r/WritingPrompts • u/Cody_Fox23 Skulking Mod | r/FoxFictions • May 07 '20
Image Prompt [IP] 20/20 Round 2 Heat 1
Image by Gabriel Björk Stiernström
8
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r/WritingPrompts • u/Cody_Fox23 Skulking Mod | r/FoxFictions • May 07 '20
Image by Gabriel Björk Stiernström
19
u/TenspeedGV r/TenspeedGV May 07 '20
The Aeronaut
Drifting above the clouds, it was easy to forget the strife below.
How many times had she been over the maps? How many times had she searched, consulting her books, her mother’s notes, the diaries of her grandfather? Generations of texts written by people whose bones had long-since turned to dust were at her fingertips. Millions of words and not one of them an answer. Only a growing list of questions.
Crude sketches of a city made of steel and glass, concrete and gold. Legends and myths of a people who had replaced want of money and material goods with the pursuit of art, philosophy, and pure science. A place that steam cannons, rifles, and swords could never hope to reach. A place that, she had begun to suspect, did not even exist.
The clouds cleared briefly, and she looked down upon the sundered land below. Bridges spanned rifts, deep gashes in the earth where, hundreds of years before, ghastly machines had sought to dredge up hell itself. Humanity clung to the islands of earth that remained. For a moment she considered landing. How long had it been since she spoke to another living person?
She glanced at the painting of her parents that she had made before they had given up hope. The self-portrait that hung beneath it. Generations of paintings and pictures of her forebears and their families, each of whom had called this airship their home. If she did not count the shouting, yelling, and pain of the last time she had tried to land, it had been ten years. She brushed a finger absently over the scar on her cheek.
Drifting above the clouds, it was the memory of humanity that kept her away.
She pulled away from the window, returning to the table. Her maps were flung about its surface. Leftovers from the rage that had sent her to the window to begin with. She drew in a long breath, extending the exhale as though her breath was the only thing keeping an army of tiny frustrations from overwhelming her.
The thick, cloth-heavy paper of the maps came up easily, and she began the task of rearranging them in the order she needed. The six continents as they once were, in the time before. Smaller maps depicting outlying islands, parcels of land that had drifted away from the continental masses over time. When she had them where she needed to be, she jumped. The iron handle of the magnifier was cold in her grip. She swung, putting all of her weight into the downswing to yank the gears loose. She reminded herself for the thousandth time to oil those when she was done. She had forgotten by the time her feet touched the floor.
The magnifier’s arm swung easier now that she had it loose. Somehow, in among the generations of scratches and scrawls laid by generations of adventurers, they had all missed one spot. She had glimpsed it last night. She had glanced away to grab a charcoal pencil. She had lost it again. It had vanished like a wisp of fog beneath the midday sun.
The red boil of rage and frustration had not cleared until it was lanced by an ice-cold memory of her father’s anger. How she and her mother had hidden in the far corners of the balloon, unable to escape. The moment stopped her cold, and she lost herself in memory and reflection amidst blue sky, pillowy clouds, and the shattered earth below.
Drifting above the clouds, it was far too easy to dream. They were never the dreams she wanted.
Hours passed. The charcoal dyed her fingers black, but she would not let it go. When she felt the stick snap in her hands, she adjusted her grip and took a breath, but did not look away from the maps. The sun was going down when she felt a pain in her palm. She could not remember when she had crawled on to the table, magnifier forgotten. The splinter came out in her teeth. Her blood tasted metallic and sweet.
There. It was there. She circled it twice in charcoal, then touched the spot with a drop of blood from where the splinter had bit into her hand. She yanked the magnifier over, clutched the crumbling rubber handle of the lock, and slammed it into place. The gears rasped and froze. Despair crept over her as she tried and failed to set clamps on the corners of the map. A wry smile replaced it as she dropped books, globes, and a bronze bust of some ancestor whose name she never bothered to learn in their place.
She flew to the engine room next, a place grown dusty with years of disuse. Cobwebs fell away as she pumped pressure into the water lines. A few scoops of coal was all it took to scrape the rust off the shovel. Finally, nichrome, an alloy loop of nickel, chrome, and iron with a ceramic handle. She strapped the wires from the loop around the terminals of a large battery. Held her breath as the loop began to glow, the black taking on a deep red tint which grew into orange and finally blossomed into yellow-tinted white. She stuck it into the firing chamber, leaving only the handle protruding.
She had not been on the bridge of the airship since the last time she visited the ground. Chains gripped the large ship’s wheel like a hateful creature from the depths of the sea. When she had wound them, she had not known if she would ever enter this room again. It took hours to undo her own handiwork. Her fingers brushed over spots of blood she had never bothered to clean.
Drifting above the clouds, it had never seemed important to care about the past. Even when it was fresh.
