Sun Thunder

"Why, Penelope, dear, I just don't understand how you cannot be excited right now. Just look! Why, we must be at least one hundred feet up in the air!"

Penelope Seabright looked at her mother with as much exasperation as she could muster. Every Sunday afternoon - well, at least on every nice Sunday afternoon - her parents would take a two to three hour jaunt on their personal air-yacht, the Sun Thunder, which really was exciting at first, but the novelty wore off after a month's worth of flights. She sighed, gazed down at the cobblestoned streets of East Dallas. Ladies and gentlemen out for walks with their children gawped up at them, pointing and yelling. Penny could hear their voices, but not their words. A hundred feet up? Nope. Close, she thought, but not quite.

Her father, Colonel William Seabright, retired CSA, pulled hard on a rope, tacking the balloon to the right against the wind. "Just like at sea," he exulted. "A glorious day with the wind in your hair and a beautiful woman at your side." He beamed at his wife, who smiled demurely back, hiding her rose-tinged cheeks behind a blue and white hand fan that matched her shawl. Penelope rolled her eyes, stared out at the flatness that was Texas. "My Lord," she prayed under her breath. "Please make these next three hours go faster."

That didn't happen. If anything, time slowed down in proportion to her boredom. Her father's incessant chatter only served to keep her awake, unlike her mother, who seemed to hang on his every word. Exasperation seemed the only thing to keep her mind occupied.

Of course, she could also strike up a conversation with D.B. He may be the Sun Thunder's pilot and mechanic, but at least he told interesting stories. At present he was crouched before valves and pressure gauges on the contraptions that kept the air yacht aloft. It always sounded like magical gobbledygook when he explained how the ship operated, but it was the man's passion that fascinated her. It didn't hurt that Henry David Bertram Howell was a handsome man of 32 - so old compared to her mere 19 years - with piercing sky-blue eyes that practically shone like gemstones when he talked about his work. That helped. A lot, she admitted.

She silently walked over to stand behind his right shoulder. "So how far up are we, D.B.?" she asked just loud enough for him to hear but not her parents.

The mechanic smiled at her. "For that, I need stand up, Miss Penelope." And stand up he did, stretching his arms over his head, making him look even taller than his already impressive six foot, two-inch muscular frame. His large hands grasped the edge of the gondola as he peered over the side, said, "I reckon about 90 feet. Won't be long before we're at optimum height so's to catch the proper windstream to take us out east a-ways, as usual."

"Yeah, as usual." Penelope sighed again, louder this time, which made him look at her askance. She recognized that look - he gave it to her a lot, mostly when she got huffy at her parents, or school, or life in general - and turned her head. Still, she followed him over to the rail. Not too close, she told herself. "They always take the same route on these afternoon ‘jaunts.' ‘Ooh, so lovely!'" She imitated her mother's voice precisely. "'Why, look, William! Isn't that the Trinity River? Ooh, it's so tiny from up here!'"

"Now, Miss Penelope, you know how much your mother loves these Sunday flights," he chided her. "And they're really not that bad. After all, you're not stuck inside reading a book or doing ciphering or sewing. All those lady-like things you're supposed to be doing."

She shivered at the thought. She hated those ‘lady-like things’ with a passion, especially sewing and knitting, which her mother constantly did no matter where they were. "True,” she conceded and sighed again, not as loudly this time, glanced back to make sure her parents did not see her talking to their mechanic/pilot. They weren't. Instead, they were deeply engrossed, hand in hand, standing at the starboard rail, waving at passersby on the shrinking streets of East Dallas below them. "I suppose I can survive three hours with the birds."

"That's the spirit." He smiled at her again, making her knees weaken. Oh, why does that happen? He's so old! Jarrett would have my hide if he ever saw me making googly-eyes at a, a…mechanic, of all people. How menial!

"'Scuse me a moment, Miss Penelope." The man stepped back to the bellows system. His alert eyes swept over everything. He reached up, tugged on a heavy cord that opened a canvas valve in the balloon's canopy. Air hissed out as he held the valve open for twenty seconds, slowed the airship's ascent as it reached an altitude of 300 feet - which the pilot dutifully announced loud enough for all to hear – and scudded ahead of a brisk west wind. Penelope looked in that direction, saw a distant line of gray clouds peppered with a scattering of little black dots.

