Chapter 10--Libby

Libby stood on the deck of the Daniel Defoe and watched Skylar carry Mia up the ramp. As soon as he had both feet on the deck, Hez slashed at the ramp's ropes with his knife and kicked the board off the ship.

Better move soon. She glanced around. Skylar and Mia had disappeared inside the cabin with Maricossa and the Professor; Hez and the older kids dashed around the deck preparing for flight while Mrs. Monday kept Leelee and Toddy out of the way.

Libby grabbed Dash as she rushed past. "Hey, listen, tell Sky…" What? Tell him what? Libby dug Hamlet's note out of her pocket and stared at it. How would she explain?

"What?" Dash brushed her tangled brown hair away from her eyes.

"Do you have a pencil?"

Dash pulled one from her vest pocket.

Libby pressed Hamlet's note against her thigh and scribbled, I'm going back for them. We'll find you, below Hamlet's note. She handed the pencil and the note to Dash. "Give that to Skylar when he notices I'm missing."

"You—you're not coming with us?"

"We can't just leave the boys behind." Libby brushed her braids back and retied her scarf tightly. "I'll catch up."

"Maricossa's gonna be mad. So will Hez and Skylar and…geez, Libby, everyone's gonna be mad at you."

"Well, that's just too awful, isn't it?" Libby glanced at Mrs. Monday to make sure she wasn't looking, then swung over the railing. She landed in a crouch and stayed down as the airship began to lift off.

Once it was clear of the dock, Libby dashed for the abandoned longboat. She clambered aboard and turned to watch the Daniel Defoe splash through the waterfall's spray. No one had seen her. She sat on the deck and took a deep, shaky breath.

What am I doing? This is crazy. I can't just take off…I can't…but I can't just leave Hamlet and Brick. Oh stars, what am I doing—

A loud boom echoed into the bunker, only a little muffled by the waterfall. Libby shot to her feet. "The White Tiger!" She jumped over the side of the longboat, braced her feet, and pushed against it. The bottom of the boat scraped along the rocky floor, and the shredded stern left splinters under her feet.

It cleared the floor. Libby jumped in, unfurled the sail, and tried to start the small propeller. It creaked and hissed, shooting steam into the air. She glanced back at it. The outer metal casing, dull brass, had several large dents in it from the grapeshot that had damaged the stern.

"Oh, bother it all!" Libby pounded it with one hand. I need the Professor.

The longboat drifted toward the waterfall.

Libby ground her teeth. She pounded again. "Work, you worthless piece of junkyard scrap!"

The waterfall misted over the boat, drumming on the balloons. Libby shaded her eyes with one hand. Where were they?

Another cannon shot, this time behind her. Libby spun and squinted up at the sky. The Daniel Defoe and the White Tiger airship hung above the waterfall, broadside to each other. The White Tiger ship dwarfed Hez's, and dark wisps of smoke drifted up from one of the guns poking from her deck.

Libby bit her lower lip. "C'mon, Hez, move!"

A cloud of glittering bits shot from the Defoe. Libby rubbed her eyes and looked again. What in Shandor Rei is he shooting at them? Pixie dust?

Whatever it was, it worked. The shards clung to the hull of the White Tiger ship and slashed at the balloons. Libby smirked. Of course, Hez had a plan. He always had a plan.

Maybe that was why he and Maricossa clashed so much.

She turned her attention back to her own boat. It was floating just above the river, carried along by the air currents over the cold water. She wouldn't need the propeller after all.

Libby straightened the sail, made sure it was tied firmly in place, and spun the wheel. The boat rose above the river and soon skimmed along the treetops.

She glanced back for one more look at the airships. The Defoe was chugging away in the opposite direction, and the White Tiger ship was slowly settling to the ground. Libby grinned. For the first time, she was glad they'd brought Hez in on their adventure.

Libby reached to the side of the wheel and inflated the balloons a bit more.

She glanced over her shoulder again. The waterfall had faded to mist behind her, and there was no sign of the Defoe. Her throat tightened, and she fingered a charm on the end of one of her braids.

Skylar's worried face sprang to mind. He'd be frantic that she'd left his protection. And Maricossa and the Professor would be furious. Libby didn't even want to think about how Mrs. Monday would react—after losing Coll, she'd turned to mothering the Library kids. She'd probably be sick with worry.

