2015 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide Read online

  “Hey, you stupid Bogeyman,” she said. “This thing’s broken. Fix it.”

  David watched as she smacked the mangled latch again and again with her open palm, sending a metallic warble echoing down the duct. The sled’s played its scanning laser in their direction, its other arms continuing their task.

  David couldn’t fight back the sob that erupted from deep in his throat. He’d failed his parents. He’d failed himself. Worst of all, he’d failed to take care of his little sister.

  Abby smacked the grating, startling him. “Give me your phone.” Her eyes were more intense than he’d ever seen.

  “There’s no time,” David snapped. “The sterili—”

  “Give me your phone, Davie.”

  David shoved the device through the louvers. “Bogeyman.” Abby waved the phone in front of the engineer’s visor, then the sensing arm. The arm unfolded and the red light winked on then off, sensing no problems.

  “It’s no use,” said David.

  A soft crack came from the phone, and David realized Abby had opened the phone too far, snapping its ancient hinge. Small pieces of plastic clinked through the louvers, sucked away as she thrust the phone at the sensing arm again.

  The red light snapped on. Three clawed arms released the maneuvering belt and reached for the damaged phone. Retreating into the cowling, Abby coaxed them in. The body of the sled struck the edges of the cowl, jets firing to hold its position as its arms stretched for the phone, new segments unfolding from the MMU’s casings to increase its range. One set of claws snatched the phone from her tiny fingers and she followed, scrambling along the walls of the cowling toward the MMU. Taking both of the engineer’s drifting tethers in hand, she pushed off from the sled, rolled and landed on the grating a half second later.

  “What are you doing?”

  She only smiled back, her face illuminated by bands of brightening white light stabbing out from behind him. The main sterilizing pulse must be only seconds away.

  Abby clipped the good tether to the grating’s latch and shoved the other one through the louvers for David. Arms tight against her sides, tiny legs springing taut, she dove at the MMU. In the instant she flashed by the sled, she pulled the phone from the clawed grip of the repair arms and flew headfirst down the bottomless chamber beyond.

  The grating groaned, shifting outward in his grip.

  Abby...you’re a genius.

  David looped the second tether in and out of the louvers near the latch as the MMU pursued Abby. Gas jets fired and the cables unspooled as it receded. David did the math in his head. The sled was going to catch her in seconds. Probably before the working tethers ran out.

  He coughed, fumes from his smoldering clothes reaching his nose.

  She was so far away. So small. Something orange moved against the dark brown of her jumpsuit, and suddenly she was diminishing even faster, no more than a pinpoint against the shipscape.

  Vapor trails formed behind the MMU as it switched to maximum. The light behind him throbbed brighter. With a screech of tearing metal, the tethers straightened and the grate whipped away, pulling David into the sky.

  …………………………

  David manually closed the lock. Tiny blisters dotted his skin. Every twitch brought little stabs of pain.

  “I’m sorry, Davie.” Abby wiped her nose on a sleeve. “He scared me so much. Then, then you said you weren’t scared—not even a little. I just had to know if he was real.”

  “Didn’t you think even once about all the rules you were breaking? Everything that could go wrong?”

  “‘Course, I did.” She pinned him with her eyes. “But people shouldn’t be scared of stuff unless it’s real. Not even the real stuff if they can figure out what to do.”

  David smiled. Who was this kid?

  “Next time Elliot says the Bogeyman is going to get me or one of my friends, I’m gonna call him a big, ugly liar.”

  “Oh?”

  “And a jerk.”

  David’s smile faded as he saw three people at the end of the spar. Drifting just inside the door leading to the habitation modules were Mom and Dad. And to one side, the captain.

  Dad looked furious. David’s heart hurt at the sight, almost as much as when he looked at Mom’s red, swollen eyes.

  The captain’s expression made no sense. How many times had he reminded them—reminded everyone—of the rules? The rules were meant to be followed. People who didn’t follow the rules were a hazard to everyone. His head was cocked to one side as if he were sizing them up, especially Abby. And he was grinning.

