by S G Dunster
Fading to mist.
I had a moment of vertigo. The world melted. We were completely unattached—a great bubble, a rising balloon without a string. Nothing to land on. Nothing to come back to.
Eap’s little map—what if he was wrong? What if we were very far away from firmament? What if we were never to find it again? Would we drift forever in this choking, clouding, indistinct mist?
This thing we were caught in, how far did it go? How long would it last?
What if it lasted forever?
I let out my breath slowly.
At least we weren’t feeling any pain. Or fear. At least we weren’t hurting. If I was frozen in some chair at the rest home, like my father, at least I wasn’t aware of it.
I walked down the hall unsteadily until I came to my door. It stood open, and my bed was neatly made, ready to climb into.
Sweet down comforter. Sweet scent of wintergreen and lemon. It was the cleaner Itsy, my personal maid, liked to use. Dark hair feathering around her face and neck, slim, pale limbs, and a waist my hands together could fit around.
Wintergreen and lemon—my two favorite scents.
“Oh, hello there,” a voice purred, and there she was emerging from the attached water-closet, hand on her hip. “Just finished up.” She flashed me a perfect crescent of teeth. “Tired?”
I looked at her—the saucy tilt of her bust and hips as she leaned against the doorway; the way those high stockings hugged the girlish curve of her legs.
Heat flared through me.
It would be a real comfort. Like a giant, moist, frosting-slathered chocolate cake. Being touched by Itsy, in real life? I’d imagined it, but you can only imagine so much. Here . . . she was real.
“No,” I choked.
She winked and stepped into the room. “Want to be tucked in?”
I took another deep breath and let it out slowly.
Was it really so bad? She wasn’t real. I mean, she was, but she wasn’t.
Every Sunday school lesson I’d sat through bombarded me; every line of scripture about brimstone and stoning and fire blasting me to smithereens in hell. And even as I thought about it, I climbed into bed, every cell of my body vibrating with anticipation. I wanted this.
A second later she was there against me. Lemon, peppermint, silky hair and skin.
I couldn’t believe it . . . this. Real, her body sliding up against mine. Real, her warm, creamy flesh brushing my arms, her fingers teasing the hem of my shirt, bringing it up over my head.
Her soft, clever kisses touching my skin. With each one, a thrill raced through me. My heart might stop. My skin might split. My body responded without my permission.
She touched the waistband of my jeans, and that was when reality slammed into me, full force.
I couldn’t do this.
It was too much. It was too real.
I wasn’t . . . I couldn’t.
“Good night,” I croaked, rolling away from her. “That will be all.”
She leaned on her elbow, her warm breath tickling the back of my neck. “Are you sure?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Her tights, her bosom. The sleeve of her dress was falling off her shoulder, exposing her gleaming, pale-roundness.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied. I moved further away and caught myself before I fell off the bed, clutching the blanket around me. “Yeah. Good night.”
She pouted, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and arranged her skirt back over her thighs. “Aw. Well, ‘night then, Captain.”
“Night, Itsy,” I said. “Thanks. The room’s perfect.”
“I always do my best.” She grinned and left, closing the door quietly.
I scooted back into the middle of the bed, grabbed the pillow, and pulled it over my face.
Lil was right. How could I make up such lame stuff? Such stupid, stupid . . .
I sighed, pulled the pillow off my face, and looked out the wide window by my bed.
Mist. Nothing dark. Nothing bright. Just mist.
I closed my eyes and blocked it out, breathing in deeply, letting it out slowly, until the room around me faded as well.
Chapter 13
It was dark when I woke. Stars glimmered through my bay windows.
Stars. The reality of it struck me.
Sky. We had sky again. Their sky? Our sky?
I got up, flicked on the flue—steam powered, of course, though I’m not exactly sure how that worked; I’d never fully conceptualized that—and the lights faded on. I used the water closet, then stood in front of the mirror running my hands through my hair.