Was it right of her to be so excited, so elated, at having pulled off her escape when she'd be making so many people anxious? After all, it's not like they were trying to keep me captive. They all just wanted me to be safe. Hez isn't exactly the best influence.

It had all seemed so simple in the Library. She'd wanted to cut the White Tiger's legs out from under it. She thought she'd be able to do that by teaching people to read. Instead, it had gotten them in this mess. I still want to help, but the others act like they don't want me to do anything.

She shook her head, rattling the charms in her braids. No. I'm not going to sit by and let everyone else risk themselves for my kids and my library. She still needed to work out exactly how that would look, but for now, she'd just see this as her first attempt to pull her weight in their little rebellion. Besides, it's too late to turn back now.

Libby shoved the thought from her mind and inflated the balloons a little more. She drifted upward, watching the brilliant colors of the sky slowly fading as the sun sank. She smiled. Everything was so peaceful…

As she sailed on, back toward the city, the sun sank to the horizon. The sun rays gold-washed the leaves below her in rippling waves, making it seem as though she was floating on a sea of dark green and gold. Orange and pink cloud streaks shot across the sky, and even the faint smog that hung over Shandor Rei glittered. The last sun rays glinted off an airship chugging over the city, clearly depicting the snarling tiger's face on the brilliant white balloons. A reconnaissance ship.

Libby's shoulders tensed. She crouched down behind the wheel and quickly toggled the balloon pressure down. Too quick. The boat dropped. Her heart jumped to her throat. She released the switch, but before the balloons could stabilize, the bottom of the longboat crunched into the trees below.

The impact knocked her on her rump. The wheel turned, and the boat listed to one side.

"No, no, no!" Libby scrambled against the tilting deck and jerked the wheel back. The boat stopped leaning, and she heard branches grate against the tiller. Libby poked her eyes over the wheel, keeping herself stiff so the boat wouldn't move, and watched the airship.

It continued its slow circle of the city.

Libby huffed and sat down, biting her lower lip. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? I should've brought someone with me…even one of the kids would have been helpful.

A cool night breeze slid over the boat, rustling the branches and raising goosebumps on her skin. Libby shivered and zipped up her jacket. "Stupid, Libretto Con Brio," she muttered. "Stupid to listen to Hez again."

Because that's what had started this. He'd challenged her, wanted to know why she was following Maricossa and Skylar, why she didn't just strike out on her own.

Because every time I do, Hez, something bad happens. Libby stood up and peered over the railing of the boat. For the most part, the boat simply seemed to be resting on a tangle of branches, but from what she could see in the fading light, the tiller and propeller were completely tangled in some sort of vines.

She groaned and looked around. Then she snorted. What am I doing? There's no one there. No one to help me out of this. Great going, Libby.

A long howl drifted up from the forest floor. Libby hunched her shoulders and clenched her hands into fists. The tension in her muscles felt like it would tear her apart.

She hopped in a circle, her legs stiff, her heels thudding into the deck, shaking her arms up and down in short, jerky movements. "Not good, not good, not good," she chanted. "Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad…oooh, Libby, you dunderhead!"

She stopped spinning.

She pulled up the trapdoor and dropped below the deck. It was almost completely dark in here, but the hold wasn't big. Maybe she could blunder her way onto something that would help. She crouched down and patted the sides of the boat and the floor. Her hand struck something metallic and sent it skittering across the floor.

Libby followed the sound and, searching more carefully, found it. By the shape, it was a medical knife. She tucked it into her jacket pocket and finished exploring the hold. There was nothing else useful to be found, even though she pawed into every corner and cranny.

When she stuck her head above deck again, the sun was gone, and the moon was gaining brilliance in the east.

"But still not enough light to work by," she muttered. Her skin prickled as she looked around again. This time, lit with silver instead of gold, the sea of leaves looked menacing and ready to pull her under.

She shivered. "I suppose it's better than crashing on the forest floor."

By feel, she unfurled the sails and brought them down to the deck, where she built a nest of them and crawled in. She pulled a canvas over her shoulder, curled up, shut her eyes, and tried to ignore the pops, squeaks, and howls that drifted up from the forest.

*

A snap jerked her awake. Sunlight filtered through the canvas that she'd somehow pulled over her head the night before. Libby sat up and pushed the canvas away.

Longboat. Right. Going to find Brick and Hamlet. She peered around the boat, her eyes fuzzy from sleep. Everything seemed fine.

