《The Mapmakers' Guild (Second Draft! Extended Version!)》 Prologue Tobias Greenglass I kissed the skin of my least favorite beetle, the taste of pennies sharp on my lips. After flicking the on switch, I set the hand-sized mech on the tiled floor and prepared to run across the hallway. The security guard, suitably distracted, didn¡¯t notice me as I lifted the painting from its place on the wall. I paused for a breath and listened for any footsteps behind me. The museum only employed human guards inside the vast building. Outside, I would also have to worry about the mech dragon guards. I didn¡¯t hear anything, so I quickly walked down the gallery, painting in hand. Now that the beetle was found, every guard would be on high alert. My getaway driver also happened to be my inside agent. He was one of the day-shift guards, and had told me about an ill-used back exit through a closet to an alleyway behind the museum. He¡¯d wait for me there, in the nondescript carriage we¡¯d purchased as part of our plans. This heist had been months in the making. I spent hours poring over guard schedules and maps of the floors. My partner-in-crime got a job at the museum and worked there for months until he found a weakness, a flaw in the layout, which we will exploit tonight. Our target? A rather large painting depicting a young woman standing in a dressing gown, looking straight at the artist. A gray parrot sits on a stand on the right side of the canvas. I don¡¯t notice anything special about it; but our client certainly does. She¡¯s rewarding us handsomely for our efforts tonight. I managed to get to the back door without incident. As I walked through the museum, I noticed a few roving guards, but they didn¡¯t see me. Taking care not to bump the painting on anything, I found the handle of the janitorial closet. The door, already oiled, opened and closed noiselessly. I slipped inside the closet, barely fitting with the large painting, and pushed aside the assortment of mops until I found the outer door. The knob was rusty. I carefully opened it and the chill breeze shocked my system. After stepping outside, I arranged the brooms and mops to their original positions and closed the door behind me. Then I turned and surveyed the alley. There was no carriage. My heart doubled its already fast pace. There was no carriage! I needed to leave this place. Soon enough the guards would find me. Thinking of the fastest way to my apartment, I turned and ran down the alley. But I wasn¡¯t fast enough - a flash of light from the museum¡¯s rooftop illuminates my face. I start to sprint, cursing Cale Pickford¡¯s name with every step. I managed to get to my apartment without any further incidents, and I stowed the painting behind the false wall in my room. None of my housemates even stirred. The apartment, so subdivided over the years, held 6 tenants, including myself and Pickford. We were all low-class working men. I¡¯d previously held a job maintaining a manor. But I was sacked a few months ago, and when the bills started piling up, I¡¯d jumped at the chance to fulfill this Ruslanian princess¡¯s request. And all would have been well, except that blasted Pickford¡¯s no-show threw a wrench into the whole plan. After spending a while pacing around the room, plotting revenge, I finally succumbed to the rage. I walked across the hall and knocked on the door, trying not to alert our housemates to the situation. ¡°Pickford! Open up!¡± I growled. Nothing happened. I knocked again, then tried the handle. To my surprise, the door opened - unlocked. My candle illuminated strange shapes on the wall.The room was in such disarray that I felt shocked. Pickford was typically so fastidious! He must have left in a hurry instead of helping me with the heist. What a coward. The smell of cat assaulted my nostrils, and soon I spotted a box on the floor with sand in it. And there was the vile creature on the windowsill, its bright eyes reflecting the candle flame. How had Pickford managed to keep it quiet? How long did he have it hiding in here? What a blatant lease-breaker! I gave up after poking around the clutter for a few minutes. No item gave any indication of Pickford¡¯s whereabouts. So I put everything back where it was, shut the door behind me, and returned to my room. I quickly succumbed to my crippling exhaustion. I¡¯d been awake all night, and even a for-hire museum thief needs his rest. I slept for a couple hours, content in knowing that Pickford would get his just desserts. In the morning, after the other housemates left for their work, I hung the blue flag from my open window. Soon enough, the sound of flapping metal wings alerted me to the incoming presence of a messenger pigeon. It asked for my name and message. I used a fake name, and tried to keep my message discreet. ¡°Begin message. Pickford, I really needed you last night, and I almost got in trouble because you didn¡¯t fulfill your end of the bargain. I don¡¯t mind not having to split the wages with you, but you¡¯d better watch out because I¡¯ll be angry when I find you,¡± I say, spitting out words like nails from my mouth. ¡°All I¡¯m saying is, watch your back, Pickford. End message.¡± The bird sat for a moment, digesting the words, then repeated them. I confirmed the message and then told the bird where to look for Pickford. ¡°He could be at his place of employment, the Metropolitan Museum. Or possibly the northern end of Central Park.¡± ¡°Estimated time of arrival is tomorrow. That will cost 75 cents. Will leave immediately after payment is made.¡± I paid with a couple of my precious coins inserted into the slot, and with a whir of a motor, the mechanical pigeon lifted off my windowsill. I watched it fly into the smoky air of New Amsterdam and cracked my knuckles. Won¡¯t Pickford be so surprised to hear that message¡­If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. My stomach grumbled, and I had no food, so I slipped on my jacket and left the apartment. Down the street was a little cart where a little lady sold little loaves of bread. ¡°Good morning, Lorraine,¡± I smiled at her. She didn¡¯t smile back, which was definitely atypical. ¡°Could I just have a bun, please?¡± Along with bread, Lorraine also sold newspapers. And I happened to see a familiar face right on the front cover of the New Amsterdam Times - there I was, with my broad forehead and equally broad mustache. ¡°Good morning, Mr. Greenglass. I will get your bun for you. But first, you should see the newspaper.¡± She turned to reach a paper bag, and spoke quietly. ¡°I would like to warn the person on the cover, especially if it is you, Mr. Greenglass. Whoever it is, they are famous now, you see, and it is not safe for them to be on the street. So maybe that newly famous person should stay inside for a while. The museum likes to keep their paintings, you see, and they do not take kindly to borrowers. Now here is your bun.¡± She handed it to me in a brown paper sack. When I tried to give her the coins, she waved me off and said, ¡°Keep the money, Mr. Greenglass. You need it more than I do. Good luck.¡± ¡°Lorraine, I-¡± I tried to talk, but she interrupted. ¡°Mr. Greenglass, I can only pretend the picture is not you for a moment. The longer you stay here, you see, the more trouble it will make for both of us. I will not report you now because you have been so good to me, but if I see you again I will not hesitate. It is my civic duty now that I am in this country. So please go now, and good luck in your newfound fame.¡± She turned her back on me, and a cold wind blew up the street. I turned up my collar and tried to nonchalantly rush home. I ate my bread in my room and thought about the situation. I needed to contact the princess. I¡¯d been instructed to do so through the Ruslanian embassy here in New Amsterdam. A messenger pigeon flew up to my windowsill just as I put the blue flag out. ¡°Message for Tobias Greenglass?¡± It inquired. ¡°Yes,¡± I replied, then noticed the royal family¡¯s coat of arms on its chest. I showed it my identification card. ¡°Play message?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°¡®Mr. Greenglass, this is Paul Leontiy Yakovich on behalf of Princess Eva Sofia Vladislavovna. She is very disappointed that you were caught on film and would like to know if you have a reason why. Because of this mishap, plans have changed. You must take the object with you to Constantinople. Her Highness will meet you there. This pigeon will give you your airship ticket. Be sure that you are not spotted at the aeroport. If you have any objections, now is not the time. Pack your bags and leave the city now. End message.¡¯ Would you like to make a reply?¡± ¡°Yes. Begin message. Your Highness, may I extend my apologies. My partner did not come to the scene as previously planned, and I had to make an impromptu escape plan. The object is secure at my location, but I will now follow your instructions and see you in Constantinople. Thank you for your generosity, Your Highness. End message.¡± Its chest hatch opened, and I took the airship ticket out. New Amsterdam to Constantinople? What a drag. Previously we had planned to just drop the object at the embassy, but Pickford¡¯s disappearance threw a wrench into everything. I fumed while I stuffed my meager belongings into my carpetbag. It was my father¡¯s until he passed. Because neither of us travelled much, it was still in good shape despite its age. After packing, I opened the false compartment in my wall and removed the painting. The woman and her parrot stared at me balefully as I carefully removed the nails that held the canvas to the wooden frame. I made sure that nothing ripped or broke - I¡¯m no barbarian! I rolled the canvas into a long tube, then wondered how I could disguise it. The tube was about my height. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the embassy pigeon still sitting on my windowsill. ¡°Can I help you?¡± I asked it. ¡°I was instructed to ask if you need anything,¡± it replied. ¡°Well, I need some way to disguise this canvas.¡± ¡°I will inform my supervisor of your request. Is there anything else?¡± ¡°Well, some money would be nice. For the trip.¡± ¡°Your expenses will be paid by the princess. Do not worry. Is there anything else?¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°I will inform my supervisor of your request,¡± it repeated as it spread its wings and flew away. Stars, I hate talking to those mechs. The tinny voices are just so¡­ strange. And trying to get my point across can be frustrating. This one didn¡¯t seem as stupid as the others I¡¯ve spoken to. The embassy must shell out for a better model. I double-checked my carpet bag. There¡¯s nothing else that needs to be packed, but it¡¯s strange to think that all my belongings can fit into this little container. I can¡¯t believe that I have to go all the way to Constantinople. Pickford is such a joke. My ticket said my flight would leave in just a couple hours. But it wasn¡¯t a luxury aeroline. That would make my job a little harder. More people would be on the airship, and the more eyes on me and my cargo, the greater risk it would be to my safety. So Princess Vladislavovna can pay for a fancy messenger pigeon, but not a simple airship ticket? Hmph. I¡¯m not complaining too much. With the amount of money she¡¯s paying me, I could buy myself a first-class airship ticket every month without feeling the strain. I bet that the princess will give me Pickford¡¯s wage as well - I¡¯ll make twice as much as I thought I would. Then I can start over, in a new life. Maybe I¡¯ll do it right this time. After hearing shouting outside, I peeked out the window. It was a crowd of rich people, their clean clothes shining in blatant disregard for the trash scattered on the sidewalk. They held signs above their heads - the signs had my face on it! Well, an approximation of my face. Enough that someone would look twice if they saw me. It was the mustache, I decided. A well-cultivated mustache distinguishes a face. And my hair is slightly longer than your average dandy. Quickly I knew what I needed to do; but I could barely bring myself to do it. I cursed Cale Pickford¡¯s name as I shaved off my illustrious hair, leaving my head and face bald. Over these uncharted waters We pass over the sea And I keep wondering Will you come home to me? The sky is so vast But I am so small This is why I ask Do you miss me at all? Sometimes I think I should come home Though the ocean welcomes me With a crown of foam. Over These Uncharted Waters Captain Adelaide Springett My retirement had never sounded so sweet as when we took that scoundrel aboard. Within five minutes, our new recruit had slipped belowdecks, astounded Demi with a stupid riddle, toppled my bookcase, and charred my favorite rug with a candle. When I caught up to her, dragging my bad leg behind me, all she did was look around with wide eyes and say sweetly, ¡°When will dinner be served?