“What do we do with Carter?” Rosie asked. She stared down into the ship’s hold, eyes drifting closed.
“Dunno,” Twila stood, stretching, from where she was working on the port engine’s pipes. She thought for a moment. They’d kidnapped him, but what would they do now? They couldn’t bring the boy back to Iswixel–they’d never reach the harbor before some villager raised the alarm. They couldn’t just keep him locked in their bedroom. For all they knew, he was rummaging through their stuff as they spoke. And they couldn’t get rid of him now. That’d be killing him. Plus, Hourglass was big. Too big for four to manage, despite what she’d thought earlier. But five?
“Need him, at least until we find a port and some crew. We can’t handle Hourglass without him,” she said.
The Hourglass had dropped anchor near a tiny tuff spire in the middle of the Sunset Sea. No one lived there–they’d circled it twice, just to be sure. Rosie’s exhaustion was palpable, but she soldiered on. Becca was down below, repairing some of the myst-shot holes in the hull. And Will was…doing whatever Will did.
As for herself? Twila was thrilled!
Sure, the skipper and the crew were dead. And yeah, they hadn’t resupplied in Iswixel, so they had two days of fresh water before they ran out. And there just weren’t enough of them to run the Hourglass. And she couldn’t help but think the people of Iswixel might tell other towns that the airship had been stolen.
But she was a skipper! Now she just had to act like one. But how could she act like a skipper? By dealing with their prisoner, maybe?
She knocked on the closet door. “Carter, we need to talk.”
“Go away,” the boy sniffled from inside. “I hate you all.”
“That’s no way to talk to your skipper,” Twila said. She pushed the door open.
The last four hours had not been kind to Carter. He lay curled in a hammock, facing away from the door. Snot caked his upper lip, and his eyes were red from tears that no longer flowed. He still cried. He just had no tears left.
“We can’t take you home,” Twila started. Carter wailed hoarsely, and she waited until he’d quieted down. “Can’t take you home. They’ll shoot us down. Can’t leave you in here. And we can’t drop you off. Not here. The island ain’t big enough, and no one lives here.”
“Only one thing we can do–put you to work. You help us get to a port, you’re free to stay or go.”
“Just…just go away,” Carter whined.
Twila nodded. “Think about it. Bang on the door when you decide.” She shut the door and locked it from the outside.
“So he’s not…” Rosie yawned. “He’s not coming out?”
“He will. Get Becca. I’m opening up the skipper’s room.”
Rosie nodded slowly. “And then, after? Can I go to bed?”
“Yeah. First watch is mine.”
As Rosie ran off to get the rest of her tiny crew, Twila fidgeted with the key ring. She’d heard the skipper had been a pirate, and he never, ever let anyone inside his cabin. Would it be dangerous? Had Anton trapped his room? Or would they, just maybe, find enough riches to fix the Hourglass?
The poor sloop’s bowsprit was gone, stuck in the little fisher that’d tried to block it into the crevice. The bow rooms had turned into a maze of crumpled, split planks and twisted brass frames, with Will somewhere inside. The starboard engine screeched at anything over ‘Ahead Half,’ and Old Bitch…well, the myst condenser hadn’t gotten hit. She just hated it.
Yep, Twila thought. Riches would be really helpful right now.
Rosie returned with Becca, and Twila started trying keys on the thin door at the base of the staircase below the engine room.
The lock clicked. Twila pushed the door open.
“What is that?” Rosie asked. Twila stared at it, speechless with wonder.
A massive clockwork contraption filled the back half of the room. Its shiny silver gears and wheels covered the windows, and its belts and axles reached across the ceiling. A massive brass pendulum hung from the center, and a dozen small clocks covered its face. It sat quiet, its parts unmoving.
The rest of the room was positively dull by comparison. A tiny feather bed sat below the machine. It was almost certainly too small for the skipper–he’d have had to curl up to sleep every night. A few open bottles rolled about on the floor as the ship swayed. And a rectangular, brass-bound sky rat’s chest at the foot of the bed.
"Really, Twi, what is it?" Rosie asked.
“No idea,” Twila said. She got closer to the machine. Its gears weren’t just silver-colored–they’d tarnished! “Expensive, though. Real silver.” She touched one of the gears, trying to spin it, but the contraption was locked up.
“Twi, maybe the answer’s in the chest?” Rosie suggested.
Twila ignored her. Her eyes traced the belts and axles. “Connects to the wheel. Some sort of Hourglass contraption?”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Twi! The chest!” Rosie said, an edge of urgency in her voice. She’d used that tone before when Twila was lost in a machine.
“Oh. Sure, we can check the chest,” Twila said. “Could be crowns in there or something.”
The chest creaked open after the third key she tried. The pungent odor of pipe tobacco, myst, and rum filled the air. The three children peered inside, eyes watering.
“Those aren’t crowns,” Becca said.
“No,” Rosie said, “they’re not.”
