The ground solidifies once more, yet gives way—slanting to the side and tipping back again. I reel for a moment, disoriented. Throwing my hands out to catch myself, I come to a stop with my face just a few inches away from the worn wooden planks beneath me.

There's the sound of lapping waves and the smell of salt in the air. The boards creak, and a small hand thrusts into my field of view. I look up to find a face I recognize.

Beatrice.

I take her hand and she helps me up into a hug—one which I gladly accept. She pets my hair while I bury my face in hers. By the time I finally pull away, its wet with my tears. If she minds at all, she doesn't show it.

"Wh...why are you here?" I hiccup. "Where are we?"

"We're aboard the Patchwork Empress," she says, pausing as she reads my expression. "E.J.'s boat," she adds with a short laugh. Looping her arm with mine, she gently turns me to look outward—over the ship's prow and the night-black ocean.

We stand atop its highest level, looking out over tiers of decks and cabins with an oddly sculptural, mismatched quality to it. She watches my face as I take it all in. "She couldn't find anything quite to her liking and needs, so she had this custom-made out of the corpses of a bunch of different decommissioned ships. Part research vessel, part yacht."

At a look from me, she continues. "Yes, there are a bunch of scientists here, too. No big beasties on board though, don't you worry."

I gaze back out over the water. The many-peaked silhouette of a curving archipelago is just visible through the dark haze of the night.

"As for why I'm here," Beatrice goes on, stooping to pick up my suitcase with her free hand then guiding me to the stair. "It's the same reason as you, really. My association with E.J. is well known, so any threat to her is a threat to me. On the night of the failed hit, she gave the option of the tower or the boat. I always pick the boat." Another short laugh.

"How often does this sort of thing happen?" I ask, not trying to hide my horror.

"Oh, not often. Usually when I was making a choice between the two it was for a nice weekend away from the city."

She walks me a few decks down. "Here are your quarters," she chirps, nudging a door open with her hip. I follow her in to find myself in a small but beautifully appointed room with polished wood panel walls and a row of windows to one side. Beatrice sets my suitcase down on a chest strapped in place at the foot of my bunk.

"I'll let you adjust for a bit, get your sea legs and whatnot. Your Somi pendant works here just like back at the tower, so if you need anything at all just give 'er a squeeze."

"Thank you, Beatrice."

"It'll be nice to have a kindred spirit aboard." She gives me a warm smile. "I'll give you the full tour when you're feeling up to it." Then she's off, leaving behind only the hazelnut-and-burnt-sugar scent of her perfume.

Once she's gone, I take a minute to familiarize myself with my new space. Not a bit of it is wasted. There are little drawers for storage beneath my bunk, and a shelf with a net in front of it above. There's another door leading to tiny private bathroom directly off of my quarters, with the toilet sitting in the shower.

Everywhere are beautiful, eclectic details. The porthole window in the bathroom is circled by a wooden carving of twining snakes, with pearly inset scales. A patchwork quilt in bits of jewel-toned patterned silk covers the downy mattress on my bunk, and over the end of it someone's tossed a black, shaggy sheepskin. I recognize E.J.'s taste in everything I see.

I don't leave my quarters for the rest of the night. I've always imaged the gentle movement of a ship on the water would be soothing—and it is. Unfortunately, it's also nauseating. When I press my pendant-button for help, Somi clues me in to the medicine cabinet hidden behind my bathroom mirror. There I find an assortment of things, include a bottle of round green pills for seasickness.

"They'll ease it a bit and help you acclimate faster, but you'll still want to rest for a while," explains the servitor.

It's not until hours later that I realize Beatrice never answered the question of where we are—not really. I look out the windows at the jagged outline of the archipelago, like the toothy jaw of some behemoth monster jutting up from the sea.

Although I never found out exactly where Stormhaven was, I still had a general idea. Those steep fir-covered mountains placed it somewhere in the wild regions north of Labyrinth City. But this place could be anywhere.

I have absolutely no idea where in the world I am.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

~*~

I wake up to a rhythmic tapping at my door. Somehow, I know it's Beatrice even before she starts calling my name.

She even manages to knock cheerfully.

"Ashwyn, are you up?"

Rolling off the bed, I snatch the black dressing robe hanging on a nob of driftwood beside the door and slip into it before greeting her.

"Good morning! Hope you're feeling better. Just wanted to let you know it's breakfast time in the galley in about, hm," she glances at her companion—one of the tiny models she wears about her wrist. "Twenty minutes. You can eat whenever you want, really, but the food's best when it's fresh."

"Thank you, Bee," I say, stifling a yawn.

"The coffee here is excellent, by the way." She winks and bounces off.

I retreat to my cramped bathroom to clean myself up, then open my suitcase to find something to wear. I notice a large inner pocket I hadn't seen before, and a small package wrapped in gold-flecked rice paper peaking out the top of it. When I pluck it out, I find a little card with elegant handwriting stuck in a fold in the rice paper.

A little something to help you plan your next body of work.