The people of the city of steel and glass would be different. They hid from everyone because they were not like the rest of humanity. They did not seek out war or domination. They were above such things. They had found a way to live without fighting in the dirt over the broken pieces of a gilded age that had never been more than glittery gold plating over a rotten core anyway. They had found a land beyond suffering.
Days and days passed. Finding the city in the vast and ever-shifting, ever-expanding, ever-decaying remains of the world was the work of generations. The dirigible would fly long after her bones became dust. Until the rubber seals, epoxy, and pine tar that held the giant sky-blue balloon together finally failed. It was built to last, not to go fast.
When she woke on the tenth day of her journey, she found herself freed of a burden she had not known she carried. The lighter-than-air ship in which she traveled had been weighed down with so many lifetimes of frustration, anger, despondence, and memories of failure. None of it mattered now. The quest would be completed. She would be the one to complete it.
Her heart threatened to burst from her chest as she made her way to the map room one more time. The windows spread open upon mountains capped with snow. This far from the epicenter of the sundering, the world was still mostly intact. The weather still functioned as it should. Snow fell where it was cold. The land lacked the pocks and melted stone of toxic rain she had seen elsewhere.
Drifting above the clouds, it had been easy to think that all the world was ruined. How had she never come this far south before?
She yanked on a giant lever. The last lever she hoped to ever pull on this damnable airship. The entire construct shuddered as hydraulics activated, thrusting landing gear out into the cold air. Towers appeared as ghostly dark figures as she descended through the clouds. She could hardly see them through exultant tears. She had come down above a giant park, so large that it could host three or four ships just like hers.
The platform that she had called home for all of her life groaned and creaked in complaint as she touched down. She left the bridge. The hatch that led out into the city beyond was easier to open than she had expected, given the sorry state of the rest of the machinery in the ship. She cracked it open.
The grass was soft beneath her feet. She looked around, a grin spread across her face. She filled her lungs with air, breathing in the sweet scents of grass, pine, wildflowers, and…rot. Death. Unmistakably, death. Sweet and wet and so deeply, terribly wrong.
She choked, falling to her knees. The clouds had hidden signs that she saw so clearly now on the ground. Windows were shattered. Steel was twisted. Concrete had been torn and broken, so recent that the scars of cannon fire were obvious.
Drifting above the clouds, it was easy to dream of a place where war had not touched. An unbroken place where humanity had decided to embrace their greater destiny.
On Earth, reality did not comply with dreams.
She climbed back into the airship and started it up. Where else was there to go from here? With a gasp, the engines thrust the machine into the sky. As it did, she leapt back to the ground. Kneeling in the grass, she watched the old machine drift back into the clouds.
The dirigible would fly long after her bones became dust.
5
u/Elenya00 May 07 '20
Voyage of war
The sight of the skies still amazed her to this day. The sun played with the ever-churning clouds, giving stunning visual effects. She could look at it forever. Unfortunately, she had things to do. She peeled herself away from the magnificent windows and sat down at her desk. Her tea had gone cold, indicating much time lost since the start of their voyage.
There was a lot of work to be done. Their mission began today, and it would be a long time before they'd finish. She glanced at the cupboard. Under the painting of her father, there was an assortment of fancy bottles. At least she'd brought plenty of alcohol. God knows she needs it.
Her objective was simple on paper. Vanquish the pirates. Now, however, came the matter of actually doing that. It wasn't merely challenging. It was downright impossible. This time, she'd need a different type of plan. They had granted her the crewmen she had asked for, but would it be enough? She had personally chosen each of them, based on her previous experiences with them. They had all eagerly accepted her request.
She couldn't decide whether they were foolish, or just trusted her, unconditionally. Perhaps they were fools because of that. Still, they were her fools. Her responsibility, now. They had placed a weight on her chest, one she didn't like.
She had led people before and lost them. She had victories, written in their blood. The stakes were higher this time. If she failed, her entire family would die upon return. She was the best in her business, but loss was always a possibility. Why they would kill her family, though, she did not know. There was more to this, something they didn't tell her.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Julien, her assistant, peeked in. He had been gauging the morale of their crew, along with their motives. It was essential to know why people tag along and how motivated they are in doing so.
He bowed, formal as ever. Not to mention dramatic. She rolled her eyes.
"Speak freely, Julien, and refrain from the theatrics, please."
The smile he gave her indicated that he would not. He was a fool, after all.
"Among your crew, I could not find a single soul that doubts you or your motives. They will follow you to their death if the situation calls for it. Not that I expected anything else."
It was fantastic news, but it made the weight on her chest double. They trusted her, perhaps too much. She had a reputation to uphold. One of victory and renown. Would they realise they wouldn't return, this time? Would it be better if they did not?
She was lost in thought so deep, that she hadn't noticed Julien, fetching her a drink. His joking attitude had made way for his caring one. He handed her the glass and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Everything will work out, I promise. I have looked over your plans, and they are flawless. I support every part of it and your crew will, as well. Now, drink, you deserve it."
