Archer clutched his backpack nervously as he stood in the small group of new hires waiting to board the ship. The Sunhawk was her name, and whilst Archer wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting this wasn't exactly it. Maybe he'd had a few visions of grandiose vessels and aristocratic cruise-liners floating through his head when he'd signed up, maybe he'd just wanted to leave the estate his parents worked on. He wasn't quite sure anymore, but whyever he'd signed his charter, it didn't matter; the fact was that he'd signed it, and he was here. He'd done a little research on the vessel in the Skyflight archives at the library whilst he was waiting for the vessel to reach port to try and get a feel for what sort of ship she would be, but in all honesty she looked... well, 'old' was the only word that came to mind. Not quite 'outdated', but the scorch marks along the hull seemed to be the only thing that was 'new' on the entire body of the airship.
He really hoped that the smoke was just from coal or oil fires, and not the result of some terribly neglectful maintenance.
Still, he'd continued looking into the ship, and had a rough idea of what she would be like. She was a Dawn-class heavy frigate, a line that was almost forty years old, and though she and her remaining sister ships had seen some modernisations across their service lives they were far from top-of-the-line. Her balloon was a patchwork of canvas that more resembled his own tattered and worn jacket than the clean sheet it had been when she'd first entered service, her rigging seemed to be stiff and rigid, and as for the other men hired alongside him to act as crew... well, if these were the men accepted as deckhands then he was worried about who exactly he'd be serving alongside for however long he sailed the skies on this old frigate. To be sure, they didn't all seem bad, but of the twenty or so hirelings stood on the docks and those sailors he'd seen in the last two weeks at the port waiting for the Sunbird to arrive, he'd come to realise that they were almost all very, very cutthroat. He'd kept his head down and waited for the day he'd be able to come aboard and start his new life; there was little harm in putting off meeting his new comrades a little while if he had the next five years of service to look forwards to alongside them.
Something about his demeanour must have come across as tense, as a slight hand tapped his shoulder making him jump a little. He turned to face the man who'd tapped him, who gave him an apologetic smile.
"Sorry for the fright, friend. I didn't mean to scare you, quite the opposite in fact! You seem to be a little anxious, if you don't mind me saying so."
Archer tried for a smile, but his nerves were too on edge for it to have come across as anything other than painfully awkward.
"Yeah, sorry. I've never been so far from home before. Feels..."
"Strange?"
"I was gonna say gut-turning, but strange works as well."
The man smiled and gave a small laugh.
"Let's hear it then, whereabouts are you from?"
"Me? My family's from the Bayview Estate, you know, the uh... the baronetcy just north of Rothery."
"What, like Rothery Harbour? You've come a little ways then, haven't you. Still, I imagine it's not too bad for a family of barons."
Archer's eyes widened a little, and he shook his head fervently.
"Baronet, not baron, but no. My family aren't the owners of the estate, we just work on it. Have done for generations."
The man nodded and continued.
"Ah, I see. Apologies for presuming. I assumed you were of the lesser-gentry such as myself, given your well cleaned-up nature."
Archer turned away a little, face reddening slightly at the young man's words. For his part the young man continued speaking, oblivious to Archer's own embarrassment.
"Well regardless, it'll be nice to know there's at least one friendly face aboard the Sunbird! Say, servants on country estates tend to lead pretty nice lives by themselves, so why is it you chose to sign on, mister... oh, heavens, I just realised I haven't even given you the chance to introduce yourself yet! My sincerest apologies, mister..."
"Archer. Archer Haywood."
The young man grinned and held out his hand, and Archer made sure to shake it firmly yet without feeling as though he were trying to crush the proffered appendage. That had been a skill drilled into him by father back at Bayview and had only been reinforced by mother's etiquette lessons.
"Michael Griffon."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Griffon."
The man blanched and froze for a second, his smile becoming uneasy.
"Oh heavens, I hadn't meant to mention I was a lesser-gentry. I don't want people to judge me based on my class without getting to know me, you know? Would you please just call me Michael? And not mention my... privileged upbringing?"
Archer tried for a smile, which came much easier now he wasn't the one feeling embarrassed or nervous.
