by Ryan Dunlap
Ras pointed to a small circular gap in the clouds far ahead. The sky just beneath it shimmered in a heated distortion.
“What is that?”
“Derailleur. Its engines push so much it’s one of the few places in Atmo you can sneak a peek at the ground.”
Ras remembered his father telling him the exact same thing. As a young boy afraid of heights, he imagined the massive city falling through its self-manufactured hole. Then again, the young boy also thought the clouds were solid and bouncy.
“Do you see what it’s connected to?” Ras asked, using a finger to draw a line in the air, pointing out a cable that looked thin as a thread from such a distance. It reached down to what looked like a domed version of a floating city sitting on the land.
“The Winnower,” Callie said reverently, “So that means…”
“Underneath that thing is the Origin of All Energy. Trapped,” Ras said. “They relocated Derailleur here after building The Winnower to fuel the city more efficiently…and cut off sky pirates from the resource.”
“And choking Verdant,” Callie said.
The large glass dome of The Winnower glowed a vivid green, filtering out whatever Energy the Origin would have normally kicked out to the winds. The ground surrounding the structure looked dead and barren.
“We’re still probably half an hour out,” Ras said, eyeing the distance. “It’s going to look that small for a while,” he said to Callie before making his way to the helm to pull back on the wheel.
The Brass Fox climbed steadily above the cloud level, joining a cluster of airships on their way to the city. If any of the caravan was surprised by the newcomer, thankfully none of them showed it, or else they just chalked up the surprise to a wearying journey nearly concluded.
The city itself was admittedly magnificent with its towering skyline above a stabilization ring, as though it were two cities mirrored. It was truly ten times the size of Verdant, if not more. Ships queued up in long lanes for trade and sightseeing at the hub of Atmo, and The Brass Fox had to slow to a crawl and wait for its turn to enter the city.
“Oh my dear sweet goodness,” Callie said in a gasp, holding her hands over her mouth. “I feel so small.”
“Just wait until we get closer,” Ras said, happy to play tour guide. Seeing the city again through a pair of fresh eyes was amusing, but having not seen the city in so long, the sense of wonder was not wholly lost on him, either.
“My dad used to bring me pocket watches from here when collection runs took him this way,” Ras said. “I bet it’d be impossible to find the shop he went to.”
“What made you want to collect pocket watches?” Callie asked.
“It’s what he brought me so they reminded me of him.”
“Oh, I’ll be right back!” Callie said before running down to the Captain’s quarters.
The Brass Fox was queued up behind a much larger luxury tour vessel painted green, and behind her were a couple of personal skiffs. Ras had never seen skiffs that could fly like a ship before, as all the ones on Verdant could only fly five feet from the ground. Must be a new kind of motor.
Ras observed the traffic patterns closely as they entered the main channel of the city. He didn’t know the rules of the skies when it came to flying through the city as he was used to just flying over one.
He gawked at the levels upon levels of walkways lining the channel and the oddly dressed people going about their day. Brightly colored shop signs made their best attempt to draw in customers who weren’t waiting in lines for public transport.
Someone’s yelling at Ras snapped him out of his sightseeing. He jerked the ship to starboard to avoid collision with what looked like another wind merchant vessel. The unfriendly gesture the other pilot gave indicated there was no spirit of brotherhood.
Callie stepped out in what Ras guessed was her attempt at a disguise. She wore a black bowler hat and one of Ras’ jackets, swimming in the dark green fabric. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said.
“No, it’s not a bad idea. I just think a walking pile of clothes might draw more attention,” he chided.
“Hey, this isn’t Verdant. Just look around…I’m not going to stand out like this.” She gestured to the people walking on the streets, and Ras saw that was right; it would be difficult to stand out. He had never seen such a diverse group of people living so packed in together.
Billboards and advertisements hung from tall buildings and promoted products ranging from the newest model of Helios engine to a bizarre item that Ras couldn’t discern if children were supposed to play with or eat.
