“Where’s your skipper, ship rats?” The [Harbormaster] asked as Twila, Carter, and Rosie walked down the gangplank. Twila stared at her. She looked to be old - really old, like in her forties. Her gray hair was mostly hidden beneath a tricorne hat, and goggles covered her eyes. Streams of water rolled down her dark blue coat and ankle-length dress.
“Sorry, ma’am, but he’s passed out in his cabin again,” Carter lied, shouting over the storm. His voice was full of the same easy confidence he’d displayed back in the skywright’s workshop. “That’s why we needed rescuing. Twila was trying to get us to the harbor, but we got caught by the wind. Now that we’re here, we’re following the skipper’s usual orders.”
“I see,” the woman said. Her myst battery ticked. “Ms. Caroline DeWalt, at your service. It costs three masts a day to dock your airship. With forty crowns for the rescue.”
“Forty? Why forty?” Twila asked. Forty wouldn’t quite leave them wheel-less, but it was close - Rosie had only counted forty-three crowns, twenty-nine masts, and thirty-two wheels between the coffer and Skipper Anton’s sky-chest.
“Because it takes hours to reset the rescue system, and a dozen people to operate it. Your skipper’d know that. Now, how many days will it be? At least three, from the look of things.” Ms. DeWalt looked at the Hourglass’s crushed and twisted bow pointedly.
“Three, then. We’ll pay more if we need to,” Twila said. “Pay her, Rosie. Her name’s Hourglass. Ask for me, Twila Tighe, if you need someone.”
“Wonderful,” Ms. DeWalt said, once the pile of coins were safe in her coin purse and she’d typed away on the brass keys on her wrist-mounted [Writing Machine]. “A few rules while you’re in town. Don’t start fights, don’t leave the town’s lower wall without a pass, and do not get in Gibson Foundry employees’ ways. That company runs Shimmertower, prince or not.”
“You ship rats can come see me in the harbormaster’s office if you need directions around Shimmerport. For any reason.” She winked. “If you need me before my shift, I’m at the Drunken Kraken. Just ask for Auntie Charlie.” She strolled off toward a tall building carved into the cliffside.
“What do we do now?” Rosie asked as they ducked back into the Hourglass’s hold. “That was everything, bar a few coins. We could maybe buy a day of carrots.”
“Wait until the storm lifts. Then, we find a skywright to fix the bow, supplies, and cannons. Hourglass needs cannons,” Twila said. She walked back to the hammock she’d been sleeping in. She wanted to use the skipper’s cabin, but the stink of tobacco and stale rum still lingered, and they couldn’t open the windows in this weather.
“But how do we pay for that?”
Twila shrugged. The last few days weighed down on her, and before she knew it, she was asleep.
----------------------------------------
Twila jerked awake to massive engines roaring. The vibrations shook the Hourglass’s hull. She reached for [Anton’s Paired Pistols] and rolled out of the hammock. As she rushed up on deck, the other children followed her, bleary-eyed.
The massive warship she’d seen the night before was launching. It lifted slowly away from the docks, heat from its repulsor vents cooking the air. A pair of smaller airships, each still twice the Hourglass’s fifty feet length, and with a handful of closed gun ports, hovered well above the dreadnought - all of them flew the green-and-yellow flag of the Ludya Principalities below their condenser masts. Brass plating glimmered in the early morning sun.
The massive airship finished lifting off, and its main engines pushed it slowly northwest. One escort fell in line to its bow, the other to its stern, each a few hundred yards apart.
“Where…” Rosie yawned. “Where are they going?”
“Dunno. Ain’t our business,” Twila said. “Gorgeous ships, though. Rosie, Becca, you two find a skywright. One that’s not busy. See what fixing Hourglass will cost. Carter, you’re with me. Will, go in the skipper’s cabin. Anyone comes aboard, pretend to be drunk or hung over or something. Uh, sorry about the smell. Open the windows, I guess?”
“It’s fine, skipper. I can’t smell anything,” The sad boy’s voice softly said from the hold’s front.
After Rosie and Becca left, leaving behind half the remaining coins, Twila and Carter started prying open crates on the Hourglass’s deck. Fluffy white fuzz filled some of them. Others were stuffed with knick-knacks and gizmos; sharp little scissors; cheap brass-and-steel [Multitools]; and in one box, a weird-looking device with a fishing line attached to it.