  David remembered the call the captain had received in the courtyard and how he’d seemed annoyed with whoever he was talking to. Maybe there were jobs for people who could think outside of the ship, too.

  “Abby, I never answered your question.” David reached out and took Abby’s hand. “I don’t think you’re going to be a good big sister.”

  Abby’s eyes welled with tears and she looked away.

  Taking her chin in his hand, David turned her eyes to meet his. “You’re going to be amazing.”

  She took a second to process before she squealed, arms clamping around him, squeezing the fire out of every little blister.

  And together they drifted toward home.

  The Mystery of the Missing Clockwork Birds

  Deanna Baran

  Deanna Baran lives in Texas and is a librarian and former museum curator. She writes in between cups of tea, playing Go, and trading postcards with people around the world.

  “These sandwiches are way better than black bread and fishpickles,” I told the waiter, who was a boy about my age. “Can I have some more?”

  He seemed amused as he said, “Yes, sir.” I felt a little embarrassed. The people who usually took tea in an Auraen airship were rich, important people, like ambassadors and nobility and industrialists. They wouldn’t have to eat black bread and fishpickles unless they wanted to and would think that taking more than one or two sandwiches would be greedy. But I was hungry. And these sandwiches were amazing.

  The waiter came back with six more sandwiches on a silver salver, and I said, “Thanks!” Instead of hurrying away to the other tables, whose occupants were mostly done eating and were now reading or conversing quietly, he lingered around mine for a bit.

  “Is this your first time in an airship?” the waiter kindly asked me.

  “We’ve flown Paris to London a few times,” I said. “And Dresden to Munich. And Frankfurt to Dusseldorf. But never this long of a journey. Rome, Athens, and Constantinople!” I felt self-conscious again. “But, um, I’m sure you’ve made the trip so many times.”

  “My father’s the elevator of the Nephele,” the waiter told me, proud to share that information. “When I’m older, I’ll get to join the crew, too. But for now, I get to wait tables.”

  “The elevator?” I asked blankly.

  “Well, actually, there’s two,” said the boy. “There’s two of everything for these long trips, because there are two twelve-hour shifts. Two captains, two elevators, two navigators, two coxswains. That sort of thing.”

  “The elevator?” I repeated.

  “Oh. The elevator is the pilot who controls the altitude of an airship. The steersman is the pilot who steers the lateral direction. It takes a very strong man to be the elevator!” Now it was my waiter’s turn to feel self-conscious. “I don’t usually see boys my age traveling first class on these trips.”

  And my turn for boasting. “I’m traveling with Professor Zoltán. He’s only the greatest automaton engineer in Europe. We’re delivering some of his automata, in person, to a client of his. I’m only his apprentice, but someday, I’ll master all his secrets.”

  We grinned at each other. We traded names – he was William; I was Kázmér – and he soon disappeared back into the kitchen with a plate full of crumbs.

  Those sandwiches were amazing.

  …………………………

  The Professor didn’t bo
ther to answer my knock, so I had to search my pockets for my key before I could slide the bolt that secured our cabin. Professor Zoltán was sitting on his rumpled berth in our room, a magnifier loupe over his eye as he carefully manipulated tiny gears and clockwork spread out on his lap desk. Sheets and blankets were shoved haphazardly to the foot of his bed, but his workspace was neat and tidy. A cool breeze came through the open sliding windows. I stayed by the doorway, even though I knew there was no danger of the airship rolling and tipping me out the window. I loved watching us pass through clouds, but it always unnerved me to see our shadow slipping across the ground beneath us. Far, far, beneath us.

  “They’ve finished putting the lunch things out of the way, Professor,” I said. “Wouldn’t the light be better on the observation deck?” What I wanted to say was, “If we’re not doing anything, I’d like to take a nap, so go work somewhere else,” but of course, I couldn’t.

  The Professor nudged the locked case under his berth with his heel, as though to reassure himself it was still there. “I refuse to leave my little pets unattended. I will not feel safe until we have delivered them. They must not fall into the wrong hands.” He shifted his focus back to the tiny inner workings strewn in front of him.

