Outside, wind-swept rain beat on ship and crew alike. The weathered canvas gas bag strained against the mooring ropes above, while the crew scrambled across the Brass Griffin’s deck. Whitehorse grabbed a gangly, brown-haired young man by the arm when he ran by.

“William, what happened?”

The young man pointed frantically at the starboard side of the bow. “Big bolt ‘o red lightnin’, mean as ‘kin be, arced over the starboard net. Burnt out the net’s bow cables. Burnt ‘em clear through.”

“Anyone hurt?” Captain Hunter shouted over the storm.

“Nary a scratch, Cap’n.”

“What of those stray lines?”

“Crew’s tryin’ ta secure them down now from flailin’ about anymore. Figure if we ‘kin just lash ‘em down ta the riggin’, they’ll hold long enough ta make it through the storm.”

“Belay that! Those cables could whip a hole through the ship’s gas bag and cut any of us right in half in this storm. Just stow the starboard netting; we’ll make do with the port side.”

“Cap’n, the batt’ries is plenty low.”

“Rather short a few batteries than lose the ship or crew! If I have to, I’ll get out and push, now move! Let’s get that net stowed!”

“Aye, Cap’n!”

Against the wind, the trio pushed their way across the deck. Grabbing the lines, they hauled away at the cables attached to the steel mesh frame, which flared out away from the ship like a large pair of wings. This netting caught and channeled the dispersed lightning to barrel-shaped Daniell cell batteries stored below decks. Two cables towards the bow swung wild in the wind, above crewmen fighting to bring them under control with hooked poles. William ran up and relayed the captain’s instructions while Whitehorse and Hunter unsecured the starboard winch and hauled away. Steadily, the damaged mesh was drawn in, rolled like so much fabric. Once the netting was coiled against the ship’s side, Mr. Whitehorse began tying it down with William’s assistance while Captain Hunter made his way towards the bow.

“Mr. O’Fallon! What’s been happening to my ship?”

The nearly bald, save for a red topknot, quartermaster started at the captain’s sudden voice, then wiped at the rainwater that had made its way into his eyes.

“Torn cables, Cap’n, storm’s too much for them. Been needin’ replacement now ontae a good month. Ah’d been hopin’ tae get some come port for Moira or Kylee tae be usin’ for repairs.”

Hunter scowled at the cable ends as if he could frighten them into repairing themselves. Lifting one carefully, the captain lightly touched frayed strands.

“We just put these in two or three months back?”

“Aye, three tae the day nearly. But we’d been storm chasin’ a wee more’n normal.”

“I’d gauge it only a slight more than normal. But I could’ve lost count in all the cargo runs to and from the mining towns. Besides, look close there at the threads. They look cut to me, not ripped.”

“We be deep in the middle of a blow Cap’n, cut by what? There nae be but us out here.”

“That’s what bothers me. Let Moira know we may need her at her forge for a patch. In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Oh, Mr. O’Fallon, what’s this I hear about ‘red lightning’?”

“Nae know, Cap’n, Ah didnae see a thing though Ah’ve heard the story myself twice over now.”

“Right then.”

Suddenly a gust of wind struck the Brass Griffin broadside, scattering crew across the deck. When the ship righted again, two people remained prone on deck. One sported a hurt arm, the other a nasty bruise already forming on his forehead.

“Someone find Thorias and tell him we’ve got two comin’ down for treatment!”

With a glower as dark as the storm, Hunter stalked away in the driving rain towards the bow, eyes searching the clouds.

O’Fallon glanced at Krumer Whitehorse. “What be the Cap’n on about?”

“The captain does not like this kind of storm. Never does. He lost his hand in such a storm.”

“Ah remember hearin’ that. Twasn’t a storm Ah heard, but some beastie?”

“After a fashion.”

A bright flash of lightning lit the sky the same moment an explosion of sound washed over the ship. Suddenly the vessel pitched on the wind. Crewmen clung to nearby hand holds, belaying pins, rigging, whatever stable surface they could find. Before the ship settled, it lurched once more. A hard groan of timbers followed a pair of sharp pops. Krumer and O’Fallon exchanged a glance.

“Ah’d be knowin’ pistol shot e’en in this storm. Near the bow Ah be thinkin’.”

“Where the Captain is!”

Hunter’s voice cut through the howl of wind, “All hands! To arms!”

Tags: Brass Griffin, Red Lightning, Steampunk