108

An Unexpected Visitor

After the success of the Sky Lion’s venture, more ships started going out. Hunting, gathering resources, mapping and mining for ore consumed the fleet, and filled the men with purpose. There was no retribution for the savage massacre at the town under the mountain, and only a few scattered villages identified far to the east. For now all was peaceful.

Building progressed in the main camp, with structures going up everywhere. Small houses, workshops and storage sheds meant it was no longer necessary for everyone to sleep on the ships. Everyone enjoyed having the space after enduring cramped quarters for so long. A special area was demarcated for a star fort, which was to be a long-term project. Watchtowers were erected at the corners of the palisades. The buildings were rough, shacks in some instances, but in a constant state of upgrade as man-power and resources became available.

Ansel alternated his time between riding the ships, rune upkeep and avoiding Ezra. This last task was much easier now they were not bound to the small deck of a tiny ship. To his joy Ansel was given his own rickety workshop in which to ply his trade out of the weather. Kjell helped him make the squat wooden structure waterproof. After lining the doors and windows with raw iron shavings it became his refuge. Audric and some of the other scribes had workshops adjacent. A blacksmith across the way and heat from the blast furnaces kept the whole area warm. Ansel kept a cot in a far corner of his shed and seldom felt the need to leave.

Late one night, Ansel noticed a candle burning low in the scribes shed. He wandered over. Audric was leaning over a precious sheet of parchment, his brow furrowed as he glared at the page.

“What is causing the sorrow?” asked Ansel lightly. He glanced at the paper surreptitiously, his innate curiosity getting the better of him. It was just a mess of sums, however, and he couldn’t fathom the meaning.

“Cavorite,” murmured Audric, chewing his quill furiously. The shaft cracked, and the lean scribe spat the feathers, surprised, as if not realising how they had arrived in his mouth. “I know how much of the damn stuff we used to get here, but it was nearly too little.”

“Not to mention we lost half the fleet,” said Ansel, leaning against the wall thoughtfully. “If we had been able to fly higher, perhaps we would still have everyone.”

Both men shuddered, remembering the kraken.

“Right. I mean, perhaps. To have any chance of getting home safely the ships need to burn high runes for a large part of the journey. I estimate from here to the equator, at least.” Audric stabbed the paper with one ink stained finger. “This is the amount I estimate for the Warspite.”

Ansel leaned down and whistled.

“That’s quite a sum,” he said.

“And this,” Audric stabbed the paper again, leaving a smudge, “is for the Sky Lion. Hmm. I mean. It’s doable. Now that we have such a bountiful source. Two months at our current production, I reckon. If nothing goes wrong.”

Neither of them said anything, both of their eyes intent on the mathematics.

“But that’s just to get home,” said Ansel, after a few moments’ reflection. “Nothing more?”

“Exactly!” said Audric, sitting back and nearly falling off the upturned log he was using as a seat. “You’ve hit on it. If we arrive home, sure we are alive. We are home. With scars and stories. But we have nothing to show for …this… this journey.”

“We have the location,” said Ansel. “And the knowledge that the cavorite is here…” It was an uncomfortable idea. Home. How could any of them ever return home and live like none of this had happened? Ansel pictured himself walking the streets of Stonehaven and couldn’t. It was too foreign. That Ansel no longer existed. And that was even assuming the inquisitors would somehow forget or forgive his transgressions, which seemed unlikely. No. If Ansel returned home it was a pyre for him.

“So we become Varangots,” said Audric. “Crazy men, whispering in the taverns, trying to convince everyone of our improbably tall tales.”

“No,” said Ansel, “we can do better.” He paused, thinking. “So double the amount would take the ship back home to Stonehaven, and then back here with fresh supplies?”

“Now you are talking!” said Audric, animatedly. He stabbed his finger at a sum that made Ansel’s eyes water. “This is what we would need, for the Warspite to make the trip home to Stonehaven, outfit her for another voyage with money to spare, and to return here. But there are two problems.”

“Oh?”

“One: the Warspite does not have the carrying capacity for so much cavorite. Not with a full crew, and vitals. Neither do any of the ships really. I’m trying to figure out how we can get more onboard but so far none of my ideas are practical. Two: if the Warspite leaves and comes back, that’s great but what does it achieve, in practice?”

“Well, quite a lot. Fresh supplies, our survival, the Empress knowing the mission is successful, more ships will come at her behest and so forth.”

“Yes, yes,” said Audric, his eyes ablaze. “Others will come! But what about us? We have bled for this, we have suffered for this, our friends have died for this! We are the ones who should profit! The ones who should be remembered! Not the dullards who stayed safely at home while we adventured! No! There has to be a way! And I will find it!”

He glared at the page with such impassioned intensity Ansel was surprised it did not burst into flames.

“We could build a new ship,” said Ansel. “One specially designed to haul cavorite. If we have an unlimited supply - what?”

Audric was looking at him with a peculiar expression.

“Ansel you are a genius,” he whispered, leaping of his stool and shaking Ansel by the shoulders. “Yes! This is the answer! I’ve been wracking my brains trying to think how to squeeze more cavorite into the ships we have! And we don’t need too! Stupid, stupid! We have more cavorite than anyone in human history! We don’t need to be limited by the designs of the past. Ansel we will make history, schoolchildren will learn about us and we are all going to die in our beds, ancient and rich. Wait! Can you design it? You and Kjell?” Audric rushed to the door. “Lothor! Oskar! Kjell! Get Kjell in here!” He spun on his heel, and Ansel found himself laughing at his contagious joy. “Gentlemen, it’s time we designed a ship!”

