by A. C. Cobble
The captain shook the globe again, and the fae swarmed about, flaring brighter, bathing the hold of the ship in a pale-green glow.
At the base of the stairwell, a narrow aisle separated two wooden walls. In the dim light, Sam couldn’t see the far end of the hallway, but she thought it extended from the back to the front of the ship. Stifling a creeping sense of claustrophobia, she followed the captain into the narrow space.
“Water up top, the rocks are down below,” he said. He walked halfway down the aisle then stopped and knelt. He opened an access panel and shifted to give her room to look inside.
Sam leaned down beside him and peered into the compartment. The light of the fae shone on a huge, flat rock. It was about a yard thick and hovered in the air with a few hand-lengths of space below it.
“You can crawl in and look up if you want. From in between the cracks you can see the beams the rock is supporting. It extends across the entire base of the airship. Big flat rocks like this, heavy beams to set on them, that’s what keeps us in the sky.”
“Crawl underneath that?” said Sam. “Not today. What… what’s the purpose of the space here?”
“When we want to descend,” explained the captain, “we trickle water on top of the rock. The water interferes with the air spirits that levitate the thing and the rock starts to sink. You’ve got to be careful and make it just a trickle, though. If we dumped the entire store, we’d plummet right down to the ground. More than one airship has been lost that way by some stupid crewman opening the stops and leaving them open. Since we don’t allow fire outside of the kitchen area, it’s about the most dangerous thing that can happen to us.”
Sam stood, marveling at the huge floating rock. “What about storms?”
The captain coughed and rubbed his lips. “All right, second most dangerous thing. Over friendly territory, if we see a storm, we head down, lower the sails, and ride it out that way. Over the sea, the best option is to run ahead of the storm.”
“And if you can’t escape it?” wondered Sam.
“Then hold on, girl. Adventure isn’t always safe.”
That evening, Sam, Duke, and Captain Haines sat on the forecastle of the airship, all clustered around a barrel head. During the day, Sam had realized the airship was an odd mixture of luxury and practical, parsimonious, space saving. They had fae lights and enough cannon and shot to invade a small nation, but there was no dining area set aside for the officers. The kitchen was a cramped affair that specialized in boiling stews and serving salted cuts of meat and hard breads. The men were well-paid, judging by the shillings they were gambling on the other side of the deck, but they slept in hammocks stacked three high, and they worked in twelve-hour shifts with little leisure to give them a break.
“They don’t do it because they enjoy the time on the ship,” explained Captain Haines. “They do it because back at port, they live like noblemen. Or at least, what they think they’d do if they were peers. My first mate, Catherine Ainsley, earns the same a captain would on the sea, and even the deck swabs can support a family back home. Not to mention, there are worse vantages to view the world from.”
Sam nodded, peeking over the gunwale. Far below them, the twilight-lit rolling green hills of central Enhover sped by. They were moving on strong winds, twice the speed of a running horse, and by dawn, they’d be passing the east coast of the country. She’d been disappointed when they told her they would pass between Eastundon and Southundon, seeing neither, but she was excited about looking over the open sea, the Vendatt Islands, and Archtan Atoll.
“Where will we stop to resupply?” asked Duke.
“We cleared the trip plan with the Company logistics officer,” responded Captain Haines.
“I’m not trying to change the plan, captain. I’m just curious what it is,” claimed Duke.
“Imbon,” answered the captain. “We’ll set in at Imbon before making the last leg to Archtan Atoll. Ten, eleven days to Imbon, wind-willing, a day to resupply, then another three to the atoll.”
“Imbon,” said Duke. “It’s been years since I’ve stopped there.”
“You mapped it, no?” asked Haines.
“I did,” confirmed Duke, leaning back on the tiny folding chair the captain had pulled out for them to sit on during the evening meal. “Let’s plan to spend an extra day in Imbon. I want to stretch my legs there.”
“Not trying to change the plans?” questioned Haines.
Duke grinned at him.
Sam marveled as, yet again, she watched the duke casually command those around him, even after saying he wouldn’t, and they all fell in with whatever he asked. There were perks, it seemed, to being royalty.
They finished their meal as the sun set behind them, turning the canvas sails above into brilliant pink, orange, and gold reflections. She thought they could stand beside any of the canvas hanging in Westundon’s art museums. When the sun finally dropped below the horizon, the color bled away, and the silver light of the moon bathed the deck of the airship in an ethereal glow. The crew hung half a dozen glass globes containing the fae lights so they could see to adjust the rigging.
“Care for another bottle?” asked the captain, shaking the last few drops of wine into his cup. “The Company only rations grog and a few barrels of ale, but I’ve learned to stash a healthy private store of decent wine for evenings like this.”
“Not me,” mumbled Duke. “I… I had a bit much last night, and sleep is what I need now.”
Captain Haines turned to Sam.
She shook her head. “I didn’t sleep last night either, and if I had another glass, you’d see me flat on this deck and snoring.”
Haines held up his hands as if conceding defeat.
Sam stood to follow Duke, who was already shuffling toward the cabin.
