by Joseph Lallo
The crew blinked into the light. Ahead of them lay the most marvelously decorated room any had ever seen. There was only one precalamity cathedral remaining in Rim, and for all who had seen it, the building served as the apex of color and extravagance in an otherwise drab region. This one room redefined the concept of elegance and beauty for the entire crew. Tall, arched windows draped with gauze colored the light of the morning in magnificent reds, pinks, and oranges. Flowers in every color of the rainbow stood in vases and draped over chairs and doorways as garlands. Sculptures made from blown glass and polished silver held enough candles to chase away every shadow. Place mats woven from some sort of reed lay beneath painted plates and silverware lovingly etched with complex patterns of waves and roses. The chairs were even of a unique design, high-backed and carved of driftwood. Each wide base housed a pair of seat cushions positioned in twin scoops, plainly intended for two people. The seats were spaced evenly around an oval table that dominated the center of the room.
And then there were the people.
“What in all the mountains and skies…” muttered Lil.
The crew had dealt with their share of Calderans ever since they’d gotten the nerve up to start selling black market goods at the fringe of this very island. They’d seen some elaborate outfits in that time, and Nita had given them an assortment of such clothing to sell. During the journey to the estate, they’d gotten the opportunity to see some of the townsfolk in their natural element, and for the most part the clothes fit their expectations. It didn’t occur to the Wind Breaker crew until this very moment that if their everyday clothes were a few notches above the dress clothes of the people at home, their dress clothes could only be more ornate.
Even if they’d attempted to set their expectations accordingly, it wouldn’t have prepared them for this. Rather than exquisitely designed and embellished dresses and suits, the likes of which they’d already seen, the people awaiting them were dressed in flowing robes. The fabric itself was simple and coral colored. The beauty came instead from how they’d been adorned. What at first glance appeared to be beads turned out to be tiny colored seashells, each one carefully stitched into looping, weaving lines, tracing out scenes more detailed and magnificent than any tapestry. Mr. Graus and a distinguished woman who could only be his wife stood at the head of the table, each with their arms spread to their sides. Nita sat to the right side, Lita and Joshua sat to the left. They all wore headdresses of bright red feathers interspersed with green fronds. With the exception of the matriarch and patriarch of the family—who shared a seat—the rest of the seats bore only one person each, and always with at least a pair of empty seats separating each of them.
Musicians stationed on either side of the entryway shifted from soft, lilting tones to a more bombastic fanfare. As the last blaring notes dropped into a soft musical backdrop, Donovan Graus spoke.
“Crew of the Wind Breaker, representatives of Westrim and Circa, and guests of the Graus family. It is a pleasure and an honor to welcome you to our home.”
“Wow, Nita,” Lil said. “Is this how you dress at home?”
The family laughed. Mr. Graus continued.
“It is traditional to wear our ancestral garb on occasions such as this. I have to thank you for giving us the opportunity. Not since the birth of my youngest has the family had cause for such. And to that end allow me to make the introductions. Joshua is my youngest. Formally trained as both a sculptor and composer. My twins, are Analita, who models and dances, and of course Amanita, who tinkers in the family trade of music boxes. And of course my lovely wife, Amarita, who thanks to your efforts and those of Amanita has been able to resume her life’s calling of sculpture. And I am Donovan Graus, also a humble tinkerer of music boxes. Naturally we have all met, but for the benefit of my family, may I introduce Captain McCulloch West, Glinda West, Ichabod Cooper, and Chastity Cooper.”
“Mack, Butch, Coop, and Lil, for preference,” Lil said. “And it seems like you left some off your introductions, seein’ as how you said Nita made music boxes and left out the steamworks and ship’s engineer bit, and you thanked us for restorin’ Mrs. Graus’s life’s calling and not for savin’ the rest of her life.”
“Lil…” the captain rumbled.
“No, no. Valid observations. As this is a formal introduction, we choose to highlight the most valued and prestigious of our roles,” Mr. Graus said.