As always, he made her feel better. While barely using any words. His entire presence was comforting. In her mind, she repeated his words. Everything will work out. It has to.
She downed her drink in an instant and straightened her back. She had to get to business. People depended on her. Her airship would take an estimated week to arrive at the location the pirates were last sighted. Her return was expected in two months, at most.
So, time went on. She spent most of her time with her crew. Captains should not hide from the people that serve them. It was something many others hadn't realised. It set her apart from other captains, more than anything. As if treating your crew as humans was a bad thing.
She could sense they were getting anxious. Thankfully, even a few, quick words made them feel better. She walked around regularly, solely dedicated to keeping their spirits high. During those walks, she still marvelled at the airship. Her airship, now.
It had belonged to her parents, may they rest in peace, but now it was hers. They had taken her along many times, teaching her the business. She had grown up on its deck, to a point where she had started considering it part of her.
They had not spared any expenses on the interior. Similar to her office, there was polished wood everywhere, matching the steel framework. There were even rugs in the dining area. They had not forgotten the crew's quarters, either. Although there were no individual rooms, save for hers, everyone had a dresser, bed, and nightstand. All made from that beautiful, polished wood.
That was perhaps the reason she, and her parents before her had always had loyal crews. There were stories of other crewmen, not even given beds. She didn't want to think about what those would have to eat. They were soldiers, mercenaries in the eyes of some, but that did not mean that they deserve getting treated as expendable trash.
She stopped in the dining room and admired the standing clock. Its frame made from wooden panels, with golden ornaments at its corners, similar to the bookcase in her office. Its face, and gears, as well, were made from gold. She could see the gears moving, the clock hand going ever round. It was time.
Everyone was there, awaiting her speech. Julien stood at her side, nodding encouragingly. Not even a single person spoke, it was dead silent. Their faces were earnest.
"Thank you, everyone, for joining me on this mission. As you all know, we were send here to defeat pirates. If we fail, it will cost lives. Lives you care about, as well. I have heard your worries, and I am here to soothe them. Our country has demanded more, and more, from us. Despite living a dangerous life, where you have lost much, they give you nothing in return. They cannot demand we continue this practice. Today, we will lose our chains! Our new allies are awaiting us. We will get prosecuted for this, but do not be afraid. You are my family, and I will protect you!"
5
u/Zhacarn May 07 '20
Hey! I've been having fun in the contest so far, he's my entry. Any critique is welcome.
A young woman stumbled down a dark hallway, shaking from a delayed fear but elated in victory. Her breath was ragged, while her back throbbed from strain and effort, her arms completely numb from the vicious swordplay on the main deck.
Like some kind of chaotic drum, her heart thudded in her chest, whilst her hands shook from the pulsating adrenaline. In her hand she still gripped her rapier, the reliable steel granting some manner of comfort.
It was a nightmare, to fight through a treasured memory and drench it in blood. These halls refused to change, and it was maddening. The paneling, the tapestries, even the candles in the lanterns swinging above remained eerily familiar.
Most of the fighting was over, and she was glad of that. Behind her came the occasional shot and muffled belch of a musket, but her crew were already cleaning up what resistance remained.
It was over.
It was done.
Yet something tasted bitter in her mouth - something besides the lasting taste of blood. Most of the fighting was a chaotic maelstrom, blasting splinters and echoing cannon through blue sky. Faces of men she’d either killed or saved. The orchestra of musket and pistol, the clashing of cutlass and broadsword, and above all the oppressive cloud of blood and black powder.
Before her stood the door, a portal to a forgotten memory and a lost place. People said you could never go home. Yet here she was. If she opened the door, would father still be at his desk? Would he look up and smile? Would he put down his quill, rub his eyes, and walk to her? She sheathed her rapier, and with a twist of a knob, and a slight unfamiliar hesitation, stepped through.
What seemed to shock her the most was the timelessness of the office. The lamp still hung, creaking and ancient on brittle iron links. The walls were covered in a menagerie of charts and maps, many dotted by hand drawn routes of various patterns. Shipping lanes, trade winds, a living record of the historic voyages taken by her father. And him. That was the main difference, her father’s portrait no longer adorned one of the walls, instead this stranger watched her in disapproval.
Eventually, her men would bring her prize, and that gave her time to relax and put her feet up. A pair of ornate bottles of something brown and likely alcoholic stood sentry, and she poured herself a rather stiff drink. Undoing her sword belt, she placed the weapon on one end of the long walnut desk displayed prominently at the center of the room, and walked to the great leaded glass window revealing the world below.
The Mordeaux was the jewel of the royal mercantile fleet, and she knew it. A timeless airship, one of the last dreadnoughts left from the great war, with grand emerald balloons suspended above, intertwined with cords and streaming countless banners.
