Free Iron Horsemen by Brad R. Cook Page B

protect themselves and, if need be, protect the crown.”
    On cue, like a Shakespearian actor, Rodin flew in and landed between them. Genevieve scratched his head, and his tail whipped about.
    â€œHow’d you find Rodin? Did your father fight his mother?” Rodin whipped my leg and I let out a groan. “Sorry, is that a sore subject?”
    Genevieve smiled and pulled the dragon into her lap. “No, he’s just being playful. Rodin actually understands quite a bit of English. My grandfather found his egg in a treasure horde. He thought the bronze egg wrapped in studded-leather bands was a medieval relic. I don’t know when his mother lived, but he didn’t hatch until I was born. We assumed he was the last of his kind, but when my father and I were in India, we heard stories of dragons in the Himalayas.”
    â€œThat’s amazing.” I had read stories from throughout the millennia about dragons. When my father taught me new languages, I often tried to find stories that piqued my interest rather than boring tales of some pharaoh’s failed crops. I hadn’t found a culture anywhere that didn’t have a dragon.
    Genevieve pointed through the bolted-brass window on the other side of the vessel. A large rock rose up from the sea, and I realized the Sparrowhawk had pitched ever-so slightly downward.
    Sporadic patches of green shrubs covered grayish-white stone. The port-city nestled at its base had a single main road but its busy docks were packed with people. Seagulls gliding on air currents circled the top of the rock around the airdocks.
    I turned to Genevieve and asked, “Where are we?”
    â€œThe Rock of Gibraltar, isn’t it beautiful?”
    I pressed against the window. “I’ve always wanted to see the Pillars of Hercules; he struck them with his sword so he could travel to Hades.”
    â€œIt’s a British colony,” Genevieve said. “It’s been years since I was last here, but my father always insisted on stopping before sailing on into the Mediterranean.”
    The airdocks, a set of moorings atop a ridge just below the mountain’s peak, came into view as the Sparrowhawk made the last turn of its final approach. The vessel landed on a mesh of metal planking as large iron docking clamps gripped the vessel. The clattering echoed through the hull and across the docks.
    Mr. Singh charged by where we were sitting, accompanied by several airmen. The crew threw open the bay door and extended a crane stowed in the ceiling. A couple of airmen opened the large cargo bay doors in the floor as more opened the doors of the floors below.
    Baldarich came from the bridge and surveyed his crew’s work. He nodded to Mr. Singh, who bowed in return, and then approached Genevieve and I. “Just stay out of their way, and don’t go near the cargo doors. You might fall all the way to the bottom and that would mean I don’t get paid.” He turned back to Mr. Singh. “Don’t unload all of this until I’ve negotiated the price with the dockmaster.”
    â€œAye, captain.” Mr. Singh turned to a man maneuvering the large iron arm. “Get that crane secured!”
    Genevieve and I chased after the captain, catching him on the docks. I tugged at his coat. “Can we come with you and see the city?”
    â€œNo. I have to sell the stuff we acquired and buy new supplies.” He shook his head and smiled. “Alright. You can go ashore, I suppose. You can’t get in too much trouble here. Stick together and stay out of people’s way. Be back in an hour.”
    As we ran off, I called out, “We’ll be back, promise.”
    Rodin flew after us as Genevieve and I ran past some swarthy-looking men working to secure a zeppelin. I wondered if we shouldn’t have asked Ignatius to join us as we scoured the island looking for clues to my father’s kidnappers. Once we got off the docks, we slowed and