Sky City (Chap. 13-16)

CHAPTER 13
The trip to the morgue didn't provide Mulligan with much more than he already knew. It was definitely the work of their suspect, right down to the head peeled like an orange. As he stood in the coolness of the stone room staring at the flayed skeleton of Edwin Devonshire by the beam of the overhead lantern he found disgust growing in the pit of his stomach like a poisonous weed. This seemed strange to him as he had heard that repeated exposure to atrocities such as these usually diminished such feelings. His thoughts turned empathetically to Eliza Devonshire. After their encounter he had written her off as a suspect. He felt a sadness about her. She would be alone in this world now. Alone like himself before he had met Lucy. The thought of Lucy's name ticked something off in his mind. Memories fell like snowflakes before his eyes and then melted away. Lucy standing in his doorway nervous and smiling at her interview. Him showing Lucy the spare bedroom where she would be staying. Him helping carry her few possessions into her room. She had had only a couple changes of clothing, a suitcase, and a photograph. How remembered he had thought it strange for a Clockwork to have a photograph. The photograph had been of a woman seated in a portrait setting. A small woman with impeccable posture who looked much like Eliza Devonshire. When he had asked who it was in the picture, she had called the woman her "Aunt 'liza." Despite the obvious fact that Clockworks had no blood relatives, he had thought little of it and left it at that. It was clear now that Lucy had some connection to Eliza Devonshire, but what did it mean? He had never bothered to ask Lucy if she had a surname as the question seemed irrelevant. Mulligan realized he needed more information. He checked with the coroner on duty who directed him to the Ministry archives.
The lift stopped on the top floor. The surly human lift operator ushered him into a large room with cathedral style ceilings and buttresses. The stacks of books almost reached the ceiling and created a maze like atmosphere. As it was still dark, no light came through the large windows on either side of the room leaving Mulligan to muddle about in the soft glow provided by the several desk lamps scattered throughout the hall. With the countdown to his departure time only hours away he roused the archive night attendant. The sleepy looking fellow looked raised his head from his desk and asked as politely as he could manage how he might help.
Mulligan, who now was also suffering from mild sleep deprivation, fought to maintain a facade of courtesy and asked, "I am in need of some information regarding Clockwork relations."
The man blinked several times and rubbed his eyes before answering, "Check with the Clockwork Historical Archivist. His office is in the back."
Given the late hour, Mulligan was surprised to hear the consultant would still be on duty.
The attendant shook his head and said with a yawn, "Oh yes, Harold's a bit off his rocker if you ask me. I sometimes wonder if he has a home to go to."
Mulligan thanked the attendant, who responded by laying his head on the desk once more. Mulligan traversed the labyrinth of books till he found himself outside a row of offices built into the back of the room. The walls were wood paneled up to waist level then finished in glass windows that terminated at a lower set ceiling. He briskly walked down the row until he came to the corner office. H. Krundler, Clockwork Historical Archivist was printed on the door in golden, block letters. An oil lamp inside the office gave off a low warm light which bounced off of various metal and glass objects settled on tables and shelves around the room. As he peered more deeply into the recesses of the room he saw a large wooden desk situated in the middle of all the confusion. He wrapped his knuckles sharply on the glass window of the door and, to his surprise, what had appeared to be a pile of rubbish laying across the desk popped up to reveal the face of a small elderly fellow who had been bent over a book. The old man's face turned towards the sound of the knock, one of his eyes comically enlarged by a magnification lens hinged in front of his glasses. His wild silver hair was pushed back out of his face. Finally seeing Mulligan through the glass, he motioned the detective inside.
The office's interior was a veritable microcosm of technological activity. Devices of varying purpose and size hissed, bubbled and spat steam from every darkened corner. As a result the humidity level of the room seemed, in Mulligan's opinion, almost oppressive.
"Hold on a sec", said the old fellow, his voice quavering with age. He searched about the office and finally located a small leather bound chair underneath a pile of various pieces of Clockwork related items. He returned to his seat on the other side of the desk and asked, "Now my friend, what can I do for you?"