¡± ¡°As soon as you¡¯re done cooking it,¡± I replied. ¡°Report to the galley and Kiona will instruct you.¡± Kiona would be happy to have a pair of fresh eyes. She was nearly as old as I. ¡°Oh, and one more thing - remind me of your name?¡± ¡°Daisy,¡± she replied. ¡°Daisy Bernice Gunne, and don¡¯t you forget it, Captain.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t make any promises.¡± What a cheeky little brat! After returning to my office, I communicated with the airport crew using my exterior Morse code indicator light. Fuel done? Yes Unmoor now? Yes Quaerere clear for takeoff TY I notified my deck crew, and they cast off the ropes binding us to the dock. The vast circle of Londinium above us blocked our view of the sun and cast a huge shadow on the ground far below us. The platform tapered down into a cone shape, with docks protruding from all sides. Small personal craft were moored at the very bottom, then bigger, nicer ships. Higher up were cargo ships, then huge freighters. But the very top of the cone, right underneath the platform, was reserved for the elite - nobility and the ultra rich. Those closest to the platform had quick access to the city, whereas those at the bottom of the cone were at the mercy of the elevator service. Quaerere was docked somewhere in the middle. We had some priority because of the Guild, but otherwise we had to fend for ourselves in the jumble of traffic. I always felt grateful for Londinium¡¯s Air Traffic Control; I often said that they had the most difficult job in the world. This floating platform city, held aloft by the largest grav crystal in the world, housed the Mapmaker¡¯s Guild headquarters. Last time I was there was last spring, so that the Guild could notify me of our commission straight from Her Majesty the Queen. Our destination? The farthest wasteland - Antarctica. That meeting with the Guild¡¯s leaders was so tedious. I mean, all Guild meetings drag on much longer than they should. Sometimes I think that committees are made just to prolong bureaucratic processes. They spent almost an hour debating if I should captain a different ship. I finally had to tell them that the Quaerere was good for one last trip. If the first journey of a ship is called the maiden voyage, what is the last trip called? After 30 years, the airship Quaerere was old and tired, just like its captain and crew. Most of us have been here since the beginning, when we first mapped the Arctic. Ropes that were once stiff with newness now coil nicely into their places. The stairs have grooves down the middle, worn down by decades of foot traffic. My rear has permanently dented my chair in the bridge. I could navigate these halls in my sleep - and I do. When I dream, it¡¯s the Quaerere that I¡¯m always trapped inside. Its dingy carpet and clunky layout mocks me. Even the masts, which once stood tall above the deck, seem to slump in defeat. At least the solar sails still collect the sunlight we need to power the ship. I¡¯m ready to retire with all the honors of three decades of mapmaking. My crew is ready to quit, too. In fact, some of them did last spring when we heard of our new commission. We had to hire another member, and ended up with Cale Pickford, an American, as a junior engineer. He just boarded today, looking rough. He says he has mechanical experience, so we¡¯ll see how this pans out. As for our other new member, my notes say that Daisy is the Guild¡¯s best and brightest, chosen specifically by the queen to accompany us. When I passed the mapmaking test with the highest possible score, Queen Nicola sent me a medal. I still wear it as part of my uniform. After her passing last year, I wondered what would become of the Guild, as she was our biggest patron. Most of the world has been explored, the original maps safely stored in the Archive. I expected the mapmakers to slowly wither away with age: meeting for reunions every year, and fewer people every time. What else could there be?Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Apparently, the Antarctic. Sending us here was one of Queen Angeline¡¯s first edicts. I hated our Arctic sojourns. The cold never leaves your bones. So what will the feared Antarctic be like? The general feelings of our journeys tend to be influenced by the crew. When the crew feels good, we sail easily through the sky. The opposite is true, too. When we are all feeling down, everything seems to take longer than it should. Our wild cards are our new members. Cale seems fine, but Daisy has a sort of wild energy that I¡¯m not sure about. Though I seem to remember being just like Daisy: bubbly, energetic, playful. That was many years ago, and I didn¡¯t know what being a mapmaker really meant. Long nights tracing by candlelight, always gazing at the land while your hand follows the curves and swirls of the coastline. The obsession with making your perfect map, the hours spent practicing your insignia for a finished piece. Even the constant, mind-bending fear of pirates just over the horizon holds a sort of nostalgia for me. After 30 years of this, I¡¯m numb to the charms of the Guild. And I don¡¯t even make maps anymore. I just hope that this new recruit, whatever her name, is as good as Her Majesty thinks she is. That afternoon, I set our course for Romulus. It will take us 10 hours. There, we can refuel and stock up on fresh Mediterranean produce. Kiona enjoys the fresh lemons from that city, because she makes a good, refreshing lemonade on our long flight days. I love the bit of fizz. Romulus is one of the oldest cities in Europe, and yet it still remains on the mainland. A more old-fashioned person might call it a grounder city. Though grounders don¡¯t face the same kind of stigma that they used to, still some people look down on them, which is plain ridiculous. What¡¯s so great about living on a floating platform, anyway? I think I would be constantly worried about something breaking, and the city falling to the ground. I have a little cottage on a bluff above the sea. When I retire, that¡¯s where you¡¯ll find me, tending my garden. Before we left, I planted my vegetables and made sure the fruit trees would be ready for this season. I even planted flowers for the honeybees. My niece will be watching the house while I¡¯m gone on this last journey. And when I return, I¡¯ll live out the rest of my days there. I gave the Guild my blood, sweat, and tears for all these years and now I deserve to rest. As for Quaerere, the Guild can do what it wants. I love the ship like a trainer loves an old racehorse: nostalgic with the passage of time yet definitely ready to move on to the next best thing. The food that Kiona and the girl cooked was fine, but I could tell by Kiona¡¯s face that it hadn¡¯t gone well. I pulled her aside. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Kiona scrunched her face, chin quivering. ¡°She wanted to change the recipe!¡± I jumped, startled. ¡°Change the recipe?!¡± I stomped my left foot two times, to let Garland, the god of mapmakers, know that we would never do such a thing. ¡°I couldn¡¯t believe it either! What kind of guild school did she go to? Did they not teach her the importance of following the recipes? Why, Sir Julius Glass could not have made the best maps without the help of the Mapmaker¡¯s Stew.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have to talk to her,¡± I sighed. Kiona tapped her left hand on the wall twice, and we turned to look at the table just as a cheer erupted. My crew members clapped as the girl inserted another olive into her bulging mouth. ¡°Twenty-one!¡± Sidney shouted. ¡°Stop this nonsense!¡± I said loudly. The room quieted, and the girl chewed the olives, a smug look on her face. ¡°Everyone, it¡¯s time to eat; not play. You, follow me.¡± I pointed at the girl and she came with me to my office, still loudly chewing. I pulled out a chair for her to sit down, and I stood at the window. I could see the waves of the sea, hundreds of feet below us. ¡°It seems that we have started off on the wrong foot,¡± I began. ¡°Which is partly my fault. I neglected to tell you about my job.¡± I pivoted and leaned against the windowsill. ¡°My job is to make sure this ship is in the air and making good maps. And I will tell you now - we cannot make good maps if you insist on making a spectacle of yourself. You are not here to make friends. You are here because the queen insisted on it. She said you are the brightest mapmaker in the guild.¡± She interrupted, her eyes shining. ¡°She really said that about me?¡± ¡°Yes. But that¡¯s besides the point. You are here to make good maps once we reach Antarctica. That¡¯s it. Until then, you will help Kiona in the galley. But do not ever speak again about changing a recipe or doing anything else out of the ordinary. Garland does not approve of it. If you have any further questions, Kiona and I would be happy to set you straight. The 200-year history of the Guild is resolute and unchanging. Do you understand?¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong with changing the recipes? It¡¯s just food.¡± ¡°It is not just food, and I do not understand how you made it through your apprenticeship without understanding the superstitions and rules that we Mapmakers have.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t have an apprenticeship.¡± ¡°What? Then how did you learn to make maps?¡± She folded her arms across her chest. ¡°I practiced.¡± ¡°Everybody practices. I don¡¯t understand what makes you different.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t either, but everyone seems to think I¡¯m special.¡± She shrugged, a smirk on her face. Oh my. At mapmaking schools, this sort of pride is taught out of new recruits. What did she have to do, to hide this so obvious personality trait from her instructors? And why, of all captains, must I deal with it? I expect uncharted waters in the future, in more ways than one. We Pass Over the Sea Junior Mapmaker Daisy Gunne Dear Diary, Of all the mistakes I¡¯ve made in my life, I think this is the worst. Here¡¯s how I thought today would go:
  1. Descend to level 32 of the Cone and board the Rievaulx.
  2. Find seat 45 and settle in for the 2 hour flight to Parisius.
  3. Disembark to find my new apartment.
  4. Settle into my new life as a housekeeper.