"So long as you do your work as everyone else does, there shouldn't be a need for me to mention it."
Michael snorted and let go of Archer's hand, covering his mouth.
"Okay, that's funny. No need to worry though, I'll do my job just as well as the next man, I promise."
"I'll hold you to that."
The two of them smiled at each other a little and settled back into friendly small-talk as they waited for someone to tell them to board.
"So what were you saying earlier? Something about joining up with a ship or something?"
The baronet pulled a thinking expression for a moment before his face lit up.
"Ah, I remember! Yes, that was it. Why was it you decided to sign on?"
Archer sighed.
"It's... a long story. With a lot of reasons. Right now, I just want to make something of myself and see a part of the world that isn't just immaculate hedgerows and well-maintained moorlands. The real world, so to speak."
Michael nodded, and something in his eyes spoke of understanding.
"I know that particular reason all to well. If I had a drink with me I'd raise a glass to seeing the world, but words will have to do for now. To seeing the world!"
Archer smiled, the man's excitement becoming infectious.
"To seeing the world!"
There was a few grumbles from the men around them at their quasi-excitement, the two of them sheepishly smiling at each other as they realised that they may have been a little bit louder than they thought.
"Well, could be worse I suppose. At least we aren't about to board the Levi-"
Archer's eyes widened and he hurriedly interrupted his new friend.
"Don't say that ships name! Its bad luck, cursed!"
Michael raised an eyebrow at him and made to speak, but a deep voice from behind the two of them interrupted them.
"He's right, you know. They never did find the crown prince after the rebels sank her. It'd be bad luck to speak her name aloud, especially since we're about to board a different airship."
Michael looked down, cheeks flushed, and muttered out a quick apology.
"Sorry. I didn't know such things were taken that seriously."
The man turned away without speaking, so Archer took it upon himself to cheer his new friend up a little.
"Hey, don't sweat it. I think everyone's attitude to that in the skies is 'better safe than sorry', given the stories I've heard of it. No need to worry anyway; if that's the worst mistake you make in our first weeks aboard then I'd say you'll have done pretty well."
Michael nodded a little and smiled.
"Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks."
"No worries. Anyway, what-"
"Attention!"
A booming voice came from the moored ship next to them, walking down the gangplank with heavy yet measured steps. The man's accent marked him as being from Ewyng, or at least having spent a long stretch of time within the once-independent little kingdom. Archer had always wanted to learn Ewyngan; it always seemed such a charming and ancient language, but other things had always gotten in the way. Maybe he could learn a little of it whenever he had some downtime on the ship? Albionic was nice and all, but learning a second language was always seen a worthy endeavour. He broke himself from his thoughts, realising that the man was still speaking, and internally cursed his absent mindedness.
"-you will be assigned as the captain wishes. You will be called up one at a time and asked to state your prior occupations or professions, as well as whether you have your letters. That will be all from me. The captain will speak with you now!"
The captain stepped out onto the gangplank and Archer had to admit, he was more than a little impressed by his form. The young man looked every inch the very picture of a daring, swashbuckling privateer. Archer supposed that that should have been odd by itself, seeing as this was a navy ship, not some pirate vessel, but the man practically oozed confidence from his very being. Everything about him, the way he walked, the way his hand lazily rested atop the hilt of his sword, even his languid smile seemed to dazzle and enchant those who looked upon him.
"Good afternoon, friends! I'd like to be the first to welcome you all aboard the Sunbird, and to extend the hand of friendship from those currently aboard to the lot of you. I know that the old bird's seen better times, but I'm sure you're all exactly the medicine she needs to get back in top-condition. Now, I know what you're all probably more interested in, so let me just assuage any fears you may have before we start; the pay is good, the food is better, and each man may drink as much beer as he can handle in a day! Now come on, let's get you all aboard! One at a time please, here to the left by that desk next to you."
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There was indeed a small wooden desk out on the docks. There was a grey-faced weasel of a man sat behind it, the very face of the man making Archer shudder a little for some reason he couldn't quite decipher. No line was formed, since the man began calling out names. One man went forwards, answered the questions, and boarded, quickly followed by the second and third.
