A City Called Smoke: The Territory 2 by Justin Woolley Read Free Book Online

in response to his captain’s order. Again, after being called a flea-bitten mongrel, Melbourne wasn’t sure why the crew was always so eager to obey.
    “Yellow!” Captain Pratt bellowed out.
    “Aye, Captain.”
    The first mate of the Blessed Mary seemed to emerge from nowhere, almost as if he had come straight up out of the wooden deck. He hurried over to the captain. Melbourne could hear the clicking coming from Yellow’s hands as he rubbed his collection of rings together. Almost the entire length of each finger was covered in gold rings, collected over their years of pillaging.
    “This is the transport we’ve been tracking for days,” the captain said. “Get the crew up and ready.”
    “Aye, Captain.”
    “And Yellow,” Captain Pratt said, stopping the first mate as he began to move away, “this is a big one. Make sure the boys are ready for a fight. I don’t expect the transport to be fitted with guns, but the crew will be armed.”
    Yellow nodded as he walked to the hatch leading to the dirigible’s lower hold. As he pulled the knotted rope handle and began descending the stairs his slow, crackling voice began calling out, yelling for the men to get their lazy, no-good backsides out of those hammocks and topside ready for a fight.
    It didn’t take long for crew members to start rushing up to the deck. Most were freshly woken and still wore faces blurred from sleep, but they were nonetheless efficient. Each man knew his place and his role in the fight that would come. They had done this many times before.
    “We’ll attack from starboard with a full broadside,” the captain barked across the deck, and the crew responded instantly. Almost organically, as if each crew member moved as part of a larger organism, the dirigible was prepared for battle. Long ropes were positioned near the side of the vessel, the ends tied off on small metal bollards bolted to the deck. Hatches were closed and locked. Men hurried to untie the six cannons that were lashed down near the center of the deck and roll them over to the starboard side. The base of each gun had four metal wheels that squeaked and rattled as they were pushed into place and positioned with their barrels poking through the hinged wooden flaps in the bulwark. Those who weren’t busy flying the dirigible or preparing the guns stood near the hatch to the lower deck, where another crew member handed out swords and daggers which the pirates sheathed at their sides or strapped to their legs.
    Melbourne saw Captain Pratt notice him standing off to the side, still leaning on his mop. He had the distinct feeling that the captain had forgotten he existed and was now rather annoyed to be reminded of his presence on the ship.
    “Arid!” the captain called. One of the crew who Melbourne knew had worked through the night and was currently tying off ropes along the side of the dirigible turned to face the captain.
    “Aye, Captain?”
    “Take the Digger to his cage. I don’t want him getting in the way.”
    “Aye, Captain,” Arid said, moving toward Melbourne, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. It wasn’t a motion that suggested he thought he was going to need the dagger, more that he wanted Melbourne to remember how much easier it was to cut someone’s throat with a blade like that than with, say, a mop. Since Melbourne had been working to ingratiate himself with the crew he had done nothing to threaten any of them and had worked hard at the tasks he was given. Still, he knew they mistrusted him. They still considered him a Digger. He needed to find a way to gain their confidence and trust, to make them think of him as part of the crew. It wouldn’t be easy, but Melbourne knew it gave him the best chance to survive.
    “Please, Captain,” Melbourne said, almost before he realized he was going to speak. Internally he cringed at how desperate and pleading his voice sounded. He was a trooper in the General’s Guard, and even if the general was dead he