“What are we going to do with all this?” Carter asked. Twila had seen him pocketing trinkets here and there, including a multitool. She’d said nothing, though - if he wanted it, he could have it.
“Selling it if we can find a buyer. Make a list of stuff. Don’t leave anything off.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
By the time they’d finished the list, the sun shone high in the sky, burning through the last of the storm’s clouds. The two ship rats set off out of the docks and past a wall of tuff and metal.
“Shoulda looked for the skipper’s ledger,” Twila said suddenly, slapping her forehead. “Probably had it all written down.”
“Are all the crates actually, uh, ours?” Carter asked.
Twila thought for a moment. Had Skipper Anton bought all that cargo or had he just been moving it for someone? If he’d bought it, it was theirs to sell, but if not…
Were they pirates now? Twila shivered. She didn’t want to be a pirate - hunting them seemed like much less trouble. Besides, the map and journal in Anton’s sky-chest offered plenty of fun without the risk of fighting another airship.
But…
“Dunno. Doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure we can sell the cargo, get Hourglass up and running, and pay back the stuff’s owner later.”
“But if it’s not ours to sell, will we find a buyer?”
“Good point,” Twila said. She grabbed for [Anton's Pocket Watch]. It popped free from its gear-shaped slot, and she plugged it back into her myst battery. “Let’s talk with Ms. DeWalt - but sneaky. She might have some leads.”
They slipped into the flow of people moving up and down Shimmertower’s main path. Its stairs and cobbled road were much wider than Iswixel’s, but with the number of people, they were soon lost in the crowd.
“Hey, Twila, I was meaning to ask what happened yesterday. The day was perfect. Then I went belowdecks, and suddenly it was the worst storm I’ve seen in years,” Carter said.
“Not the time. I have an idea, though. When we’re back on Hourglass with the others, I’ll try something,”
Twila said. In truth, she thought to herself, she had no idea what had happened. But if [Anton’s Pocket Watch] let her travel back a few seconds in time, and if the device in the skipper’s cabin worked with it somehow…
No, the idea was ridiculous, Twila thought. Best to focus on the here and now until later.
Twila and Carter weaved through the crowded streets and past buildings made of actual brick with brass chimneys. The tailored outfits many wore, and the gizmos they carried, silently spoke of Shimmertower’s wealth.
The Drunken Kraken did not.
It sat down a dark alley cut into the stone tower itself. A flickering, purple lamp lit up the sign, a crude drawing of a many-tentacled monster with mugs in each grip.
The dark, literal hole-in-the-wall tavern reeked of ale and sweat. Twila pulled herself up onto a rickety barstool, and the barkeep poured something a light yellow color into a dirty glass. “One wheel, ship rat. And one for your friend.”
Twila took a cautious sip of the watery ale, grimacing as the bitter flavor passed her tongue. She passed over four of the little coins–two for the drinks, and two to find the woman they were here for. “Looking for Charlie,” she said. “Told us she’d be here.”
The barkeep nodded slowly. “Upstairs, second door on the left. Knock twice, pause, then three more.”
Twila took another sip and scrambled down from the stool. “Thanks. We’ll be back.” As she strode toward the stairs, she saw Carter take three huge pulls from his glass. He stood and followed her, burping loudly and shivering.
Twila knocked on the door twice, then again three. She waited, the bitter taste of the ale still on her tongue.
The door cracked open. One eye peered out. “I knew you rats were up to no good!”
Caroline DeWalt opened the door. She was hatless, her goggles sat on a desk, and her greatcoat hung against the door. She held a pistol in one hand, barrel up.
“So, Miss Tighe, what can Auntie Charlie do for a couple of little troublemakers?”
[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)] Redo (active, 5 myst/5 seconds) - redo the last five seconds of time, with knowledge of what’s happening (1 minute to reset); Skill - Piloting]
[Gizmo #3 - Empty]
[Gizmo (Belt) - Mystwork Lantern (lvl. 2): Mystlight (active, 25% failure chance, 1 myst/attempt) - start the light; Adjustable Light Aura (sustained, .5-2 myst/tick) - light a variable 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 2]
[Skill #3 - Piloting 4]
[Skill #4 - Marksman 2]
[Skill #5 - Empty]