The City in the Sky
CHAPTER 10

As far as Mulligan could tell, the corvette was no longer in pursuit, but this was impossible to confirm as he could only see about 50 feet in any direction. The deck of the ship looked reminiscent of the tales his father told him in his youth about what man would find when they finally traveled to the moon. Creatures in masks scurried about in the eerie glow of the Kestrel’s gas lanterns created as they fought feebly against the haze. An acrid smell of fire seeped into his nostrils in spite of the gas mask. The Kestrel’s boiler seemed to labor against the insult of the pollution. The momentary sense of relief from escaping their pursuers was replaced by the disconcerting realization that they were flying almost completely blind. He thought to voice these fears to Windfury, but refrained as she was occupied with alternately referencing a glass barometer mounted near the throttle column and the compass strapped to the leather bracer on her wrist. They continued in silence like this for an hour. The crew busied themselves with their respective tasks, Winfury monitored and steered, while Mulligan could only stand idly by feeling utterly useless. Finally he couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore.

“How soon before we can resume normal cruising altitude?“, he asked.

Windfury looked startled, as if she had forgotten they had a passenger on board. Mulligan suspected she would have tried this little maneuver even if no one was paying her to do so. She turned and Mulligan saw an impish glint in her eye. Though the mask prevented him from seeing her face, he was sure she was grinning.

“About another 30 minutes. Why don’t yeh head to the captain’s quarters and see if dinner is ready?“, she gently suggested. “I’ll be in to join you shortly.”

Mulligan nodded in assent and walked through the cabin door behind them into a softly lit room. Giant windows framed by red damask striped curtains ran from floor to ceiling to form the back wall. Disappointingly, pitch blackness was the only view they offered at the moment. In front of the windows a comfortable looking four poster bed was situated draped in a thick quilt. To his immediate left sat a small wooden desk covered in piles of charts. To his right a set of stairs descended to below deck. Intrigued Mulligan took the stairs down through another door and found himself in a large room. Four ports, now closed to keep the smoke at bay, lined each side of the wall. A canon was aimed out of each port. A copper tube ran from each cannon to a huge copper boiler, the ship’s power source, situated at the aft wall of the ship. Looking past the crew’s bunks towards the front of the ship, Mulligan could see a wooden door. Light poured from a small window in the door into the darkened below decks. He walked to the door and rapped on it twice. A man with a shaved head and a face half covered in tattoos appeared in the small window. Seeing Mulligan did nothing to change his soured expression, but he ushered in the detective nonetheless. Inside the room there was a small counter on which lay some chopped meats and vegetables. At the end of the counter sat a coal fired stove which busily heated bubbling pots. At the other end of the room were racks of food stores including several barrels of ale and rum. The man attempted a half-hearted smile revealing several gaps in his teeth as he offered an introduction.

“Gabriel Whitman, Chief Gunner”, he said without extending his hand. “When I’m not tending the cannons, I also do the cooking.”

As Mulligan removed his mask he found Whitman’s breath smelled so strongly of ale, the detective wondered if it was flammable.

“James Mulligan, and I thank you for the opportunity to sample your culinary skills”, said James as his empty stomach seconded the remark.

The smile on Whitman’s face broadened a little. “It’s not the best, but I doubt you will be able to taste anything through all this bloody smoke.”

“I’m sure it will be more than sufficient”, said Mulligan absently, as his mind wandered off to Lucy and the meal she would be preparing for him, unaware that he wouldn’t be back in time to enjoy it. He mentally cursed himself for not sending word to her prior to his embarking. As his consciousness snapped back into reality Mulligan could sense his mental departure had created an unpleasant void in the conversation. Attempting to fill it he asked, “How is it being part of Captain Windfury’s crew?”

Whitman’s expression looked as if he had eaten a spoonful of alum. “Up until about a month ago, I’d say fine.”

“I’m sorry?“, inquired Mulligan.

“Everything was smooth sailing around here and then she had to go and hire a damn artie.”

“You mean Reg?“, asked Mulligan feeling more certain with each passing second that he didn’t like Whitman.

“That’s right”, spat the gunner. “Not that the bloody machine deserves a name. Can’t trust any of them. All they do is take from humans. I don’t see why she keeps him around.”

Mulligan felt himself bristle at the man’s tirade. Whitman must have noticed the nonverbal cues because he frowned even deeper still while looking at the ground and shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You look like you could use a drink.” Whitman said handing him a glass of rum. The gunner shifted around a bit more before giving up on any more attempts at hospitality. He awkwardly suggested Mulligan ought to return to the Captain’s quarters with a promise dinner would be served shortly. For his part Mulligan was happy to be shot of the man’s company, and left in silence. As he walked the detective took pulls at his glass while still fuming at Whitman’s intolerance. The rum must have been quite powerful because by the time he ascended the stairs he felt his anger assuaged, replaced by the pleasant sensation of mild intoxication. Then without warning his stomach dropped and the gravity on the ship seemed to have slightly increased. Mulligan quickly realized they were climbing. As The Kestrel broke free of the clouds he was treated to a dazzling sight of the azure sky filled with the bronzed light of the afternoon sun. He could no longer see the city nor any pursuers.

“By God, she’s done it”, Mulligan muttered happily to himself. He pulled off the cumbersome mask and walked over to the window to more fully enjoy the view.

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