The wind and the rain hit at the same moment, bending trees, blasting us along, trying to knock our feet from under us.

I summoned the Aurora before my mind’s eye, tried to count her mooring lines. I felt them strain against their anchor spikes deep in the sand, felt them chafe hotly around the palm trunks. All those taut lines were moaning and wailing like an infernal stringed orchestra. I could hear the first crack, and then the next, as the lines started to break and the ship slewed. I could think of nothing else as we lurched through the forest.

Kate stumbled, and I took her hand, slippery as an eel. Bent double, we staggered on, weighed down by the camera case and carpetbag, stumbling whichever way the wind let us. A snapped tree suddenly fell not ten feet before us, and its impact bounced us off our feet. I hadn’t even heard it falling above the smashing rain and banshee wail of the wind. I could barely see through the slits of my eyes.

It got worse. Branches spewed water like gargoyles’ jaws. Waterfalls crashed down tree trunks. The wind shook heaven and earth. I hardly knew what we were doing or where we were going. We moved as best we could, heavy with rain, our clothing clinging to us, making us clumsy and slow. Branches sailed through the air. We would come to harm soon.

Through the gray veil of solid rain I saw a shadow and moved toward it. There was a dense tangle of undergrowth and a dark opening below a hump of earth and rock. I dragged Kate toward it and pushed her through the flowering vines that covered the entrance. It was a small cave, just big enough for us to sit side by side. How far back it went I didn’t know, for it was very dark, and I had no yearning to poke about. It was more or less dry inside and gave us quite a lot of shelter from the wind and lashing rain. Kate fussed over her camera case and the carpetbag full of bones, checking to make sure the contents weren’t drenched, pushing them behind us so they wouldn’t get any wetter. I stared back over my shoulder, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the cave. I could see a little farther in now, enough to realize it went back quite a ways.

We sat together, saying nothing for a while, wiping water from our faces, plucking at our sodden clothes, and staring in awe at the fury of the storm.

“The ship’ll be hurt.” I could barely hear my own voice above the wind and rain.

“It’ll be all right.”

I shook my head. There was no doubt in my mind; it was just a question of how badly. If they had managed to get her head into the wind in time, the damage might be small; if the wind broadsided her, she’d act like a giant sail and pull herself off her moorings. And if she got torn, we would lose the little hydrium we had left. Without hydrium, the Aurora was just a crumpled hull.

The wind had a voice, and it was howling and cursing. Whenever it died down for a moment I would pray that it was finished, that it had spent itself, but then the rain would crash down with renewed hatred, and the wind would shriek again as if all the heavens were its bellows, aimed at our island.

I felt in my pocket for my compass. It was a point of pride to me that I rarely needed to consult it. After so long aloft, I always knew which way we were headed. Sometimes, when I felt the ship shift in the night, I would test myself by plotting our new heading then checking the compass. Mostly I was right on the nose. But I needed it now. Before we’d taken shelter we’d been so swirled about by the wind I’d lost all sense of direction.

I looked at it now, the needle shimmering with the rumble of earth and air. My mind’s compass set itself, and I knew the way back to the lagoon and the ship. Kate was looking at the compass. I held it out to her, and she took it in her palm.

“It always points north, doesn’t it?”

She had to talk right into my ear to make herself heard.

“Yes.”

“Which way is the tree?” Her breath was warm against my face.

“South southwest.”

“And the bluff,” she asked, “where we last saw the creature?”

“Almost due southwest from here, I reckon.”

I wondered if she was trying to cheer me up, finally taking an interest in her whereabouts. We were side by side, our shoulders touching. Even in the midst of the storm the air was perfumed heat. I think some of it came from Kate’s hair and clothes. The smell of mangoes was strong here too, and it made me crave the sweet fruit. I’d seen plenty of mango trees around, and I was both thirsty and hungry after the labors of the long morning.

I looked out, desperate to get going. I felt claustrophobic in the cave, beside Kate, in this suffocating forest. I wanted some space around me. I wanted to be on the beach again, to be near the ship, and know how she was. I covered my face with my hands, feeling ill.

“It’ll be all right,” I heard Kate say.

I didn’t answer. She knew nothing.

