Chapter 4
“Izzy, hold the wheel straight.” I scramble up, and without really thinking, climb over the handrail and leap across the void to the dock. I draw my knife. Curiously, the snared line looks as if someone has knotted it to a rail. Uh-oh.
A weight hits me square in the middle of the back and I sprawl on the deck. “Didn’t think you would get away that easily, did you, Swift?” Jack McGraw again. Where did he spring from? “You will have to work harder than that to escape me. Over this way guys.”
The other constables are returning; I have precious little time. I squirm from underneath the weight of the McGraw’s body and lash out with my booted feet. One of them connects with something that crunches.
“Ow. Oww. She’ds dying to dill me.”
I can dimly see something dark spreading over his face. That should convince everyone I mean business.
I loop the snared line round my left forearm and slice down with the knife. The line parts far too easily and I’m jerked off my feet. Note to self, replace rotten ropes. I scrabble to regain my footing, but the airship is gaining too much speed and I’m dragged across the decking, still scrabbling to regain my balance.
Jack McGraw is up and chasing after me again. “Let go of the rope, Nina, it’s not worth dying for.”
I ignore him and concentrate on getting back on the ship. My ship. Which I’m not losing for anyone. Strange how we always fight harder to retain something than to gain it in the first place. Two days ago I was a penniless, but content, flight student, now I’m risking my life to regain an airship, which until today I have quite happily live without.
The edge of the deck rushes towards me and I realize I’m going over. The sensible thing would be to let go right now, but I’m caught up in emotions I cannot control. Instead, I drop the knife and grab hold of the old rope with both hands, praying it still has enough integrity to support me.
Jack McGraw follows me, bellowing, right to the edge of the deck. “Nina!”
Somewhere above my head the bio engines cough into life, followed by a flash and the grinding screech of metal on metal. Good idea to start the engines now that the element of surprise has gone, but that noise is worrying.
I start to climb. It’s much harder to climb a swaying rope than it sounds, but I have done it before. In flight academy it is a standard maintenance drill. However, when the rope is hanging off a moving object and you’re miles above the earth, it is nothing like a drill.
I can’t let myself think like that now. I need to put myself back into the gym, back into that drill, focus on instructor Beneley’s voice as the other recruits rock the equipment. “Climb slow, climb steady. Concentrate on your hand grips and your feet. Your crew mate’s lives depend on you. Leave no room for error. Make one move at a time. Think only of your hands and your feet until you run out of rope. Slow and steady saves the day.”
Suddenly, I become aware of a different movement in the rope. Shards, it’s fraying; somewhere above me the rope is splitting. Either it’s worn through or it snagged on something sharp while exiting the dock.
During my next couple of moves, I concentrate on the weakness of the rope. It’s not much, but it’s there. I need to climb faster, but smoother and steadier—the more I wrench the rope about, the quicker it will tear.
A searchlight flashes out from the dock lighting up the Shonti Bloom. “Return to dock, you are flying an illegal craft. The ship is not airworthy. You are endangering yourself and your crew. Return to dock.” As if I’ll fall for that one. I just hope my new crew doesn’t take it into their heads to turn back. Nah, they wouldn’t do that. They trust me, don’t they?
In the glint of the search light I spot the frayed rope above me, about six feet up. Even as I climb, I can see individual fibers parting. “Slow and steady saves the day.” I take a deep breath and push on, concentrating on the rope in my hands.
Eventually, my hands clasp the rope directly below the tear. I pause, feeling the fibers parting faster and faster. If I don’t move now I’m dead. I bring my legs up as high as I can, then reach as far up the rope as I possible for the next hand hold.
With a crack, like a pistol shot, the rope parts under my weight and the vigor of my lunge.
A nano-second late, my hands close round the rope above my head. The rope starts to slip through my grip and I kick widely until my boots close round the cord again. I stop sliding. I’m safe—if you can call dandling on the end of a rope a mile above the earth safe. Thank goodness I ditched my worn, shiny boots and bought new ones that grip the rope with a lot more friction.
Never stint on the quality of basic equipment—you never know when it might just save your life.
The person with the searchlight has belatedly realized there’s action dangling below the Shonti Bloom and lights me up so my crew can realize where I am.
Fernando hangs over the side of the hull and snags the trailing mooring rope with another line. “Nina, climb up the rope.”
What does he think I’ve been going for the last five minutes? I’m exhausted and my arm muscles are screaming for me to just let go and give them some rest. I wonder what the long dark fall into oblivion would feel like.
Instead, I make a loop in the rope and stand in it, unmoving, until my crew haul me to safety. As eager hands reach out to haul me over the rail, I’m greeted by an explosion from the back of the ship.
“That,” Izzy says, “is the sound of the port bio-engine exploding. The solar batteries are empty too. Is this what you call air-worthy, Nina?”’
“Yeah,” Scud agrees, “this ship is a mess. But I kind of like her.”
I’m so relieved to be alive I just lie on the deck, staring up at the dark mass of the blimp and laughing at them. “Then we’ll limp along on one engine until dawn, guys.” I really can’t see what the fuss is about. “Head west. I’m sure Jack McGraw won’t be after us that fast.”