"You are Harold Krundler, the Clockwork Historical Archivist?"
The old man nodded sagely.
"I'm Detective Mulligan of MCA Central. I need some information about the Devonshire family."
"I assume you mean the Devonshire Importation Magnate, Detective?"
"That's correct."
"It's interesting that you chose to call them a family. Clockworks have no bloodlines, as I'm sure you already know."
"I am aware, however, having met some of them, it seems they choose to refer to themselves that way."
The old man laughed. "So, you actually met them? Remarkable. Last I had heard, the Ministry had lost track of at least half of them. And why, then, would you need information about them?"
"I believe that anyone associated with this family may be in danger. I need to know who is attached to the Devonshire coal conglomerate and why they have been targeted."
The statement brought a hint of surprise the old man's eyes which quickly yielded to a look of understanding as he said, "'Why?' That's a very interesting question, detective. The 'who' will be a little tougher, but I would think the 'why' would be obvious."
Mulligan stared at the man in silence for a while before the elderly fellow snorted and said, "Come now Detective Mulligan. Surely as an agent of MCA you must have extensive knowledge of Clockwork law?"
"Yes, but I don't see how..."
"How about a history lesson?",Krundler interrupted.
"Very well, I'm listening."
"You may recall how Clockworks came to control coal production. No? Goodness, what are they teaching at the academy these days? We shall start from the beginning, then", the old man said sounding as if he were quite enjoying his little lecture. "After the Ascension, humanity was, for the most part, cut off from the earth's surface which had become a hostile and uninhabitable place. However, this did not remove our need for fuel. Since man's ability to remain on earth in order to procure coal and other minerals was greatly diminished, the task fell to those who could: Clockworks. Fortunately for us they were willing to do it, and for a pittance. But as time went on the young race gradually grew wiser and started asking for more.
"Money?", inquired Mulligan.
"No. Equality. Of course they were denied. Undaunted the Clockworks banded together under production models one through six. The Clockworks call them "The Prime Models". You know them better as the Devonshires."
"How odd that these models chose to share a common name", Mulligan thought out loud.
"That's the rub. You see, they did not choose this name for themselves. It was given to them by their creator."
"What? Why would only these six models be named?"
"You are jumping ahead of yourself, Detective. We will get there soon enough. Now where was I? Oh yes, Clockworks were not legally allowed ownership of anything. Nor could they will or be willed any property. But now the Clockwork race was united and they controlled all of the coal production. With this leverage they were able to force the Royal family into concessions. Namely, setting up the business of coal production in the name of the Devonshires.
"A victory for Clockwork-kind?" interjected Mulligan.
Krundler smiled and said, "Ironically they were denied their cherished equality, but ended up with monetary superiority. All Clockworks are given a monthly stipend, disseminated through the Devonshire holdings."
Mulligan almost smacked himself. He had thought Lucy was bound to the job he gave her out of the need to support herself. Now it seemed probable that the only reason she took it was to fulfill the Clockwork need of purpose.
"Okay, so why were the Devonshires designated the Clockwork leaders? And why were they given names."
"That depends on what you believe. The Clockworks have their own mythology, like all races I suppose, but the most plausible explanation is much simpler. These six individuals were the first Clockworks finished by their creator before the race went to mass production. The prototypes, if you will. This makes them the first born and the eldest of the race. Thus, in theory, they will always be the wisest and most experienced. It would seem only natural that they would be given the reigns of leadership. As for why they were named, I can only speculate that as the first born, their creator had a greater bond with them and decided to bequeath his own surname to them."
The sleep flew from James eyes. "What?! I always thought their creator was a Japanese fellow. Ayumu or something like that."
Krundler laughed at Mulligan's reaction. "That is correct. Ayumu was the man's first name. When he emigrated to the U.K. he apparently dropped his given last name and took one that allowed him to better blend in with his new found culture. That name was Devonshire."
