Fata Morgana

by Thomas J. Radford

  “All things considered.”

  A green-scaled hand, clawed . . . thaumatic energy crackling. The skipper . . .

  Drifting.

  Violet opened her eyes and sat up. She fell back down, a strangled cry erupting from her body. She hurt everywhere, from the tips of her fingers to the roots of her hair. She felt herself starting to curl up and forced herself to stop. Moving hurt. Not moving wasn’t much better.

  “Easy, easy,” a voice told her. Young, male, somewhat familiar. She felt something soft and warm being applied to her brow. A towel maybe. Was it wet or was she sweating? She couldn’t tell. “You were bitten by the cold before we found you. You made it through with all your extremities but only just. Lie still, your body needs a moment.”

  The same voice turned away from her. “Go tell the captain she’s awake. Aristeia will want to know too.”

  The sound of a door opening and closing. Drawing deep, slow breaths, Violet opened her eyes again. She didn’t remember shutting them but must have. Slowly, the world around her came into focus. A cabin, shipboard from the cramped confines and layout. A wooden cot below her, sweat-soaked, coarse woollen blankets. A man beside her, young, closer to her own age. Dark hair streaked with copper in the flickering lamplight. He wore a sailor’s practical garb, but cut with a hint of severity and pressed free of wrinkles. His face was smooth, beardless. Soft hands, she realised. Not a proper sailor’s.

  You look familiar . . .

  “Who . . . ,” was all Violet could voice before her cracked throat failed her. She broke off into a fit of coughing.

  “Niko, Miss,” he told her, offering a wooden cup. She took it and drank greedily. “Niko Kaspar, ensign. On behalf of my Captain, welcome aboard the Fata Morgana.”

  Violet could only stare at him. It must have been enough to convey her confusion.

  “You’re aboard an Alliance ship, Miss.” He took the cup from her and refilled it from a jug on the bedside table before offering it back. “We found you out there, drifting below Vice.”

  Violet drank again, desperate to ask about the Tantamount, the captain, Gabbi, the skipper . . . the last thing she remembered came back to her. The skipper turning away from her.

  “I suggest you don’t say anything.” Kaspar squeezed her shoulder. “Strongly suggest. You’re not well. Do you follow?”

  Do I follow? The last thing I saw . . .

  The door opened again. A new voice.

  “Ah, Ensign, I see our patient is awake. Excellent. I’ve been looking forward to speaking with her.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kaspar stood, moving aside to let the newcomer pass. “Brandon and I will be outside if you need us.”

  “I doubt I will, my boy, no need for the two of you to tarry.”

  “Aristeia insisted, sir,” Kaspar told him, apologetically. “We’ll be outside.”

  “Yes, yes, as you wish. Out with you then.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss,” Kaspar inclined his head to Violet. “Unfortunate though the circumstances of our first meeting may be.”

  He held her gaze for longer than seemed necessary, not blinking. Violet recognised him then, but found her voice was still too raw to voice her discovery. The voice in her head struggled to say it for her.

  You . . .

  The newcomer took Kaspar’s recently vacated seat, folding his arms across his lap and leaning forward, smiling. “I’m so glad to see you awake and well, little one. We have so much to talk about. How are you feeling?”

  “Elder,” Violet managed to find her voice for the traditional word. The last thing she’d expected to find aboard an Alliance ship, aside from herself, was one of her own.

  Especially one with seven tails.

  “Raines, little one. Arlin Raines. Perhaps you . . . perhaps the name is familiar?”

  Raines, the seven-tailed fox. The one who refused to return home.

  Yes. Your name is familiar.

  I know who you are.

  She nodded. “I know who you are,” she managed to say.

  Raines smiled brightly. “Excellent. Most excellent. And you, little one, what shall we call you?”

  Violet hesitated, using the moment to try and sit up in bed. The ensign, Kaspar, had been trying to tell her something. A warning. They’d met, back at Port Border. But why would anyone care about that? There was no sense in lying to an elder. “Violet. My name is Violet.”

