55. Sky Pirates
With a sickening lurch, the Wind Zephyr fell, then steadied, then fell again. The phraxchamber was misfiring and at the controls of our small vessel, Captain Ironshank fought to keep us aloft. He was fighting a losing battle. Moments later, the phraxchamber’s glow went out, the Wind Zephyr’s prow dipped and we found ourselves hurtling down towards the jagged treeline far below.
‘The sails, Forden!’ he bellowed through the roar of windrush. ‘Break out the sails!’
Not daring to unfasten my seat strap, I strained every muscle as I reached back and released the tolley net that held the spidersilk aft-sails in place. They billowed up intothe sky above us like edge-wraiths in search of prey and, as they filled, slowed the Wind Zephyr’s calamitous dive.
At the helm, Gart Ironshank’s hands were a blur of movement as he adjusted the flight levers and realigned the hull weights. The treeline came up towards us, but the Wind Zephyr slowed sufficiently to allow the captain to steer us towards a berth in the forest canopy.
This turned out to be a lufwood tree, into whose luxuriant foliage the Wind Zephyr plunged, before becoming lodged tight amongst its uppermost branches. Around us, the green of the Deepwoods was flecked with the iridescent scarlets and deep-hued blues of startled skybacks and skullpeckers taking to the air in gaggling, chattering flocks.
Beside me, my faithful companion, Kulltuft, slumped forward, his mighty barrel chest rising and falling as he took in great gulping lungfuls of air. I reached over and patted his head comfortingly.
‘There, there, boy,’ I soothed. ‘No harm done…’
From above us came a soft, sighing sound and we found ourselves enveloped in white billows of spidersilk as the sails came down around us. It took the best part of an hour to gather and stow the sails, check the hull for damage and begin repairs to the phraxchamber.
‘The ice of the high sky clogged the cooling plates,’ Gart explained, ‘but the chamber itself seems to be working. It’ll take a short while to re-fire it, and then we can be on our way.’
Kulltuft and I left him to it. I was no engineer and once the hull had been lifted from the cradle of lufwood branches, there was no heavy lifting for Kulltuft to do. Instead, we sat in the Wind Zephyr and marvelled at the towering glory of the Deepwoods trees about us. Majestic lullabees, broad-branched copperwoods and the soaring pinnacles of the mighty ironwood pine stands, black on the distant horizon.
Gart clambered aboard and the familiar hum of the phraxchamber sounded below us. With a wisp of steam from the funnel and a faint shudder, the Wind Zephyr rose up into the evening sky. No sooner had we cleared the forest canopy than a large black silhouette came into view on our starboard side. I had never seen a vessel like it.
With its timbered fore-hull, high curlicued aft-hull and tall masts, it resembled an antique sky galleon from the First Age of Flight. But at its centre, instead of a rock-cage, was a tall funnelled phraxchamber belching out plumes of white steam. And it was fast. Faster than any sky vessel I’d ever encountered. In less than a minute, the skyship had closed in on the Wind Zephyr, and I could see that its foredeck was crowded with a motley collection of outlandishly clothed and heavily armed individuals.
Gart Ironside looked up from the controls, his face gaunt with shock. ‘Sky pirates,’ he gasped.
