5redeux
“Clearly, we need our own ship,”
Thulaeth sulked as he gazed out over the bustling installation. Hurried travelers made their way towards the towering docking towers that dotted the airfield. Majestic airships loomed overhead like mythical creatures ready to take flight into the skies. Dietre airfield was the busiest in the kingdom, operating 24 hours a day. Zeppelins arrived and departed with the precision of a ballet. With the constant tumult of activity, the installation saw no rest. Weary tourists and traders dragged their luggage behind them, sloshing on the tiny muddy walkways while weaving through the crowd.
Colorful merchants lined the primary thoroughfares, yapping and hollering. Hoping to entice passersby with colorful wares and tantalizing smells that wafted from their stalls. The opportunity to sell their overpriced trinkets and souvenirs to travelers while children laughed and played promised a great day for traders, even on this cool Harvestold morning.
Maarko’s stomach grumbled with the scent of smoked meats and candied apples drifting through the heavy air. Impatient passengers milled about, complaining about the noise, flight delays, or thieves hidden in the crowd. Saffron noted a large presence of armored soldiers and sheriffs in the vicinity. Good idea. She thought since crime thrived in a crowded place like this. A pickpocket’s dream is to have so many people packed tight in a cramped area and law enforcement had their work cut out for them here.
The airships themselves were a sight to behold. Thick plumes of dark smoke mingled with the chug-clunk-chug of engines from the barges. Each of the 10 60-foot towers housed two ships, one for each airline. Depending on the company, airships have a range of appearances. Some were sleek elven liners with organic shapes with their massive engines hidden beneath carved floral leaves. The angular dwarven ships were utilitarian in design, clunky but functional, synonymous with their culture. Human ships attempted a combination of the two designs, but theirs represented sea-faring vessels. Large canvas balloons dominated the wooden hulls of the ships perched at the docks, drifting in the breeze. Massive steam turbines at the sterns would propel the zeppelins, spewing coal dust and exhaust into the sky.
Sailors attended to their duties on deck, while Aeromages practiced their gesticulations with their usual choreographed fashion. Their wild hands swung through the air, carving invisible patterns with a silent melody. The specialized sorcerers held an invisible tether to the craft with their skill. They would regulate wind currents, weather deflection, and navigate with precise focus as they drift through the clouds.
Saffron and her companions pushed their way through the congested avenue. Their hoods remained drawn up as the sight of drow remains disheartening to many humans. The stench of exotic cuisines cooking and hordes of filthy travelers hung heavy and mingled in a nauseating brew. “Ugh, there’s at least 500 people here!” Thulaeth approached Saffron. “Mistress, can you ask the Director about getting us a ship?”
“I’ve tried several times, Thu. Do you think I enjoy being seated shoulder to shoulder with everyone else?” As she slipped between two robed priests, she drew her purse closer to her. “Remember what happened the last time? I had to sit close to a mother who yelled at her screaming child the whole way and an old bloke who wanted to rest his hand on my knee.”
Maarko couldn’t help himself. “Ha, I remember that! I thought you love the humans?”
Saffron’s tone softened as she giggled. “Most of ‘em, I suppose, but that one would’ve pulled a bloody stump back in my past days!”
She came to a halt when a six-year-old boy bumped into her leg. “Mum, I’m terribly sorry.” He stumbled backward as he saw her face and fell to the muddy ground, eyes wide.
She knelt down and took hold of his scrawny arm to help him up. “No worries lad, aren’t you precious?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a gold coin, turning it in her slender fingers. “Is this what you were looking for?”
The shiny surface of the money glinted in the boy’s eyes. He brushed a stray clump of greasy brown hair from his filthy visage. “No mum, I wouldn’t do that. Please accept my apologies.” His gaze turned as the panic faded and he stared into her smooth, dark face. “Are you a real drow?”
An amusing grin stretched across her face. “Yes, I believe so. Are you an actual human? “
The child burst out laughing. “Of course I am, mum.”