Mulligan allowed this revelation to sink in before asking, "You said the Royal family gave the rights of ownership to the Devonshires?"
"Yes."
"What would happen if all these individuals ceased to exist?"
"Ah, now you are asking the real question. This would seem unlikely as Clockworks have the uncanny trait of near immortality. However, I believe there is a provision in the contract that stipulates should the contracted no longer be able to manage the importation of fuel, the duty would fall to the Crown."
"So no other Clockworks can inherit the business?"
"No, I'm afraid the law was not changed in that respect. The Devonshires were named the sole keepers of the holding, and, as I said before, a Clockwork cannot will or be willed property."
A burst of anxiety tore through Mulligan's insides. "Please, Mr. Krundler, can you provide me with the names of models one through six?"
"Hmm, yes I believe so. It's going to take a moment."
He rose from his desk and disappeared among the stacks. Darkness still cloaked the windows like velvet drapery. Mulligan pulled his watch from his pocket and flipped it open. 3:20 a.m. it read. If his hunch was right, he hadn't much time left. After several minutes, Krundler returned with an enormous volume and dropped it on the desk with a loud bang. He flipped it open and began thumbing through the pages at such a leisurely pace that it took all the self-control Mulligan possessed to keep from shoving the old man aside and frantically continuing the search himself. Finally, the aged archivist stopped turning and said, "Aha, here we are!" He flipped the book around towards Mulligan who held his notepad at the ready. He quickly scanned the page which provided a photograph and outdated biography for each subject. He was able to connect models one through four to the list of victims right down to Edwin Devonshire. As he suspected, model number 5 was Eliza Devonshire, but when he flipped the page his heart skipped several beats. Staring back at him from the page, looking demure and beautiful as ever was none other than Lucy. He read and re-read the caption next to the picture just to make sure he wasn't imagining it, but each time it stated "Lucille Devonshire, production model #6". He became aware that his jaw was hanging open and quickly closed it. He looked up at Krendler who was regarding him with a smile.
"I see you are quite taken with number six. The 'unofficial' Prime Model. I must admit she is rather attractive for a machine", said Harold.
"I have to go!", said James heading towards the door not hearing the mystified sounding "You're welcome" from behind him.



CHAPTER 14
James Mulligan didn't stop running until he reached the front desk of the precinct.
"I need to get to the Clockwork quarter immediately!'
He yelled it with such impetus that the sleepy young cadet behind the podium jumped with a start.
"Of course, Sir", he said blinking his bright blue eyes and donning his hat. "Follow me to the parking yard."
The parking yard at this hour was as quiet as the grave. The yard master on duty barely registered acknowledgement as the two officers ran by with cries of an "emergency." The cadet quickly located a vacant chariot and leapt behind the controls. Mulligan jumped in the seat beside him and the lad pushed both levers forward causing the cart to jolt forward. Mulligan almost tumbled over backwards as they tore out of the yard into the vacant streets. A smile bloomed on the cadet's face as he was obviously enjoying the rare moment of excitement his job occasionally afforded him. He pushed a button and the green police lanterns ignited as they flew down the bumpy streets.

Before the vehicle had come to a complete stop, Mulligan had already jumped free and landed with a squeal of his prosthetic knee. He rushed past the receptionist, ignoring her requests to assist him and charged up the stairwell. As he burst through the door leading to the 10th floor he could immediately tell something was wrong. The hall lights had been extinguished leaving only a sliver of deep orange puncturing the blackness that seemed to come from somewhere around the Devonshires' door. The phonograph still blared music but it sounded as if it were skipping and kept playing a two second loop over and over. But what seemed most odd was through all this Mulligan could swear he could hear a faint whirring sound much like the props of an airship. It was an impossibility of course as the city was a no-fly zone. James had no time to give it further consideration as he slid stealthily down the hall. The bedlam of music and prop sounds grew louder with each step until he was just outside the door. He knew he should wait for the cadet, his only back-up, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity slip away. He pulled his pistol and flipped the safety off. The pistol gave a sharp hiss as the chamber was charged. Mulligan hoped the noise from inside the flat would be enough to cover this blunder. He gently pushed the door open. The lights inside the apartment seemed to be out as well. The orange light originating from the sitting room fireplace sliced briefly into the hallway. Just enough that James could make out the Devonshire servant lying face down in the corridor with a knife sticking out of the back of his head. Mulligan carefully picked his way down the hall avoiding the dark pool of fluid that was growing around the downed Grimes. In the dim light of the hearth's tepid fire Mulligan could make out the outline of a crouched figure in the corner with his back to the detective. A sickening sound of metal scraping on wet metal came from the direction of the crouched humanoid. A shining blade flashed in the light as the man struggled with his labors.