Another snap, and the boat jerked underneath her. Libby scrambled to her feet. Wha…oh, crashed. In the trees. Right. She staggered to the side of the boat—it was leaning more than last night—and looked over.

The jagged ends of two substantial branches poked out from underneath the boat.

Libby's blood went cold. She looked up at the balloons. They were still inflated. At least if the branches break underneath us, I won't fall to my death on the forest floor. She went to the stern of the boat and tested the tiller and propeller. They were still tangled in vines and branches.

She pulled the medical knife from her pocket and looked at it. It wasn't nearly as good of a find as she'd thought last night—now that she could see it rather than just feel it, she realized it was mostly handle. She pressed the button on the side, and the blade slid out a little more.

Well, it would have to work.

Libby leaned over the railing and swiped at the vines tangled in the propeller blades. She came about four inches short. I need Skylar! Even Hez would be nice. She tried to lean down a little more, and her body overbalanced, her feet swinging off the deck.

Libby squealed and jerked back. The knife clattered to the deck as she landed on her rump. Her heart thudded in her chest. She leaned back, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. I could've fallen and died! What in the world…okay, okay, stop panicking. Stop. You're more resourceful than this. Just think.

Libby forced herself back on her feet. Could she get out of the boat, climb down to the ground, and find Brick and Hamlet on foot? She couldn't see how far up she was. Besides, how would they catch up with the others if she left the boat? It wasn't like they could walk to Tianzhu She didn't even know where in Tianzhu they were heading for.

No, that just wouldn't work. She'd have to cut the propeller loose.

She blew out an irritated breath and said, "C'mon, Libby. You can do this." She grabbed the knife, swung her legs over the railing, and curled her toes around the two-inch-wide piece of trim that ran under the railing. Grasping a piece of railing with her hand, she leaned to the side. The vines were within easy reach now, but her arm was already tiring.

"Thanks a lot, Hez," she muttered, sliding the knife under a vine and slicing it free.

The knife was, thankfully, quite sharp. Within a few minutes, the propeller and tiller were both free. Libby climbed back into the boat, opening and closing her hands to work out the stiffness that clutching the knife and the railing so tightly had caused.

She filled the balloons with a little more gas. The longboat slowly rose from the branches. Libby retied and hoisted the sails, and the canvas soon filled with the gentle morning breeze. Libby grabbed the wheel as the longboat began moving toward Shandor Rei once again.

"Can't do anything on my own, Hez? Ha!" she shouted, pumping one fist toward the sky. "Yes!"

The longboat drifted closer to Shandor Rei, and the forest abruptly ended below the hull. Libby swung the boat around and floated above the edge of the forest, keeping close to the trees so she wouldn't attract attention from the city.

A sparse bit of the forest jutted closer to the city than the rest, and as she moved closer, Libby realized there was a tiny clearing, big enough for the longboat, just inside the trees. It was a perfect spot for a meeting place. She spun the wheel and drifted broadside over the clearing, peering down inside of it.

Hamlet popped out into the clearing and started waving his arms. Like she could miss him, the big lug. Libby grinned and waved back.

Brick galloped out beside him, red hair sticking every which way from his head as he shifted from foot to foot.

Libby glanced away to judge the longboat's landing point and release air from the balloons. When she looked back, there was a third person beside Brick, hand raised in a stiff wave.

Chapter Nine -- Maricossa

Maricossa could feel himself sliding in and out of consciousness, and it infuriated him. The White Tiger would be on them, and they needed to get out—completely away from Shandor Rei, for good.

Hamlet. Brick. He’d promised Libby he’d go back for them. He had to go back.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was and how he’d gotten here. It looked like he was in one of the cabins on the airship. He knew how to get to the deck from here, but suddenly the Professor was there, forcing him to sit down, and Maricossa seemed to have lost his ability to resist.

How did Professor get here? Then he remembered: they’d already made it back to the bunker. The bunker! They had to get out. They needed his help.

 He looked up at where the Professor had been, but saw Skylar instead. He blinked, but the image stayed the same  and he suddenly wondered how much blood he’d actually lost. Was Skylar even real? Was Skylar even real?

“Skylar, we have to get the books and the kids out of here,” he said. “We have to…” A swell of dizziness almost made him fall from wherever it was he was sitting. He fought through it, but when he looked up again Skylar was gone.

Then the Professor was back, talking in gibberish and trying to force him to lie down.

“I have to get us out of here,” Maricossa growled. He struggled back up to a sitting position.

“Hezekiah will do that, don’t you worry.”

