light, and all around the edge of the suburb huge orange shapes were unfolding, growing like fungus in a speeded- up film. Now the hissing from the lower deck made sense; while Peavey talked his town had been busily pumping air into flotation chambers and these inflatable rubber skirts.
“Let’s go swimmin’!” shouted the pirate mayor, sitting back in his swivel chair and signalling the engine rooms. The huge motors rumbled into life, a plume of exhaust gases drifted aft, and Tunbridge Wheels surged forward across the beach and into the sea.
At first all went well; nothing stirred on the darkening waters as Tunbridge Wheels went chugging eastward, and up ahead the Black Island grew steadily larger. Tom opened a small side window on the bridge and stood there feeling the salt night air spill over him, feeling strangely excited. He could see pirates gathering in the old market square at the suburb’s forward end, readying grappling hooks and boarding ladders, because Airhaven would be far too large to fit into the jaws—they would have to take it by force and tear it apart at their leisure. He didn’t like the idea, especially when he remembered that his aviator friends might still be on Airhaven, but it was a town eat town world, after all—and there was something exciting about the cut-throat recklessness of Peavey’s plan.
And then suddenly something fell out of the sky and exploded in the market square, and there was a black gash in the deck and the men he had been watching weren’t there any more. Others came running with buckets and fire extinguishers. “Airship! Airship! Airship!” someone was shouting, and then there were more rushing things and buildings were exploding all over the suburb, with people flung tumbling high up into the air like mad acrobats.
“For Sooty Pete’s sake!” shouted Peavey, running to the shattered observation window and staring down into the smoke-filled streets. His monkey jumped up and down on his shoulders, jabbering. “These Mossies are better organized than we gave ’em credit for,” he said. “Searchlights, quick!”
Two wavering fingers of light rose above the town, feeling their way across the smoke-dappled sky. Where they met, Tom saw a fat rising shape shine briefly red. The suburb’s guns swung upward and fired a rippling broadside, and pulses of flame stalked the drifting clouds.
“Missed!” hissed Peavey, squinting through his telescope. “Curse it, I should have known Airhaven would send up spotter ships. And if I’m not mistaken it was that witch Fang’s old rustbucket!”
“The Jenny Haniverl” gasped Tom.
“No need to sound so pleased about it,” snarled Peavey. “She’s a menace. Ain’t you heard of the Wind- Flower?”
Tom hadn’t told the pirate mayor of his adventures aboard Airhaven. He tried to hide his happiness at the thought that Miss Fang was still alive and said, “I’ve
“Oh, yeah?” Peavey spat on the deck. “You think a trader carries that sort of fire-power? She’s one of the Anti-Traction League’s top agents. She’ll stop at nothing to hurt us poor traction towns. It was her who planted the bomb that sank Marseilles, and her what strangled the poor Sultana of Palau Pinang. She’s got the blood of a thousand murdered townsfolk on her hands! Still, we’ll show her, won’t we, Tommy boy? I’ll have her guts for goulash! I’ll hang her carcass out for the buzzards! Mungo! Pogo! Maggs! An extra cut of the spoils to whoever shoots down that red airship!”
No one did shoot down that red airship; it was long out of range, buzzing back towards the Black Island to warn Airhaven of the approaching danger. But Tom could not have been more filled with grief and anger if he had seen it falling in flames. So that was why Miss Fang had rescued him, and been so kind! All she had wanted was information for the League—and her friend Captain Khora had been in on it, spinning that tale about her just to win Tom’s sympathy. Thank Quirke he had not been able to tell her anything!
Tunbridge Wheels was battered and burning, but the Jenny Haniver’s rockets had been too small to do any serious damage, and now that the element of surprise was lost Miss Fang did not risk another attack. The suburb chugged on into the east, pushing a thick bore of flame-lit water ahead of it. Tom could see lights on the Black Island now, lanterns flickering along the shore. Closer, between the island and the suburb, shone another cluster of lights. “Boats!” shouted Mungo, peering through the sights of his gun.