“Keepin’ the island runnin’ and savin’ lives ain’t valued?”
“Lil, don’t worry about it. These are just formalities,” Nita said.
Mr. Graus and the others removed their headdresses—which likely weighed enough to make prolonged wear a health hazard—and placed them on the peaks of the backs of their respective seats.
“I know that you are all famished from your long journey, but there are some small matters of decorum that should be explained to avoid any confusion. First, the three initial courses are meant to be eaten with your fingers. Second, as is the case with every formal function, we have set out the union seats. They are meant to be shared by partners, be they past, present, or future. Other than that, you may sit where you wish, and following a musical performance, the meal will begin.”
The crew filed into the room. Captain Mack and Butch moved directly to the open seat to the left side of their hosts. To look at Captain Mack’s face, one would have thought that he was walking through a bland, run-of-the-mill meeting room. Butch was slightly more appreciative of her surroundings, though evidently the sense that most seized her mind was the sense of smell. She breathed deep, sampling the floral scent that permeated the air and catching little whiffs of the potent spices of cooking food. The captain and his ex-wife shared a union seat.
Coop sat in the first seat he could find, essentially at the opposite head of the table. Nikita peeked out from within his jacket, then hastily tucked herself further away. Lil bounded over to Nita’s seat as though she was afraid someone would beat her to it.
“Mind if I sit here, Nita?” Lil said, already angling herself to plop down beside her former crewmate.
Nita placed a hand on her arm to stop her and answered with a gentle smile of correction. She patted the arm of the chair to her other side. “This side would be more appropriate.”
“But seats are for partners. You and me were pretty much a team back on the Wind Breaker, right?”
“The seats aren’t for that sort of partners.”
Nita gestured to her parents, as well as Captain Mack and Butch.
“Oh… Oh, that sort of partner.” Lil offered a fragile grin and hesitated for a moment, then paced around to the next chair and took a seat.
Now that all had found their places, Mr. Graus spoke again.
“I appreciate that this is the first you all have been exposed to our fair land. It may seem a bit confusing, seeing us as we are in the clothing of our forebears. Likewise the meal you shall be served is representative of our past, not our present, but it is our belief that to know Caldera is to know it from the beginning, and thus you should be introduced to us as we began. In that way, you will know us as we are. After each course, a member of the Graus clan will share with you a chapter of the history of our islands. I shall begin.”
Servants, dressed in simpler versions of the same ceremonial garb, entered and set down the first course amid a simple melody performed by the musicians beside the entrance. The food was a thick, fishy soup served in a bowl that looked more like a gravy boat. One end of the ornate porcelain dish extended into a spout of sorts. The crew waited until the song ended and Joshua picked up his bowl. After they watched him sip the soup from the spout, they did the same. The meal was rich, flavored with coconut and an assortment of spices none of the crew had tasted before. The first thought to pass through most of their minds was the sort of price such spices might fetch back in the markets of Keystone.
Mr. Graus spoke with the easy tone of a man who had been addressing audiences for his entire li
fe.
“This island, the island of Tellahn, is the largest in Caldera. In the ancient tongue its name means ‘the first place.’ Our stories tell that when our world was young, there was nothing but sea, and then from the depths rose Tellahn, born of Lo, its mighty volcano. From Lo’s mouth poured our people, the first people. And thus life spread out like the rays of the rising sun. In those days the bounty came from the sea. The dish you now enjoy sustained the first generation of our fair people, and thus the first generation of all people.”
A loud thunk drew the attention of the table to Coop, who had set down his now empty bowl. Upon realizing he’d become the center of attention, he simply shrugged and picked up the bowl again.
“Seconds?” he said, hopefully.
Mr. Graus, a flicker of irritation coloring an expression that until now had been perfectly diplomatic, gestured for the servants to oblige Coop. As a servant hastily ladled out a fresh helping from a tureen, Mr. Graus continued.
“At that time there were many animals, of which we were only one. We were not the swiftest. We were not the largest. We were not strongest or the longest lived. What, then, made us special? A man and woman, their names lost to time, were the first to discover the answer, and to them we owe all that followed.”
