Free Golden Heart (The Lazarus Longman Chronicles) by P. J. Thorndyke

“They’ll likely shoot me for desertion. And that’s just the first thing they’ll shoot me for.”
    “But we have the map to Cibola. That has to count for something. With your cooperation and my recommendation, they’ll have to welcome you as an ally. What do you say? I’m not entirely sure where we are, but Fort Flagstaff is the northernmost Confederate outpost. It can’t be more than a day’s walk.”
    “But we have no food or water.”
    “If we find a town, of course we’ll stop, but my guess is Fort Flagstaff is our closest hope in any direction.”
    He was not convinced.
    “Whatever we decide, we’d best get moving,” Lazarus urged. “The rebels will be on our heels and Katarina will not rest until she finds us.”
    “Why should she care? Isn’t her assignment over?”
    “I don’t know how far her orders extend. Her mission may include ensuring that the map remains in Unionist hands until they find Cibola. If that’s the case then she won’t let rock, fire or water stop her from killing us and getting that map back.”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    In which a change of heart is had at five thousand feet
     
    They wandered across the Colorado Plateau, through endless miles of sparse acacias and ponderosa pines that at least provided occasional shade. Lazarus knew that the forest vanished into desert well before it reached Fort Flagstaff, and grew worried that they would not find any water. They passed the ruins of a pueblo, blackened by fire and half of it blown away, as if by dynamite.
    “Wonder what happened here,” Vasquez commented.
    “Bombed,” said Lazarus. “Bombed from the air like New York and Boston.”
    “This wasn’t a military target,” said Vasquez. “Why bomb pueblos?”
    It made Lazarus intensely uneasy. They were entering a restricted area, although nobody knew why it was off limits.
    Fortunately, they came within sight of a Hualapai village and approached cautiously. They let Hok’ee do the talking as he had some knowledge of their language, and although the Navajo and the people of the plateau had often been at odds in the past, the Hualapai were cautiously welcoming, although initially wary at the sight of his metal attachments. They conversed a great deal and Vasquez did his best to translate to Lazarus, possessing a smattering of tribal languages himself.
    “They’re asking if we’re warriors from the sky,” he said. “Don’t know much what that means, but they seem mighty frightened. They say that fire and death comes from the sky in these parts and has taken many lives.”
    “That probably has something to do with the ruined pueblo we passed,” Lazarus said.
    “Apparently many Hualapai have been pushed from their lands and many more killed,” said Vasquez.
    Once it was determined that they were not enemies from the sky, the Hualapai gave them food and water before wishing them well on their journey.
    The desert consumed them. Lazarus and Vasquez sweated profusely under their hats and Lazarus marveled at Hok’ee who walked ahead of them, nothing on his head but his shining black hair and not a bead of sweat on his forehead.
    As they neared Fort Flagstaff, a dirigible hove into view. The Confederate flag was emblazoned on its side and armed troops could be seen on its deck. It descended and threw out rope ladders, which the soldiers used to alight.
    “This is a restricted area. What’s your business here?” asked the ship’s captain through his curling whiskers.
    “I am an agent of the British Empire,” said Lazarus. “We have something for the eyes of whoever is in charge at Fort Flagstaff.”
    The captain looked them over, not liking what he saw one bit. He took them on board, either as prisoners or passengers—they weren’t sure—and they took off, ploughing through the air in a southerly direction.
    A great bulge appeared in the mist. Rising up out of the desert dust was the biggest airship Lazarus had ever seen. It had a deck the size of several