Maledictus Aether (19 page)

“By the gods, lad, you've the
luck of the devils on your side,” he voices, looking from the blade
to me. “For all we know, you'll return here next time with Tier in
tow!”

“That i
s the plan,
actually,” I muse, sheathing the blade again and pushing my fringe
from my eyes. With the elder man gaping at me, I continue. “My
father's greatest wish was to bring Tier back to the pirates, to
who it rightfully belongs to, and so help me I will not let his
wish die!”

“That ship could be anywhere,
though!” I look to the source of the voice, a pirate from another
ship that I do not know personally. Arching an eyebrow, I let the
gesture speak my inquiry. “I mean, so many people have gone to
search for it, all in vain, and some have no returned at all. It's
impressive that you have found Cephas' treasure, I'll admit, but
even you cannot hope to find such a legend.”

“Not to mention that it's
possibly in heavy disrepair,” Captain Davis adds, and the other
pirates gathered around curiously pick up on this protest, voicing
their own opinions one over the other. I listen to it for about
five seconds before I shout over the noise, silencing them.

“That's enough!” I snap, and all of their voices drop dead
instantly as I do so. Looking around as I drop my arms to my side
again, I lock eyes with every pirate I
can around me. “Look, if there is one thing I have
learned it is that my father's information is usually accurate, and
he has stated multiple times in his journal where he believes Tier
to have landed – and besides, you all believed the search for his
treasure was impossible, yet I return with the knowledge of its
location and priceless objects to prove I have found it! I am not
asking any of you to help me; quite the contrary, actually, and
believe me when I say that I am confident that my crew will be more
than enough to find this lost legend.”

I ha
ve been walking
during my tirade, and I jump up onto the nearest crate, letting
myself be taller than those around me so I can see every last face
in the crowd.

“Do not underestimate me yet; I swear it upon my own grave
that I will bring Tier to these docks within
the year’s end, and finally bring back to the
pirates what is rightfully theirs.” After a brief pause, I
continue. “Afterwards, whether you help or not, I will be bringing
the battle to the Fleet themselves, right at their doorstep, and on
that day you will know that the
Atlas'
crew is the
best damned crew to ever sail the skies.”

I then jump down onto the dock
beside Lucian, and I look to my Quarter Master.

“Have all the preparations been
made?” I question, and he nods. “Good. We set sail within an
hour.”

I walk towards my ship as he
turns around to gather the rest of our crew, grinning to myself as
I walk over the wooden boards of the docks.

I do love a challenge.

Lucian comes to find me later
in my quarters, our ship angled for the far south and on course for
our destination. The design plans for Tier are spread out over my
desk and I stand over them, my hands pressed to the wooden surface
as I bite my lip. With a sigh I sit down on the armchair behind me,
pressing my hand to my face and rubbing the bridge of my nose.

Curiously, the man peers at the
plans while I look to the ceiling, dejected.

I ha
ve never seen
plans so bloody complex. The sheer
scale
the plans hint
at paints the portrait of the ship as this gargantuan object
sailing the skies, and I just cannot get my head wrapped around the
idea of it being able to
fly
.

My companion whistles lowly,
and I grunt in agreement. Hearing him shift, he speaks while I
continue to keep my eyes closed, battling the migraine hammering at
my skull in vain.

“So... can you understand them?” he questions, and I snort
in response, letting that
suffice. He laughs lightly. “I will take that as a
no.”

“I do – sort of,” I counter, pushing myself wearily to my
feet and pressing a finger to the parchment, specifically to
the
breakdown of the
sections. “It is written in an old Latin form, though, older than I
am used to, which is what is giving me the biggest problems. This
here is C-E1, or Deck Three Engine one, if you prefer. The ship has
about seven floors, each serving a different purpose – the third
deck is reserved for engines, maintenance, and various other uses
of this kind.”

“How big is the ship?” he asks,
and I shake my head, shrugging a shoulder.

“Taking into account the listed dimensions here, along the
left margin,” I begin, tapping the details offered at said location
with the
knuckle of my index
finger, “I would say over a thousand feet long – possibly two,
even.”

The Irishman gapes at me, and I
nod with a heavy sigh leaving through my nose, rubbing my forehead
as I frown to the plans.

“Something that big would never be able to fly!” he
protests, and I hold my hands up in defeat, shrugging my shoulders.
Scoffing, the man looks away and rubs the back of his neck, shaking
his head. “Honestly, I can't eve
n begin to imagine what they were thinking when they
originally built it – they must've been out of their
minds!”

“It
does
sound rather ludicrous, I admit,” I
mutter, biting the knuckle of my finger as I look to the plans
spread over my desk and my eyes flickering from one to the other.
From the one showcasing, in magnificent detail, the airship's outer
design – boasting some impressive artillery – to the engine's plans
themselves, as well as a handful of other plans for weapons and
aircraft I can only assume are on board in the hangar. “After
having studied the plans for the engines for a while, and
considering how there are at least six of these monstrosities on
board, I am inclined to say that it
is
possible for it to
fly. The most impressive part? There's almost no
Aether.”

“...you're kidding me,” he
chokes, and I shake my head, tapping my other index finger on a
note written on the side.

“
Aether was a
relatively new discovery at the time, so people did not use it as
much as we do today. That is why the material they used is as light
as they could manage, and why there are no sails.” The Latin
swimming on the pages is making my eyes hurt – I haven't been
exposed to archaic Latin in about seven or eight years, back in my
rookie days before I was assigned as Engineer. “Whoever designed
this ship was a genius. I would have never created something like
this.”

“Maybe so,” Lucian starts, and
I look up into his blue-eyed stare, “but you did the next best
thing: you took an impossible design and created the ultimate
airship.”

