“Took your damn sweet time, didn’t ya?” Captain Roan said, addressing his question to the mysterious woman. He waved her away. “Ah, forget it. You mind putting out some of these fires?”
The deck still looked like a battlefield, albeit one missing any corpses. We had Dragus to thank for that.
Smoke drifted in lazy sheets beneath the rigging, catching lantern-light and turning it into hazy gold. A few small fires still burned at tarred rope ends and the edges of scorched planks where the Sky Serpent’s spines had struck. Some spines remained lodged in the boards, faintly humming with leftover charge. The crew moved around them with quick, careful steps, buckets sloshing, knives prying, hands hauling lines to keep the sails from catching.
The silver-haired woman, chewing on the end of a quill that I hadn’t seen her pull out, glanced around the deck of the ship. There was something in the way she stood: tall-backed and steady, nose held up so that she could look down on everyone. Even in the chaos, even with smoke stinging eyes, and ropes snapping above, she moved as if anything that happened was because she wanted it to happen. The woman reminded me of a high-born.
…But why would a high-born be on a skyship?
She wore black high-heeled open shoes, absurd footwear for anyone outside the confines of a grand hall, yet she didn’t wobble even once. Her heels clicked once on the planks, and nearby, a small fire vaporized, becoming mist that flittered into the air as if it had never existed at all.
“There,” she said. “And now the crew can take care of the rest.”
“Illya…” Roan murmured.
The woman’s deep green eyes addressed him as if she meant to punish him for his insolence. Not anger exactly, but something colder than that. The woman was ice made flesh.
He grumbled. “Fine—”
“There is no use pleading with that one, dear,” Raela cut in. “The iciness of her touch is only slightly warmer than the black ice around her heart. Let her go down to her office below the deck. There is a reason none dare visit her.”
“Ah, the old driftwood,” Illya said, dragging her heel across the planks of the deck, which let out a loud scratching sound. “You should know to remain quiet when your betters speak.”
“‘Betters’?” Raela replied, turning.
The figurehead rose.
Wood creaked as she stretched larger. Her wings unfurled, and she loomed over us all, the shadow of those wings drowning out any sensible feelings of her womanliness I’d ever had. This… this was all dragon. The air itself seemed to tighten around her, as if the ship held its breath.
“Now, dear,” Roan said quickly. “Let’s all just calm down. We already had a fight and our blood is burning hot. That, and I don’t think the ship could take much more.” He pointed with his pipe as if it were a blade. “Illya, return to your post, and the rest of you, begin cleaning up. And start with the fires.” He reached out and grabbed Finn by the collar before Finn could slip away. “Go below and tell the crew to return… and make sure you come back with them. You’ll be working triple-time until we get the ship into port.”
“But I haven’t slept!” Finn protested.
“Aye,” Roan replied, “which is why it’s the perfect punishment. Now go. Run while you’re at it.”
Finn ran, disappearing downstairs with an indignant huff and a muttered curse that got swallowed by the ship’s interior.
Illya stared at the two of them and shook her head, as if the entire ordeal was beneath her. A small breeze slid across the deck, tugging at her hair. She brushed it back with a wayward hand.
I glanced at Raela, and while she wore a placid face, I could tell from the subtle shaking of her wood that she was in pain. The grain along her arms quivered like a muscle held too tight. Did she feel what the ship felt? Was she and the ship one?
“I’ll take my leave,” Illya said. “And as payment for my saving the ship, I will take a glass of Aetherberry Red, delivered to me in my quarters. And tell that damn beast of a woman Marris to try to make me something edible for once.”
“Despicable woman,” Raela shouted.
“Worthless timber,” Illya replied, turning her back and giving Raela a dismissive wave with the back of her perfectly white, gloved hand. Frost clung faintly to its seams when she moved, and condensation dripped from her body to steam against the deck floor.
She disappeared back into the ship.
Raela waited until the woman was out of sight and out of earshot… and then she slammed a fist into the railing in front of her. The wood groaned. A spiderweb crack broke outward. A few nails popped in response.
“Now, now,” Roan said pleadingly. “Let’s not get too worked up. She did save us after all.”
“Save us?” Raela snapped. “She wanders the decks of my ship, acting as if she owns it. As if she owns me! Well, she’ll see; I’ll lay traps for her. A loose rope near the edge of the railing should do the trick—”
“We’ll be visiting the Freeskies Archipelago,” Roan said quickly, trying to soothe her like one soothes a storm. “We’ll get you fixed up, nice and pretty—not that you’re ugly or anything. I… shit. What I mean—”
“Shut up,” Raela said, reaching out and running a single clawed finger along his face. Smoke curled off his pipe and wrapped around her hand. “You’ve made your point. I’m calm… for now.” Then she turned blissful eyes on the rest of us, crew included, even those pretending not to listen. “But if she does experience an… accident,” she said, “nobody heard a thing… is that clear?”
Everyone was silently nodding.
Myself included.
