Metronome by Oliver Langmead

Author:Oliver Langmead [Langmead, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781907389399
Google: RKe-DQAAQBAJ
Amazon: B01N9JAJZX
Goodreads: 33238704
Publisher: Unsung Stories
Published: 2015-01-16T00:00:00+00:00

Smog

We pursue June’s fleet through wild dreams.

Over black swamps, where clawed trees scratch at the Metronome’s underbelly and crocodiles snap in our wake. Over a steaming sea that covers her copper parts in condensation, and on to a colder climate, where icebergs float, and penguins halt in their march to watch us pass. We pause above a rocky island to get our bearings, before flying low over a sea so placid that for every tick of the Metronome’s engine, ripples cascade across the water, and for a time I am given to believe that we are skimming the sea instead of flying over it. Always, the sea is full of life; whales slap the waves with their tails, dolphins call out to us and flying fish cascade beneath us, defying gravity in a silvery reverse waterfall.

I am kept busy primarily by aiding the crew in any way they see fit – by carrying tools, adjusting valves, or simply mopping the deck. But from time to time Captain Reid will summon me, and I will be asked to supply the next song in the sequence that leads to Solomon’s Eye. This I provide with pleasure, and I find that the songs get easier to remember as I go along.

‘Don’t you want to write them down?’ I ask Reid, of the songs.

She shakes her head. ‘I shall recall them,’ she says, and I am fascinated by the way she uses them to guide our way. Reid stands tall behind her pointed-star wheel, steering with her eyes closed, and though it seems as if she is flying blind, I believe that she is listening for the route.

‘How do you do it?’ I ask. ‘Could you teach me?’

‘Perhaps.’ She opens her eyes and glances at me. ‘You are a fine musician, and you might make a fine navigator. But few ever hear the songs on the wind.’

I return to the crew, staying quiet – trying to hear anything beyond the ticking of the Metronome and the work of her crew, but I hear nothing.

Of the fleet, there is no sign until we come to a tremendous set of mountains.

The sea sweeps away ahead, but off to one side a jagged array of impossibly sharp peaks erupt from the waters, like a set of giant knives. Their tips are shrouded by clouds and snow. I am at the forecastle when the cry for contact with an enemy vessel is made, and at first I am unable to see what all the fuss is about.

I hear an argument erupt behind me, and I turn to see Reid and March involved in a heated exchange up on the Metronome’s aftercastle.

‘We need to go after that ship!’ March is gesturing at the distant mountains.

‘Our route takes us around, Sleepwalker,’ replies the Captain, sternly.

‘Our purpose here,’ says March, ‘is to stop June. And she might be on board.’

‘Our purpose,’ growls the Captain, ‘is to recover my lost crew.’

They glare at one another. Everyone on deck has ceased their exertions and is watching the argument unfold.

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