The airship Petty Snark soared above the slums and spires of the great city of Bombalay, heading out to sea. The four steam engines snorted and growled, the exhaust pipes belched and sputtered, the props rattled and hummed, the aluminum framework groaned and creaked, and the silvery fabric rustled and snapped -- music to the ears of Captain Dermid Quigg, who sat in his big chair, gripping the armrests with his meaty hands, a grin broaching his broad, craggy face. The collision avoidance gong sounded and helmswoman Tosta Cremager glanced up from the dime novel she was reading -- “Seduced By Sasquatch.” A behemothian passenger liner was crossing their bow, and she recognized it instantly as the Lindberger, one of the oldest and largest dirigibles in the world, filled with highly volatile helium and equipped with eight double-boiler engines capable of producing twelve hundred chugs per minute. Tosta knew the Lindberger was as long as ten football fields, but she’d never seen a football field so she had no idea what that meant, except the Lindberger was very large and it would be unwise to collide with it. And so, calculating speed and distance with the agility of a Tabbage machine, she quickly deduced that the Lindberger’s stern would clear the Petty Snark’s nose by about one yard. Give or take a few inches. “Eh, good enough,” she muttered, but gave the wheel a slight twitch to the right, just to be on the safe side, then buried her nose back in her book. “You blasted idiot!” Captain Quigg roared as the Lindberger’s backwash buffeted the hull. “What are you trying to do, get us all killed?” Tosta glanced up. “No, sir.” “Well I’d hate to see how you’d do if you were trying! Put down that blasted book and pay attention to your duties, or so help me I’ll skin you alive!” “Yes sir,” Tosta said with a sigh, setting the book face-down on the binnacle and gazing glumly out the windscreen. When the turbulence cleared and the Petty Snark stopped shaking uncontrollably like a wet dog in a snow storm, the captain turned to his navigator and said, “Cribbins, plot a course for Damnasia.” Every crewman’s head turned in unison toward the captain, as Chezzer Cribbins nervously replied: “Sir, did you just say Damnasia?” “No, boy, I said ‘amnesia.’ I’ve contracted amnesia. Who are you, anyway?” “I’m Cribbins, sir. The nav...” “I was being sarcastic, you idiot! I don’t have amnesia. Although I sometimes wish I could forget this accursed ship and this damned crew! I said Damnasia and I meant Damnasia!” “Captain, have you forgotten that Damnasia is on the Faustralian continent?” The captain’s eyes widened in amazement. “I’ll be damned! I thought it was hiding inside your bloomin’ arse.” The rest of the crew tittered. Chezzer’s cheeks reddened. The captain continued: “I know damn well where Damnasia is. And I’m delighted you do, too, considering you’re the flippin’ navigator. Now plot that course.” amazon/dp/B00L215BR8
Posted on: Sun, 11 Jan 2015 01:29:34 +0000
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