Chapter Four Hundred and Twelve - Sunset Over Smoulderglen

I could feel the wind rushing across my bunny ears (having extra bundles of nerves on top of my head still managed to be thrilling, even after all these adventures) and tugging at my captain’s hat hard enough that I was almost worried it would get snatched away.

I was at the wheel, having taken over from Clive who’d taken his turn this morning already. We were two days out from Inkwren, and more or less on course to reach Smoulderglen sometime that evening, at least according to Amaryllis.

The crew was mostly resting. Awen was tinkering with her turret, Calamity was on the deck showing Caprica how to fire trickshots with a bow, and Amaryllis was sunbathing.

My attention wavered over to the Scallywags, however. The three of them were sitting right on the deck, shielded from the wind by the ramps near the front, and they were playing cards together. Sally was smiling.

There were a thousand things to worry about as captain, but if I could make my crew feel valued and understood, then at least I was doing something right.

Clusters of cotton-ball clouds hung around, sailing alongside us, as if racing to see who could reach Smoulderglen first. I saw birds--hawks, maybe?--soaring beneath us, their cries swallowed by the distance and the thump of our propeller. There was a certain kind of beauty in flying. The wind was not just a sensation--it was freedom, it was adventure.

I really had to learn some sort of flight magic. It had to exist, right? I knew that Feather Fall was a spell. If a mage could make themselves fall slower, then it wouldn’t be that much of a leap to imagine that they’d figure out how to stop falling entirely. And if they could stand still in the air, they’d just be a bounce away from flight!

I was still daydreaming about being the world’s first flying bun when Clive came to take the wheel. “Smoulderglen’s not far,” he said before using the stem of his pipe to point to the east. “See that river there? That one starts right by Walker’s Rest.”

“So it starts at the Harpy Mountains and leads all the way to here?” I asked.

“Mhm. Keeps going for quite a ways. And has three or four names besides. But I recognize it. So we’re not all that far. We’ll be arriving at Smoulderglen by early evening.”

“That’s fantastic,” I said.

Clive nodded, but then he frowned a bit, bushy eyebrows meeting. “Lots of traffic in the sky today. Did you notice?”

I blinked, mostly because I really hadn’t. “Other airships?” I asked.

“Aye. I spotted a few. Always far off and in the clouds, often quite high up. I wouldn't say anything of it, except ... this is Smoulderglen.”

“Ah,” I said. Amaryllis had mentioned that Smoulderglen was something of a hive of villainy.

I looked up again at Clive’s words. My eyes squinted as they searched for any moving dots in the sky. There, far to the east, a small speck that might have been an airship or just a rogue cloud. Clive was right. We'd have to be careful as we got closer.

As we began to draw nearer, the first sign of Smoulderglen appeared on the horizon - a thin wisp of smoke rising up into the sky, dancing and twirling as if bidding us welcome. It was soon followed by the flickering lights of the city - countless embers spilled across the landscape like glimmering coals.

Smoulderglen was a city seemingly carved from flame itself.

The buildings were built from a warm, red stone, looking like they were kissed by the sun. Many of the structures were round, almost dome-like, and their rooftops gleamed with copper that glowed under the setting sun, appearing like flashes of fire.

The illusion was helped by the number of smokestacks and large fires pushing smoke into the air. I caught a whiff of it. Coal smoke? It didn’t smell like woodfire.

A river wound its way through the city, its waters shimmering with the reflections of the reddish buildings around it. Then I noticed that the river fed into large pools of faintly steaming water, though I couldn’t tell why they were steaming from all the way up in the Beaver.

And the airships! They were everywhere, floating like fat, mechanized whales against the backdrop of the fiery city. Some were large, freight-bearing vessels, while others were sleek, fast-looking airships that cut through the sky like predatory birds. Most of the traffic seemed to be nearer to the south end of the city.

Despite the beauty, I felt a shiver of apprehension. The air was different here, heavy with a sense of danger that lurked beneath the city’s beautiful facade. From what I'd heard, Smoulderglen was known for being a city of chaos and intrigue, a haven for those who operated outside the law.

As we descended, the chaos of the city became more apparent. The roads were teeming with people, vendors shouting their wares, the clanging of smiths echoing up to us. The airships above bobbed and weaved, some following strict paths while others seemed to wander almost aimlessly.

There wasn’t a port in Smoulderglen. There was about fifty of them. Which didn’t make sense with a city that wasn’t all that big. Heck, Smoulderglen occupied an area similar to Inkwren, but much of that area included factories and warehouses, so I think the overall population was lower.

So it took a while, and Amaryllis giving up on her sunbathing, for us to find a place to land. We decided on a dock edge of the city, one where a sign was hung that said ‘Vacant!’

As we came down, a pair of little figures stepped out of a house next to the dock (which was very low to the ground, little more than some space and a few dozen logs and ramps laid out to accommodate a ship) and ran over to help.

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The air grew hotter as we descended, and the city’s unique scent--a mix of coal, oil, and spiced foods--grew as well.

