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through the air was as much a part of me as breathing was, and I could tell instantly—as could every man on board the Tesla —when something was awry with the engines. A slight change in tempo in the vibration, or a higher tone in the thrum, was enough to have the crew looking to me with concerned eyes.
    “You’re not going to have any problems, though, are you?” I asked the ship softly as I made my way down a small metal ladder to the lower gangway. “You know how important this trip is. You know how valuable the cargo is. You know what will happen should we fail.”
    The ship didn’t answer, but I felt an odd sort of kinship with it. The engineer might find it remarkable that an international route had been given to me, but I knew better—it was a payment for services rendered, nothing more. My silence had been bought with the most insignificant, smallest cargo supply route in all of the Aerocorps. The Tesla was a minnow when compared with the new airships that graced the skies, an outdated model that showed visible signs of her age, from the stained fabric that made up the envelope, to the forty-year-old engines that were far from the highly efficient machinery that ran the bigger, longer, sleeker airships.
    I knew all this, and yet I was proud of the Tesla , proud to be commanding her. If only everything would go right. If there was the slightest delay or problem that kept us from landing the ship in the small aerodrome outside Rome, all would be lost. I had argued with Etienne that such a tight timeline was tempting disaster, but he ignored my warnings and pleas, as he always did. “The man may be the leader of the Black Hand,” I murmured as I strode the gangway toward the forward hold, “but he’ll always be a presumptuous, stubborn idiot when it comes to listening to me.”
    I pushed down the worry of what might happen should things go awry, and focused instead on ensuring they didn’t. “That includes unwanted problems,” I grumbled to myself as I arrived at the hold, one of four compartments that filled the middle section of the gondola.
    “Captain Pye.” An elderly, grizzled man who shuffled with an almost-crablike walk moved forward in his peculiar gait to greet me. I knew from perusing the crew dossiers that his odd method of movement was due to injuries sustained when he’d flung himself from a burning airship. “I was hopin’ ye would come soon. We have a great hairy bollock of a problem, we do.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Piper. I assume the hairy bollock must be very great indeed if Mr. Christian is unable to deal with it.” I kept a mild expression on my face, despite the urge to laugh at his colorful language, well aware that it could be another test or an attempt to rattle me.
    At the sound of his name the tall, very thin redheaded man who was my new chief officer jumped, his pale blue eyes wide with distress as he stammered out an excuse. Amusement faded as I considered him. There was no denying I was a bit disappointed in my right-hand man—thus far, he seemed ineffectual and totally unsuited for the job—but I reminded myself that everyone deserved a chance to prove himself, and that he might grow into the job. I certainly hoped that was so.
    “. . . and I only just arrived here before you, Captain. Didn’t I, Piper? I just arrived here. A matter of seconds, isn’t it? I couldn’t know what’s going on when I only just got here myself, could I?”
    “Aye, that ye did, arse-backward and shittin’ coal.”
    Aldous Christian looked almost panic-stricken, and I was quick to absolve him before he worked himself up any further. He looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit as it was. “My apologies for my false assumption. Since we are both here now, perhaps we could know the extent of the situation?”
    “But I don’t know!” he all but wailed, his face turning beet red.
    “I was directing that comment to Mr. Piper,” I said in a soothing voice, giving the chief