Inside, the royal unceremoniously plopped down on a short couch on one side of the room, declaring, “You can have the bed.”
She stood, looking at him. A duke, a son of the king, a man alleged to be the wealthiest in Westundon, sleeping on the too-small couch. His legs were propped up on a padded arm-rest, his boots hanging off the side. His head was cushioned only by a tiny pillow. When she’d first met him, he’d been a perfect ass. After getting to know him, it seemed, he was the perfect gentleman. As she watched his breathing slow, he started to snore.
“Well, no one is perfect,” she muttered to herself.
Kicking off her boots and peeling out of her leather trousers, Sam curled up in the bed, listening to the crack of the sails in the wind, the soft sounds of the sailors speaking to each other outside on the deck, and the gentle drone of Duke’s breathing.
An adventure like none she’d ever been on before. Threats like she hadn’t seen since she was a girl. But all she could think about was the baroness she’d helped carry that morning.
The Cartographer VI
It was midday when they spied Imbon. Situated to the south of the chain of islands known at the Vendatts, it was two days sailing from the nearest occupied land. It had gone unexplored until the advent of airships and until Oliver had led an expedition that mapped the fringes of the Vendatt chain, searching for potential colonies that were not already claimed by one of the United Territories.
The United Territories — Rhensar, Ivalla, and Finavia, under the guise of their joint exploration authority, had claimed dozens of the islands before Enhover’s might had expanded to present strength. The seas had been thick with United Territory trading cogs darting amongst the small, tropical landmasses. Once the shadow of Enhover’s airships fell across their bows, though, the advance of the United Territory colonies slowed, and Enhover’s expanded by leaps and bounds.
Imbon was different, compared to the other colonies in the tropics. It was ten times the size of the average island in the chain, making it large enough to support a dense colony. There was a tribe of natives living there and they’d quickly agreed to work for the Company when they saw the technology that would come with that employment, th
ough Oliver wasn’t naive enough to think they hadn’t also seen the cannon and swords that the Company men carried and that the natives couldn’t infer another outcome outside of gainful employment. It wasn’t uncommon, unfortunately, for colonial governments to simply remove a native population by one means or another.
But for a decade in Imbon, the relationship between the Company’s government and the native population had been peaceful, and the colony had thrived. It had rich, fertile soil and a trove of spices which fetched premium prices back in Enhover. It had men and women who had been harvesting those spices for generations and were willing to assist the Company. It had a deep, protected port where seafaring vessels found ample anchorage. It was now a central trading nexus in the Vendatt Islands, not just for Enhover, but for the three United Territories as well.
Ketches and skiffs would skitter around the Vendatt chain, collecting and stockpiling goods in Imbon’s warehouses. There, the giant freighters would dock and load, making it an easy one-stop trip to the tropics.
All the while, the Company — and Oliver — collected rent on warehouse space, wharf fees on every ship that berthed, and a premium on goods sold direct to the United Territory traders with very little effort involved. It was one of the most peaceful and lucrative endeavors in Company history.
Imbon also served as a reinforcement in the hemisphere for Enhover’s other tropical colony — Archtan Atoll, the jewel of the Company’s possessions. A fast strike by a large enough force could potentially overwhelm one of the settlements, but as long as the other one survived, the perpetrators would have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No other nation had discovered technology sufficient to challenge Enhover’s airships.
Oliver leaned his elbows on the gunwale, holding his hand above his eyes to shade them from the brilliant sun.
“You should get a pair of these,” mentioned Sam, tapping a finger on the goggles Captain Haines had provided for her. “They were great in that rain four days past, and the casing blocks much of the sun when it’s high above head.”
Oliver shrugged. “A hat would serve the same purpose.”
“Then you should get a hat,” suggested Sam.
He frowned at her. “Few gentlemen from Enhover wear hats.”
“That’s because they have on wigs,” remarked Sam. “You don’t wear one of those, either.”
“They’re not practical on expedition,” replied Oliver.
She opened her mouth, but he turned, looking back down below, watching Imbon grow larger as the Cloud Serpent approached on quick winds.
“I suppose you can find some sailor to hold an umbrella over your head while you sit here moodily staring into the distance,” grumbled Sam.
“I’m not being moody,” he replied, not turning to look at her and giving her the pleasure of getting under his skin. Wigs were impractical and hats were unfashionable. That was all of the thought he wanted to put into it. “I’m… I’m excited, actually. I found this place, you know, ten years ago. I spent some time there while the colony was being established but I haven’t been back since. I’ve seen it a few times from a distance while on the way to Archtan Atoll, but I’ll be glad to put my boots on that soil again. It’s a beautiful island, and I regret I didn’t have more time to explore it last I was here.”
Sam turned her eyes to look at the growing speck of green. “Why haven’t you been back?”
