Star Winds

Chapter THREE

Ten days later Gebeth visited the shipfield to see for himself the vessel in which his protégé and his new-found pupil proposed to set forth for Mars.

Zhorga had sunk all his money into the scheme and work was well advanced. The hold was filled with goods which he hoped to barter with the Martians in exchange for silk. The caulking was all but done and when Gebeth arrived Zhorga was supervising the fitting of extra spars which he believed would improve the galleon’s handling in space.

As Gebeth stood staring up at the ship two horse-drawn drays stacked with wooden barrels rumbled up. He stepped forward and spoke to one of the drivers.

“Are you from Hamshar’s works?”

“That’s right, sir.” The drayman climbed down and began unfastening the lashings. “And there’s two more loads to come.”

The alchemist nodded. The barrels contained a chemical preparation that could be made to smolder slowly to release breathable air. It would sustain the crew of the Wandering Queen on their journey through space.

It was thanks to his own knowledge that Zhorga had been able to obtain the coagulated air so quickly, for only he knew where to find a manufacturer to make the stuff in quantity. Indeed Gebeth had made himself invaluable in many ways. He had supplied Zhorga with the pills, made up to his instructions by an apothecary in the Street of the Alchemists, that the crew members would take during the voyage to ward off the physical effects of space travel. They would be living in conditions of reduced weight once they left Earth, and part of the time, when the sails were furled or during maneuvering, they might experience null weight. Such conditions could rot the bones and weaken the heart.

Captain Zhorga’s rough bellow sounded from above. Sailors came swarming down ropes dangling over the ship’s side. The hold doors were opened and the barrels of chemical air began to be rolled inside, rattling up a short ramp.

Rachad’s face appeared over the railing. “Gebeth! Come up!”

Gebeth climbed a gangway to a door halfway up the wall of the hull. He found himself between decks, with a passageway ahead of him and a stairway to his left. There was a strong bitter smell of the special pitch all chinks and seams had been filled with to make the galleon airtight. Rachad came down the stairs, a pleased grin on his face.

“Come up top, sir!”

He followed Rachad onto the main deck, which was alive with activity and a chaos of ropes and tackle not yet assembled. They wandered among cursing sailors until Gebeth could look over the starboard rail. He saw that yet another item of equipment had arrived and lay in a heap on the ground: a huge sheet of a flexible transparent material which was to be affixed to the hull to cover the sternhouse and part of the main deck. It would balloon up under pressure and meant that one could walk the deck under it without wearing a breathing suit.

“Come to the sternhouse,” Rachad invited over the clamor. “It’s quieter there.”

They climbed to the quarterdeck and entered Captain Zhorga’s cabin. It was as Gebeth would have expected: not too clean, jumbled, smelling of Zhorga’s habitation. “Has the Captain found a role for you yet?” he inquired.

“Well, he uses me as a sort of cabin boy,” Rachad said apologetically. “Running messages and doing odd jobs. But I don’t mind. What an adventure!” His eyes gleamed and he looked through the windows in the slanted rear wall of the cabin. Gebeth noted that the panes had been covered with a second frame containing a single sheet of unbreakable glass, tinted against the glare of the sun. Even the sternhouse had been caulked, in case the outside bubble should fail.

A drawing of Zhorga’s sail plan lay on the cabin table. Gebeth studied it briefly. An air sailing ship like the Wandering Queen was designed quite differently from the old transspatial ships, being closer in many respects to the old sea ships from which both were ultimately descended. Zhorga knew, therefore, that if he tried to sail in space as he did in the atmosphere the result would be a disaster; in space the ship would have no natural weight to keep it in balance. Instead he proposed to sail the galleon much like a cog. The ship would fly decks foremost, with the sails arranged overhead like a canopy. The hull’s inertia would thus provide the needed drag on the sails, whose pull could then act through the ship’s center of gravity, giving a stable system. This arrangement had one other important advantage, besides its simplicity: the ship’s constant acceleration would give objects on board weight in the accustomed direction. One would be able to walk the decks.

Gebeth turned to Rachad. “How is Zhorga managing as regards his men?”

Rachad grimaced, then laughed. “He keeps them in line somehow.”

