We dropped the airship to an altitude of three-hundred and twenty feet, trimmed sail and cut the engine power to drift just on the edge of darkness. I could feel in the hair upon my scalp there was something nefarious in there, and as the ship does not full stop quickly, I would prefer to take my time running into it.
The fog did offer the benefit of quelling murderous sedition. The pirates were shrewd enough to realize they would need us to chart course out of this unholy development, but I would need to deal with them soon enough, I knew.
The ship drifted gently, exerting only enough power to keep her afloat. Pepperidge, right arm in a sling, tried to peer through the wall of churning mist with a lantern held aloft. "It's no good," I said. "The sun itself is unable to pierce this."
"Aye, sir," he agreed, face ghostly in the oily light.
"It bodes no good, sir," another sailor growled. "May be part of the curse . . . ."
"Stow that talk," I snapped. "I do not need more nonsense aboard than we've already been plagued with." Certainly not superstition. And the truth was, I had been around enough to tell the difference.
"Mr. Pepperidge, have the engine engage one notch. I want lanterns at the bow, and we'll move in slowly."
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