“You’ll see. It’ll all turn out fine.”

“No,” I moaned. “No.” It was worse than being back at my mother’s in Lionsgate City, the sleepless bedroom wrapping itself around me and crushing me.

“Tell me why you’re so frightened,” Kate said, a long way away.

“I need the ship,” I said. “If it’s wrecked, nothing’s good anymore. I can’t stand still. I’ve got to keep flying.” I was babbling like a child, fighting tears, but I couldn’t help myself. Knees drawn up, arms wrapped around, holding on tight, for I knew that if I let go I’d run out into the typhoon like a madman, frantic to get away from myself.

“Why do you need to fly so much?” she asked.

“If I don’t, it’ll catch up with me.” The words just came out.

“What will?”

I took my hands from my face, panting. I stared out at the storm.

“Unhappiness.”

Kate looked at me, waiting.

“When my dad died, I was afraid I’d never ever be happy again. But I was. Once I started working on the Aurora. I loved it. It’s the world I was born into. It’s all my father’s stories. I dream about him up there, and I never do on land. It feels like home aloft. But on the ground, it all catches up with me. So I’ve got to keep flying, do you see?”

“Everyone has to land sometimes,” Kate said.

“Not them.”

“The creatures?”

I nodded.

“We’re different,” she said, a bit sadly. “You can’t fly forever. Anyway, do you really think you can outrun unhappiness?”

“Maybe until it runs out.”

“Well, perhaps you’re right,” she said. “I miss my grandpa too. At home I was happiest when I was thinking about him and his trips and what he saw. Planning my own adventures.”

“See, you like to keep moving too. On the ground, at night, I can’t sleep,” I told her. “I get all—”

I stopped myself. I’d told her too much already. All this babbling and panic wasn’t dignified. It wasn’t manly. At least I hadn’t bawled.

“We’ll be all right,” she said. “I just can’t believe things could ever be too bad, not with you around.”

“But I’m not around,” I said miserably. “Not where it counts anyway. The ship, that’s where I should be. Not gallivanting around the forest, playing scientist and wrapping up bones in your knickers! I’ve never seen so much underwear!”

“Some of it belongs to Miss Simpkins, I’ll have you know!” she retorted angrily.

We looked at each other in surprise and started laughing.

“You took her underwear too?” I asked.

“I needed padding.” Kate giggled. “What else was I to do?”

“Listen,” I said. “It’s a bit quieter.”

I peered out into the forest and could see farther than before. The wind had settled to a constant moan, and the trees seemed to be shuddering less. We’d get drenched again and blasted about, and there might be more to come at any moment, but I wondered if we should make a run for it anyway. We were already soaked to the skin.

There was a hissing sound behind us.

Was this new? Or was I just hearing it for the first time, now that the storm was a bit quieter? I jerked round and peered into the darkness of the cave.

Sssssssssssss.

There was something back there.

“Get out!” I shouted to Kate. I snatched the carpetbag and camera case and we lurched out of the cave. The raindrops were big as hailstones, but at least we weren’t blown off our feet. When we were some distance from the cave I turned and looked back. I saw nothing emerge.

“It sounded like a snake,” Kate said.

“Just another friendly little snake on your snake-less island.” I felt all out of sorts, tired and embarrassed. It was hard to look her in the eyes, now that she’d seen me all laid low and whiny in the cave.

“The other one didn’t hiss like that,” she pointed out.

I shrugged. “Maybe it was some new kind of flying snake. Nothing would surprise me on this island anymore.”

The smell of mangoes was still strong in the air, and I looked up into the trees, trying to spot some of the bright red-and-green fruit. I thought maybe I could shimmy up quickly and snatch a few. But I couldn’t see any fruit. It was just as well. We needed to get going. I needed to get back to the Aurora.

 

I gulped when I saw her, so deflated she looked like some emaciated animal, ribs sticking out piteously. She was slumped on the beach, scraping sand again, only worse than before. There was a great gash in her flank. Flaps of flayed skin hung off her. Her lower fin was terribly bashed up again. She looked sunk.

“Oh,” I whispered. “Oh.” I stood there gaping stupidly.

