The quivers weigh heavily strung over Evidence Elara Haricot’s shoulders. They are the bandoleers to her freshly pressed shipspinner graduate uniform. Having only received the garments and her diploma from Locke Somoray’s Academy of Shipspinners that morning, Evi uses them as her badge of entry to Yard Emerald.

The Ox-infused grunts are laborers between shifts, eight-foot brutes hosting Marker strands that manifest as tribal tattoos swimming on their arms. One forms the image of a blazing sun that shifts into a cyclopean eyeball, scanning Evi in the manner of a stealer of trade secrets or a saboteur.

Evi, however, cannot contain her excitement.

Cranes ranging from two to twenty stories tall litter Yard Emerald, Bijigress’s fifth and most recent addition to its collection of shipspinning yards. The city has always been blessed with the luxury of open space gifted by the surrounding desert. This allowed Emerald to dwarf the second-largest yard, Diamond, by at least three-fold, yet still barely containing the hundreds of its buildings comprising of supply warehouses, offices, barracks, residential suites, drive and returning bullwheels bullwheels and, of course, the spinning hangars.

Evi shields the Twin Pales from her eyes as she finds the closest of the latter buildings and steps through its yawning doors. There, years of effort materialize.

“How does it feel for the process to come full circle?” The man speaks from a swinging gantry, lowering as a crane deposits him and three laborers. Percival Traigus always reminds Evi that it’s better to be on the ground next to pieces fitting than to be locked up in an office kilometers away from your creations.

“Elder.” Evi dips her head. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but we did, Evi. Yours was clearly the lightest and, Hells, the cheapest to build.”

Evi tries to remain humble. “If the solution is elegant enough, Elder, you don’t need to sacrifice much.” Still, her words sound like boasting.

“Please, Evi. Dispense with the formalities here.”

She does nothing of the sort—never does each time the Elder asks. She also can’t remember when the older man started addressing her by her first name. Now, he’ll have to use a different title. “Shipspinner.”

Traigus tightens almost imperceptibly. A shallow nod. “Shipspinner Haricot. Congratulations.”

They direct their collective attention to the cord at the center of the hangar, where a gondola dangles above them. Until today, Evi had only seen the five-person Skiff-class model in conceptualized descriptions, sketches, and cross-sectional diagrams. The process fused creativity with engineering, beginning when she stepped into Locke Samoray and culminating at the instant she stepped out. Seeing it for herself, she can barely believe it’s real.

“I remember when I spun my first gondola,” says Elder Traigus, filling the silence. “I slaved over the designs but always had to rely on others for implementation, sadly. The HSG Phantom is still used today, Evi. That is the product of persistence.”

Evidence knows that, despite the illustrious past Traigus may claim his first gondola to have, the HSG Phantom is barely a parade vessel. It dangles along Bijigress’s most inactive municipal cord for a reason. She has spoken to marines of the Bijin Cableirs stationed on the Phantom who spend their days assisting the maintenance crews more than remaining on watch or manning the cannons, harpoons, or firestarter hoses, the latter of which were deprecated only months after the gondola left Yard Amethyst. Evidence from informing Traigus of any of this, as sometimes it’s better to leave aging men to their memories.

“Mongoose,” Evi mutters.

“What is that?”

“That’s what I’d like to call it, Elder.”

“Ah. Why ‘Mongoose’? Do you not want something more… intimidating?”

Evi surmises that Traigus’s sheltered lifestyle in Bijigress’s walls hasn’t placed him within a kilometer of the creatures. The ones in the deserts surrounding Bijigress can grow to the size of elephants, with the confidence of lions.

“It fits,” is all Evi says.

“Well, it is your vessel, Evi—Shipspinner Haricot.” He coughs. “So may call it whatever you like.”

The HSG Mongoose differs from other Skiff-class gondolas like the Phantom in several ways. One, it’s smaller, only requiring a ten-person crew, which is half the size of most vessels in the Cableirs and any ropeway force among the cities in the Smatter. Second, it is three times the standard length and much more narrow, inspiring Evi to name it after the animal. Thirdly, Evi added only a single firestarter hose at the center of the gondola’s hull, ditched all the harpoons—outdated tech anyway—and saved one cannon for the center of the vessel’s topside. After leveraging innovations in materials from Vesh’Foktle, Evi’s result is a needle-shaped gondola with half the crew, less than half the weight, but only a fraction of the firepower.

The latter point appears to trigger something in Traigus as he stares up at the Mongoose’s hull and its lackluster firestarter hose. “Are you sure this is enough?” he asks as if he could tear down the vessel and replace it perfectly at the snap of a finger.

“Most hull hoses are redundant,” Evi explains. “A skilled gunner will compensate.”

