Date: Twenty Fifth of March, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Makan snorted with gruff disbelief, “can't be as bad as being a sailor in irate-infested waters.”

Job Arseoth rolled his shoulders, “It's not all fun and games, though I admit dealing with pirates is probably more straightforward. Less politics for sure with them.”

Makan shot job a sideways glance, “you do have that right. Want the five-copper tour so you don't get lost?”

“Sure. Lead on.”

Makan grunted in recognition, opened a hatch, and swung onto a ladder, “we'll start at the bottom and work our way up.”

Job followed Makan down the ladder, passing through several decks. The feeling of hot, moist air blew past him as he descended.

Makain led the way through a hatch into a room full of rumbling pipes, shrieking machinery, and the hiss of steam. Two large cylinders sat atop inclined loops of pipes, each fairly dripping with runes. More pipes split off from them and fed into the front of a third cylindrical shape. Even more pipes looped out of its back and returned to the rune-covered pipe loops. A vaguely rectangular, round-edged box hung off the back of the back of the third cylinder before diving down into the deck and out the back of the ship.

“Engine room. Two boilers, the turbine, and the reduction gears.”

“Heat runes to make steam I get, but where does the water come from?”

“Pressure-regulated water-runes in the main boiler tanks. No idea how they work, but I understand that they're a right bitch to make.”

Job nodded fervently, “ 'creation' type runes are like that; simple in concept, absolute cast-iron, copper-plated bastards in execution. Add in the pressure-regulation control features...? I can see why pirates would want these. They must be expensive as all hell.”

“Half the cost of the ship, if Captain Hauptman is to be believed. Took almost a year to make.”

“They dump steam through the 'turbine' and that moves the ship?” Job sampled the unfamiliar word, letting it roll off his tongue in passing.

“Right. Guts of the turbine are basically a crazy-high-speed metal windmill.”

“Ohhh! Turns the pressure from the moving steam into mechanical motion.”

“Got it in one.”

“Then why the reduction gears?”

“Turbines like to run fast, but water doesn't. The gearbox is to slow that shaft and the screw down so that the turbine can run fast like it wants to without shaking the ship all over the place.”

Job frowned in thought, “that doesn't seem quite right...”

Makan shrugged, “Best I can wrap my head around it, take it or leave it.”

Job grinned, “I'll take it then. Lead on, and let's get out of this sauna. It's kinda nice, but...”

Makan bobbed his head and led the way back through the hatch into the relative quiet of the passageway.

“Little too warm for a mountain-born like myself.”

“Oh? Our warm, welcoming island climate a little too warm for you?”

“Climate's fine, it's the Royalists that're driving me up the bulkheads. Cargo compartments forwards and aft of this level.”

“What's wrong with having a Queen?”

“Power by birth instead of as an extension of the will of the people? Seems ripe for abuse.”

“The balance of power keeps a lot of that in check. Queen and commoners squeeze the nobles to keep them in line, nobles and commoners keep the Queen honest, Queen and nobles keep the commoners from chasing off after every seagull-brained idea on the sea.”

“Still, you got problems with rich fucks born to too much power with nobody to answer to.”

“Never said it was a perfect system, just the living one that beats at the heart of Altheim. Nobility isn't closed, or fixed. Takes a bit to budge a noble family, but it's been done. And Lord Trebor got himself promoted from docksider and mercenary to nobility.”

“Hrnf. Exception that proves the rules.”

“Like Glacierheart doesn't have Oligarch problems.”

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“Not so bad as the Jeweled Republics do. It's better then it was before the Westmarch war, but... Crew quarters on this level, yours are the next deck up near the officer's quarters.”

“Not representative enough for your taste?”

“Grmph. Could be a lot better. Could be a lot worse.”

“How much worse?”

Makan shot Job a glance, “Alexandria, before the sky fell.”

Job grimaced, “or the Mossybacks, before wings were shattered.”

Makan nodded, “Revolution is in the blood of the repressed. It is something you nobles should keep in mind.”

“Me? Noble? I'd fall over laughing if I wasn't on a ladder.”

“You're a spellslinger, aren't you? Takes money to learn to do that, money that only nobles have.”

“Nope. Accident of birth, and a stroke of luck.”

“Kraken shit.”

“not all that shines is gold. Son of a whore, grew up in the gutter ducking gangs. School is free, if you can spare the time, and they keep an eye out for spellcasters.”

“Dragged into the system then, a tool of the crown.”

“Ehh, I don't doubt that some are, but most of use gutter-mages? They'd rather have us living honest then living on the dark side of things.”

"So you're just trusting that the crown isn’t out to rule with an iron fist at the end of the day?"

"Nah. If the Queen tried that, then she'd have to crush all the nobles and all the peasants. Nobles she might be able to do, it'd be messy though. The peasants? Not a chance in the nine hells. Too many of them. And I doubt the church or the Guild would just stand by and let her do that."

