Chapter 4

Arkadia

The journey out of the reefs around Woebegone was surprisingly quiet. The officer refused to answer any questions, insisting that she would discuss matters further once they returned to her boat. All she would give was her name: Second Mate Anders. Arkadia would temperamentally have pushed the point further, but frankly she needed the time to process her recent life events.

She had never killed a man before. She wasn't sure if what happened to Grist counted, frankly. She was involved, certainly. More than that- she was involved in the Maws' entire cannibalistic excess. And for what? Arkadia had trouble justifying it to herself. But then, she was having trouble all over, today. Her body was beaten and bruised, hungry and low on blood. Her books were fine- thank the fictional Arcanes for that she supposed- but in all the fighting, the wings had taken major damage. Once they had gotten out of the immediate danger of Alkaline Sharks, Anders had insisted they stop and turn the things off. The bullet-riddled flying apparatus also had a large bite out of one plate, and was blasting hot air at utterly random intervals. Easy enough to turn off, if you knew your way around Magitecture, but annoying nonetheless. Arkadia would need to spend a month to repair the damage, she reckoned.

On the other hand, well: she was free! She had gotten out! She was on her way to the new life she'd spent the last seventeen years dreaming of. "Siobhan, wherever you are, I did it." she whispered, when Anders wasn't looking. "I'm not going to die there."

It was a difficult to process victory. Having desired nothing but escape for so long, the attainment was proving overwhelming. As they crossed out of the reefs into the open ocean, the scent of fresh sea air brought tears to her eyes. Freedom! True freedom! Air that didn't smell like trash, and a view that wasn't the color of rust. She could die happy, having made it this far. On that topic...

She eyed Second Mate Anders with suspicion. The stories about what happened to those who stowed away on, commandeered, or swam after the OIC longboats were unequivocal. "So, when are you going to kill me?" Arkadia asked casually.

Not casually enough, apparently. Anders whipped around, shock writ large on her normally sedate expression. "Kill you? Where on earth would you get that idea?" The officer stopped rowing, holding her sharp gaze on Arkadia.

Arkadia, in turn, wasn't quite sure how to continue. She soldiered on: "Everyone knows, that's what happens to people from Woebegone when we try to leave. People like you kill us."

"People like me?" the officer had recovered her composure. "Please, enlighten me. What precisely do you mean by that?"

"Ochre Island Company traders. People like you. They shoot anyone who gets in their longboats."

Anders raised an eyebrow. "We defend ourselves," she said dryly. "Hardly an act of savagery."

"I guess that's fair..." Arkadia trailed off, troubled.

Anders continued to hold her oars aloft. "Alright. Out with it. We should have this resolved before we get back to the Fourth Wind. Why exactly do you think we're murderers?

"I don't know about murderers, but you enable them when you trade with cannibals like the Maws."

"We didn't know they were cannibals." Anders said gently, but with a core of iron in her voice. "Company policy explicitly forbids trading with people or other entities like that."

"Grist said you did." Even as she said it, Arkadia realized how it sounded. The lunatic cannibal who sawed off his lower jaw wasn't the most rational source of information. "Besides, you don't ever take anyone with you. Why take me?"

"St. Mithlia above, you were about to be eaten!" Anders' calm flagged momentarily; the sailor looked genuinely concerned. "Once I knew that you were telling the truth, I couldn't leave you to those barbed-tooth barbarians. How could I live with myself?"

Arkadia mulled this over. It seemed to make sense, abstractly. Notions such as selflessness didn't come up much among the scavengers of the rust-mountains, but mayhaps things were better on the high seas. "So what do I owe you? For your rescue"

"You don't owe the Company anything. This is an act of simple humanity." Anders looked over the boat. The iron crept back into her clipped tones. "Though, if I can make those monsters pay for what they did to my crew, I will. But regardless. Are you ready to continue?"

She seemed sincere, but Arkadia didn't quite know what to make of this deeply measured woman. How much could she really trust someone who responded so dispassionately to the passing of her crew? Could she be sure that her promises of safety were legitimate?

But, on the other hand: There was no other hand. It was Anders or trying her luck swimming to another island.

"Alright, I believe you." Arkadia said quietly

"Good. I couldn't sign off on you coming aboard otherwise, and we'd have to kill you to get our longboat back." Anders' face gave no hint of a joke. Arkadia decided to read one in, regardless. They began to row once more.

Off at sea, Arkadia saw the distant silhouettes of five large trading vessels. They approached the nearest and second largest of the set, a triple-masted caravel with vibrant light blue sails. Atop the mainmast, traceries of black and orange detailing made out the iconic Ochre Island Trading Company flag. The ship was cut more for bulk storage than for speed, with a large aft and a massive bulk that sat relatively low in the water. The sure sign of a prosperous trade expedition, she suspected. Two decks of canons were visible, ten to a row. Arkadia knew almost nothing of shipcraft, of course, it not being a topic covered among her six books, so she couldn't identify specifics of model or age. In the grand scheme of Creu-c'tal, perhaps this was a paltry vessel.

But to her, in this moment, it was more magnificent than any palace.