Traigus grimaces. “Awfully easy to hit with a broadside as well.”

But harder head-on, Evi wants to add, but doesn’t as she recognizes the train of thought she’s leading down—the one Traigus opened up. The maligned never hit gondolas head-on. Only other gondolas would do that, and those altercations are uncommon and the product of hijacked vessels by the Chant or bandits outside the Smatter. Why, then, would Traigus bring it up now? And if it were so important, why would he approve the construction of Evi’s vessel at all?

Traigus doesn’t expand on his point, leading Evi to his office at the top of a tower overlooking the hangar’s open roof. Four other hangars form a pentagon, and the Shipspinner Elder observes his premiere vessels’ construction in the center of this shape. Evi wonders how she would fare in such a place.

She is also painfully aware that Traigus and she are alone in the office.

“Forgive me, Evi,” he says, returning to the earlier familiarity, “but the Smatter Council annual meeting this year was quite… informative. And exhaustive.”

Evi doesn’t take one of the dozen seats arrayed around the room and chooses to lean on a map table, her back to the door and Traigus in front of her. “My friends told me it was a rather polarizing meeting.”

“Polarizing is certainly the correct word.”

Outside, a crane swings a gantry carrying crew onto a hanging vessel. “What was Signature Pasha Adderey like?”

“You still call her that?” Traigus shakes his head. “You dodged the incubator life, Ms. Haricot, thankfully.” The last word seems to linger. “The woman stopped being a signature when she burned the Decree.”

“What was her reasoning?”

Traigus shrugs. “Something foolish. No, she is just a girl like anyone else. A little older now, but just as naive.”

Pasha Adderey’s century of existence isn’t enough to change the elder shipspinner’s mind, and Evi doesn’t push the thought.

Instead, she opens the largest of her quivers and withdraws the schematic nestled inside. “May I?” Upon receiving no retort from Traigus, she unfurls it on the blank table between them, revealing a cross-sectioned schematic. “The Mongoose was my dissertation, but I had some time to work on this. It may be prototype perpetually, honestly.”

“All good applications of ideas start as prototypes.” The shipspinner examines the blueprint closely, tracing the compartments of the gondola with an outstretched finger. “This is a Broadside class.”

Evi smiles. “Overreaching?”

“Technically, yes. Most shipspinners require years of experience before even proposing these sorts of ideas to me.” Traigus’s grin seems to imply that he has more power over her than he actually does. “I knew it was a good idea to return you to Bijigress.”

At the time, Evidence had vehemently disagreed—almost to the point of throwing away the reassignment letter, intending to claim she never received it. She had planned to entrench herself deeply in Kaskit’s shipspinning industry by the time her inevitable emigration came. However, the recruiters at Locke still pulled her away, though with alluring stipulations—free tuition and an accelerated program that was key to placing Evi in her current position.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Signature Pasha Adderey burning most of Kaskit lifted much of Evi’s regret of leaving its yards early, anyway, though not all. “I wish I met him,” Evi says.

Traigus raises an eyebrow.

“Skelton, the first,” Evi continues. “It was a shame to lose such a man. The naval vessels he spun up were unrivaled and would still be today if we had anywhere to sail them. I think his son can fill his shoes, though.” Evi feels her cheeks flush at the mention of the younger spinner. He is only a few years older than her. Oh, Hells.

Traigus lets loose a knowing smirk. “Skelton II must have left quite an impression on you.”

“Well,” she smiles, abashed. “I can’t deny he did. But I was younger then.”

“It was only a few years ago, Evi, but yes, how much a woman can change in that time.” After some deliberation, he prattles his fingers on the desk and looks down upon the Broadside-class design. “It is optimistic.”

“We can save on materials. Lighten the load. The rope won’t bend as much as you think.”

Traigus, however, doesn’t appear to be listening. “Shipspinner Haricot,” he says, as if a whip just snapped his back, “I’d like to play a game with you, if that’s alright.”

The boldness of such a question strikes Evi like that same whip. She thinks about blurting out the inappropriateness of the request until she sees Traigus standing still and not even acknowledging her. “Alright.”

“Good.” He opens a drawer and removes a blueprint, the same size as a hundred others Evi has seen. “There is a gondola on this cross-sectional. You have never seen it before-”

“Actually, I think I’ve seen-”

“I guarantee you, Shipspinner, that you have not laid your eyes on this before at all.” Traigus unrolls the blueprint, revealing the blank side. “On my mark, I am going to flip over this schematic. You will then memorize it. Take as much time as you need. Once you have, tell me. After that, I will flip the schematic back over, and you will recreate it on this side to every last detail.”

Evi nods. “A test?”

