The Cloudship Trader

by Kate Diamond

  Ney prepared tea for them both and sat on the deck to watch the world pass by below. Though mountain mint was not nir favored blend, ney did not mind the taste. Inevitably nir thoughts touched on the ledger-book ney had been so well-trained to keep.

  “We need to resupply soon,” Miris said. “I didn’t have time to pick up a lot at Summertooth, and it’s certainly not enough for two.” Ney brought out a well-worn book of maps that had once belonged to Pira, and her mentor before her. The hand-painted pages bore dozens of little additions and corrections carefully sketched in by each generation of fliers. Here a tiny house marked a newly-settled village, there an X crossed out a trading post that had long since packed up and moved to new ground. Miris had had occasion to make a few annotations nemself, keeping the book up-to-date. It was still largely accurate; the course of the River Kerden was not likely to move soon, nor the foundations of Tilsa.

  It took a few minutes to find their position, for the Aerie was certainly not on this map, but ney managed it, and measured the distance they could fly before dark. A while of searching, and a suitable location presented itself. A stamped image of a tower, old enough to have been part of the original page, and beside it a name in two scripts: Vanna, a Forish trade city and cloudship waypoint. Miris had heard of it from Pira, but had not visited nemself, for it was further north than ney typically flew. Ney could not have planned for better.

  “Loading takes time, so we’ll stop for the night. You can stay on the ship if you want,” ney offered. After what had happened at Pirren, any reluctance on Belest’s part to walk in the open would be understandable. “But I don’t think you have anything to fear from Vanna. It’s a Forish city, and they don’t concern themselves overly much with human politics.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Belest said, this time without hesitation.

  “Good,” Miris said, nodding. Ney set the book aside, rose, and adjusted their course slightly west with a few words to Seres. “We’ll arrive near sunset. I’m expecting good weather today.”

  It wasn’t something the more superstitious fliers would say aloud, given how much of their lives depended on those fluctuating and all-too-changeable conditions. But it would be unfair to keep things from Belest, when the knowledge of them might ease his mind.

  “What can I do to help?” Belest asked.

  It was on Miris’s tongue to say no, there was nothing to be done, but there was. Ney drew the ledger from its case, gathered a loose sheet of paper and a pen.

  “Copy out yesterday’s numbers for the harbormaster. We’ll need to provide a report so the crew knows what to replenish.” Miris held out the ledger and let Belest take it, though a large part of nem wished very much to snatch it back. Did he understand how important it was to handle a flier’s logbooks? From the care with which he held the volume, perhaps he did.

  Even so, Miris kept a close eye on him, and a close eye especially on the inkwell. It was a wide-bottomed sort with a clever lid that sealed itself after each dip, designed for use in flight or on the sea, but there was always a risk. But Belest finished his copying without incident. Miris looked over his tidy hand with approval, and signed the document with both nir name and Seres’s glyph before folding it neatly into nir pocket.

  “And they’ll come aboard and replace the stores?” Belest asked.

  “No, they won’t. The waypoint crew do not board cloudships, not unless the flier is there and permits it. And most will not. They’ll haul away the waste and leave the new supplies on the dock, and Seres and I can move them when we return.”

  Belest stepped back. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  Miris resisted sighing, for it would be only another cruelty.

  “You had no reason to know,” ney said. “We don’t share our ways widely.” And there were some who used that to hold themselves above those who did not know. “I didn’t think about it much before Pira chose me to be an apprentice. Books by fliers tend to skip those details. Now I see why. Once you’re used to it, you forget how much is involved in all the things you do every day. And books by others, people who’ve never flown or who’ve maybe met a flier once… they make things up to fill the gaps.”

  The day passed slowly after that. They talked a little more, and slowly the conversation regained the ease it had held that morning.

