Chapter Four Hundred and Eighteen - Reluctantly Crouched at the Starting Line

As members of Abraham’s extended crew, we were allowed to view the race from some VIP seating. Or at least, that’s how the organiser that came to check up on things put it.

In reality, the VIP seating was less seating and more... a place to stand near the starting line alongside the other participating teams.

My friends and I, which included most of the Beaver's crew, were above the crew pits, which were near the bottom of our small hill. Big chunks had been carved out of it to give ships room to park and be repaired, and a large tower was erected in the centre.

That’s where the race’s organisers were stationed so that they could have a clear view of the entire race.

We sat on the bare metal scaffolding of the tower, a floor off the ground so that we had enough height to see everything while our feet dangled off the sides.

The race followed a simple route. A single lap would start at the edge of Smoulderglen, circling around the city and passing over the countryside to loop back to the starting line. There would only be two laps, so the racers would need to figure things out quickly. The course was marked out by a series of balloons hanging way up in the air, with anchor-cables festooned in streamers tethering them to the ground.

There was quite a crowd out, filling a long section of bleachers set parallel to the start and finishing line. The crowd was actually facing the city itself, and the stands were built atop a rise, giving them a fantastic view over Smoulderglen itself and across the entire race course, though the far end of it was far enough that it would be hard to make out any action.

That’s what the announcer was for, I supposed.

It helped that the airships, especially with their balloons atop them, were basically the size of a semi truck, or even a house. On such a clear day, we'd be able to see them from a long ways off. Their sheer scale meant that merely watching them form up on the starting line was impressive. It was like being at a monster truck show, only the monster trucks could fly and had balloons filled with potentially explosive gases.

... Actually, this was way better than any monster truck show, I decided.

There was an eclectic array of ships lined up at the start, with all shapes and sizes represented. From sleek, dart-like vessels to the sturdier, larger and more elaborate ones with intricate brass detailing or bright splashes of paint. A few of the more... piratical ships had rude words painted on their sides, and images of things that weren’t very nice. It did make them very intimidating, especially with all the spikes.

The airships idled at the starting line, bristling with anticipation and only held in place by a few tethers designed to quickly be cut off at the start of the race.

At least, most of the ships did. A couple were having troubles already and their pit crews were panicking about, trying to get engines started or patching up sudden holes in their balloons.

Abraham’s Shady Lady was sitting around the middle-left of the pack. Her engine purred and she looked a little patched up, but still entirely functional. Awen and Raynold had done good work bringing her up to spec. I could see Abraham’s larger-than-life form on the ship’s deck. He was shouting something at a captain of the ship next to his, the friendly banter lost in the winds and in the roar of so many engines. Raynold, meanwhile, was running some last-second checks, making sure the Shady Lady would make it through in one piece.

I sat up a little, stretching my head out to follow along the race track. Something didn’t make sense, and I think Amaryllis noticed my confusion. “Are you looking for someone else to bully into friendship or are you just trying to discover a new way to wring your own neck?” she asked.

I grinned. “No, I’m trying to figure out the race. They’re supposed to fly between the balloons, right?”

“Yes,” she said. She sounded very patient, so I knew that she was about to pounce on me with some sarcastic quibbling. Amaryllis was surprisingly cat-like sometimes, for all that she was more of a bird.

“Right, but the balloons aren’t laid out in a circle, or a single path, I guess.”

“I see. Or rather, you don’t,” she said with a pleased huff. Still, she decided to be helpful. “See those balloons.”

I followed her pointing talon to the nearest balloons. They were some hundred or so metres off the ground, anchored in place with long cables that bowed a little under their own weight. The balloons were trailing streamers of loose, colourful cloth... and a few simple ads, too.

“Yup,” I said. “Hard to miss.”

“You’ll note that not all of them have those colourful flags at the bottom. Especially over there,” Amaryllis said, now pointing further out. “Once the racers have gone around once, the second set of flags will be deployed and the first will be dropped. The race course will basically change.”

“Oh!” I said. This time I scanned the balloons with a fresh eye, and I saw what she meant. The first loop around the city was much smaller, sticking to the edges of Smoulderglen and flying through the more industrial sector at the back (where smokestacks and chimneys would probably be an obstacle). The second loop around went wider, out into the countryside and then sweeping around back to the start. “The second loop looks easier, even if it’s longer. Less turns and no obstacles.”

“I bet there’s cheaters waiting in the woods,” Calamity said.

“Cheaters?” I replied.

“Well, cheaters, ambushers, pirates, people with entrenched ballista or very strong archery skills. Maybe a mage or two,” he said. Basically, mercenaries hired to knock out the competition. Maybe some bandits looking to steal a ship." He chuckled. "Though, they'll probably spend half the time fighting each other.

I shook my head in disapproval. Cheating! At a race! That just wasn’t nice! Cheating was a fantastic way to lose friends. “I don’t like it,” I said.

