The flow of the water aids their return journey. Each of them clinging to the guide rope and each other. Thunder travels last, holding to the heavy chest, the rope tied tight around it. With absent kicks, her mechanical body propels her back to the Kingfisher, and her waiting crew. Responsibility weighs heavy on her, and the pain of loss seems to multiply the weight. She lets the water cover her face, eyes catching the shimmering stars in the indigo darkness above. Responsibility truly makes an island out of us. And as Thunder accepts the hand of her First Mate, clambering up the webbed netting dangled from the back of the ship, she feels more apart than ever from her crew. But, they have more immediate problems. Thunder forces herself back into action. “Molly, can you get us out of here?” “No.” “What do you mean, no?” “Sorry, but we’re dead in the water. We’ve got no fuel. We don’t even have fumes to burn. Frankly it’s a miracle we’re not taking on water after Mudge’s little stunt, but unless you’ve got a pair of skyhooks in that pretty box, we’re walking out of here.” “Ahem.” “Umm. We’re walking out of here, Captain,” Molly says with an apologetic grin. Molly never had a head for hierarchy, and Erin knows it. The girl talks back, and this is the worst time for it. Still, Erin can’t bring herself to discipline the girl, not with two of their crew dead. And really, Thunder knows the main source of her frustration has nothing to do with their precocious engineer. “If we can get off the rocks, we can sail downstream,” Wilhelm says. “We don’t have a lever big enough for that kind of maneuver. Plus, there’s no telling what the rocks are like downriver.” “No,” Thunder interrupts Molly, “but we can flash the engines for lift.” The young engineer throws her hands in the air. “Haven’t you been-” Thunder cuts her off with a raised palm. Then she sits herself down on the deck, her large legs crossing awkwardly beneath her. She reaches into her duster and behind her back, her mechanical features groaning slightly as she strains. There is a soft hiss, and Thunder tips forward slightly under the weight of her augmented body. Sweating, she brings out a glass canister filled with a flickering violet light. Widowgas. Her arm shakes with the effort of lifting it without the fuel that powers her. “Burn this.” Her words are slurred, her head drooping. Her ice blue eyes catch Mudge. “Get us out of here.” “All we need is a few hops to keep us off the rocks, the river will do most of the work,” Molly says, nodding. Mudge passes the canister to her, and she holds it like it might explode at any minute. “Everyone else,” Mudge growls, shivering in the crisp night air. “Show’s over. Find your places. We need lights, scouts. Up the rigging, keep the mainsail tacked. We lost two good men tonight, let’s not lose any more. Artemis will say rites for our brothers when we are safe, but for now,” the ship gives a shudder, “buckle down.” There’s a guttural grunt from the engine and a gout of water hissing into steam as the Kingfisher bounces upward. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.” Widowgas, the potent fuel was originally named for what our hunger for it left behind. Now the Slave Towers of the Opal Ocean do not discriminate by gender, so great is our need for the indigo fire. The Table of Fifteen grow rich off the incredible substance, which keeps our ships in the sky and their ark afloat. Though a ship the size of the Kingfisher needs much more than the small canister that keeps the Captain’s augmened body running - should it want to ascend beyond the atmosphere - it is enough to get her off the rocks. Engines woven into the back and sides of the ship flash with heat and the ship lashes forward, careening through steam and spray. “Tone it down, Molly,” Mudge murmurs, more to himself than their engineer. The next hop is smaller, safer, as Molly guides the pulsing of the engines. Wilhelm stands at the wheel, steering with one hand, his mangled hand hanging by his side. The crew keep the sails tacked as the river pushes them forward. A delicate balance allowing them to skim along the surface of the water at a half-hover. “Mudge,” the Captain’s voice is slow, pained. “You’re in command. Get us to Lincoln, refuel, restock. No shore leave until we speak to Haze and find out what the hell we’re doing here.” “What happened back there, Captain?” He pitches his voice low. The crew around them are busy, but close enough to overhear. “The cave was cleared out. Three dead, ex-navy, maybe. No sign of the contact, Ray.” “Faerie?” “Didn’t look like their work. It was the wrong kind of messy. They wouldn’t come near the place, anyway. And the why of that is another mystery. It’s the only reason we survived.” “Any loot?” Mudge asks, though his tone is far from hopeful. “Emerald. Looks fresh grown.” Thunder slowly reaches into her pocket and pulls out the gem. It looks even smaller in her large, rough hands. Mudge lifts it to the sky, the stars glinting on viridian facets. “’Ain’t much.” “Don’t go spending it all at once-” Her words are lost in the rumble of an explosion which rocks through the distant tree tops. Startled birds ascend in a wheeling dervish of surprised cries as smoke blooms in the air. “Did you do that?” Thunder asks, her tired voice sharp as Hellforged steel. “No-” Mudge looks around, the explosion was some ways distant though, and the Kingfisher is safe for now. “All we blew up was the sloop. Speaking of-” “We’ll deal with it.” “Keep your eyes open everyone, consider this hostile space.” The men and women working on decks stand a little