Saffron laughed with him. “Of course you are. Here, boy, take it.” Her palm extended with the coin gleaming in the dim sunlight. The boy cocked his head, unsure if he should accept it or not. “It’s ok, but I’m not giving it to you. I’m buying something from you.” His doe-eyes stared into hers. “Do you know what I’m buying?”
He shook his head, still not following her.
“I’m purchasing your word that you won’t steal anymore. I’ve given you more than you would probably make today from this entire crowd. If the sheriff catches you, he’ll chop your hand off! Go home now, boy. You shouldn’t steal as that’ll lead to worse crimes. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes mum, thank you so much!” He snatched the money from her palm and took shock as she gripped his wrist. Not an angry grasp, but enough to get his attention.
“I mean it. No more stealing. It has no honor.”
“No more, I promise.” She let go and watched as he disappeared through the throng of travelers.
Her men stared at her; their mouths open with disbelief. “Not a word from any of you. Just being nice is all. Check your pockets, though.” Thieves of all sizes thrived in this area and had agile hands that could rival any elf. One by one, they checked their bags and brought their satchels closer to their chests. With stealing, youngsters were usually the best. They were nimble, tiny, and rarely faced major consequences if arrested.
“Dayne, what’s the name of our vessel?” She weaved through a group of Zunn pilgrims, clad in their violet robes and white masks.
The hulking warrior reached into his pocket and pulled a leaf of papers. “Dwarven zeppelin called ‘Black Dog’ at Gate 7.”
“Hopefully, this one is better than the last one.” Maarko clutched his bag tight, moving through the pilgrims.
“Knowing the Empire, it won’t be. They always go cheap on-.” Thulaeth’s smarmy voice chimed in.
Saffron spun around and shook her finger in his face. Thulaeth could see fire behind her glare. “Enough! Do not ridicule my Empire. They provide, we accept what they provide. That’s the way it works and it will serve you well to remember that!”
“I’m sorry, Inspector.”
“No, ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it! You are a Dagger and held to a higher standard. There are people who don’t trust us, and we should be a positive example for them.” She waved her arms in the air, attracting the attention of many individuals in the audience. “Excuse yourself if you don’t like what we’re doing here. You can go back to the DARCs where I found you, understand?”
“Hold on just a second! What? You were in the Reclamation Company?” Maarko tugged his coat sleeve.
“It isn’t something I want to talk about, Maarko!” He composed himself. “I hear you, Mistress. I’ll do better.” Humbled, he lowered his eyes.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Her voice lost much of its vigor and intensity. “Thu, apologies won’t solve this. I want you to fix it through your words and actions.”
“Of course, Inspector.”
“I certainly hope so. You’re excellent at what I need you for, but should know when to cease using that vile tongue.” She turned from him and kept walking. “You take the rear. I’d rather not hear from you again. At least for a while.”
Without another word, he retreated as ordered. Maarko mouthed, “Stop it, jackass!” as Dayne nudged him. Thulaeth bowed his head in shame. He was 0 for 2 today and he realized he had better keep his mouth shut the rest of the way. They kept walking in silence as they approached their docking gate.
“Ma’am, were you able to glean any additional information from the transcript?”
“Transcript of what?” She continued to walk, taking in the sights.
“The Director’s conversation with Professor Nixell from Aire Nexbridge?” Dayne pressed his leader.
“Only the disheartened words of his protégé, and how he grasped the ‘golden ring’ that the Governor held over him. She took advantage of him, but I’m still unsure what she has planned.”
“Something important enough to silence a member of the Cabinet, I suppose.” He shifted his heavy bag to relive the strain on his shoulder.
A few people passed through the gray stone pillars marked Gate 7. Mothers holding children, exhausted soldiers, and merchants with enormous trunks stood front to back. Each tired soul waiting their turn to enter the queue. A hundred feet beyond the gate, additional passengers were expecting to board. Armed guards wearing the banner of the R.H. Brummlefeld Aero Company lined up, searching the bags laid out before them. Staked in the earth, a magical sign displayed text in bold letters. The glowing words would shift depending on the native tongue. “NO WEAPONS CARRIED ON”
Dayne pointed to the warning. “That could be a problem.”