  I understood. They were some of the Professor’s cleverest work yet. There were some larger automata safely stowed away in the cargo area, but this small case stayed with him at all times. In it were four beautiful, jeweled clockwork birds. They could sing five different songs separately or in harmony. While they were spiffy little knickknacks by themselves, they also concealed a listening device of the most recent innovation. While the Ottoman Empire had discarded the practice of “survival of the fittest” long ago, there was plenty enough intrigue amongst the upper ranks of the nobility that made such devices far more valuable than the worth of their gold and jewels. Many people would do much to eavesdrop on their enemies.

  “I guess I’ll go back to the observation deck,” I said. “We should land in Athens in about two hours.”

  The Professor nodded, his eyes still fixed on his work. “Amuse yourself for now. I will ask you to resume work on your clockwork hedgehog after the Nephele has departed Athens.”

  I escaped. Working on the small bits and pieces of my clockwork hedgehog made my eyes cross and my fingers clumsy. It hurt just thinking about it.

  I found myself on the first-class observation deck where I had dined earlier. There were maybe a dozen first-class passengers on this trip, including the Professor and me. Most people traveled in third class, crammed together in closely grouped chairs, but in first class we had the options of drifting between comfortable private cabins or the roomy observation deck. For short trips, it didn’t matter so much; for longer trips, it made all the difference. I knew it was reflected in the price difference, but Professor Zoltán’s clients seemed incapable of doing anything with money but spend it lavishly.

  I took a table near the door that led to the first-class private cabins, not too close to any of the windows that lined the two outer walls of the observation deck. I had a deck of cards in my pocket and soon became absorbed in solitaire. I was vaguely aware of my fellow passengers. The occasional staff member circulated discreetly through the room, popping in and out of doors like some automaton on a clock, never too far away from a request for assistance. A woman in a green dress needed a stamp for a postcard. A man in a brown sack suit and striped trousers requested the London Times. A pair of older women was consulting Baedeker’s Egypt. Three men in tailcoats had a large map spread between them on a table, marching salt shakers and pocket watches across the map while arguing in Italian. A young woman sitting near an open window was knitting a baby’s jacket from fluffy yellow wool. Two men in expensive silk vests and frock coats were each engrossed in his own reading.

  “Black seven on red eight,” advised a voice to my side. I jumped.

  “William! I didn’t see you.” I also hadn’t seen the black seven. I moved the card, flipped the card underneath, and came up with my ace of diamonds. Good card.

  “May I get you anything?” he asked politely.

  Seeing that I had just finished my lunch within the half-hour, I wasn’t really needing anything. “I’m fine. What’s for dinner?”

  “Cold capon and ham,” he said. “Caviar and foie gras, if you care for it.”

  I’d rather eat fishpickles. “It sounds like the menu for a fancy picnic,” I said.

  “No flames are allowed on board,” William replied simply. “It’s a safety issue. We confiscate everyone’s matches and pipes and things before takeoff. The hydrogen, you know. But that also means no hot water for washing up, and no hot food or hot drink.”

  I’d sort of noticed it on the shorter trips, but now that he mentioned it, it made sense.

  “So, do you know how many people are continuing all the way to Constantinople?” I asked William, nodding my head at the other people traveling first-class.

  “You and the Professor are the only ones,” said William. “Everyone else will disembark in Athens. Of course, new people will come on board for the next leg of the journey.”

  William seemed to know all sorts of things. He had stories about Greece, about Rome, and places he’d visited when the airships were grounded due to weather. He talked about how the furniture was wicker and the piano was aluminum and the staff and crew were kept to a minimum to keep the weight of the airship down. He told me how the Nephele never really flies in a straight line; it oscillates around its flight path in something called ‘curvilinear flight’. He had definite opinions about rigid airships versus semirigid airships versus nonrigid airships, and talked at great length about envelopes and radial rings and drag and the center of gravity. He talked about how he was saving his money and building a little dirigible of his own back home, just big enough for one, to race at fairs and festivals.

