Nestor yawned as he settled back into his hammock. Something red flashed across the room and he caught the pillow being thrown at him. “So you are awake,” a man wearing a leather vest and boots grinned. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

Nestor smiled at him, rolling out of the hammock. “Sure Geralt.” The floor lurched under him and he had to grab one of the beams to stay on his feet.

“Choppy air today,” Geralt remarked. “Looks like winter is actually setting in.” As if to prove his words, a draft wafted down from the upper deck, causing Nestor to shiver.

“Why can’t we head somewhere warmer for the winter?” Nestor complained. Last year the airship hadn’t been able to rise above the cold winter winds and they had been stranded in the back country for weeks.

“Take it up with the captain. I’m not sure if there is anywhere that’s warmer beyond the cities, and you know that we can’t afford that.”

Grumbling under his breath, Nestor followed the beckoning Geralt up the stairs and onto deck. The cold wind hit his face and he had to pull up his collar, but even that couldn’t suppress the barest traces of a smile from crossing his lips.

It had been 8 years since he had been picked off that lonely train. Almost exactly 8 years, he realized, looking at the bright red and orange leaves on the ground below him. Absently, he rubbed his wrist where the burned flesh had never quite properly healed. Instead, silvery lines ran across his wrist, extra sensitive to pain to the point where he usually kept the area hidden under a metallic cuff.

“‘Bout time you woke up,” a gruff voice grumbled. Amos stood with his back to him, stirring a pan of eggs. His hair had grayed substantially over the years since he had first found Nestor, but his eyes still had that same twinkle, and he wore the captain’s vest proudly. It suited him, Nestor had to admit. Granted, he hadn’t known the first captain very well, he had died months into coming to live with the gang, but Amos had a quiet aura of authority that the previous captain had never exuded.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Nestor asked, offering his plate out.

Amos scooped some eggs and a generous slice of salted pork onto it and motioned for him to sit with the other men. “We’re going to do some raiding today,” Amos told them all. Some of the men perked up, eager for adventure.

“It’s in the backlands, ‘bout fifty miles from Skystead.”

The news was met with groans. No one wanted to risk being trapped in the backlands for a consecutive winter. A raid on a township in the backlands would mean hardly any loot worth taking too. They’d barely be able to get supplies for themselves.

“What’s for us out there?” One of the men spoke up. “Why not raid something closer to the cities and get stocked up for the winter? We could spend it fat and warm instead of in a burrow somewhere.

“The ship will fly, it’s not that late in the season,” Amos promised. He reached up to scratch his gray tussle of hair, still unruly despite combing it. “We’ve been contracted for a specific item, this needs to look like a normal raid, but trust me when I say that it’s worth our while.”

“A wealthy benefactor?” Geralt asked, starting to look excited. “And payment is guaranteed?”

Amos nodded. “So long as we get his item, then yes.”

“What is it?” Nestor found himself asking. What could be so important in the backlands that the uppercrust of one of the cities was willing to hire out a gang of pirates to retrieve it?

“Only I can know that, boy,” Amos said. Nestor opened his mouth to argue but Amos shot him a look that seemed to turn his blue eyes into chips of ice. “All you need to do is what you always do. Grab some food. Maybe some furs. Just keep the attention off of me.”

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Nestor nodded slowly. So it was a skeleton treasure. It was rare that a client wouldn’t allow anyone but the captain to know, but when it happened, the reward was usually that much sweeter.

The men around him went back to eating while Amos moved to the bow of the ship, watching the passing countryside.

Nestor slowly scooped up his plate and moved over to the captain’s side.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Amos started a bit and looked over at Nestor. “Nothing to worry about, son. Just pre-raid jitters.”

Nestor nodded, but still something tugged at his stomach.

“Don’t worry too much, Nestor,” Amos said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Just get ready for a nice, easy raid.”

Nestor nodded, letting the wind wash over him. It wasn’t his place to know. He’d be fine.

Amos walked back over to his cabin, and Nestor turned away, settling back down at the table.

Geralt nudged his shoulder as he settled down and pointed at one of the copper pipes that ran from below deck to the burners. “I think we’re running low on fuel, want to go check it with me?”

“So long as I don’t have to touch it.” Finishing the last bite of his eggs, he grabbed one of the rain tanks and followed Geralt below deck.

He had to spend a few seconds blinking to adjust to the dim light of the lamps after being in the sunshine. Geralt was already moving toward the burner room, not even looking back to see if Nestor was following.

As usual, Geralt had more faith in him than Nestor did.

The furnace glared orange, casting flickering shadows along the walls. Geralt was already opening the fuel door, gazing in at the smoldering pile of embers that connected to the boiler. He poked at them, causing them to flare red in seeming protest to being touched.

“Yep,” he said, straightening. “They’re hot, but they’re going to burn out soon. Can you check the steam valves?”

Grudgingly, Nestor did as he asked, looking at the dials connected to the copper pipes that fed into their sails above. The arrow had slipped into the yellow--meaning not enough pressure. Or was it too much? He had been a member of this crew for how long?

“It’s yellow,” he said shortly.

“Yeah, thought as much,” Geralt said. He was halfway through shoveling coal into the furnace. “We’ll have to refill the water tank after the raid.”

“It's a bit weird that there’s a skeleton treasure in the countryside,” Nestor said, eager to change the subject from the burners.

Geralt shrugged. “Not really. I’ll bet some peasant inherited it and doesn’t realize what they have,” he paused, a grin playing around his lips. “That, or it’s some entitled idiot in Skystead that’s decided it’s valuable.”

“Skystead?”

Geralt shrugged. “The captain used it as a marker, but Jorgisvualt is closer. He had it on the mind. That and we’ve just enough fuel for the trip there and back.”

“How do you even gauge that?” Nestor asked before catching himself.

His friend grinned and Nestor had to suppress a groan. He had done this to himself.

“I’m the best navigator in any crew,” he started, gesturing at the map on the boiler room. “My sheer skill and intelligence are enough to make--”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry I asked,” Nestor cut him off before he could really get going.

Geralt laughed. “But really. For as cold as things are getting, we can get 20 miles for every pound of coal. The skies are pretty still today, but if the evening winds pick up, we’ll have a tailwind all the way to Skystead that should speed things up even more.”

Nestor looked at their small pile of coal sitting in the bin beside the furnace. “We really don’t have much, do we?”

Geralt shrugged. “Winter will be setting in soon, and you know how flying in those storms is. We’ll probably buy a top off after we get our payment and then get the ship to winter storage…skys forbid we try to fly in them like last year.”

Nestor shuddered, remembering the damp cave they had huddled in last year, everyone curled in the furs they had managed to raid. “If I never have to eat dried pork again, it’ll be too soon,” he agreed.

“Really? The pork is what you remember? What about the hardtack? Not even the worms would eat it.”

“I’d prefer not to think about it,” Nestor said, barely disguising a smile.

The ship jolted and Geralt grabbed the door frame for support. “Guess we better head back up. We’ll be arriving soon.”