  The bright gold eyes flickered at that. Just a flash. “Violet, you say? Not . . . no, Violet, of course. You are a long way from home, child.”

  Child. That’s insulting. I am not a child.

  “You are a long time from home, Elder.” It was blunt; the words surprised Violet. Time was she never would have spoken to an elder that way. But he didn’t seem to take offense.

  “Indeed I am and better for it. Returning home would be so tiresome, such a waste of time, of experience. Tradition is such an archaic shackle, a tedious pantomime I have neither the time nor inclination to pander too. I see no reason for my odyssey to come to an end because some long-in-the-tooth ancient decrees it should.”

  So many words. Who does he think he’s talking to?

  He shrugged. “But I do go on, child. How are you feeling? You were not long for this world when we pulled you aboard. You had been adrift for some time—the majority of the battle, I should think.”

  Violet put a hand to her head. It was throbbing. “The battle . . .”

  “Is over,” Raines anticipated her question. “You would be wise to turn your attention to the present.”

  “Did any—”

  “It would be best,” Raines interrupted her, “if you were to recall that you first came aboard the Tantamount at Port Border. That prior to that you had never set foot upon that ill-fated ship. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Violet looked at him. This was the second time someone had tried to warn her. She made to pull back the blankets covering her and put her feet to the floor. The room shifted the moment she did so. Raines caught her by the shoulders, pushing her back towards the bed. Her whole body was shaking.

  “We will speak again, little one. When you are . . . stronger. And I would be most interested in hearing your impressions of this vessel. I had a hand in its design. When you are stronger, of course. More yourself. Until then.”

  STRONGER TOOK ANOTHER day. Possibly two, she lost track. Violet slipped back into unconsciousness not long after Raines left her bedside. She dreamed of darkness. Of glittering eyes staring back at her from that featureless black. On occasion she woke, her throat dry and parched or when more basic needs refused to be ignored. Every time there was one of two young men by her bed. She might have been flattered if not for the Alliance colours they wore. But they tended to her without rancour, brought her water and gruel, all she could manage. Once there was another figure, not much more than a silhouette. She heard someone call them Captain. Or was it Skipper?

  Not my Captain. Not my Skipper.

  Not your ship.

  After a handful of those waking moments she awoke properly. Clear-headed and in more or less control of her aching body. Her feet went where she asked them to and no one objected when that was outside her room.

  “Captain said to show you the ship, I guess we show you the ship,” Kaspar led the way through the narrow corridors of the Fata Morgana. She disliked the silver hue of everything, of glowstones. It seemed forever since she’d seen proper colour. It made her eyes itch and she rubbed at them constantly.

  “The old fox just wants to show off his work to one of his own,” Gravel, whose real name was Brandon, said from behind. Violet felt small sandwiched between the two young men. Gravel was junior in rank to Kaspar but the two bantered like friends rather than comrades, like Piper and the skipper had used to.

  They did that before. On Port Border. Where you first met them.

  “Watch your language, Brandon,” Kaspar still admonished him. “Try and at least act as if you’re proud to wear the uniform.
”

  “Pay me to sail, not to act. And I don’t think she’s going to be offended by me referring to Raines as the old fox.”

  “She might be offended if you talk about her like she’s not here,” Violet muttered.

  “Now that’s an entirely different matter,” Gravel chuckled. “Which way, Niko? Up or down?”

  Kaspar looked up and down, ceiling to floor. “What do you think? Down to the pumps in engineering or across to the main deck?”

  “Up and down are all relative. Up and down, left and right. Port or starboard?”

  “What are you talking about?” Violet sighed.

  Kaspar turned around to face her. “This isn’t a normal ship, Miss. Not like any you’d have been on.”

  “I’ve been on a few,” Violet told him. “Alliance ships aren’t so different.”

  “This one is,” Gravel said.

  “He’s right,” Kaspar nodded. “And you can thank Raines for that.”

  “Old fox has some crazy ideas.”

  “Some brilliant ideas.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Anyway,” Kaspar shook his head. “It’s easiest if you think of the Fata Morgana as the halves of two separate ships, fixed together.” He cupped his hands. “Sweep away the masts and join the two together like so.”