The ship was listing slightly to starboard, and the crew were all around her on the beach, pulling lines and trying to bring her upright. Mr. Grantham and Mr. Torbay glanced over at me, but they were too busy to stare long at a stupid cabin boy. Then I saw the captain; and his head turned, and I knew he was looking at me. Me, standing there beside Kate, a camera case slung over one shoulder, a pink floral carpetbag in my hand, like I’d just returned from a picnic. Before he turned away I caught the look on his face: not anger, but a weary disappointment.

Burning with shame, I swallowed and turned to Kate. “Could you take these, please,” I murmured, putting down the camera case and carpetbag.

“Yes, of course.”

I wanted to run back into the forest, but I forced my steps toward the ship. At least she was here. She had not blown away; she had not been rent in two. I picked up my feet and tried to run, but my clothes were still soaking, tight against my legs, and I fell and was instantly coated with sand. I scrambled up and hurried on.

It was raining and still blowing a bit, and the passengers were all huddled beneath the palms for shelter, watching the crew. I looked away, not wanting to see Miss Simpkins. Things could not have gone worse. Our return was meant to be invisible. Early this morning, with the ship healed and everyone on board again, I’d thought it would be simple for Kate and me to slip back inside and go our separate ways. A more conspicuous entrance than this I could not imagine.

Off the ship’s port side I spotted Baz. I took hold of his line with him.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Pretty damn bad.” There was no lift in his voice, no light in his eyes. “We tried to hold her, but the wind was too strong. She broke her lines, and her stern went sailing into the trees before we could tie her down again.”

I should have been here. I could have helped hold her.

“Have they patched her?”

Baz shook his head. “No way anyone could climb up—she was whipping around too much. Passengers got tossed around pretty bad. We only cleared them out when the worst was over. Captain’s worried about the frame now.”

Without enough gas to help support the ship, the alumiron frame, strong as it was, would crumple under the immense weight. The Aurora would crush herself.

I stared at the ship, and felt like a big storm system was flooding me, filling my guts and head to bursting. Shipwrecked. There was no more terrifying word to me. We were truly shipwrecked now, here on the island with its crushing heat and suffocating forest, and how would I ever get back up into the sky? I closed my eyes; I wasn’t getting enough air.

“She’s right again! Tie her off, gentlemen!”

The captain’s shout brought me back to myself, and Baz and I set about making our line fast to a mooring spike.

“At least she’s level,” I muttered. Somehow she didn’t look quite as desperate now she wasn’t leaning over.

“Hate to break it to you,” Baz said, “but you’re in a keg of trouble.”

“You don’t say.” I had a feeling what was coming next.

“Before the typhoon hit, that scary chaperone was raising Cain with the captain.”

“I thought she was bedridden.”

“She mustered the strength to go screaming through the ship, asking where Miss de Vries was. Then it turned out you were missing as well. I suggested it was merely a coincidence, but no one was too impressed by that.”

“Thanks for trying.”

Baz was shaking his head. “This is no time to be undone by a girl, Matt.”

Even in the tropical heat I could feel the flush that swept my face.

“I’m not undone by her,” I said.

“She’s a fine-looking girl, no question, but you two have about as much future as a fish and a kangaroo.”

“Am I the fish or the kangaroo?”

“It doesn’t matter. You know, you’re a bit young to be getting this talk at all. You can’t go carrying on like this.” He was trying to sound firm like a big brother, but he was also looking at me strangely, as though I’d done something amazing and he couldn’t quite believe my daring. “Plus, she’s a passenger, first class, and you’re crew.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” I said. “She’s curious about the island; I’ve just been helping her.”

He laughed and looked away. “Must be something pretty grand to take you away from your ship.”

It stung me, his words. I wanted to tell him, but I’d promised Kate I’d keep it secret. Why was I doing this? It was the cloud cat. It was Kate de Vries. It was both, all tangled up.

“It’s not like you think,” I said. “I wish you’d just believe me.”

He nodded, but still looked unconvinced. “All right.”

I looked at the Aurora and everything else seemed suddenly, colossally, unimportant. All that had happened in the hours before—the bones, the cloud cat—faded like a bleached photograph.

“Oh, Lord,” I said, feeling hopeless, “look at her. Look at our ship.”