Atop a pile of tattered clothes sat a small hoard of knick-knacks; an astrolabe with a place to read the date in years, days, and months; a tin filled with tobacco; and a pistol almost the match of the one Twila carried, but with a shorter barrel. A few scattered crowns and masts attested to once-greater riches, though the dust had settled across the coins.
“That little won’t fix Hourglass and make her a hunter,” Twila said. Her dreams of restoring the skipper’s–no, her–airship were looking further and further away.
Below the coins and pistol sat a leather-bound notebook. Rosie opened it and started flipping through it. “I, Kale Anton, having–I don’t know the word, starts with ‘C’–to piracy and been pardoned, now–something–my shipmates’ mission. Eight years past, we sailed aboard the Silent Skipper with Thomas Kerr.”
“The skipper was a pirate!” Twila exclaimed. [Pirate King] Kerr was a legend, and his Silent Skipper had been the terror of the skies until it, and he, had disappeared.
“Stop interrupting. His handwriting is awful,” Rosie said. “Kerr hid his treasure in a mystwork maze, though where I do not know. The–this part’s blurred too–bastard made a map of where he hid them. However, try as I might, I lack the tools to follow it. To make this mission more–un-something–, Kerr’s map was torn when the lads and I killed him, and the Silent Skipper went down in the deeps near–it’s scribbled and blurred, starts with a ‘T’–and is lost.
“I swear on my reclaimed honor that I shall hunt for the Silent Skipper’s treasure as long as I live. The rest of the crew would squander it, so it must be mine first! Kale Anton, 1689–that’s fourteen years ago!” Rosie flipped through the rest of the book, eyebrows furrowing. “There’s nothing else here! The rest is just a mess of doodles!”
“Still out there, gotta be,” Twila said. Her head spun. This was just like the stories! “Where’s the map?”
Rosie tossed the journal aside, and the three children rooted through the chest and cabin. At last, Becca held up a folded bit of paper. “I think I found it. Let’s get out of here. This room stinks!”
Twila tucked [Anton’s Paired Pistols] into loops on her bandolier. They were a touch oversized for her but also the ship’s only arms.
The kids unfolded the map on the floor of the engine room. A banging from the girls’ closet cabin interrupted them as they started looking at it. Twila opened the door.
“You’re just hunting treasure, right? I’ll…” Carter sniffled and wiped his nose. “I’ll help. I guess. But after, you’ll bring me home, right?”
“Of course. No more going out to see the Sable Tide, though. Not very fun. And no stealing. Not from us.”
“Of course not,” He said quickly. Maybe too quickly, Twila thought.
“Get some water and meet us in the engine room. We’re looking at the map now.”
Twila rejoined the others at the map. Becca glared at the parchment. “3NTP12D83M, ST3M84, UISSWS…these make no sense! They’re just letters and numbers! And it’s torn, too.”
Together, the four pored over the map. The towering islands of the Ludya Principalities stood out in thick, faded ink. A thinner pen had written a long series of numbers and letters in the margin, and a third writer, obviously Anton, had covered the map with notes.
“Nah, they really don’t,” Twila said. A black ‘X’ over Shimmertower Island shone faintly, its ink less faded than the rest. “Maybe Anton started in Shimmertower. It’s not far–just a couple of days’ flight. Good place to fix Hourglass, too. Weigh anchor and check the engines! Let’s get her moving!”
Becca and Carter ran off to the anchor, but Rosie just snored loudly. She'd finally fallen asleep!
----------------------------------------
[Twila Tighe, Ship Rat Mystgineer, Equipment Level 1.09 (Myst 1/10, Hit Points 1/1)]
[Head - Empty]
[Eyes - Myst Lens (lvl. 1) Myst Sight (passive) See own status block and others’ classes]
[Chest - Ship Rat’s Harness (lvl. 0)]
[Waist - Apprentice Mystgineer’s Bandolier (lvl. 1) Deep Pockets (passive) - Equip an additional Gizmo]
[Legs - Canvas Overalls (lvl. 0)]
[Gizmo #1 - Basic Myst Tools (lvl 1) Skill - Tinkering]
[Gizmo #2 - Anton’s Pocket Watch (lvl. 4)] Unknown Effect; Skill - Piloting]
[Gizmo #3 - Firestarter (lvl. 1) Mystfire (active, 50% failure chance, 1 myst/attempt) - produce a small flame; Skill - None]
[Gizmo (Belt) - [Myst Lantern] (lvl. 1) Lesser Light Aura (sustained, 1 myst/tick) - light a small area; Skill - Perception]
[Myst Battery - Basic Myst Battery (lvl. 1) Small Storage (passive) - 10 myst maximum, requires condenser to refill]
[Weapon/Pair - Anton’s Paired Pistols (lvl. 2) Smoothbore Myst-Shot (active, 1 cartridge/shot) - fire a ray of heated myst; Rapid Shots (active, 2 myst/shot) - fire twice/tick; Skill - Marksman]
[Weapon/Pair - Empty]
[Skill #1 - Tinkering 1]
[Skill #2 - Perception 1]
[Skill #3 - Piloting 4]
[Skill #4 - Marksman 2]
[Skill #5 - Empty]