  “But that would never work,” Violet frowned. “No masts means no sails. How would you push the ship anywhere? What would the navigator work with? And where would the ballast go?”

  “Through that centre-line where the ships meet, with a thinner lining in the outside cladding.” Kaspar led her forward to a hatch and the galvanised stairs leading down to it. “This part’s a little tricky. It’s easier if you just see for yourself.”

  He started climbing, unfastening the hatch and disappearing through it. Violet put a confused hand to the railing.

  “Go on,” Gravel encouraged her. “I’ll be right behind to catch you if you fall.”

  “It’s just stairs,” Violet said. They’d been headed down, several decks, and unless the ship was bigger, far bigger, than she’d guessed, they should almost be down close to the keel and ether line.

  The closer she got to the hatch, the heavier her body felt. At first she dismissed it as an effect of the effort on her weakened self, but then she recognised the familiar feeling of being too close to a ship’s etheric ballast. And as she stepped down through the hatch the world flipped. She fell, or rose, she wasn’t sure, and someone caught her. Kaspar’s arms set her down gently on what should have been the ceiling, except she was standing on it. And when she looked down she saw Gravel, halfway through the hatch in that ceiling, which was the floor she should was standing on. Two different worlds of up and down collided, right through the middle of the ship. Her eyes wanted to roll back into her head, couldn’t quite figure out where to look. She had to take a moment.

  Lucky you’re being held.

  Gravel performed a half somersault, rolling out of the hatch and landing on his feet next to them. He stood up, not bothering to hide his smile. Violet resisted the urge to smack him.

  “This way,” Kaspar said. “Raines will be down in engineering. He’ll want to see that you’re up and about.”

  Down? We just—which way even is down?

  They found the elder Kitsune amongst the pumps and pistons. One deck up from where up and down disagreed. A thin haze of smoke lingered in the belly of the Fata Morgana and the slick and stench of oil clung to everything. There were more moving parts than Violet could comprehend a ship needing. It was more like the inner workings of a clock tower than any ship Violet had ever been on.

  “Child, little one, how are we today?” Raines exclaimed, taking her hands and peering closely into her eyes the moment they found him. He had a roll of parchment in one hand. “You are feeling stronger, yes? More like yourself, perhaps?”

  “Yes,” Violet said, feeling like it was the correct answer.

  “Excellent, excellent. Tell me then, what do you think of my creation? This is mine, of course, all mine. Years in the making, the first of many, one would hope. A new generation of ships. New ships for . . . for new times. Exciting times are upon us, child, exciting times.”

  Raines paced as he talked, becoming more animated with his hand gestures.

  “It’s . . . different,” Violet thought was a safe choice of words.

  “Yes,” Raines turned, holding up one finger. “Different. This is the key. Different is the deciding factor, one must never allow oneself to become trapped in the mire of traditional thinking, of the tried and conservative way of conduction. Different. Exactly. A different drive, a different skin, even the ballast for such a vessel as this must be different. So many opportunities to branch out and explore new possibilities.”

  “This here,” Raines beat on the inside of the hull with his knuckles. His touch echoed, creating a knocking effect that lingered.

  “Metal, you see? Have you ever see a ship made of metal? A heart of iron has this maiden, as tough as those who crew her. They sing songs you know, of wooden ships and iron men. A romantic wistfulness of an era that never really was. What will they say of this lady and those aboard? Songs yet to heard being composed as we speak. But this hull,” Raines spun, his eyes bright and shining as his voice picked up pace, “lighter than anything ever before constructed. It has to be, you see. Lighter and yet durable, like the crew! Hammered into ship, moulded for a purpose. There is a progression, a small ship, a small iron ship, no, that would never work. No, no, no. But this, this expanse of air and space, this flies true.”

  Violet found herself nodding, while admitting to herself that she had little actual comprehension of what Raines was saying. Elder he might be but beyond that she couldn’t say what if any wisdom he might possess. She thought he might go on forever but something distracted him.

  A fine line between genius and madness.