The landing was perfectly smooth, especially with the whole crew working to make sure of it and with Clive at the helm. We were getting good at this! With a slight groan, the Beaver settled onto some logs and we throttled down the engine before shutting it down. The propeller kept spinning, but it was only going along with its momentum now.

I glanced over the side, then waved to the two men who’d come to greet us. The two figures--a dwarf and a human, as it turned out--hurriedly began to secure the airship, casting occasional curious glances up at us.

They both grabbed a long, ladder and brought it up to the side of the ship where we secured it in place. Then I stepped off the Beaver, testing the ladder by bouncing on it a few times.

The human of the pair seemed to be in charge. He was older, with a scruffy white beard that twitched as he spoke, and his eyes were quick, darting over me, and the Beaver with quick little twitches. He seemed like a professional, and his hand felt calloused and tough when I shook it. “Ye be needin' a place to dock, I take it?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He eyed the Beaver appraisingly, a hand reaching up to stroke his beard.

"We do," I responded, stepping forward to meet him. "We're just here for the night. We'll be off by sunup. And we need a bit of fuel. I don’t know if you sell any, but I guess it can’t be too hard to find some. There’s a lot of ships around."

He grunted in response, running his hand along the side of the Beaver, before turning to face me. "Well, this here's my dock. I'm Farrell, Farrell the Fixer they call me. I can give ye a place to stay for the night, but it'll cost ye."

I nodded, expecting as much. "How much would that cost?" I asked.

Farrell looked at me, then at the Beaver, then back at me. "Five gold pieces. That'll cover the dockin', and if ye need any repairs or supplies, we can discuss a fair price for those too."

Five gold seemed like a lot. Like, way more than what a dock for a night was worth. “I’ll have my first mate do the negotiating, if you don’t mind,” I said. “She’s way better at it than I am.”

“Ye, that’s fair ‘nough,” Farrell said. Just as I was about to turn back to the ship and fetch Amaryllis, Farrell suddenly cleared his throat. "There’s something else ye might want to know." He glanced around as if expecting to find eavesdroppers, then leaned in closer. "If ye are here for more than just a night, ye might want to watch your back."

I felt my eyebrows shooting up and my ears perking. “Why? What is it? Is Smoulderglen that dangerous, or, uh, is that a threat?” Threatening someone you just met, especially a new client, seemed somewhat rude to me.

"A bit of both, I reckon," Farrell replied, scratching his beard thoughtfully. "Smoulderglen's always been a bit...turbulent. But things are a mite more disordered of late."

I tilted my head. "Why's that?"

"The Fireship Race," Farrell answered, his eyes gleaming with a strange mix of apprehension and excitement. "Annual event here in Smoulderglen. Draw in airships from far and wide, competing for a grand prize. But it ain't just the race. It's the crews."

I resisted the urge to clap my hands. An airship race! That sounded awesome! “What’s wrong with the crews?” I asked.

"The gangs," Farrell clarified. "There are two main ones in Smoulderglen, The Red Wings and The Ember Hounds. They’ve always had a sort of rivalry, but it heats up around the time of the Fireship Race. Causes all sort of trouble. They’ve both got airships in the race, and neither likes to lose."

“Got good money on the Hounds this year,” Farrell’s dwarven friend said with a chuckle.

I glanced back at the Beaver, then at the bustling city of Smoulderglen. The Fireship Race. That could be interesting. "Thanks for the heads up, Farrell."

There’s no way the Beaver could participate in any sort of race. I love him, he’s the best ship ever. But he wasn’t the fastest ship ever. Not by... a long, long shot.

The Redemption on the other hand... well now, she was a fine, and very speedy, little airship.

I could feel the cogs clacking in my head as I raced up the ladder. It only took a moment to tell Amaryllis about Farrell, and the price he wanted to charge us, and that was enough to have her flapping over the edge of the ship to go negotiate.

Now that she couldn't tell me this was a bad idea, I glanced at the skiff tied up in between the Beaver’s twin hulls. A nice, sleek Snowlander design, with an oversized engine and in tip-top condition now that Awen had a look at it. Still... we were on a schedule.

It would be a shame if we missed the wedding because of a race.

On the other hand, we weren’t late to the wedding or anything. And we had a gift already. And we could use some prize money. Or just the experience of participating in an airship race.

I held back giggles as I sidled up to Awen. “Hey, Awen,” I said. “Do you think you could make an airship go way faster than it’s supposed to? Hypothetically?”

Awen blinked at me, then I idly reached over and smushed off some grease that was staining her cheek. “Ah, uh, yes? I guess. Change the fuel mixture, tweak the timing on the engine, remove some parts of the exhaust. There’s a few things you could do. But that’s... not a good idea? Engines are designed to last, pushing them to go faster usually means shortening their lifespan. Or it might mean that you have to spend a lot more time on maintenance.” She squinted her eyes a little. “Why are you asking?”

I shrugged. “Just a little curious,” I said.

I’m not sure if she believed me.

***