  As evening approached, so too did their destination. The sparse description in the book of maps did not prepare Miris for the sight of Vanna from the air. The city was laid out in the shape of a star, its five points jutting out from a central circle in the directions of the Forish compass. A canal ran the perimeter, folding around each angle and joining the city to the river. Miris could see boats on the canal, carts on the bridges over it. From the center of the star rose a great spire, dark against the sky, and at the top of that sat something like a tremendous snowflake in wood and metal, reaching its arms out to welcome approaching cloudships. As they drew closer, Miris could see people carrying crates from the central hub down the arms towards a waiting ship.

  “They must hoist cargo up that tower,” Belest said, leaning over the rail to study the waypoint’s construction. “Do they do that at all waypoints?”

  “They do at Forish ones. Human-built waypoints, at least in Arlana, aren’t built so high, so ramps are enough.”

  Two cloudships in the Forish style already sat in their docks. They were longer and narrower than the Dragonfly or the Brightblade, their hulls painted dark and adorned with silvery inlay. From their prows sprung brass arches that curved over their decks and ran to the far corners of the raised cabins. But the masts carved and painted with Windscript were much the same as Miris’s, even if the sails they bore were of a different cut. Miris read the names of the ships’ winds from their sails: Simar, Rahae. A few moments’ thought recalled the latter. Rahae’s flier was an aged woman named Lanhiran who had written of her travels among the dragonfolk of the western peninsula and the romances she pursued there. The other Wind was not immediately familiar, but then, ney had met many dozens of fliers at their councils.

  Fortunately one of the open berths was of the right shape to host an Arlanan cloudship like the Dragonfly. Seres brought the ship slowly in to rest. Miris went through the process of securing the ship in the dock, explaining each step to Belest as ney went. Once they were properly moored, he helped nem carry the dwindling storage containers and half-full waste barrel onto the platform.

  A figure emerged from the harbormaster’s office and approached them: a man, dark-furred, with splashes of white showing at his temple and left wrist. He wore silver bands on his horns and a dark robe that stopped just above his cloven hooves. Forish used a similar system of Naming to the humans of Arlana and Trineta. Their Naming necklaces bore both the wearer’s personal name and an allegiance symbol, which more commonly marked a person’s hometown than their family. This man’s symbol was a bird within a star. Fitting, for a city that hosted fliers.

  “Welcome,” the harbormaster said. “I am Matanh. It is not often we see a ship of your make. It is beautiful.”

  “As are yours,” Miris replied. “I am Miris, my ship is the Dragonfly, and our Wind is Seres. My assistant is Belest.”

  Matanh’s ears flicked. “We do not name our ships,” he said. “For us, it is enough to say Simar’s-ship, or Haane’s-ship.”

  “I’ve heard the same from other Forish fliers,” Miris said. “They call our practice of naming ships fanciful, or strange.”

  “It is merely different,” Matanh said. “There is space in the sky for all such traditions. Do you have your logs?”

  Miris handed him the copied logs, which he tucked into his sleeve. He led them down the spoke of the dock towards the hub. Slim railings barred the edges, enough to perhaps prevent a fall if one were to slip, but not enough to offset the feeling of walking on a high ledge in the middle of the sky. Miris liked it. Belest looked a little nervous, but said nothing.

  “You are surprised,” Matanh said as they walked, showing his teeth i
n an amused grin.

  “I haven’t visited a waypoint like this before,” Miris said “Most of the human-built ones don’t have permanent settlements nearby.”

  “The city came first. Vanna was a fortified trade city when first it sprang from the riverbank.” The words flowed with a storyteller’s rhythm. Miris guessed the harbormaster had told this tale to many visitors before nem. “The first fliers of our people came from within Vanna’s Points. They wished for a monument to mark their homeland and welcome all others who flew by the Winds. And so we stand here today, carrying out that work.”

  Matanh brought them into the office and laid Miris’s report on a desk piled with books and documents. A black-and-gold pen case sat in the middle beside a slate and stylus. A board hung behind the desk. Pinned to it were two crescent-shaped wooden markers, along with a multitude of other indicators. Miris had learned the Forish system of waypoint records along with the Arlanan, but ney had not had reason recently to use the knowledge. Ney could read the signs for arrival time and supply status, but not the rest.

