“You there, guard, come here and be quick about it!” Kalandra barked. Jim stood next to her clenching his fists beneath his flowing priest’s robes. He did his best to hide his face in shadow so as not to give away his very non-grey eyes and their cover.

Kalandra had done the same. Her hood sloped over her eyebrows, nearly blocking her vision. Jim could hear her blowing out her mouth as if to clear a strand of hair from her eyes. The Alliance guard trotted toward them from across the courtyard. His gamail leather armor squeaked with each step. Jim wasn’t sure why, but he found the sight of the startled man and his discomfort in his tight leather armor quite comical. He snorted to suppress a laugh.

As the guard approached the gate, he bowed slightly. He smiled, but his eyes betrayed anxiety. “Your graces,” he began, “I’m afraid the Protectorate embassy is currently closed. Can I help you?”

It was Kalandra’s turn to work her acting magic. “We’re here on assignment from the Prophetess herself. We’ve been asked to interrogate the prisoners. Any information beyond that is out of your depth corporal.” Her last words carried a drop of venom.

The man glanced at each of them and squinted. Jim felt a sudden wave of panic rising in his throat. The man’s demeanor seemed to shift slightly. He stood straighter and, though he did not reach for his scimitar, his left arm stiffened, like a snake coiled as it prepares to strike.

Kalandra either didn’t notice or was unaffected. “Did you not hear me, soldier? I said-”

“I know what you said,” the man snapped. Now he was standing fully upright and his hand gripped his scimitar. Any sense of reverence was gone from his voice. “But, I don’t believe you.” He stepped closer to the iron gate. His hand remained on the weapon, though he didn’t draw it.

“Priests always address us as ‘child’ or ‘low one’ or any number of other names. And you,” the soldier said, pointing at Jim. “You’re no priest. You’re too well built for it. More likely a soldier yourself or perhaps a laborer of some sort. Judging by your shoulders, I’d say you are a bit of a swordsman. Right handed too.”

Shit was all Jim could think. Shit shit shit shit.

“Wow. I hadn’t expected that,” Kalandra said.

“Expected what?” the guard replied.

“An intelligent guard.”

The man grimaced and then, in one quick motion, he pulled his weapon. Before he could line up a blow though, Kalandra’s small hand had already gone through the bars and grabbed the side of his head.

“Sleep,” she said and the man’s body collapsed on the ground.

“Wow!” Jim exclaimed, “One knock out and you’re an expert on… mind heat was it?”

“Not such an expert,” Kalandra said as she removed her hood. “Look.”

The guard had fallen where he stood and was bent over in something resembling a fetal position. Jim removed his own hood and looked closer. Then he saw it, a trickle of blood coming out of the man’s left ear. Jim placed his fingers against the guard’s jugular. There was no pulse.

“I killed him,” Kalandra whispered. I didn’t mean to. I thought-”

“Best not to think too much about it,” Jim said, pulling her away. He reached through the bars and grabbed a set of keys off the man’s belt. “We still have to deal with whatever’s in that house.” He placed the key in the lock, which was difficult considering the lock was facing away from them. After some grunting and cursing on Jim’s part, the lock gave a satisfying click and fell away.

“Now, let’s get moving,” Jim said. “We’ve been way too lucky today. And luck tends to run out for me at the worst times.”

***

The skies of Rock Bottom were thick with smoke. But, it wasn’t the smoke of battle. For miles around the city, tents were pitched. The smell of thousands of campfires, unwashed people, and fear permeated the air. Rock Bottom was buried in refugees. The small town of roughly fifty thousand souls had exploded to well over a quarter million.

“This is… heartbreaking,” Alia said as the city drew nearer. The Liberator and Hurria were making their final approach into the airdocks near the center of town. Much like Freeport, the airdock was simple a spiral staircase up a tower of stone and wood. Not much more than a mooring point. It reminded Alia of a strange structure she had seen in Dyelita called a “lighthouse.” It was meant to guide ships in from the lake and help them avoid collision on the rocky shore.