A cavorite carrying airship was an interesting problem. It would have to be perfectly balanced to a hairpin to lift such weight. No one had ever built such a thing. In the Lochlanach Empire only airships and warcrafts had the luxury of using cavorite. Mundane hauls were done by regular floating water vessels, or over land with cart and horse.

Ansel, Kjell and the scribes discussed various ideas, and drew many designs. In the end it was decided that they should build scale models, rather than risk wasting the time and resources building a monster that could not fly. Or one that dropped its payload at the first sign of bad weather.

Ansel was particularly proud of the idea of models. It made it incredibly easy for him to steal. A plank here, some nails there, a few jars of cavorite here and there. It was easy to assemble the supplies, the camp was not organised and no one would say no. He was a rune-master and he was working on the ship that would take them home.

In Stonehaven cavorite would not be wasted on such a small vessel, but there was no scientific reason why an airship could not be made in miniature. With Kjell’s help he constructed a miniature version of the transport ship. Ansel learned some valuable carpentry skills, although the sheer amount of labour the real ship would require appalled him. And meanwhile he experimented, not just for the freight carrier but for his own designs.

Everyone remarked on his dedication. In his spare hours he hammered and sawed and painted. But in truth Ansel would do anything to fill up the yawning gulf in his brain where his thoughts should be. To prevent himself from wondering about the folly of his existence, or his part in the Lochlanach expansion. Anything to fall asleep physically exhausted at night.

Ezra came by frequently but Ansel didn’t have the heart to talk much, feigning busyness. Ezra was much involved with the fortifications and there was plenty to keep them apart, and for that Ansel was grateful. He focused on his experiments. To what end, he did not know, but he worked with feverish intensity.

Ansel grinned as he built. It was ironic. His theft of cavorite and his experimentation with magic had drawn the attention of the inquisition, in Stonehaven. And now he sat, working with their blessing. Although, they might not be quite so keen if they knew exactly what he was working on. It was easy. In his own workshop he mixed his own projects in with the official, hiding them in plain sight.

Late at night he worked on a model of the moon-gate. He kept it covered with a tatty bit of old sail, guessing correctly that this would be enough to keep people from taking an interest. He analysed the materials and painstakingly dissected the runes, copying them over and over, studying their placement and trying to decipher their meaning. Likewise, mixed in amongst the many planks and rune covered ships parts no one noticed he was building a second vessel. A small ship of his own.

A shadow fell over his rune work and Ansel jumped. He had not heard anyone enter. He looked up into the tawny golden eyes of a stranger. A savage. Broad shouldered and bare-chested, the man stalked across the workshop with insolent casualness. He was not carrying a weapon and he grinned at Ansel, before poking at the model moon with a suspicious finger. Ansel watched him in surprise, his brain working sluggishly, the savage's laid back demeanour throwing him off.

“How did you-” he started, and then trailed off, lost for words. Inspiration struck. “Dydh da,” he said.

The savage wheeled towards him, a frown on his heavy brow. He uttered something, his voice deep and mellow as honey.

“I’m sorry,” said Ansel. “That’s all I know.”

“Ansel,” came a voice from the doorway. “Ansel, get down.”

Amos and Ezra were standing there. There was a loud bang.

A puff of smoke.

The savage looked down. They all looked at his chest where the bullet was lodged in the flesh.

“Great mother of-” spat Ezra. “What foul -”

The man roared and then exploded.

At least that’s what it looked like, in the brief moment Ansel was able to register. Timber and debris flew. Ansel ducked, covering his eyes to shield his face. Planks and splinters rained down on him as a giant scaled beast rose from the shattered remains of the workshop. Great leathery wings lifted from either side of a mammoth body. Ansel spied evil eyes, slitted and glinting gold, sharp teeth and talons. The dragon threw back its head and screamed at the sky. Ansel covered his ears but it took flight, knocking the roof off the blacksmiths.

The dragon wheeled above the camp, flame dripping from its maw. Men ran screaming, a few, Ansel included, stood frozen in shock and awe.

“To arms!”

Alarm bells peeled, men scrurried and ducked while the dragon raked the line of freshly constructed houses with fire, setting them alight. The watch on the newly assembled tower were ready first. Guns roared. One shot went wide, two more striking the beast on the body. The dragon roared, wheeling in the sky, fixing baleful eyes on the tower.

An inferno of fire was followed by several tonnes of angry serpent. The structure was summarily ripped and shredded to pieces, the men within crushed.

“Canons!” shouted Boaz, emerging from one of the flaming houses. “Get those cannons primed!”

“Beware!” shouted Ezra, waving his arms.

The Storm Lotus was arriving home.

The airship came in to land, then bobbed like a cork, almost spinning out of control as her crew saw the angry dragon coiled around the ruins of the flaming watchtower.

The golden eyes locked onto the ship. The dragon stretched its wings, and exploded upwards towards the lumbering vessel. The men below were nearly knocked flat by the resulting gale. The dragon threw itself bodily against the hull, clawing and biting. Ansel heard timbers crack.

Men screamed as the Storm Lotus lurched sideways.

But then the cannons were ready.

They roared in a line. The dragon disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Ansel could not see whether they hit. But the dragon roared its fury one last time, then shot heavenward, disappearing into the clouds.

The camp let out a collective breath, then the shouting resumed as everyone ran for water to put out the flames, to help the listing Storm Lotus, to search the destroyed watch tower for survivors.

“We need reinforcements,” said Boaz, looking up at the smoking vessel, his eyes glazed.

Mammon came out of her newly constructed house. She laid a white hand on his arm.

“I will contact my kin,” she said.