Ruby Celeste and the Ghost Armada by Nicholas J. Ambrose

Author:Nicholas J. Ambrose
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: pirates, steampunk, ghost armada, sky pirates, airships, ruby celeste

4

“Whatcha reading?”

Francis looked up. In the doorway to the library stood Natasha, arm leaned casually against the frame, crooked smile on her face.

“Some story,” Francis said. He flipped the book closed and lifted it to show Natasha the cover. “Don’t know what it’s called; name has faded.”

“Any good?”

“Not really.” Francis placed it aside. “So what are we doing?”

“Sit and read?” Natasha suggested. Francis pulled a face, and she said, “Unless you have any other ideas?”

“I wondered,” Francis said, and hesitated. “Maybe we could go sit on the top deck.”

“Aha. Sightseeing?”

“Something like that.”

They headed up. Francis worried he might chicken out when he reached the ladder, and for a second a flashback of his last excursion topside—every excursion, really—played in his mind. But he overcame it and climbed, feet slow and careful on the rungs, finally pulling himself through the porthole and trying his hardest not to look at the edges.

“Still afraid, huh?” Natasha asked.

“Got to face it sometime,” he muttered.

“Hah. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

She looped her arm around his and stepped in close. “You ready?” Francis nodded, and Natasha laughed. “You don’t look ready. You look decidedly pale.”

“Let’s just be slow about this,” he said.

Along the deck they walked, arms linked. When Francis paused, Natasha paused too, waiting patiently until he was ready to carry on. When he took a step, no matter how small or hesitant, she matched it, not stepping further ahead nor lagging behind. She chattered to him about her day, engaging him just enough to keep his mind from focussing entirely on this short jaunt.

It took maybe ten minutes, but at last they were within half a metre of the Pantheon’s side railing. Like before, Francis’s progress had slowed to a crawl.

“You’re very brave, doing this,” Natasha said.

“I think you have to say that,” said Francis. There was a nervous undertone to his voice, a waver to his words. “It’s like kids; make a big deal out of nothing so they feel reassured and good about themselves.”

“I don’t have to say anything. But this is a very big thing for you. I know you’re being brave, and I’m proud of you. Now: do you want to take the last couple of steps, or stop here? I don’t mind; it’s up to you.”

Francis opened his eyes. They had alternated between jammed shut and open just fractionally. Whenever they were open, he’d pointed them up, staring at the Pantheon’s fins and the evening sky, awash with pink. But now he pointed them straight forward, to rest on the railing—and past it, miles and miles of nothing.

“I can do this,” he said.

“You can.”

He gave a resolute nod. “Last couple of steps, then.”

They took one. The second step died and Francis inched backward. For a fleeting second he thought he was in danger of overbalancing, but Natasha had him by the arm and his footing was sure.

He breathed long and deep. “Okay.”

Natasha: “Okay?”

“Last step.”

It was more of a lurch, really, but he made it nonetheless—they made it. He was stood on the very edge of the ship; could reach out and touch the rails.

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