"Archer Haywood!"
He swallowed a little and stepped up to the desk, giving the man a shaky salute.
"Archer Haywood, Sir."
The man preened at the title, looking extremely pleased with himself for no reason at all.
"Excellent. Previous occupation?"
"Second Footman on Bayview Estate, Sir. A manservant."
"Any skills that might be useful?"
"Nothing about fighting, Sir."
The man nodded and inked something down on the sheet of laid paper in front of him.
"I see. Do you have your letters?"
He patted himself down, colour draining from his face. Had he forgotten something? The weasel-faced man must have noticed his internal panic, for he rolled his eyes in a most exaggerated way.
"Not literally, I mean can you read? Can you write?"
Archer exhaled heavily, somewhere between a sigh of embarrassment and relief.
"Yes Sir, I can."
The man nodded absentmindedly, noting it down before nodding his head sideways.
"Wait here besides the desk. You aren't in trouble and you aren't being denied boarding, so stop fretting like that. We just need to wait and see if anyone else can as well."
The rest of the new deckhands came and went, but only a few could even read at a basic level, let alone actually write anything down or understand complicated written commands. Now there was only one other person down on the docks apart from Archer and the weasel, as Archer had taken to calling the man besides him. A little mean-spirited, but he needed anything to calm his nerves right now. Weasel called forwards the last man, who flashed him a small smile before looking down at the desk.
"Michael Griffon?"
"Indeed, that is me."
"Previous occupation?"
Archer noticed a slight pause as Michael took in the question, looking for an answer that wasn't 'son of a nobleman'.
"He's a first time hire, Sir."
Michael and the weasel turned to look at him, and Archer flushed red as he realised he'd spoken without realising it. Weasel directed a scathing and yet somehow deeply pleased glare at him, as though he'd been waiting for some excuse to dig into him.
"I don't know how you lasted as a manservant if you speak out of turn like that, but then I suppose there's a reason you're here instead of some cushy manor house."
Archer willed himself to remain still and not react to the man's needling, instead looking strait forwards past Michael at the length of the docks.
"Anyway, back to our questions. Any prior occupations?"
"No, first time hire."
"Any useful skills?"
Michael nodded and smiled a little, not quite smug but certainly proud.
"Fencing and rifle-shooting."
The weasel smiled a little at that himself.
"Excellent! One last question, do you have your letters?"
"Indeed I do, reading and writing both."
The weasel nodded and stood, shaking Michaels hand.
"Well, excellent news. I shall escort you both to the captain, who will assign you as he sees fit. Men with their letters are hard to come by in this profession, especially on a ship as old as this."
Michael and Archer moved to follow the man as he walked towards the gangway, the noble's son speaking up.
"How old exactly is this ship?"
"This year? Not exactly sure, I think it's approaching it's fortieth year of service now."
Michael seemed a little put off by this, but Archer knew it already. He'd done his research, after all.
"Out of interest, who's served on this airship the longest?"
The weasel paused on the gangplank, making Michael and Archer stop as well. Archer didn't like to admit it, but the sheer drop either side of him made him more than slightly scared.
"Probably... you know, I'm not sure actually. I'd say probably the engineer. Wait, yes, it's definitely the engineer. Before you ask I don't know exactly how long he's served, I'm not particularly friendly with the man. Fucking know-it-all."
Michael turned and looked back at Archer, the two of them sharing a shrug at the man's vitriol. They'd learn the social entanglements of the ship in time, he supposed.
----------------------------------------
"Well, here we are. Welcome aboard the Sunbird, one of the last Dawn-class ships left in the Royal Albionic Navy!"
Well, there's some truth in that at least, Archer thought, but then there were never that many to begin with.
There had once been seven Dawn-class Heavy Frigates, as far as he could recall from his readings in the library, but only three of them were still in service. He knew that the Lightening had been destroyed in action, but he'd be damned if he could remember what happened to the rest of them.
"Ah, so we have two literate recruits then?"
The voice of the captain was buttery smooth, a far cry from the weaselly and sleazy tone of the man who'd been taking their names at the register.
"Indeed, Sir. Michael Griffon and Archer..."