Now that none of that has happened, I can mentally retrace my steps and figure out how this began. I think that I accidentally went to level 45. Big mistake. I got on this ship because it looked kind of similar to the Parisian ferry, which I¡¯ve taken before. I would have noticed the difference except that I was so discombobulated from thinking about this move. Of course, Diary, you know the situation, and I hate repeating myself. So let¡¯s move on. Why didn¡¯t I tell the captain that I¡¯m on the wrong ship? Excellent question. To be perfectly honest with you, as I always am, I didn¡¯t tell Captain Springett because the idea of mapmaking is so intriguing. Remember when I took that aptitude test? Diagramming was my top result! I was on track to begin mapmaking school when it happened. So I¡¯m thinking of this as my second chance. Who knows? Maybe I¡¯ll be a natural. I feel kind of bad about whoever was supposed to be here instead of me. Are they stuck in the Cone, wondering if they had the wrong day marked on their calendar? Are they riding the elevators up and down, searching for the slightly outdated wooden airship? What¡¯s this one¡¯s name again¡­ Q something - Quaerere! The crew seems nice enough, but Captain Springett is definitely off her rocker. All that talk about recipes? And who is Garland, anyway? Kiona wouldn''t stop ranting about him. More importantly, how am I going to draw these maps? I may have scored high in diagramming, but I know close to nothing about their craft. And from the way the captain was talking, she¡¯s under the impression that I¡¯m a prodigy. I¡¯d better figure out what to do, and quickly. I noticed lots of old books in the captain¡¯s office. Maybe I can learn from them. I hope mapmaking is easy. All you have to do is look, and draw what you see? Easy-peasy. A toddler could do it. I think I¡¯ll ask the captain to borrow the books. Okay, it¡¯s the next morning. Sorry I didn¡¯t sign off last night, I was busy cooking dinner with Kiona. She got all worked up when I suggested adding some flavor to the soup. Said something about Garland again, and this Julius guy, and I don¡¯t know what the problem was. Then later Springett called me to her office. I¡¯d just beaten my all-time record of fitting olives in my mouth. She wanted to talk about not changing the recipes and stuff. Doing everything by the book. Which is okay, I guess, but evidently not ideal for making tasty stews. After that I got flustered and told her I didn¡¯t have an apprenticeship, and then made something up about practicing??? I don¡¯t know how that will turn out for me. But I did manage to get some books from her office. I¡¯m half-listening as the captain continues her lecture. Finally, it¡¯s my turn to talk. I gesture toward the shelves. ¡°I¡¯d love to borrow some of your books. Learn from the old masters.¡± ¡°Which is your favorite?¡± Her eyes narrow with suspicion. Let¡¯s hope my bluff works. ¡°I enjoy all of them, how they have, um, different styles but keep the cohesion. It¡¯s amazing what we can learn from older maps and their makers.¡± She walks to the bookshelf. My answer must have satisfied her. She limps as she brings me half a dozen thick books. ¡°These are some of my favorites. I hope you enjoy them too.¡± ¡°Thank you. May I return to dinner now?¡± ¡°Yes, as long as you put the books in your locker first. And no more shenanigans.¡± After dinner, I cracked open the first book, which was an autobiography written by Sir Julius Glass. He considers himself to be Angleterre¡¯s first mapmaker, even though he learned from someone else. But he did create many of the drafting procedures, and he founded the Mapmaker¡¯s Guild over 100 years ago. He was even knighted by King Williott.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The more I read, the more I think I¡¯ve read it before. Maybe not all of it, but bits and pieces at least. So I kind of skimmed through it. That book was actually one of the smaller in the pile. The others were super huge and clunky, and the next one I picked up was an in-depth map drafting manual. I set it aside and started recording my day in this diary. So now that I¡¯m up to date, I¡¯ll set you aside for the night. We¡¯re going to land in Romulus soon, but we won¡¯t disembark until the morning. Well, Kiona and I will be the only ones disembarking - to get some fresh food for the galley. I don¡¯t know much about Romulus. I guess I¡¯m imagining a bunch of crusty stone pillars? We¡¯ll see¡­ Goodnight for now. Always yours, Daisy Nov. 27, 1897 Hello again! Romulus was so amazing! I could barely decide what to look at because everything was just so interesting! Kiona didn¡¯t look at anything, she was just focused on the market, like she¡¯s been there a million times. Maybe she has, I don¡¯t know. We managed to find the fruits that she wanted, and as Kiona haggled with the shopkeeper, the person in the next booth let me try a slice of their tomato. It was seriously the best tomato I¡¯ve ever eaten. But Kiona said we couldn¡¯t buy any, so I mournfully schlepped back to the airship. The scariest part was when Kiona started asking me how I felt about my new assignment here. I panicked for a second and had to make something up about how I wasn¡¯t nervous, I¡¯d been training to be a mapmaker, etc. She kind of squinted but didn¡¯t challenge me. Or maybe she just squinted because the sun was in our eyes. There was a point where I thought I was lost; Kiona had walked too quickly through the market crowd. I wasn¡¯t paying attention because I was distracted by the pretty fabrics in one stall. Then when I realized I lost her, I stood on a barrel and soon spotted her at a booth kind of around the bend. So I caught up with her soon enough. Surprisingly, I became very anxious when I realized we¡¯d been separated. I don¡¯t get anxious very often, but I guess being stranded in a foreign city is enough to get my fight-or-flight going. Last time I felt that way was when I realized I¡¯d departed on the wrong airship. As happy as I am to start mapmaking, I still wonder what will happen if they figure out my true identity. And I feel bad for the poor girl who was supposed to be here. Even though I was planning on a trip to Parisius, I''m okay with how things have turned out so far. My goal was simply to get away from Londinium - Antarctica is about as far away as one could get from that blasted city. And it will be interesting to learn a new skill. I can''t wait to tell Victoire about this! The only thing that could go wrong is if someone finds out I''m not supposed to be here. Wait! What if the Guild sends an albatross to the ship and tells them about the situation? That would be bad. I haven¡¯t seen any messenger birds land on our ship, but that doesn¡¯t mean they won¡¯t in the future. Hold on a moment, and I¡¯ll go ask Demi about it. I¡¯m back! So Demi said that the albatrosses will start coming once a day until we cross the Drake Passage, the windy strip of water that separates Antarctica from the other continents. Until then, Captain Springett will just go ashore to send a message, or the Guild might send a special messenger if needed. But he also said he hasn¡¯t seen any birds come to us, and the captain didn¡¯t disembark at our first stop here in Romulus. At first I thought, ¡°Maybe I¡¯m good for now.¡± But I didn¡¯t want to chance it, so now I¡¯m trying to figure out a way to disable the messenger birds that we have on board. Knowing nothing about mechs makes it difficult. And I definitely can¡¯t ask for help or anything. I¡¯ll have to think about it some more. Woah, the whole ship just jolted. It¡¯s super dark outside; normally at this time, I can see the sunset. I think I just saw a flash of lightning! Charlotte just came to bed in the bunk across from me so now I have to turn down my light. I haven¡¯t really talked to her much but she seems very intense. I don¡¯t know why. Okay I have an idea now! All messenger birds have a little grav crystal, right? And the little solar panels to create the electricity that activates the crystals. So what if I sabotage each bird so that it just looks like mechanical failure? I think I remember that the birds are stored in a little closet off one of the side hallways - I mean, passageways. Charlotte seems like she¡¯s asleep so I¡¯ll turn off my light and sneak over there. -A Little Later That was insane! I finally managed to find the messenger closet, but someone was already in there! I heard a bird say, ¡°Estimated time of arrival is November 29, 1897. Do you accept?¡± ¡°I accept,¡± the man said. I couldn¡¯t see his face through the slightly open door, but I recognized his voice. It was Sydney! He opened a little hatch, and the bird hopped into a box. Then Sydney shut the first hatch and opened another that led to the outside air. The bird flew into the clouds. Good thing the storm calmed down. But I was even more surprised when Sydney crouched in front of the other three birds. They were in dormant mode and didn¡¯t move as he fiddled with the wiring. One by one, they sparked and drooped, something obviously broken, as he moved down the line. Then I realized that he would probably leave the closet soon, and would bump into me if I stayed. So I rushed back to my bunkroom, maybe not as quietly as I would have liked. Now I don¡¯t know what to think about this. On one hand, he did my dirty work for me. But on the other hand, what¡¯s his motivation for this? What is he hiding? And who did he send the message to? I can barely keep my eyes open. It has been such a long day. So goodnight for now, and I¡¯ll update you soon. Yours, Daisy And I Keep Wondering Head Navigator Sydney Cannard Head Navigator Sydney Cannard My roommate hasn¡¯t even asked about the fabric-wrapped, oddly shaped bundle under my bunk. It was such a hassle to get it onboard at the last minute. When I met Toby in Londinium, he was incensed. His job partner stood him up, I guess. And I didn¡¯t even recognize Toby when I saw him - having hair makes all the difference. The heiress told him to take the painting to Constantinople, but he was nervous to take it on all the connecting airships from New Amsterdam. Quaerere will make a stop in Constantinople anyway, so I volunteered to smuggle it there. Once we land, I won¡¯t be able to give a good answer to anyone¡¯s questions, so I¡¯ll just move quickly and avoid everyone while I transport it by foot. Although there is someone sneaky on board. While I sent a confirmation message to Toby last night, I heard someone standing in the passageway outside. I don¡¯t know if they saw me break the messenger birds, but I moved quickly regardless. I need to be extremely wary. We docked in Constantinople early this morning, and after breakfast we heard Captain Springett¡¯s voice over the intercom. ¡°All crew members may disembark. Be aware of your timing while in the city; Quaerere will depart promptly at 1400 hours. Be safe and have fun in Constantinople.¡± Good, I¡¯ll have almost all day to meet with Toby. I think one of the princess¡¯ representatives will be there too. I kneeled down to get the canvas from under my bunk, but Demi knocked and slipped inside the tiny room. ¡°Hey Syd, let¡¯s go to that wrestling arena again, there are lots of fights scheduled today! And then afterwards Anne has invited us over for dinner. She said she would make that baklava you like!¡± I hated when he called me Syd, but I put up with it because stars, his mother¡¯s baklava was good. But I had to meet with Toby. I prepared to regretfully decline, but then Demi grabbed my arm. ¡°Looks like you have your things, so let¡¯s be on our way!