of the windowsill and stared. “It’s pink.”