THE AIRSHIP MAKE YOUR OWN FORTUNE
above the world-sphere of Talvi
09.05.13.19.04
Nils Civorage didn’t believe in the calm before the storm.
Airshipmen didn’t, as a rule: a storm on the way was a race against time to make the ship ready, and even if that race was won and everything that could be made ready was ready, the rest was tense anticipation. Never calm.
This coming storm, however, was different: it was one of his own making.
The next four and a half days had been planned down to the minute to make use of every precious moment: Daylight hours were a currency on the Talvian earthmotes, and Nils had budgeted with enormous care.
The challenge set for himself and his expedition was simple in concept, and anything but in execution. He should have been frantic with anticipation but instead, for the first time in his life, he was experiencing the calm before the storm. He listened to the gentle creak of the rigging, the muted conversation of his crew, the idling grumble of the engines and the cry and song of the birds they had attracted as the icy wind kissed him stingingly on the cheek.
He turned his face toward it and closed his eyes as the chill caressed his face, savoring its bite. As the owner of a whole mining fleet he cut an impressive (and wealthy) figure at the prow, taking in the view. With his eyes shielded from the sun's glare by his broad-brimmed hat and the furred collar of his long coat turned up against the arctic air of the outer worlds, there was little of Nils to be seen except for his shrewd calculating eyes, his waxed blond mustache and the pair of engraved dueling pistols on his hip alongside his sabre.
His reverie was interrupted by a polite cough.
“Navigator says two minutes, sir.”
Nils nodded, and consulted his own pocket-watch. “Everything is ready...” he reassured itself.
It wasn’t a question, but Captain Jac Deragian took it as one anyway. “When the bell rings, my lads'll be a machine sir,” he asserted, probably more for his own benefit than for Nils’. In defiance of the chill he was still wearing his shirt rolled to the elbows, though he had caved enough to cover his bald scalp with a knitted woolen tuque.
“Good. Every second is a precious commodity down there, Jac.”
“We know, Mister Civorage.”
Nils nodded again, watching the seconds topple, glad that he had hired the very best. The darkness of Eclipse would be back in four days, thirteen hours, twenty-two minutes and fifty-six seconds from the moment the bell rang, and when it swept over the mining site then they would either have accomplished what they came here to do and he would return home as the richest man in all the Nested Worlds...or they might well all suffer a fate rather worse than mere death.
The bell sounded, the peace burst, and Nils gladly threw himself into the business of watching half a lifetime's work unfold with clockwork precision. Orders were shouted, wheels were hauled on, valves were opened and, with their engines thrumming, five airships descended down a column of sunlight to begin their incursion into the kingdom of perpetual darkness.
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TEN YEARS LATER
The merchant girl was human, but with her delicate features, petite frame and hair the hue of falling leaves she could have passed for an elf, if not for the shape of her ears. She allowed the merry laugh that was always bubbling inside her to feed a bright smile as she caught the shaven-headed airshipman with the scar steal another glance at her. He blushed and redoubled his study of the wares on her market stall.
All around them were other traders selling wonders and novelties from across the four Worlds, but one special customer had been drawn to her modest stall and its spread of trinkets. She couldn’t blame him---who could fail to be captivated by an ebullient maiden, freckled of skin, autumnal of hair and sparkling of eye and smile?
If he had been less enthralled, he might have found time to wonder why such a lovely creature was not being mobbed by other shipmen.
“I don’t know…” he said, feigning reluctance. Airshipmen were always tight-pursed. “Nothin’ here much catches my eye…”
The girl beamed at him. “I know just what you'd like!” she announced, and dug through a chest under the stall to emerge brandishing a choice item.
“What is it?” he asked, taking it from her to examinine it with his good eye.
“Oh, just a mystery,” she beamed. “It's a puzzle box!”
“Oh...?” he smiled and leaned over the speak in a conspiratorial murmur. “And what have you hidden away in this puzzle box?”
She gave him her best and most scintillating smile, and touched a secretive finger to her lips. “That's for me to know and you to find out of course!”
He chuckled, and then put the item down. “I never was good with puzzle boxes,” he admitted.
She issued a childish moan of disappointment and sat down on her wicker stool, pouting. “I'm never going to sell anything!” she lamented.
“A beauty like you? Nonsense. You could sell a kiss on the cheek and be the richest trader here by nightfall!”
She affected a blush. “Thank you...” she murmured, and saw his heart melt.
“Oh, all right. You talked me into it!” he announced. “How much for this thing?”
“Oh! You'll buy it?!” She bounced up, all smiles and happiness again. “Oh, um, I'm supposed to sell it for two steel.”
He put three down on the counter with a smile and a wink. “Three steel it is!” he announced. “And a bargain for such lovely service.”
With her best smile likely to linger in his memories for days, he took his purchase and vanished into the crowd with a winning grin and a wave.
She waited until he was well out of sight, and then pulled her hood up and slipped away through the crowd.
They have it, she thought.
There was an echo in her head, like a thought that was not her own: Well done.
For just a second, her perpetual joie de vivre flickered as she felt a twinge of guilt over the fate she had just arranged for her customer.
It was, she reminded herself, for the greater good.
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Many ages had run their course since the hunter had last walked among these trees. None of them were familiar to him any more. Even measured against the long lives of Oak, Ash and Elm he was ancient, though his body was lithe and youthful. Generations of tree had grown and died since his last visit to this place, but the woods’ secrets were an open book to his ancient eyes.
He took care in picking his spot. Laying any trap was a matter of skill and planning, but this trap had a very specific prey in mind and was placed to intercept a trail that didn’t even exist yet. Everything about it, from its position to its dimensions and the precise slope of its wall had to be perfect. A lesser hunter might have fallen short of the task, but this hunter was unequaled.
He paused only once in his labor, when he heard voices and laughter not far away and stilled himself long enough for them to pass. Otherwise he worked without tiring, or pausing, or losing focus.
Once it was finished, he stood back to allow himself a moment's satisfaction that it was invisible. Even he with all his ages of experience could not have spotted it. It was, in fact, perfect.
With a sigh of regret he knelt by his masterpiece, introduced just enough imperfection, and then departed. He took his time to enjoy his surroundings as he went – he knew that it would be a long while before he next walked this ground again.
A thought that was not his own tickled into his mind: They have it.
Well done, he thought as he went.