“Don’t you just want to live here?” Callie said, soaking in every new, weird, and fascinating detail Derailleur had to offer. She waved like she was on a parade float. She spotted a little girl dressed head to toe in a deep royal blue who was walking along the channel with her mother. The little girl smiled and waved back until her mother pulled her along.
Ras wrinkled his nose at some new offending odor. “This doesn’t feel…crowded?”
“Of course it does! It feels alive!” She took a deep breath in and choked a little. “Well, no place is perfect.”
After an hour of crawling traffic, they finally saw the opening to the eastern end of Derailleur. On the right stood a massive statue of Foster Helios, Sr., holding an outstretched hand as if about to pluck a star from the sky. It was in the courtyard for the headquarters of The Collective.
Callie turned to Ras. “Did Hal realize where he was sending us?” She pointed down the way at an illuminated sign on the building next to The Collective’s headquarters that boldly read FLINT’S.
“That’s…inconvenient,” Ras said, grimacing. There was little they could do but putter past the building and hope that Flint didn’t ask too many questions.
Foster Helios III sat at his desk on the sixty-fifth floor of The Collective’s headquarters. The office, like the mansion, had its decor stripped and lent the white room an austere feel. He pored over the report on his desk, acknowledging the man entering on the opposite side of the room with a slight lift of his hand. “How many ships do we have out looking for them?” Foster asked.
“A full detachment, scattered in a three-hundred mile radius between Derailleur and The Bowl,” the uniformed man said, stopping at Foster’s desk.
“And nothing,” Foster said, closing the folder. “Did you send a dive team to search beneath the clouds?”
“No, sir, I didn’t imagine they would risk—”
“What, then, do you imagine they did to evade two-hundred ships?” Foster asked.
“We do have a lead on who is aboard the ship, sir,” the man said. He placed two sheets of paper with sketches on Foster’s desk. “There have been reports of a kidnapper leaving The Bowl, and the vessel matches the description of the one that met with Napier.”
Foster nodded, then dismissed the man with a shooing gesture. “Put out a bulletin across all Collective ships. We want Miss Tourbillon returned safely to her father. Flyers, billboards, newspaper ads…blanket it. I want everyone to know her face.”
“A referral! I love referrals,” Flint said, scratching his bushy beard before ushering Ras and Callie into his office.
They followed the mountain of a man wearing greasy overalls and a smile through the doorway to his office. He led them into the mostly-windowed room, motioning for them to sit in the iron chairs in front of his desk.
“Who sent you? I’ll give them a discount next time,” he said with a beaming smile that crinkled his dark brown eyes.
“I’m afraid we can’t exactly say,” Ras said.
Flint plopped the bag of money on his desk and made quick work of the purse strings with his thick hands. He reached inside and extracted a note. In impeccable penmanship it read, ‘Please accommodate my friends as best you can, Flint.’ He chuckled. “Nice friend you’ve got.” He tucked the note into a pocket next to a dingy red rag and dug deeper into the bag to see what sort of budget the young couple had. Satisfie
d, he looked out at The Brass Fox, which was held in a suspension rig. The vessel was dwarfed in his repair bay. “Let’s have a looksee.”
“One of the engines won’t start,” Ras said.
“Sure, sure. I’m surprised you made it all the way from…” He turned back to the pair sitting on the couch. “Where did you say you were from?” He asked as he fanned through the stack of bills.
“I’m afraid we didn’t,” Ras said.
“Then I’m afraid you might have to pay a higher discretion fee.”
“Discretion fee?” Callie asked.
“Sure! I have nosy neighbors, and anything not done on the level winds up costing me extra…grease money.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I get to keep the money, but I also don’t like getting shut down. Besides, I doubt your friend wouldn’t have sent you here with a bag of money if I wasn’t the best.”
“You’re asking us to sell ourselves out?” Callie asked, prompting a groan from Ras. “What?”