“Hezekiah is exactly why I’m worried!”

“He has Skylar and Libretto to help him,” the Professor said, resting a hand on Maricossa’s shoulder.

And none of them have any idea the kind of firepower a White Tiger gunship carries.

“You’re not making me feel any better.” Maricossa shoved the old man’s hand away and started to stand up, until the room listed to one side.

Maricossa’s stomach turned, and he sat back down heavily. He thought it was just dizziness coming back, until an open book slid across the top of the bedside table in the cabin and thunked onto the floor. His brain told him to go pick it up, even as he was struggling to stay upright, and he found himself trying to see the title on the spine.

At a time like this.

Keep it together, Maricossa, he told himself.

Mia appeared and threw her arms around his leg, looking up at him with wide eyes. Remnants of tears still clung to her eyelashes. He wondered for a second if she was real, but he could feel her so she must be.

The ship lurched to the other side, and through the walls Maricossa heard the blast of a cannon. In another second Mia was on the bed next to him, clinging to his left arm, her face pressed against his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, sweet girl, it’s okay.” He pulled his arm out of her grip and put it around her. She climbed into his lap and curled into a ball against him, hiding her face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered against the top of her head.

He hoped she didn’t feel him flinch when the sound of another cannon shot shook the Defoe.

He couldn’t hear any return fire from the Defoe. What in the world was Hez doing?

“Listen, Mia, I’ve got to go for a minute,” he said, starting to get up.

She curled into a tighter ball, clenching handfuls of his shirt in her fists.

“You’ll do no such thing.” The Professor was back again. “Now Maricossa, I don’t believe in drugging a man against his will. But if you are going to persist in—” He stopped for a moment, frowning at Maricossa’s bandaged hand. “Oh, bother!”

He turned away, rummaging in a bag, and Maricossa slowly raised his injured hand to look at it. The already-stained bandages had become darker, now shiny with fresh blood. Maricossa’s fingers stuck stiffly out of the bandaging, turning a sickly gray. He discovered that he could move his thumb like normal, and his forefinger a little, but the rest refused to respond at all.

The Professor turned back to him with rolls of fresh bandages. “I’m afraid this hand of yours isn’t willing to wait for a calm, safe moment to receive attention. For the last time, Maricossa, lie down.”

Maricossa heard the words, but they sounded far away, echoey. Black spots swarmed the edges of his vision, crowding closer and closer, more and more of them, until his field of vision narrowed to a circle the size of a watch face.

Black.

*

A map. Filling his vision. He blinked.

The Professor’s face in front of the map. Oh—the map is on the ceiling. Captain’s cabin. Hez…

His hand — the pain was worse than before. He could feel Professor working on it—fiery agony that moved and shifted without ever going away.

He tried to speak, tried to unclench his teeth — no. Too much. A scream gritted against his teeth, but he couldn’t move, his muscles locked into place.

The Professor’s head turned and their eyes met.

“Maricossa! You’re awake!” he said. He turned away for a moment, and when he turned back he had a needle in his hand. “Good heavens, you’re not supposed to be awake yet. Here: I’m going to give you an injection to put you back under so I can finish working on you, alright?”

Maricossa was completely incapable of responding—he couldn’t even breathe. But either the Professor hadn’t really been asking for his consent, or else he assumed it was granted, because Maricossa felt the cold needle slide into his arm, and seconds later the room went black again.

*

He was lying on the cobblestone surface of what appeared to be an alley in the forgotten sector. The walls and rubble seemed to blur and warp around him as he struggled to his feet and looked down at his injured right hand. The bandages were gone, and blood dripped slowly from his fingers.

Connie stood in front of him, staring in horror at his hand as tears poured down her face.

“Galvin, I am so, so sorry,” she said. Her eyes darted from his hand to his face and back again. “I never meant for this to happen. I had no choice in what I did. The Green Dragon has my father. They said they would kill him!”

Maricossa took a slow breath to calm his racing pulse. His heart ached at the sorrow, the fear, in Connie’s beautiful eyes. Who was he to judge her, as if she were the only person the Cardinal Point Alliance had thrust into circumstances she hated? It was a wonder the two of them hadn’t been forced to turn against each other long before now.

“Believe me, Galvin,” Connie continued, “I would never, ever hurt you.”

Maricossa forced a smile, though the pain in his hand made it difficult. “I know.” It was true. All along, some part of him had always known that Connie was loyal to him.