  I didn’t know anything about real airships, but it suddenly occurred to me that a little mechanical airship that could fly around could be quite popular. How to keep it from crashing without a pilot or an elevator? How to not lose it in a tree or in a lake? I needed to find out more about airships from William, and I needed to run the idea past Professor Zoltán for his input once I had my basic ideas sketched out on paper. “Wait right here! I need to get my ideas notebook!”

  I left William with my abandoned game of solitaire and nearly tripped over my feet in my haste to get back to the cabin I shared with the Professor. The bolt had been shot home again, but my key was in my pocket. I burst into the room in my quest for the notebook I keep all my inspiration for future projects – and promptly forgot about it.

  The curtains still fluttered next to the open window. Professor Zoltán was sprawled untidily on the floor.

  …………………………

  I’m not really sure how they got there, but the captain and the man in the brown suit, who was a German medical doctor, were both standing in the compartment with me.

  “Insensible,” said Dr. Schmidt, kneeling next to his patient. “Cold skin. Feeble pulse. Irregular dilation of the pupil. A concussion.” He attempted to rouse the Professor by shakes and barking questions in his ear. The Professor was still unconscious, but was pitching around on the floor, muttering unintelligibly in our native Hungarian. He was my brilliant Professor, but I barely recognized him like this.

  I didn’t have much time before the Professor began to retch. I grabbed the chamber pot from the washstand and tried to ignore the sounds he made while I held it steady. Dr. Schmidt seemed pleased as he helped us.

  “He will recover,” Dr. Schmidt said, checking Professor Zoltán’s pulse and observing his breathing after we had wiped him up and sent the chamber pot off with the steward for cleaning. “I will prepare a mustard poultice to stimulate his blood. We will let him rest and heal, and perhaps he will be able to tell us something of his ordeal.”

  I helped the Professor undress and pulled down the sheets of the neatly made bed, while the doctor prepa
red a mustard poultice on a flannel and placed it on the Professor’s chest. The captain looked concerned and confused as we three piled into the narrow passageway. The captain locked the cabin door with his own key. This had never happened before. Who would do such a thing? And why on the Nephele?

  “A thief!” I said, excited and upset and not able to shout like I wanted to shout because the Professor wasn’t to be disturbed. “His case is missing! Someone knocked him on the head and stole it! Those birds can’t be replaced!”

  “The airship lands in an hour,” the captain said. “Surely we cannot detain our passengers and interrogate them like criminals and prevent them from leaving until the case is found! They would be shocked! Insulted!”

  “Why not?” I asked, still upset. Wasn’t the captain in charge? Why didn’t he act like it? There was nothing I could do to help the Professor’s physical state. Why couldn’t I at least help him retrieve his birds? They had to still be on the airship, but once we landed, I knew they would vanish for good.

  The doctor shooed me towards the observation deck with an impatient “let-the-grownups-talk” sort of gesture. I wasn’t about to be rid of so easily, but I saw William lurking at the end of the passageway. “Come with me,” he whispered loudly, and I forced myself to follow him back to the table.

  My fellow passengers were still in their places with books and maps and letters and salt shakers, unaware of the drama that had just unfolded nearby. Or was one of them pretending and waiting to make an escape with those priceless clockwork birds once we landed in Athens...?

  “We need to be detectives,” William said quietly. “You need to calm down and think. We only have an hour to solve the mystery.”

  That made me settle down and focus. “All right.”

  “Now, let’s draw a map,” said William. He grabbed some notepaper and a fountain pen from a writing desk and sketched out a rough oval, the shape of the gondola. “Now, at this end of the gondola, we have seven private sleeping cabins and a workstation for supplies.” He drew a few lines. Four compartments on the left, four on the right, with a hallway between them. “There’s the door to the passage. On this side of the door, you have the first-class observation deck.” He drew more lines. “And then over here, you have the kitchen, which separates the first-class observation deck from the third-class observation deck.”