Bram Möller's Arc

Chapter 42 of 63

Bram stepped back onto the field with the wire folded in his journal and the fuel hold ticking down. The bag sat on the pins, envelope taut, cargo tied fast. He climbed the rope ladder and looked at the courier bag's belly. The ballast crates were still lashed for a full circuit run. Loaded this heavy, the bag would never clear the harbor mast. He had less than an hour. Omondi came up behind him with his glasses fogged, tripping once on the ladder rung. "We packed for six harbors," he said. "We're flying to one. We need to pull weight before we lift or we clip the mast." "How much?" Bram asked. Omondi wiped his glasses and did the math on his fingers. "Two crates minimum. Three to be safe with the west wind." Vex climbed up behind him with a rope over her shoulder. She was not crew, but she had walked out to see them off. Her red hair was already white with snow. "Cut three," she said. "You can bid new ballast at the next harbor. The tank's the only clock that matters." Bram looked at the crates. Three crates meant leaving supplies he'd paid for at the depot. It also meant a lighter bag that could actually clear the mast and reach the tank hold in time. He nodded once. "Three." Cora was already on the deck with the mechanical owl on her shoulder. She had a pry bar in her hand before he asked. "Which three?" "The two sand crates and the spare fuel drum," Bram said. "Keep the tools. Keep the patch kit." They worked fast. Omondi cut the lashings while Cora levered the crates to the edge. Vex caught them below and rolled each one clear of the pins. The owl clicked its beak and hopped along the rail, watching Cora's hands. The compass hawk sat hooded on its perch and did not move. Bram checked the mast line. The bag rode higher now, straining at the pins. He climbed to the wheel and put his hand on the brass ring. "Cast off." Vex pulled the pin at the bow. Omondi pulled the stern. The bag lifted clean. Bram watched the mast pass under the keel with two yards to spare. Cora let out a breath he could hear from the wheel. Below, Vex raised one gloved hand and stepped back from the pins. The three sand crates sat in the snow beside her, already dusted white. Bram set the course west. The tank was held for four hours. The lead was still his. But the bag was flying stripped now, with no spare drum and no ballast to trim against a hard crosswind. The next harbor would have to sell him more than fuel.