  “Something is bothering you?” Raines asked.

  “No, no, sorry,” Violet apologised, aware her attention had drifted.

  “You’ve been rubbing at your eyes.” Raines tilted her chin up with his finger. “A problem, yes? Perhaps since you woke up.”

  Violet nodded.

  “Ah, forgive me, I had not thought,” Raines sighed. “Had not considered it. Not surprising, though.”

  “We can take her to the surgeon,” Kaspar offered. “Won’t take long, hasn’t been too busy of late.”

  “Nonsense,” Raines waved his hand in dismissal. “A surgeon? A doctor, they call themselves? A simple cutter, more like. No, nothing the fellow could do. This is a simple case of exposure. Your eyes, yes, and other extremities. It is the blood flow, you see. Eyes are rather complex mechanisms. What you consider a pulpy orb is much more detailed, of lenses and foci, bits and pieces that perceive colour and shadow, all arranged just so. Your eyes were mostly likely damaged from spending so long in the cold black amongst the mist.”

  Violet reached for her face, clapping a hand over one eye in alarm. “Damaged? Like, permanently? Blind, eye patches, stumbling-around-in-the-dark damaged?”

  Calm down, calm down. Breathe.

  Raines frowned at her outburst. “You have been having trouble, yes? With your vision, perhaps your depth perception. A lack of colour, perchance?”

  Violet nodded, still covering one eye. “Can’t see colour. I thought it was . . . the stones, normal. It’s not?”

  “An easy fix, you will be relieved to know. Your eyes should restore themselves, in time. A few days if you are lucky, more likely weeks but possibly months. However, I do possess the means to correct your vision in the present, a compensation. Not one I carry on my person, I should say, but you will no doubt visit my workshop soon enough. We can see to you there. Until then, I do believe the first officer is the one expecting you.”

  “I’m to bring her to Aristeia,” Kaspar confirmed, touching Violet on the shoulder. “Those were her orders, once you were done speaking with her.”

  “Must
run, must run,” Raines said, as if to himself. He looked round at the trio. “Do you hear that hum? What is that? What have those meddlesome trolls done? Never feed the trolls, never ever ever. Kaspar, do show our young guest around the rest of the ship. We’ll talk later, little one. I’m curious as to what you think, most curious.”

  Kaspar said something in response which Raines didn’t seem to notice. He was already in motion, his lips moving and hands gesticulating, clearly thinking aloud. Kaspar shook his head, pulling Violet along by the sleeve of her shirt, though he allowed his arm to drop once she started walking in step.

  “Crazy old fox,” Gravel shook his head wryly.

  “Is he crazy?” Violet asked. “Because to me he was making the sense that’s not.”

  “He built the ship,” Gravel said. “Dreamed her up and convinced workmen madder than he to build it just so. And it’s fact she sails truer than anything either side of the Lanes but I’m not the one to ask how. I know to leave well enough alone.”

  Kaspar led them through the long and cramped corridors of the Fata Morgana. At Violet’s best guess they were headed somewhere towards the centre of the ship. It struck her as an odd place to find an officer.

  “Are we going to the bridge?” she asked.

  “The bridge is a little different here,” Kaspar explained, stopping to heave open a door. It swung open like the hatch of a bubble. The entirety of the ship seemed to be made of metal, causing sounds to bounce and echo loudly. They stepped through and Gravel secured the door behind them, swinging the wheel shut. More and more like a bubble, Violet thought.

  “The whole ship is different,” Violet said.

  “Depends what you’re used to,” Kaspar shrugged. “If you grew up in a mine like Brandon did then . . .” Gravel made a face at him and Kaspar’s words trailed off.

  “Anyway,” he said, “the bridge is this way.”

  The bridge was presumably the room at the end of their current corridor. Violet glimpsed it briefly when the door in front of them opened for someone to emerge from inside. A hive of activity, officious-looking, harried people in pressed uniforms.

  Ahead of her she could see Kaspar visibly tense. His gait became stiffer, hands almost clenching into fists. She felt Gravel shuffle up beside her, almost protectively. He had the same look to him.