In fact, on returning to the ship after his first meeting with Gebeth, Zhorga had been confronted by an anxious crew who, when he confirmed his intentions, had all quit on the spot. Zhorga had refused to hear anything about this collective vote of no confidence. He had half-bullied, half-jollied them into submission, keeping them by him mainly by fear and violence. He was forced to make regular visits to Olam’s taverns and boarding houses to seek out deserters, driving them back to the ship with much roaring and bluster. Nevertheless he had let the more lily-livered go, losing thereby nearly half his crew—a loss he had made good by recruiting various desperadoes and adventuresome spirits he had found in the town, luring them with tales of riches. These at least were not against him, and even some of his original men—Clabert the first mate, for instance—were now behind him.

For the rest, their main hope was that the Wandering Queen would never take off, at any rate not for the void. None of them had dared attempt to sabotage the preparatory work, however; Zhorga’s wrath in such a circumstance was something no one wanted to face.

“I must say I can’t help feeling sorry for him,” Rachad told Gebeth. “The Wandering Queen has become a standing joke. He is derided everywhere he goes. It will be awful if the thing flops. But it won’t!”

“Departure time is close,” Gebeth pointed out “Zhorga ought to begin making his practice runs soon.”

At that moment a sweating Zhorga entered the cabin and greeted Gebeth. “Those curs work as though they were dying of consumption,” he complained breathily. “Still, it won’t be long now.”

“There is one point I have not heard you mention heretofore,” Gebeth said. “Rachad here tells me you don’t actually have enough ether sail to make the voyage. You will, as a matter of fact, need more sail than is required for ordinary atmospheric flying.”

Zhorga waved his hand. “It’s being taken care of.”

“Shouldn’t your fresh sail be here by now? You’ll need it for your practice runs. Where are you getting it from?”

Rachad knew already—and had informed Gebeth—that Zhorga had tried to persuade one or other of the owner-captains to throw their lot in with him, lumping their sail together with his. Without exception they had laughed in his face.

“You needn’t worry about that,” Zhorga said after a frowning pause. “One of the town merchants is giving it to me.”

“You’ve certainly been trying hard,” Gebeth said admiringly, gazing through the open door of the cabin to the decks of the ship. “Will you be ready on time?”

“Should be,” Zhorga told him, “though I’ve only been able to do half what I’d like. There just isn’t any more money and nobody will lend me a penny, dammit!”

“Won’t your merchant partner finance you? He’s already loaning you the sail, and that represents a considerable risk.”

The big man moved his shoulders awkwardly, looking trapped and angry. “Don’t pester me, alchemist. I can take care of that side of things.”

He charged out again to continue berating his crew.

Every night, or nearly every night, Zhorga appeared at the alchemist’s house to learn more of the art of preparing navigational horoscopes. After the airman had departed that particular night, there came a further knock on Gebeth’s door. He opened it to see a group of men standing there, dressed in richly trimmed cloaks and soft hats of ermine and lambswool.

“We would have a word with you, Master Alchemist,” said one, politely enough. Gebeth recognized Hevesum, a wealthy merchant of Olam and owner of a whole fleet of ships.

Puzzled but not alarmed, he admitted them. Five in all joined him in his small living room, and when introductions were completed he discovered that he was in fact host to all the ship-owning merchants of the town.

It was Hevesum who again spoke next: “We may as well be direct about our business here, Master Alchemist,” he said. “Word has reached us that one Captain Zhorga, owner of the galleon Wandering Queen, plans to sail to Mars to bring back a cargo of ether silk. It is said that you are assisting him.”

“In a small way,” smiled Gebeth, pleased that his part in the project should have reached the ears of these gentlemen. “But what is your interest in the matter?”

“Only this,” snapped Hevesum, while the other merchants all cast glances of venomous suspicion at one another. “We all know that the Wandering Queen bears little more than rags for ether sail—yet Captain Zhorga apparently claims to have procured silk enough for a journey to Mars! Tell us if you will be so good—where did he get this silk?” And at this several merchants’ hands went unconsciously to rest on the hilts of dirks and rapiers, gestures which did not go unnoticed by Gebeth.

“About that I know little,” he said, scratching the side of his jaw, “except that some merchant is loaning him some sail—one would presume in return for a share of the return cargo.”

“There! I knew it!” exclaimed a tall thin man. “One of us is lying!”

“Be quiet, Druro,” said a somewhat fat merchant named Gawing, more amiable looking than the rest He turned to Gebeth. “What is the name of this merchant? He must have mentioned it.”

“No, he did not,” answered Gebeth with a shake of his head. “Indeed he seemed circumspect about the matter—with good reason I am beginning to think, seeing the attitude of you gentlemen.”

