Free Skyjackers: Episode 1: A Proper Nuisance (Skyjackers: Season One) by J.C. Staudt

nefarious purpose against Father. Oh, I
can’t wait to see how it all plays out.” Misty clapped her hands.
    “You are truly sick. Do you know that?”
    “Mother mentioned revenge,” said Lily. “And she seemed happy about it. Perhaps she means to play a practical joke on him.”
    “I think that’s the more likely scenario,” said Vivian.
“Dad’s birthday is coming up. Maybe that’s what she’s on about.”
    “Mummy is going to run away with Greenbeard on Daddy’s
birthday,” Misty said, singsong.
    “Oh, will you come off it?”
    Misty glared. “Oh, will you get out of my room? I never
invited you.”
    “Yes you did.”
    “Well I’m uninviting you now. Get out.”
    “And if I don’t?” Vivian said.
    “I’ll scream. I’ll scream so loud it’ll make your eardrums
bubble up like blisters.”
    “Try me.”
    Misty put her hands on her hips. “If you don’t leave, I’ll
tell my crew to attack your crew, and kill them all, and burn the Dawnhammer to the ground. And then I’ll carve your name into my own back so Daddy knows
you did it.”
    “First of all, how would you carve anything into your own
back? And second, how would that prove—”
    “Get out,” Misty screamed. “Get out no-o-o-o-w.” Halfway
through the final word, Misty’s voice shot up to a piercing register and stayed
there.
    “Alright, alright. I’m going,” Vivian said, pressing her
palms to her ears. “Give it a blooming rest.”
    No sooner had she entered the hallway than Vivian heard the
next-most unwelcome sound in the world.
    “Vivian?” Mother called. “What’s all the hubbub?”
    Oh, it never ends , Vivian thought. I’m stuck here
forever, and it never ends .

Chapter 8
    The Marquis of Bixbury might’ve been vexed if he’d seen
two of his prized stallions being slathered with mustard and sweet relish, but
since Benedict Caine had neither a painter nor a photographer handy, he would
be unable to offer any such proof of the occurrence. Junior and the Stratustarian ’s
crew were covered in yellow and green after having emptied several jars of each
onto the animals’ flanks and spread them with their bare hands.
    Benedict, meanwhile, sat in his lounger a distance away,
drink in hand. “That’s the stuff,” he shouted. “Give ‘em the old man-massage.”
    Junior wiped his forehead, leaving behind a chunky yellow streak.
“Are we done yet, Dad?”
    Benedict considered. “You missed a spot between the brown
one’s cheeks, son.
    Junior muttered to himself and moved to obey.
    Benedict laughed. “Not those cheeks. The other ones. Never
mind, Junior. I’ve seen enough. Release them.”
    Poleax blinked. “What was that?”
    “You heard me correctly, Poleax.” Benedict stood and took the
musket from the crewman standing beside him, replacing it with his half-full
glass of cognac. “Stay close behind me, now,” he told the man. “I may need a
drink at a moment’s notice.”
    “You’re setting two horses loose in the jungle?” Poleax said.
“That’ll be like dipping two fingers into a pool of piranhas.”
    “Precisely,” Caine said. “Two delicious fingers slathered in
pickles and mustard. Those horses will attract every apex carnivore from here
to the abandoned city.”
    “But these are rare and expensive animals,” Poleax insisted.
    “Yes, and well-documented, too. Try selling them, if you
fancy a ten-year stint in a Roathean prison.”
    “You can’t just sacrifice them…”
    “Can’t I? Fat lot of good they’re doing for me here. Might as
well get an exotic pelt or two out of the deal. I’m planning to make a gift of
one for my Gertrude.”
    “What about the ransom?” said Poleax.
    “The ransom was intended to include twelve stallions. Two
won’t fetch me enough to pay someone to kick your arse for failing me. No, my
dear Poleax. I am afraid it is time to cut our losses and move on.”
    Poleax Longworth was far from the bravest man alive, but he
had a distinct problem with cruelty to