Jemmett Mainwaring

Every time I see Captain Springett, I think, My father is her boss’s boss. It’s a strange thought, because I remember so much more about her than she does about me. Good thing Mainwaring is such a common name, and good thing I’ve changed so much since I was a kid. I don’t think she even remembers that Russell Mainwaring has a son.

I remember one time, at the annual Guild ball 15 years ago, watching Captain Springett follow her husband around the dance floor. They made a handsome couple, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath while they waltzed.

She was the Guild’s golden girl. The committee sent her and her crew to the most dangerous, the most delicate missions with full trust in her superior abilities.

But her husband unexpectedly died not long after that shining party, and the next year, she sat alone in her mourning clothes, watching while others danced and spun together. As for the circumstances around her husband’s death, no one talked about it directly, but it hung around Springett’s name like a miasma. I still don’t know what they said, but I saw how she quickly became relegated to the lower end of the ship lists. Quaerere was sent on longer, more boring, lesser paying missions, and didn’t receive tech upgrades like the rest of the Guild’s fleet.

The reason I know all this is because Father has trained me to take his place as chief chairman someday. Too bad I have no interest in mapmaking, or appeasing donors, or directing a Guild committee. Too bad he can’t recognize that the Mainwaring legacy he wants resides in my sister, Abby. She is much better at people than I am, ready to do the glad-handing and negotiation that the chairman position requires.

Father sent me on this trip to “figure myself out” and “smell the salt air”. He said, and I quote, “May you realize that mapmaking is in your blood, whether you like it or not. This excursion will give you the experience that the Guild requires for its chairman. Keep your eyes and mind open to this new experience, and when you return, I’ll welcome my mapmaking son with open arms.” I wrote his words in my journal, even though they won’t come true. The thing is, I already know myself - he just doesn’t accept that I’m not a copy of him.

I knew when we said goodbye at the Cone aeroport, that would be the last time I’d see him.

Melanie is waiting for me, at the flower shop that her family owns. Father thinks I visited the surface so many times for fishing trips. No, I was meeting the love of my life.

We became engaged just before I left for this Antarctic ship. Oh, how we wept when I told her of my forced absence!

During yesterday’s panic, I did my duty while protecting myself as best I could. Our wedding date is set for three days after I return, and I must come home in one piece. I count down the days until we are together, when my happiness will finally be made complete. Until then, until this trip is over, I keep my head down. I do my job. And my floral imagination runs wild.

I find, when I’m supposed to be picking oakum, that I’m actually designing her wedding bouquet in my head. In my imagination, I walk through our flower shop, choosing perfect long-stemmed roses and leafy ferns, binding them with wisteria and ivy.

Yesterday, I picked oakum. And the day before that, too. Today, we’re still on that task, but at least there’s a different landscape to watch underneath us.

After the pirate attack, Captain Springett changed our course to the riskier overland route. We’re currently above the African continent, and shades of green cover the land.

My fingers hurt from all this rope, but Charlotte’s watchful eyes on me won’t let me rest for even a minute. I haven't really spoken to her much. Honestly, her intensity scares me. The only time I've seen her smile was when Daisy demonstrated a waltz with a broom.

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Today, Charlotte breaks the tradition of silence with a question. “What’s your dream job? Surely not picking oakum?”

“No, I didn’t even know this was… a thing.” My mind raced, thinking of how to easily obscure the truth. “I was indentured for this trip, but after my debt is paid I can return to my family. We’re florists for visiting city folk.”

“Do you like that? Working with flowers and such?”

At this point, I’m afraid I talked for rather a long time about arranging bouquets and the relative merits of different floral pieces. When I noticed Charlotte struggling to keep her eyes open, I finally shut my mouth.

“Now that’s all very interesting,” she yawned, “but I just have one more question. Why don’t you have a grounder accent? You sound more like one of the city folk.”

“That’s because, um, I was adopted by a grounder family when I was a little kid. So I’d already, er, begun talking like my first family.”

“I don’t come across very many people who were adopted. What was that like?”

“It was fine. But honestly, I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

We fell silent until a few minutes later, when she asked me to move a coil of rope.

During that silence, I worried. I worried that she would figure out my identity, worried that all my carefully laid plans would crumble.

I watched Charlotte as she frowned at her work. What was her home life like? Would she have to lie about it, like I would? Or could she be honest? I decided to ask.

“What about you? Where are you from?”

“Born and raised in Londinium. I’m the oldest daughter of seven kids, been bossing them around since they was born.”

I didn’t recognize her from any social events and her accent betrayed her class - or lack of it. Her parents must have been servants to some rich family in the city. Where I came from, servants were generally treated well, but lived and died without the trappings of the rich.

“What brought you to Quaerere?” I stumbled over the pronunciation of the name. Too many vowels.

She shrugged. “My cousin told me about the position opening up and encouraged me to apply. I want to captain my own airship one day, and figured I could work my way up from here.”

“That sounds nice, I think you’ll make it someday.”

“I hope so. I hope it'll be sooner rather than later.”

“Captain Springett seems understanding, maybe if you tell her your goal she’ll put in a good word for you at the Guild.”

“I doubt they would listen. And I don’t need her help anyway,” she snapped.

“Oh, okay,” I replied, confused. What problem did she have with the captain? Adelaide could be gruff, sure, but overall she was a good leader. She listened to our suggestions and conflicts, and she went by the book to resolve issues. She wasn’t a drunkard or an obsessive gambler like so many airship captains - yes, even in the Guild.

I think I would appreciate it if she spent more time with the crew, especially leisure time. Maybe sometimes it feels like we only see her for reprimands. Though she did keep a clear head yesterday, when many would have panicked outwardly. So I trust our captain.

We continue with the rope and oakum. Seems like that’s all our days are now - spiraling coils of rope that beg to be undone. The maintenance crew could certainly use the oakum with all that they work on.

I wonder what Cale is like. This is his first trip with Quaerere, just like me. But neither of us are very talkative. It would be hard to make a friendship.

While my hands work on the rope, my mind wanders. I can see a slice of the ground far below us. The lush greenery sprawls over the African countryside. On the other side of the rails lies the ocean. Perhaps Demi and Daisy are practising their mapmaking while they have the opportunity. I know they must practise a lot to keep their skills sharp.

I have the feeling that Father will send me to mapmaking school as soon as I arrive home. Then I’ll really be stuck - I can’t let it happen.

Melanie and I tried to plan for everything. Surely my father will send a servant to pick me up from the Cone, so I’ll have to disguise myself and slip away quickly.

We talked for hours in the days before I left. We’d talk scenarios back and forth. ‘What if this happened, what could we do?’ ‘What can our backup plan be if this doesn’t happen?’ We tried to think of everything. Our conversations became circular.

We ended up agreeing that I should keep my head down, do my assigned tasks, and get home safely. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ll get out of the Cone and to the ground as quickly as possible. Then we can be together again. And I’ll have what I want: Melanie, my love who smells like flowers.