"Don't move!", yelled Mulligan as he leveled his weapon at the intruder's exposed back. The man ignored the command and stood up to face the detective. He was exactly as Eliza had described him. The long coat and scarf shrouding most of his physical features. He regarded Mulligan with his expressionless, black lenses, but said nothing. Even in the fire's brief light Mulligan could see a long thin blade flashing as it hung from the assassin's right hand. James couldn't see the small object dripping with fluids that was in the left hand, but he had a pretty good guess what it was. Now that the man had stood up he no longer obscured the slight frame of Eliza Devonshire who lay motionless on the floor.
"You son of a bitch!", yelled Mulligan with unbridled rage. "Drop whatever you're holding and lay face down on the ground!"
The attacker began to turn as if to leave. It was all Mulligan needed. He squeezed the trigger of the Sakai. The gun hissed loudly and recoiled. The shell struck the attacker in the right shoulder with a dull "phut". The man took a step backwards and dropped the knife he was holding, but did not utter a sound. Before Mulligan could fire off a another shot, the assassin was sprinting towards the adjacent room to the detective's right. Mulligan ran after him and took a second shot through the doorway which flew over his target's head and shattered one of the many clocks which hung on the far wall. The propeller sound grew to deafening proportions as he chased the killer through the long, dark dining room. Suddenly, the assassin spun to his left and leapt out an open window. Mulligan ran to the window expecting to find the fellow laying broken on the cobblestones below. Instead he was stunned to see the man dangling from a rope outside the window. A rope which hung from a small airship that hovered overhead. Mulligan took aim and fired at the suspect but the airship had already began to climb and then quickly flew around the corner of the building out of sight.
"Damnit!", yelled Mulligan at the fading sound of the retreating ship. Behind him something stirred. He whirled around like a top, the barrel of his gun searching for the source of the sound.
"Sir?", asked the young cadet who had driven him there.
Mulligan's arm dropped to his side and he stepped past the young man into the sitting room. He knelt down next to Eliza's body. The killer didn't have time to skin her, but the top of her head had been cut open and her thought box was removed.
"No doubt", thought Mulligan, "in the hands of that fucking madman."
Mulligan respectfully covered the lifeless Clockwork's face with a handkerchief. Then he put on his gloves and picked up the knife that was dropped by the suspect. It was a curious blade. Long and slender, too fragile to be an adequate fighting weapon.
"Surgical, perhaps", thought Mulligan and made a mental note to ask Joshua next time he had the chance. With Eliza gone, he knew exactly who was the killer's next target. He had to get there first. As the light of the new day crept into the windows he knew he didn’t have much time left.
"Sir, are you all right?", the cadet asked from behind him. The sudden return to the moment brought up all the frustration Mulligan had been feeling. The death of Eliza, the danger Lucy faced brought him to a boil and he vented towards the only other person he could at the moment.
"What the hell is going on around here?", he yelled at the startled lad. "Flight over any N.U.K city is prohibited! Where in the hell was Her Majesty's Airguard?! Why wasn't an officer appointed to watch over Eliza Devonshire when her companion was fucking murdered only days ago?! Because she's a Clockwork, she doesn't matter, right?"
