[6]

Boarding the arcanorail had been a simple affair.

The new clothes I purchased were not rich, or particularly stylish. Merchant fair, as my father might say. My shirt and pants were linen and dyed burgundy and brown, respectively. I wore a brown, dark leather jacket that hung to my knees, and where that ended began serviceable black boots that I got at a bargain.

I expected that my drab clothing would hamper my efforts to get settled aboard, or at the very least prompt derision from fellow passengers. Commoners simply did not ride the arcanorail often. Well, poor ones at any rate.

This was not the case.

I discovered that having good looks was a status symbol all its own. Arcanorail officials were exceedingly polite to me, as though I were a noble in a terrible disguise. Granted, that was probably exactly what they thought. My gold colored eyes marked me as coming from unusual stock, if not Ascended. Ascension was not known to bestow a change in appearance, and even though the arcanorail headed toward Ashmere, non-ascended classers studied there too. Anyone with a class could technically go to Ashmere, but the price was exorbitant. Nobility of Ergentein were renowned for having purple hair; sun colored eyes could mark me as a foreign dignitary.

The social deference continued to be an adjustment for me.

Riding the rail was an experience unlike any other.

No one was sure how the Alvar had created Arcanotech. After the Godswar ended centuries ago, the God’s ruled that none but ascended could use magic. And, since the God of the Alvar, Ainu, had sacrificed himself to create the ledger system and end the Godswar, none of them had touched a Godstone. They remained reclusive and small in number, but readily gave their technology out to Ergentein. How they had subverted ascension and created a novel form of magical technology was a mystery, drawing theories of all kinds, benign and conspiratorial.

Whatever the method, the result was marvelous. Each arcanorail barge was the size of a large naval ship. The entire contraption floated off the ground, but could only glide along the top of obelisks that were spaced every five hundred feet. A single barge could go as high as one hundred feet, so arcanorail traffic had three lanes from lowest at thirty feet, middle at sixty, and highest at one hundred feet. To avoid collisions, there were never over three total barges on a single rail.

I learned from a nearby passenger that each obelisk emitted a field that was connected with the ship, and as it passed from one field to the next, it would release the ship. Flying between fields mimicked the vertical swaying of a sea ship; albeit more gently.

I would have stood out on the deck all day long, watching the gliding forest beneath me if I could.

Around noon, a duo of armed men broke my reverie.

The first, a tanned man dressed in a fancy breastplate with an identifying sash I did not recognize, made a coughing sound to draw my attention.

“Excuse me… Sir,” he said hesitantly, clearly trying to draw out my status. I nodded at him, because I was not sure how to respond. My father had taught me long ago not to say anything if you did not know what to say. “My master has asked that you join her in the nobles' room,” he said.

“Your master?”

“Lady Florence Claybrook.” To his credit, he looked proud as he said her name.

“Very well,” I said, outwardly calm, but roiling in turmoil inside. No good could come from rubbing elbows with nobility. Even if father had not warned me against it, my most recent interaction with the peerage left a lot to be desired. Not that anyone would ever realize that the “wrathful beggar of temple street” was me.

We made our way from the back deck of the barge where “thrifty” passengers sat toward the front of the ship. I noted a contingent of soldiers guarded the control cabin in the middle of the ship.

Supposedly, an entire company of Royal Troopers were stationed on each arcanorail. The technology was new, having been around for about two years. Last year, a bandit group had caused waves after managing to hi-jack a barge. It was something that no one believed possible; the ships flew too high and fast. However, the clever rogues simply sent several men among the passengers, and from there took control of the cabin. After which, they forced it to land, where the rest of their men boarded. With control of one barge, they tricked the other two, robbing and stranding a bunch of rich and influential people before escaping into the forest. Their escapade had forced a bunch of changes to the way the kingdom ran the rails and fermented the prejudice I expected to suffer against the common man riding one.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

We arrived at the front of the ship, and my escort led me down a set of stairs and into an extravagant common area. Couches, a card table, one long dining table, and even a small shelf stacked with books with a discrete reading area circled the room. Enormous windows on all sides of the room ensured that the nobles could watch their journey at their leisure. Theirs was an inferior way of viewing; I found standing on the open deck and feeling the whipping wind to be exhilarating. Though, I supposed they could go to the front deck if they wanted.

Only four nobles occupied a floor that could comfortably accommodate thirty. Two women and a man sat at the dining table. A fourth, a woman, sat in the reading area, but I could not see her well. Unsurprisingly, my escorts did not bring me to the reading area.