The Liberator creaked and hissed as it belched more steam from its balloon. Finally, the call came up from Harol, the lead deckhand, to trim the ballast and moor the ship. There was a loud thump as the Liberator bumped into the mooring post. A party of crewman at the bow of the ship descended on ropes affixed to the mooring rings and dropped onto the tower to tie the ship off.

Nearby, the Hurria, still heavily damaged but showing patchwork along its hull by the skeleton crew, also floated to a halt. A pair of dockworkers caught mooring lines thrown down to them and tied them off to the elevation cranks - large cranks meant to pull airships the last few meters to the mooring platform. With considerable effort, they reeled the small destroyer in until it thudded against the brick.

Satisfied, Alia began walking toward the embarkation ramp that was being extended from the port bow. A hand stopped her. “Where do you think you’re going?” Vachir said.

“Off my ship to recruit some crew and resupply my ship. Do you have a problem with that, sailor?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Matter of fact, I do,” Vachir replied crossing his own arms in defiant response. “The city is crawling with refugees, and likely disease. You have two children to look after. You-”

“They’re fine. I have Janice watching them. They won’t need to eat for a few hours, so I’m going to go do my captainly duties,” Alia replied.

Vachir shook his head. “Setting aside the fact that ‘captainly’ is not a real word, or at least I don’t think it is, the risk to you is too great. If you get sick, you’ll carry that on to your children. More importantly though, there’s thousands of refugees down there. Thousands of hungry, hopeless, frightened refugees.”

“And?” Alia said.

“And, fear makes people do stupid things. If something were to happen to you… well, my life is far less valuable than a new mother and two children.” An emotion crossed Vachir’s gaze for a moment but it passed as quickly as it came.

Alia’s face began to burn as she prepared to break into a verbal bout the likes of which even Jim would be impressed at. But, something stopped her. She considered Vachir’s words and after a minute of stewing in anger, she finally sighed and nodded in defeat. “Yeah ok,” was all she said.

As she marched back toward her room, Vachir was pretty sure he heard her mutter under her breath, “I’ve got about as much maternal instinct as a bag of rocks.”

***

The Protectorate embassy was really more of a small mansion than an actual government building, and though it was painted in the strange greys and dark blues common to Protectorate buildings, it looked otherwise like a run down old house.

“We’re sure this is the right place?” Kalandra whispered as they ascended the wooden steps toward the front door.

Jim cringed as the wood beneath their feet creaked and squealed. “Yeah, it has to be. Why would there be a guard otherwise?”

“Speaking of which,” Kalandra said, “Why just one guard to protect-”

Jim signaled for her to be quiet and pointed toward a faint light through a curtained window to their right. The light was moving toward the door. There wasn’t enough time for them to hide, so they stood there, prepared for whatever came through. Jim gripped his sword under his robe, and Kalandra lowered her hands, palms forward.

The door opened and -

“Dad?!”

***

“Ahhhh! Greetings, friends of Jim. Which is saying much, as Jim isn’t exactly the friend making type,” The jubilant man exclaimed. He crossed the small stuffy barbershop to greet Vachir and Sandra.

Most of the day had been spent trying to procure supplies for their ships, which was a very difficult undertaking indeed. With the city overrun by refugees, supplies were in high demand. Rock Bottom authorities had commandeered most provisions from both the air and land docks to help feed the endless tide of humanity. Though Rock Bottom was known as a port for those seeking shelter from the law, none could say that their leadership was not compassionate.

As men of his profession often did, Cherum had access to his own supplies. Supplies he was of course willing to offer to the “friends of Jim, for a reasonable price.”

“So,” Cherum began as he scooted back and forth in one of the worn leather waiting room chairs until he was comfortable. “You require provisions. Food, water, spices, and ammunition I take it?”

“As well as five hundred kilos of black crystal dust and two hundred tons of coal,” said Vachir. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair he had been assigned. It creaked under him. To his left, Sandra was covering her face to suppress a laugh.

