Locked in at night and the lights turned off, it took several days for Albert to develop a plan of action.

Their day routine never varied. He worked with the two engineers on the flying man design. Sandwiches were served on a silver platter for lunch. At the end of what he assumed was the day, the guards escorted him back to his room and searched him head to foot for hidden tools. On their first inspection, they removed the cord and belt. His pants fell to the floor exposing bare white legs. After that experience, they did not seem too eager to check it. They considered the double binding at his waist a sign of engineer weirdness. After the door slammed shut, food was shoved in through the slit. A while later, lights clicked off. He was left in the dark until morning.

The blackened porthole in his cabin blocked his view of the outside world. Using the sharp edge of his belt buckle to scrape around the outer edge, a faint glow of moonlight now shimmered in the room. His fingers carefully pried up a corner, and balancing on the bed’s foot rail, he observed the unending ocean with no port lights in sight.

Captain Napoleon never explained why he wanted a man to fly. The only way to find out was to investigate. Laying on the bed and staring up at the small circle of moonlight, his active mind plotted. Assuming the hallway would always be black, he counted the cranks and steps and ran his hands along the wall to memorize locations each morning. He mentally worked out the ship’s layout.

* Each floor took 20 turns of the crank.

* When called to the captain’s presence, it was 20. His quarters must be located on the floor below.

* Also, 40 turns down to the workroom. Where did the sailors sleep? Must be on the same floor as mine.

* Walking in the dark from his first prison, we went 100 steps to the lift.

* Entrance to the workroom was 150 steps to the door from the lift.

* 40 turns from the captain’s floor to his first prison.

* His original cell must be one floor down from here. Something about that hall fascinated him.

Time to get out of here. If caught, well, the fish will have a feast. The thought only reinforced his determination to explore. Albert stood in the faint moonlight and took off his belt. The string, ignored by the men, still held his pants up. The large belt buckle was one of his special designs. With sure hands, he popped it apart and his lock-pick set fell out.

“Now for the fun.” All his practice had been in daylight. With limited light, it took a few extra minutes until the lock was released. Reassembling the buckle, he fastened it back around his waist. Albert pushed his door open and faced the dark hall.

“One hundred steps and stop. The lift should be in front of me.” His bare feet padded soundlessly along the metal floor.

The wall panel slid sideways under his careful pressure. So far, so good. No noise. His fingers fumbled for a small tube he had hidden under his belt. Taking the lid off, he dripped oil on the lift’s exposed chains. Turning the cranks with care, it now quietly rose to the captain’s office. He wanted to start there.

Sliding the door open, just enough to squeeze through, he stepped out. A light clicked on. He stood stiff with fear and waited for the captain to call for guards. Sweat trickled down his back. After a few minutes, with a small whistle of steam the light turned off.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A motion light, interesting.

He dropped to his hands and knees and inched a few feet across the carpet. No light came on. So only set for a certain height? Crawling backward to the wall, he stood and again waited. The light stayed off. Though the device fascinated him, this room was not his primary destination.

In one of his commanded appearances for updates, Albert spotted skid marks along the floor under a wall panel. He slid along the wall while his fingers searched for a concealed mechanism. At an indentation the size of his thumb, he pulled the wall sideways. A light clicked on to reveal a second man-sized metal box.

Napoleon’s private lift? Levers labeled P, and then 1 through 5 caught his attention. P for private entrance to Captain Napoleon’s personal quarters? And then straight to the bottom of the ship for quick exit?

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” his Admiral father drilled into him.

He grinned and stepped in. Pulling down the ‘P’ lever, the door closed and slipped upward with a quiet hiss of steam. It stopped, and Albert slid the panel open. A lamp glowed on the massive desk and gave off enough light for him to analyze the room. He wanted to explore more, but uncertain of the captain’s habits, slid the door shut and flipped lever number three. From his calculations, this was the floor where he was originally held.

The lift stopped. His hand slid the panel open. He flipped the lever back to 1 and jumped out. The door closed and thrust him into darkness. On his first trip behind the thugs, he swayed and used the wall for support while his fingers explored along the cold metal.

One hundred steps and the cell should be on his right, but before that was a door on the left. His fingers encountered a cold metal handle. Giving it a twist, the latch clicked, and the door swung open.

He slid forward, one bare foot at a time into the black void. His hands ran along shelves stacked with boxes. Clothing dangled from hooks. The room appeared to be a closet. A heavy wool garment caught his attention.

My coat! Success!

Albert fumbled through the pockets to pull out a pipe. Next came the goggles. The glass on them was his special design. He experimented with different color filters and discovered a certain combination enabled him to see in the dark. Slipping them over his eyes, the room came into focus. Heavy ornate cufflinks were next tucked in his belt. Under their fancy metal scroll work, one was a miniature clock, run similar to the Captain’s big one, and the other was a compass that glowed in the dark. He bent to pick up one of his heavy boots. Twisting the heel, a derringer fell out.

The night’s investigation was productive. With goggles still on, and dropping the pipe in his shirt, he closed the door and crept down the hall. Using the staff lift, he cranked counterclockwise twenty times and stepped out.

He decided not to undress and stretched out on the bed. There was this prickling sensation of being watched when the lights were on. Small projections at each corner of the room, and one overhead were probably the source. Best not to show them in the morning his private stash. Since the men only searched his clothing after work, the devices could go down with him and be hidden among all the other equipment.

Time to discover their destination and why Captain Napoleon needed flying men. Tomorrow night would be a good time for that.

His brother would have been terrified at the smile that crossed Albert’s face. From experience, that was his little brother’s adventure expression. The one that always led to trouble.

The shrill morning whistle jolted him awake. A heavy foot kicked the door. His breakfast tray slid in. He sat up with a groan. Though successful, his night’s wandering left him with little sleep. He staggered into the water closet and studied his reflection. The large shirt conveniently sagged down and covered the lumps. The goggles remained tucked tight under his belt. He would have to start every night’s search with a trip down to the workroom and retrieve them.