straighter, returning to their tasks as the smoke blots out the stars. There are no more explosions that night, as our voyagers limp back to safe harbour. In the turmoil that is to come, that explosion might be considered to be the first roll of the dice in a high stakes game of risk. The deepest night settles over the still lake of Lincoln. A deep glass mirror reflecting the dancing stars. The Kingfisher sits at rest, engines quiet. Her crew, numbering just over thirty, stand in a somber silence on deck. A circle surrounding a square of tarp piled with the small possessions of two lives. Torchlight dances on Erin’s face as she permits Mudge to support her. Two bulky crutches forgotten on the deck. A conversation from minutes ago adds creases to her already weathered face. A conversation that had been bubbling under the surface since it began in the cavern behind the falls. “I can use it,” Artemis says. His voice quiet, but hungry. “Their energy is still in the Mirror-Heart, even without their bodies. Nobody need know. Two more, Captain. It would be wasteful, otherwise.” “I’ve told you, Artemis. I would know. And it is not happening.” “But-” “Artemis, if you bring this up again I’ll have you written up for insubordination.” Artemis pauses, his pale lips forming another entreaty. “We don’t cannibalize our own men. We don’t even have their bodies to burn. Presuming that they won’t notice… That they won’t realize when you use it. It makes fools of our crew. Our family. We don’t eat our young, Artemis, that’s what separates us from the beasts. No. Harvesting them- I know you see it differently, but the rest of the crew. They don’t understand. You Ravens… They fear what you can do.” Artemis looks at her, his face kept neutral with some effort. “I did not sign up with your crew to make friends, Erin,” he mutters. Then he offers a crisp salute, and turns to begin the rites. * * * Rico finds his way onto the deck, the sails billowing with dawn breeze. He carries a small tray, which he sets down next to the bleary eyed Mudge. Water, biscuit, and the last of the rock hard cheese. “Kendra says if we don’t buy supplies soon, she’ll have to cook me.” Mudge eyes him, taking the plate. “Been nice knowing you kid, I don’t reckon even you could come back from that kind of punishment.” Mudge chuckles. “Jonas is going to be heartbroken when he recovers.” “He’s up already. Patch looked after him… but…” “But?” “His eyes are a bit wonky.” Rico pauses and pulls down the collar of his shirt, where a shallow gash has left a red sliver across his skin. “He missed.” “Oh damn.” Mudge’s smile dies. “Sorry about him.” “No.. It’s okay. I know I’m,” Rico scratches at the cut. “…different.” “Hey,” Mudge sets his plate down, standing to survey the rising light of the Burning Moon glinting off the lake. “We’re all different. That’s what makes us strong. Strong together.” He grips Rico’s hand and squeezes tight. “You’re one of us Rico. No more different than me.” Rico smiles, then peels his hand out of Mudge’s grasp. “That’s not true, but thank you.” The city of Lincoln looms in the morning mist. Tiered docks service skyships and smaller fishing vessels alike. Without sloops of their own, Mudge has the crew raise a green flag, a request for aid. Then, signal set, they weigh anchor and wait. The first vessel to come alongside is rowed by a crew all in matching emerald tabards. An officious looking man sits at the head, his features are bold and bug-like, eyes almost protruding to the glass of his spectacles. Their smaller boat pulls alongside The Kingfisher in the morning stillness of the lake and he climbs up the lower ladder with practiced ease. He looks upon the crew of vagrants with an officious smile and turns to Mudge, who approaches. He introduces himself as Sir Perspicacious Shrew, an officer of the Lincoln Navy. “Mister Shrew, a pleasure.” “Sir, please.” His reedy voice cracks like a whip. “Oh, there’s no need to call me sir,” Mudge says with an easy grin, as Captain Thunder gives an exasperated groan from where she sits out the meeting in her cabin. “Quite.” Mudge steps forward and bows his head slightly in apology. “Just my little joke, Sir Shrew! Lest this conversation become uncomfortably stuffy. I am Zacharias Mudge, First Mate of this beleaguered vessel we like to call The Kingfisher. I do dearly hope that you and I will get on well.” They clasp hands briefly, a flash of emotion passing across Shrew’s face. He stands quietly as they part, his eyes tipping down to his freshly shaken palm, a small emerald gleaming against the olive skin. “Is this a bribe?” He asks, voice cold as ice. “What? That little thing? Oh no! Not at all, it must have come off one of my rings!” “But you’re not wearing any rings,” Shrew replies pointedly. A tension seems to gather amongst the crew, as in her cabin, Captain Thunder holds her head in her hands. “I must have lost the band too!” Mudge cries in false consternation. “Indeed.” Perspicacious raises the emerald, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Mister Mudge, where in the broken world did you come by such a fine specimen?” “It was a gift,” Mudge replies without losing a beat. “From a courtesan.” He holds Shrew’s gaze steady. “She said I was just that good.” Snickers ripple across the deck. “Oh really?” A gleam darts in the deep waters behind Shrew’s spectacles. “You must be something indeed. Because this is no plain gemstone. This has not been cut. This is a grown emerald.” “You really are-” Mudge cuts off. “I really am what?” “Perspicacious,” Mudge says with a grin. “She was a very good courtesan though. She must have picked