"Well, have you ever seen clouds that looked like that, Mister Howell?" He lifted his head and followed her gaze. "What could cause that condition? Dirt or debris in the air? I've read that tornadoes lift all sorts of things way up into the atmosphere where they're carried by the winds across many states, but I've never actually seen objects that didn't belong in the air before."

"That could be," he replied, then his eyes narrowed, widened with surprise. "Now that's mighty peculiar, miss. Do those spots look like they're growing to you, too?"

Hard as it seemed to believe, they were. And rapidly, too. "Birds? Hawks or eagles, maybe?" she suggested.

"They'd have to be really big birds, I'll tell you that. I don't see any wings, do you?"

"Not at all. And they don't weave about like birds would, either."

As they watched this strange phenomenon develop, the black dots grew from a set of indistinct blotches against the clouds into six separate objects with two distinct shapes: a larger, tear-drop shape over a smaller dark form that looked as if was hanging from the other. Even stranger, very unlike birds, these shapes were flying not in a typical echelon pattern, but were staggered in the sky and appeared to be heading straight for the Sun Thunder, which by now had passed the edges of Dallas. Below stretched a seemingly endless vista of plains ending at the distant Great Trinity Forest. It was the mechanic who finally spoke what they were both thinking: "Those are not birds." He squinted, eyes then exploding wide in amazed fear. "Merciful heavens! They're piloted air-bikes! And I'm positive they don't mean on paying us a courtesy call. Master Seabright! Take your wife and daughter into the cabin straight away. We need to ready a defense."

William Seabright posed a powerful figure, even now, nearly twenty years after his military career ended as a full colonel in the army of the Confederate States of America. As Seabright stood and turned, even Howell could feel the man's strength . "Eh? What are you talking about, Howell?"

"Out there, sir," the mechanic pointed out to port. "A group of air-bikes is coming our way."

That got Colonel Seabright's attention. He crossed the twelve-foot wide deck in three long strides, and huffed angrily at the sight. "Damned hooligans!" he fumed, fists clenched on the gondola's wooden rail. "Just like in the papers. And not a single weapon on board! What I'd give for a pistol right now."

The mechanic thought fast, then ran over to the airship's machinery, opening a large toolkit with such force that the clang of the metal lid made Penelope jump even though she had been watching the whole time. Howell pulled out two long steel tools, giving a crowbar to the Colonel while brandishing a two-foot long pipe wrench himself. Seabright grunted his appreciation, saying, "Aye, a few whacks with this will put a dent in their plans."

"Provided their plans aren't that organized," observed Howell. He turned to Mrs. Seabright and Penelope, who stood behind them, terrified looks on their faces. "You'd best get inside the cabin, Ma'am, Miss Seabright. The colonel and I will make sure these ruffians won't get a thing, aside from a good whacking." He slapped the wrench into a palm for emphasis.

"I have heard about these ‘air gangs,' as the papers call them," Mrs. Seabright said. "They've been known to swoop down out of the sky on shoppers, people strolling through the park, intent on creating all manner of trouble, usually flying off with their victim's valuables dangling from their overcoats. However could a criminal think of such a thing! It's positively maddening."

Her husband nodded, never taking his eyes off the approaching air-gang. "Aye, Lettie Mae, that's the truth." He looked at her, his gray eyes softening. "This time, though, I dare say they've chosen the wrong people to tussle with."

"Going after an airship is a new one for them," Penelope added. "I mean, after all, we are much larger than them. I wonder whatever they are thinking of."

The colonel snorted. "Jewelry, money. What else? It's not as if they can pocket anything larger than a silver dollar." Penelope's hands went to her neck, wrapped her fingers around a jade pendant hanging from a necklace of handcrafted silver links held together by a matching cord.

"Whatever they're after," Howell interrupted, "they will be here very shortly; a few minutes at the most. Ladies, you'd best get inside. If they don't see you, that may work in our favor."

"Wishful thinking, Howell," the colonel said. "They're more than close enough to see we've been watching them. Still. Inside, Leticia, Penny." He gently guided them to the foredeck cabin, closed the door. The sound of a wooden beam sliding into place told the men that the women had soundly bolted the door shut. "Well," he said grimly, "let's give those lads a proper welcome, Howell."