She came towards him, fresh tears still pouring down her cheeks. “I am so sorry,” she said again. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be with you. I love you.”

She was close enough now that Maricossa put his good arm around her and pulled her to him. “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you,” he whispered.

She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. He closed his eyes and kissed her.

And she slid a knife between his ribs.

*

Maricossa jumped awake, his heart hammering and roaring in his ears. The first thing he realized was that Connie hadn’t really stabbed him. Which was a relief, but a sick feeling of horror still hung on in the back of his mind, and he shoved all thoughts of the dream away.

It wasn’t real. He didn’t need to think about it.

The next thing he realized was that the Professor had to have given him something while he was out. The pain in his hand was still there, but it was much milder than it had been before, and a strange sensation he could only describe as a cloud of cold dizziness wafted around inside his head. He recognized the feeling from when he’d broken two ribs in a sparring session a few years back, and the doctor had given him an injection for the pain. It had had the same side effect.

Once his pulse and breathing calmed down enough, he could feel the gentle motions that meant the Defoe was still in the air. But there were no shots being fired, no voices shouting, no running footsteps.

He turned his head to where he could feel his right arm and hand lying beside him. His hand appeared to be propped up on a pillow or something—he couldn’t tell for sure because it was covered with a cloth.

Taking great care not to move his right hand from its position, he reached over with his left hand to move the cloth and get a look at it. There had been too much blood to really see the extent of the injury before.

A touch on his left arm made him jerk back. He turned his head and saw Mia perched in a chair on her knees, leaning over his bed.

“Mia! You scared me.”

“Sorry, Mister Maricossa.”

Maricossa let out a breath and dropped his head back to the pillows. “No, it's okay, sweet girl, I just didn’t know you were there.” He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Professor says he’ll be right back, and don’t touch your hand ’cause it’s not ready yet. And Mister Hez says don’t bleed on the floorboards.”

Maricossa couldn’t help a smile at that. “Gotta love the compassion of a pirate,” he muttered.

“Mister Hez is a pirate?!” Mia blurted. “Like in Peter Pan?”

Maricossa groaned, wishing he hadn’t said anything. “No, it’s not like that, Mia, it’s—just forget I said anything.”

Mia scowled and crossed her arms. “Well, I’m not gonna join his crew. He uses words that Libby says aren’t nice, and his cat scratched me and growled at Scarf.”

Maricossa was still trying to keep from laughing when the cabin door opened and the Professor came in.

“Ah, Maricossa! Glad to see you awake.”

“Do I get to stay awake this time?”

“Indeed you do, my boy. Well—for now, at least. I didn’t have everything I needed, and Skylar can only spare so many parts and still be functional—which, without you up and about, we need him to be—so I may need to put you out later on to make a few adjustments, but—”

“Professor, wait,” Maricossa said, slowly raising himself from the pillows again. Skylar can only spare so many parts? He tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat had suddenly gone completely dry. His voice came out as a raspy croak. “What are you talking about?”

The Professor hesitated and dropped his eyes, as if regretting his words. “I’m—I’m very sorry, Maricossa.”

Maricossa looked down at the pillow beside him, and the cloth that covered it. The outline of a complete hand underneath the fabric reassured him at first, but as he thought about Professor’s words again a horrible feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

With his left hand, he reached over and pulled the cloth away to look at his hand.

It was made of metal.

 

Chapter 8--Skylar

It was a tense ride. Hez was correct—their longboat was far lighter than the White Tiger’s craft, but the larger boat stayed in sight the whole way back to the bunker.

“They won’t catch us,” Skylar muttered to Libby, glancing over his shoulder at the looming menace behind them. “But this’ll be a squeak.”

She looked up from where she was kneeling in the gunwales beside the injured Maricossa, and bit her lip. Skylar put his hand—the flesh-and-bone one, not the metal one—on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Mrs. Monday and the Professor will take care of him,” he assured her, hoping it was true. He cast a look back at the pursuing craft. “He’ll be fine.”

Hez, at the tiller, shouted through the wind to Skylar. “Hey, ’borg! Get him—” he jabbed his chin at the semi-conscious Maricossa “—ready. We’re going to have to make this fast.”

Skylar gritted his teeth at the pirate’s epithet and started helping Maricossa into a sitting position on one of the benches. “Wake up, Maricossa,” he grunted, heaving the larger man’s arm over his shoulder. “You’re going to have to help me a bit here.”