Some of the crew returned with Finn, and even Vexa as well. Vexa moved like a ghost among them: quiet and avoiding eye contact. They began fixing the damaged areas of the deck: stamping out stubborn flames with wet canvas, hauling rigging back into place, re-lashing snapped lines, prying spines loose. The air was full of work now. The ship’s usual rhythm returned. It was an oddly reassuring sound.
The spines proved to be the worst of it. Each one had sunk deep, fused into the wood. Melted into it. When the crew finally dislodged one, it came free with a shriek of friction and a burst of brittle shards. Those shards glittered in lanternlight before dissolving into mist.
I started to get to work too, reaching for a bucket, but Roan stopped me.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said. “Go and see Selka downstairs. She’s near the hull. She’s our ship's alchemist. Ask her to make some stamina potions. Ten of them at least. If she asks for payment, tell her the Captain has it covered, and that she’ll get a bonus. That’ll get her aetherengine running. Bring back the potions when you’re done.”
“I’ll show him the way,” Finn said quickly, stepping toward me. “Besides, I wanted to see about a different sort of stamina potion—”
“Not you,” Roan said. Finn froze. “You get back to work. By my calculations, you have many long hours ahead of you. So less talking, more working.”
Finn opened his mouth to protest. Then he closed it again, head dropping like a little kid.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Vexa stared at him. For a moment, her hand lifted as if she might pat his back conciliatorily. Then she withdrew at the last second, turned, and stalked away toward the stern without a word.
“Ugh…” Roan muttered. “You kids will be the death of me.” Then he looked at me. “Are you still here? Get going with ya. Move, move.”
At that, I snapped to attention and ran, feet thudding down the stairs into the ship’s interior.
***
I had no idea where I was going, and there was no way the size of the Skycutter should warrant this many winding passages and stairs. It didn’t make sense. The corridors folded and forked like a maze designed by someone who’d never walked in a straight line in their life. Some hallways widened unexpectedly into storage rooms full of spare rope and canvas. Others narrowed into low-ceilinged tunnels. Lanterns hung at odd heights, and shadows pooled in corners that felt too deep.
Eventually, I decided to follow my nose and went whichever way the strangest chemical smells came from.
The closer I got, the more the air changed; sharp and sweet at once. It prickled at the back of my throat. My eyes watered.
I came to a door. Inside, I could hear bubbling and faint popping. I pushed the door open.
The smell hit me like a punch in the face.
My stomach lurched. I gagged, but held steady. Then the fumes hit my eyes properly, and tears poured down my face. Snot dripped from my nose. I wiped it on my sleeve, blinking hard, trying not to choke.
“Oy, what are ya’ doin’, ya daft fool?” a voice cried. “Get some protection on. Come on.”
I tried to follow the voice, stumbling between tables crowded with vials, burners, distillers, and strange metal frames. I knocked over something, and glass shattered near my feet. Something hissed at me as I passed. Something else clicked. The room was warmer than the rest of the ship and filled with a wet heat that stuck to the skin.
Before I could find the speaker, a small hand yanked me down. Goggles were slapped over my eyes. A mask cinched around my face, snug at the nose and jaw.
I breathed in.
And smelled nothing at all. Well, almost nothing. A faint sweetness remained that smelt oddly of honey.
“Thank you,” I said, turning slowly, trying to locate my savior through the clutter.
“Yer welcome, lad,” the voice replied. “Still daft of you to come here without proper protection. Did the cap’n send ya?”
“Well, yes—”
“That fool, Roan,” the voice grumbled. “He’s a daft one himself. He doesn’t even wear proper protection, just that otherworldly pipe-smoke. I can’t get the smell out of my brews for days every time he braves a visit.”
She coughed, and I turned to find her perched on a rather large stool behind a desk stacked with notes, bottles, and what looked like pieces of crystal ground into powder. The desk itself was scarred and stained, as if it had survived explosions. Multiple of them.
“Now then,” she asked. “What is it ya’ want?”
The woman had very dark skin, with matching hair that curled to her shoulders. She wore glasses with only a single lens and all sorts of contraptions strapped to her person: tiny pouches, metal hooks, tubes, and vials that clinked when she moved. One sleeve was rolled up, and her forearm was smudged with soot and glittering residue.
She was also the shortest person I had ever seen. Standing at full height, she would likely only reach my waist.
“Go on and say it,” she said. “Everyone does.”
“I uh…” I stalled, caught off guard. “What does everyone say?”
She eyed me dangerously, like she might chuck a jar of something unknown at my head. Then her features softened into something like approval. “I take it back, lad,” she said. “You aren’t as daft as the rest. You have… what’s the proper term? Ah, yes—manners. A rare thing these days.”
“Thank you, I—”
“Not like that blond boy.” She seemed to get lost in thought, but then suddenly snapped her fingers. “Finn’s the name. That lad gawked and laughed and then gawked some more. Said I looked like a miniature person. Miniature!” She jabbed a finger in the air as if Finn were floating there. “I told him the only thing miniature was in his pants, and then I kicked him in the shin. Why the shin, you ask? It was the only thing I could reach! Miniature my ass.”