it up from another client.” “Mm. A client who evidently spends time in Faerie country. Or trades with them. Was your courtesan a Singer, Mister Mudge? Did she service the Navy, by any chance?” Mudge’s smile doesn’t waver. He shrugs, but those watching closely may see the corner of his eyes tighten, sense the tension in the crew grow thick. Then Sir Perspicacious laughs, a rich, melodious chuckle. “Of course, you would have to be some lover indeed for her to break confidence with her other clients.” Mudge preens. “Well, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but I’m no gentleman.” “Then you won’t object to answering a few of my questions?” Shrew says, his voice going cold. “I want to hear everything, and if your Captain can corroborate at all, I’ll need to speak to him.” “Her.” “My apologies. Will you consent to your ship being led back to Lincoln Docks? And Mister Mudge, I’m afraid you will be requested to surrender yourself to my care.” The crew bristle, an angry edge settling over the ship. Perspicacious looks around, noting faces. He shows no reaction to the simple math of the deck. He is completely outnumbered. On the contrary, his eyes seem to glitter. “Of course, failure to comply may result in bombardment of your ship by our own defenses. After all, we have a city to protect.” A wooden clicking interrupts Mudge’s response, as Captain Thunder steps slowly onto the deck, straining on her crutches. Shrew performs a tidy bow. “Captain, I presume. Are you well?” “Well enough,” Thunder responds, her voice icy. The cadence of her speech is strangely light, without the telltale rumble of her internal machinery adding depth and weight. “And of course, we on board the Kingfisher are eager to comply with any official request. But, is it really necessary for my Mate to go with you? It would ease my mind to know why.” Erin Thunder takes to the political speech with practiced ease. “It is not policy to comment on ongoing investigations, Captain. I’m sure you understand.” “Then I’m sure you can understand why we would be disinclined to acquiesce to your request,” Thunder replies tersely. “You don’t get something for nothing in this world, Sir Shrew.” There is a moment of tense silence on board as Perspicacious looks across the hostile faces surrounding him. He stands alone, the rest of his small vessel’s crew having remained below. He turns his head to the side, and his eyes glitter pointedly. An iridescent sheen erupts from behind his lenses, which focus, forming a refracted line of white light. It paints a small patch of the lake as Shrew looks out. A second later, a colossal boom sounds from the town, the line of light is fragmented with spray as a dark iron boulder slams into the water beside the ship. Water splashes over the hull. “What the-” Mudge swears as lake water douses half the crew. “Don’t you dare,” Thunder hisses. Shrew’s eyes return to normal, and he stands on the deck, hair dripping. “Lincoln stands between the roiling insanity of the Faerie Folk, and the good people of Shatter. We treat with the fae, deal in their Livewood, and take on all the risks associated. Yes, Singers are known for our hospitality, but do not play games. A Wolfpack Dreadnought is berthed at our docks currently, offering additional protection. Do not presume to waltz in and take advantage of us. You will soon find yourselves treading deeper water than you can handle.” Shrew’s mouth twists into a bitter smile and he takes his glasses off, wiping them with the corner of his shirt. “But I think what we have here is a simple misunderstanding. I see tired, hungry, wounded men and women. I give you my word, I will not harm Mister Mudge.” Captain Thunder looks out towards the city, processing his words. She sees as well, the dark shadow from which a thin line of smoke billows. Jonas would tell her that Wolfpack Legionnaires are not in the habit of missing stationary targets. The Dreadnought bears the flags of the Table of Fifteen and the Wolfpack Navy. Each one on their own a stark warning to any private vessel. “Stand down,” Thunder says finally. “It looks like we have no choice. Mudge, go with the man. We’ll be fine.” “I serve at the pleasure of my Captain,” Mudge says, a confident grin lining his tattooed features. “Sir Shrew, a question, before you leave.” Thunder steps closer, patting Mudge on the shoulder with obvious effort. “You have us at a clear disadvantage, but if your defenses shoot us down, surely you would be killed too. So why come on board at all?” “You flew the flag, Captain. You called for aid. In future I would suggest you advise your First Mate not to make light of matters unless he knows exactly what it is he speaks about.” His insect eyes are piercing as they meet the Captains. A silence interrupted only by Mudge awkwardly gathering a small few belongings. “Life is hard enough, wouldn’t you agree?” Shrew says when Mudge finally stands ready. “Don’t you think it would be a better world if it wasn’t considered a leap of faith to go to someone’s aid, when they called?” Thunder purses her lips, nodding. “Of course it would be. So, do your part. If you call for aid, don’t then antagonize your would-be rescuer to the point of nearly blowing your Gods-damned ship out of the water,” Shrew hisses, frustration evident in his eyes. He narrows his eyes at Mudge, who shrugs amicably. “Catch the wind, follow us, I will lead you to a berth. After you.” Shrew gestures down the ladder, and watches as Mudge climbs down. He takes one final look across the deck, before descending out of sight. The moment he disappears, Captain Thunder collapses.