The poor cadet could only stammer "I...I don't know, Sir. Honestly, I..."
Mulligan immediately felt foolish for his outburst and couldn't look at the boy for several seconds. Finally he sighed and said, "I'm sorry, officer...?"
"Jenkins", said the cadet timidly.
"Right, Jenkins. I need a Ministry flight to Central right away."
"Sir...", replied the cadet with fear of what was sure to be another berating, "That's not possible. It would take hours to arrange it."
"Then I need a ride to the skydocks immediately. Please."
The young man looked confused. "Shouldn't we wait at the scene?", he asked.
"Fine. You wait. Give me the keys."
"But, Sir..."
"I'm ordering you, Cadet", said Mulligan with some of his previous fury returning to his voice, "Give me those keys, now!"
The young officer fumbled around in his pocket till he located a large bronze key which the detective snatched from his hand.
"Get on a pneumagraph as soon as you can! Tell Commandant Archer at M.C.A. Central to send someone to the house of Detective James Mulligan right away! He'll know what to do!"
Before the boy could say another word, Mulligan was already at the stairs. He bolted through the lobby oblivious to the receptionist's "have a nice day" and quickly located the chariot parked curbside. He slid into the driver's position and pushed the key home. With a turn of the key he felt the tumblers click into place and heard the boiler begin to hiss and chug. He shoved both levers forward to full speed. The iron wheels spun for a moment before finding purchase on the wet cobblestones. He drove with the reckless purpose of a madman, weaving in and out of the sparse early morning traffic. Caution's voice cried out in his mind but was quickly shouted down by sheer panic. With the skyport's first flights not scheduled to leave for hours, he knew of only one place to go, even if he didn't know what he would do when he got there.



CHAPTER 15
The Kestrel was almost invisible as it melded into the surrounding predawn darkness. A single lamp in the window of the Captain's quarters was the only sign of life, but slightly bolstered Mulligan's already dwindling hopes. He ran up the gangway and frantically knocked on the cabin door. A moments silence followed and then came footsteps which grew louder as they approached. The door opened to reveal a sleepy looking Jana dressed in a brief nightgown rubbing the sleep from her eyes. James was struck with amazement that anyone could look so good within moments of waking up.
"James", she said in raspy whisper, "what are yeh doing here?"
"Jana, I'm sorry, but please, I've nowhere else to turn. I know we parted on rocky terms yesterday, but.."
"Yeh thought you'd patch things up by dropping by at an ungodly hour and interrupting my much needed rest?", offered Jana with an unmistakable hint of sarcasm in spite of her sleepy state.
"Jana, please. I have nowhere else to turn..."
"I told yeh yesterday, it was nothing personal, Mr. Mulligan. I am willing to overturn that decision", said Jana with resolution. As she turned to shut the door on him once more, James played the only card he had left in his hand: the truth.
"I am Detective James Mulligan from M.C.A. If you don't help me someone will be murdered!" He blurted the whole explanation out with such desperation, he wondered if Windfury would doubt it's credibility, let alone his sanity. But it seemed to work. Jana paused with a look of concern on her face.
"M.C.A.? Is that what this is about?", asked Jana with realization replacing the sleepiness in her eyes. "That means you must be working the 'Slayer' case."
James nodded gravely. "I know who he's targeted next. She's someone very dear to me and if I don't get there soon, she will die."
A small tense smile played on Jana's lips and her eyes dropped to the ground. "Now I understand", she said with short laugh. "I just can't believe I didn't see it before." She returned her gaze to meet his. "Very well, 'Detective James Mulligan'", she said still smiling, "I'll help yeh, but my price has doubled."
"Of course", said Mulligan, "anything you require."
"Yeh have yourself a deal, Detective Mulligan. Now if you will just give me a moment, I need to change into something more befitting our journey."
Before Mulligan could say another word the door had closed. In a matter of minutes, Captain Windfury stepped from her quarters looking like a force to be reckoned with, right down the grim expression she wore on her pretty features. She walked over to the wheel where she briskly cranked a lever around several times and spoke into a brass horn.
