Chapter 14: New Shores, New Schemes

The morning sun rose behind me, casting the island in sharp relief as I approached. Its silhouette was unlike the simpler shores I had left behind. Towers with spires gleamed in the light, and the harbor bustled with ships bearing flags from far-off lands. This was no ordinary settlement; it was an island city, intricate and alive. The sound of gulls and the hum of the crowd reached my ears as I guided the ship into an empty dock, tying off the ropes with practiced efficiency.

Dockhands bustled around, shouting instructions and unloading crates. I stepped onto the wooden planks, the rhythmic thud of boots and creak of carts filling the air. The smell of salt and fish mingled with the tang of oil and burning coal. This was a place of both trade and industry.

As I secured the last of my belongings, a pair of marines approached, their uniforms pristine and their expressions stony. One was tall with a scar running down his cheek, and the other shorter, stocky, eyes flitting over me as if cataloging every detail.

"State your name and purpose," the taller one demanded, voice firm.

I met his gaze with an even stare. "Orion Hale. Merchant and inventor." I reached into my satchel and handed over the documents I'd prepared weeks ago. They were forged, of course, but good enough to withstand basic scrutiny. The marine's eyes scanned the papers, brow furrowed as he nodded.

"Everything checks out. Follow the rules here, and you won't have problems," he said, handing them back.

"Understood," I said, slipping the papers back into my bag. The marines moved on, their watchful presence a reminder of the order imposed by the world government. This island was no free port; it was a cog in the larger machine, kept in line by its allegiance.

I made my way from the docks, eyes taking in the sight of tall buildings made of stone and iron, gears whirring from the rooftops where windmills turned lazily. The streets were packed with people, traders hawking goods, inventors showing off contraptions, and the occasional patrol of marines cutting a path through the throng.

....

I found an inn with a sign that read The Brass Lantern, its wooden exterior polished to a shine. The innkeeper, a thin man with spectacles and ink-stained fingers, greeted me with a nod.

"Looking for a room?" he asked, eyes flicking to the satchel at my side, likely assessing whether I could pay.

"Yes, for a week," I said, sliding a handful of berries across the counter. He counted them, satisfied, and handed me a small iron key with the number 12 engraved on it.

"Top floor, second on the left. Breakfast's at dawn," he said.

The room was modest, with a single bed, a desk, and a window that overlooked the busy street below. I set my satchel on the desk and took out the navigation notes I'd used during my journey, smoothing them out on the wooden surface. The city outside hummed with life, but underneath that vibrancy, there was a subtle tension I couldn't ignore.

....

Over the next few days, I made it my business to learn the city's layout. The streets wound like a maze, connecting neighborhoods of craftsmen and traders to the gated estates of the nobles. The wealth disparity was clear: cobblestone streets gave way to paved marble as one moved into the upper districts, where the wealthy paraded in fine clothes and carriages.

The presence of the marines was constant. They patrolled the streets with practiced vigilance, their hands never far from the hilts of their swords or the pistols at their belts. They were not just keeping the peace; they were enforcing it, with the king's laws supported by the weight of the world government.

I listened, observed, and took notes in my mind. I learned that the king, a man named King Alastor, ruled with a firm hand. His allegiance to the world government granted him protection and authority, which he used to control the island's industries and its people. The marines ensured that no one stepped out of line, and the nobles acted with impunity, their influence untouchable under the king's rule.

On my third day, I watched a group of finely dressed men push through a crowd, forcing commoners aside without a second glance. The people avoided their eyes, stepping back to make way. One man, dressed in deep blue with a golden crest on his chest, laughed loudly as a vendor scrambled to pick up a fallen basket of fruit.

The sight made my stomach tighten. Power wielded without consequence was a dangerous thing, and it reminded me why I couldn't rely on anyone but myself. Yet, the city was also a place of opportunity. The nobles' excess and the marines' tight control provided a balance that could be exploited.

....

In the evenings, I frequented the workshops that lined the lower districts. The air was thick with the metallic scent of molten iron and the rhythmic pounding of hammers. I watched from the shadows as blacksmiths shaped gears and inventors worked on steam-powered engines. Their knowledge was limited, confined by tradition and lack of insight. I noted every flaw, every inefficiency.

I returned to my room at The Brass Lantern each night, my mind racing with ideas and sketches. The books I'd gathered on my journey became invaluable references as I worked through plans to combine my understanding of modern engineering with what I was seeing here. The thought of building something that would outshine the nobles' playthings filled me with anticipation.

But I knew better than to reveal my hand too soon. I needed parts, raw materials, and most of all, funding.

....

One afternoon, as I walked through the market, I overheard a conversation between two merchants. They spoke in hushed voices, casting furtive glances around.

"Did you hear? One of the nobles wants new contraptions for his gala next week," one of them said, a thin man with a pointed beard.

"The one with the automaton? Heard he'll pay a fortune to outdo the others," the other merchant replied, his eyes gleaming with interest.

The words sparked an idea. If I could create something for that gala, something to capture attention, I could secure enough funding for my future projects. The nobles' need for extravagance could be my entry point.

I quickened my pace, thoughts whirring like gears. Back in my room, I sketched designs late into the night: mechanical birds that could mimic song, self-winding clocks, and tools that had both practical and ornamental use. The city was full of inventors, but few thought outside the bounds of what they knew. I would show them innovation they had never dreamed of.

....

The following day, I sought out a workshop known for its supply of rare metals and gears. It was run by a woman named Mirabel, who had a reputation for sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. She was tall, with dark skin and silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight braid. Her workshop was a maze of parts and half-finished projects.

"What brings you here?" she asked, wiping grease-stained hands on her apron as she eyed me suspiciously.

"I need high-quality parts, and I heard you're the one to see," I said, meeting her gaze without flinching.

She studied me for a moment before nodding toward a cluttered table. "Show me the money first."

I placed a pouch of 3,000 berries on the counter. It wasn't much, but it would secure what I needed to get started. She smirked, the corner of her mouth turning up.

"You're serious. Good," she said, turning to gather what I'd requested.

As she worked, I felt the weight of the next steps pressing down on me. This city was a place where fortunes could be made or lost, where power was flaunted and fought for. I would need to move carefully, but I was ready.

I took the parts and left, a plan forming. The gala would be my debut, a chance to make my name known and secure the means to pursue my ambition. But first, I would need to outthink and outmaneuver the nobles, the king, and anyone else who thought this city was theirs to control.