Peavey went and stood at the window, robes flapping on the rising breeze. “Fishing fleet!” he grunted, sounding satisfied. “First meal of the night; we’ll eat ’em up by way of an
The fishing-boats started scattering as Tunbridge Wheels bore down, running goose-winged for the shelter of the shore, but one, bigger and slower than the rest, sagged away to windward. “We’ll have him,” growled Peavey, and Maggs relayed his order into the intercom. The suburb changed course slightly, engines grumbling. The steep crags of the Black Island filled the sky ahead, blotting out the eastern stars.
And then there were other, closer breakers, dead ahead, and Hester was shouting, “Peavey! It’s a trap!”
They all saw it then, but it was much too late. The fishing boat with its shallow keel ran clear through the reef, but the great lumbering bulk of Tunbridge Wheels struck at full speed and the sharp rocks clawed its belly open. The suburb lurched and settled, throwing Tom off his feet and rolling him hard against the legs of the chart table. The engines failed, and in the terrible silence that followed a klaxon began lowing like a frightened bull.
Tom crawled back to the window. Down below he saw the streets going dark as a great rush of water came bursting through the palisades. White geysers of foam sprayed up through gratings from the flooded under-deck, and mingled with the whiteness he saw black flecks of debris and tiny, struggling figures. The boat was far away, tacking to admire her handiwork. A hundred yards of sea separated the doomed suburb from the steep shores of the island.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, heaving him towards the exits. “You’re coming wiv me, Tommy boy,” snarled Chrysler Peavey, snatching a huge gun from a rack on the wall and swinging it on to his shoulder. “You too, Amesy, Mungo, Maggs, you’re wiv me…”
They were with him, the pirates forming a tight protective knot around their mayor as he hurried Tom down the stairs. Hester came limping behind. There were screams below, and frightened faces staring up at them from a third-floor landing already knee-deep in water. “Abandon town!” hollered Peavey. “Women and mayors first!”
They crashed into his private quarters, where his daughter stood clutching her frightened brothers and sisters. Peavey ignored her and waded to a chest in the corner, scowling with concentration as he twirled the combination lock this way and that. The chest sprang open, he dragged out a little orange bundle and then they were on the move again, out on to the balcony where the sea was already spilling through the railings. Tom turned back into the room, meaning to help Cortina and the children, but Peavey had forgotten all about them. He flung the bundle down into the waves and it unfolded with a complicated hiss, flowering into a small, circular life-raft. “Get aboard,” he snapped, taking hold of Tom and thrusting him towards it.
“But…”
“Get aboard!” A boot in the seat of his breeches sent him tumbling over the balcony rail and down on to the yielding rubber floor of the raft. Mungo was next, then the others piled in so fast that the raft wallowed deep and water spilled over the gunwales. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” wailed Cortina Peavey somewhere away to the left, but by the time Tom had scrambled out from under Mr Ames the suburb was already far away, its stern submerged and its bows tilted high into the night sky. He looked for Hester and found her crouching beside him. Peavey’s monkey jabbered with fear, bouncing up and down on his head. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” came the distant cries, and there were white splashes, dozens of splashes as people leaped from palisades and the useless tatters of the air-bags. Hands clutched at the sides of the raft and Mungo and Peavey beat them away. Frantic figures came splashing through the swell towards them, and Janny Maggs stood up and fired her machine-gun, churning up red water all around the raft. The suburb was tilting steeper, steeper; there was a rush of steam as the sea poured into its boilers and then with sudden, shocking speed it slid under. The water boiled and heaved. For a while there were screams, faint cries for help, a brief rattle of gunfire as a drifting fragment of debris changed hands, a longer one as a few lucky pirates battled their way on to a beach.
Then there was silence, and the raft turning slow circles as the current drew it in towards the shore.