 

“The condition of our ship is doubtless no mystery to you,” Captain Walken said.

It was standing room only in the officers’ mess, all the crew assembled for an emergency meeting. We were a dispirited-looking bunch, with our sodden uniforms and sand-crusted faces and hair. I slouched at the very back, feeling I had little right to be here.

“The ship’s frame is still intact,” the captain said, “and the chief sailmaker and I believe we have enough lifting gas left to support the structure and allow the passengers back on. We’re solid. But that, sadly, is an end to the good news. We’ve lost too much hydrium, gentlemen. We can’t fly.”

“Is there no possibility of lightening her some more, sir?” asked Mr. Chen.

“We could remove every crate of cargo and stick of furniture, and every passenger for that matter, and we’d still not have enough lifting power to hop across the lagoon. In our current state it would take the hand of Zeus to lift us. So now we must investigate our options.” He turned to the second wireless officer. “Mr. Chaudhuri, what is the state of our radio equipment?”

“Well, sir, the pirates were quite thorough. The transmitter was pretty much destroyed.”

“What chances of repairing?”

“I’ve been working on it, sir. But even with a fully functioning transmitter, I don’t think we’d be able to send a signal very far from down here.”

“Continue to work on it. A radio can only be an asset to us. We did send out a distress signal when we were about to be boarded by the pirates, but we heard no reply. So I fear we were out of range of any other vessel.”

“We’ll be reported missing by now, sir,” said Mr. Torbay.

“They’ll not have much luck finding us along our route,” said the captain. “The pirates were careful to drive us far off course. Grantham?”

“It was hard to keep track, sir,” the navigation officer replied. “They led us on such a firefly run, but I calculate we are more than two hundred miles off our flight path. We’re in an obscure little corner of the Pacificus here. Chances of seeing any other air traffic are close to nil. And we’ll have no joy waiting for a rescue, I’m afraid. There’s too much ocean. They’ll think we crashed and sunk without a trace.”

This was not a cheering bit of news, and I could see the shoulders of some of the crew visibly sag.

“Well, then,” said the captain, “I believe this may be a good time to organize a party to explore the island.”

“There may be inhabitants, Captain,” said Mr. Rideau.

“Precisely what I am hoping,” said the captain.

“They may be a savage lot, sir, with no love of visitors.”

“We shall have to be exceptionally charming, then,” said the captain. “It may be that they have a means of transport that we can use, perhaps not to carry all of us, but at least to carry a message for help. Who knows, perhaps they even have a wireless. We must make it our business to find out.”

I could see the captain’s eyes trawling the crowd. I looked away.

“Mr. Cruse, you’ve seen something of this island, I believe.”

“I have, sir.”

I could hear a few quiet snickers.

“Have you seen any signs of habitation?”

“No trace of other human beings, sir, not on the eastern slopes of the island and up to the central plateau. But the island is large and stretches miles to the west.”

“There may be a settlement on the windward side of the island, then,” said the captain. “Mr. Cruse, you’ll be with the exploratory team we assemble.”

“Yes, sir.”

I felt my heart lift a bit. I could still be useful, and the captain did not mean to confine me to the ship—a fate I had fully resigned myself to. But perhaps I was fooling myself by thinking the captain wasn’t displeased with me. We were truly shipwrecked now, and our situation was dire, and if he had need of me, he would use me. It did not mean he trusted me.

“There are life rafts,” Mr. Levy suggested. “Some of us could go for help.”

Mr. Grantham was shaking his head. “No. It’s more than a thousand miles to the nearest port, and you’d be working against the trade winds.”

“Too risky, I think,” said the captain.

“Sir?”

I recognized Bruce Lunardi’s voice among the crowd.

“Mr. Lunardi?”

“We studied a similar case at the Academy, sir,” he said.

A few of the crew made little impressed titters at this, and the captain’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Gentlemen, there is no one in this room who is too wise to learn. Mr. Lunardi, please continue.”

I heard the tremor in Lunardi’s voice, and felt sorry for him. “Well, sir, in this case the ship was grounded from loss of hydrium. But the crew managed to stitch together a crude balloon from her gas cells and vent the remaining hydrium into her. It was enough to carry a gondola and three or four crew.”