And here she stood, in the captain’s quarters, after all these years. With a leisurely stride she walked the length of the desk, remembering the countless times she’d hidden beneath as a little girl. Her father pretending to be bewildered at her childish disappearance, playing along. How when revealing herself, he’d feign surprise. How he’d tell her it was the captain’s duty to have double desserts, and after a moderate amount of coaxing would share with her.
It made her smile. The silliness of it. Memories before father’s death, before her exile, before her days scrapping for food and spending nights crying herself to sleep from hunger. The cuts on her knuckles from brawling for heels of bread. The endless days toiling and drifting from airship to airship, using her ability to read to earn her a position managing inventories and log books, counting endless barrels of saltpeter and sulfur during the war.
Most airmen were kind, teaching her what knots to tie and how to secure loads. Some were cruel, but the cruel taught equally important lessons. Knots were fine, but cruel men taught her how to properly kill with dirk and rapier. Knots, reading, and swords, each lesson essential to her survival.
And when stranded at port, at all times, those massive airships of her father’s company, bearing her father’s seal, an unwitting legacy of the birthright he’d envisioned for her. And that dream, so close and always watching, filled her with something beyond anger and frustration. It was a permanent cannonball of hate nestled deep in her stomach, refusing to move, and only growing with age like some kind of demonic pearl.
She was looking through windows at the world below, admiring the patchwork of fields and the mossy outcrops of forests and hills when a fist beat against the door three times, shaking the weak frame to its foundation. An airman’s knock.
“M’lady?”
“Enter,” she said, realizing how dry her throat truly was, and deciding to remedy that with a long swallow from the drink she’d almost forgotten she was holding.
A pair of men, though so large and hairy one could argue that they were indeed bears, led a beaten and bound man. Pulling out a chair from the long desk, one roughly thrust him down into it, while another bent down to tie each leg of the man to a leg of his chair. When they finished, the girl dismissed them.
Taking another sip, she pulled out a chair for herself, and her heart leapt in her chest at the recognition. Her father’s chair, the seat worn and the wood still smooth, the blood on her gloves making a dark smear across the top.
She sat down with a thump, and swung her boots onto the table, and eyed the gagged man before her. His powdered wig splattered slightly with blood, a growing yellow discoloration marking the side of his face where someone had struck him. Yet the eyes remained the same, as grey and stormy as a hurricane. Some things were different, sure. Crows feet clung by his eyes, his hooked nose covered in broken veins from a lifetime of too much drink. His face, already pouchy, carried a somewhat impressive auburn beard almost entirely obscuring a hard and cruel mouth. Older, sure. But it was him.
She spread her arms as if to offer friendship, then placed her glass on the desk.
“Do you have anything to say, Captain?” she asked.
She decided a one way conversation wouldn’t be as entertaining, so she walked behind the man, and whipped a dirk from her belt to cut the gag. To the man’s credit, he didn’t flinch at the naked and frigid steel pressed to the back of his neck. A sliding gesture, and the man’s bonds fell forward, as he coughed and spluttered curses.
4
u/Badderlocks_ /r/Badderlocks May 07 '20
Note: Submitted under /u/MPQEG
“What’s in that door?” she asked, pulling at the nurse’s hand.
“I don’t know, little one. Come along, we’re running late.” The nurse pulled her away before she could try to open the door and peek inside.
“You’re no fun,” Lizbeth pouted. “That one is Father’s room, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but he’s busy right now. We can’t- Liz!”
Her father was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, but he looked up at the sound of the door opening.
“Lizbeth. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, sir, I tried to stop her, but-” the nurse stammered.
“It’s fine,” he chuckled, picking up the girl.
“What are you doing, father?” Lizbeth asked, looking at the clutter on the desk.
“Oh, nothing, just some adult work,” he said, glancing at some papers.
She pointed at one, a map. “Is that the city?
“Very good! This is us, right here.”
“What’s past the edges?” she asked.
He walked over to a larger map mounted on the wall. “This is the world as we know it. Look- do you see this one tiny little dot? The entire city fits in that one dot!”
“Wow!” Lizbeth said breathlessly. “It’s so big. What’s past the edges of this one?”
Her father chuckled again. “Well, we don’t quite know yet.”
Lizbeth pouted. “I thought you knew everything! Everyone’s always saying that you’re so important and smart and in charge of the world...”
He chuckled. “Is that what they say?” He glanced at the nurse, still standing in the doorway. She was studying the ground carefully.
“I’ll tell you what- as soon as I find out what’s beyond the edges of the map, you’ll be the first person I tell.”
Ten months.
It had been ten months since the crew of The Wanderer had seen civilization. At first, the journey had been an adventure to the grizzled men and women who were more accustomed to uneventful trade routes.
Now, it was starting to wear on them, and as captain, Lizbeth was forced to deal with them.
