Amelia gazed down at the airship's lower decks, marveling at the intricate machinery on each level. Though she recognized the basic layout, it felt as if Rick had crafted its inner workings with the complexity of a living organism. It was like being lost in an enchanted labyrinth of gears and cogs, each piece humming with life.
The first platform, situated on the airship's lowermost level, appeared dedicated to navigation. An assortment of levers, knobs, buttons, and peculiar makeshift pulleys adorned its surface. In contrast, the second level resembled an artist's canvas, where the inner mechanisms of the machine seamlessly blended into what could only be described as a potential living space. Gleaming golden pipes, intricately crafted woods, hand-carved furniture, and even the glint of a luxurious hot tub caught Amelia's eye through the glass panels under her feet.
"Rick! You have a hot tub?! In the air!?" Amelia exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. "Unheard of!"
She quickly leaned over another barricade, peeking toward the Pappy Long Legs’ last level. Squinting at the ship's swirling bow, she tried to decipher its purpose, guessing it served as the airship's engine compartment—a mysterious clockwork heart hidden from view.
Minutes passed as the airship soared toward the clouds, casting a vast shadow over the fields below. Amelia watched the ship hover above the green stretches of grass, endless crops, and stone houses dotting the hilly horizons of Quadrant Seven. The Pappy Long Legs offered her a reintroduction to the wider world beyond the Conkle Mines, back toward the famous cities of steam. Lost in the view, she barely noticed an hour had passed until Rick found her gazing into the distance.
“Watch yourself, Crowny. Dangle that noggin’ any further, and you’ll meet the harshness of gravity quicker than you can blurt locket in a boot,” Rick cautioned, his voice light but firm.
“Ah yes, gravity and I are as acquainted as you are with bread,” Amelia quipped, breaking the awkward silence with a grin. “Obviously, I couldn’t hide much from you.”
Rick nodded, smiling before maneuvering his spider-like legs next to her. He examined her for any wounds Roy might have missed, then joined her in peering over the railing, watching as the warm sunset began to paint the sky.
"Best we start talkin’, isn’t it?" Rick suggested, gesturing to a cluttered table where tools and various machine parts were waiting. “Last step before we go. Roy’s going to put in the final coordinates and set up fuel for the journey. Sit down, and take a breath. We’ve only a moment longer before we blast through the clouds again.”
“Flying. We’re really flying,” Amelia said, her voice filled with disbelief and wonder.
“How else are we going to reach the city that floats in the sky?” Rick replied, gesturing toward a nearby wooden table. “Come, sit.”
Amelia eagerly nodded and made her way to the table, darting past a catwalk with determined steps. She swiftly settled onto a tall stool, firmly bolted to the ground.
Rick was close behind. Upon reaching the table, he retrieved a blocky remote from his coat pocket. With a flick of a switch, his mechanical legs whirred to life, allowing him to descend gracefully to the ground.
He made room on the table for a seemingly endless bowl of warm bread and two stone cups of hot tea, which he gathered from a small metal compartment beneath the table.
As Rick’s metallic limbs retracted into the metal box on his back, he settled into his seat with a satisfied nod. His stool adjusted to eye level with Amelia’s, and he lit a small lantern with a match from his sleeve, gently breaking a piece of bread in half and offering it to her.
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"More?" Amelia inquired, her appetite whetted by the aroma.
"Why not?" Rick replied with a smile.
"Ah, dammit," Amelia muttered, unable to resist the pull of the freshly baked bread.
As she savored each bite, Amelia scrutinized Rick, her thoughts stirred by the taste of Morsha bread. Memories of her father’s frequent mentions of Rick during their rare dinner conversations surfaced—recollections of his enthusiasm for expanding New Dwarden, his ideas far beyond her comprehension.
Since then, Amelia had encountered Rick sporadically while tending to repairs on the Primarian Royale—a central law-making building in New Dwarden. His distinctive mechanical legs and the tantalizing aroma of his baked goods were etched in her memory. The scent had become an integral part of the Primarian Royale’s ambiance, earning New Dwardians the moniker "Baker's Guild" from foreigners.
"Oi! Enough with the starin’, girl. I more than understand I'm just a walkin’ memory. Let's push past that," Rick remarked, his tone gruff yet laced with a hint of understanding. “You’ve got me almost tearing up, thinkin’ ‘bout the past now,” he added with a sarcastic grin.
"I know we didn't exchange many words, but—" Amelia began.
"Don't bother! What could an old man like me have to say to a little girl besides 'hello,' 'goodbye,' ‘clean your nose,’ and 'enjoy'? Let's focus on the matter at hand," Rick replied, cutting her off with a stern yet caring tone.
“You’re not just a memory, Tammersmith,” Amelia muttered with a light smile. “Not anymore.”
Rick's eyes softened for a split second before he quickly turned his gaze into a grimace, looking toward Roy’s general direction.
“Roy! How long 'til the fuel's ready?” Rick shouted, his voice barely audible over the mechanical symphony of the ship. “Must be five clicks of a revolution. Five minutes,” he continued, his voice trailing off.
“Rick, sorry. Something's always happening, and as usual, I haven't the foggiest idea what's going on,” Amelia pressed, her frustration evident. “It always feels like tradition is forcing me… forgive me, I—”
“Crowny, don't apologize. I've got more to be sorry for than you ever will,” Rick interjected, his voice solemn. “Life has a foolish way of charting its course while ignoring our desires.”
“Just because you have more to regret doesn’t mean mine are any less,” Amelia replied softly, her eyes beginning to water.
“True enough. But it helps to know that I’m still standing. And so will you,” Rick responded, his voice steady yet firm.
Amelia observed the small lantern flicker at the center of the table, her reflection glistening in its warm glow as she lost herself in the sudden flood of emotion.
“Listen, Crowny, the path we're on is shrouded in mystery, even to me. If I told you everything, you’d be left like a chicken gawking at the rain.” Rick continued, his tone lightening. “For now, you've gained an old man—and his son—as companions. This adventure will only heat up as we go. If you choose to buckle down, that is.”
"You and I?" Amelia wondered aloud, her voice laced with uncertainty. “An ex-royal and an old man?”
"Who else?" Rick affirmed, his gaze softening as he reached for Amelia’s shoulder. "This… this should help confirm our little predicament."
Amelia looked down at Rick’s mechanical hand, noting the four large tendrils for fingers. They moved as if they had no bones, but once they held something, Rick’s mechanical prowess was evident.
"Take this, little one. A letter from your big brother," Rick said, handing her the violet letter embroidered with gold and sealed with the initials W.W.
"Michael? King seat-splitter can go suck a thorn," Amelia retorted with a hint of bitterness. “Probably didn’t even write this himself.”
"Can't blame the sass, given how things went after you and your younger brother were left at the end of the ceremony... to fend for yourselves," Rick acknowledged. “Wish we could’ve intervened."
“Do we need to discuss this now?" Amelia sighed reluctantly, her gaze drifting toward the warm horizon.
“Dunno. You readin’ the letter or not?” Rick replied.
Amelia paused for a long moment, glancing at Rick’s usual scowl before taking the letter. Years of pent-up rage from surviving in the Conkle Mines surged within her, as if she had been denied a proper life. But her curiosity overpowered her anger, and she slowly opened the letter.