Ch 3 - A Frantic Escape and a Grand Entrance

Tripp gets out of the warehouse and finds himself in the midst of a airship battle. One, he is now a part of.

I caught sight of further damage done by the blast. The moorings of several airships had been blasted free, causing some of the smaller craft to drift loose and bang into one another. I leaped, head-first through the new opening in the side of the warehouse, uncertain of where it would lead, but feeling confident it could not be any worse than what I was leaving behind.

Cold sea air blasted my face and the pungent smell of the docks greeted my nose. For a split second, I forgot what was chasing me and reveled in the sensations of being outside and free.

That all came back to me as the ground slammed into me and a great metallic scream boomed from behind me. I was on my feet once again, sprinting the length of the docks. Light grew in intensity behind me, casting a shadow of myself darker and darker in front of me as I fled.

Suddenly it went dark. Not only was the light behind me extinguished, but it seemed that the moon had been turned off as well.

Sparing a glance into the sky, I found that the sky was indeed black as mortician’s robe. Casting about, I could just make out the edges of the blackness. It was long and rectangular, but rounded on the shorter ends. If it were not for the size, I might suppose it was an airship, lost on its moorings and drifting over the docks and the warehouses.

Light burst from the shape, a bright opening from which shot out stout hooks and cables. Into the nearly destroyed warehouse they snaked, then snapped fast as they grabbed hold of something within. A groaning of gears and the cracking of wood resounded as from within the shattered remains of the warehouse, arose not only the large, broken crate I had seen earlier, but also the forms of the man-shaped machines. Most prominent among the cluster, the giant machine that I had blinded. The end of one of his arms still glowed a faint, sickly green from the last shot it had fired.

Their angry red colored eyes cast about, searching. Instantly, I knew what they were searching for and scuttled into the shadows quickly.

“Just go,” I whispered to myself, “Just go and let this night be at an end.”

Fate, it would seem, had other plans for my evening.

And for my life.

Angry green blasts, not unlike those I had dodged moments before slammed into the side of the dark shape in the sky. Suddenly illuminated, I could see it was, indeed, an airship. It was massive and black. Where it had been blasted, it glowed faintly, but no lasting damage seemed to be present.

More shots slammed into its side and I traced the fire back to its source. Another silhouetted shape, this one much smaller and much closer to what I knew airships to be like, was spouting large, rapid shots of green energy at the larger airship.

I could only feel pity for the smaller vessel as the larger one returned fire. To my shock, the smaller craft did not explode or fall from the sky. Indeed, it pressed the attack, its own hull glowing red hot where it took hit after searing hit.

Eventually, it dipped down low enough for me to make out some of its finer details, its flaps and fins, for example, but I could not make out her propulsion for some reason. The giant fan-shaped propellers that moved a ship forward and helped them steer seemed to be missing.

My musings were quickly lost as a shot from above slammed into the smaller ship’s topside, sending it downward. Downward, and directly towards the docks. And me.

I glanced about for somewhere else to be, but was hemmed in by debris and crates. The docks were going to be smashed into bits along with me unless…

“Gods help me,” I whispered and jumped as the prow of the airship slammed into the first few sections of the pier. I pushed with all my strength and scrambled upwards on a large stack of crates. Then I kicked hard against the top-most crate, propelling me, not away from, but towards the incoming vessel.

Tumbling end over end, I landed, with a moderate amount of grace, on the forward deck of the crashing ship. I even managed a quick smile and wink at a middle aged crewman who was staring in shock at my acrobatic feat, then scrambled aft towards the wheelhouse and a place to grab hold as the ship fought to right itself from its plunge.

Much to my shock, not only did the ship right itself, but it rose up away from the shattered pier, unseen engines roaring in defiance of wood and gravity alike.

The middle-aged crewman from before ran up to me. He was trying to say something, but the roar of the engines drowned him out, even as we stood face to face. The man was dressed as I was accustomed to seeing ships’ crew attired. Loose tunic and leather breaches were covered with a simple wool robe, the hood pulled back to reveal graying hair and piercing blue eyes. Whatever he was trying to say, his face held surprise and even a little amusement.

Behind him, long black tendrils of rope dropped onto the deck and soon followed armed and armored men. Troops were being dropped from the ship above. They all seemed to be clad in black, loose-fitting clothing. Some bore short swords, some long curved blades that I had seen before, but could not name.

But all held death in their eyes. That, I knew all too well.

“Boarding party!” a loud and distinctly female voice came from overhead. I looked up to see a tall and shapely woman silhouetted in the moonlight, standing atop the wheelhouse. She seemed garbed in form-fitted pants, sturdy but light boots. Her blouse was cut much like any sailors would be, though she filled it out like no other sailor I had ever seen. Her mane of curly black hair was tied back out of her face. I could not make out her face, but as she barked orders, I knew this to be a woman not to be trifled with. Especially since, when did give orders, she pointed with one of two long blades she held in her hands.