“It’s fine if you don’t want to say,” Flint said, standing and walking to his office window. “Just know I charge extra if I find out I’m being lied to. But let’s focus on what you need first and then we’ll see where we stand.” The cordial grin returned. “Now, are we looking to fix that engine or replace the set?”
“It was requested that we upgrade,” Ras said.
“Do you disagree?”
Ras shrugged. “A lot of sacrifice went into getting those engines.”
“Well, they’re classic Windstrider scoops. Nothing beats ‘em if they’re flying low or below cloud cover, but who does that, right? Won’t fly you very high though. Are you looking for Helios engines?”
“If that’s the best option…”
“I’ve never heard of a man less excited about free upgrades,” Flint said with a laugh.
“What’s wrong with Helios engines?” Callie asked.
“Well, they have a bad habit of breaking if they get too much raw Energy around them,” Flint said. “So you better not fly too low. Plus you have to buy fuel.” Flint paced, causing the floor to creak. “How about I leave the working Windstrider as a backup and put a couple Helios in?”
“Flip that,” Ras said. “Add a Helios as a backup and fix the broken Windstrider,” he said resolutely. “I don’t like paying for fuel and flying low doesn’t bother me.”
“Brave man. But a rebuild of the Windstrider costs more than a new Helios. To be honest, I don’t know how they make them so cheap.”
“It’s because they make them cheap,” Ras said, deadpanning.
“They do, don’t they? But there ain’t enough money in this bag for a rebuild plus a Helios…plus the discretion fee.”
“C’mon,” Ras said, protesting.
“C’mon, nothing,” Flint said. “You’ve still got my interest piqued…how’s about you tell old Flint who sent you my way and I’ll make sure a little bit stays in the bag? You won’t even have to tell me your names or where you’re from.”
Callie looked over at Ras, arching an eyebrow. “Nobody would believe him.”
“All right, deal,” Ras said.
Flint grunted an approval.
“You know a Dayus?”
“Can’t say I do,” Flint said.
“He works for…” Ras leaned in close, prompting Flint to do the same. He whispered, “Hal Napier.”
“Hal!” Flint bellowed. “I haven’t seen that old coot in at least a dozen years! Needed some work done on the old ‘Fisher. Well, now the sack of money makes much more sense.”
Ras stood. “If you get a chance, the steering to port is a bit sluggish.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t even recognize her when you pick her up. Give me about seven hours and I’ll have her turned around for you…just be sure to put in a good word for me with Napier. I’d love to get my wrench back on The ‘Fisher.”
The wind merchant and his navigator became cautious tourists as they left Flint’s. Ras procured a map and the second order of business was to hand it to Callie before she snatched it from him after three time-wasting wrong turns.
After half an hour of taking in the sights, sounds, and smells along Callie’s correct route, they arrived at the library.
“It’s bigger than the entire University!” she exclaimed. The building’s marble columns shot to the sky at the top of the stairs they began to climb, giving the structure an otherworldly feel.
“You know,” Ras said breathlessly, placing a hand on the thick marble column to steady himself after their ascent, “you don’t realize how little you move when your entire job revolves around a steering wheel and some buttons. You feel like you’re going everywhere…but you’re really not.” He looked up to the non-winded Callie. “Don’t give me that look.”
Callie just smiled as she walked through the threshold of the tall double-doors and into the foyer. Her shoes lightly echoed on the ornate tile floor and she stared up to the tall stained glass windows that failed to let any light through them. Frowning, she looked back to Ras. “I’m guessing when this thing was built, there weren’t skyscrapers next to it.”
Ras took a deep breath. “I think that’s a fair assessment.” He looked ahead of them to the rows upon rows of books. The vaulted ceiling in the foyer showed the beginnings of two more floors. He looked around nervously and felt exposed in the open even though nothing pointed to anyone taking a particular interest in them. “Where do we begin?”