“I remember this incident,” said Captain Walken. “Only one made it back to shore.”

“Yes, sir. But I was wondering if there might be some way we could balloon back into the shipping lanes, wait there for a passing vessel, and signal for help.”

“Very good, Mr. Lunardi. It is an intriguing idea. Again, riskier than I would like. I have little confidence in air balloons.” I saw the captain sigh, and for the first time, there were obvious traces of sadness on his face. “And your plan means cutting open our hull to extract the gas cells. I am loathe to cannibalize the Aurora. But if she truly is of no use to us, perhaps your idea is the best we have so far. I thank you for it. Let me consider it.”

The idea of the ship being sawed up like a cadaver made me feel faint. My home, left in ruins, never to fly again. But even I could see it might be our only chance. I wished I had some brilliant idea to win the captain’s praise—and save the Aurora from such an undignified end. But I had nothing to offer.

“If I might interject, sir, there may be another use for such a balloon,” said Mr. Bayard, the junior wireless officer.

“Let’s hear it,” said the captain.

“If Mr. Chaudhuri and I are able to salvage a transmitter, we might be able to send a distress signal. If we could rig an antenna to the balloon and float it high above the island, our range could be considerable.”

“Good,” said the captain. “It looks as if we all entered the wrong profession, gentlemen. We were destined to become balloonists. Very well. We will turn our hands to it. Now, then, immediate concerns. I know that we’ve located an ample stream, not far from the ship, but as for food, how are our supplies, Mr. Vlad?”

“We will not starve!” cried Vlad, and some of us laughed gratefully at his good cheer. “The lagoon alone holds enough food for all.”

“Not all the passengers like fish,” Mr. Lisbon pointed out.

“I am very sorry, but this I did not understand,” Vlad said to the chief steward.

“I merely said that not all of our passengers enjoy fish.”

“Fish, yes, fish is what I am conversing about.”

“Not everyone likes it!” shouted Mr. Lisbon.

“I will teach them to love it!” Vlad said fiercely. “I will make many dishes and soups and delectable things—that is a word, yes? delectable?—and make us all fit and harmonious. Some of our passengers, yes, could lose a little weight, I think you will concur, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vlad. I’m sure they’ll be very grateful.”

“Our supply of fresh meat is almost out,” Mr. Lisbon remarked.

Vlad glared at him. “Meat! Yes, yes, yes, meat is fine, it is delicious, I agree, but what is meat when we have fresh coconut and breadfruit and mango and bananas! Better fruits they did not have on Mount Olympus!”

“They’ll be without bread within two days,” the chief steward told the captain. “We’ll have no more flour or yeast by then. That will have them howling.”

No fresh croissants, I thought with a smile.

“This is a blessing,” Vlad shouted. “Can you not see this? This is opportunity for a culinary rebirth!”

“We look forward to it, Mr. Vlad,” said the captain, eager to stem an all-out battle between his chef and steward. “I am encouraged to know that we will not go hungry with you in charge.”

Vlad stalked off, shooting a serrated look at Mr. Lisbon and muttering about breadfruit and jackfish and crabs and how unappreciated he was. He’d go off and lay out all his sharp knives and feel better.

I wished I could feel better.

We were shipwrecked and discussing how best to get rescued, how best to survive. And it seemed our only course of action was to skin and gut our beloved ship and fashion a balloon.

 

I was on water duty, hefting buckets back to the ship from the stream. The winds had calmed since the typhoon but were still stiff enough to make me curse as I trudged against them, a heavy sloshing bucket of water wobbling in each fist. I wondered if this was some sort of punishment, or at least some way of keeping me solitary and busy and out of trouble. The captain had said nothing to me after the meeting; it was the chief steward who had glanced at me and said simply, “Mr. Cruse, we’re getting low on water. See to it, please.”

I wondered how Kate was getting on in the Topkapi stateroom. Would Miss Simpkins have her locked in the bedroom? Would she dare? Kate would tell her nothing. But if the chaperone discovered what was in Kate’s carpetbag, what could Kate possibly say? My goodness, how did those get there? Marjorie, do you have any idea what these are? Even if Miss Simpkins didn’t see the bones, sooner or later she would notice some of her undergarments missing: Kate, have you seen my beige petticoat? I can’t find it anywhere. How odd, Kate would say, trying not to smile. How very unusual.

