Skyjackers - Episode 3: The Winds of Justice (Skyjackers: Season One) by J.C. Staudt Page B
Authors: J.C. Staudt
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alright,” Janakki said.
“Shut up, Janakki. Don’t make it worse for yourself. I’ll
find a proper sanction for you later.”
“Not to worry,” said Gertrude. “If there’s anyone in all the
world capable of bending every threat to her will, it’s our Misty.”
***
Misty awoke the following day with mixed feelings. On
the one hand, she had never had so much fun making frisbees of her mother’s
porcelain dishware or feeding river piranhas with firecrackers disguised as
dragonflies. On the other hand, the food was running out, and there were no
servants to clean up after her, change her bed linens, or wash her clothes. She
had also realized that while there was no one around to pester her, there was
also no one around to fall victim to her schemes.
Wholly discontented with this state of affairs, Misty rolled
out of bed with a yawn and opened her bedroom door. The hallway was drafty, as
though someone had left all the windows open. She rubbed her eyes and nearly
stepped off the jagged cliff of splintered wood where the back staircase
should’ve been. In place of the rear wall of the house, she could see the
jungles of Azkatla far below.
“Isn’t this the way it goes,” she muttered. “When one door
closes, a hole opens up in your drawing room.”
The house had risen to a dizzying height. She was far too
high to jump, or even to make a rope from her bedsheets and climb down. All she
could do was trudge back to her room, shut the door, and crawl back into bed.
Someone would be around to get to her eventually, she hoped.
In fact, there was more than one person already on the way.
Jonathan was the first to arrive on the scene. He brought the Maelstrom as close to the floating mansion as he dared and ordered the crew to lower
ropes over the side. “Who’s coming with me? Any volunteers?”
The crew was silent.
“Alright, then,” he said with a sigh. “Look sharp, lads.
You’ll have to keep rising to stay alongside the building. I’ll be back in a
few minutes. And Manchester?”
“I know, Mr. Jonathan… don’t go anywhere without you.”
“Thank you, Manchester.” Jonathan swung off the deck and slid
down the rope, landing on the building’s roof with a soft thud. He dropped down
onto one of the eaves and climbed inside through an upstairs window.
Within, the house looked deserted. He found himself standing
in a bedroom—a girl’s, by the looks of it. The bed, dresser, nightstand, and
vanity were dusty. The air was thick and humid. Jonathan stepped into the hall.
A stretch of carpet bordered by hardwood ran the length of the hallway. At
either end, where the walls should’ve been, there was only empty air.
Jonathan made his way down the hallway, opening each door he
came to. Every closet and bedroom was empty, except for Misty’s. When he saw
the dark-haired girl lying there beneath the coverlet, his first thought was
that she might be dead. He entered the room and gave her a gentle shake.
Misty opened her eyes and rolled over with a groan. She took
on the confused expression one often does when waking to an unfamiliar sight.
Jonathan found the girl strangely familiar, but he couldn’t
put a finger on why. “It’s alright,” he told her. “I won’t hurt you. My name is
Jonathan Thorpe. I’m a sky marshal, and I’ve come to get you out of here.”
“Thorpe,” Misty repeated. She, too, found Jonathan familiar.
Then it came to her. This was the same sky marshal who had interrupted the
robbery at the Archduchess’s wedding. The same man her sister Vivian was so
taken with.
Misty prided herself on her ability to prey on the weaknesses
of others. She knew things about the members of her family that most of them
didn’t know themselves. For instance, she knew Vivian liked to test the men she
was fond of, or was considering being fond of. It was her dead giveaway. Vivian
was fond of this man, and that made him the perfect target.
It was then that Misty had a magnificent idea.
“Shut up, Janakki. Don’t make it worse for yourself. I’ll
find a proper sanction for you later.”
“Not to worry,” said Gertrude. “If there’s anyone in all the
world capable of bending every threat to her will, it’s our Misty.”
***
Misty awoke the following day with mixed feelings. On
the one hand, she had never had so much fun making frisbees of her mother’s
porcelain dishware or feeding river piranhas with firecrackers disguised as
dragonflies. On the other hand, the food was running out, and there were no
servants to clean up after her, change her bed linens, or wash her clothes. She
had also realized that while there was no one around to pester her, there was
also no one around to fall victim to her schemes.
Wholly discontented with this state of affairs, Misty rolled
out of bed with a yawn and opened her bedroom door. The hallway was drafty, as
though someone had left all the windows open. She rubbed her eyes and nearly
stepped off the jagged cliff of splintered wood where the back staircase
should’ve been. In place of the rear wall of the house, she could see the
jungles of Azkatla far below.
“Isn’t this the way it goes,” she muttered. “When one door
closes, a hole opens up in your drawing room.”
The house had risen to a dizzying height. She was far too
high to jump, or even to make a rope from her bedsheets and climb down. All she
could do was trudge back to her room, shut the door, and crawl back into bed.
Someone would be around to get to her eventually, she hoped.
In fact, there was more than one person already on the way.
Jonathan was the first to arrive on the scene. He brought the Maelstrom as close to the floating mansion as he dared and ordered the crew to lower
ropes over the side. “Who’s coming with me? Any volunteers?”
The crew was silent.
“Alright, then,” he said with a sigh. “Look sharp, lads.
You’ll have to keep rising to stay alongside the building. I’ll be back in a
few minutes. And Manchester?”
“I know, Mr. Jonathan… don’t go anywhere without you.”
“Thank you, Manchester.” Jonathan swung off the deck and slid
down the rope, landing on the building’s roof with a soft thud. He dropped down
onto one of the eaves and climbed inside through an upstairs window.
Within, the house looked deserted. He found himself standing
in a bedroom—a girl’s, by the looks of it. The bed, dresser, nightstand, and
vanity were dusty. The air was thick and humid. Jonathan stepped into the hall.
A stretch of carpet bordered by hardwood ran the length of the hallway. At
either end, where the walls should’ve been, there was only empty air.
Jonathan made his way down the hallway, opening each door he
came to. Every closet and bedroom was empty, except for Misty’s. When he saw
the dark-haired girl lying there beneath the coverlet, his first thought was
that she might be dead. He entered the room and gave her a gentle shake.
Misty opened her eyes and rolled over with a groan. She took
on the confused expression one often does when waking to an unfamiliar sight.
Jonathan found the girl strangely familiar, but he couldn’t
put a finger on why. “It’s alright,” he told her. “I won’t hurt you. My name is
Jonathan Thorpe. I’m a sky marshal, and I’ve come to get you out of here.”
“Thorpe,” Misty repeated. She, too, found Jonathan familiar.
Then it came to her. This was the same sky marshal who had interrupted the
robbery at the Archduchess’s wedding. The same man her sister Vivian was so
taken with.
Misty prided herself on her ability to prey on the weaknesses
of others. She knew things about the members of her family that most of them
didn’t know themselves. For instance, she knew Vivian liked to test the men she
was fond of, or was considering being fond of. It was her dead giveaway. Vivian
was fond of this man, and that made him the perfect target.
It was then that Misty had a magnificent idea.
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