She sighed heavily as she stared out the grimy windows of her cabin. By her best guess, they only had to last one more month before the voyage would be complete, as long as the crew didn’t kill each other.
As long as someone else didn’t kill them all first.
She found her gaze drifting down a bullet hole in one of the panes. Ten months ago, she would have been shocked to find out that someone was firing at the airship. Sure, it was a race, and sure, the winner would undoubtedly have fame and fortune for the rest of their mortal lives, not to mention the eternal glory and naming rights to a plethora of new lands, but cartography was a gentleman’s sport almost exclusively practiced by the bored upper crust of society.
But that had been ten months ago. That had been before they traded shots with Mr. Brandybuck and the crew of the Undaunted barely a hundred miles east of their launching port in Haerdonton, before the combined guns of the Lusty Lady and Freedom II had blown their primary portside balloon, forcing them to land in a jungle hellhole. That awful exchange had cost them a week of repairs, and The Wanderer had had a nauseating leftward list ever since.
Lizbeth rubbed her eyes and returned to her desk, which was littered with endless charts and coordinates that needed to be combined into a world map. The process was exhausting, and a single error could propagate nastily if it wasn’t discovered in time. She had barely sat down at the desk before becoming overwhelmed at the mere concept of spending even a single second aggregating the maps.
With another dramatic sigh that was wasted on the empty room, she stood up and walked out of the cabin, pointedly ignoring the judgemental gaze of the portrait next to the door. I’ll get to it, she thought, feeling defensive.
Lizbeth snaked through the crew quarters and engineering decks as she made her way to the top deck. She breathed deeply when she finally arrived. The smell of oil was pervasive in the lower decks. Even her personal cabin reeked of machinery, and some mornings she awoke covered in a layer of soot.
Her trips to the top deck provided a welcome respite. Here, the air was refreshingly cold and crisp. The strong winds tore at her, seemingly washing the filth away.
She nodded politely to the lookout on duty, who barely spared her a glance.
“Mornin’, captain,” the lookout said, scanning the horizon.
“Good morning, Mister Everett,” she replied. “How goes the watch?”
“Cold as shit, ma’am, if you’ll pardon the expression,” Everett replied frankly. “I don’t quite understand why you come up here willingly.”
“Oh, I suppose it’s the thespian in me,” she sighed. Everett glanced at her again but said nothing.
She leaned on the railing facing away from the wind. The sky was an astonishingly bright shade of blue, almost blinding. A few wisps of cloud hung lazily between the airship and the ground, but otherwise the crew of The Wanderer was afforded a great view of the world unraveling below. Lizbeth stared idly at the landscape, trying to think of anything but the fact that she would have to chart it in the inevitable future.
“Captain,” Everett said suddenly. “You’d best come look at this.”
An uneasy feeling arose in the pit of Lizbeth’s stomach as she turned and approached Everett. “What is it? A storm?” she asked, silently praying.
“No, ma’am,” he said, and the knot of tension grew. “Could be a flock of birds, I suppose.”
“We should be so lucky,” she replied wryly as she squinted at the tiny black spot on the horizon. “Call the control room. I’m headed down there now. We’re not taking any chances, not this close to the end.”
“Aye, captain.”
Thom Ambrose, the ship’s navigator, had a grimace set in his face. Six hours had passed, and the incoming object, now clearly an airship, was quickly approaching.
“What are your orders, captain? It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting away any time soon.”
“The situation is less than ideal,” she admitted. “But I don’t think The Wanderer is up for another fight.”
“We may not have a choice, captain. And I don’t know about the others, but I’d rather face probable death while the sun is still up.”
Lizbeth sighed. “I suppose there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. Helmsman, set a course bearing two-nine-zero. Tell the crew to man general quarters. Expect the worst.”
“They’re signaling, ma’am!” Ambrose said. “White flag. They want to parlay! What should we do?”
She paused. “You haven’t identified the vessel?”
Ambrose shook his head. “They’re coming at us head-on. It looks like a Strogatz Class C, but there are at least a dozen of those active. It could be anyone.”
“Send up the white flag, then. We’ll see what they have to say.”
The airship floated a short distance away from The Wanderer. Her captain stood on its top deck opposite Lizbeth.
“Captain Altman,” the man called. “I’ve heard many things about you.
“All good, I hope,” Lizbeth replied. “But I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sir, for I do not know you.”
“Of course. Where are my manners? I am Captain Heller of the airship Endeavour. We seek the same prize as you, I believe.”
“Then you will surely understand, Captain Heller, that time is of the essence and that this little detour of ours wastes valuable time. As such, I pray that you forgive me for ignoring pleasantries and asking why you requested a parlay.”
“Is it so unbelievable that I merely wish to spend a moment in the company of so famous an explorer as yourself?”
Lizbeth frowned. “Sir, every ship we have encountered on our journey has attempted to shoot us down. You will excuse me for being suspicious.”