"Now hear this! All hands on deck", her voice blared over the phonograph system.
Within seconds the pounding of footsteps could be heard as the crew charged up to the deck from their sleeping quarters in the holds below.
"Gentlemen, I need this ship flightworthy as of 5 minutes ago!" she said in a loud clear voice.
"How long till the boiler is ready, Benedict?" she addressed to the stout bearded man Mulligan recognized as the maintenance engineer.
"At least 30 minutes, Captain."
"Make it 15!" she said with such authority, it was clear to all there would be no argument.
"Aye, Captain", he said before disappearing below decks.
"Whitman!"
The gunner stood up a little straighter, but his expression of disdain towards his current situation didn't dissipate in the slightest.
"Spare me the insolence, Whitman. I need the guns at the ready. Now!"
"Aye, Captain", said the crewman, with such emphasis on the last word, the bitterness was unmistakable. Nevertheless, the gunner also made his way below decks.
"Reg!"
The Clockwork's face was a mask of inscrutable calm as he awaited his orders.
"We are sailing for Central. Chart me the quickest course you can."
"I will have it ready in 5, Captain."
Windfury smiled and simply said, "Good man."
"The rest of you, I want the rigging checked and secured and I want tea in my cabin by the time we shove off. That is all."
The remaining crew darted off in different directions to attend to their respective tasks. Mulligan might have been impressed if he weren't so preoccupied with his own predicament. It seemed like an eternity to him before he finally heard the ships boiler begin to hiss with a sense of urgency to match his own.
"To your stations, gentlemen", said Jana over the phonograph as she took her place at the wheel. She then turned to the dismayed detective and said, "James, if you will please wait in the cabin, I'll be in to join yeh shortly."

The city was just a speck on the horizon when the door finally creaked open and Jana stepped inside.
"Why don't yeh help yourself to some tea, James, and, seeing as how we have some time, you can tell me what all this is about."
"I thought you didn't get mixed up in your passenger's affairs, Jana."
"In case you haven't noticed, I've already made exceptions on your behalf, Detective. At this point I'm willing to do it again."
James took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment to consider the ramifications of revealing the sensitive nature of his task before replying, "Okay." He then proceeded to give the captain a condensed version of his investigation. When he had finished, Jana sat back in her chair, a blank look on her face as she mulled over the pile of information that had been dropped in her lap.
"Sounds like serious business", she finally said, "There's just one thing I need to know: Do I have cause to be concerned, James?"
James could only laugh. "You're kidding right? Jana, you just saved my ass twice now. I am in your debt."
Her face relaxed a bit and the confident smile she usually wore returned to her expression.
Jana opened her mouth to reply when the ship suddenly violently shuddered. Smoke billowed around the side of the ship and across the cabin's windows.
Reginald burst through the door looking as calm as ever but said, "Captain, we have a bit of a situation..."
Jana didn't need to hear more. She had already donned her long coat. Mulligan followed close on her heels. As they stepped out into the bright sunlight James pulled his goggles on and blinked a few times. He turned towards the sounds of yelling coming from his right. Much to his alarm he saw another ship about 30 yards away that was tethered to the them broadside by a large harpoon. No doubt the source of the explosion.
The ship was large. Almost twice the size of the Kestrel. On the bow the word REQUIEM was printed in voluminous, gold script. A large, rowdy group of men lined the rails of the airship yelling incomprehensively en masse. Everything grew silent as a short man with curly black hair and an olive complexion stepped forward to the front of the crew.
"Granger", yelled Jana with recognition and scorn. "You're still alive, I see. Congratulations."
"Why, Jana", replied the short man, his voice oily smooth inspite of yelling, "do I detect an expression of concern for my well-being?"
"Dear Granger, I'm hurt", said Jana with mock umbrage in her voice.
