Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

soaked mantle for the coat in her pack. In this cold, wet meant dead. Her muscles were already shaking, her fingers aching.
    David grabbed the pulley line, hoisted the boat—and froze. Annika barely had a second to look around, to see the giant waterfall passing over the bow, the enormous cavern behind it. David leapt for her. His arm caught her waist and dragged her to the deck. His body covered hers. Heavy drops of water rained onto the boards, the balloon.
    Falling from the whale’s mouth as it swallowed them, Annika realized numbly.
    Everything went dark. David’s lean form tensed above her. “Hold on to me.”
    While he held on to something else, she guessed. She wrapped her arms around his chest, her legs around his waist.
    The deck tilted violently, throwing them against the wooden bulwark. David’s low grunt of pain was lost in the screech of metal, the splinter of wood. Phatéon was moving—sliding, her bottom scraping along a metal surface, gaining speed. David gathered her closer, his body straining as he held her against the ship’s side. Terrified, Annika squeezed her eyes shut, gripped him tighter.
    The crash almost tore her away. She screamed, held on. A deafening crack echoed through the dark. The airship shuddered.
    His hand stroked down her back, his voice a soothing murmur. “Shhh, Annika. We’re all right.”
    Annika realized she was shaking, whimpering pitifully against his neck. A few deep breaths helped her to stop. She opened her eyes.
    Utter darkness, but there were noises. The thrum of an engine. The rhythmic, gasping thrust of a pump. The insistent drip of water. The hiss of the warmers. David’s ragged breath.
    Men shouted in Norwegian. The sailors from the fluyt…or the pirates?
    Gingerly, Annika unwound her arms, sat up. The deck sloped to port, as if Phatéon had come to rest on that side. Not steep, but enough to be disorienting.
    “Are you all right?” His voice was rough.
    “Yes.” She reached for the rail, pulled herself up to her knees. “Can you see anything?”
    He apparently could. “We’re in a hold—a big one. The walls are steel, but there’s a stair on the side that leads up to a hatch door. The floor is flooded, but it’s not deep. Only a few feet. The fluyt is here. Phatéon ’s stern rammed into her side.”
    “I hear pumps,” she said. “Air pumps, I hope.”
    The balloon was still deflating. Even if the hydrogen didn’t explode, a leaking balloon in an enclosed space could make the air too dangerous to breathe.
    Oh, and she would not think of the women on Heimaey. Terroralready had her trembling enough. At least it wasn’t the cold—though that was seeping in, too. She needed to change her clothes before long. Hopefully, her pack was still in the boat.
    She got her feet beneath her. David caught her hand.
    “Stay down.”
    She crouched again, staring into the dark. “Why?”
    He whispered now. “Men are coming into the hold.”
    “With no lights?”
    “They’re wearing goggles—and carrying weapons.”
    Thankfully no lanterns, not with the balloon still deflating. “Guns?”
    They’d be stupid to fire one.
    “Swords and crossbows.”
    Dread joined the terror. “Pirates?”
    “Probably.” His hand tightened on hers. “I think they have light-enhancing lenses.”
    Weapons, darkness, and lenses that allowed them to see. The only reason to combine them was horrifying. “How many of them?”
    “A dozen. Oh, Christ.” David flattened her onto the wet deck. “Down. All the way down. We’ll crawl to the ladder and stay hidden behind the bulwark as long as we can. Are there any more weapons aboard? I only have a pistol.”
    “No. They all fire. Maybe a knife in the galley.”
    “Bludging hell.” He drew a sharp breath. “Go.”
    She scooted ahead on her elbows and knees, driven by panic, guided by memory. A scream ripped through the dark—and was cut short. Her teeth clenched against a terrified whimper. Another scream. Men shouted in confusion, pled for mercy. Someone was running, splashing through water. She flinched as another cry sounded, closer, thinning into a gurgling moan.
    David came up beside her, urged her on. “There’s the ladder. As quickly as you can.”
    She found the edge, grasped the rails, and slid down to the second deck. Moving to the side, she stood shivering in wet, heavy wool. She discarded her mittens, heard the wet plop against the boards.
    The thud of David’s boots followed. “They’re searching