“I’ve had Shipspinners make bold claims that never amounted to anything; their deception realized only after the gondolas were built. I need to root out the chaff in these yards, you understand.”

“I do,” Evi says, still unsure what’s to come. She slides over to the blueprint, keeping Traigus opposite to her, and loses herself in the blank whiteness of that opposite side. “I am ready.”

Traigus flips over the blueprint, and Evidence Elara Haricot studies a gondola design she has never seen. It’s a Tortoise-class, a rarer, almost deprecated gondola model, big and fat with an array of turrets branching out in all directions, almost like a pufferfish with hundreds of needles. In a blink, she memorizes the position of the fire starter hoses and only those because the design does not incorporate harpoons or even cannons, for some reason. She closely examines the central hold, the rooms connecting to it, the maze of pipes leading from the dozen firestarter sap tanks, the captain’s quarters, the barracks, the mess, the shape of the observation deck, and the entire vessel itself.

“Flip,” Evi says exactly sixty-seven seconds later. “Flip!”

Traigus does, returning the blueprint to its blank white side.

Once there, Evi begins the recreation, tracing the vessel’s outline and then adding the rooms, the tanks, the hoses, and their snaking tangles throughout the vessel.

“Timing is not important here,” Traigus says, “only detail.”

She figured as much, tracing the lines as fast as someone would a mock sketch. What’s different is that her lines are precise and perfectly straight, as if guided by a machine’s hand. She knows the exact pressure to apply to match the pencil’s thickness on the other side and the contours her wrist and arms must bend to remain the most ergonomic. She is not just a human ruler but a compass and protractor and an entire school’s pencil case in one.

She finishes with the vessel’s window frames that outline the panes, replicating some of the designer’s notes sketched in the corner. “There,” she says, “I believe that’s everything.”

When she is finished, Traigus holds the blueprint up and shows both sides. “An almost perfect reconstruction.” He turns it around to reveal the Tortoise class on the other side. “Unfortunately, you missed a room.”

Evi frowns, seeing the small armory right underneath the barracks she had left out, instead filling with firestarter pipes. “Hells!”

“It’s alright, Shipspinner. This is by far the best reconstruction I’ve seen of this.”

Evi nods at that. “That was fun.” She means it and relishes how it gets her mind working, almost like a warm-up.

“Fun?” Traigus thinks of something. “Have you been tested for the Corvidae strand yet?”

“The Corvidae?” She searches her memories and comes up with something distant. “A medical zoologist professor once told me I might have it.”

“Do you remember his name?”

How could she forget? She had watched a cat go through all stages of malignment, including neutralization. She even had a chance to hold its cage as it snarled at her. That was only one elective at Galt Alese, but it had been her worst experience there. “Professor Anthem.”

Traigus nods. “Kaskit’s ex-Surgeon Elder. He was probably correct, and I’m telling you now that I’m thrilled to hear that. We haven’t had a shipspinner hosting the Corvidae strand for… well… for as long as I can remember.”

“It may not be the Corvidae.” Evi looks up to the elder shipspinner. “I mean, I haven’t bothered to check, but I guess that’s what it is.” She feels a strange sense of uselessness eclipsed by this strand. Is something that simple really what defines her?

“I’m sure it is. It would explain your heightened spatial awareness and memory—your conceptualizing of three dimensions as if any object is before you.” His gaze lingers, and Evi turns away to clear the awkwardness. “Anyway,” he continues, “what do you think of what you’ve drawn today?”

Evi hasn’t had much time to consider that. She studies the implications of the lines she’s sketched and draws some inferences. “It’s strange. It seems to be entirely dedicated to firestarter sap. It’s basically a dangling stick of dynamite. No, actually, it’s more unstable than that. One fault slip of one pipe, one incorrect angle, one leak, and the whole thing goes up.”

“That is certainly accurate, which is why it probably won’t see the face of day. Ever.” Traigus pauses, considering the blueprint as much as he does Evi.

It hits Evi. “Wait a minute…” She turns up to him. “This is Skelton II’s work, isn’t it?”

“Bravo.” Traigus removes another blueprint from the drawer. “How did you know it was the young Skelton’s construction?”

“His father’s teachings are clear, translated from ship to gondola design: the rigidity of the frame, the placement of the rooms… but that’s where it all stops. This whole thing, this shape, is experimental. The hoses and pipes were the most obvious giveaway. He follows his father quite closely.” Evi looks up to find Traigus staring down at her, confused. “What?”

“‘Follows’, Evi?”

“Yes, Elder. He is very good at that. I would very much like to pick his brain about it one day.” Another blush.