We stopped in front of the three nobles sitting at the dining table.

“What’s this then?” asked the man, confusion etched upon his handsome face. He was probably only a few years older than me, but appeared much older because of an absurdly cultivated mustache. Like the hair on his head, his handlebar mustache too was purple.

“Relax, Elmont,” said a woman sitting across from him at the dining table. The other woman sat to his left. But I ignored her to study the speaker, whom I presumed to be Lady Florence Claybrook. Like most noble women, she had delicate features and a petite frame. She wore her dark purple hair in a tight braid that she let hang down her right shoulder. Startling green eyes studied me back, and I saw the heat of blush begin on her face as we silently watched each other.

Remembering myself, I gave an informal bow, but never let my eyes leave hers. As my head leaned in closer to the ground, I caught a very faint whiff of a foul smell. Almost unnoticeable. My first thought was that the Lady Claybrook had let loose an aristocratic vapor from her noble exit; it could also explain the blush. However, my intuition warned me the malodorous scent was not physical. I suspected she triggered my Know thy Enemy boon, but I was not the sole focus of her spite. A faint warning for a peripheral design.

“Greetings!” She said, giving me a brilliant smile. “I am Florence Claybrook, but please, call me Flo, all of my friends do. I saw you board earlier and just had to meet you. Might you join us for lunch?” She patted the seat next to her with a gloved hand.

I wanted to decline, but could not think of a reason without giving offence. So, I bowed to the other noble guests, introduced myself, then sat where she indicated.

“Horste is it?” the noble woman across from me said. Unlike Lady Claybrook, and any other noble woman I had ever seen, for that matter, she was chubby and voluptuous. Her playful smile indicated she was a bit of an airhead. “That name almost sounds Ergenteinian!”

“It is m’lady.” I said. “I hail from Weston.” After a thought, I added, “To the south.” My village was probably a place they had never heard of.

“Well, it is a pleasure!” she said with a giggle. “I am Lady Angelina Snelling, and this,” she pointed to mustache,” is my betrothed Lord Elmont Whitby.” By his unwelcoming glare, Elmont did not appear to share his future wife’s enthusiasm. The name Claybrook meant nothing to me, but I had heard of the Whitbys and Snellings. The word Earl usually preceded both names in casual conversation.

“Likewise,” I said.

We shared a light lunch of finger sandwiches and oddly enough pudding. Angelina commandeered the small talk while we ate, asking me about Weston and my life as a merchant. It genuinely seemed to fascinate her how others lived, so I did not mind talking about myself. By the time we finished eating, she opened up about herself a little.

“Elmont and I are on our way back to Ashmere. We are second years there. Little Flo here is about to start her first year,” Angelina said. I felt Flo stiffen next to me at being called little, but I could tell Angelina meant no malice. Either that or she had a high presence attribute. “What about you? Headed to Ashmere?” She continued.

I nodded, seeing no reason to lie. “I am, and quite excited to attend.” Attending Ashmere was the stuff of dreams. For a commoner, it meant the trajectory of your life was high.

Neither Florence nor Elmont expected me to say that. Florence gave a briefly upset look, and Elmont frowned, doubly so when his wife-to-be clapped happily.

“Oh, how exciting! A fellow student!” Angelina said.

“You are attending Ashmere, you say? What is your class?” Elmont demanded. Angelina gasped. Asking a classer what their class is was poor etiquette.

Before I could give a response, Florence, who until now had been silent, came to my rescue. “Surely that is his business, Elmont. The boy has no reason to lie about such a thing.”

Boy?

I gave her a side eye. Yep, she was still about my age.

Elmont looked like he was about to argue, but Angelina gave him an exaggerated look that said shut it. He rolled his eyes, then drained a cup of wine. Next to me, Florence followed his lead and emptied her cup.

“Looks like I’m all out too,” Florence said. “How about we move the party to your cabin, Angelina? This is Harald’s first time flying, after all. I’m sure he would love to see the view from your balcony. Besides, I have a vintage that I have just been dying to find an excuse to open.”

The foul smell returned when she finished speaking, and the hair on the back of my neck raised.

Both Elmont and I searched for an excuse to end the gathering, but Angelina’s enthusiasm would not be denied. “What an excellent idea! To new friends,” she toasted with me, then drained her glass and stood up, brushing away imaginary crumbs.

Florence locked her arm around mine like we were a couple, gave me a beautiful smile and said, “This way!”

Anxiety pooled in my stomach, but I followed along.