It made me smile, thinking of it, though mostly all I felt was angry with her. But I’d gone willingly enough. Now was no time to be undone by a girl. Maybe Baz was right. I’d let myself become foolish. Had I just been another one of her servants, temporarily useful.

A bucket slammed against my shin and I swore. Surely there was a better way to get the water to the ship than this. Then I remembered the crates we’d unloaded, the heavy ones marked as rubber hosing. I wondered if the captain would agree to cracking them open and running a pipeline between stream and ship. I’d mention it to him when I had a chance; maybe it would help redeem me in his eyes.

It was clearing overhead, sunlight slanting through from the west, making the trees and silver airship glow against the dark clouds. Suddenly there was a rainbow, the biggest and most complete I’d ever seen, looking like it had been constructed by the bridge builders of Eden. It was stupendous, with all the colors a rainbow is supposed to have but never does. I stared at it, arching over the island. It made things seem not so bad.

Then my smile faded. Two sailmakers were rappelling down the port side of the Aurora. I knew what they meant to do. I did not want to see this. The very thought of it sent a razor’s shiver across my belly, as though it was me about to be slit with a knife. Captain Walken had emerged from the control car with Mr. Rideau and was standing back to supervise the work.

I was quite close to the ship now, and I realized I’d stopped walking, was just standing there, staring. I tried to look away but couldn’t. They’d chosen a section where the skin was already limp against a punctured gas cell. I saw the sailmakers take out their knives, their blades flashing. In went the tips. I felt myself flinch. No. No. I couldn’t bear it. I was close enough to hear the tearing fabric and the hiss of the last escaping hydrium. The wind carried the distinctive scent to my nostrils.

And I suddenly remembered the cave: the hiss of the snake, the smell of mangoes.

“Stop!” I shouted up at them. “Don’t!”

The sailmakers paused and looked down at me. The captain and first officer turned.

“What’s the matter, Cruse?” Mr. Rideau said irritably.

“You don’t need to!” I cried out.

“What?”

“There’s hydrium!”

“What’re you on about, boy, we’re busy!”

“Don’t cut the ship! There’s hydrium here on the island!”

“Sir, the boy’s fast becoming a nuisance,” said Rideau.

“Let him speak,” the captain said. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier, Mr. Cruse?”

“I thought it was just mangoes at first, sir, but when I looked there were no trees anywhere around. And it wasn’t mangoes—hydrium smells a bit sweeter. Getting a whiff of it just now made me realize.”

“Where was this?”

“We took shelter in a cave, sir, during the typhoon. I could smell it then, and later when the storm was shushing down I heard a hiss. I thought it was a snake, and we hightailed it out. But it wasn’t a snake at all. It was hydrium, venting from the cave!”

The captain said nothing. The two sailmakers were poised overhead against the ship’s hull, looking down and listening. Mr. Rideau glared at me.

“Be sure of this, boy, for it would be a terrible thing to raise all our hopes.”

“Truly, I’m almost positive,” I said, though I felt less sure now under Rideau’s steely gaze. “The cave went way back, and deep. It must’ve been coming from a vent.”

“This is remarkable news you bring, Mr. Cruse,” said the captain.

“I can take you there, sir.”

“I think that would be a good idea.”

“Even if it’s there, what use is it to us?” said Rideau to the captain. “It might be a crude variety, unrefined. And in any event we’ve no way of transporting it through the forest to the ship.”

“But we do!” I said. “We’ve got miles of rubber hosing! I helped shift it from the cargo hold yesterday. We could run a line from the cave to the ship. With one of the ship’s pumps to draw the gas along, we could easily refill the cells once they’re patched!”

“Should we proceed with our work, Captain?” the sailmakers called down.

“Absolutely not,” said the captain. “Hold off until we’ve visited this cave and seen if Mr. Cruse’s hunch is correct.” The captain laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “I have a lucky feeling it is, knowing you, Mr. Cruse. Was there ever a more remarkable cabin boy?”