She had only seen the man in the yards, but even then, he commanded a presence never emulated by anyone else Evi had met or heard described, save for maybe the Second Signature. She can’t deny how attractive the man is—his burly arms, his build without an ounce of fat on him, his matured and focused mindset that speaks of a brain constantly churning. What genius is behind his eyes? Is how he sees the world anything like the way she does?

Traigus taps his fingers on the table, pulling Evi back to reality. “You won’t get a chance to speak to him,” he says. “Ever.”

Evidence frowns. “Why not?”

The elder shipspinner stares at her before saying, “Skelton is dead.”

“I know he’s dead. That’s why his son took on his legacy.”

“Both of them, Evidence. Both Skeltons are dead.”

Evi blinks, drawing conclusions gapped with uncertainty. “How?”

“Burned along with thousands of others in Hyrnlak’s core. Pasha Adderey did not discern as much, but… word travels.”

A vice clamps itself around Evidence. A world’s innovator—gone. That may have been the worst casualty of the whole burning. Yet, Evi has learned to trust in those with years of experience. Most people like that, she surmises, mean good, and the Second Signature likely didn’t drop that seed lightly. “Human beings are complex.”

“Of course, but adversely, Skelton Junior was the least complex human being in existence.” He shakes his head. “Not many people know this, Evidence, but I’ll tell you. He was a part of the conspiracy that infiltrated the Second Signature’s alcazar. He was a major part of it, in fact. It’s said he worked closely alongside June-Leckie, the Thurmgeist.”

Evi’s eyes turn to the Tortoise-class gondola, the product of a… conspirator. The dashing young image of Skelton II crumbles now, its foundation breaking and shattering in front of her. “Hells… I just… can’t believe it.”

“Many here couldn’t either.” Traigus clenches his hands. “Shipspinner?”

It takes a moment for Evi to realize she’s being spoken to. “Yes?”

“I need your confidence in what I’m about to say.”

Oh, Hells. Is this the time you’ll confess to me? My first day in Yard Emerald, and it’s already so complicated. “Elder, I-”

“I lied to the Smatter, Evidence. About two things. The first is a white lie, admittedly. Our public relations teams can whisk that away.”

Evi blinks, for this is not the answer she has been expecting. “And that is?”

“We will certainly not reach seventy-five vessels by the end of the year.”

Evi had heard the promise and even considered it an exaggeration. Points like these are needless and can be swept under the rug. Worse things have been covered up this way. “What’s the second point, then, Elder?”

Traigus appears to think about this for a long time. “The second relates to the first. There was never a chance we would reach that many vessels. In fact, we have been planning not to.”

Evi turns her attention to Yard Emerald. It is one of the reasons Bijigress has pulled ahead of the other Smatter cities regarding shipspinning. “Then what’s all this?”

Traigus doesn’t answer. “I told the Smatter we didn’t recover anything worthwhile from Kaskit’s shipspinning yards, but that simply wasn’t true, either.” He looks across the room to a thick drawer, closed with a myriad of locks and devices. “We found something extraordinary.”

Evi suddenly doesn’t care a dam about Yard Emerald.

She watches Traigus fiddle with the mechanisms of a dozen different locks. Then, he pulls the drawer out and places it on the table between them. Inside are at least ten quivers, just like Evi’s.

“These,” Traigus says, “are the young Skelton’s lost blueprints. All of them, so far as we know, at least. I believe he kept them in a fireproof safe, ensuring against such an outcome.”

Evi had tuned out as soon as the drawers hit the floor, knowing the potential drawn on these diagrams as clearly as Yard Emerald’s progress. At the thought of the place, she looks outside again, seeing the place at maximum productivity, no man idle. It comes to her then. “You want to build Skelton’s fleet. The whole thing.”

Traigus dips his head. “Most of them, Evidence.” He turns the drawers around. “Which is why I need you to help me.”

Evi’s knees buckle. She can barely stand. “Help you?”

“His son, though he was ingenious, was a dismal failure and, quite frankly, a pervert at that.” Then, Traigus removes another drawer, holding just as many quivers as the first. “There’s a lot we can’t make sense of, but hopefully, you can weed out the experimental stuff and ideas and choose the best ones.”

The quivers feel raw against her fingertips and, at the same time, bursting with energy. “Why not give this to all of the Shipspinner graduates?”

“It’s becoming harder to trust people these days.”

“Care to explain?”

“You’ll become privy to this soon, Shipspinner. In the meantime, know that our Cableirs at the Abscess wait on the outcome of these.”

The obligation is not lost on Evi. Hundreds of men die at the Abscess every day, to hold back that expanding Gash that fed raw ground and maligned into the world. She could be a driving force to preserve the lives of those men.

“I’ll do it,” Evidence says.