“It’s clothes, ain’t it?” Lil offered. “The rest of the critters don’t wear clothes.”
“Wink wears an eye patch. And I knew a fella who had goats that wore scarves,” Coop offered.
“But we put the patch on Wink, and that fella put the scarves on the goats.”
“It ain’t a riddle,” Mack said in an angry hush. “He’s going to tell us. Now hush up.”
“It’s gonna be clothes,” Lil said quietly. “Just you wait.”
“The answer,” Graus said, raising his voice a bit. “Is creativity. We alone are able to look upon our world and recreate it. In paintings, in sculpture, in story, in song. And though invariably our first creations are duplicates of things we have experienced, none of them are perfect, all are our own. And from those flaws, from the realization that we cannot perfectly replicate the world we have been given, we learn that we can do something better. We can create a new one. Just as our own island rose from the depths of the sea, so may a thousand new worlds rise from the depths of our minds. Creativity and its fruits elevate us and make us, in some small way, as mighty as the creators of our very world.”
“See? Clothes,” Lil said.
“He didn’t say nothin’ about clothes, Lil,” Coop countered.
“But he was talkin’ about makin’ stuff, and clothes is stuff you make. It’s the same.”
“He was talking about art and stuff. Clothes ain’t art, ’cause you can use them for stuff. Art ain’t nothing but perty.”
“Guests, please,” Mr. Graus said. “I apologize for not making this clear, but this portion of the greeting ceremony is a monologue. There shall be no call-and-response, and while discussion is encouraged, it is best kept to the end of the speech.”
“Sorry, Mr. Graus,” Coop said.
Nita’s father took a moment to compose himself. “And so our people dedicated themselves to the development of art, the only truly divine pursuit. It has shaped us as a people, and remains the focus since the first artisan selected the first shell to adorn his robes.”
See? Clothes, Lil mouthed silently before sticking her tongue out at her brother.
“We serve this simple dish as a reminder of the time before we sought to include beauty in all our workings. I hope you enjoy it.”
Lil waited a few beats and sampled the food before piping up with, “So we done? Ready for regular talk?”
“Yes,” Nita said.
“Clothes is too art!” she said, launching straight back into the postponed argument. “Look at the outfits our hosts got on. You sayin’ that ain’t art? It’s beautiful!”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Graus said. “We’ve each made our own.”
“It’s real perty. All of this is real perty. And we’re all real proud you dressed up so nice for us and all,” Coop said, in his version of diplomacy. “But… look, a shoe ain’t art. It could be real fancy, but you ain’t wearin’ it because it’s fancy. You’re wearin’ it so you don’t bust up your feet when you walk around.”
“They’re so spirited!” Joshua said in the same tone one might use when describing an exotic animal.
“Very much so. I’d thought Nita was embellishing in her letters,” Lita said.
“This is actually quite a valid area of debate,” Mrs. Graus said. “There are those who are of the opinion that art, to truly be art, must exist only for its own sake. This is the point Mr. Cooper would appear to support. Ms. Cooper, on the other hand, holds the opposing view. We have attempted to embellish and elevate even the most utilitarian of items through artful design. Her view is that this makes those things art. And it is a fascinating discussion. When one paints upon a canvas, does the canvas become a piece of art, or is it merely the vessel through which art is conveyed? It is a topic that has occupied the minds of some of our greatest philosophers.”
“Well they can set their minds at ease, ’cause I got it figured out. If you look at it and you ain’t sure if it’s art, it ain’t art.”
“Such clarity of thought! It is the blissful ignorance of a child with the conviction of an adult!” Joshua said.
“See? Josh gets it,” Coop said.
“Mr. Graus,” Captain Mack said, “will you be servin’ liquor at this meal?”
“Yes. We’ve paired specific ones with different courses, beginning with the third course,” he replied.