“It must be from one of us!” Druro insisted. “Where else would he get it? We already know the other owner-captains scorn Zhorga’s scheme.”

“I am puzzled,” said Gebeth. “Why do you object to this enterprise? What would be the harm in lending Zhorga sail—apart from the risk of losing it, of course.”

“We recognized some time ago that the air trade is over,” Hevesum explained brusquely. “And having laid other plans, we would prefer to keep it that way. Most of us are heavily committed to the building of sea-ships at Umbuicour.” With a sudden movement he produced a small velvet bag tied with a cord. “It would be easy enough for you to ensure the failure of the expedition. A mistake on your charts, perhaps. Here is enough money to make it worth your while.” The bag chinked as he tossed it to the table.

“That would not be ethical,” Gebeth said. “And since a friend of mine is to be on board, I do not want the expedition to fail.”

The merchants fell to arguing among themselves, for the most part accusing one another of reneging. Finally Gawing raised his hands.

“Silence, gentlemen, silence! Let us think calmly about it for once. Tell me, what chance has Zhorga of success?”

“None at all!” snapped Druro. “Not a hope!” And others added their agreement.

“That is my opinion also,” Gawing replied. “So what are we worried about? Zhorga offers no threat—on the contrary, his failure will discourage others. We are exerting ourselves over nothing.”

“But where is he getting his sail?” Hevesum insisted.

“I will give you the complete answer: it is that Zhorga is a lunatic. He does not have any sail, beyond his pitiful rags, and he is not going to get any. Would any of us give it to him?” Gawing looked from one to the other. “Of course not! We are not fools. And the Wandering Queen will not even reach the stratosphere, let alone Mars.”

Gebeth was ignored as the quarreling merchants discussed this aspect of the affair. Finally they left the house and he heard the sound of carriages drawing away.

For some time he sat pondering what he had just heard.

Although he mentioned the merchants’ visit to Rachad neither of them succeeded in discussing the question with Zhorga, who became increasingly intractable on the subject. On the eve of the planned day of departure Zhorga announced that the ship, fully provisioned and fitted out, would sail on schedule the next day.

“But Captain,” Rachad asked in a low tone later, “what of the sail?”

“It will be here,” Zhorga answered briefly.

Many others of the crew were as mystified as he. That night Zhorga forbade anyone to leave the ship but instead sent out for some kegs of ale which was drunk without much merriment. Rachad settled down to sleep early, but throughout the night his rest was interrupted by thumps, shouts and bellows as Zhorga and the mate apprehended those who were trying to sneak over the side.

Dawn broke clear and bright. The ship ground stirred and seemed to shake itself, this being the hour of departure. Zhorga came from his cabin and gave orders to Clabert, whose voice then rang out over the Wandering Queen.

“We are taking off now? Without sail?” asked Rachad, joining Zhorga on the quarterdeck. His expression changed from puzzlement to despair as he began to doubt the man’s sanity.

Whatever the Captain might have replied was lost for the familiar unearthly shrieking smote them all as the first ships to depart put out ether sail. Along with the others Rachad plugged his ears. Then he turned to watch with wonderment the sudden blossoming of pale blue sail, the miracle as big ships lifted off the ground and went streaming away with the sun behind them.

Now the Wandering Queen added herself to the dawn migration. A new shriek penetrated Rachad’s eardrums as hands hauled on windlasses and the yards drew up Captain Zhorga’s patchwork sails. A shudder ran through the frame of the ship. There was a groaning and creaking of timbers as futtocks, ribs and wales braced themselves to take the strain; and then the ether, the most powerful force known to man, more invisible than the wind and ungraspable by hand or eye, caught hold of the galleon and lifted her into the air. There was a jarring bump as she fell back a moment or two later, but the second time she surged free and up. Soon the panorama of the ship ground was below her. She entered the great avenue by which the vessels gained the open skies.

As soon as they were free of the interference fringe everyone removed their earplugs. Rachad was exhilarated. This was the first time he had flown and it was every bit as delirious an experience as he had imagined. The wind sang in the rigging and blew clean and fresh in his face. He noticed that running the length of the decks were lines to which some crewmen attached themselves by running ringhooks, presumably as a precaution against falling overboard.

When they were well clear of the ship ground they set some windsail for steering and moved off toward the south. The haphazard squadron of flying ships that had sprung up dissipated, the vessels dwindling in the sky as they all took themselves toward their various destinations.