I looked like a shipwreck victim. Not a ship’s captain. I’d only barely begun to shave regularly, but it was obvious right now that shaving was needed. I had dark stubble all over my upper lip and on my neck. I had something matted in my hair. It looked like it could be blood. I touched it. Syrup, from the waffles with Aelfur.
The memory made me smile as I climbed into the iron-claw-footed tub and drew a bath. I sat in the hot water for a while, scrubbing myself with a pumice stone. The only razor available was a straight-edge blade lethal enough to kill me in one stroke. I used it anyway, carefully, lathering my face with a cake of soap, honey-scented, which Itsy had left at the sink. I did okay, only cutting myself once, in the corner of my lip. I held the edge of a soft towel to it until it clotted.
My hair was curling in the steam, popping up all over my head in dark ringlets. I sighed, ruffling it a bit with my fingers, and shrugged. Girls liked curly hair.
Girls, I told myself harshly. Girls don’t matter. This is not a story about girls.
Feeling much better, I went to my closet. If I was going to be captain of the Whippoorwill, it would help if I looked the part. I rifled through the hanging outfits—all of them very gilded and grand, and finally pulled down a gunmetal-grey tunic woven through with titanium threads. I had imagined it would ward off bullets and knife blows, so in this world, it should. In the world of telling, things in your mind becoming real; it would protect me.
It looked pretty cool, too. I took a deep breath and gave my reflection a nod, my lips spreading into a goofy smile. I did look good, belted at the waist and over the shoulder with studded leather, the belt tricked out with holders for binoculars, knives. Two gun-holsters, one at the hip, one at the shoulder. I pulled on the matching grey-titanium breeches and wrestled on knee-high, black leather boots with gleaming titanium toes.
I’m the captain, I told myself as I strode down the hall toward the engine room. I flung open the door. “We’re bearing northeast,” I said, deepening my tone a little without meaning to. “Slight change of course.”
“Order already received,” Marco, my ever-calm pilot replied, giving me a genial grin. His round face was red, moist with sweat. “We’re going a fair pace, Cap’n. You sure you don’t want to take it down just a notch? Using up the coal faster than we need.
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. Arapahoe said we’ve got enough coal to cross all of Astridia.”
“Yes, but,” he gave me a look. A little skeptical, like Arapahoe. “How far we meaning to go out of borders?”
“Eap will lead us. He knows where the landmarks are. He has traveled this place for a long time. And I trust him,” I said, meeting his gaze. “We trust him.”
Because we have to. Because we have no other choice.
A little nagging thought wanted to sprout . . . I shoved it down. We really had no choice.
“Eap. The new lad? Pasty fellow?”
“Had a black cat?”
“Yeah. Not the best luck on board, by the by,” Marco replied. “But neither’re women, and I know you need plenty’o those about.” He gave me a wink.
My face grew hot. Busy with the engine, he didn’t notice. He watched the tubes and dials that indicated functioning. He studied the compass and the various circles and levers on the readout. There was a piece of paper lying there on top of the glass instrument case.
A miniature version of Eap’s
map. The crescent, the spiky writing. He’d come by and given it to my engineman. By himself.
Without me.
It irked me, that he’d circumvent me that way. I was captain, wasn’t I? Hadn’t he said it?
“We’re a little too far south,” Marco remarked. He rapidly adjusted several of the dials. “Strange cartography, this. I’ve never seen these shorelines. We must be good and lost.” He grabbed one of the levers, turned it, and a great gasp of steam funneled up through the piping. “Eap said you’d promoted him to second mate. Didn’t believe him at first, but he had a note with your seal on it.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he did. Thank you.”
Annoyance flared into real anger as I went out of the engine room and stalked through the kitchens to the saloon. Everyone started and stood as I came in—dozens of passengers. Most of them had indistinct features, fuzzy forms, like a not-quite developed photograph.
I hadn’t fully conceptualized them. A glittering crowd, handsome women, strong men. Did I really need them? The passengers?