"The Guild might surprise you. The Temples though? You probably have a point there."

Job sniffed at the salt air blowing over the deck.

"Wind's shifting, coming into the harbor. Think that will delay our departure?"

"Nah. Red Oak doesn’t care about the wind too much. Not unless we get a storm."

"Oh, right. Steam engines."

"Yup."

"And a north-east breeze, like the one blowing in about now, usually means a mean storm around these parts."

"Ehh, how bad could it possibly be?"

Job game Makan a stink eye.

"Better tell Captain Hauptman he has about two hours to clear the harbor unless he wants to ride out a storm in here."

"Two hours?"

"Might be a little more, might be a little less. Thunderheads'll be showing soon."

Makan gulped and ran off.

Job shook his head and wondered. The dragonmark was itching something fierce, and his instinctual sense for the timing of the storm was… well, not new, because every islander knows storms. But it was certainly more definitive then before. This wasn't going to be some simple blow, and Job felt his stomach drop as the thunderheads poked out over the horizon. They were moving fast, nearly as black as a moonless night, and bristling with whipcracks of lightning. The rolling boom of thunder echoes across the harbor, drying the moths of many sailors.

"Mr. Job! You any good with fire?"

Job spun about to see Captain Hauptman hurrying across the deck, his face grim. Job casually flicked a small orb of fire into exitance in the palm of his hand.

"You could say that."

"Can you heat water without melting metal?"

Job furrowed his brow, "Temperature control you mean? I can manage that… Thought I don’t know about any runes that get in the way. If they're at all delicate…"

Captain Hauptman slapped Job on the shoulder and pointed at the hatch belowdecks, "Paid through the nose for extra durability, on account of common sailors not knowing their ass from their elbow. They'll soak some heat, but not much. Metal will probably start to move before they blow out."

"…Breaking the runes by disrupting them. Ok. I take it you need the boilers heated up?"

"And fast. This looks like a proper Typhoon. We stay in harbor and we'll be smashed against the shore."

Job gulped.

"No pressure then?"

"On you? No. On the turbine? As much as you can get me, please!"

Job popped the hatch and slid down the ladder, ignoring the nicks from the rough metal, thinking furiously. Heat alone might do the trick, but the problem was control. All of Job's usual fire-spells were combat oriented, bringing out intense blasts of flame and heat in very short timeframes. What was needed here was to bring water to a boil and keep it there.

Job frowned as he pushed open the hatch to the engine room. Boiling water was actually fairly safe, in terms of excess energy at least. The more heat you put on, the faster you could get water to the boiling point, but it wouldn’t boil away any faster. In simpler terms, Job could chuck as much heat as he wanted into the water and all it would do was boil. So how could he get more pressure out of the boilers and onto the turbine?

Job thought harder. The turbine worked kinda-sorta kike a windmill, so perhaps a wind spell would help start things along? Did he even have any wind-moving spells? Prestidigitation could do some, but not enough. Gust would work, if he could...

Job almost tripped over his own feet and narrowly missed backing his head off of one of the boilers. How in the Nine Hells did he know Gust? The dragonmark itched furiously.

""

Job grabbed a pair of heavy leather gloves from one of the confused engine men, dragged them on, and went to the head of the turbine, where the two inputs from the boilers entered its housing. He wrapped a hand around each of the pipes, wincing a bit at the smell of singing leather, and concentrated. He needed to cast the wind spell inside the pipe, going from the boilers to the turbine, and keep it up long enough for the boilers to come up to pressure. Job grimaced as he twisted the spell tighter and tighter. Enough force to throw a fat man on his ass is compressed down into a pair of three-inch pipes and rammed home.

The turbine shudders to life, spluttering out an awful sound. The reduction gears grind into motion inside their housing and the Red Oak starts to move. Not fast, not yet, but Job can feel the heat against his hands. The high-pressure state that he has created is letting the boilers spend less energy on generating pressure, resulting in more energy being transferred to the turbine and into the motion of the Red Oak.

Job can hear the whoops of the engine room crew as the ship shakes loose of her mooring ropes and heads out into the storm. Hands slap his shoulders in congratulations.

"We're up to pressure and moving! Let go before you cook yourself!"

Job forced his hands open and pulls them back. Leather tugs away as he fell backwards and was dragged clear by helpful crew.

"Ancestors! The gloves are burnt onto the pipes!"

Job looked down at his own hands. They were unblemished, unburnt. Not even a blister.

"I think I'm going to head back up top. Storm's going to be a right bitch."

"Wear a lifeline if you're going out on deck! Wouldn’t want a friendly dragon to get tossed overboard!"

Job stopped at the foot of the ladder and laughed long and loud.