Maledictus Aether (7 page)

“
A fine lass,
quite the metalworker – I do believe she’s a steel smith now, and
works wonders with metal creations. From what I hear, though, her
finest work is by far in the Automechanoid department.”

I nod, the comment going right into all the information
about my past that no soul deemed good enough to share with me – so
that, at twenty-two,
I am
scrambling around to find the ties of my history and my past,
following a dead man’s lead for a ship that sailed so high up it
froze its pilots to death.

My father’s mother died of a lethal injury to the
chest,
though a mechanical
heart would have saved her life if they had those kinds of
resources on Tier. His father took on the piracy trade when his own
father, Lazarus, became too old to continue, and when my
grandfather escaped Tier with my father, they went landside in
order to hopefully begin anew, a life without piracy.

Father then joined the Forces, and his sister, Elyn Teresa
Watkins, went to l
earn the
trade of steel smith. As William became ill and passed, father was
put in the Fleet and sent to the skies, where he then became the
Captain of his ship and married my mother, Cristina Bowe, before
forging ties into piracy the way his ancestor helped create the
trade.

The rest is as Captain Davis told me – he sought Tier as he
raided Fleet ships and made his fortune, and was heading for London
when he was ambushed and hung, the date of his death marking my
birth: February 5
^th
, 1856. The
final phrase mentions my name, Cephas Kennedy Watkins II, and my
current trek through life until a little after my surgery six years
ago.

That i
s on the page
right after his, with enough room for more on the off-chance that I
followed my father’s steps.

I look blankly at the pages,
frowning.

“
The symbol on my father’s pocket
watch – it is not there to symbolise Nemesis,” I
state, and the pirate sits back down at the very spot he left a
moment ago, carrying a tray of food and drink for us – as if he
knows that this will be a while.

I do no
t like being
misled, so it might very well
take
a
while.

The tray holds a bottle of gin
and rum, as well as two crystal glasses with ice already in the
confines. He pours us a glass each, he his rum and I my gin (which,
in his eyes, will forever be the most British thing I do – that I
tend to agree to on occasion and with enough of the liquor in me,)
and hands me the glass, which I hold in both my hands and lean my
arms on my thighs, leaning forward in my seat. Other than that, the
silver tray holds a platter of pastries, much like last time.

“
You’re right, and I do apologis
e for leading you on like that,” he states, taking a
drink of his glass before settling it onto the table. The ice
dances musically as it settles in the bath of coppery liquid, and I
take a drink of my own, the familiar taste welcome on my tongue.
“Bear in mind, I was giving you the opportunity to do what your
father did – piracy. I wasn’t offering to pull you into the part
where he hunted after a battleship no one has seen for about half a
century. I was well aware that you wanted to do as he’s done, as
it’s the thing he told me, and when you decided to hunt the ship, I
wanted to have nothing to do with the influence of your
decision.”

I frown, the ice cold on my
upper lip as I pause mid-swig. Lowering the glass, I speak.

“
What doe
s the symbol
represent?” I inquire, and he spreads his hands.

“
The ship, actually – its name literally translates
to
winged sword.
It’s an old Latin phrase,” he
states, and I nod, taking out the watch and looking at its
cover.

“
How old was my father when you met him?” I look up at the
man, pocketing the watch again and taking a drink. Thanks
to a certain friend of mine, I have
learned to hold my liquor well enough, and I believe the skill will
serve me little to no true purpose – except to offer me some grim
satisfaction and a bit of pride.

“
Cephas was twenty-eight when I met him at
Hades’ Treasure
,” Captain Davis informs me, and I reach for one
of the pastries, the cream-filled dough sweet on my palate after
the juniper berried-flavour of the gin. “He was in the trade for
about seven years before he passed.”

“
He’d be
fifty-seven today,” I muse, and the pirate Captain nods sullenly.
Almost in synch, we take a drink of our liquor and set it down on
the table, mine empty and his leaving the bottom of the glass
flooded. “How old does that make you, then, sir?”

