Meanwhile. . .

Back at the Sandflea, Old Toby was getting crankier (not to mention smellier) by the minute. Unfortunately for him, neither Kennia nor Tira were particularly sympathetic to his complaints.

“I’m gettin’ mighty tired of your moaning and groaning. Stuff it or you can walk back”
“I’m hungry” he whined. “And I don’t have no place to walk back to anyways.”
“Then you’d best not be too much of an aggravation to us, wouldn’t you say?”
“All I want is to get outa this airship and go someplace civilized. And I ain’t had a smoke in days practically.”
“Or a bath in years” snorted Tira. In all fairness she managed to remain impeccably groomed no matter the crisis. “You are awful demanding for a man who has nothing going for him.” She turned and walked away, not easily since the Sandflea’s interior was anything but spacious.

Kennia followed  her crewmate until they had walked as far away as possible and then whispered, “You know we can’t keep him stashed in that hammock for all eternity. We’ve gotta let him go before he stinks up the whole airship.”
“Too late if you ask me,” snickered Tira. “Fix him up some stew. At least he can’t say that we are starving him.”
“Captain should be back soon and  I say we pressure him for answers.” Kennia shrugged and headed towards the Sandflea’s tiny excuse for a galley while Tira turned back to Old Toby.

“Say, what’ve you got against Indians anyway?”
“I ain’t got nothin’ against ‘em. I just try to stay away from them.”
“Yeah, cause you don’t like ‘em.”
He shrugged. “You think what you wanna. Matter ain’t got nothin’ to do with you. Now leave me in peace. I got no quarrel with you least ways.”