Callie began walking into the maze of dark bookshelves and dusty tomes. “First stop: history.” She traced a finger along the guide at the end of one of the bookshelves. “2H, section 8.”
“Second floor?” Ras asked, craning his neck to the right in an attempt to read a few spines. “Why would they have cookbooks here?”
“Why not?” Callie shrugged, but her smile was permanently affixed. They continued deeper into the library, occasionally coming across a sparsely populated reading area until they reached a matched pair of spiral staircases.
Ras looked up to see they reached high above into a taller section of the library that seemed to climb a dozen floors, if not more. They walked to the stairwell, ascending each metal step in a corkscrew until they reached the second floor. Callie began looking around at the ends of the bookcases for their designations.
“Can I help you, miss?” an elderly gentleman pushing a metal book cart asked. He wore a frock bearing the library’s logo and smiled eagerly at the opportunity to be of service. “You have that look about you.”
“Do I look lost?” Callie asked. She looked down at the man’s name tag: Wilfrid.
“No, no, no. You look plenty at home, young miss. You just have the look of someone who’s ready to begin but might need to be pointed in the right direction, is all.” Wilfrid tried to comb down the wild white wisps of hair into something more streamlined, but failed.
Ras leaned in, “We should probably—”
“He’ll save us some time,” Callie said, still smiling. “Yes, I’m looking for a good book on the weapons the Elders used during the war.”
Wilfrid gave a soft chuckle. “Now that’s a first. And you, young sir?”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Ras said, jutting a thumb at Callie.
“Two orders of military history, coming right up…if you’ll follow me,” Wilfrid said, spinning the cart with a squeaky wheel and disappeared down a set of aisles.
“I like him. He’s cute,” Callie said.
“Like a fox?”
“Hopefully not like a fox.” Callie walked toward Wilfrid, waving her hand for Ras to follow. They caught up with the old man momentarily, easily tracking the squeaky wheel.
“Now, I thought the University was on break. Did some sadistic professor give you an assignment for next term?” Wilfrid asked, raising a wispy white eyebrow.
“Oh, no, sir, just naturally curious,” Callie said.
He stopped the cart and turned to look at Callie. A grin spread wide. “Good on you. Now, you might
find better luck learning about The Elders in the folklore section.” He reached out and pulled two red leather-bound books with golden edges on their pages. “But these are the crowd favorites on The Clockwork War. That should get you started while I go find something out of folklore.”
Callie graciously accepted the books, her hands trembling slightly as Wilfrid tottered off with his cart. Clutching the books to her chest, she half-skipped to an area with four stuffed chairs surrounding a table before plopping into the one facing the atrium. “Best idea ever.” She ran her hand over the cover that held the embossed title: The War of Time, Volume I. She looked down at the author’s name.
Dayus Ofanim.
“Ras?” Callie handed him Volume II as he approached. “How many Dayuses do you think there are?”
“Are or were?” Ras asked, inspecting his book as he sat in the chair left of Callie. “It might be him. He was in the middle of everything, after all.” Ras cracked the book open. “And now he makes eggs.”
“I tried asking Hal everything I could about the war while you were unconscious,” Callie said, “but maybe Dayus will be a bit more helpful.” She flipped to the first few pages. “Ooh, a first edition.”
“What am I looking for?” Ras asked.
“Most sources say the Great Overload didn’t happen until The Elders were shut into The Wild. Some say it was before that. I’d start with the last battle over Treding and see if the book mentions the city of Bogues erupting first,” Callie said, already half lost in her book.
Ras turned to the table of contents and ran a finger down to the last chapter. “The Battle of Bogues. Sounds promising.”
Callie looked up, eyes dancing with excitement. “There wasn’t a Battle of Bogues. The war ended after Treding.”
“Or did it?” Ras flipped toward the end of the book, fanning the paper until he hit the final chapter. The pages were blank.
Ras held up the open book to show Callie, who reached over and snatched it from him, flipped back a few pages to scan the passage about Treding, then forward to the blank pages.