Maricossa groaned and opened his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, breathing heavily. He let Skylar hoist him onto the bench, and then hunched over his wound, which had bled through the bandages in places. “…I don’t think.”

Over the prow of the longboat, Skylar could see where the long silver line of the Shandor plunged over into an abyss of spray and mist. The bunker waited, and he clenched his metal fist with a clack, hoping everyone was ready.

They had to be ready.

Hez swept over the top of the waterfall and dropped the longboat down, using the currents of air off the water to spin the boat until the prow faced the large gap in the wall of water. Through the spray, Skylar could see the Defoe waiting, and small figures milling about.

With what seemed like painful slowness, Hez brought the longboat into the cavern and set her down—none too gently—on the stone floor. “Mrs. Monday!” he shouted, throwing a rope over the side and leaping after it. “Professor!”

Skylar grabbed Maricossa’s arm around his shoulder and stood, heaving the injured man to his feet. “Lib,” he grunted. “Go get the kids. I’ll take care of—”

“Right.” She leaped over the edge of the longboat and started calling the children together, shepherding them onto the Defoe and forming the older ones into an assembly line to load the supplies from the longboat into the larger ship.

“Hezekiah?” The Professor was shrugging into a sweater as he came, and his eyes opened wide behind his spectacles, taking in Maricossa’s condition. “Oh, my,” he tutted. “We should treat that immed—”

“No time.” Maricossa stood upright, and released Skylar’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Get those kids aboard.”

Skylar nodded and dropped over the side of the longboat, reaching back to grab and armful of goods to carry. “The Professor will take care of you,” he said to Maricossa, casting a worried eye on the older man’s blood-soaked bandages. If they lost Maricossa now, after finally coming to trust him… And that wound was worse than he was letting on.

Maricossa cradled his injured hand and gritted his teeth. “Go on, Sky,” he said. “We don’t have time.”

True. The blue sky was still bare of enemy ships, but they couldn’t have gained more than a thirty minute lead on the White Tiger. They’d be here soon.

Skylar started to turn away, but Maricossa added, “And Skylar—find Mia. Please.”

“I will,” Skylar promised.

 “Skylar?” Mrs. Monday appeared from the makeshift kitchen at the back of the cavern, wiping her hands on a towel. “What’s going on?”

“We have to get everyone onto the ship,” Skylar answered, hefting his load of supplies over his shoulder. “The White Tiger are on their way.”

She threw the towel over her shoulder. “Everything is loaded—we just need what you brought, and the children.”

Skylar nodded.

The next ten minutes were a flurry of action as sacks were unloaded from the longboat and stashed away as quickly as possible. Skylar saw the Professor help Maricossa up the gangplank and into the captain’s cabin, but he had no time to worry about the injured man. Some of the smaller children were crying—Mia, in particular, had curled into a ball in a corner of the cavern and was sobbing inconsolably. She refused to board the Defoe, and no one could quite reach her.

Looking around in vain for Libby, Skylar knelt next to the tiny girl, his metal parts clanking in protest. “Mia,” he said, trying to sound gentle even as his mind screamed that the other ship was going to be here in seconds! “Mia, come out, please?”

Sobbing, she refused, shaking her head vehemently.

Any second!

“Mia—I’ll take you to Maricossa,” Skylar pleaded.

Her little eyes, brimming with tears in a reddened face, looked up at him. “Maricossa?”

Heartened, Skylar nodded and extended his hand. “Yeah—Maricossa. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

She looked at his hand doubtfully for a second, and then—to Skylar’s relieved sigh—she took it and allowed him to pull her from her hiding place. He hoisted her onto his hip and jogged back to the Defoe.

“That’s everyone!” he shouted up to Hez, stumbling onto the deck. “Let’s go!”

Hez slashed a rope with his dagger and the gangplank clattered to the ground. “Strap yourselves in, kiddos!” he roared. “Below deck!”

Skylar carried Mia to the captain’s cabin and pushed the door open. Inside, Maricossa was sitting hunched on the edge of the bunk, grimacing at the balding top of the Professor’s head. The Professor examined Maricossa’s bandaging, and shook his head.

“I can’t take off the bandages right now,” he said. “As soon as we’re off and safe, I’ll take care of it, but for now you just need to lie down and—”

“I can’t lie down,” Maricossa protested, trying to push himself to his feet. The Professor grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back onto the bunk.