“Two hundred tons!?” Cherum exclaimed. “That’s a hard ask. Especially in these times.” he motioned toward the locked front door. Outside, the streets were full of the sounds of people. Not of merchants and typical chatter though. It was the hushed tones of fear and dark conversation. Shadows went to and fro as the overburdened city swam in humanity.

“Yes, no doubt it is,” said Vachir, crossing his arms impatiently, “Which is why I assume you will want to charge us some outrageous price.”

Cherum’s brows furrowed into a scowl. “You know, not all businessmen are out to make profit by harming others. I don’t know what Jim told you but -”

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Sandra interrupted. “The art of negotiation is not one of his strong suits.” Vachir raised his eyebrow at Sandra but said nothing. A small grin crossed his face for a moment before disappearing back into his practiced hard expression.

“Ahh, the lady speaks,” said Cherum.

“She does,” replied Sandra. “And she is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt unless proven otherwise. So, how much for two hundred tons of coal?”

At this, Cherum scratched the back of his head and took a deep breath. A pained look came across his face as he said, “Well… that’s going to be a problem. I uhh…”

“Here we go,” said Vachir as he rolled his eyes.

“Now, just one minute, sir,” Cherum said, feigning offense. “This isn’t a negotiating tactic or some sort of deception. I want to help you and your friends. Really, I do. However, I don’t have two hundred tons of coal. I doubt you could scrape that much together across the whole city, what with the war on and the endless throngs of refugees from the south.”

Sandra tilted her head, “But surely you have access to some unknown supply or some connection to the mines here in town. People like you can get almost anything or so I’ve been told.”

Vachir realized then just how out of their element they were. He and Sandra were “military brats” raised in military families and spending nearly their whole adult lives in the service of the Free Citizens Federation. Dealing with types such as Cherum was a total departure from the order and predictability of government bureaucracy. Despite their nagging inefficiencies, at least he knew he could count on the government to be consistent.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment, m’lady,” Cherum chortled. “But, no, we ‘go between’ types don’t have secret bunkers of black market supplies just waiting for the right pirate to hand them to.” He wiggled his fingers and ducked his head in a mock scary pose.

“Truth be told,” he continued, “I sold most of my spare inventory… at cost to the Rock Bottom Civil Authority to help with the war effort.” The pained look on the man’s face was genuine as far as Vachir could tell.

“Then, it seems, we’re stranded it we don’t find enough coal to steam us out of here,” Vachir said, slumping in his chair in defeat.

“Ahh, now we come to the fun part of the deal!” Cherum exclaimed, clapping his hands together with a loud snap.

“I’m sorry?” Sandra asked.

Cherum stood up and began pacing the floor. “I did tell you that I don’t have coal. Food and black crystal, yes. And I will spirit those away to your ships post haste. However, coal, I’m bone dry. That isn’t to say, I don’t know where you might get some. Or thousands of tons to be exact.

Sandra and Vachir looked at each other and then back at Cherum. Now, he was nearly trotting around the barbershop. “Yes yes, oh yes. More coal than you could ever need. Well, charcoal that is.”

“Wait, charcoal?” Vachir said. “As in, burnt wood? Charcoal is an inefficient fuel for steam en-”

“Yes, of course, I know that,” interrupted Cherum. “A few things. First, while charcoal is not a very effective steam engine heating fuel, airships don’t require the same steam pressure as say, a rail locomotive, or industrial machinery. Also, as the saying goes, ‘beggars can’t be choosers.”

“This is where Alia’s mechanical expertise would come in handy,” Sandra whispered low enough that only Vachir could hear. “I don’t know the first thing about steam engines.”

“Well, he’s right,” Vachir replied. “We aren’t in a position to be choosy.” Looking up at Cherum, who had been leaning in to try and overhear their conversation, Vachir said, “Alright, we’ll buy your charcoal.”

“I don’t have any charcoal,” Cherum said, shrugging as he did.

“Oh for the love of all things!” Vachir exclaimed. “I’ve had enough of this. We have better things to do with our time than-”

“Whoa whoa! Hold on there soldier!” Cherum said, putting his hands up. “What I said, is that I don’t have any charcoal. I do know where you can get as much as you can carry however.”

