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looking away from her eyes. “Duly noted. Captain.” He stared at her, and she was the first one to blink. “May I return to my task?”
    She nodded. The big pirate backed away. Something was off here, something amiss. But what? The twins, along with Reaver Jane, had been her most loyal servants ever since joining crews with Fengel. They obeyed her every command without complaint. Natasha could almost hear her father’s approval: to him, an obedient crew was all that mattered. She thought of looking into it further, but the twin had returned to his task. Maybe he’s just sullen. I hear twins get that way. With a shrug, she made her way back toward the helm.
    The helm of the Dawnhawk was composed of a ship’s wheel and a large wooden gearbox studded with numerous dials, gauges and levers. A speaking tube was mounted to the box, ostensibly for communication with the engine rooms below and the Mechanists who dwelled there. It had never worked properly. Linkages and gear-trains connected the helm to complex propeller assemblies hanging from the rear of the airship, and connected the skysail armatures hanging from its hull. Both of the helmsmen watched Natasha approach silently.
    Maxim and his counterpart Konrad were both aetherites, which meant that they were crazy. As she understood it, the daemon familiars they carried about with them were a constant source of nagging irritation, wheedling aetherwrought Workings in exchange for small mischiefs played upon their crewmates. This did not make them generally popular with anyone. Her father in particular hated them. They were necessary, however, for only an aetherite could see the great aetherlines that ran throughout the world and so enabled efficient airship flight.
    Maxim was rail thin and had originally come from Fengel’s crew. Konrad was stocky and one of her own. Ever since the two crews had merged, both magicians had kept a sleepless, antagonistic vigil over each other. That was annoying, as it meant that Natasha couldn’t have Konrad’s powers free for her own behalf.
    Fengel’s aetherite glared at her. Konrad simply stared. Both looked pale and shaky from lack of rest. Konrad opened his mouth to greet her. Natasha cut him off.
    “Where are we?” she demanded. “And how did we get here?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucian move up behind her and to one side.
    “Near the equator,” said Konrad, his heavy Greisheim accent twisting every word. “The Isle Almhazlik.”
    “I know that,” Natasha snapped. “What are we doing here?”
    Maxim smiled viciously. “Fengel—” He fell silent as Konrad glared at him.
    “Captain,” said the large aetherite, “we must talk. Reaver Jane, the others, we are all concerned.”
    A wave of irritation roiled over her. Can’t anyone around here do what they’re told? She glared at Lucian. The man was obviously slacking on discipline. “Later, Konrad,” she said, wheeling around to face the helmsman. “I asked you a damned question. Now, are you going to answer it, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”
    Konrad’s face settled like stone. He glanced at his counterpart, who gave him a look, almost as if to say ‘I-told-you-so.’ Konrad looked to Lucian. “I do not know why we are here,” he said. “Your husband, the Captain, bade us take this course. He did not say why.”
    Her irritation transformed into white-hot anger. “Goddess strike him down!” she hissed. “You people are useless. Where is he?”
    “I believe,” said Lucian smoothly, “that he’s currently in the cargo hold, examining the carpets from yesterday’s raid.”
    Natasha whirled on him. “Then why didn’t you tell me that?” she snarled.
    He held out his hand theatrically. “You wanted to come over here and find out what these two knew.”
    Her hand tightened on the hilt of her cutlass. She wanted to scream at him, then run him through. No. Wait. Hold onto that for the person who deserves it. Natasha growled