¡± I tried to protest as he took me out of the room, up to the deck, and down the gangplank. We had landed more towards the middle of the aeroport, and so Demi and I slowed down to admire the various zeppelins in the field. There were some personal craft, but mostly medium-sized merchant ships like Quaerere. I did spot the tall bulk of a Dreadnought-class Anglish military craft in the distance, with groups of soldiers making their own trails from it to the city. In one of the prime positions, close to the city, was parked a majestic airship. The golden solar sails matched the gold filigree that decorated the polished wood hull, and the people on deck wore clean, crisp uniforms. I wonder who owns it. Many workers scuttled back and forth between the coal depot and the airfield. They guided small mechanical elephants in their little lanes between ships; the elephants¡¯ open backs were filled with coal. Sometimes they were full enough that chunks of coal fell off, and when that happened, little street urchins scuttled out from the shade of the ships and snatched the pieces. Demi said to me quietly, ¡°My brother-in-law maintains those mechs.¡± ¡°Are you proud of him?¡± Why did he say it so quietly? ¡°We can talk about it later.¡± He had let go of my arm by now but still walked close to me, nudging me in the right direction once we left the aeroport. Even though I¡¯d been here multiple times, I still would get lost if left alone for more than a minute. I¡¯ve always been directionally challenged, but all the streets in this town look the same, regardless. And the soldiers on each street make me nervous. I try to keep my head down without looking out of place. But how can I get away from Demi without arousing suspicion? I try to think of a plan while we walk for nearly thirty minutes. I check my stopwatch at every intersection and watch the hands tick along. Toby wanted me to meet him at a coffee shop near the Ruslanian embassy at 1300 hours. The wrestling starts at 1130 and will probably last an hour. And having dinner with the Yucels will not take less than half an hour. I¡¯m going to be incredibly late for our coffee meeting - and I can¡¯t not go. When I spotted a messenger bird station, I turned to Demi. ¡°Hey, can we take a break? I need to send a message.¡± ¡°No, we have to keep going. By the time we arrive, the first match will be starting, and I don¡¯t want to miss it. Come on, walk faster.¡± ¡°But-¡± My protests were muffled by shouts from across the street. Demi and I walked faster, and I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Usually the residents weren¡¯t bothered by foreigners, but the city seemed restless this time around. Maybe having soldiers here makes the difference. Soon enough we reach the wrestling area, a large grassy indentation in the city. Many men had already chosen their seats on the slope. They crowded into a sliver of shade. Demi found us a place to sit at the edge of the shade and immediately started pointing out different wrestlers. ¡°There¡¯s Tantug, he¡¯s expected to win. And Ersen is a contender, too. He won last year, remember?¡± ¡°I think I remember. Why is Tantug expected to win, though?¡± ¡°He¡¯s been a rising star this year. He¡¯s a little younger than Ersen, but bigger and probably stronger. It¡¯s tough to make someone¡¯s belly face the sky when they are so huge! Obviously, Ersen has much more experience, so we¡¯ll have to see how this match turns out. They have to beat their other opponents first. This is a tournament, after all.¡± We watched as oil was poured on the contestants. They were all bare-chested and wore tight leather trousers. An official separated pairs on the turf. ¡°I was scheduled to receive message birds about the tournament on our journey here, but they never came. Do you think that the problem is on Quaerere¡¯s end, or the city¡¯s?¡± I shrugged, thinking about the bird¡¯s homing beacon that I switched off. Without it, no messenger bird can locate our ship. ¡°Well, you know Quaerere is considered an antique. Barry was telling me earlier about all the things he¡¯s trying to keep from falling apart. I can ask him to take a look at the beacon, if you want.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Demi stared in the general direction of the wrestlers, but his gaze went into the middle distance. ¡°Yes, that would be good. Thank you.¡± Some of the matches resolved quickly, others took longer. I could hear the ticking of my watch though it was tucked in my pocket. As the next stage of the tournament began, I managed to slip away. ¡°I¡¯m going to go use the lavatory,¡± I told Demi. He nodded acknowledgement. I quickly retraced our steps and found the restaurant that Toby wanted to meet me at. It¡¯s across the street from the Ruslanian embassy, and I watch its banners flutter in the wind. Another reason why we chose this meeting place is its appeal to foreigners. We blend in here. I sit and order an appetizer. A veiled woman sits at the table next to mine, just an arm¡¯s length away. We are both oriented toward the street, our backs to the other patrons. Our little corner is quiet until a man¡¯s voice mumbles, ¡°I¡¯m not surprised that you didn¡¯t recognize me.¡± ¡°Toby?!¡± I resist the urge to look right at him, trying to keep up the facade for other patrons. Nothing to see here, just two people politely ignoring each other, separately enjoying their meals. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me, but keep your voice down, for goodness sake! Do you have your walking stick?¡± ¡°My what?¡± ¡°The item¡­¡± ¡°Oh! The item. Well, I have it, but I wasn¡¯t able to get it off the ship.¡± Toby cursed under his breath and was interrupted by the waitress. ¡°Would you like more tea, ma¡¯am?¡± A high-pitched voice emerged from under the full-face veil. ¡°Yes, please.¡± The waitress left, and I started to say something snarky, but Toby told me to shut up. ¡°The princess wants the painting today.¡± ¡°I know, and I¡¯m really sorry. Demi dragged me out of the ship for the wrestling contest, and I couldn¡¯t get away until now. He thinks I went to the lavatories.¡± ¡°Sydney, do you know what this means? If she doesn¡¯t get the painting, I¡¯m going to prison. For a long time. She¡¯ll kick me out of my complimentary hotel room and tip off Interpol without batting an eye. And she¡¯s still angry that I was even photographed by that stupid guard in the first place. That would never have happened if my partner had shown up like he was supposed to. But no, he had to skip town and leave his forbidden cat behind!¡± ¡°This has just been hellish all the way around for you, huh?¡± ¡°Obviously! It was supposed to be foolproof - an inside man, the hidden door, the easy getaway! But I suppose the only fool was me for choosing to work with that scum!¡± ¡°Yeah, what did you say his name was, again?¡± He spat out the syllables. ¡°Pickford. Cale Pickford.¡± ¡°Oh. Oh, my.¡± The pieces came together in my head with what I¡¯m sure was an audible click. ¡°What is it? Do you know where he is? When I get my hands on him¡­¡± he growled. ¡°As a matter of fact, I know exactly where he is. We¡¯re, um, bunked in the same room.¡± ¡°He got hired!? Your captain interviewed him and thought to herself, ¡®Wow, this guy looks so trustworthy and responsible! Let¡¯s pay him so that he can stab us in the back later¡¯ ?!¡± ¡°Shush, people are looking. Of course he got hired. He presents well and has some mechanical skills. After Winstan left, Barry needed a new assistant.¡± I can hear the evil smile in Toby¡¯s voice as he says, ¡°Well, that makes it easy for us to catch him and get the bounty. And as for keeping me out of jail, how soon can you retrieve the item?¡± ¡°After the tournament ends, Demi invited me to go to his family¡¯s house. We¡¯re going to eat baklava. I think I¡¯ll have just enough time to get the paint- the item, excuse me, and meet you at the embassy.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t get it now?¡± ¡°I have to get back to Demi. He¡¯ll be wondering.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡± He thought for a minute. ¡°I think that plan will work. I¡¯ll see you soon, cousin.¡± ¡°Yes, see you later.¡± ¡°Hey, before you go, how is my sister doing? Didn¡¯t she get super airsick on the last run?¡± ¡°I forgot about that! You should have seen her, she was stuck on the deck for three days, green to the gills! Such a miserable time for her, I¡¯m sure.¡± I chuckled at the memory. Charlotte is a trooper, for sure. ¡°She¡¯s definitely doing better this time.¡± ¡°And she doesn¡¯t know about the¡­ mishap?¡± ¡°No, she doesn¡¯t know about her brother, the sheep.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a sheep?¡± ¡°Yeah, ¡¯cause you¡¯re on the lam.¡± A beat of silence, then, ¡°Stars. Sydney, you have got to stop this. Your speaking privileges are now revoked. Don¡¯t talk again. Ever.¡± ¡°Oh, Toby, how I love to torture you. Now I¡¯d best be going, but I will see you later.¡± I stand up and find myself face-to-face with Demi. ¡°Sydney! Did you get sidetracked? How did you end up all the way over here?¡± Thinking quickly, I reply, ¡°I followed my nose. The food smelled good.¡± He gave me a quizzical look, then noticed my barely touched plate of food. ¡°Your eyes must have been bigger than your stomach. Come on, the tournament is nearly finished.¡± We walk back to the grass and I watch the wrestlers, content in the knowledge that everything will work out just fine. _________________ I move to formally retract my previous statement. This isn¡¯t working out ¡°just fine¡±. True, I did watch the end of the tournament, and had baklava with the Yucel family. But then Adelaide ruined it. I was back at the airship at 1300, and I guess so was everyone else, because the captain announced that we would be departing immediately. So I had to chart our course while fuming. I slammed my tools around and made a mess of things. Toby will go to prison because of this incredibly stupid decision that Adelaide made. And I can¡¯t do anything about it. Not a single thing. Because here we are, hundreds of feet in the air, and headed straight for Mogadishu. It¡¯ll take us close to 30 hours if the weather holds. Our communications have already been cut off. That¡¯s one step done. The next thing I need to do is get this ship turned around - as quickly as possible. And I know I already have one accomplice; let¡¯s see if I can muster another. Who could say I''m not loyal to my family? Will You Come Home to Me Barry and Kiona spoke in the kitchen while Hallie laid on the floor and reached into the guts of a cabinet. The sink had been leaking for a couple days, and so Kiona was happy to get it fixed. However, the minor problem sent Barry into a tailspin. ¡°This ship is a piece of junk. The Craftsman¡¯s Guild doesn¡¯t make ¡®em like they used to. Or maybe they just set a bunch of apprentices loose in a scrap yard,¡± he said while sipping his tea. ¡°One leaky sink does not a junk ship make,¡± Kiona replied, trying to lighten the storm clouds over his head. He sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not just the sink, Kiona. Yesterday, poor Hallie had to go out to the main propeller. The shaft was too loose and so the engines worked overtime for the same amount of thrust. We wanted to make sure everything was in tip-top shape for the long flight today. So Hallie had to grease it up and tighten the bolts. She¡¯s scared to death of heights, poor thing, but she¡¯s the only trained mechanic that¡¯s light enough to be on the harness system.¡± Hallie muttered something from the bowels of the cabinet, and Barry paused for a second before continuing on. ¡°Then this morning we realized that the left bank temp gauge was inaccurate, and our spare parts haven¡¯t been organized since they all fell on the floor last month. It took the three of us close to two hours to find that spare thermometer! And then Cale bruised his hand because he dropped our biggest wrench on himself. I swear that boy walks around with his eyes closed half the time! I should apprentice him to someone else!