"I should note, my motives in picking you up were not entirely altruistic." Anders said laconically as they pulled alongside the Fourth Wind.

"Is that right?"

"Yes." From above, ropes were thrown down by bustling figures. Anders began attaching them to cleats at the bow and stern of the longship. "I want to offer you a job.

. . .

On arrival, there was quite the commotion over her appearance. Words like "irregular" and "feral" were whispered loudly between members of a staring crowd. A tired-looking man with the olive skin of the Tetrarchy introduced himself as the captain, but didn't make any move towards her. Nobody did, in fact- the crowd made a ragged semicircle around her. Eventually, the ship's doctor came puffing and gasping to the front of the crowd, a portly man with kind eyes, who introduced himself simply as "William". William shook her hand gingerly, then began waving what appeared to be a wand up and down her body. He nodded to himself, then confirmed out loud: no major contaminants or known plagues. That said, he packed his things back into his medical bag.

Arkadia frowned. Though she knew little of medical practice outside the crude clan cures for tetanus and infection, this felt wrong. "William," she said, unable to keep this irritation from her voice, "Aren't you going to treat my injuries?"

"Oh, no miss. Sorry, terribly sorry. I can only treat employees. It's in my contract." He bowed apologetically and hastily elbowed back into the crowd.

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Arkadia turned to Anders, not bothering to disguise her confusion. "What's an employee?"

. . .

The concept of a "job" took some explaining, in the end.

Arkadia was aware of concepts of value, of course. Certain things were more practical than others, more useful. Rotten wood was worse than preserved wood. The traders gave better goods for them. But Woebegone was not a cash economy; far from it. Trade, barter, and slaughter were the bywords of the local financers. As such, the idea of doing work for "money" wasn't precisely apparent at first.

The thin-lipped bursar sighed, as they went through yet another round of circular arguments. "No, no, you can spend money at stores. For whatever you want."

"And they have to give it to you? What if they don't want the paper?"

"It's not just paper, it can be coin or - Second Mate Anders, who exactly is this feral child you're trying to get the Ochre Island Company to hire?"

"She's a Magitectural savant, I told you. You saw the wings we brought aboard."

"Hmm." the bursar looked ghoulish to Arkadia. His skin hung loose and baggy over prominent bones, and his skin was too white to have seen much sun. His eyes were supplemented by thick glasses. Privately, she suspected that he hadn't ever really ever struggled for a living. No muscle tone. "Our own experts said it was amateurish. Not bad, but failing in many of the fundamental principles.

"You try building that from one book!" Arkadia snapped. "And I'm not a child!" Anders rolled her eyes, putting a warning hand on Arkadia's shoulder. "Yes, we know. Look, just- run along for now, alright? Go explore the ship. Mr. Oran and I need to discuss this further." Her face made it clear that this wasn't a suggestion. Arkadia was hardly one to follow commands, but found herself going along with the second mate's directive. She wanted very badly to explore.

The ship held about thirty people, all told, a relatively light complement. Apparently specialist roles were distributed throughout the convoy as a cost-saving measure. She wasn't quite sure what that meant, frankly, but no matter. The boat itself was a minor miracle to her. So much fresh, unspoilt wood! This was not to mention the works of Magitecture she had spotted. The ships cannons were enhanced by spells, presumably to increase their impact, and a finely wrought map traced their exact location in real time. She only got a short look at this, however, before a number of men in officer's uniforms shouted at her to leave the captain's quarters. Arkadia decided she would circle back later, to see if she could find anything else in the room. After sunset, perhaps.

The rest of the boat, however, proved hostile towards her. The hold itself, containing much fresh salvage from Woebegone (and presumably trade goods in return) was off limits to "non-employees". The comissary (where, she was shocked to learn, you could get food for nothing by just asking) was for "employees only". Even the privy took a certain degree of arguing to access, with a surly guard demanding to see her OIC papers. What a strange, strange vessel. Arkadia wasn't even able to acquire her things back- they were in the hold, and, she was assured, no longer hers. That, too, warrented a post-sunset visit. Yet, she didn't press the matter for now. Not on a strange ship, following strange rules, and certainly not when Woebegone had just disappeared below the horizon.

Well, if she wasn't welcome elsewhere, might as well enjoy the voyage. Arkadia spent the next hour or so simply delighting in the sensory minutae of sea-travel. The fresh wind in her hair, the sight of the sea passing below the Fourth Wind at breakneck speed, the smell of brine mingled with the various scents of the ship. It was, she decided, already worth the bullet wound. Though, that established, she might need to figure out this "employment" concept if she wanted to survive the journey; despite her rough bandages, she wasn't sure she should be vertical with the amount of blood she had lost.

Second Mate Anders did eventually find her. "Ms. Motley. Do you have a moment?"

Arkadia, who was currently dangling off the prow of the boat, took the sarcasm in stride. "I suppose. To what do I owe the pleasure Ms. Anders?

"Officer Anders. Or Second Mate." Anders said mildly. "And I'm here to discuss your situation vis-à-vis this vessel. As you must have gleaned by now, we aren't well-equipped to handle voyagers who aren't part of the Company."