It was then that the men rallied and dove into action at her command. I turned my attention back to the fray at hand. The closest of the black-clad men, one at least head taller than myself, rushed for me.

Instinctively, I reached for the dagger that normally lived on my belt, and then remembered it was laying in pile of Miss Darby’s clothing, somewhere in Illisport. The man in front of me sneered cruelly.

“Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed,” I muttered and sprang towards my attacker, diving and tumbling into his legs, sending the bigger man flailing to the ground, his short sword clanging loudly as it flew out of his hands and onto the deck. The man’s head smacked the ground with a sickening sound and he did not move again.

For a moment, I contemplated running and grabbing the sword, but decided the wiser course of action, the one that had saved my hide more times than I could count, was to get the hell out of there.

I raced for the nearest railing, but stopped just in time to realize the ship was already several hundred feet in the air and over open water. It was too far, even with my acrobatic prowess.

I turned back around in time to see an attacking brute lunge for him. A quick duck and a thrown elbow sent my assailant screaming in some foreign tongue as he plummeted into the dark sea below.

I sprang from my squatting position and was back into the fight. Suddenly, the ship lurched to one side and I was soon looking upwards and saw a curious glowing green light emanating from the massive black ship above the fight. Spotting an open hatch towards the main part of the ship, I ran for it, screaming “They’re going to blast us all! Get off the deck! Get off the damn deck!”

Those combatants not clothed in black, whom I had assumed were the crew of this ship, understood me, glanced up once, and then joined me in my sprint for the hatch. The remainder of the men stared confusedly around, yelled at each other in some unknown language.

By the time one of them looked up, it would be too late.

I tripped on the unconscious form of my first attacker, but scrambled back to my feet quickly. Even so, I found myself behind the pack of fleeing crewmen.

I was the last to dive through the hatch and some stout man slammed the door behind us. The screams of the men left on the deck were not completely muffled by the door, but a resounding boom and the accompanying shudder through the ship, did.

“Gods below,” the man at the hatch swore. “They blasted their own men. Their own sodding men!” He pounded the door once in disbelief and disgust. The sentiment was carried around by the crew around us.

“I suppose we owe you thanks,” said a voice from down the hallway. I turned to see the cloaked man standing right next to me. He was smiling broadly and gripping my shoulder appreciatively.

“Do we now?” came a female voice that I now recognized. Out of the dark she strode and now I could see her face. Hard, but beautiful, she possessed a face that bespoke of years in the sun. Her eyes, though the weak yellowish lamp light hid some of it, were the most stunning shade of purple I had ever seen. “I don’t recall seeing passengers on my manifest this voyage.” Her voice was cold and her eyes scanned me and, at least I felt like it, looked through me into my soul.

“Well Captain,” the man replied, “We sort of picked him up when we smashed into those docks.” He continued, grinning, “I don’t think his intention was to stow away, but rather to save his own hide.”

I nodded enthusiastically at this assessment, my voice suddenly gone under the Captain’s gaze.

She arched an eyebrow and looked from me to the other man and back. A second blast rocked the airship making the big craft lurch unnervingly to one side. The crewmen hung on to railings or managed to balance themselves quickly. I slammed to and fro as the ship’s rocking settled itself. Finally I just dropped to my knees and prayed I would not be sick in front of the captain and crew.

“I don’t have time to deal with this now!” She said, getting to her feet. “Flynn, he’s your problem for the time being. Keep him out of my way and if his story checks out, he’ll live to see the sunrise.” She turned, intending to head down the hallway.

“And if it doesn’t?” my voice cracked with nervousness.

“Then you’d better be damn good swimmer!” she called back, disappearing around the bend.

The man, Flynn, the Captain had called him, grabbed me by the shoulder, “Get up, lad. We've work to do.” He flipped open a tube near the hatch and spoke into it. “Bridge! This is Flynn.”

“Bridge here. What is it Flynn? We’re a bit busy!” A haggard male voice came back through the tube.

“We’re at the forward hatch and want to check for survivors on the fore deck. Is that behemoth still using it for target practice?”

“Negative! She turned and is heading out to sea. We’re following. You’re clear now, but keep an eye peeled! Bridge out!”

Flynn flipped the tube shut. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. West. An excellent steersman? Yes. Charming? Not so much.” He started to spin the lock of the door open. “Are you ready young man?”

“For?” my voice cracked again.

“A little fresh air m’lad. Just a little fresh air,” Flynn smirked, a bit of a mad gleam in his eyes.

The door flew open and Flynn rushed out. “What in the name of the seven gods have I gotten myself into?” I said to no one as I tumbled back out into the night and into the unknown.

Author's Note

Please let me know if you like the flow/style/characterizations.

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

I have enjoyed it all tremendously, except for one thing, the frequent mention of the gods. Pruning a few might make the others more effective. I eagerly anticipate the next installment.

[Brian Rollins]

Thanks. I was just noticing that the other day, that Tripp has one "swear" or catch phrase and he uses it over and over. Need to vary his language some more.