¡± Barry brought the mug up to his mouth again, then realized it was empty. He sighed. ¡°Would you like some more tea?¡± Kiona asked kindly. ¡°Yes, thank you.¡± He continued monologuing while Kiona started brewing the tea. ¡°You know, sometimes I feel like this is a sinking ship and my team is running around plugging the holes with their fingers. Someday, we¡¯re going to run out of fingers. I just hope we have the right tools to make it back to Londinium in one piece.¡± ¡°Well, this is certainly not the longest trip we¡¯ve ever been on. I think that with your help, the ship will be just fine. And remember, the minute we dock at Londinium, our contracts are over. We can walk away from this ship and not have to worry about it any more.¡± Kiona poured their refills and they sipped for a minute. Then she added, ¡°I¡¯m sure someone else would like to hear about your concerns, too.¡± Barry stiffened. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that she would. She¡¯d think it¡¯s too much rambling.¡± ¡°It¡¯s her ship, she has a right to know. And I don¡¯t think she dislikes you as much as you think she does.¡± He raised an eyebrow at her. ¡°Are you joking?¡± ¡°Absolutely not. She needs to understand what¡¯s going on with her ship. You should go tell her now. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s busy.¡± ¡°Fine, I guess I can. Hallie, I¡¯ll meet you in the tool room when you¡¯re done.¡± Hallie replied as Barry left the room and walked down the gangway to Captain Springett¡¯s office. He knocked on the door, trying to avoid shaking the hinges too much. This door has had loose hinges for two years, but it¡¯s such a low priority that Barry let it be. It¡¯s grown weaker since the last time he knocked on this door. He was here for a different reason then, and significantly more nervous. ¡°Come in,¡± Captain Springett calls. Barry remembers the time when he thought he would be able to call her Adelaide, when there was the possibility of being alone together without a desk between them. Captain Springett realizes who it is, and keeps a professional demeanor. ¡°Ah, Engineer Boysen! Have a seat, would you like a biscuit?¡± ¡°No, thank you. I only wanted to stay for a moment. I have some concerns about the integrity of the ship that I thought you might want to know about.¡± ¡°Is it the old bolts again? I thought we¡¯d replaced all of them already.¡± ¡°No, the bolts are taken care of. It¡¯s really the whole ship that¡¯s gone to pieces. Quaerere is old and tired, the last thing it needed was a trip to Antarctica.¡± She sighed, looking past Barry and out the window where the ocean shone in the sunlight. ¡°I know. I¡¯m just praying that we make it back to Londinium before she finally quits on us. You and your team can keep patching up what fails, but just know that the ship will be scrapped as soon as we return.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear it¡¯ll be scrapped. We¡¯ve spent so much time on this ship, I¡¯m not sure if I could get used to a new one.¡± ¡°They all have the same layout, you know.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not really that, it¡¯s more¡­ the people that I¡¯ll miss.¡± Barry tries to catch her eye. She sighs again. ¡°Barry, if you try to bring this up again¡­¡± ¡°I know. So I won¡¯t. But there¡¯s one more thing that my crew has noticed. All but one of the messenger birds are now inoperational. They must have recently deteriorated.¡± Captain Springett froze. ¡°They were all fully functional on my pre-flight inspection. Could all of them really deteriorate in just a few days?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure. They are an older model, prone to several different issues. I didn¡¯t find anything out of the ordinary when I inspected them.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. She tapped her index finger on the desk and looked out the window again, thinking. ¡°We can¡¯t repair or replace them in Mogadishu¡­¡± she said, mostly to herself. ¡°We¡¯re stopping in Mogadishu?¡± Barry shuddered. ¡°Briefly. We have to refuel and then we¡¯ll leave. We¡¯ll be there for two hours at the most. Did you not read the flight plan?¡± ¡°I thought I did. But I definitely would have remembered seeing it on the destination list. When were we last there?¡± ¡°It must have been about 15 years ago, when we were on the way to Madagascar. Just after we returned, Angleterre was upset about something and Parliament outlawed trade with this part of Africa.¡± ¡°I remember that, but what changed? Why are we allowed access now?¡± ¡°Honestly, I have no clue. I was too busy being flustered about this last trip. But while we¡¯re refueling, we will have to watch out. I¡¯ve heard reports of pirates causing artificial sandstorms in order to steal our cargo.¡± ¡°But we don¡¯t have any cargo.¡± ¡°Well, they don¡¯t know that. I think we¡¯ll be fine. Like I said, it¡¯s just a couple hours and we¡¯ll be on our way again.¡± They sat in silence for a minute, both looking out the window at the waves far below. Then Barry spoke up. ¡°Do you remember that trip?¡± ¡°What, the Madagascar trip?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Sometimes I think about watching the sunsets from the lounge. That was when Tess taught us that game, what was it called?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± ¡°Me neither, but it was so fun.¡± ¡°We should teach these new recruits some games. Liven up the evenings.¡± ¡°Well, we could. But what¡¯s the point?¡± Adelaide crossed her legs at the knees, still looking out the window. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to retire as soon as we return to Londinium. Why should I train these recruits to my standards when I¡¯m about to leave the industry? They¡¯ll have to learn new routines when they join a new ship anyway.¡± ¡°You¡¯re retiring?¡± Barry¡¯s voice quavered slightly. Adelaide paused, studying his reaction. ¡°I thought you knew.¡± ¡°I thought maybe, but now that I know it¡¯s true¡­ Quaerere won¡¯t be the same.¡± ¡°Oh, yes it will. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll get a nice captain and the queen can send you on some new trips. It¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°A new captain wouldn¡¯t be bad - but it wouldn¡¯t be you.¡± She whirled to face him and slammed both her hands on her desk. ¡°Are you really going to bring that up again? After what I told you?¡± ¡°Adelaide, it¡¯s been months. This is going to be our last trip! Is it really too difficult to imagine us together?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve said it once, and I¡¯ll say it again. I cannot get into a relationship with anyone on this ship. The Guild would never allow me to captain an airship again.¡± ¡°But if this is your last trip, what does it matter?¡± Barry watched as Adelaide thought about it. Her face barely betrayed her emotions, but it was enough to reveal what he wanted to know. Finally she said, ¡°Engineer, you are dismissed.¡± Barry left the office and walked to the tool room. It was a small space that acted as a buffer between the gangway and the engine bay. There was a wall of drawers, each filled with tools or spare parts. Barry had written a list on the opposite wall of things to fix, which meandered from ceiling to floor. He grimaced as he got a charcoal and rewrote ¡®captain¡¯s office door hinges¡¯ near the middle of the list. It¡¯d been almost completely rubbed off from the engineer¡¯s traffic through the room. Meanwhile, Adelaide poured Kiona a cup of tea. They both sat on a little settee in Adelaide¡¯s office, and Kiona leaned closer as her friend described the conversation she just had with Barry. ¡°But what if he was right? This is your last trip; what could the Guild do, fire you?¡± ¡°Kiona, beginning a relationship with him is an abuse of power. As his superior, there can be no romantic overtones in our working relationship. I don¡¯t understand how you can let your feelings about this override the logistics. Sure, my job wouldn¡¯t be on the line, but his could be. And it¡¯s not fair to ask him to choose between me and the occupation that he loves.¡± ¡°I understand that. But how do you feel about him, versus what you think about him?¡± Adelaide thought for a minute about how to translate her feelings into words. ¡°I really care about him. We¡¯ve been friends for years, but I¡¯m just not sure if and when I¡¯d want to go further.¡± ¡°So let¡¯s just continue as normal, and who knows? Maybe something will change, and you¡¯ll love him more, and both of you can retire to your cottage by the sea.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Adelaide replied. ¡°Someday.¡± Later that evening, after discussing the leaky sink with Barry, Hallie sat on her bunk in a rare moment of downtime. She writes in her notebook: Chimney sweep Gutter cleaner Dishwasher Line cook Janitor Plumber Maintenance head Apprentice mechanic Junior engineer I¡¯ve officially crossed ¡°Junior Engineer¡± off my list. After my near-death experience yesterday, fixing the propeller, I need to find a new profession. After almost 15 years of working, you¡¯d think I would have found a career by now. Nope. No job has been worth years of my life - at least so far. I liked being the head of maintenance at that private school. But when you-know-who broke up with me, I knew it was my time to go. I packed my bags and left that very same night. By the next day, I had travelled halfway across the country and started training as a mechanic. It¡¯s not the constant motion of the ship that bothers me. And I can deal with the bland meals, the mediocre company. It¡¯s the long list that keeps me up at all hours of the night. The long list of items that need fixed. In our tool room, Barry keeps a running list charcoaled on the wall. Every time I suit up, I read the words and imagine the amount of labor needed. Every morning when I wake up, I mentally look at the list and decide what needs tinkered on that day. The Quaerere has more problems than the list, though. When (not if) emergencies pop up, they take precedence over The List. Just in the past two days, I¡¯ve repaired the propeller and had my first plumbing experience with the kitchen sink. Both of those tasks took almost all day. I¡¯m tired of holding this scrap heap together with homemade bolts. I¡¯m tired of fixing other people¡¯s problems. I¡¯m tired of being a mechanic. The minute we land in Londinium, I¡¯m getting off this ship and never looking back. I¡¯m ready for a change. Part II Tobias Greenglass After a few days, I¡¯d grown used to the veil and the dress that I donned whenever I left my hotel room. I¡¯d grown used to the food, the climate. But I couldn¡¯t relax for peanuts. I spent my nights curled on the lumpy bed, my muscles tight with anxiety. My own shadow startled me, and I walked as quickly as I could past the soldiers that roamed the streets. What¡¯s the reason for your stress, you might ask. Well, it all started when Sydney couldn¡¯t get the painting off his airship. The embassy has been pressuring me ever since. They want to meet me today to ¡°talk about it¡±, which kind of sounds like a euphemism. Are they going to ¡°silence¡± me? Just the thought of this conversation makes me jittery. I look around my room. It might have been dusty if it wasn¡¯t so damp; the mixture created a thin layer of grime on each flat surface. There is a window, which I appreciate, but all I can see through it is the outer wall of the neighboring building. So yeah, great view. Lots of light, for sure. It really lifts my mood. Which is why I¡¯m totally smiling as I don my best going-out clothing: the veil and heavy floor-length dress. The fabric kind of smells like mildew now that I¡¯ve been here a couple of days. It¡¯s a short walk to the embassy, and I enter the alley to knock on the back door. Funny how this whole thing started when I exited the museum¡¯s back door - curse Cale Pickford and his cowardice! A guard lets me in, and another leads me to the sitting room. He lays a towel on the velvet couch and then I sit down. The sumptuous room is practically dripping with rich fabric and crystals, though the whole building shows its age. The decor, which resembled my grandmother¡¯s employer¡¯s home, had seen its prime several decades ago. I sit there, fidgeting with my skirt, for a little while. A longcase clock ticks in the corner. A pair of young men in suits chat as they walk through the room, but neither look at me. They step into an office down the hall and shut the door. The ceiling creaks under someone¡¯s footsteps upstairs, and the cracked plaster lets out a dusty sigh. A few more minutes pass until a more decorated guard enters and says, ¡°The princess will see you now.