Read Online The Aviator by Morgan Karpiel - Free Book Online Page B

have ever known. You must stay strong now.”
    “He cannot be dead. I would know. I would—” She shook her head, hating the tears as they came. “I would know.”
    He opened his mouth, then paused, rethinking his reply. “By tomorrow, we should be able to send a search vessel out to check the route. We will make every effort to find him.”
    “Tomorrow? But he couldn’t be more than one flight hour out. If they crashed the airship, the wreckage would be close. He might still be alive.”
    “The docks are burning. We can do nothing.”
    “How can you say that? We could take another airship, or a boat, or a raft. It doesn’t matter! We could find them, now, tonight.”
    He grimaced, wincing through smoke. “We are burning . There may still be explosives on the airships, or the boats. There may agents of the Sultans anywhere. We must restore order, check the equipment and secure the station. We can do nothing else.”
    “You won’t let me take one of my own airships, George?”
    He registered the use of his given name with look of regret, placing his hand on her arm. “Not until we know it is safe. Many of our friends are dead. We must be brave. We must not endanger ourselves, or others, in our grief. We will send a search vessel tomorrow, perhaps an airship too. Every effort will be made, I promise you.”
    She swallowed the harsh taste of blood, struggling against the image of Nathan in the water, swallowed by blackness. She glared across the broken docks, desperation turning to anger, to strength.
    Tomorrow would be too late. If there was wreckage on the surface to mark the location, it would only burn for a few hours. Then it would drift and vanish with the currents by morning, spread over an area so wide that it might never be found. At night, in the blackness, a fire on the ocean could be seen for miles. From the sky, it could be seen forever.
    There had to be way to get into the air, an airship the Sultans would not have been able to reach.
    If you knew me that well, you might have become aware, over the past ten years, that I don’t just build airships.
    He’d said it right before he slammed the door on her.
    She turned in realization, lifting her gaze to the lighthouse on the hill above. The test hangar loomed at the top, a private domain with its own staff, well guarded at all hours.
    “A lovely chat, your grace.” She quipped, stepping past him to take the reins of his horse.
    “What on Earth are you doing?”
    Grabbing hold of the pommel, she dragged herself into the saddle, the tatters of her dress, sans petticoat, accommodating a reasonable seat.
    “Gilda!”
    “Come now, surely you don’t believe this animal has a bomb strapped to it. I assure you, it is perfectly fit for flying.”
    “My dear—”
    “Back for tea.” She kicked the mare’s haunches, rising in the stirrups and balancing against its jostling stride as the animal galloped for the road.

    The guards were impossible, but Nathan’s flight technicians, a pair of wide-eyed men barely out of their mother’s arms, were easily convinced, unlocking door after door for the Mad Lady Sinclair in her ruined dress. A soft globe of lantern light played around them as they led her through the hangar, the scraping sound of their boots creating long echoes in the darkness. Vague shapes loomed in shadow, pieces of skeletal metal framework and heavy, elongated cages. Desks and drawing boards, lumber, wire and rolls of pale canvas lined the path. Plastic heads, torsos and arms lay scraped and dismembered in piles.
    “Good Lord,” she whispered.
    “Testers, your ladyship. Mr. Lanchard went through hundreds of them. We always bring back what we can find from the crashes.”
    Her breath quickened, the air thick and dizzying. “Very thorough.”
    “He’s particular about things.”
    “Has he made any successful flights?”
    “The last one flew over the ocean for quite some time.”
    “Before crashing?”
    “Harder to find all the pieces