Rachad still could not guess what was in Zhorga’s mind, but eventually, since their course seemed purposeful, he hoped that he had arranged a rendezvous which would bring them their needed silk. A couple of times Zhorga altered course to bring them farther round to the south, so that they traveled roughly in an arc. The rendezvous would have to be soon if they were to make space today, for Gebeth had said they should enter the super-atmospheric slipstream before midday.

For about an hour they flew over rolling moors dotted with small woods and spinneys. At first there were villages and hamlets, but after a while they were passing over land that seemed wholly uninhabited. Zhorga paced the quarterdeck, anxiously scanning the sky and occasionally sweeping the horizon with a folding telescope. At last he gave a cry.

“There she is! Twenty degrees east, Master Clabert—and bring up the bombards!”

Tacks and braces were worked and the ship swung round. They were making, Rachad saw, for a ship that had appeared, somewhat lower in the sky than themselves. As they approached he recognized her as another galleon, the Sperus, he had seen on the ship field. Presumably she had taken off after the Wandering Queen.

Zhorga cackled. “There you are, my boy. The capital ship of Master Druro, merchant of Olam.”

“So you did have a deal with one of them,” murmured Rachad. Then he noticed the activity on the foredeck, where two heavy cylinders of black gunmetal were being heaved into place on raised platforms. He recalled what Zhorga had once mentioned—that the Wandering Queen had originally been a fighting vessel.

They drew nearer the Sperus, threatening to cut across her bows.

“Give her a shot amidships!” bellowed Zhorga.

Before Rachad’s disbelieving eyes one of the bombards fired, bucking and giving off a cloud of smoke to the accompaniment of a loud explosion. He glimpsed the ball before it crashed into the other galleon and shattered some of her side strakes.

The crew, even Zhorga’s old hands, responded with whoops and cheers.

“Heave to and descend!” Zhorga roared through a megaphone. “Heave to and descend!”

The answer was a running to and fro on the other’s decks, a raising of more sail and a quickening of the Sperus’s pace. Unlike the Wandering Queen’s tatty silk her sails were whole and she had enough of them. She might well have got away but Zhorga, with a roar of rage, leaped from the afterdeck and bounded the length of the main deck to the bombards. Frantically he worked the aiming handles, then snatched the taper from a nearby sailor and put it to the touch-hole.

He was either very lucky or divinely inspired, because the ball struck the Sperus’s middle mast. The mast splintered and broke away under the force of the sail it carried; the galleon swung wildly from side to side in the air, lost speed and began to fall alarmingly. The Wandering Queen’s sailors guided her directly over the crippled ship, following her down.

Zhorga brandished a short broadsword, cursing violently and all but foaming at the mouth. “Board her, you bastards!” he screamed. “Get yourselves aboard!”

His own men hesitated, but some of the newcomers among his crew were no strangers to air piracy. Lines went over the side, and while the crew of the Sperus fought to stabilize their vessel they found invaders dropping onto their decks with sword, knife and pistol. The fight was brief and soon both ships were grounded on the heather-covered moor.

It was the work of but half an hour to strip the merchant ship of her silk and carry it on board the pirate. For good measure they set the Sperus on fire (“Well, she can’t sail without silk,” Captain Zhorga said), leaving her crew on the moor, and she burned merrily below them as they once again ascended into the air.

A few miles away they landed again. Zhorga glanced at the sun. Rachad could see the tension in his eyes.

“A couple of hours left to get ready,” Zhorga muttered. “I don’t want to miss that slipstream. By God, I wish we’d been able to make those practice runs.”

His men were into the spirit of the thing now and responded well to their Captain’s exhortations. They worked with a will to cut and fit the new sails, bending them to the newly added spars which would swing them into the “parasol” position once the ship reached space.

“But what when we return?” Rachad wanted to know. “We’ll be arrested on the spot if we come back to Olam, or anywhere on the continent, I should imagine. Everybody will know what we did today.”

“By that time we’ll have a hold full of ether silk,” Zhorga boasted, “and people will take a different view of us.” He laughed briefly. “I asked Druro for sail and he refused, like all the others. But he’s donated it anyway!”

He turned away and continued to supervise the work. The hour was eleven in the morning, half an hour past Gebeth’s recommended time, when the Wandering Queen finally took to the air again, almost buried under blue sail, and soared proudly up toward the void.