Just remember not to overextend yourself, alright?

-Jonathen

I blink down at the name, registering the change. She'd definitely signed off as E.J. before.

Not wanting to tear the lovely paper, I unwrap it carefully. My mouth drops open as I recognize its contents. A thin but sturdy rectangular slab with rounded edges, just a little over a foot long. Pewter-colored polished stone, with dark flecks and an iridescent sheen. A screen of translucent purple-gray channelquartz. Lashed to the side by a black leather loop, there's a stylus made of the same light, strong material as the tablet itself.

I can't believe it.

A Pygmalion Pro 6. They're not even on the market yet.

I press and hold my first and middle fingertips to the lower left corner of the screen until it flickers to life. My heart flutters as I scan the mandala of sigils it displays. She's already installed the latest versions of all the best art constructs, among other things.

I'm about to pull one up when my stomach gurgles, and I remember why I'd been digging in my suitcase to begin with.

Sighing my regret, I tuck the tablet back into the pocket I found it in and fold up the rice paper. At Somi's suggestion, I dress in layers. Under her guidance, I find my way to the galley.

"Here's Ashwyn!" Beatrice calls the moment she sees me. The galley is crowded, but surprisingly roomy. Light streams in through a row of porthole windows and flickers from emberstone lanterns. the long driftwood dining table is separated from the kitchen itself by a high counter, beyond which hang copper pots and pans and bundles of dried herbs.

"I saved a spot for you," Bee adds, waving me over to her. She wastes no time in introducing me to the others there—six in total, a mix of crew and resident researchers. "This isn't everyone," she adds. "I think there's, what—sixteen of us, all-in-all?"

She looks to Ursa, a marine biologist with long, glossy dark hair and a mysterious air about them. They nod.

"That's right."

"Lot of night owls on this boat," Beatrice adds.

The cook's hand—a young woman named El—brings me my breakfast. A glass of guava juice, a mug of mint coffee, and a plate of biscuits with gravy and eggs.

"So, Ashwyn," Ixchel, another of the biologists, pipes up. "You're an artist, right? Do you like drawing animals? If you want, we could take you down in the cage to see the giant axeheads—"

"Ix, please," Beatrice pleads, cutting in. "Let's give her some time to settle in before we toss her to the sharks, hm?"

"Sharks?" I put my fork down. "Um..."

"Don't worry about that," snaps Bee. "How about that tour, Ashwyn?"

"S-sure," I stammer, allowing her to coax me out of my seat and steer me from the galley.

It's an overcast morning. The archipelago is shrouded in a veil of mist, but I can make out enough to see that its lush with plantlife. As she leads me down to the main deck, I work up the nerve to ask the question that's been bothering me since I first got here.

"Where are we, by the way? In the world I mean? I don't recognize these islands."

"We're south of where you were. But it's really best for everyone if you don't know the specifics."

"Ah."

"It's not that E.J. or anyone doesn't trust you, it's just—"

"No, I understand. I knew I shouldn't have asked."

"There's nothing wrong with being curious, Ash."

I gnaw my lip.

After showing me nearly everything else—save everyone's personal quarters—we wind up at the ship's infirmary.

"I promised E.J. I'd make sure you get your treatments," Beatrice explains, looking around. "Oh, where are they? They should be awake by now—"

The door bangs open and someone backs in, cup of juice in one hand and coffee in the other. "Sorry, sorry," they say, setting the drinks down hastily on a narrow, cluttered desk. "Alright, let me see that arm."

They turn to me, and I suppress a little gasp of surprise. Their eyes are bright, piercing scarlet. I've seen Umbrans up close before, but Crimsons tend to wear contacts.

"Ashwyn, this is Dr. Kundu Quothe. Dr. Quothe, Ms. Ashwyn Fleetwood." Though they're bald, their age is inscrutable. Umbrans age more slowly than ordinary humans, so though they look somewhere in their thirties or forties, they could easily be a hundred.

They takes my hand, and their touch is gentle but firm—their skin shockingly cool.

"You can call me Kundu." Their smile turns to a slight frown as they refocus their attention, then there's the familiar tingling as Umbra surges from their flesh into mine. The session is over in about ten minutes.

"And there you are," they say, releasing me and giving my shoulder an absent pat. "Now, coffee time."

"We'll leave you to it," Beatrice chirps, taking my arm again. I follow her out.

"So, what would you like to do today?"

"I'm honestly still getting over my seasickness," I lie. "I think I'll just go back to my room for a while and do some brainstorming for my show."

"Oh, alright!" Beatrice answers brightly, though she looks a little disappointed. "I'll walk you back."

Once I'm planted on my bunk—in my room and by myself—I take a deep breath. As lonely as I was living by myself, being around a bunch of new, unknown people is still overwhelming. I pull my Companion from my pocket and spend the next several minutes tapping out and editing a "thank you" message to E.J. for the Pygmalion.

That done, I power up my new toy and immerse myself in my work. My arm's almost entirely better, and it feels good to create again.