“Actually, it makes some degree of sense,” Caprica said. I turned towards her in disbelief. “If every team, or at least most of them, are prepared to cheat, then it more or less means that there’s an even playing field. Now, the competition isn’t just one where the best ship and crew wins, but one where the best team comes out victorious. We actually had exercises like this at the military academy I attended. Field tests against others where cheating wasn’t allowed, but it was also encouraged.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said.

“For military training, it means thinking outside of the box and preparing contingencies and plans that don’t follow arbitrary rules, which is an important lesson to learn. For a race like this... well,” Caprica gestured at the stands and the ships. “Half of the competitors look like ne’er-do-wells. I imagine the cheating is expected.”

I still didn’t like it, but before I could say anything about it, the crowd across from us hushed and the air filled with an electric charge of anticipation. “It’s starting!” Awen said as she leaned forwards.

“Ladies, gentlemen, children, and fans of all shapes and sizes!” a voice blasted out from above. I twisted my ears down to protect them while searching for the source of the sound. There was a floating platform above, anchored to the observation tower and surrounded by large brass cones. A tiny figure was waving to the crowd, one hand on a metallic tube just in front of his mouth. “Welcome! Welcome to the annual Smoulderglen Fireship Race!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and I joined them, hollering and clapping my hands to add to the excitement.

“Today, we gather to witness a spectacle like no other! Airships--from sleek, agile birds to monstrous, looming behemoths--will vie against each other for the coveted title of Smoulderglen’s fastest! The rules are simple, but this race is anything but!”

He launched into a reiteration of the race’s rules, explaining about the balloons marking the course (provided by some local airship shop, he was pretty good at sneaking the sponsorship stuff into the cadence of his announcements) and how the changing flags would announce a change in the course. It sounded much grander and more dangerous when he described it, as if we weren't at the edge of a bustling city, but in a gladiator’s ring, the racers all about to go into mortal combat against each other.

As the announcer finished up the rules, he pivoted smoothly to introduce the competing ships. “Now, let's meet the daring souls who have dared the odds to partake in today's daring contest!” I noticed the crews onboard the racers perking up.

“First up,” the announcer's voice echoed around us, “From the notorious Red Wings, we have The Dawn Screecher, a ship as swift and deadly as the harpy call!” The airship he pointed at was sleek and streamlined, its metallic wings glinting in the sunlight. The human and harpy crew aboard cheered, waving their hats and hooting in the air as their ship's name was called.

“Harpy don’t generally have dangerous voices, what is he on about?” Amaryllis grumbled.

I laughed and wrapped an arm around her back. “He’s trying to make them sound cool!”

The announcer moved on, his booming voice effortlessly filling the valley, “And from the daring ranks of the Ember Hounds, we present the Bellowing Beast, a warship turned racer, where dwarven ingenuity meets droll strength and human adaptability!” The crowd roared in approval as the largest airship in the race revved its many engines and sent up plumes of exhaust smoke. The ship’s hull was covered in awesome looking flames.

“No, Broccoli,” Awen said.

“Huh?”

“We’re not painting flames onto the Beaver.”

“I didn’t say anything!” I said, but Awen just shook her head. I pouted. “But it would look cool,” I muttered.

Awen patted me on the back.

The announcer continued to name off ships. “And, not to be missed,” the announcer's voice suddenly became more enthusiastic, “one of our consistent crowd favourites from Smoulderglen's very own, the Smokestack!”

The Smokestack was an all-black blimp-shaped ship. It didn’t look like much, with a gondola fit snugly under its balloon and a few engine pods sticking out of its sides, but it had a large ballista at the front and a small crew who were waving from within the enclosed cockpit.

The crowd's cheers rose into an uproar as the Smokestack fired up its engines, sending a surge of smoke spiralling into the sky. We cheered for the ship, and the announcer went on to describe the Smokestacks's past triumphs. It had won the race twice, though it was defeated the previous year by an Ember Hound ship.

The rest of the racers were introduced in a similar fashion - with each getting their moment in the spotlight as their ship was pointed out, their feats (or misdeeds) highlighted, and their crews given a chance to bask in the glory of the moment.

We, of course, cheered loudest when the Shady Lady came up. The announcer only mentioned that it was captained by a famous explorer and aviation pioneer. I hoped that by the end of the race the Lady would be a little more famous.

“Without further ado,” the announcer's voice rose above the clamour, “On your mark, racers, prepare for takeoff!”

The roar of the engines grew louder, a cacophony that made the ground beneath us rumble and the air pulse with anticipation. Across the lineup, crew members scrambled into position, pilots gripping their controls, navigators scanning their maps, engineers watching their dials.

"Three!" The crowd began to count along with the announcer.

"Two!" The cheers grew louder, matching the crescendo of engines.

"One!" The crowd was on its feet, anticipation filling the air.

"GO!" The word cut through the noise like a blade, and with a simultaneous roar, the airships surged forward, breaking free from their tethers. The Smoulderglen Fireship Race had begun.

***