Many of the tables faded along with their occupants, leaving a dozen people in the saloon. Half of them were serving girls. Yeah, I’d imagined them a little too closely to easily forget. I closed my eyes and tried to think them away too, but when I looked again, they were still there, cheerfully putting out food, cleaning, bending over . . .
“Well,” I said, walking toward the head table where Arapahoe, Selah, and Dane sat. “This sun just won’t quit.” I sat at the end and nodded to a girl with a spiky red bob and complexion like cream. “A turnover please. And a glass of orange juice.”
She dimpled, bobbed a curtsy, and strolled through the door to the kitchen.
“You look rested,” Dane remarked, putting her fork aside and leaning over her plate to study me. She quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I snapped. “I slept by myself, too.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Not my business, Cap’n’. Though you were miserable yesterday.”
I took a deep breath. Calm down, I told myself. This is your story. Don’t apologize for it.
But Dane and I had a relationship in my story. How was I going to work through that? Should I change it? Leave it in place?
I studied her. Blond hair, pale eyes. Bone structure delicate, lovely. Her words, always spicy. Smart. Strong. Did I need her?
Yes, I did. She was part of what made this story. Held it together.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
She gave me a lip-quirk and a subtle nod. “Where’s Lil? And the other who came aboard? That ill man with the cat?”
“Eap,” I supplied. “I have no freaking idea. And right now,” I took a mouthful of turnover, “I really don’t care.”
“Hm,” Arapahoe said. “Rumor on ship’s he’s made himself second mate.” He fixed me with a narrow gaze. “I wasn’t consulted on that decision.”
“No,” I said. “Nor was I.”
“He had a sealed writ from you.”
“I don’t know how he came by it.” I waved my hand. “He’s good at forgery.” An idea struck me. “That’s what he is, a forger. He’s running from the law.”
Selah frowned, exchanged a look with Arapahoe. “Let’s put them off, then. As soon as we reach ground.”
“No, we can’t,” I said. “We need him. He’s the only one who knows the area we’re searching.”
Selah tilted her head. “We’re trusting a thief.”
“To catch a thief,” I said. “It’s the terms of his release.”
“Ah,” Selah’s eyes gleamed. “That makes a lot more sense.” She laughed and brought a cup of juice to her lips. “I have to say, I like him. The effrontery of forging a seal . . .” She shook her head.
“We’ll have to keep him in line, though,” Arapahoe cautioned, putting a hand on hers. “We can’t afford onboard mutiny. There’s no real worry,” he added quickly, looking at me. “But in the small quarters of a ship,” he left the sentence hanging.
“Right,” I said. “I’ll talk to him. Kick his butt a little. Make sure he remembers what he might have to go back to.”
I thought of the ruin of Grandeur, and the Grimwoods, and shivered. I slid my chair back.
“Right now,” I said, “I’ll consult with them. We’re traveling full speed, and headed a little more east. I spoke with Marco already this morning.”
Arapahoe nodded and rose as I did. Selah and Dane did, too.
I felt a little silly.
I am captain. I muttered it to myself as I walked out of the salon. You are captain. You are captain. Not Eap. Not Lil. They are consultants aboard your ship.
I came around the curve of the main cabins and found them leaning over the rail.
“Logan!” Lil called, gesturing for me to join them.
There was land in the distance: a line of green-black, just coming into view.
“Into the fray,” Eap said, giving the words a sarcastic lilt.
As the land slowly swelled into view—dark, gloomy, tinged with a sickly green—I felt how drastically it contrasted with the bright colors of the ship, the sky, and Lil’s yellow braids and bright clothing.
She’d gone all out today: a yellow striped shirt, saffron-orange overalls, and purple, chunky-soled combat boots. Her braids were smooth and perfect—silken ropes hanging down her back. Her face was washed, too. Her tropical eyes framed by clusters of damp lashes, moisture beading on her slim chin and round cheeks. I wondered why she’d made the effort.
She turned and squinted at me. “What? You forget what a girl with normal-sized bosoms looks like?”