Saffron pulled her bag from her shoulder. “It certainly could. That’s rarely been a thing. I wonder what happened.”
The queue soon filtered to them, and each stood in presence of the ticket-taker. He didn’t even look at them; his irritation and boredom etched in his face told the entire story. “Tickets, please.” With each syllable, his thick black mustache bobbled up and down. He saw Saffron’s dark blue skin as she held her ticket in front of him. His eyes peered from beneath dark, bushy eyebrows. “Oh. Sorry, don’t get many of your kind here.”
She ripped her card in two and gave him half. “Well, times a-changing, aren’t they?”
He collected the torn receipt and handed it back to her. “You understand this is bound for Port Behlego, yeah?”
“What of it?”
“There aren’t many shadow-elves there.”
“In a few hours, it seems they’ll have four more to count. Thank you.” She moved through the entrance to the boarding queue. The man stayed, held his tongue, eyeing the others as they stepped past him.
Security halted them as they approached. Mercenaries, the Inspector surmised. Dressed in the same patchwork armor common with sell-swords, each wore blue armbands. Emblazoned on the bands, a black eagle in the center of a white circle. The humans hesitated and looked at each other when they noticed the dark group closing in. The drow crouched and placed their bags on the soft earth. Finally, armored hands reached out and grabbed their luggage from the ground. Saffron held a finger up to them. “No. Our weapons are part of our uniform.”
A youthful man, dressed in a deep blue regalia with shiny gold buttons, spoke. “Ma’am. Orders are that every weapon gets ticketed and stored. I can guarantee their safety, I promise you.”
Saffron repeated. “Once again, this violates our direct instructions. If this is a problem, then please let me speak with your commander. “
One man nodded to the other. “Get the Captain.” He scrambled off towards a group of men nearby.
“We are military envoys on a direct mission for the Drow Affairs Guild.” She held her orders at arm’s length. “These papers should explain it.”
An older dwarf in a tri-corn hat and a lengthy blue coat approached her before she could finish her sentence. A fluff of gray smoke trailed from the butt of a cigar jammed in his mouth. “I’m Captain Hammer. What’s the problem here?” His voice was as coarse as the silvery beard stubble on his face.
Saffron reaffirmed her position. “We’re Drow Affairs Guild envoys. As an officer, I’m sure you understand our weapons are equally a part of us as the boots we wear. Besides our personal items, our baggage contains highly sensitive information.” Her voice rang with tact and diplomacy. Still holding the papers, her hand shifted towards him. “It’s explained in these documents in greater detail. We’re not here to cause problems. We’d prefer to sit together, quietly.”
Captain Pike took the leaf of parchment and placed reading glasses on his broad, pockmarked nose. When he finished glancing at the sheets, he returned them. “Let me fill you in on how this works, Inspector. You can keep your luggage, but we are going to inspect them. My men will take your weapons or you can find another ship. Filling my cabin are passengers who are nervous enough seeing drow boarding, even more so armed.” He shook a thick thumb over his shoulder to a black iron crate. “We’ll ticket them, place them in that box, and lock it. When we arrive, I guarantee we’ll give your gear back to you.”
She grumbled, but eventually gave in. Often, she has to step back and apply empathy to certain situations. He has a point, and she is eager to move past this “I understand, Captain. Again, you’ll receive no problems from us.”
“Well, if I do, it’s a long way down, sister.” He cracked a chuckle.
She grinned back at him. “Yes, sir, we are aware of that.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Have a pleasant flight.”