Howell's estimate wasn't far off the mark. When the air bikes were within fifty feet of the airship Seabright and Howell could see the lead three - out of the six total - riders unraveling long ropes with grappling hooks at the end. It was obvious that they planned to board the Sun Thunder. The mechanic's keen eyes swept their opponents critically. "I'm not spotting any guns on any of them, Colonel," he said matter-of-factly, "but they might have small handguns and knives in those large pockets." His statement was acknowledged with a grunt.

"Indeed. And the best way to avoid finding out is to make it difficult for them to throw those hooks. Turn the ship to starboard quickly, Mr. Howell!"

"Aye, sir!" Even though nearly twenty years had passed since the end of the War Between the States, the two men slipped into military mode as easily as putting on a shirt. Howell leaped to the controls, cranking the rudder around to the left, making the Sun Thunder veer right. From behind came angry shouts. Colonel Seabright's booming laugh very quickly was answered by a pistol shot. Howell heard the bullet whiz past, barely missing the ascent valve rope. For a moment he thought of trying to out climb or outrace the sky bikes, then decided against that course since the bikes were obviously faster and more mobile. The best thing to do it seemed was to fight them. And here I thought my fighting days were over, he thought bitterly.

Another shot rang out. Howell didn't hear the ping of a bullet ricocheting off something, so that was good. At another brisk command he turned the ship sharply left, hoping to frustrate the air gang with the airship's evasive maneuvering. He marveled at how quickly the Sun Thunder, as large as it was, responded to his actions at the helm, but a quick glance over his left shoulder revealed that their pursuers were much closer. "Damn!" Howell cursed out loud, grateful that the women were safely locked in the fore-cabin, and cranked hard right.

"Watch it, Howell!" the Colonel shouted, the warning followed by a heavy thunk against the deck. He turned and watched a grappling hook sliding across the deck, followed its rope back to an air bike stopped in flight, allowing the airship's forward motion to bring the hook up against the aft rail, where it lodged firmly. A rowdy cheer went up from the hooligans as another hook came flying towards the Sun Thunder, this one wrapping itself tightly around an aft cross beam holding lines that led up to the 50 foot airbag that kept the ship aloft. If any of these hooks would catch one of those lines, let alone the airbag… Howell shuddered at the thought of what could happen.

The fast pace of this cat-and-mouse chase in the sky resulted in the combatants following a southeasterly course. Howell started thinking about what was below them: a river, some lakes, a forest. A big forest, come to think of it. The trees might cushion their landing, but unfortunately if the ship went down the branches would rip the airbag to shreds. He weighed their options as another grappling hook grabbed hold near the aft cabin, implanting itself in the rail opposite of the first hook. "These lads have a plan of attack all right, sir," he said to Colonel Seabright. "They're reeling us in like a big, wallowing fish."

Seabright's eyes lit up at that. "And a fish with sharp teeth can cut a fishing line! Where's your bloody Bowie knife?"

"Back in my shop, sir, blast it! Of all the days to not bring that along. I never thought I'd need it up here in the middle of a lovely Sunday afternoon!"

The colonel looked at him grimly. "Well, these will have to make do," he said, jamming the crowbar between one of the grappling hooks and the wooden rail, leaned into the bar, attempting to force the hook out, which wriggled but did not dislodge. "This one is sunk in good," he angrily muttered. The bikes were less than twenty feet away, their riders pulling on the ropes to draw themselves in. "Well," he said. "Prepare to be boarded." The Colonel abruptly stood, assuming a menacing pose. "What is it you lot want? There's nothing here that the likes of you hooligans would care about! Leave us be or suffer the consequences!" He accented that last statement with a wave of the crowbar..

One ruffian, a dark-haired teen wearing a black bowler hat adorned with dirty goggles, pulled his air bike to the rail, and clambered none too gracefully aboard the Sun Thunder, arranging his overcoat to reveal a shoulder-holstered pistol. He took a step towards Howell and Seabright, tried to look authoritative. It didn't work as just then the sudden weight of the other two air bikes tethering tight to the airship made it suddenly list to the rear, making everyone lose their balance. Howell hoped this shift would make their leader - or so he assumed this lad was - fall down, but the boy grabbed the rail for support and sneered unevenly at the men.

"A lovely show of bravado." The boy's voice was deeper than expected, given his appearance, made him sound older. "Allow me to dictate how this shall go, gentlemen."