I debated between anger and a snarky return. Snarky won. I just didn’t have the energy, not with those gross trees under us again. “Normal sized? Normal for a chipmunk, maybe,” I replied, shoving in next to her.
She wacked me on the back of the head with her palm. I grabbed at it, and she twisted, and we were in a wrestling match.
“Children,” Eap said mildly, “come and see this.” I stood and helped Lil to her feet. She kicked me in the shin for good measure and went to see what Eap was pointing at.
In the distance, the far distance, something tall and dark spiked up from the carpet of trees. It gleamed almost silver—very distinct in the tangle of black.
“The grey man’s tree,” Lil gasped, leaning so far over that I grabbed the back of her overalls. “We need to land now.” She batted my hand away. “Get off me.”
“We need to find a place to land,” I replied. “This is all trees. We’re fueled by steam. Fire and coal, Lil. We’d set the forest on fire.”
“Hm.” Eap looked suddenly thoughtful.
“Duh,” Lil retorted. “Make a place to land.”
I shook my head. “Won’t that attract the attention of . . . them? If we change stuff down there? Eap said— “
“Yes, it will. But if we’re lucky we’ll be in and out before they can do much about it. Even blyks need time to travel, and we’ve been well shielded from their gaze by those mirrors cloaks. I haven’t seen a stir of change, and we crossed over the firmament hours ago.” Eap turned to me. “Your second-mate, Selah? She explained it to me. An ingenious design, I have to say.”
“Thanks. And speaking of,” I said, “you can’t be second mate. Selah is.”
Eap turned an inquiring eye toward me. “I thought it would make things easier.”
“It messes with the story. Arapahoe was pretty against it. And Selah. And Dane. They are my officers, Eap. You can’t be in with us. You’re not . . . you don’t know anything about air-sailing.”
Eap cracked a grin, folded his arms over his chest, and leaned against the rail. “Teach me. Captain.”
I glared at him, then turned to Lil. “And you. If you think Whippoorwill is so lame, you tell something better, okay? I’m tired of you guys spending all your time laughing at what I’ve come up with.”
Eap and Lil looked at each other. Lil shrugged. “Fine.”
“We’re approaching quickly,” Eap
said. “Go tell your crew to get all their guns and knives and . . . go tell Marco to dock the ship right by the great tree.”
“He’ll think I’m crazy.”
“So make one of your sky docks,” Lil said.
“But don’t make it just yet,” Eap put in. “Wait until the last possible moment. The forest will feel the changes immediately. Your pilot,” he said, leaning in toward me, lowering his tone, “will need to trust his captain.” He imbued the last word a hint of insolence.
“Will do,” I said calmly and strode back toward the engine room casually, working hard to betray no hint of my frustration. Eap liked to get to people. This was easy to see. He’d eventually stop trying if it didn’t work.
Eap and Lil. What a great fellowship we make. The sarcastic and sneery, the fitty and judgmental, and the easily provoked. What could possibly go wrong?
Eap followed, and Lil, turning away from the rail, followed, too.
“I only hope Hans comes out to meet us immediately. We won’t have much time to look for the old clown,” Eap added.
Marco quietly accepted his new orders, but I saw the caution, the hesitation on his face and in his movements as he opened the hatch to the engine rooms and roared down for the coal boys to stop stoking the fires. Then he turned a complex series of levers that would let the air slowly from the balloon.
“Don’t let it all go,” I said. “We need a quick takeoff.”
“Aye-aye,” Marco murmured, watching the instruments carefully.
I had no idea what they said, which meant he didn’t, either, since I was telling the story, but something about a pilot studying instruments made me feel sure our ship would land safely. And because, in reality, I was flying this story, that meant I needed a pilot. To land it safely.
It was such a strange, circuitous thing, this telling.
“Food,” Lil said, watching me.
“Oh. I have breakfast getting cold,” I said.
“We’ll join you,” Eap said.
We went back to the saloon and found my officers still eating. “Selah,” I pointed at her, “we’re landing. I need the cannons armed. We might have some unfriendly fire once we get on the ground.”