Free Skybreaker by Kenneth Oppel

That’s nasty, coarse work. My name’s John Rath. My colleagues and I, we’re employed by some of the finest people in London and Paris. You’d be surprised. Think of us as private investigators.”
    I said nothing.
    “I’m here to make you a proposition, Cruse. I like what I’ve heard of you. You’re a smart lad. Not nearly as gullible as that dean of yours. He went for my Matthias Grunel story hook, line, and sinker!”
    One of Rath’s men gave a snort of derision.
    Rath nodded appraisingly at me. “And anyone who can send Vikram Szpirglas to a watery grave is worth ten of these great hulks behind you—no offence, lads,” he said to his henchmen. “I think you and I can do business together, Mr. Cruse. What say you? There’s money in it. Plenty. You like money, don’t you?”
    I said nothing, but I thought of the elevator boy. I thought of my secondhand uniform. I thought of my mother, her finger joints swollen and shiny with rheumatism, wincing as she sewed.
    “It’s very tempting,” I said. Maybe if I played along, I would find a chance to break free.
    “Good then. What say we take you for a little ride and talk some more? Convince you,” said Rath. “And if not, dangling over the river from a thousand feet can often be very persuasive. Come along, gents. We’re checking out!”
    Two of them grabbed my arms and started marching me out of the room. John Rath downed his drink and grabbed a full bottle of whisky.
    “I’ve quite enjoyed putting on the Ritz,” he said. “But only a fool would pay for it.”
    Out we went. An elderly couple was walking down the corridor towards us, but shrank back in terror as the men shouted at them to clear off. I considered bellowing for help, but doubted it would do me much good. We reached the stairwell. Rath kicked the door open, and up we went. At the top of the stairs, they flung another door wide, and I was dragged out onto the roof of the Ritz. Drizzle wet my face.
    The glow from a large skylight illuminated the underbelly of a small airship, hovering silently a few feet off the roof. It was tied up with only bow and stern lines. As we moved towards her, twin propellers gave a cough and began to turn.
    “Get him on board,” said Ginger Beard.
    I gave a mighty jerk and twist and was free, but it was no good. One of the men kicked me onto my knees, and they had me again, tighter than before. From the airship, a gangway sprang down, revealing a rectangle of pale light. Ginger Beard led the way.
    A smudge of movement caught my eye. A shadowy figure slipped from the darkness of the roof and crouched before the ship’s bow line. With a quick tug it was loose. There was shouting from the Control Car, and a spotlight flared from its underside.
    The shadowy figure ran, grabbed hold of the forward landing wheel, and gave a strong shove. The ship was lighter than air and moved easily, swinging in a swift, wide arc, held only by her stern line.
    “Steady her!” Ginger Beard shouted to his men from the hatchway.
    The ship came straight for us, propellers whirling. We all threw ourselves to the gravel roof. The airship roared overhead, buffeting me with its engine wash. With a start, I realized I was free.
    “Come here!” one of the pirates barked, lunging at me on all fours.
    I kicked him in the chin, scrambled up, and started running.
    Someone touched my arm, and I looked to see the gypsy girl keeping pace with me. Her headscarf was gone and her long black hair was tucked inside the collar of her overcoat.
    “This way,” she said, veering towards the roof’s edge. “Can you jump?”
    “Oh, I can jump!”
    “Then jump!”
    She sped ahead and leapt without even hesitating. Her leather coat flared out behind her like wings, and I thought, I’d like a coat like that. She touched down on the next building,arms wide for balance. My strides lengthened and I took flight, my body thrilling as it soared over the lane far below. I hit the gravel running and caught up