She grumbled as she hopped down from the stool. Only then did I see how she worked. The desks were built for an average-sized person; too high for her to properly reach. But she stepped onto a metal contraption that looked like a platform with gears, and it slowly lifted her up to my height with a soft whirring sound.
What in the clouds was this place?
The lab was massive; larger than any room on the ship had a right to be. Shelves climbed high with labeled jars. Copper coils ran along one wall, sweating steam. A large basin sat at the center, filled with a dark liquid that bubbled as if something breathed beneath it. In one corner, a distiller dripped bright blue drops into a tray that smoked faintly. A chalkboard on the back wall was covered in scribbles, diagrams, and dashed underlines.
And beyond that, through an open arch, I saw yet another room. A back room. Her quarters, I suspected.
Selka caught my stare and smiled as if she’d read my thoughts. “They haven’t told ya,” she asked. “Have they?”
“Told me what?” I replied.
She cracked her neck from side to side. “They always play games like this. Keep secrets from the new kid. Don’t let it get to ya.” She leaned forward slightly. “I can see your confusion. You’re wondering why they keep a woman as beautiful as I locked in the basement?”
“… Huh?”
The alchemist laughed. “I’m pullin’ yer leg, man.” She waved me off. “You’re wonderin’ why the room is so big, eh? You’re wonderin’ how a mid-sized skyship can house so many crew, and have such massive accommodations?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she barreled on.
“It’s because of Raela!”
“Raela?” I repeated. “What’s it have to do with her?”
“I heard you went down to the island with Finn and Vexa?” she asked.
I nodded in reply.
“Did Finn show you his Pocket?”
I mimicked pushing my hand through empty space and then shook my wrist for dramatic effect.
The woman laughed. “I like you,” she said. “But yes—the Pocket space. Each figurehead aboard a skyship has a special ability of sorts. Some are geared toward combat. Others diplomacy.” She tapped her single-lens spectacles. “Raela… Raela can manipulate reality itself. She can alter the size of things, taking no consideration of the bounds that hold it. It’s why when you try to find anything, everything appears so jumbled… the dragon-woman is not one for designing things. She’ll even make you special quarters… for a price.”
“And what does she want?” I asked.
“What everyone wants,” the alchemist replied. “XP Cores. They make the world go up.” She thrust out a hand, all business now. “Now then, proper introductions. My name is Selka Hexcrowe, Alchemist aboard the Skycutter.”
“Hexcrowe?” I asked. “You’re not a Skyrat?”
“Pssh,” she said, waving me off. Her hands were surprisingly rough for someone who worked indoors. Scarred knuckles, stained fingertips, and small burn marks that never quite healed. “Nah, but I don’t hold it against ya, like some others. Skyrats are a term to identify those who have committed crimes and are being forced on a skyship. Those of us who volunteer keep our given names.” She leaned back, the platform still humming beneath her boots. “We can leave when we see fit as well, but after a while, life on a ship just seems like home, so many stay. Some even believe in the mission, if that could be believed.”
“The mission,” I repeated. “To rid the world of the mist and return to the surface?”
She nodded. “At least you know some things. So then, now that everything has been explained to ya, somethin’ the cap’n himself shoulda done, what do ya need?”
I explained the fight with the sky serpent, the damage, and Roan’s request for stamina potions. As I spoke, Selka moved: checking shelves, tapping labels, and peering into crates. The lab clinked and whispered secrets around her.
“I ain’t got the supplies—” she began.
“The captain said he would compensate you well.”
Selka smiled wide, teeth whiter than anyone I had ever seen before. “In that case, I just might have some in my personal stash.” She hopped down off her platform, and began rummaging through a locked cabinet. “Let me fetch ’em. You’ll help, right?”
“I don’t have any clue what to do—”
“Pssh. It’s fine. You’ve got a head on top of those wide shoulders. Use it!” She jabbed a finger toward me. “You’ll be one of the only ones aboard this ship who does.”
She returned soon with all manner of powders, glasses, chemicals, and things I couldn’t recognize: little packets that shimmered, a vial of black liquid, crystal flakes that crackled when poured, and a thick syrup that bounced.
She barked orders at me, and I did my best to follow them.
I learned quickly that alchemy was mostly two things: precision and patience.
I had neither.
I blew myself up no less than three times. One time, my eyebrows singed. Another time a bottle shattered and filled the room with purple smoke that made my fingers go numb for a minute. Selka laughed at that last one until she saw my face, then slapped my shoulder and told me to stop being dramatic.
Eventually, ten vials sat in a neat row on the table. Deep green. Thick. Each one pulsed faintly. Selka shoved them into a padded satchel and thrust it at me. “There,” she said. “Ten. Now don’t drop ’em.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I'd best get—”
“Come back soon,” she said, and her voice echoed out as I backed toward the door. “I’ve more secrets to share, potions to brew, and XP Cores to earn.”