“I hope it ain’t a terrible breach of tradition, but I’ll pass. I had some troubles with the bottle myself. But you might want to bring the timetable forward a bit on the first pairing. Seems like dulling the wits might help lubricate relations a bit.”
“… See, I got a tattoo on my arm, but my arm ain’t art,” Coop said.
Mr. Graus shut his eyes. “I think on this occasion a compromise can be made.”
“Tell me, Captain West,” said Mrs. Graus. “I seem to recall talk of an armory officer, Mr. Van Cleef. And some adorable little creatures. The ayes?”
“Aye-ayes. Coop’s got one of ’em in his jacket there. And Gunner and the other one are back home, seein’ to some business.”
“Nothing too unpleasant, I hope.”
“Business is business. Nothin’ he can’t handle.”
#
“You ever get sick of wearing that mask down here?” Kent asked.
“Yes, Kent,” Gunner muttered, his voice slightly muffled by a filter mask. “Almost instantly.”
The fug, the toxic layer of mist that blanketed most of the central expanse of the continent of Rim, was no place for surface folk. Everywhere it touched Gunner’s skin, it left an uncomfortable, raw alcohol coldness. It stung the eyes as well, but those were at best inconveniences. The real danger was breathing the stuff, which after a few minutes would either kill a surface person or, if the rumors were to be believed, gradually and painfully convert some of them into fug folk. For Gunner, neither fate was a pleasant thought, so he made certain to keep his filter mask firmly in place whenever he dipped beneath the rolling surface of the fug. The only respite came during mealtimes, when he opened a small jar of ichor in his room and took advantage of its ability to push back the fug to get a bit of reasonably fresh air—enough to allow him to remove his mask for long enough to fill his stomach, anyway.
“I notice you don’t do cycles down here with us as often as Lil and Nita,” Kent said.
“By design, I assure you,” Gunner said.
“Then how come you’re down here now?”
“Because the captain, quite astutely, reasoned that it was only a matter of time before Alabaster or some agent of the mayor launched another attack, and I’m the only member of the crew suited to designing an improved defense.”
“I think me an
d Nita did a pretty decent job.”
“That we are currently patrolling The Thicket in search of an escaped infiltrator suggests otherwise.”
If the fug was the most inhospitable part of Rim, The Thicket was the most inhospitable part of the fug. It was a large, dense forest, filled with thorny, vine-covered trees and populated by animals twisted by the fug into horrific parodies of their former selves. Wolves became huge, lanky fug hounds. Squirrels became lightning-quick monsters the size of jungle cats. There were rumors that the fug had taken its toll on bears as well, but until now there was no living witness of such a beast.
That would have been enough to make it a nearly impassible obstacle, but compounding the treacherousness was the fact that what little light made it through the hundreds of feet of fug between the ground and the sky was filtered away by the branches and leaves of The Thicket. Now heap on its considerable distance from what passed for an urban center beneath the fug and the fact that access by land was nearly impossible. To reach it one needed a solid knowledge of its location—which was information very few were privy to—as well as the skill to navigate in utter darkness without roads or landmarks—a rare skill indeed—and a vehicle capable of such a journey. Those with all three of these elements numbered in the single digits, largely because the advent of airships had made land vehicles quite low in priority. Until recently, a machine suited to traversing The Thicket simply didn’t exist.
Gunner was strapped, appropriately, in the gunner’s seat of just such a vehicle. It had come to be known as The Thicket Express. The design had evolved over the months that the Well Diggers had been operating the Ichor Well facility. In the beginning it was little more than an armed and armored steam-powered cargo cart. As this particular one made trips back and forth to designated pickup points for cargo and workers, Nita and the other mechanically inclined members of the Wind Breaker and Well Digger crews took notes and made modifications. Now it was nearly unrecognizable from those earliest days. The wheels were much larger, grippier, and more forgiving than the original designs, the better to deal with the uneven ground. More lights, more guns, and better pivots for each improved their ability to spot threats and deal with them. Even the controls had been simplified somewhat, and included an easier-to-adjust throttle and adjustable brightness for the phlo-lights.