Seabright's laugh rang out. "Well, now. Don't you sound all high and mighty." He glared down at the ruffian, the crowbar in his massive right hand. Howell knew that the colonel was hoping the young man would come within swinging range. That didn't happen. The boy stood still as two others climbed aboard to stand on either side of their leader. All three, Howell noticed, wore essentially the same outfit: goggles attached to either a black or dark gray bowler hat, long gray topcoats with bulging pockets over black trousers, gray shirts, black vests, everything smudged with dirt and grease. Not a single one of them looked old enough to shave. In fact, Howell was certain Miss Seabright was older than every member of this group. The thought made him feel protective of the girl.

Their leader gave another crooked sneer. "Valuables?" he said. "I am positive that something will turn up. After all, where there’s women, there's usually jewelry adorning them."

Well, that answers two questions at once, thought Howell: they had seen Mrs. Seabright and her daughter, and what they were after. The men exchanged knowing glances. There was no way they would make this easy.

The Colonel spoke first. "And I am telling you again, there is nothing valuable aboard this ship. Now get off before I throw you off!"

The air gang leader's two cronies edged closer, presenting a unified front. Young or not, they looked like they meant business. The one on the leader's left opened his overcoat, revealing a knife in a finely detailed leather sheath. "What do you think, Toothless?" he said in a low voice. "It's only two of them against the three of us, an' I bet they ain't got anything more than what's in their hands to fight with."

"Shut up, Keene!" spat the boy named Toothless. Looking closely, Howell noticed two upper front teeth were missing and couldn't decide whether or not that made the boy more menacing. It didn't matter: the boy had a gun, and Keene had a knife. Odds were that the one standing to Toothless' right was likewise armed with a knife. All Howell and Seabright had were the crowbar and pipe wrench, which were effective only at close range. That thought distressed him, and felt Seabright's tense. Toothless glanced to his right, said, "Halloran, why don't you go to that door," pointing to the cabin, "and knock politely," then smiled a ghastly smile, with a gap large enough to shove a beef-stick through. "There are ladies inside, remember."

"Right," the boy addressed as Halloran replied, and moved forward while Toothless and Keene kept their eyes on the two men. It was almost laughable, considering, because Halloran knocked three times on the wooden door, and crossed his hands behind his back, fingers nervously twitching, much like a young man waiting for an evening date to come down the stairs.

“William?" Mrs. Seabright's voice was muffled by the door, noticeably shaky with fear. "Unless that’s my husband, this door stays closed!"

Halloran looked at his leader, who only shook his head. "Just open the door." The boy grabbed the handle, pulled. The door didn’t budge.

"Blast! They must have it bolted from the inside, Toothless."

"So? Make them open it!"

"How?"

"Oh…" Toothless gave a loud exasperated sigh, then, with a speed neither the Colonel nor Howell expected, had his hands at Seabright's throat, who dropped the crowbar in surprise. The youth's eyes were black with rage as he screamed, "Get them to open that door!" spitting the words into Seabright's face. "Now! Or this happens to you!" With one hand he pulled out the pistol, aimed it at the Colonel's face. Even though the gun shook in the youth's hand, Seabright was smart enough to know that a loaded weapon in anybody's hand, no matter how inexperienced, can still be deadly, so he nodded.

"Alright," the Colonel sadly said, gave Howell a rueful look, his gray eyes returning to his attacker. "I'll tell them. But promise me you won't hurt the ladies. Be a proper gentleman about this if there's any ounce of decency still left inside your heart."

Surprisingly, the young man agreed with a nod. "Let it be known that I, Calvin ‘Toothless' Kelly, would never hurt a woman or child. We outlaws do have principles."

"I will remember that at your trial, Mr. Kelly," Seabright replied. "As a military man, I can certainly respect principles."

"Provided there is a trial," the boy said, taking his left hand off Seabright's lapel, waving the gun from his captive to the door. "Now go have the ladies come on out. I mean them no harm." The emphasis made Howell shiver. In that boy's face he again saw young men – mere boys - with muskets aimed in his direction from across a smoking field in Virginia, the spire of a church sticking above a small town in the distance, haunted him for an infinite moment. Any gun in anyone's hands… Closed ranks in an open field of trampled, smoldering grass… Any gun…

The door bolt sliding out of its niche with a squeak and rattle jolted him back to the present. "It's going to be all right," Howell heard the Colonel telling the ladies. "I won't let anything happen to either of you."