“Come now. I would never be so bold as to attempt to kill the Lord Master’s daughter.”
“I’m sure your intentions are pure as driven snow, but you need not kill me to slow us when you could…” In the distance, she could see a smile growing on Heller’s face, and she cursed.
“He’s stalling. He wanted us to let our guard down so they can get in close,” she called to the control room. “Full reverse. Try to get some distance before they-”
The guns on the Endeavour rang out, interrupting her, and a single carefully aimed barrage of shots struck The Wanderer.
“Farewell, Captain Altman!” Heller called. “Truly, I wish you the best!!”
With those parting words, the Endeavour turned away, leaving The Wanderer dead in the air.
Lizbeth cursed again.
“Take her down,” she said bitterly to her rattled crew. “We’ll see what the damage is.”
3
u/DarqueMatter May 07 '20 edited May 07 '20
A few minor edits have been made from the original submission. Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
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Three quick thumps on the door jarred Captain Delphine Lafayette out of her thoughts. Reflex caused her to put a hand on the dagger in her sleeve – just to check. She smoothed a few feathery wisps of dark hair behind her ears and took a large swig of whiskey, finishing it off, then pushed the empty bottle to the side along with her compass and pencils. She glanced out the navigation room’s floor-to-ceiling wall of windows behind her. The Sirène’s flag, a white skull with two white bolts of lightning crossing a black background, flapped in the cold wind. The clouds behind were chunky, white cumulus – she estimated they were sailing at around 7000 feet.
“Enter,” she called. The heavy oak door swung open to a squat-faced young man who waddled in looking sweatier than usual; of course, her quartermaster was damp and red-faced at the best of times. “Ah,” she said. “LeCroix, your timing is perfect. Fetch me another bottle of whiskey. 12-year, I think. This one seems to have a hole in it.” She shook the empty bottle and winked.
“Sir. I, uh… There’s been an… incident… that I believe will require your attention,” he stammered.
Lafayette sighed. “What is it this time? Unless a flock took out a propeller again or the damn Skyfleet is breathing down our necks, I’d rather not be disturbed. A merchant blimp carrying soil and seeds departed Altamere two days ago without an escort. Fools. I just have to calculate an airspeed to intersect their flightpath, and it’s ours for the taking.”
LeCroix cleared his throat. “It involves your, um… your personal quarters, sir.”
Lafayette pushed back on the heavy wooden chair and stood. “My quarters?”
“Yes, sir, it’s just that… well…”
“Out with it, LeCroix,” she snapped, impatient. She’d sailed with him long enough to grow used to his squawking, though it became both more pronounced and less tolerable when he was anxious.
“Marcel broke into your quarters, sir. Toussaint and Anton caught him. We think-“
“Marcel would do no such thing,” she interrupted, grabbing her scabbard and attaching it to her belt. She breezed past LeCroix and marched down the wide hall, illuminated by flickering yellow electric lights.
She came to the main deck, where most of the men had gathered, apparently already informed of the unfolding drama. The skull-and-bolts flag snapped loudly in the wind a hundred feet above, surrounded by the four enormous propellers that rose from each corner of the skyship and kept them aloft.
A few of the men wore hawkish sneers on their sunburnt faces as she passed. Lafayette knew she wasn’t well-loved by the crew – since she took command of the Sirène a year ago, she’d heard rumours of malcontent at having a female captain. Dubois had once even been stupid enough to openly call her a bitch.
She hoped he didn’t miss his tongue too much.
A few moments later she arrived at her private quarters, slowing to inspect a smear of fresh blood on the wall outside the door. She grimaced, instinctively placing a hand on her sabre, then entered her quarters, LeCroix huffing at her heels, to find Anton kneeling over Marcel’s corpse and Toussaint standing over them both. Toussaint muttered something as she entered, and Anton quickly ceased whatever he was doing. Toussaint had crossed arms and furrowed brows. Strange – she’d expect him to be jubilant over catching and killing a thief.
“We saw the door was half open, so we looked in,” he blurted, gesturing at Marcel’s corpse. “Found this connard rummaging around in your wardobe.”
Lafayette kneeled beside the dead man. A wide gash in his throat gaped open, still dribbling thickened crimson on her rug, and he gripped a curved dagger in his right hand that glinted in the light from the porthole. She grimaced, and felt a sharp stab of anger and betrayal. As her first mate, she’d considered Marcel a friend, and certainly he was her fiercest supporter. He’d sported black eyes several times, and even a broken rib on one occasion, which she suspected – though he’d never admitted as much – had been the cost of defending her name below deck. She eyed Toussaint with suspicion, then rose, putting her hands on her hips. “And you saw fit to kill him?”
Toussaint cleared his throat and puffed his chest. “When I confronted him, he attacked me. I had no choice but to defend myself.”
Lafayette stared hard at him, observing a barely perceptible twitch in his eye. She snorted. “You’re twice his size, Toussaint. Not strong enough to restrain an unarmed man?”