“Enough of the endless chattering. Tell me where to get it, tell me your fee, and point me out the damn door. My patience with you has expired,” Vachir’s calm had run out as he turned toward the door. Sandra too had grown weary from the man’s excessive conversation and she also arose to leave.

“My friends. Have you heard of the bone pit?” Cherum asked as a sly smile crept across his face.

Sandra nodded, “Yeah, the supposed burial yard for all the airships commandeered at the end of the last crusade by the Prophetess. She stuffed them in a cave somewhere and burned them to a crisp so… wait”

“That’s right. Burned them all to a crisp. All those wooden ships. Millions of tons of burned wood, buried in a cave,” Cherum said.

“And I suppose, you’ve found this cave?” Vachir said with an impatient huff.

“As a matter of fact I have. It’s three days from here by landship, but less than a day for you,” Cherum said. “Tell you what. I’ll provide you with the location of the bone pit. In exchange, you load your ship with as much charcoal as it can carry and keep what you would like for yourself. The rest goes to me. Everybody wins.”

Vachir stood silently for a minute as he went over the offer in his head. The captain would no doubt agree to such a deal. Convincing her to stay behind on the Hurria while he and Sandra took the Liberator would be another battle entirely. One he did not look forward to fighting. You better hurry your ass up, Jim. Fighting with your wife is far less rewarding for me than it is for you, he thought.

Finally, he sighed and extended his hand to the nervously waiting Cherum. “Deal.”

***

“Kal? It can’t be. I mean, I hoped it would be, but how?” The man that stood in the doorway of the Protectorate house was stooped over and holding a tin manza oil lantern in his left hand. The tired flame cast dancing shadows on his bulbous nose and thick round glasses. The spectacles had fallen dangerously low on his nose and looked to be holding on by little more than luck. He was a tall man but well built despite his height. His long hair had begun to gray in places.

“Daddy!” Kalandra cried. She threw herself into the tall man and embraced him. He hugged her with his free arm and leaned over farther, making him look older. The two cried as they reunited. There were no words exchanged as they both coped with the impossible reality of seeing each other again.

Finally, the man broke away. Wiping the tears from his face, he said, “Kalandra. The priests that came for you told me that I would never see you again. They said that once someone enters the service of the Prophetess, they sever all past ties. It was hard, but I accepted that. But now, here you are!”

“They were telling the truth. If I were still under her spell, I doubt you would’ve ever seen me again,” Kalandra said. There was anger in her voice. “But, I’m free now. And it’s thanks to this man.” She turned and smiled at Jim who had been standing by awkwardly.

“Hello, sir,” Jim said, waving his hand and suddenly realizing how stupid and childish he must have looked. He felt like the boyfriend coming to call on a young lady for the first time. Then, he reminded himself, he was a married man with kids on the way and did his best to stand confidently and look mature. He reached to shake the man’s hand.

“Hello Jim. My name is Sheln. I’m Kalandra’s father.” The man straightened up to his full height. Jim wasn’t sure, but his voice seemed to deepen. “And what does my daughter mean by, you freed her?”

Jim cleared his throat. “Well, I uhhh. I and my friends were able to rescue your daughter from the service of the Prophetess and-”

“Rescue her?” the man interrupted. There was a confused look on his face “Why would she need rescue? Being an awakened is one of the greatest gifts one could be given in life. Serving the Prophetess is an honor, not a prison.”

“No, daddy,” Kalandra said. “All that stuff they told you, it’s all lies. Priests don’t serve her. Not like you would serve an employer or a lord. They are consumed by her. He enslaves our true selves and implants some twisted version in their place.”

“What are you talking about?” Sheln said. “I’ve met plenty of priests in my line of work. I’ve never gotten the impression that any one is the same as the other aside from sharing a devotion to the Prophetess.”

“Some sense of their personality might remain, sir,” Jim said, “But the essence of who they were, their ‘soul’ is locked away. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it firsthand, including with your daughter.”