Shrugging a shoulder, I look to
the plans and sigh.

“I a
m going to go
stretch my legs out a bit,” I inform him, grabbing my tailcoat from
the back of my armchair and slipping my arms through. He watches me
curiously as I button it up, leaving my father's blade leaning on
the couch. “Change my thoughts a bit.”

“Is there anything you'd like
me to do to help?” he questions, and I pause just shy of the door,
looking over my shoulder to the elder man. Orin's crawling along
the walls, not in the least interested in what's happening and as
carefree as a lizard can be.

“The
Alitis
will have landed somewhere in Terra
Australis, so if it will not bore you to tears, I would appreciate
it if you could map out possible sites for me,” I tell him, and he
nods. “Thanks, Lucian. I will leave it up to you.”

I leave him then, making my way down both decks to the
cargo bay where my friend the
Volaguis
has made
himself quite at home. The pirates have just started ignoring the
creature altogether, and it seems content enough that way –
choosing to coil itself around the beams keeping the ceiling in
place and surveying the activity happening below himself, or
sometimes ignoring them altogether.

I swear, sometimes the creatures in the
Skylands have uncanny personalities. They act...
well, almost human.

Placing that uncanny thought
far from my mind, I walk on down until I stand beneath the serpent,
crossing my arms and looking up to the rafters where it has made
its home. The head of the creature is currently tipped up, but as
if it senses my stare it swivels its large head down until those
strange green eyes find me among the gaggle of other men and women
in the cargo bay, and its hooked tongue slithers out briefly,
tasting the air. Arching an eyebrow at the creature, I wait until
it uncoils itself and slips down to the deck, pulling its large
body down soon after its head and wrapping itself loosely around
me, as is his favourite greeting custom.

The liquid the creature excretes has a slight chance of
warping my limbs
now; as one
of the things I designed for this was a special jacket I could wear
to cover my arms in their entirety, as well as a pair of breeches
and boots to withstand the liquid. It took a while and a bit of
research, but I've been successful.

I call to the pirates nearby to
open the hatch, and they're all too happy to oblige – so long as it
gets the serpent out of the bay for a while, they don't actually
care what I do. Can't say I blame them – and as they do as I asked,
I rub Gus' nose idly, my greeting in turn, and the creature allows
me to hoist myself up onto the back of its neck, where I've set up
the semblance of a saddle – with a twist, of course, to suit this
creature instead of a horse – and pull my goggles over my eyes just
as the hatch is lowered, allowing the stiff, cold air to flood into
the room.

Needing no incisive, the
creature easily slips out the bay and we drop a heart-lurching
descent as the hoods on either side of its body produce the helium
required to keep it afloat, and after a few hundred feet it takes
flight, twisting back towards the ship itself.

Right now, if memory serves me well, we are nearing
the
Skyland of Dracia, a
peculiar land situated off the coast of Africa. We're scheduled to
land there to gather the last of the materials needed for our
journey to Terra Australis, and there are mixed feelings about this
aboard the
Atlas
.

Dracia is... well, once we
approach, it will become clear.

The serpent flies past the
ship, faster than her engines can carry her, and without any
instruction on my part he keeps nearby, almost as if guarding it. I
hang on to the spike jutting out in front of me, looking around the
vast sea of sky with a smile on my numbing face.

At this elevation, near fifteen
thousand feet, it's rather frigid, but I feel rather alive when I
do this – makes my breath catch and falter, and with this new heart
my blood travels my veins more quickly, the artificial organ
beating in my chest rapidly. I tip my head back and let out a
cheer, letting go of the spike briefly to throw my hands in the
air, but as we pass through a cloud I lose my balance so I grip it
once more. The moisture clings to me as we exit, the hot afternoon
sun beating down on my back.

I'll never understand how men
and women can go through their lives without once stepping into the
skies. It's simply breath-taking.

We turn back towards the south, the sun my only compass,
and in the far distance I can see the
tell-tale signs of the Skyland we are destined for. It
looms at a distance, getting ever closer as we fly straight and
true to our destination, and the serpent I travel the skies on
seems to sense my discomfort, for it turns away from the sight of
the Skyland and passes through the clouds once more, forcing me to
tear my concentration away from the island and over to the large
ship the creature is flying us back to. It flies us back around
towards the ship, almost as if wanting to escape the island as
well.

Holding onto the creature's neck, I let out a sigh and look
back once to the
Skyland, my
lips forming a tight line as I bite the lower one.

Docking in Dracia, even my crew is agitated as I rope down
from the gallery and land on the planks, in a more showy fashion
than my Quarter Master who simply walks down from the plank.
They're tying her up as I press a reassuring hand on Orin's little
back while he sits on my shoulder, and around the docks a few
pirates and locals stare in confusion at the
Atlas
, a
ship like none other in the sky.

“Why do we need to come here
again?” Lucian asks me, eyeing the locals suspiciously. I shrug off
his hand from my right arm, frown never leaving my lips as I look
from my companion to the city itself.

Dracia is an immense structure in the sky, even by the
standards of any
Skyland. Its
buildings rise up, cloaked in Aether and shining peculiarly in the
sunlight, and its people are... well, pirates, but any other
captain is sensible enough to steer clear of this Skyland for one
particular reason.

These men and women in particular are either convicts
fleeing the Fleet itself and have yet to give up that life, or are
outlaws even by pirate standards. We
do
have a code of
conduct and the authority to punish another pirate or local living
in the skies if they break this code, but Dracia offers immunity
and amnesty to any and all that wander onto its land, therefore all
pirates fleeing other pirates for crimes they've committed against
their own is pardoned so long as they remain here.