Chief Mapmaker Demiray Yucel

I’ve never been to Mogadishu. The area has been restricted to Anglish travellers for some time now, so I wonder how the locals will react to our presence.

We’re only stopping for a brief refueling. The aeroport is sandwiched between the city and the beach; crisp blue waves brushing up against the sand.

Quaerere is the largest ship here, and the only one not flying a Somalian flag. Guess this remote place doesn’t attract a lot of airship traffic.

To get the best view, I lay on the floor of the mapmaker’s solarium and peer through the tempered glass bubble. The bowsprit above casts a small shadow on my face, but I have a clear view of the aeroport in front of us. The convex window seems to focus the sunshine into this room, and I start to sweat a little. This room always seems to be too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. The seals between the bubble and the bulkhead are not as tight as they used to be, and the insulation isn’t quite up to snuff. We’ll have to bundle up when we’re mapping in the Antarctic.

Right after we landed here, Captain Springett had to meet with the port authority and prove our country of origin, status within its jurisdiction, as well as our destination and schedule. I had no doubt that everything would be fine, but the captain did slip the attendant a wad of money, which must have sped up the process. He stamped some paperwork and the crew started fueling Quaerere.

Captain Springett entered the ship through the starboard gangway. I watched other members of the ground crew for a little while, then the call came over the intercom, “Dinner is ready!”

All of us sat down to eat the meal that Kiona and Daisy had prepared. We chatted, but my mind was somewhere else.

I watched Captain Springett as she peered through a porthole. What she saw made her jump into action. “Sydney! Prepare the ship for immediate takeoff! Demi, come with me! Kiona, batten down the hatches! Everyone else, hold on tight!”

She scrambled down the passageway, and I followed as fast as I could. We sprinted down the gangway and hit the dusty stone aeroport. I nearly stopped in my tracks when I saw something in the distance - a massive cloud of dust that engulfed the horizon and covered the city.

The captain kept running and led me to the fuel tank, where we started to disconnect the hose. “Pull this lever!”

She wrestles the nesting locks apart and fuel spills on the ground, barely missing our shoes. The wind whips our clothes, and I shout to her, “Why are we doing this?”

“Pirates - they’ll create a sandstorm to distract us!” Some of the pins fly out of her hair, and the strands lash her face. “They want to steal our flight crystal!”

“You think they created this?”

“It’s a possibility! Hurry up, we have to get inside!”

The hose lays on the ground, the fuel spill slowly growing. I hear Quaerere’s engines start, as I sneak another glance at the growing cloud - it’s reached the far end of the airfield. I see shapes in the storm, both on the ground and in the air, and run faster to the gangplank.

Captain Springett starts raising the ramp before I’m all the way in; I slide inside at just the right time. I hear Kiona shouting at our crewmates, and the window shutters slap closed.

Something hits the port side of the ship with a loud thump. The captain turns white, then shouts up the ladder as she climbs, “Sydney! Takeoff! Now!”

The whole ship lurches, and then we start to steeply rise. A gear grinds somewhere, but we continue upwards.

I hear a noise at the bow and go to investigate. It’s like a giant cat with a scratching-post. Then I hear a window rattle. Once I enter the mapmaking room, I see why.

There’s a mechanical dragon clinging to the bubble! It uses its front claws to try to pry the glass from its casing. I shout at it, and its attention is diverted briefly as it snarls at me. But how can I get it off the ship? I grab a chair and prepare to throw it. The glass won’t break, but hopefully it will dissuade the mech. As I lift the chair, a hammer flies from the deck above and hits the dragon square on its head. It freezes - a wire must have loosened.

I smack the bubble with my fist, and the motion knocks the mech off. Still frozen in place, it falls from the ship and is engulfed in wisps of dust.

I start to wonder who threw the wrench, but that train of thought is derailed when I see the flames rising below. Though we continue to rise, the smoke follows us higher. Then the whole world shakes with a resounding boom.

The fuel lines… oh my stars… we did this.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

After we’ve reached a safe distance from Mogadishu and can engage the autopilot, Captain Springett calls a meeting in the dining hall. I stare numbly at the metal of the table in front of me.

“Okay, crew, how is everyone doing?”

No one answers.

“That bad, huh? Well, rest assured knowing that a full report will be sent to the Guild, and no one else will be threatened by those pirates again. I’ll recommend that Angleterre reexamines their recent letdown of sanctions, for they were put up for a reason.”