Mrs. Seabright came out first, her face showing fear but trust in her husband, to whom she clung, followed by Penelope, whose stride displayed no fear; she glared at the boy who pointed a revolver at her father. She positioned herself between her mother and Halloran, standing by the open door. Penelope's defiance gave Howell renewed strength, and hope that this stand-off would end with nobody getting hurt. He stepped once towards the women, but Halloran whipped out a vicious looking knife at the same time Keene did. Halloran’s knife pointed at the mother, Keene's at Howell, whose grip tightened on long pipe wrench.

"That's as far as you'll get," Toothless hissed. "I'd drop that wrench, if I were you. Keene there is a fine knife thrower."

Howell looked the knife-wielders over: they stood straight and flat-footed. A poor fighting stance. Even so, at ten feet apart, it was practically point-blank range for someone who knew how to correctly throw a knife. Howell wouldn't have any time to duck. If I could just get in close enough…

A look from Colonel Seabright caught Howell's attention. "Now, ladies,” Toothless said, “if you would be so kind as to hand over those lovely necklaces and earrings. I have always fancied pearls on my favorite lady." He laughed, the gun now steadier in his right hand, but still pointed at the Colonel, who looked at his wife and daughter, sighed heavily.

"Might as well, Leticia, Penelope. Those can be replaced; you can't." His smile failed. His wife's lips trembled as her slender hands reached up behind her elegant neck to unclasp the string of pearls glowing against her alabaster skin, gave them to her husband, who held them as tenderly as his love for her. The matching pair of earrings soon followed. "Here." He handed them to the youth, who took them hungrily with a grimy left hand. "Penelope?"

The girl's defiant glare should have wounded the boy, who grinned mirthlessly at her. "Oh, fine!" she exclaimed. "I don't wear earrings, you filthy thief, but you can have this!" She ripped the jade pendant off her neck, threw it at the boy’s face, the large jewel making a direct hit on his left eye.

"Agh!" he cried, as the heel of his left hand went to the offended orb, instinctively lowered his right hand, the revolver falling off target.

That was the opening Howell needed. He pounced at Toothless, smacking Keene in the head with the wrench in passing, who crumpled to the deck with a groan. The Colonel whirled, grabbed at the gun at the same time Howell tackled Toothless. Halloran stood transfixed, unsure what to do. Penelope, though, knew. Being the closest to Halloran, she kicked his shin with the point of a boot, making that boy screech in pain and hobble out of the path of another vicious kick.

The remaining three members of the gang on their air bikes, sat mouths agape in surprise. "Hey!" one cried out. "They've got Toothless!" Leaderless, they did the first thing that came to mind: they turned their machines around and rapidly ran from the Sun Thunder.

But Toothless determinedly gripped his revolver despite the Colonel's large hands twisting the boy's wrist in a direction it wasn't meant to twist. Suddenly the gun fired, the blast echoing through the sky. Howell let go, crouched, praying that the bullet hadn't hit anyone. He noticed Mrs. Seabright had ducked back inside the cabin, holding the door ajar far enough to watch the battle. Penelope had picked up the crowbar and was awkwardly swinging it at Halloran, who was skipping away as best he could. Howell laughed, saw Keene was out cold, and wondered where that loud hissing noise was coming from. It sounded like it was above and behind him.

"Oh, no!" He looked up, saw a foot-long hole in the airbag, the fabric flapping. The airship began a slight list to starboard, rolling the tangled Seabright and Toothless toward the railing. A yowl from Halloran signified a direct hit from the crowbar. Howell looked, saw Penelope standing over the boy, who was laying up against the cabin with his arms wrapped around his abdomen; the girl rested the crowbar on her shoulder like a rifle. Howell saw that the revolver, knocked loose in the struggle, also slid starboard. He quickly grabbed the gun, ran to the rail, stared down at the Great Trinity Forest growing closer.

"Colonel Seabright!" he called out. "We've got a serious problem. Come here, quickly!"

The Colonel had subdued his young adversary, and holding Toothless in a powerful half-Nelson, dragged the boy over to Howell’s side. One look down made all their faces blanche. Seabright released his prisoner because…

“This is not good," the boy said. “Not at all.” Just then the airship's starboard tilt became more pronounced, leveled a bit when the three stepped back amidships.

Howell’s eyes appraised the tear in the airbag. “The good news is,” he said as matter-of-factly as possible, “that hole’s not getting any bigger. The bad news is we’re still going down.”