The man turned to Archer with a look of dissatisfaction, as though it were his fault that the weasel had already forgotten his name.
"Walker, Sir. Archer Walker."
"Right. Archer Walker. The two of them-"
"Have their letters, yes, I know how this works. Thank you, Stefan. That will be all."
The man looked a little affronted, but also eager to please, and so simply saluted before walking off. The captain chuckled quietly and shook his head a little before turning to look up and down Archer and Michael, who both remained awkwardly stood next to the gangplank awaiting the order to do something.
"Yes, either of you will do. Tell me, what other skills do either of you have?"
Michael spoke first, proudly relaying his skills in combat and duelling. Archer was already growing to like Michael, but he was doing a piss-poor job of pretending he wasn't a member of the gentry.
"Shooting and fencing, Captain!"
The captain's smile never fell, but Archer was sure he noticed a little disappointment creep into the eyes of the man as the words left his friend's mouth.
"Good! And you?"
Archer's back went ramrod straight, and he felt the words tumble from his mouth almost without thought.
"I- well, I don't really have many skills for fighting, Sir. I was a manservant before signing on."
The captain continued smiling at him, this time a little hope rather than disappointment in his eyes.
"That's not what I asked. Come on, surely there's something you're good at? At the very least as a servant you must be good at following orders, that's something. What about repair work? Did you sew the patches on your coat on yourself?"
Archer swallowed, some of the tension leaving him at the kind gesture from the captain.
"Uh, I- ahem, yes Sir. I am good at following orders, and I did sew the patches on my jacket myself. I've also gotten quite good at repairing tools and hunting equipment over my years as a footman, if that's useful?"
The captain's smile became a beam, and despite himself Archer felt his heart skip a little. Not from any real attraction, but just because the man was so damn charismatic.
"Excellent! Well, I know the perfect places for both of you. Mr Griffon, if you would be so kind as to follow me I shall escort you to the marine's quarters on the ship. I think you'll agree when I say that skill with both blade and black powder is best applied amongst such combatants?"
Michael nodded, looking rather relieved to be given a less 'nautical' task for which he'd never had experience before. Archer was feeling rather more nervous about his own prospects on the ship as the two of them followed the captain to the marine's quarters, seeing as he had absolutely no experience with any job that might be undertaken on an airship whatsoever, unless the captain and his officers decided they wanted a manservant one day.
"Well, here we are. The marine's quarters. OWEN!"
A large man opened the door to the quarters, looking to be a few years older than Archer with a large scar running across the middle of his face.
"Aye, Sir?"
The captain jumped back a little, eyebrows raised.
"Good lord, you were closer than I thought. Not you though, Corporal. Fetch your uncle, if you please."
The man at the door, the corporal, looked rather similar to the large man who'd first spoken to them at the docks. The scar made his face look rather different, of course, but then that was to be expected. His accent too was familiar, and as a result Archer had a pretty good idea as to who this man's uncle was. As he stepped away from the door Archer could see the inside of what seemed to be a small barracks, with ten bunk-beds lining the walls and a pair of chests by the side of each of them. Less than ten seconds later and his vision was obstructed by the appearance of an even larger man than the corporal, but with much of the same countenance about him. Archer had always been good at getting a read on people, but even for him this man was hard to read. He seemed... not quite unhappy at seeing the captain, but there was a little something in his visage that spoke of at least some unhappy thoughts.
"Captain Crowle, Sir!"
"Ah, Sergeant Owen! I have a new recruit here for you! Mr Griffon here is a dab hand with both a firearm and a blade, or so he tells me. I'll leave him in your capable hands from here on out."
Sergeant Owen nodded, and stepped to the side to allow Michael to enter.
"Come on in then lad, let's get you settled in. There's a spare bed and chest near the back of the room, that'll be yours from here on out."
Michael took a few steps forwards before turning back and giving a little wave and a smile back at Archer, which he returned only a little nervously. The sergeant nodded at the captain before closing the door, leaving Archer and the captain in silence for a few seconds before he spoke.
"Right then, I know exactly who to send you to! Come along, follow me!"
