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Chapter 3

By my days, an airship.

I take a step back to take in the sight of the Stormhawk. Decent size, lighter weight makes for greater speeds to obtain enough generated momentum to have the ship propelled into the sky. The Stormhawk has a carrack-style architecture. The ship is deep and broad, with a high sterncastle and a higher forecastle thrusting out over the bow. The make of the ship is expensive too, forged from dark alabushian wood.

The masts of an airship are different, despite that it can travel both sea and air. The Stormhawk is steam-fuelled with a dirigible sail and a steam engine used to power the propellers. A huge cylindrical swollen gasbag looms above the head of the ship. Malachi only owns one airship, and it has rarely left the Prime airdock.

From the wide gap between the railings, the crew members let down the wooden ramp. It lengthens out until its foot meets the creaking ligneous pier. A silhouette of a masculine frame crests the brink. He calls for someone over his shoulder. Then he begins his way down and three other crew members follow him.

A navy-blue forage cap bedecks his head, his insignia imprinted in gold in the centre along with the hemming. His navy-blue Captain's coat rises behind him, his trousers white like his top garment. His beard is all-white with a few rebellious black blotches. Domus Valwa introduces me to Captain Devwar.

 "What a privilege to ferry the daughter of Domus Valwa across sky and sea."

I smother any argument before I jut out a hand. Domus Valwa frees a disgruntled groan.

Captain Devwar takes my hand reluctantly and is surprised I when I greet him with a gesture only seamen know. Our hands clasp, release, palm-against-palm, our hands swivel and move with two quick convoluted moves to end with two claps.

"Now that is a hand that has known hard labour."

With a critical tone, the Domus says, "Regrettably, there was no opportunity to delve into the lessons of etiquette and the proper conduct befitting a lady of high standing."

 "Is there any luggage?"

"All I have is all you see," I answer simply.

The Domus starts to speak with sentiment. So I leave mid-sentence and I don't look back. Captain Devwar stutters in his steps and follows after me.

"How long is the journey from here to the Rutheon?"

The Stormhawk's wooden deck, polished by countless journeys, buzzes with activity as the crew hustle and bustle, attending to their duties. The ship, an impressive blend of old-world craftsmanship and new age ingenuity, bears the proud mark of a steam-powered marvel.

Her most striking feature is her enormous cylindrical gasbag, stretching from the rear to the peak of the vessel, its fabric shimmering with an iridescent sheen. It looms overhead like a giant, swollen guardian, buoying the ship high above the sea.

Below the gasbag, the deck is a hive of activity. Sailors, clad in rugged, weather-beaten uniforms, move with practiced precision. Some clamber up the intricate web of riggings.

"The Domus never mentioned a daughter before," he says carefully, treading light between curiosity and caution. "Even so, even bastard-born offspring live lavishly. Your hands are calloused from years of service, not to mention the build of you."

We saunter around the flank of the top structure. And I say, "We share the same blood. It makes us kin, not family."

We round the corner and I halt. The sky evolves right before me, ablaze with the fire of a setting sun. The horizon bleeds a blood orange that stains the infinite boundary that parts sky and sea.

"Though I pride myself in having a spick crew." He pauses. "Regardless, they are men. They can become a tad bit rowdy after several or more bottles."

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, smiling wryly. "Does this piece of information lead to an inquiry, or are you issuing an order?"

He fumbles for the right words and sighs. "I think it best if you spend most of your time, especially at nightfall, in your cabin. No one will bother you there, I swear on their lives."

I swallow a laugh, glancing sideways at nothing. "Believe me, Captain. I can take care of myself."

He snorts in disagreement, almost disparagingly. "It will spare me peace of mind to know you are safe in your quarters, lady."

I thwart a retort. There is no point in arguing. "As you wish."

He smiles with relief and bows to me. He then strides ahead to stand in the wooden gallery. The balcony that overlooks the entire main deck with a swarm of blue and white crew members, busying themselves below.

"Rekos la nua to, ken awas!" Devwar yells, roaring orders. His voice is like bottled thunder, a long measure of his vitality. "Kumpas erewen la, tumepe vas to na!"

The crew heed to the commands of their captain. They disperse like smoke in the wind.

He resumes the tour and leads me to a cabin. I'm not as astounded as a commoner should be because Malachi's cabins carry the same sumptuous semblance. Heavy velvet drapes in deep burgundy arched windows, their golden tassels shimmering in the soft, filtered light that streams through.

In the centre of the cabin, a grand canopy bed takes pride of place. Its four posts adorned with delicate carvings and draped with luxurious silken fabrics. The bedspread, woven with golden threads. Plush, feather-filled pillows and a thick, downy comforter promise a restful slumber amidst the clouds. Soft, ambient lighting comes from brass sconces mounted on the walls, their flames flickering gently within glass casings.

"I hope everything is to your liking."

"I'll manage," I say sarcastically.

~

The massive cylindrical gasbag, swollen with lighter-than-air gas, looms above, stretching from the rear to the peak of the ship, casting a vast shadow over the deck.

The sailors and I work the riggings with expert hands, each rope and pulley system vital to the ship's navigation. The intricate network of ropes, cables, and sails required constant attention. Schwick points out a fault and I'm quick to respond. I leap and climb the rigging with ease, my hands moving deftly to adjust the dirigible cable.

Schwick is a scallywag, but I like him. I like his little brother even more because he reminds me of Elrin when he was a boy.

The Stormhawk throbs with the rhythmic chugging of the steam engine. Engineers monitor the pressure gauges and temperature dials, ensuring the engine runs at peak efficiency. The propellers, massive and imposing, their blades cutting through the air with powerful strokes. Steam hisses and pipes rattles, a symphony of mechanical life that keeps the ship aloft and moving forward.

On deck, the crew is a flurry of fervour. Sailors scrub the wooden planks, maintaining the ship's pristine condition. I move on, swinging forth like a forest mammal leaping from branch to branch. I check the ropes, tightening knots and replacing frayed lines to ensure their integrity. All skills honed by working for Malachi. There is a dark side to it, but good work also gets done. Sailing the sea is not the same as the sky, but many methods are quite alike.

A clamor from below makes me squint down at the commanding figure of the captain with his eyes as focused as a hawk's. He barks an order, his voice cutting through the din of activity. Everyone around me watches, unblinking. I scale down until it is safe enough to drop down and land in front of him.

"What are you doing?"

"Working, captain."

"Aurora, like it or not. You are the daughter of a venerated Domus from the esteemed Regnum of Wisdom. Your blood is not of commonplace; you do not have to earn your keep when it is an honour to have aboard a member from the landed gentry."

A flicker of frustration, but I keep my mouth shut.

"With respect, retire to your quarters, lady."

"Captain," I say impulsively.

Too accustomed to following orders, I watch myself head towards my cabin.

 

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