"Of course, my dear. Tell me, was it out of this concern that you disabled my ship and robbed me of my cargo? Was it out of this concern that you left me adrift to die?!" The oily voice rose to an angry scream.
Jana seemed unfazed. "Haha. We both know that cargo was stolen to begin with, my dear Granger. And stealing from petty thieves, like yourself, is what Her Majesty pays me for. As for leaving you, well you’re still here, aren't yeh?"
Though his face was still flushed, Granger's voice regained some of its oily nature. "So I am, dear Jana. Let's see if we can say the same thing for you." With that, he disappeared behind his crew who began their tirade anew.
"To your stations, gentlemen. Guns at the ready!", yelled Windfury.
A perplexed Mulligan grabbed the young captain by her arm and exclaimed, "Jana, who is that? What's going on here?!"
Jana turned to face the detective and calmly said, "You might call him the competition, James, and it seems he is going to fire on us. You had better find something to hold onto."



CHAPTER 16
"Whitman!", yelled Windfury, "I want that tether cut, NOW!"
"Aye, Captain", the gunner's voice floated back from below decks over the din.
With a loud hiss the ship jerked as the cannon ball severed the line which held the two vessels bound.
"I need full steam!", Windfury barked. "Aye, Captain!", replied Reginald who managed to project his reply without sounding like he was shouting.
From across the void could be heard the voice of Granger screaming unintelligible commands, though it became clear soon enough what they were as a chorus of hisses came from the side of the other ship. The volley screamed past the occupants of The Kestrel, occasionally exploding into its wooden surface. Mercifully no one was injured for the moment.
The Clockwork pushed the throttle forward and the ship lurched in response. Jana spun the wheel to the right in an attempt to bring The Kestrel's starboard side along the bow of the other ship.
Then all hell broke loose.
A volley of shot, gun and cannon, came from both ships. Mulligan felt several shells fly past his person and strike the ship all around him. Holes in the deck bloomed everywhere punctuated by the sound of splintering wood. Benedict was struck and flew to the deck where he lay motionless.
Screams of anger and pain came from both sides, but more so from the deck of The Requiem where the crew was of greater number and more pressed together.
"James, take cover!", yelled Windfury.
"To hell with that!", James shot back as he drew his pistol. He adjusted the telescopic lens over his right eye. Fighting desperately to steady himself, he lined up the sights of the weapon on Granger. Fifty yards was a near impossible shot and the current conditions only made it worse. Mulligan swore audibly as he pulled the trigger. The gun hissed and kicked but at the last second one of Granger's crew ran into the path of the ball and fell to the deck dead. Mulligan dove behind the central support as Granger raised his rifle and returned fire. Windfury took advantage of the distraction and fired the pair of pistols she wielded towards the enemy captain forcing him to seek cover as well.

Though The Kestrel was greatly outnumbered they had already downed half of the other ships crew, Windfury having dropped five of them herself. The cannons had wreaked a great deal of damage to both ships. It was amazing that more of The Kestrel's crew weren't dead. From across the distance of the two ships Mulligan could hear the shrill screams of Granger over the noise:
"To hell with the cargo! Sink them! Kill the bitch! Send them all to hell!"
Granger's remaining crew retrained their weapons on The Kestrel's dirigible and opened fire.
Ping! Ping! Hiss! Ping!
It sounded like a hailstorm to Mulligan as the lead balls crashed into the metal dirigible occasionally tearing a small hole.
"Jana, how long can we stay aloft like this?!" he yelled.
Windfury ignored the question and instead addressed Whitman, "Gunner, I need a miracle, now!"
Below decks the steam that poured from the hole in the cannons' main supply line was making conditions almost unbearable. Whitman swore in exasperation, which only deepened when Reg burst through the door.
'What the bloody hell are you doing down here?!", Whitman spat at the Clockwork. "I need maintenance, not some artie's bullshit!"
Reginald registered no anger to the gunner's abuse, rather he calmly said, "Benedict is deeply wounded, so I'm afraid I'm all you've got at the moment."