“Boy,” he said in a firm voice, “You have lost far too much blood to be waltzing around in the middle of a daring escape—not to mention the fact that you’re going into shock. Now lie down.”

Skylar let Mia slide off his hip and onto the floor. “Stay in here,” he told her. “Don’t come outside, no matter what, ok?”

She nodded up at him, tear tracks still marking her cheeks.

“Skylar,” Maricossa said, “We have to get the books—the kids out of here. We have to…” He swayed woozily, shaking his head in frustration.

Skylar, unnerved to see Maricossa—usually the strongest of them all—so shaken, stepped back. “We’ve got it covered,” he lied. “Just…” Just get better, he wanted to say. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

He left before Maricossa could say another word, taking a deep breath as he stepped back into the chaos on the deck. The Defoe was lifting, moving toward the entrance of the bunker, her balloons straining at the ropes and the sails starting to flutter in the updraft of air from the waterfall.

“Skylar!” Hez shouted at him from the wheel. “Get up here!”

Skylar hurried up the deck, joining Hez, the older children, and Mrs. Monday.

“We have maybe ten minutes before they’re on us,” Hez said, throwing levers and spinning the wheel. Above their heads, various ropes and connecting pulleys clicked and shifted. Hez jerked his chin toward six small cannons lining either side of the Defoe’s deck—three on each side. “It’s going to be a fight. We’re lighter and smaller, but they’ve got heavier artillery. That’s good and bad—good, because it makes them even heavier and slower. Bad, because we don’t have the firepower for a fair fight.” He grinned darkly, and a maniacal gleam shone in his eyes. “So it’s a good thing I don’t fight fair.”

Skylar laid his hand on the nearest cannon. It was oddly small, and rather than being made of iron it was… “Leather?”

Hez nodded, fastened the wheel in place, and leaped down to the main deck. “Watch and learn, lubbers,” he said. He flung the lid off a small trunk that sat fastened to the deck beneath the leather cannon.

“Leather—again, it’s lighter. Also, you’ll see here—” he grabbed a handle that protruded from the side “—no firepower. This is all in your arm. You crank this lever, the belt inside moves—reciprocating gears make it fast enough to work—and it shoots these.” He reached into the trunk and pulled out a small, shining shard. Skylar and the others leaned closer.

“Is that glass?” Mrs. Monday exclaimed.

Hez nodded proudly. “My own invention. The shards slice up the balloons—that’s what we’re aiming for. Slash those gas-bags, and their ship goes down.” He looked around at the ragtag bunch, and sighed.

“What I wouldn’t give,” he bemoaned, “for my own crew back again. Instead, all I’ve got are you bunch of wet-behind-the-ears kids.”

Mrs. Monday raised her eyebrow at him, and crossed her arms over her chest.

Hez shrugged. “No offense, lady,” he said, “but I’m a pirate. Not a babysitter.”

They didn’t have time for this, and after weeks of complaining, Skylar didn’t have the patience to deal with Hez’s attitude. He stood and came nose-to-nose with the pirate, grabbing Hez’s shirtfront in his metal fist.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he said, his voice as cool as he could make it, “We have a battle to fight. This is not the time to be complaining about what you don’t have.”

Hez narrowed his eyes. “Let go of me, ’borg,” he ordered.

Skylar tightened his grip. “The name’s Skylar.”

There was tense silence for a second, and then a slow grin spread across Hez’s features. “Let go of me, Skylar.”

Skylar released him, and the pirate stepped back, tugging his shirt straight.

“Alright,” he said. “You’re my crew now. Here’s the plan: don’t hurt my ship, do as much damage to their ship as you can, and don’t die. Everyone take a cannon, familiarize yourself with how it works. You have—” he checked his watch. “Five minutes.”

~*~

The White Tiger ship was faster than they had anticipated. Skylar, looking anxiously off the port stern, shouted as the Defoe broke over the top of the mountain.

“They’re here!”

Hez cursed and threw several levers at once. “We’ve got to stay above them,” he shouted. “Get your cannons ready!”

The enemy fired first.

She was a large ship, equipped with four large balloons painted black with a white claw arching over their curved surface.

“It’s the Ares,” Hez shouted. “I’ve seen her before.” Skylar was just close enough to hear him add, more quietly, “Never had to fight her before.”

Skylar swallowed and adjusted his grip on the wooden handle of his cannon, waiting for the moment when he could line his muzzle up with the Ares’ black balloons.