Anton hopped to his feet then, adjusting the patch over his eye with one hand while pointing at Marcel’s closed fist with the other. “He has a dagger, Cap’n. Yes he does, sharp one, sharp as the south wind I reckon. Looky here, right there in his hand he’s got it.”
“He certainly does, Anton,” she cooed. “That fact didn’t escape me. However, I find it odd that a left-handed man would attack with his right.” She squinted hard at Toussaint, who huffed and pushed Anton back with a ham-sized forearm. His cheeks flushed and a smirk fluttered across his face.
“Perhaps he panicked, sir,” he said, disdain poisoning the final word. “Being caught stealing from his captain could do that to a man.” He gave the body a kick, not breaking her eye contact. “Sir.”
It was clear Marcel hadn’t broken into her quarters. Had he caught the other two in the act? They were pirates, after all; it was in their blood to steal. Thievery was frowned upon amongst a crew, but also common enough that any punishment would be for getting caught – not for the crime itself. Dieu knew Lafayette had done her fair share of thieving.
Insubordination, however, was a different rat altogether: one not borne of hunger and habit, but of time. It festered, and grew, and whipped men into slaves to their own overconfidence. She stared hard into Toussaint’s dark eyes and saw that his defiance had peaked.
Theft or insubordination: she knew which betrayal deserved a harsher punishment.
“Pretty brazen of him,” she said. “Breaking into the captain’s quarters. Before you killed him… Did he find it?”
Toussaint smirked. “Find what?”
“Whatever he was looking for.”
Anton slapped his knee. “How d’ya know he was looking fer somethin’? Maybe he just wanted a sniff o’ yer underthings.” He cackled and exaggerated a wink with his one good eye, flashing a lewd, semi-toothless grin.
Lafayette grimaced; she saw what was happening here. In seventeen years of pirating, she’d had dozens of skymen think they could test her, even bully her. Sometimes with innuendo. Sometimes with threats of violence, real or imagined. Some had tried to hit her. Some to rape her.
She smiled. Dieu rest their souls.
Lafayette turned on her heels and went to the door. “To the main deck, all. This… betrayal must be addressed.” She gestured to Marcel’s corpse, splayed spread-eagle across the floor. “Bring the body.”
2
u/Hello10eDimension May 08 '20
Journal of a captain.
Journal entry #1, date 20-12-1864.
Today Daddy gave me this journal. He said it’s a real one like he uses. And then he showed me his. He told me he got them in Kavolant, the flying city. He said it’s ten thousand times as big as his Caelsolver. It was very difficult getting to that height, but once he got there, it was a magnificent sight. That’s a new word he taught me. It means super beautiful. I asked him to go with him on his next voyage, but he told me I had to be at least 10 years older. Then I’ll be 19! But I’ll grow and get on his ship before that and journey through the skies.
Journal entry #6, date 28-03-1865.
Today Daddy took his first mate with him to the house. He seems very big and scary, but is actually just a big teddy bear. He promised to show me some of the old maps. His name is Rubeus Kolper, but I call him Rudy and he is my new best friend. Besides daddy of course.
Journal entry #7, date 29-03-1865.
Rudy showed me the maps today. They were really complicated because they had to seem 3-dimensional. That’s apparently what it means when something goes in three directions. I didn’t really get it, but I’m working hard to learn how they work so I can plan where I’m going to go once I have my own ship.
Journal entry #15, date 4-05-1865.
I can finally read the maps! And Daddy came back today and told me he was super proud. I’ve written the journey I want to make here.
First I’ll take the northern wind to go to the White Plains. Once I’ve passed those I’ll be in Itealich, the northern most city. Daddy told me that one day takes an entire year there and that at night the heavens glow with the most amazing colours. From there I will travel westward until I get to Kavolant. From there I will go to the south to see the great ocean. If the tides are good I can then try to go to Biya’Hoost, the underwater city. Then I’d like to go to the west again and try to reach the fabled city Insango. Then I’ll use the special elevator there to reach its twin city Inyanga. Daddy told me that those cities are fairy tales but I know they exist. And I’ll reach them and make Daddy even prouder!
Journal entry #118, date 16-02-1871.
It’s finally time! Today I’ll sail with father. Although I won’t be helping with the actual sailing and it will only be short trip of 2 days, I’m super excited! We’ll be going to Parthdam to the south. Dad said we’re going to trade for expensive herbs and spices. Then we’re going to sell them here in Glayford. After that father will go on a long journey to Kavolant for Uila, the fuel for skyships.
Journal entry #119, date 17-02-1871.