¡± My heart rate spikes, and I gulp back my nerves. As I enter the room, I see Paul Yakovich sitting at an imposing desk. A cloud of cigarette smoke hits my nostrils, but he has nothing in his hands. Then I see the princess, tucked in an alcove. A table is spread before her, covered in delicacies. She holds a cigarette in one gloved hand and taps the ashes into a teacup. Her wrinkled arms are a strange contrast to her smooth, young-looking face. Must be the cigarettes.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. She doesn¡¯t speak, but uses her cigarette to point to a chair. I sit facing Yakovich, struggling to see his face and expressions. The only light in the room comes from a small desk lamp and a window behind the princess, obscured by gauzy curtains. ¡°You must know why we¡¯ve summoned you,¡± the man says. I swallow what little saliva is left in my mouth. ¡°I believe I do, but could you please explain so that we¡¯re on the same page?¡± He sighs, his hands forming fists. ¡°Her Highness requested this painting specifically. It has special meaning to her. She expected to have it three days ago, but she does not. Do you know why that is?¡± ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, Your Highness, my transporter was not able to get the painting to this embassy due to privacy concerns. His crewmates would have noticed and asked about it. However, the airship will be returning in a few weeks, and we will ensure it can be retrieved then.¡± ¡°A few weeks?!¡± The princess screeched. ¡°That is much too far away! Get it to me now, or else you will never see the light of day again!¡± ¡°Your Highness, please-¡± Yakovich slammed his fist on the desk, and the lamp jumped. ¡°You heard the princess! Get your little friend to turn that airship around, or else! We will not see you again until you have the painting, or five days, whichever comes first. Now get out!¡± I flinch so hard that I practically jump out of my chair and sprint from the room. Someone opens the door for me, and slams it the second I¡¯m out of the doorway. Then something yanks me back. I turn and tug my skirt¡¯s hem from the door, then keep running until I¡¯m in the alley. After smoothing my skirt, I walk as fast as I can without making a spectacle back to my hotel room. With shaking hands, I hang a piece of fabric out the window. Though it¡¯s partially concealed by the neighboring building, a messenger pigeon sees it soon enough and perches on the windowsill to take my message. To steady my voice, I take a deep breath and hope that Sydney doesn¡¯t hear the trembling. Hopefully the message gets to him soon enough. I hope he can find a way to come back within the five allotted days. I crumple on the bed as the mech flies away, its metal wings clicking. The Sky is So Vast Chief Mapmaker Demiray Yucel I¡¯ve never been to Mogadishu. The area has been restricted to Anglish travellers for some time now, so I wonder how the locals will react to our presence. We¡¯re only stopping for a brief refueling. The aeroport is sandwiched between the city and the beach; crisp blue waves brush up against the sand. Quaerere is the largest ship here, and the only one not flying a Somalian flag. Guess this remote place doesn¡¯t attract a lot of airship traffic. To get the best view, I lay on the floor of the mapmaker¡¯s solarium and peer through the tempered glass bubble. The bowsprit above casts a small shadow on my face, but I have a clear view of the aeroport in front of us. The convex window seems to focus the sunshine into this room, and I start to sweat a little. This room always seems to be too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. The seals between the bubble and the bulkhead are not as tight as they used to be, and the insulation isn¡¯t quite up to snuff. We¡¯ll have to bundle up when we¡¯re mapping in the Antarctic. Right after we landed here, Captain Springett had to meet with the port authority and prove our country of origin, status within its jurisdiction, as well as our destination and schedule. I had no doubt that everything would be fine, but the captain did slip the attendant a wad of money, which must have sped up the process. He stamped some paperwork and the crew started fueling Quaerere. Captain Springett entered the ship through the starboard gangway. I watched other members of the ground crew for a little while, then the call came over the intercom, ¡°Dinner is ready!¡± All of us sat down to eat the meal that Kiona and Daisy had prepared. We chatted, but my mind was somewhere else. I watched Captain Springett as she peered through a porthole. What she saw made her jump into action. ¡°Sydney! Prepare the ship for immediate takeoff! Demi, come with me! Kiona, Barry! Batten down the hatches! Everyone else, hold on tight!¡± She scrambled down the passageway, and I followed as fast as I could. We sprinted down the gangway and hit the dusty stone aeroport. I nearly stopped in my tracks when I saw something in the distance - a massive cloud of dust that engulfed the horizon and covered the city. The captain kept running and led me to the fuel tank, where we started to disconnect the hose. ¡°Pull this lever!¡± She wrestles the nesting locks apart and fuel spills on the ground, barely missing our shoes. The wind whips our clothes, and I shout to her, ¡°Why are we doing this?¡± ¡°Pirates - they¡¯ll create a sandstorm to distract us!¡± Some of the pins fly out of her hair, and the strands lash her face. ¡°They want to steal our grav crystal!¡± ¡°You think they created this?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a possibility! Hurry up, we have to get inside!¡± The hose lays on the ground, the fuel spill slowly growing. I hear Quaerere¡¯s engines start, as I sneak another glance at the growing cloud - it¡¯s reached the far end of the airfield. I see shapes in the storm, both on the ground and in the air, and run faster to the gangplank. Captain Springett starts raising the ramp before I¡¯m all the way in; I slide inside at just the right time. I hear Kiona shouting at our crewmates, and the window shutters slap closed. Something hits the port side of the ship with a loud thump. The captain turns white, then shouts up the ladder as she climbs, ¡°Sydney! Takeoff! Now!¡± The whole ship lurches, and then we start to steeply rise. A gear grinds somewhere, but we continue upwards. I hear a noise at the bow and go to investigate. It¡¯s like a giant cat with a scratching-post. Then I hear a window rattle. Once I enter the mapmaking room, I see why. There¡¯s a mechanical dragon clinging to the bubble! It uses its front claws to try to pry the glass from its casing. I shout at it, and its attention is diverted briefly as it snarls at me. But how can I get it off the ship? I grab a chair and prepare to throw it. The glass won¡¯t break, but hopefully it will dissuade the mech. As I lift the chair, a hammer outside flies from the deck above and hits the dragon square on its head. It freezes - a wire must have loosened. I smack the bubble with my fist, and the motion knocks the mech off. Still frozen in place, it falls from the ship and is engulfed in wisps of dust. I start to wonder who threw the wrench, but that train of thought is derailed when I see the flames rising below. Though we continue to rise, the smoke follows us higher. Then the whole world shakes with a resounding boom. The fuel lines¡­ oh my stars¡­ we did this.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. After we¡¯ve reached a safe distance from Mogadishu and can engage the autopilot, Captain Springett calls a meeting in the dining hall. I stare numbly at the metal of the table in front of me. ¡°Okay, crew, how is everyone doing?¡± No one answers. ¡°That bad, huh? Well, rest assured knowing that a full report will be sent to the Guild, and no one else will be threatened by those pirates again. I¡¯ll recommend that Angleterre reexamines their recent letdown of sanctions, for they were put up for a reason.¡± ¡°Well, captain, there may be something else you have to add in your full report,¡± Sydney said coolly. ¡°And what would that be?¡± Sydney stood and looked imperiously on the group. ¡°Did anyone else feel that explosion as we took off?¡± ¡°Explosion?¡± Daisy asked, her face twisted. ¡°It could be called an explosion,¡± he continued, ¡°or perhaps the complete destruction of Mogadishu¡¯s aeroport!¡± ¡°Sydney,¡± Captain Springett replied, unamused, ¡°what are you talking about?¡± ¡°I¡¯m talking about how you, the highly decorated captain of the Mapmaker¡¯s Guild, made an egregious error in dodging protocol and leaving the fuel lines open at a developing country¡¯s aeroport! When we became airborne, Quaerere shed sparks that ignited the fuel depot! I bet the whole town jumped three meters in the air when the tank blew! What will the Guild say?!¡± I knew that Sydney wasn¡¯t particularly fond of the captain, but I¡¯d never heard him speak so bluntly to her. And in front of everyone, too. I wondered what¡¯s gotten into him. The captain took a steadying breath. ¡°As I said earlier, a full report will be made to the Guild, which the committee will review. They will make reparations and enact consequences for any presiding officer¡¯s decisions, including my own. I do not have to explain myself to you, but I will say, it was an-¡± ¡°Accident!¡± Barry interjected. ¡°The captain¡¯s job is to make sure we¡¯re safe and can do her job. She did her best, and the Guild will see that.¡± I saw Sydney raise his eyebrows at Cale, who then said loudly, ¡°What about us, Barry? We¡¯re supposed to be maintaining the ship, but obviously something¡¯s off! Quarere is what sparked and ignited the fuel, for star¡¯s sake!¡± I¡¯d never heard Cale talk so emphatically about anything. ¡°Why did we go to that place, anyway, if we thought there might be pirates?¡± Charlotte asked. Her hands were folded so primly in her lap, but her tense jaw betrayed her feelings. ¡°We could have died!¡± ¡°Typically, Sydney and I create our own itinerary. But for this trip, the queen wanted one of the Guild committees to do so. They thought that having us stop there so soon after the lifting of the sanctions would act as a show of good faith. I trusted them.¡± Sydney started to talk, but I interrupted. ¡°I just have one question: who threw that hammer? I thought for sure I would get eaten by that dragon, and then someone saved me. Who was it?¡± Hallie raised her hand sheepishly. ¡°That would be me. I thought I¡¯d stay on deck just in case we were boarded, and I had my toolkit with me. When I saw that mech, I knew it needed to get taken care of.¡± ¡°Well, thanks. I don¡¯t know what I would have done without you.¡± She mock-bowed in response. ¡°So I should include a¡­ hostile dragon mech on my report?