“Well, captain, there may be something else you have to add in your full report,” Sydney said coolly.

“And what would that be?”

Sydney stood and looked imperiously on the group. “Did anyone else feel that explosion as we took off?”

“Explosion?” Daisy asked, her face twisted.

“It could be called an explosion,” he continued, “or perhaps the complete destruction of Mogadishu’s aeroport!”

“Sydney,” Captain Springett replied, unamused, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you, the highly decorated captain of the Mapmaker’s Guild, made an egregious error in dodging protocol and leaving the fuel lines open at a developing country’s aeroport! When we became airborne, Quaerere shed sparks that ignited the fuel depot! I bet the whole town jumped three meters in the air when the tank blew! What will the Guild say?!”

I knew that Sydney wasn’t particularly fond of the captain, but I’d never heard him speak so bluntly to her. And in front of everyone, too. I wondered what’s gotten into him.

The captain took a steadying breath. “As I said earlier, a full report will be made to the Guild, which the committee will review. They will make reparations and enact consequences for any presiding officer’s decisions, including my own. I do not have to explain myself to you, but I will say, it was an-”

“Accident!” Barry interjected. “The captain’s job is to make sure we’re safe and can do her job. She did her best, and the Guild will see that.”

I saw Sydney raise his eyebrows at Cale, who then said loudly, “What about us, Barry? We’re supposed to be maintaining the ship, but obviously something’s off! Quarere is what sparked and ignited the fuel, for star’s sake!”

I’d never heard Cale talk so emphatically about anything.

“Why did we go to that place, anyway, if we thought there might be pirates?” Charlotte asked. Her hands were folded so primly in her lap, but her tense jaw betrayed her feelings. “We could have died!”

“Typically, Sydney and I create our own itinerary. But for this trip, the queen wanted one of the Guild committees to do so. They thought that having us stop there so soon after the lifting of the sanctions would act as a show of good faith. I trusted them.”

Sydney started to talk, but I interrupted. “I just have one question: who threw that hammer? I thought for sure I would get eaten by that dragon, and then someone saved me. Who was it?”

Hallie raised her hand jokingly. “That would be me. I thought I’d stay on deck just in case we were boarded, and I had my toolkit with me. When I saw that mech, I knew it needed to get taken care of.”

“Well, thanks. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

She mock-bowed in response.

“So I should include an… invading dragon mech on my report?” The captain wrote something on her notepad.

“Definitely,” Hallie replies.

We discussed the day a little more and then Captain Springett dismissed us. She let us know that because we didn’t fill the tank at Mogadishu, we have to take a more direct course to Cape Town. Instead of following the coast south tomorrow, we’ll fly directly over the continent.

I found Daisy before she could leave the room. “Hey, while it’s still light out, do you want to practice mapmaking? We only have a good view of the coast tonight, before we redirect.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Was she not paying attention during the meeting? I guess I understand - the shock of our speedy exit today may have left her mind somewhere else during our discussion.

“Yeah, sure,” she told me.

“Okay, let’s go now.” We walked to the mapmaking room where I had so recently faced off against a mech.

I knocked three times on the doorframe as Daisy entered the room. She walked to the mapmaker’s cabinet and paused, waiting for me.

The supplies are in the same places in every cabinet; she couldn’t have forgotten. Probably still out of it from today.

I pulled out two sheets of practice paper and our charcoals, placed them on our desks. We sat down and I quickly started to appreciate the way that the evening light made the ocean waves gleam. Before I knew it, my practiced hand started to follow the graceful curves of the seashore. The concentration both drained and energized me.

When my eyes started to strain for lack of natural light, I lifted my hand from the paper to reveal a delicate representation of the east African coastline.

After tapping the desk three times with my charcoal, I turned to Daisy. Her brow furrowed, she certainly wasn’t in the relaxed mapmaking trance that I experienced. Then I saw her map - the lines are shaky and disconnected, like a child’s drawing.

Now I’m wondering if this is, again, a product of our stressful day. “Are you alright?”

She shrugs. “Is there something wrong?”

“You tell me - look at our maps.” I showed her my page.

Her eyes dart between the papers, and she stiffens. “I guess I’m just tired.”

“Me too,” I offer. “It’s been a long day. Let’s put these away and get some sleep. Tomorrow we might have to help the mechanical team, since we won’t have any opportunity to practice mapmaking.”

What strange behaviour from our prodigy mapmaker. Strange behaviour from Sydney and Cale, too. There must be something going on that I don’t know about.