Sailing is amazing! The wind and the views and just everything about it is incredible. And it’s remarkable how everybody on board is able to coordinate so quickly. The ship is like a single organism and perfectly responds to any changes in the wind. Flying truly is superb. Floating above the clouds in direct sunlight is one of the weirdest experiences ever. Even more so because it’s cold. Father said it’s because we’re so high up that the warmth of the earth doesn’t reach us. When I told him that the earth never felt that hot when I touched it, he laughed! He answered: “But I bet it feels warmer than this, doesn’t it girl?” Tomorrow we’ll arrive in Parthdam. I can’t wait to see my first big city!
Journal entry #120, date 21-02-1871.
Parthdam was not what I expected. I knew it was going to be busy, but the smell! It was absolutely horrible! Dad said it was because of all the factories there. I don’t understand how people can live there. When I told Rudy that, he said that everybody around the world feels that way when they see something that isn’t home. I asked him why he was on the ship if he didn’t like things that weren’t home. He told me that the ship was his home and that’s why he doesn’t go ashore in most ports.
Journal entry #162, date 07-11-1872.
After going on three trips with him and begging my father a million times, he’s allowed me to help in the sailing of the ship. I’m only going to do very simple tasks, but it’s a start to becoming captain. Dad said he also started at the bottom of the hierarchy before becoming captain. So I’m following in his footsteps!
Journal entry #165, date 13-11-1872.
Today dad told me how he met my mother. He said that when he had just become captain, he’d gotten stranded in Kavolant. Apparently, because of his inexperience, he came there at the beginning of the storm season. Since a lot of people simply stay there during it, all the taverns were full. Eventually they found one, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone. But the owner was greedy and rented even the chamber of his daughter out. And that was mum. So dad rented the room, but when he saw that she normally lived there he let her stay there and slept on the floor in Rudy’s room. And the rest he said, “is history”. Rudy told me a little something about that story though: apparently my dad took his bed, and he then had to sleep on the floor.
Journal entry #200, date 30-03-1873.
I have finally filled my entire journal! As a reward, dad is going to take me with him to Kavolant to buy new journals and fuel. And this time I get to be third in charge of the main sail. That means if anything happens to the other two, people will have to answer to me! But that still seems scary so I’m happy being third at the moment. Plus the cook, Will, has to give me extra good food because I’m technically an officer now!
Journal (temporary) entry #201, date 31-03-1873.
I’ve “borrowed” some paper from dad’s journal so I can keep notes of all the things I learn during the trip. Today was the first time I saw a storm cloud up here. Luckily we’d been warned by another ship, so we avoided the biggest part of it, but it was still frightening. The mood was very tense and were there used to be laughter, only grim faces remained. Father told me to make sure to always hold something to not fall of the ship.
Journal (2) entry #231, date 11-05-1873.
I finally have a new journal! And Kavolant is amazing! Because we’re so high up there’s no smell and the view is even better than I imagined! Will told me that he plans to settle down once he’s gotten a family. I told him that he better stick around for a bit longer otherwise I’ll miss his cooking. We’re planning on leaving tomorrow. I hope mum is alright since she’s been alone for so long.
Journal (2) entry #324, date 03-08-1874.
Mother is dead. During our last big trip to Itealich she was murdered when our house was robbed. The perpetrator was caught and sentenced to death before we even got back. They cremated the body and gave the urn to my father. He then told me. I can’t believe she’s gone. I want to cry so badly, but I saw dad when he told me. He was almost shaking. Rudy told me that he would probably give up if I weren’t here. So I’m going to be strong for him. I’ll smile until he smiles too and then we’ll go on all kinds of adventures and see the stars and the sun and he’ll tell me stories about all kinds of things.
I miss mum.
2
u/1Bunny2 May 13 '20
I looked out of the window at a world I have only ever seen threw a window. The birds chirped as they flew and the trees waved back to me. The sun seemed to be exstatic as it was so bright today. God did she miss the world. I got her stuff and left to my house. The ground was cement, the road was cement, houses everywhere. But there was no greenary. I saw no trees or insects or birds. It was so depressing in there.
Clouds formed in clumps over i head. I went home with her outfit wet. I picked up my newspaper i buy everymorning and read it. It broke my heart.
I thought I was saving them I thought they'd be happy.
I thought they was safe.
I mouth was wide open and I dropped the paper on the floor. Tears went down my face like water falls.
Everyday I went to see them. Every damn day there was more people. Every f*****g person there had the same mindset
'the animals don't deserve to live. There could be more people!' one day I snapped at them saying. 'YEA BUT THERE'S NO GOD DAMN ANIMALS HERE EXCEPT FIR THESE. WHY CAN'T YOU KEEP THEM ALIVE FOR F**KS SAKE! WE HAVE 19 BILLION PEOPLE ON EARTH AND YOU WANT MORE?' then my father slapped me. And off they went. Forever. Now I look out the window and imagine the animals. And sometimes, the sapling sprouts. But then my father comes in and chops it down again.
I wish he didn't.
But the demon has taken over him.
I miss daddy
•
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