“And how exactly did you ‘see’ this?” Sheln asked. Jim suddenly realized, Kalandra’s father had not invited them in. In fact, his tone was becoming more hostile. In fact, Jim wondered, what is he doing here? Shouldn’t he be at his own house?

“Jim is an awakened of earth. He has the ability to clear the influence of the Prophetess from the minds of the infected. It’s how he found me and saved me,” Kalandra said. Jim cringed. He would have rather kept his abilities unknown, especially to this man who didn’t appear convinced of his good intentions.

Sheln crossed his arms, “I don’t know much about the awakened, but as I understand it, those with the power over the element of earth are extremely rare.”

Jim nodded but said nothing. Sheln stared at him, quietly sizing him up. Finally, Kalandra broke the silence. “Daddy, we need to get into this house. The Alliance is holding someone.”

“Yes, the Protectorate spies. They’re being held on house arrest until word comes on what to do with them. The propaganda office has tasked me with recording anything they might say.” To accentuate his point, he patted a pad of paper and a pen that were hanging from the left breast pocket of his tweed jacket.

“Spies?” Kalandra said, “They’re ambassadors. When the Prophetess couldn’t send her forces through Protectorate territory to attack Freeport, she had them arrested.”

“That isn’t true,” Sheln said, shaking his head. “I was here when it happened. When the League declared war on us, the Prophetess sent a force from this city, north through Protectorate territory. The Protectorate has always remained neutral in conflicts between empires. It was assumed they would allow us to pass through unhindered.”

He took a breath and continued. Something about his tone of voice seemed “practiced” to Jim. “They were turned back by the Protectorate at the border. What’s more, the League began to attack us from the east without provocation. Somehow, with their technology, the Protectorate had prepared the League to attack us on our troubled eastern front.”

“Your sources are wrong, sir,” Jim said. “I was there when war was declared. It was declared by the Alliance. The League was caught totally off guard. I stood in front of the Protectorate ambassador who seemed equally surprised.”

Sheln was silent for a moment. Finally, he turned to Kalandra and said, “Putting politics aside for the moment, why are you here honey? And what do you want with the spies?”

“They’re not… nevermind. We’re here to retrieve them and take them home,” Kalandra said. Jim could hear frustration in her voice. She’s probably never seen this side of her father, he thought.

“Are you citizens of the Protectorate now?” Sheln asked.

“No,” Kalandra replied. “We’ve been… hired to retrieve them.”

“So, you’re pirates now? Or mercenaries perhaps?” Sheln said.

“No! We’re… you don’t understand. We’re…”

“Your mind has been poisoned against the Alliance, against me, and against your prophetess,” Sheln said. All affection was gone from his voice now. He sounded more like a scolding parent now. He pointed at Jim, “This man has obviously twisted you against everything good in your life and turned you against your own father.

He leveled an angry glare at Jim. “YOU are-” he didn’t finish his sentence. The strike from the butt of Jim’s sword struck true and Sheln fell unconscious into the arms of his daughter.

“I’m sorry Kalandra. He’ll wake up with a headache, but he should be fine otherwise. He was going to turn us in,” Jim said.

“I know,” Kalandra replied. New tears had begun to stream down her face. “When I left him, I was barely an adult. To me, he was just ‘dad.’ Not a recorder for the propaganda office. I should have known.” She turned to Jim. “You knew, didn’t you? It’s why you tried to keep me away from my old house.”

“I suspected,” Jim admitted. “I’m sorry. I was trying-”

“To spare my feelings.” Kalandra said. “You know, for a dumb guy, you have moments of real clarity.”

“Thanks?”

“The captain is really lucky to have someone like you to-”

Kalandra stumbled backwards as Jim suddenly leapt over the unconscious body of her father and sliced his scimitar into the throat of a previously unseen guard. The man had his weapon in hand and had somehow stayed within the shadows. Judging by the angle of his sword arm, he’d been preparing to strike. There was a loud tumble of feet on wood and shouting of men within.

Their cover was blown. From here, it would be a fight.