“But not that fast,” Toothless said, “so we might not hit the ground that hard.”

“It’s not hitting the ground that bothers me,” Howell replied, “but those trees. Their branches are this ship’s worst enemy.”

Cautiously, the Colonel stepped towards the downward tilting rail, peered over and out. Halloran chose that moment to attempt to stand, but Penelope brought the crowbar down with a thud on the deck near the boy’s feet. “You stay right there,” she commanded. Halloran, seeing the firmness in her face and the crowbar so close to his body, sat back. “Good thinking. That’s a good boy.” Howell though it sounded like she was training a dog.

“Say, isn’t that the Trinity River below us?” Colonel Seabright’s question brought Howell back to the reality of their predicament. “And how far up do you think we are, D.B.? A few hundred feet?”

Howell joined him at the rail, surprised at the Colonel’s informality. He looked down, said, “Almost four hundred feet, I’d say, And yes, that is the Trinity,” he added, noting the river’s width. And depth. “Good gravy, man!” he suddenly cried, stared at Seabright. “You’re not thinking of trying to bring this ship down into the river? Look at how it winds! That would take a great deal more delicate piloting than I’m capable of! We could easily hit the trees!”

“No, not there,” Seabright said, pointing east. “There.”

Off in the distance, perhaps a mile and a half away, was a lake. Howell wracked his memory, Maps of the area showed lakes that fed the Trinity River on its southeasterly course, which the airship was following thanks to a tail wind, to eventually empty into the Gulf of Mexico. The obvious question was, could the ship be maneuvered in that lake’s direction?

Apparently Penelope was thinking the same thing. “The rudder wasn’t shot,” she offered, adding, “so we can turn as usual.”

‘Aye,” Howell said. “It works. My concern is our rate of descent from air loss. If only we could close that hole somehow and buy us some more time. I’d love to add more lift, if we could. That would help.” He looked at the ropes rigged around the airbag like a gigantic spider’s web holding the bag’s shape, some of them lacing next to the offending hole. “If I could only get up there and lace it shut.”

“Let me do it.” Howell, Penelope, and the Colonel turned to stare at Toothless.

“You?” Penelope asked incredulously. “You’re the dunce who put us into this mess!”

“Which makes it all the better that I do this,” Toothless said. “Give me a chance. Let me climb up there. I’m easily a lot lighter than either of you. Get something I can use to tie it back together and I’ll do it.”

“You could just as easily fall off,” observed Mr. Seabright.

“We’re all falling,” Howell noted. “But I have no idea what to use to…”

“My knitting!” exclaimed Mrs. Seabright so loudly that everybody jumped, stared at her. “I brought my knitting bag along for the jaunt, William,” who looked at his wife as if she had lost her mind. “They’re needles. Pointy needles – well, not sharp as a pin, but they do have a bit of a point – and I have yarn and thread and…”

“Brilliant!” Howell cried. “Quickly, Mrs. Seabright, go get your kit!” As she ran into the cabin he returned to the ship’s controls. He turned up the heater, pumping more warm air into the bag, watching its sides bubble out for a change instead of inward. Any time he could buy… Damn, fool kid, he thought, shook his head to get his mind back on task. Mrs. Seabright came running back out, a large wicker basket in her hands.

Her husband threw it open, roughly rummaged for a suitably pointed needle, found a roll of hemp twine, and shoved them into Toothless’s hands.

“Here,” he said. “Tie an end to the needle before you go up; try to overlap the ends, puncture, don’t rip…”

“I know what to do,” Toothless cut him off. “I designed and built our air-bikes, so I’m familiar with these principles.” He then looked at Howell, said, “Just keep the bag inflated as much as you can. The inner pressure will make it easier for stitching.” With that, he scampered up the rigging like a monkey. Impressed by the lad’s insight, Howell kept the burners at a moderate flame, while Seabright pulled at a port-side cord to keep the ship level.

“Cross-hatch the seam!” Penelope shouted to Toothless. “It’s a stronger stitch!”

Mrs. Seabright looked at her daughter approvingly. “Why, my dear, you were paying attention in your sewing class. There’s hope for you yet.” Penelope rolled her eyes, leaned on the crowbar as if it was a cane and watched Toothless sew the flapping fabric. In a matter of minutes he had it reasonably closed.

