Page 62 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
I rushed to the stairs, then zoomed down, taking the steps two at a—
My prosthetic leg buckled without warning. The familiar click and grinding sensation hit me a split-second before the mechanism failed completely. The world tilted violently as I pitched forward, arms windmilling uselessly. My stomach lurched into my throat as I tumbled down the remaining steps.
The deck rushed up to meet me. Pain exploded across my temple as my head slammed against the hardwood. Stars burst behind my eyes, followed by a wave of nausea. For a terrifying moment, everything went black.
When my vision cleared, I found myself sprawled across the deck like a broken doll. A hot trickle of blood ran down the side of my face. The coppery taste filled my mouth where I’d bitten my tongue.
Anger and shame boiled up inside me, a toxic mixture that burned hotter than the pain. I glanced around frantically, praying nobody had witnessed the Reaper tumble down the stairs like a clumsy child. The crew’s respect was my only currency aboard this ship.
I jumped to my feet, fighting a wave of dizziness that threatened to send me back to the deck. My prosthetic creaked ominously but held as I wiped the trickle of blood with mysleeve. The white fabric came away crimson, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now.
With my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, I charged across the deck, moving as if nothing had happened. Each step sent a jolt of pain up my leg and into my hip, but I refused to show it. The Reaper didn’t limp. The Reaper didn’t fall. The Reaper was invincible.
I stormed across to the opposite ladder, climbing to the helm’s quarterdeck. Viper stood at the wheel, his oversized tricorn hat casting a shadow over his face.
“Viper!” I shouted as I approached. “We’re not giving chase! We’ve got at least a dozen holes in us, plus our shield is dead!”
He whirled around, his dark eyes narrowing to slits. The skull tattoo on his face seemed to leer at me as he bared his gold tooth in a snarl.
“Who’s captain of this ship, Reaper?” His foul breath hit me as he leaned in. “We’ve got them on the run!”
“We’ve got ourselves half-sunk,” I countered, standing my ground despite the throbbing in my leg and head. “Another volley, and we’ll join those other ships in the clouds below.”
“Coward,” he spat. “I expected better from the great Reaper.”
My hand fought to move toward my sword. “It’s not cowardice to avoid suicide, Captain.”
For a tense moment, we stood locked in a silent battle of wills. The few crew members around us had gone quiet, watching the confrontation with wary eyes.
Finally, Viper’s gaze flicked to the blood on my face, then to the damaged sections of the ship. “Fine,” he growled. “But we’re not leaving empty-handed. Take us down. Let’s see what we can salvage from the wrecks.”
I nodded curtly. I’d expected that—it was as much compromise as I was going to get. “Aye, Captain. A fine choice.”
There was still a trickle of blood dribbling from my head wound, but the dizziness had passed. Thank the goddesses for that—I needed all my wits about me for the dive.
“Butcher,” I shouted, “take two men and move the ballast tanks to forward position!” The tanks currently lay in the middle of the cargo hold. When we needed our bow heavier than our stern, the tanks were pushed forward. Turning to the crew, I bellowed, “Prepare for descent! All crew on main deck are to attach to a safety line within thirty seconds! And someone warn below deck!”
The ship erupted into controlled chaos as pirates scrambled to comply with my orders. Safety protocol during salvage operations was one of the few rules even Viper wouldn’t dare violate—not after losing three men in a single descent operation last year.
“Move your worthless hides!” I shouted, my voice carrying over the wind. “Anyone not attached to a safety line when we descend will be cleaning Viper’s quarters for a month!”
The threat worked wonders. Bodies collided as aeronauts rushed to the storage lockers where the leather safety harnesses were kept. Fingers fumbled with buckles and straps as they hastily wrapped the thick bands around their torsos. Maneater nearly strangled himself trying to loop his harness over his massive shoulders, while Hawk-Eye’s belt hung so loose it threatened to slip right off her skinny frame.
I moved to the port-side rack, pulling on my own harness with greater ease than the pirates. In cadet camp, they’d made us practice for weeks on end. The worn leather was supple beneath my fingers as I slipped it over my shoulders and cinched it tight across my chest. The metal hook and clip system dangled at my hip, ready to be attached to the safety lines that ran the length of the ship.
“Below deck crew!” I bellowed. “Secure all loose items and grab the handrails! We’re going down hard and fast!”
The handrails that lined the corridors below deck were essential during these maneuvers. Without them, the sudden shifts in altitude would send bodies and equipment flying. I’d seen a man’s skull cracked open by a flying wrench during an emergency descent. Not a pretty sight.
Kaspar was somewhere below. I so desperately wanted to dash down to find him, to make sure he had a tight grip on the rail. To make sure he was alright, period, after the battle.
Instead, I clicked my own hook into the main safety line with a snap. The line would keep me tethered to the ship if I went overboard during the descent—a far better fate than plummeting through the clouds to whatever waited below. I tested my line with a sharp tug. Satisfied, I scanned the deck, counting heads and checking attachments. Sparrow, our sail master, was ready and waiting, and she shot me a salute and a grin.
I barked out my orders. “Trim the sails! Reduce canvas by two-thirds!” Several of Sparrow’s aeronauts scrambled up the rigging, nimble as spiders despite the harnesses. “Everyone, prepare for nose-down!” I yelled down below, “Willy, tell Murray—forty percent power, no more!”
The deck vibrated beneath my feet as the crew executed my commands. Safety lines snapped taut as aeronauts secured themselves to the ship’s spine. I could feelThe Black Wraith’swounded frame groaning in protest, but she’d hold. She had to.
We started to tip—Butcher’s team was successfully shifting the weight distribution. I made my way to the helm, checking my safety line once more.