¡± The captain wrote something on her notepad. ¡°Definitely,¡± Hallie replies. We discussed the day a little more and then Captain Springett dismissed us. She let us know that because we didn¡¯t fill the tank at Mogadishu, we have to take a more direct course to Cape Town. Instead of following the coast south tomorrow, we¡¯ll fly directly over the continent. I found Daisy before she could leave the room. ¡°Hey, while it¡¯s still light out, do you want to practice mapmaking? We only have a good view of the coast tonight, before we redirect.¡± Her eyes widened in surprise. Was she not paying attention during the meeting? I guess I understand - the shock of our speedy exit today may have left her mind somewhere else during our discussion. ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± she told me. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go now.¡± We walked to the mapmaking room where I had so recently faced off against a mech. I knocked three times on the doorframe as Daisy entered the room. She walked to the mapmaker¡¯s cabinet and paused, waiting for me. The supplies are in the same places in every cabinet; she couldn¡¯t have forgotten. Probably still out of it from today. I pulled out two sheets of practice paper and our charcoals, placed them on our desks. We sat down and I quickly started to appreciate the way that the evening light made the ocean waves gleam. Before I knew it, my practiced hand started to follow the graceful curves of the seashore. The concentration both drained and energized me. When my eyes started to strain for lack of natural light, I lifted my hand from the paper to reveal a delicate representation of the east African coastline. After tapping the desk three times with my charcoal, I turned to Daisy. Her brow furrowed, she certainly wasn¡¯t in the relaxed mapmaking trance that I experienced. Then I saw her map - the lines are shaky and disconnected, like a child¡¯s drawing. Now I¡¯m wondering if this is, again, a product of our stressful day. ¡°Are you alright?¡± She shrugs. ¡°Is there something wrong?¡± ¡°You tell me - look at our maps.¡± I showed her my page. Her eyes dart between the papers, and she stiffens. ¡°I guess I¡¯m just tired.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± I offer. ¡°It¡¯s been a long day. Let¡¯s put these away and get some sleep. Tomorrow we might have to help the mechanical team, since we won¡¯t have any opportunity to practice mapmaking.¡± What strange behaviour from our prodigy mapmaker. Strange behaviour from Sydney and Cale, too. There must be something going on that I don¡¯t know about. But I Am So Small Jemmett Mainwaring Every time I see Captain Springett, I think, My father is her boss¡¯s boss. It¡¯s a strange thought, because I remember so much more about her than she does about me. Good thing Mainwaring is such a common name, and good thing I¡¯ve changed so much since I was a kid. I don¡¯t think she even remembers that Russell Mainwaring has a son. I remember one time, at the annual Guild ball 15 years ago, watching Captain Springett follow her husband around the dance floor. They made a handsome couple, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath while they waltzed. She was the Guild¡¯s golden girl. The committee sent her and her crew to the most dangerous, the most delicate missions with full trust in her superior abilities. But her husband unexpectedly died not long after that shining party, and the next year, she sat alone in her mourning clothes, watching while others danced and spun together. As for the circumstances around her husband¡¯s death, no one talked about it directly, but it hung around Springett¡¯s name like a miasma. I still don¡¯t know what they said, but I saw how she quickly became relegated to the lower end of the ship lists. Quaerere was sent on longer, more boring, lesser paying missions, and didn¡¯t receive tech upgrades like the rest of the Guild¡¯s fleet. The reason I know all this is because Father has trained me to take his place as chief chairman someday. Too bad I have no interest in mapmaking, or appeasing donors, or directing a Guild committee. Too bad he can¡¯t recognize that the Mainwaring legacy he wants resides in my sister, Abby. She is much better at people than I am, ready to do the glad-handing and negotiation that the chairman position requires. Father sent me on this trip to ¡°figure myself out¡± and ¡°smell the salt air¡±. He said, and I quote, ¡°May you realize that mapmaking is in your blood, whether you like it or not. This excursion will give you the experience that the Guild requires for its chairman. Keep your eyes and mind open to this new experience, and when you return, I¡¯ll welcome my mapmaking son with open arms.¡± I wrote his words in my journal, even though they won¡¯t come true. The thing is, I already know myself - he just doesn¡¯t accept that I¡¯m not a copy of him. I knew when we said goodbye at the Cone aeroport, that would be the last time I¡¯d see him. Melanie is waiting for me, at the flower shop that her family owns. Father thinks I visited the surface so many times for fishing trips. No, I was meeting the love of my life. We became engaged just before I left for this Antarctic ship. Oh, how we wept when I told her of my forced absence! During yesterday¡¯s panic, I did my duty while protecting myself as best I could. Our wedding date is set for three days after I return, and I must come home in one piece. I count down the days until we are together, when my happiness will finally be made complete. Until then, until this trip is over, I keep my head down. I do my job. And my floral imagination runs wild. I find, when I¡¯m supposed to be picking oakum, that I¡¯m actually designing her wedding bouquet in my head. In my imagination, I walk through our flower shop, choosing perfect long-stemmed roses and leafy ferns, binding them with wisteria and ivy. Yesterday, I picked oakum. And the day before that, too. Today, we¡¯re still on that task, but at least there¡¯s a different landscape to watch underneath us. After the pirate attack, Captain Springett changed our course to the riskier overland route. We¡¯re currently above the African continent, and shades of green cover the land. My fingers hurt from all this rope, but Charlotte¡¯s watchful eyes on me won¡¯t let me rest for even a minute. I haven''t really spoken to her much. Honestly, her intensity scares me. The only time I''ve seen her smile was when Daisy demonstrated a waltz with a broom. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Today, Charlotte breaks the tradition of silence with a question. ¡°What¡¯s your dream job? Surely not picking oakum?¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t even know this was¡­ a thing.¡± My mind raced, thinking of how to easily obscure the truth. ¡°I was indentured for this trip, but after my debt is paid I can return to my family. We¡¯re florists for visiting city folk.¡± ¡°Do you like that? Working with flowers and such?¡± At this point, I¡¯m afraid I talked for rather a long time about arranging bouquets and the relative merits of different floral pieces. When I noticed Charlotte struggling to keep her eyes open, I finally shut my mouth. ¡°Now that¡¯s all very interesting,¡± she yawned, ¡°but I just have one more question. Why don¡¯t you have a grounder accent? You sound more like one of the city folk.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because, um, I was adopted by a grounder family when I was a little kid. So I¡¯d already, er, begun talking like my first family.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t come across very many people who were adopted. What was that like?¡± ¡°It was fine. But honestly, I¡¯d prefer not to talk about it.¡± We fell silent until a few minutes later, when she asked me to move a coil of rope. During that silence, I worried. I worried that she would figure out my identity, worried that all my carefully laid plans would crumble. I watched Charlotte as she frowned at her work. What was her home life like? Would she have to lie about it, like I would? Or could she be honest? I decided to ask. ¡°What about you? Where are you from?¡± ¡°Born and raised in Londinium. I¡¯m the oldest daughter of seven kids, been bossing them around since they was born.¡± I didn¡¯t recognize her from any social events and her accent betrayed her class - or lack of it. Her parents must have been servants to some rich family in the city. Where I came from, servants were generally treated well, but lived and died without the trappings of the rich. ¡°What brought you to Quaerere?¡± I stumbled over the pronunciation of the name. Too many vowels. She shrugged. ¡°My cousin told me about the position opening up and encouraged me to apply. I want to captain my own airship one day, and figured I could work my way up from here.¡± ¡°That sounds nice, I think you¡¯ll make it someday.¡± ¡°I hope so. I hope it''ll be sooner rather than later.¡± ¡°Captain Springett seems understanding, maybe if you tell her your goal she¡¯ll put in a good word for you at the Guild.¡± ¡°I doubt they would listen. And I don¡¯t need her help anyway,¡± she snapped. ¡°Oh, okay,¡± I replied, confused. What problem did she have with the captain? Adelaide could be gruff, sure, but overall she was a good leader. She listened to our suggestions and conflicts, and she went by the book to resolve issues. She wasn¡¯t a drunkard or an obsessive gambler like so many airship captains - yes, even in the Guild. I think I would appreciate it if she spent more time with the crew, especially leisure time. Maybe sometimes it feels like we only see her for reprimands. Though she did keep a clear head yesterday, when many would have panicked outwardly. So I trust our captain. We continue with the rope and oakum. Seems like that¡¯s all our days are now - spiraling coils of rope that beg to be undone. The maintenance crew could certainly use the oakum with all that they work on. I wonder what Cale is like. This is his first trip with Quaerere, just like me. But neither of us are very talkative. It would be hard to make a friendship. While my hands work on the rope, my mind wanders. I can see a slice of the ground far below us. The lush greenery sprawls over the African countryside. On the other side of the rails lies the ocean. Perhaps Demi and Daisy are practising their mapmaking while they have the opportunity. I know they must practise a lot to keep their skills sharp. I have the feeling that Father will send me to mapmaking school as soon as I arrive home. Then I¡¯ll really be stuck - I can¡¯t let it happen. Melanie and I tried to plan for everything. Surely my father will send a servant to pick me up from the Cone, so I¡¯ll have to disguise myself and slip away quickly. We talked for hours in the days before I left. We¡¯d talk scenarios back and forth. ¡®What if this happened, what could we do?¡¯ ¡®What can our backup plan be if this doesn¡¯t happen?