Whitman swore profusely once more before addressing the Clockwork again. "Do you have any knowledge of pneumatics?", he inquired disdainfully.
Reg simply nodded.
"We've got a major hole in the main supply line. A lucky gunshot most likely. Anyways, it's robbing the cannons of maximum penetration. Can you fix it?", rasped Whitman, who's voice was giving way to fear.
As if to confirm this, the bow of The Kestrel sunk lower. They would most assuredly sink if action was not taken quickly.
Reginald said nothing, but ran to find the perforation in the line. He quickly located it and wrapped it in as much material as he could find. The canvas bandage became saturated and steam and hot water spat out around its edges.
"Try it now!", said Reginald.
Whitman exhaled fiercely and turned to aim the cannon in front of him at the Requiem's hull. He sighted the gun towards the lower stern of the ship, where (he hoped) the main boiler would most likely be located and pulled the firing lever.
The cannon hissed and the ball crashed into the enemy's hull. The whole ship rocked with the impact, but the ball, unable to penetrate the thick timbers, simply bounced off and plummeted towards the black clouds below.
"Godammit, I knew you were worthless!", yelled the gunner wiping the sweat from his face. The Kestrel shuddered and sank lower.
"I have an idea", yelled Reg. He ran from one cannon to the next shutting each down, leaving only the one Whitman sat next to operational. He then spun large brass wheel which shut down the active venting system for the ship's boiler. The needle on the meter shot into the yellow quickly making its way towards the red. He placed a clamp on the the only open gun's line and fully opened the valve above it.
"You fool!", exclaimed the dismayed gunner. "Are you trying to kill us all?!"
Reg smiled, his silver eyes gleaming, and said, "You're just going to have to trust me on this..."
The hose creaked as the pressure above the clamp steadily multiplied. If it wasn't opened soon, something would surely burst leaving the both of them dead and The Kestrel completely powerless.
Unholy groans began emanating from the boiler then the supply line started jerking spasmodically. Not taking his eyes from the pressure gauge, Reg said with the slightest tremor in his voice, "On my word, fire! And make sure it counts."
Whitman frowned and once again trained the cannon on his mark. Sweat poured from his forehead. His hands grew slick on the controls. He turned inward, attempting to tune out the chaos around him and focus his ears to hear the one thing that mattered...

"Fire!", came the Clockwork's voice clearly as he released the clamp.

The Kestrel rocked with enemy gunfire, but it didn't matter. Man and machine were one. Whitman closed his eyes and pulled the lever. Only after the hiss did he open them. Seconds that seemed like an eternity passed. Then came the loud CRACK! A hole grew in the side of the large ship out of which spewed an explosion of fire, steam, and debris. The two men stood in awe at what they had wrought and wondered how such an ugly noise could sound better than the most beautiful of music.

They had done it. One of the ship's boilers had exploded tearing the stern of the ship, propellers and all. Screams of terror came from the now sinking vessel, as its crew held on for dear life or fell to their deaths into the black sea below.
"NO!"
Granger's wail of anger reached across the void. Windfury adjusted her monocle hoping to catch a glimpse of the anguished face of her nemesis. She finally found him at the bow as he leapt onto a harpoon gun mounted there. A malicious grin contorted his face while he aimed the device as best he could.

"Impossible!", Winfury said aloud.
"No. Not if they have a secondary boiler, it’s not!", yelled James who had been watching the sequence of events through his own eyepieces.
Without another word they both aimed their weapons at the madman, but it was too late.
The harpoon sang through the air and collided with The Kestrel's hull, where it firmly embedded itself. In another second the line grew taut and the stern of the Kestrel began to sink as it was pulled down by the considerable bulk of The Requiem.
Mulligan turned to Jana. She looked at him with eyes wide with fear.
"James, I'm sorry", was all she said.
The two ships plunged through the sea of clouds which parted to accept them as they went down, down, down till the blackness rushed to close in behind them and all was still.