“This is the quickest route between Enhover and the atoll,” he replied. “There are strong winds we’re flying on that come off the southern continent. Typically, though, I steer through the United Territories with the excuse of a diplomatic visit. My father and brother are always worried the United Territories will attempt to break way, so they’re eager for intelligence. In addition to making a stop at court, there’s no better vantage to the surrounding land than the deck of an airship, so I spend a few extra days on voyage and report back to my family what I’ve seen. The northern tradewinds don’t blow as steady as the southern, but in time you can make the journey. I’ll admit, though, the wines of Ivalla and Finavia are almost worth the detour.”
“How much of your time is your own?” wondered Sam.
He smirked. “If it was up to my family, I’d spend my days locked in some administrative dungeon running the ministry with Uncle William or holding court and settling disputes between the peers and the merchants. Instead, I’m out here. My time is largely my own, but the price of that freedom is high. Exploration, seeing something entirely new, that is what I love and what I do, but it seems I rarely go back to where I’ve been. There’s never time to go back.”
“Well, we will have a day, won’t we?” responded Sam. “Let’s explore.”
Oliver grinned at her. “You’ll come along?”
“After ten days of over-salted meats and suspicious stews,” responded Sam, “I’ll do anything to get off this airship.”
The airship bridge on Imbon was nearly identical to the one in Westundon, a skinny, wooden tower with flight after flight of stairs. Hanging over the side was a small platform attached to a pulley and winch for loading cargo. A stout iron hook stuck up from the tower, and as they floated close, the sailors tossed a rope and looped it around the hook, using the tie to bring them in close without risking coming in too quickly and smashing into the wooden tower or overshooting it and jerking the structure down.
The tower hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen Imbon. Back then, they’d had to scale a dangling net to disembark the airship and cargo had been hauled up hand over hand with rope and a dozen crewmen. Back-breaking work, he assumed. He hadn’t offered to help with that little adventure.
“Do you know Governor Jain Towerson?” asked Captain Haines as they walked down the stairs of the airship bridge. “I’ve met him a few times myself, but…”
“But never had any real conversation with the man,” finished Oliver. “I’ve spoken with him several times in Enhover and found him a bit introverted, which is too bad. I’d prefer a governor here who spent more time with the people. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, though. Imbon is a steadily profitable colony, and from all reports, it is well-maintained and orderly. We haven’t had problems with the natives like we have elsewhere. They’ve really integrated well with Company leadership.”
“That’s true,” agreed Haines. “We are never greeted by the governor himself, but everyone else is warm and welcoming. The men love stopping over here. The taverns are always stocked and the inn is in good repair. There are beautiful beaches, and the women aren’t too bad either.” Haines glanced at Sam and then continued, “I was told that when Company men first discovered this place, the women walked about unclothed and uncaring when you gave them a look. I even heard marriages here were meant to last a night only, and there was many a Company man who, well, found a local bride I suppose is the polite way to say it. Some of my men, they were part of those early expeditions, and they said the girls were enthusiastic about the fresh faces.”
“I don’t have any personal experience, mind you,” replied Oliver dryly, “but I can confirm there were things known as island marriages. It could have been part of the culture before us, or perhaps the native women meant to improve their station by a liaison with a sailor. It’s also true there was no shame in Imbon when we first arrived, but the women weren’t naked all of the time. They had clothing as protection from the sun, which is entirely sensible. Your skin will get burned in the tropics in just a few turns of the clock. During those early months, though, inside the huts the natives had and the structures we built, it was clothes off. And I’m not just talking about the natives.”
“Sounds like your kind of place,” remarked Sam.
“It was rather scandalous when we reported it,” remarked Oliver. “I spent months telling peers about it. When I returned to Westundon, at every party I attended, I was questioned about the customs in Imbon. The women in particular couldn’t hear enough.”
“Sure,” responded Sam.
Ignoring her,
he led them down the stairs of the tower. Finally, after ten flights, they emerged on hard, sandy soil. A dozen native men were standing beside a covered palanquin.
“I’ll walk,” declared Oliver.
At the same time, both Sam and Captain Haines responded, “Me too.”
Oliver looked between them then shrugged. To the bearers, he said, “We’ve been aboard too long and we’d like to stretch our legs. Care to lead the way?”
Blank-faced, the men lifted their empty litter and started up a sandy path toward the town.
Oliver followed, studying the outlying structures with interest. One story, for the most part, with what appeared to be bamboo walls and thickly thatched grass roofs. Not much to keep the cold out, but they didn’t need to worry about that in Imbon.
Down from the airship and away from the steady breeze, he unbuttoned his coat, and with a surreptitious glance at the fully suited and wigged captain, he loosened the ties on his shirt. He could already feel the moisture beading on his back. That was one thing he always forgot about the tropics when he was away, how hard the heat and humidity hit you.
As they entered the town, it seemed as prosperous and orderly as Captain Haines had described it. Oliver guessed at least one hundred simple huts were spread out below the hill where the Company compound and governor’s mansion sat. Homes and workshops with sparsely attired natives darting between, busy with daily chores that didn’t seem much different from what he saw people in Westundon doing. The climate, the food, and the building material might be different, but the place suddenly struck him as remarkably similar to the hamlet of Harwick.