  Matanh took a third ship-marker from a tray at the bottom of the board. “When will you be departing?”

  “Tomorrow morning, early.”

  “Then we shall have everything prepared for you by then.” He added several more pins, precise and unhurried. When he was done, he gave them some advice on lodgings around the city, and brought them to another door. It was a little unsettling to be sent off so quickly. Matanh was more than competent, but Miris was accustomed to waypoints where the fliers mostly stayed with their cloudships and guided the crew in making repairs or maneuvering cargo. But if it had satisfied generations of Forish fliers, Miris would not protest. Certainly Seres would ensure everything went to plan.

  They descended the spire by means of an elevator - Belest had been correct in that prediction. They passed several levels of storage and then stepped out onto a star-shaped plaza. Lamps set on high arching poles sat at each point, the intersecting circles of illumination completing the pattern started by the mosaic of tiles at their feet. A wide street ringed the plaza, and from that sprung more streets that ran down the city’s points.

  This unusual arrangement made sense, if Vanna had been built as a fort. The points allowed for more places for guardians to watch for attackers, and the river a supply of food that could not be cut off. The streets would disorient foreigners while offering useful landmarks to those who lived here. Miris started down one of the streets, in a direction that Matanh had assured nem would offer good food and lodging to visitors.

  Though the streets thronged with people, they were quiet. Forish passed by in twos and threes, enjoying the cool dusk air, carrying on hushed conversations. Nobody called attention to Miris as a flier or as a human. There was nothing tense about this quiet. It was a peaceful, comfortable thing. They passed a park edged with green shrubs where a family sat on stone benches to listen to a musician play. Shops lined the street, open late and hoping to catch the interest of passers-by with their warm lamplit interiors and pretty window displays. It did not take long to find a meal. A broad half-timbered building stood just off of the main street, doors open and welcoming.

  A Forish public eating-house did not have a central dining room. That arrangement was reserved for private homes. Among strangers, a meal in view of others was considered vulgar and unpleasant. Nor did they hang platters from above, like the Ruenwin of the northern Aerie. Sliding panels and heavy curtains divided the hall into many little chambers, laid out in rows with pathways running between them. A silent hostess showed them into one of these rooms. Once Miris and Belest had taken seats on the padded benches, she set in front of them a slate, two round stones, and a tray bearing two tiny silver cups.

  Belest leaned over to get a look at it. “I… I can’t read that,” he admitted, embarrassed. Miris pulled the slate towards nem. Ney had studied the Forish alphabet as an apprentice, and knew their trade language fairly well. But ney peered at the tablet and could only make out the occasional letter in the stylized script.

  “I can’t read the hand.” And it would be improper in the extreme to ask the server directly. Ney frowned in thought, and placed the stones on the second item on the menu before tugging the little bell-pull by the curtain. An unseen server’s hand took the slate and tray away.

  They sipped spiced cream from the little cups, and soon the server returned and presented them each with a hot clay pot. Miris dipped a spoon in and was pleased to find layers of vegetables, meat, roots, cheese, all rich and savory and delicious. Belest obviously thought the same; he smiled at the first taste and left the bowl scraped clean when he was done. They departed satisfied, and continued along the street.

  A few minutes later, they came to a place where a small crowd had gathered around a pale-furred woman selling bowls of a bright berry-red something she scooped from a tall metal pot.

  “Shaved ice?” Miris wondered. Ney stepped closer, curious. The woman waved back her audience, poured a jug of juice into the pot, and churned it with a long pole. Ice sweets were hardly uncommon in the region. There would have been nothing notable about the scene, if it had not been for one detail. The churn, cold enough to cause condensation to bead on its surface, sat incongruously atop a fire. Not just a fire, for it was the wrong color for that, too red and insubstantial. A Flame spirit.

