Airborn by Kenneth Oppel Read Free Book Online

showed them the braided tassel draped from its wall socket—“and someone will come right up to assist you. You also have a message tube here.” I told them about the elaborate network of vacuum tubes that carried messages throughout the ship. “Just put your note in the canister here and slip it into the tube, and you can send it to housekeeping, the lounge, the kitchen, or the chief steward’s station, just by pressing one of these buttons.”
    “How ingenious,” said Kate de Vries. Her eyes took on a look of mischief again. “Marjorie, wouldn’t one of these be useful at home? Just to keep track of each other.”
    “Frightfully. We’ve missed breakfast, I suppose,” said Miss Simpkins tragically.
    “Not a problem. I’m happy to order some to be brought to your room.”
    “I’m starving!” said Kate de Vries.
    “Yes, a scrape with death can give one quite an appetite,” her chaperone said tartly, and she set about placing her breakfast order. Which indeed was rather sizable.
    Kate de Vries walked to the window and stayed there, gazing out hungrily. Her face was most intent and solemn, as though she expected something to materialize among the clouds or from the fabric of the sky itself.

3
    KATE
    I was in the kitchen, preparing the breakfast trolley for the Topkapi stateroom, when Mr. Lisbon, the chief steward, came to tell me the captain wished to speak with me. Anticipation tingled through my hands and feet, for I had an inkling of what this would be about. So too did Mr. Lisbon, whose eyes had a kindly look to them.
    “I know this can be no disciplinary matter, Mr. Cruse,” he said and straightened the collar of my jacket before giving a quick nod of approval at my appearance. “I’ll have Baz deliver the breakfast trolley for you.”
    I went forward along the keel catwalk, toward the captain’s cabin, toward my future. I felt in my pocket for my compass. My father had given it to me for my tenth birthday, and I carried it with me always. It was a handsome thing, a smooth lozenge of brass and glass, with a hinged lid. On the back were engraved the words, From one sailmaker to another . When I still lived at home I would set it on my pillow and watch the needle find north and then draw a line to wherever my father was. If he was over Mongolia, I would travel to the west; if he was crossing the Atlanticus, I would go east; if he was traversing Antarctica, my thoughts would sail to the south to be with him as he glided over the great polar ice caps. After he’d died three years ago, I avoided looking at it, for no point of the compass could bring me to him now.
    My fingers grazed the cool brass, felt the markings of my father’s inscription. Sailmaker . My step quickened. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I faltered. What if the captain meant to quiz me right now? The sailmaker’s job was a serious one. It was up to him and his fellows to keep the ship aloft, to check the hydrium gas cells and make sure they were all properly inflated, to check the shafts and vents. To survey the taut outer skin of the entire ship, every inch of it, inside and out, on land and aloft, to make sure the Aurora was in top sailing trim. I calmed my breathing. I hoped I would have quick answers to any questions the captain might fire at me, hoped I would not stumble over my words like a ninny.
    At the captain’s door, I knocked lightly.
    “Enter.”
    His cabin was small but comfortable, with a single bed, a desk, and two leather armchairs studded with brass bolts. He had a private washroom and, instead of the usual portholes, a large bow window. Sunlight bathed the room, warming the wood of his bookshelves and the desk behind which he was sitting. He gestured me to an armchair.
    “Mr. Cruse. Be seated, please.”
    I remembered the first time I’d met him. My father was on shore leave, and the Aurora was in harbor, and he’d taken me on board to show me around. The whole tour I’d felt weak with excitement.