“That should do it!” he yelled while climbing down. “It’s still leaking a bit – not a perfect job – but it’s holding.” Toothless placed his feet on the rail, hopped onto the deck, then trotted over next to Howell, where he studied pressure gauges, levers, and pulley ropes that led to various flaps located around the ship. “Damned impressive, sir. Oops! Sorry, miss, mum,” he apologized to the ladies with a slight bow. “Did you design and build this airship, sir?”

Howell, detecting intellectual respect in the boy’s voice, replied, “Why, yes, I did.” He looked the boy in the eye, saw intelligence. Yes, he thought, there’s potential here. “In fact, I believe you can help us make it to that lake. You man these here,” Howell pointed to the levers and ropes on the right, “and I’ll tell you what to do and when. Mrs. Seabright, Penelope! Each of you pick a side-rail and let me know our altitude and heading.”

The women assumed positions to starboard and port, Penelope calling out, “I think we’re about a hundred feet from the trees!”

“Good to know!” Howell turned the flame higher. “That’s to give us a bit more altitude, Toothless. I fear we need it.” The boy nodded, turned to look at his gang compatriots: Keene was still unconscious, sprawled out where he fell, and Halloran’s hands were tied behind his back, making him wince in pain every time his position shifted. Not worried about them causing problems, Howell returned to his station, pulling the rudder over to make the airship aim towards the lake, now closer, but not close enough. Again he turned the burner on; the ship rose in response. “Mister Kelly, I need you to pull on that second cord – yes, that one – when I say so.” The boy followed the cord up to a valve on the underside of the airbag.

“I get it,” he said. “It controls air release for descent.”

“On that side, yes. Colonel, same thing for you: second cord. When I say pull, you both open those valves.”

Howell stared ahead, holding the rudder steady, pulled or pushed a lever beside the wheel as needed to keep Sun Thunder level as it neared the lake. He cut the flame, saying, “Pull!” With a mighty blast of air the ship jerked, dipped to starboard. “Close yours up a bit, boy! It’s open too much! Make the valves match in size!” Toothless did so, and seconds later the ship leveled, angling down toward the lake, now only a few hundred feet dead ahead at the end of a large clearing.

“Well, hello!” Mrs. Seabright called and waved to someone below. Her husband stared incredulously at her, making her blush. “Homesteaders, dearest,” she replied. “You really should see their faces.”

“I can imagine,” the Colonel said to himself, then to Howell, “That woman is something else.”

“Brace yourselves, everyone!” Howell announced. “Here we go!”

Like a flying whale, the Sun Thunder swooped low over the water’s edge and hit the surface, spreading a massive wave that splashed back over the deck, drenching everyone. The cold water awakened Keene, who flailed wildly in the water. “Help! I can’t swim!” Penelope laughed, quickly grabbed the crowbar again and pointed it at Keene, who meekly quieted down. Howell grinned at the girl.

“Right. Hold those valves open, gentlemen. Let the bag slowly deflate onto the lake, but not completely; a little buoyancy will make bag retrieval much easier.”

Colonel Seabright hugged his wife, and they waved at the men, women, and children running towards the lake. “We gave them quite a surprise, didn’t we, Lettie Mae?” he said, giving her a resounding kiss. Penelope elaborately rolled her eyes heavenward, caught Howell smiling at her, and his smile grew wider as her face turned red as a sweet apple before she turned away. Oh, why do I feel like this when he smiles at me? She scolded herself.

Toothless cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but what are you and the Master there,” he motioned towards the Colonel, “going to do about me and my lads? We really didn’t mean to cause all this ruckus, you know.”

“Even so, young man,” Seabright said, “you attempted theft, attacked personal property, threatened us with your weapons…You and your cronies are in deep, deep trouble with the law.”

“But I did help you safely land your ship!” His eyes pleaded for mercy, landed on Howell for some show of support. Grudgingly, Howell nodded.

“True,” he agreed. “But that’s up to the court to decide. I certainly can’t promise you anything, that’s for sure.”

The boy looked approvingly over the Sun Thunder, now bobbing in the water like a proper ship, albeit dragging a fifty-foot long wet bag behind it. “Sure’d like to ride this again,” he thought out loud, running his fingers along a beam. “That would be fun.”

Howell clapped the boy’s shoulder. “Who knows, lad? Who knows?”

“Call me Calvin, sir.”