She instructed her crew to hand their swords to the nearest soldier. Dayne hesitated. She touched his arm and got close to his face. “I know, D, but we have to follow their rules.” She spoke in a low voice. The man-at-arms received their weapons, placed tags on them, and set them in the box. Saffron gazed forward as they each passed through the queue. “Come on, boys. Unless you can fly, that’s our way there.” She swung her palm at the rickety airship.
The “Black Dog” was an uncomfortable sight to behold. Maybe a long time ago it was airworthy, but now it looked like it was about to fall out of the sky. The sun-bleached wooden hull marred by countless battles and decades of graceful flight. The tarnished copper piping that ran along the edges had dents and scratches, but could still power the massive vessel through the clouds.
Secured by sturdy ropes, the blue canvas balloon above the vessel swayed in the gentle breeze, tattered and patched from its many journeys across the sky. The scribbled name “Black Dog” in azure paint stretched across the surface in large letters along with the same insignia on the uniforms outside.
As the crew prepared for departure, the low rumble of the enormous steam engines echoed through the air with a rhythmic THUNK-THUNK-THUNK sound. While comforting to those who’ve flown before, but not so glorious for the anxious.
The Daggers ran their hands over the scratched and pockmarked dark wooden hull, careful to skip the bird droppings dripping down the side. Maarko was cautious, not wanting to anger his boss. “Well, that ship is certainly… something, isn’t it?” The unit looked at the craft they were preparing to board. Dayne and Saffron shook their heads before continuing on to the gangplank.
At the top of the ramp, beaming dwarven deckhands waited. They were used to seeing races of many kinds, but shadow-elves were still a rare sight even in their line of work. A smiling, goofy-looking human in a blue vest bearing the same emblem as the mercenaries approached them. “My name is Marmund, and I’d be happy to assist you with finding a seat. We’re about 20 minutes away from takeoff.”
“Please seat us together, Marmund. Your Captain’s orders.”
“Aye, mum. Follow me.” He disappeared through an archway leading down into the hull’s passenger section.
Each person stepped down the creaking wooden steps into a dim cabin. Many of the seats lining the cramped area packed with the same weary travelers they met outside. Most were human, but Saffron noticed a group of sneering silver-elves in the back. Paying them no mind, she turned to the other end of chairs and saw several orc passengers seated together. Marmund spoke. “As you can see, we have no problem seating you with… your own. We’ve found it causes fewer problems in flight.” They walked down the aisle to a section near the Orcs, who took notice of them and snickered while speaking in hushed voices. The sting of ancient wood and body odor from years of service filled the compartment.
“Here we are. I’ll be going over the rules of the departure soon. Can I get you drinks?”
Saffron held up four fingers. “Ales. Are they cold?”
“As cold as the snows of the north, mum.”
“Good.” The eager man scampered off and returned with refreshments. Each took one and sipped. Frost clung and melted from their fingertips on the glass.
“Mmm. Quaran Ale.” Maarko stated. “I haven’t had this since the Reformation.”
“Yes sir,” Marmund came across, pleased at their satisfaction. “Captain Hammer may insist on cutting corners in a few areas, but not with Quaran Ale. If you’ll excuse me.” The attendant strolled to the front of the passenger cabin and secured the door.
After raising his hands in the air, his voice boomed. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are close to flight, so I’ll go over the procedures now.”
A gruff voice with an orcish dialect so heavy you could walk on it came from the rear. “Ah, stuff your rules, powder!” The other orcs laughed until the sight of the Air Marshal appeared next to them. His boots thumped on the dusty planks of the floor.
“I’m Marshal Bertramm DeEnzio. If there’s a problem, I can ask you to leave.” Intricate runes trimmed his azure uniform and a large brass badge pinned to his breast, exuding an aura of authority and power.
The biggest orc, a pale gray beast with hair pulled back in rows and one stark white eye, glared at him. He eyed a Spellslinger concealed in a dark leather holster and the blue operator ring on his finger. He brushed his hand in the air. “No problem with you, mate.”
He pointed a meaty finger at the drow sitting near him. “There might be an issue with those lurkers, though.”