Airborn by Kenneth Oppel Page B

“Surely, Mr. Cruse, you’renot suggesting that every drop of the ocean has been charted?”
    And she’d be right, of course.
    “What is it you’re looking for, lad?” Grantham had asked in his friendly way.
    “What’s over here? Much?”
    “Don’t think so. We try to stay out of that region, actually.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Winds are capricious all through there—that’s why it’s called the Sisyphus Triangle. There’s been airships that went in and never came out. I’ve heard rumors about garbled distress calls, compass needles spinning madly, instruments all screwy. Luckily there’s not much need to use those airways. They don’t lead anywhere of particular interest.”
    I looked at the dotted line of our course and made a quick calculation. Tomorrow at breakfast we’d be as close to the invisible island as we were likely to get.
    At dinner, I’d left a note in Kate’s napkin, telling her what I’d learned. Baz caught me folding it up. He didn’t say anything, just gave me a look, like a cat that had taken an entire budgie in its mouth and was sitting very still, hoping no one would notice. Then he winked and walked off. I blushed…
    And almost blushed again now in the crow’s nest as I remembered it. I liked talking to her, but sometimes I’d feel her eyes on me and I’d be painfully aware of the way my words sounded or of my body hanging around me like a big floppy suit of clothing, and I wouldn’t know how to stand properly, and what was my arm doing there, and was there a bit of spit on my upper lip?
    I wondered if she was awake, sitting up already at her stateroom windows, camera ready, waiting for first light. Midnight was long past; the passengers were all asleep, and only the crew and the Aurora were awake, working and moving through the sky.
    At night when the sky is scalloped with clouds and the moon does a vanishing act, you fall back on instinct when looking for moving objects. Almost like looking for shadows on shadow.
    I was gazing off our port stern when I felt one of those little shifts in the sky. From the corner of my eye, some of the stars seemed to disappear. I looked back, and of course there was nothing. But it spooked me some. My imagination was all riled up from Kate’s story and her grandpa’s journal.
    Then more stars were suddenly snuffed out, and a long slash of darkness tilted across the sky. I blinked. At first it was impossible to tell how big itwas or how close, and I was squinting, face pressed so close against the glass dome I was starting to fog it up. The moon slid out from behind the clouds, and I fell back in surprise as an enormous pair of dark wings soared over me. I swirled around, nearly braining myself against the glass, but the moon was blotted out once again and all I had to see by were a few listless stars.
    Something had landed on the Aurora.
    In shadow it hunched there, not fifty feet from my observation post. Its enormous wings were half folded back like some fearsome gargoyle. An eye flashed as its head turned slightly. It took a step toward me. I lost my wits, I’ll admit, and my mind flooded with nightmare thoughts. I should call the bridge, I should call Kate, I should get down that ladder faster than a fireman on a pole! It was one thing to think about mysterious creatures, another to have one a few feet away.
    It took another step.
    The moon came back, and the creature’s white feathered body gleamed in the light. Right away I noticed its beak, a long hooked thing. It had webbed feet.
    It was nothing more than an albatross. It folded its wings against its body and took a fewmore steps toward my post.
    I was mightily relieved I hadn’t called the bridge. I could imagine my half-throttled voice reporting a giant seagull. The jokes would become legendary: Young Matt Cruse gave himself a bit of a fright when a seagull flew by. I heard it was a budgie. But you know how much bigger things look at night! Perhaps we should’ve allowed him