“Mrs. Monday!” Hez shouted. “Get up here!”

The matronly woman scurried up the stairs to the wheel, and Hez shoved it into her hands. “Hold it just like this,” he ordered. “Do not let her turn an inch to the right or the left.” Then he sprang away, leaping to grab hold of a rope that hung from the balloons above. He scurried up to the golden roof of the silk-covered balloons and began to unfurl some extra canvas that hadn’t been loosed yet. Task completed, he dropped with a thump to the deck beside Skylar.

“That eye help with your aim any?” he asked, gesturing at Skylar’s glass-and-brass eye.

Skylar tapped it. “I can hit a starling with a rock from three rooftops away.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Hez said. “But I’m going to hope it was a yes. Let’s see how good you are at hitting an airship that’s coming at you. I want you to aim for the balloons—go for the center. I’m depending on you—make it through this, and I’ll make you my gunner. Capisce?”

“Got it.” Skylar sighted down the length of his cannon. “Um, Hez?”

“What?”

“They’re coming around.”

The Ares had swung out wide, and was now heading directly for the Defoe, every inch of canvas unfurled and catching a westerly wind that brought them rocketing toward the smaller craft.

On the deck of the Ares, men scuttled about, and a boom! exploded in a poof of grey smoke.

Then another. A cannonball whistled past just under the Defoe’s keel, a clear warning.

“They’re firing!” shouted Dash.

Hez cursed, spinning to rush back up to the forecastle and take the wheel from Mrs. Monday. “Man the cannons, troops!” he roared. “And hold on to your hats!”

The Defoe, with Hez at the wheel and the controls, began to rise, her lighter weight outracing the bulk of the Ares. The larger ship raced closer, but couldn’t get enough wind under her to meet the Defoe, and instead passed underneath.

“Fire!” shouted Hez from the controls. Skylar and the children cranked their cannons, sending a rain of shining glass shards raining down on the larger ship. Several of the shards pierced the taut surface of the balloon, and Skylar heard shouts and curses coming from the other crew, who couldn’t bring their ordinary cannons to bear on a ship so much higher than them.

He shouted, exultant, and reloaded his cannon. The first time he had shot, it had been willy-nilly at the general direction of the oncoming hulk. This time, he took a deep breath to steady his hand—which was shaking with adrenaline—and closed his right eye.

Viewing the world in green and gold highlights through his mechanical eye, he blinked twice, the metal eyelid clacking together. Focus… Zooming in, he made out a place where three of their previous shots had ripped a loose triangle on the surface of the balloon. Not enough to rip a hole, but a single shot to the center ought to finish the job.

He aimed his cannon, tracking the massive balloon as it traveled under the keel of the Defoe, judging his distance. Zing! The shard fired off straight and true, zipping through the sky with the sun glinting off its jagged surface to pierce directly through the target.

With an audible woosh, the Ares began losing altitude. The hole—probably only a handbreadth wide when Skylar first shot—ripped open with the force of released pressure until it gaped six feet long.

Hez leaped from the captain’s wheel and landed next to Skylar, slapping him on the back with a whoop. “You’re hired, mate!” he shouted. “There she goes!”

Sure enough, the Ares was sinking down through the layer of clouds below, taking the enraged crew of White Tiger agents with them.

The children cheered and immediately started telling each other their own versions of what had just happened, elaborating as they went. Skylar, a grin splitting his face, turned to look for Libby.

“Lib?” he called.

Hez glanced around. “Is she in the cabin?”

“She wasn’t when I took Mia in.” Unease tickled Skylar’s belly, nibbling away at his jubilation.

“Libby!” shouted Hez, his voice roaring out over the deck like an order to reef sails or drop anchor. “Libretto con Brio!”

No answer. The children looked at each other, falling silent.

“Skylar?” Dash said, hesitant. “She didn’t come.”

The words hit Skylar like a punch in the gut. “What?”

“She stayed behind. She said to give you this.” He/she stepped forward and drew a scrap of paper from his/her pocket, holding it out to Skylar.

He took it, and read aloud, “We're fine. Don't worry. Let us know the plan. Check in at the grocery, we spend most of our days there. It’s signed ‘Hamlet.’” At the bottom, Libby had added in a hurried scrawl, I’m going back for them. We’ll find you.

His hand dropped to his side, and he desperately scanned the cloud-draped horizon with his mechanical eye, as if Libby might be coming as he looked. It was in vain.

She was gone.