A little bewildered by the sudden exclamation, Archer found his feet unwilling to shift for a few seconds before he forced himself to move, following in the wake of the swaggering young captain in front of him. They took half a dozen turns and corners before descending down two ladders, coming to the left- no, larboard, he was in the navy now, the larboard side of the ship perhaps halfway down it's height. The floors here were not the oaken wood of the upper floors that conjured up images of the manor house he had served in, but rather metal gratings laid over the top of unpolished wood, a far more utilitarian and functional flooring befitting what seemed to be a far more utilitarian area.
"LAWRENCE! LAWRENCE, I KNOW YOU'RE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE!"
Captain Crowle was shouting to make himself heard over the noise of clanking tools, but it seemed rather excessive in volume seeing as the tools sounded no further than a dozen metres away.
The voice that replied was muffled, and a cursory glance down revealed the legs of a man next to three boxes of assorted tools and small parts, one of the boxes seeming to be nearly empty. The rest of the man was led underneath an engine, and Archer recognised the sound of a wrench being used to tighten a nut from his time spent cleaning the garage of the Estate he had grown up on.
"I can hear you, Crowle. There is no need to raise your voice to such levels."
"Come on up, Lawrence. Let us not converse whilst you remain laying down."
"Wait for me to be done, then I'll be up."
Captain Crowle gave a mock gasp and placed a hand to his chest, feigning affront.
"Oh, my most beloved friend, how could you be so cruel to me? Alas, here I brought along a replacement to the twins, Lord rest them both."
There was a few seconds of silence, one side playful and the other tense, before 'Lawrence' deftly pulled himself out from under the engine and rose to his feet. His front was covered in motor oil and grease, his hair coated in sweat, but his face remained a twisted scowl as he looked at the captain.
"Good. And the spare parts?"
"I told you, we don't need spare parts. They're called 'spare' for a reason, Lawrence. Do your job properly and we won't need them."
The man, Lawrence, clenched his fist at his side and spoke through gritted teeth.
"Very well, Sir. You,"
He rounded to look at Archer.
"Name."
Archer swallowed, feeling a little intimidated under the gaze of the intense man, but answered with as much steel in his voice as he could. He was more than a little panicked by the implication that he was likely to be working with an engineer, after all, he had no experience and-
Enough. He needed to just answer the questions first and foremost.
"Archer Haywood, Sir. But I don't actually-"
Captain Crowle, seemingly put out at not being the centrepiece of the conversation, interjected with his own explanations.
"He's to be your new Assistant Engineer. I'll leave you to show him his duties and the rest of the Sunbird, seeing as you two will be getting to know each other quite well for the next few years. Toodeloo!"
Archer watched the retreating form of the captain with a little surprise as the man deftly ascended back up the ladders and walked off, before turning back around upon hearing the rustling of cloth. Lawrence had taken off his shirt and was using it to try and mop some of the sweat from his hair and his brow. The man thrust out his other hand, which Archer took and shook.
"Chief Petty Officer, Engineer, Lawrence Walker."
"Uh, Archer Haywood."
The man cracked a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"Yes, you mentioned that before. You can put 'Assistant Engineer' in front of your name now, since that's what you are."
Lawrence looked down at their hands and withdrew his own before continuing.
"Good handshake. Well practiced, if I were to guess."
Archer nodded.
"Yes, Sir. My father taught me well."
The engineer shook his head and moved to lie back under the engine, talking to Archer all the while.
"No need to call me 'Sir', that's for the gentry. Just 'Lawrence' is fine for me."
"Alright then, Just Lawrence."
There was a slight pause as Archer realised what an excellent first impression he must have made in that moment, but whatever opinion Lawrence had of him he kept to himself.
"Right, your first task is simple enough. I'll ask you for something and you'll grab it and hand it to me. Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to know everything on your first day, and I know you probably have almost no experience with mechanical work, but you'll learn over time."
Archer nodded, and the man slid himself back underneath the engine.
"Shouldn't you be showing me around the ship? Sorry to assume since I know you probably know what you're doing, but-"
"Easy. We're finishing this first, and I'll show you around later. Now, hand me that lump hammer. We've an engine to finish the maintenance of before supper."