¡¯ We tried to think of everything. Our conversations became circular. We ended up agreeing that I should keep my head down, do my assigned tasks, and get home safely. Nothing more, nothing less. I¡¯ll get out of the Cone and to the ground as quickly as possible. Then we can be together again. And I¡¯ll have what I want: Melanie, my love who smells like flowers. This is Why I Ask Junior Engineer Cale Pickford This job wasn¡¯t as bad as I thought it¡¯d be. My expectations weren¡¯t high, all I needed was a quick escape from the fallout of Tobias¡¯ botched heist. I would¡¯ve swabbed decks all day long, scraped gunk off the hull, cleaned the solar sails, whatever dirty jobs they have on an airship. But to spend time inside learning? Hot meals three times a day? Positively sunny. I can imagine Tobias¡¯ anger. In the shared flat, he wasn¡¯t known for calmly discussing matters. No, he¡¯s the kind of guy to punch first, ask questions later. Or he¡¯d make some cruel, unfeeling remark and haughtily return to his closet of a room. He¡¯s a smooth talker, though. I¡¯ll give a little credit where it¡¯s due. He told me the theft would mean easy money. Now, before you get the wrong idea, I¡¯m not a criminal. Never stolen anything in my life except an apple here and there off a market stall - but that¡¯s when I was a hungry teen. Anyway, the museum never would¡¯ve hired me if I had a record. That¡¯s why Tobias needed me to learn the place. I don¡¯t know details of his past, but I know enough to be worried for my safety. That¡¯s why I ran when I did. The money meant something to me, and I went along with his plan. Until I realized I was tangling with something much more dangerous that I previously thought. That Ruslanian princess? After meeting just once, even the mention of her made my hair stand on end. There¡¯s something about her that sends my alarm bells ringing. I wonder what she thinks of us now. Tobias Greenglass and Cale Pickford, two failed thieves. Probably Tobias is in jail now, and when he tells the police I¡¯m involved, they¡¯ll come after me as well. I was stupid enough to get hired on this airship under my own name. I understand now that it was a mistake. If a police officer has the bright idea to comb through records of ships leaving Londinium, I¡¯ll surely be discovered. If I block the ports for messenger birds, they won¡¯t be able to enter the ship and communicate with the captain. Then the only danger will be at ports. However, if I¡¯ve calculated correctly, our schedule has been altered slightly by us leaving Mogadishu early. So our next landing in Cape Town is already documented, but our arrival will be earlier than previously anticipated. I should go to the messaging room as soon as I can and block the ports somehow. There¡¯s lots of spare parts in the engineering bay, I¡¯m sure I can figure something out. ______________ After supper, I read for a little while in the sitting room, then retire to my bunkroom. It¡¯s cramped: two beds across from each other, with a porthole between them on the far wall. I keep my things in my locker at the foot of the bed. I share the room with Sydney Cannard. He¡¯s the head navigator, responsible for planning our route and communicating with the outside world. When I disable the birds, he¡¯ll be the first to know. Would he suspect me? I¡¯m contemplating this, crouched near my locker, when he enters the room. He usually comes to the room after I¡¯m already in bed, curtain drawn. ¡°Pickford.¡± He nods, then looks at me like he wants to say something more. I stand up and return the nod. ¡°Cannard.¡± We¡¯re standing far too close for my comfort, our eyes meeting. ¡°Pickford, I would like to propose an idea to you. And I¡¯d highly encourage you to say yes, based on your recent history.¡± My heart pounds. What is he talking about? Does he know? I clear my throat. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be very clear with you. I no longer wish to serve on this airship under Adelaide. But I need help putting her where she belongs.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I propose that we shall relieve Adelaide of her duties as captain. I am duly qualified to take on the role in her¡­ absence. When we reach Antarctica, we shall leave her there on the ice as penguin food.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I tried to think. ¡°I need your help. I want your help. Adelaide does not want to be here, as I¡¯m sure everyone can tell. So this will be a good change for all of us.¡± He pauses, trying to discern my thoughts on this matter. My heart plummets to my stomach when he says, ¡°And of course, there is the matter of what you were part of at the Metropolitan Museum. Wouldn¡¯t it be a shame if your criminal history became known among this crew? Think about what it would mean when we arrive at Cape Town.¡± He takes off his shoes. ¡°Don¡¯t look so surprised, Pickford. I know a few secrets around here. You¡¯re not the only one with something to hide. Worry not, for your cooperation will mean my silence. Choose wisely.¡± For lack of any other method of stalling, I say, ¡°Must I answer you now? Or can I think on it overnight?¡± ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯d entertain the idea,¡± he smirks. ¡°Very well, I suppose that will be fine. Let me know your decision first thing in the morning. Or else.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± I take a deep breath and flee the room, keeping my back straight until I close the door behind me.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. What am I to do? I ponder as I walk to the engineering bay. What could I possibly do besides joining Sydney? We¡¯ll land at Cape Town soon enough, and if I defy him, my secret will be out. The Interpol office there would be glad to deport me to New Amsterdam. Could I run away when we land? Doubtful - I have just a few coins to my name, and no knowledge of life in Cape Town. I¡¯d be unlikely to survive. Sydney really has me in a bind. I hate to do it; Captain Springett seems nice enough. But what else is there to do? I turn the corner to the engineering bay. Boxes and bins of spare parts and tools sit on shelves to the ceiling. As quietly as I can, I find a hammer and wrench and tuck them into my inner vest pocket along with a handful of spare nails and bolts and a tube of extra strength glue. I must cross my hands over my stomach and hunch over to keep the tools from clanking. A voice startles me and I jump. ¡°Pickford? Are you alright?¡± It¡¯s the captain herself. I gulp and turn pale at being caught. She reaches out and touches my chin, forcing me to look at her. ¡°Egads, you look terrible!¡± ¡°It seems that dinner did not agree with me,¡± I croak, thinking quickly. ¡°On my way to the head.¡± ¡°Let me accompany you,¡± she loops her arm through mine as if to support me. I remained hunched and shuffle with her to the washroom. ¡°I am so sorry, Pickford. Perhaps you have an undiscovered allergy? Or you got a bite of something spoiled? If the symptoms continue, talk to Kiona - she¡¯ll get you comfortable. Don¡¯t worry about waking her up, it¡¯s part of her job as nurse on board.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I mumble, and enter the mens¡¯ washroom. I lock the door and listen as she walks away. My heart pounds and I sweat fiercely. There¡¯s a reason that Toby was the one actually in the museum for the heist. I have absolutely no skills in thinking on my feet. It¡¯s a miracle that the captain didn¡¯t see right through my guise. I run the tap and rake some cold water through my hair before leaving the washroom, quietly sighing. _______ I enter the message closet and lock the door behind me. Each bird sits in a raised box, one door separating them from the outside and one from the inside. I push open the little interior door on the closest box. After removing the mech bird, I examine the outer hatch. Cold seeps through the metal. There¡¯s no discernable seams, just a few bolts holding the outer hinges. Time for the glue. It takes a few hours to dry fully, but once it does, nothing short of an electrosaw will break the bonding. Because of this late hour, I don¡¯t expect anyone to send or receive a message, so my plan should work. My arms fully extended through the box, I carefully squeezed the glue all around the edges of the hatch. It¡¯s a little shaky, but it¡¯ll do. And I¡¯ll be able to say no to Sydney. How will he tell the authorities about me without messenger birds? I smile in relief as I put the mechs back exactly the way they were. I retrace my steps to return the supplies. Back in my room, I quietly undress and get into bed so as not to wake Sydney. The Next Morning ¡°So, Pickford, did you decide?¡± Sydney smoothly asked, with all the confidence of a man who knows the outcome. I¡¯d woken up earlier than usual, some time ago, but remained in bed, staring at the curtain enclosing me. Our alarm hadn¡¯t gone off yet. A few minutes ago, I listened as Sydney dressed. He must¡¯ve realized I was awake by my breathing. I remembered all my satisfaction last night, how I patted myself on the back after gluing the hatches, as if that would bring me salvation. I gulped and answered, ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve decided.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°I did not come here to be a mutineer. I will support Captain Springett, not you, the supplanter.¡± I tried to sound brave. To my surprise, he laughed. ¡°Do you really think that your secret cannot be shared? We¡¯re landing at Cape Town today; there¡¯s an embassy there and an Interpol station. In fact, I might ask to join Kiona on her trip into the town. I¡¯m sure the authorities would be happy to reward me for this information, and you can have a complimentary flight to wherever it is that they lock up high profile thieves. How does that sound?¡± I shiver and sit up slightly, but say nothing. Suddenly the bed frame rocks and I fall to my back. Sydney growls, close to the curtain, ¡°I said, how does that sound?¡± ¡°Bad?¡± I squeak. ¡°Exactly.¡± I hear him take a step back. ¡°Are we on the same page here? You¡¯ll help me take control of this vessel, in exchange for your silence?¡± I¡¯m quiet for a moment, thinking. My options are few, I¡¯m as trapped as Quaerere¡¯s messenger birds. I sigh, then say, ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll help you.¡± ¡°Wonderful. Stay tuned for further instructions.¡± Sydney exits our room just as the alarm starts shrieking. I reach out from behind the curtain and slap the button to turn it off. Head in my hands, I prepare to face the day. ______ Every morning at breakfast, we talk about our goals for the day with Captain Springett. Sometimes we have our own ideas of what we should do - Barry gets a lot of leeway in this. Other times, Springett assigns a task for us to complete. It just so happens that today, after we land in Cape Town, I will go with Kiona into the marketplace. Barry has given me a list of mechanical items to buy, and Kiona needs fresh food to restock the galley. I try my best to act normal during this conversation, but I feel a bead of sweat form on my upper lip. I help Kiona clear the dishes as the airship descends. Then I swing by the engineering bay to get the parts list from Barry. He makes sure I understand everything and jovially slaps my shoulder as I walk away. My hands are clammy by now. I fold the paper and tuck it into my pocket for safekeeping. Will I be recognized by the police? What should I do? I can¡¯t think of anything. Any disguise or affected mannerisms would immediately alert Kiona and probably look strange to everyone else. So I take a deep breath and try to steady myself as we descend the gangplank. I¡¯m carrying a couple crates for supplies. Kiona has some cloth bags for the food. The airfield, a half mile northeast of town, is serviced by regular trams. Kiona and I boarded one after just a few minute¡¯s wait. I try not to peer at everyone, but it¡¯s difficult when I can feel their eyes on me. Do they know who I am? How closely are they watching? My paranoia increases at the busy market, and the time passes in a blur. We find everything we need and tote it back to Quaerere. That night, Sydney¡¯s eyes caught mine more than usual. He looks so sure of himself, so smug. Like the cat that got the canary. I hate to think about what will happen to this ship and its crew in the near future. But what choice do I have?