  “Miris.” Belest pointed to an engraving on the side of the churn, alarmed. “That Flamescript is the same one that was in the…” he trailed off, clearly not wanting to say it aloud. But he didn’t need to. Ney recalled the unnatural cold of the Star chest, the trays engraved with unfamiliar Flamescript. There was a way to ask Flames to take heat away from something rather than warm or burn it? They watched a little longer, but there was nothing in the least devious about the sweet-seller or her work. Still, the discovery had unsettled them both. Could that have played a part in how the Stars were captured?

  They presented themselves at the lodging-house, where a young host showed them to a room.

  “They used Flames to freeze the Stars?” Belest said when they were alone, half a statement and half a question. “I never thought that was possible.”

  “It must be. But I’ve never seen it before. It can’t be too rare a thing, that freezing, if someone was using it to make sweets.”

  “I suppose Flamesmiths are as secretive about their methods as fliers,” Belest mused.

  Miris nodded. “Yes. I expect they are.” Ney sighed. “It’s better to know more. I’m glad you recognized that Flamescript.” Ney left unspoken the greater question: would they be able to find the source of this? And if they did, could they stop it?

  They washed and slept, for there was nothing else to be done until they reached Dawning Crest, and the mountains were still two days away.

  ◆◆◆

  Matanh was waiting for them when they returned to the spire in the morning. As promised, a collection of crates sat ready by the Dragonfly’s dock, all cleaned and restocked.

  Miris and Belest quickly had everything onboard and lashed in place, with some help from Seres for the heavier items. The harbormaster wished them good fortune, and they set off.

  “We should fly until dark, if we want to reach Dawning Crest in good time tomorrow,” Miris said.

  Belest nodded. He had no reason to disagree. Miris looked like ney was about to say something else when ney touched one of the tattoos on nir arm and looked off into the distance. Belest turned, and saw a dark patch of thunderclouds coming towards them.

  “Look at that,” Miris said, pointing. “We’ll have to go above, it’ll take too much time to go around.”

  “Is that a problem?” Belest asked.

  “No, but it’ll get cold.” Miris opened one of the crates and pulled something out. “Here,” ney said, handing Belest a long coat. From the supplies ney had found at Tilsa? “This isn’t unusual. You can go below if you want, but there’s nothing to worry about,” ney said, fastening a thick cloak around nir own shou
lders.

  “I’ll stay,” he said when he’d buttoned up the coat. “Do we need to prepare the ship?”

  “No, Seres will take care of it.”

  Miris signaled to the Wind, who lifted them above the thunderhead. Belest barely looked away as they passed over it, watching the storm roiling angrily below.

  Once the storm was behind them, they descended to a more comfortable height. The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Miris made them tea and food, updated nir ledgers, painted a little more. Ney had paper to spare, so Belest too spent some time writing and drawing, sketching the ice churn, the Flamescript, the Kejan carvings on the chest.

  At some point, Belest wasn’t sure exactly when, the mountains became visible on the horizon, a grey shadow spiked like teeth.

  The Dragonfly slowed as the sky darkened, so that by the time the sun slipped below the horizon they hung still in the sky. Alien as such a sensation was, it felt perfectly stable. Miris prepared them supper from the supplies they had taken on at Vanna. Belest washed the bowls when they were done with the meal, a rich stew accompanied with a dense bread speckled with tiny seeds. His work done, Belest spread his bedding in the small, comfortable space inside the ship and slept.

  Something jangled, and jangled again. Belest turned over as the sound penetrated his dreams, but he did not wake, not until he heard the Wind howl. His confused instincts told him it was not yet day, and his eyes confirmed it. The sky outside the Dragonfly’s windows was utterly dark, yet they were moving, and quickly. But Miris had told him that first night that cloudships did not fly after sunset, that Winds did not listen to mortals at night.

  Belest scrambled up to the deck to find Miris standing at the mast, staring out into the dark. All around them the Wind gusted, filling the mast and carrying them onwards through the night.

  “What’s happening?”

  Miris turned, startled, as if ney had not noticed him until he spoke. “I don’t know,” ney said, eyes wide. “Seres won’t tell me.” Ney touched the glyphs again and evidently got no reply, for ney pulled nir hand away in a frustrated fist.