"Ah yes, this "employment" matter you all care about so much." Arkadia swung back onto the deck. "Did you resolve it with the pencil-pusher?"

"The... bursar... and I came to an understanding. You will be offered two contracts on the behalf of the Ochre Island Company. The first is relatively standard: you will be offered a place on this ship and concomitant benefits, in exchange for labor not to exceed eleven hours per diem." Anders looked up from a piece of parchment. "Ah. sorry. Work on the boat, up to eleven hours a day, get access to medical care, food, and a bed. And, of course, you don't get thrown overboard whenever the captain decides he's tired of the freeloader."

"Eleven hours a day?"

"It's steep, I know, but with no record of employment-"

"That means I get to rest for thirteen?" Arkadia whistled. She hadn't realized how much easier these off-island types had it. "Sounds fine. What's the second contract?"

"This one is a little more nuanced. You're aware that you have a certain aptitude regarding Magitecture, correct?"

Arkadia shrugged. It was her book, and she hadn't shared it. She didn't really have a benchmark to compare herself to. "Best on Woebegone, anyway."

"As you say. Well, we'd like to offer you a... scholarship program, as it were. We'll send you to one of the arcane universities that specialize in Magitecture, and you agree to work for us for some time afterwards."

"A university? As in, school?" Arkadia didn't know quite how to internalize this offer. After years, almost decades of relying on self-teaching from a single book, to have the offer of formal education... it was a concept she'd never had the luxury of considering. When she'd plotted her escape from Woebegone, she'd quietly suspected her dream of acquiring another six books might be too ambitious. Now, to be offered a full education- it was almost too much. She started to tear up.

And then, she halted herself.

Arkadia Motley was many things at her tender age, but a fool was not one of them. She knew a negotiation when she was in one; hell, she'd haggled with OIC merchants before. This was no different, though the stakes were higher. She reached for her core of steel, the drive that had kept her alive to date. And she cried no more. In fact, she frowned thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure... what work, exactly, would I be doing for you?"

The Second Mate paused for a moment. She clearly hadn't expected any pushback, not after how quickly Arkadia had acquiesced to the first contract. "We'd just want you to help us with a few aeronautical projects. To clear the cost of tuition."

"Where would I be going? Seren va Llynder?"

Anders coughed awkwardly. "That's not really in our price range. Besides, they specialize more in traditional spellcraft. We were thinking you'd be happiest and get the best education at home. At Ochre Island itself." She paused apologetically.

Arkadia snorted. Wherever Ochre Island was- head of this trading company or no- it wasn't in her atlas, and wasn't mentioned by Siobhan as a great city of magic in her spellbook. "Sbanegal. Second city of the Federation on this world, and center of shipbuilding. Their Magitecture program is reknowned for its pragmatism."

Anders scowled. "Again, price range. Besides, unless you desperately want to enlist in the Navy, I don't think there's much for you there. How would the Tetrarchy work? We have trade connections there we can lean on, and it's nearby. It should be our next port of call after San Cristobal."

This was a better option. Arkadia thought about pushing for San Cristobal itself, but the difference in prestige was slight. The four cities of the Tetrarchy league were wealthier and more established, besides. Instead, she continued onto another objective: "And, where I go to school, they'll want "money" for a place to stay, right?"

"In the Tetrarchy ports? Yes, I would imagine so. In everywhere you find yourself, really, but especially there. Why?"

"Will you provide money for me to have somewhere to stay? And things to eat?"

"Yes, yes, you can eat and stay at our embassy until we get you something more local. It will be charged to your account, though. Anything else?"

"My things back?" Arkadia grinned devilishly. "And books. As many as you can get me.

. . .

It took some convincing, but Anders eventually went back to the bursar with her proposed changes. He took some convincing too- loud convincing- but relented eventually. Arkadia signed the first contract immediately, then the second. She noticed as she was doing so that the paper was inscribed with tiny Magitectural runes.

"What exactly do these do?" she asked the bursar, who was busy scribing a table of numbers into another, identical, table of numbers. "I see 'fire' and 'seal'?"

"Runes of promise. Just guarantees you won't be able to break the contract without us knowing. Don't worry your little head about it."

Arkadia raised an eyebrow. And a hatchet. "Pardon?"

He looked up, uttered a small "eep!" and toppled over backwards in his chair. The ink and quill he was using went flying, dashing a dark splotch across his papers. "I don't- I- help! Anders! Control this girl!"

Anders stepped forward, placing a restraining hand on Arkadia's forearm. Her grip was remarkable, like a vise of padded steel. "Ms. Motley. You are about to be an employee of the Ochre Island trading Company. You will respect your officers and decorum, or you will be fined accordingly." A small smirk flitted across her face. Or was that the flickering of the guttering candle? It was impossible to say.

Arkadia slowly lowered the hatchet. "Will this hurt me?"

"No. You have my word. Merely a... reassurance. You're an unknown quantity."

She didn't like it. There was something rotten under the flowery words in the contract, Arkadia was almost sure of it. But, she couldn't manifest her worries as something tangible- nothing stood out as aberrant.

She signed.

The bursar and the second mate smiled in joint, quiet relief. "Welcome to the Company." Anders said, somberly.