The man grins as he pours me
another with an eyebrow arching in question, that I nod to. Orin
sits quietly on my shoulder, sleeping from the looks of it, and the
weight of the lizard on the bone offers me comfort the way the
presence of a person cannot.

“
Age is just a number, lad,” he tells me
, and I frown at that. He does not look a day
past forty, with only the beginnings of grey hair to show for it
and a bit of wrinkles around his eyes. “Oh don’t look so cheated –
it’s not your fault everyone’s been watching your every move with
bated breath, waiting to see if the son of the legendary Cephas
will follow in his footsteps. As it stands, you’re going to be the
first Automech pirate this world has ever seen.”

We sit in silence a moment, I
skimming through the list of other pirates and flipping through the
logbook idly, not really concentrating on it as I nurse my gin.
Captain Davis raids the pastry platter in the quiet of our
discussion.

He clears his throat, making me
look up from the book in my lap.

“
Your formal
training, then, shall begin tomorrow,” he tells me, and at that I
brighten up. The large man laughs, pulling on the lapels of his
waistcoat a moment. “You will learn every post there is on an
airship, and learn them well. You’ll work your way from deckhand to
Master Gunner, as well as everything in between, before you ascend
to the role of Captain. This takes us to July, where we are
scheduled to dock in Aeon, and where we’ll find you your ship and
crew.”

He leans forward then, still
grinning and holding his glass.

“
What say you
to that, Kennedy? You still have time to change your mind – and
none will hold it against you,” he informs me, and I arch an
eyebrow at the ridiculous proposition. “You’ve quite a heavy legacy
to shoulder, what with your forefathers being pirates, going back
for generations, and your own father being the best of the
best.”

I down the rest of the gin in
one gulp, setting the crystal glass down loudly and grinning at the
Captain.

“
Looking forward to it, sir,” I reply, and he laughs again,
nodding. “My father’s death will not go unpunished; this I swear on
my own hono
ur, both as an
engineer and a man.” I lean forward, hands on the table, as I drive
my point home. “May Airn curse me to whatever hell awaits me if I
fail this duty.”

His eyebrows rise, seeing the
seriousness of my oath and the severity of it. His laughter dies
and he leans forward slightly, enough so that I can smell the rum
from his breath, and looks at me the way anyone would when they
have a troubling thought.

“
What did your father’s journal
tell
you?” He
inquires, and here I stand.

“
The man that
caused his death,” I tell him, and take my leave with those words
uttered, leaving the Captain to collect his own thoughts. As I
depart, I leave him with my final oath. “And the man whom I shall
kill.”

• V
  –
  Tools of the Trade
  

The following day, I a
m put to work as a deckhand.

One of the pirates working topside, Owen, is put in charge
showing me the ropes and how it all works – some of the pirates
being old enough to remember the time my father was with them, and
teasing me all the more for it (in the spirit of fun, of course) –
all down to the actual rigging of the sails. I follow him up the
rigging, where we tighten the sails and fix the patches
wh
ere the Aether has given,
and I am shown how lookout works as well.

Actually getting some on-hand
experience with the task is amazing, and as long as I live, I swear
never to forget the look of the sky stretching infinitely around
the ship as I stand in the crow’s nest, clouds passing through me
as I watch the skies expand into infinity. The thunderclouds and
the smell of ozone thick in the air, the scent of rain accompanying
it. The deckhands teach me a lot about the way an airship’s system
works, the rules enforced and the repercussions – well, how they
work on a pirate ship, anyways.

Somet
imes, during the
day when there is no need to do anything, two pirates brawl on the
deck for the simple pleasure of brawling, and I stand in the
rigging, watching them fight without ever really hurting the
other.

When someone thinks pirates,
they think angry fellows who lust for blood and riches, and who are
never happy with anything.

While the lust for riches
is rather accurate, the rest is not so. In all my time
there, these men were never boasting about exploits of blood and
violence, or ever really angry. They laughed and even sang
shanties, teased each other the way an extended family would, and
brought me, a man that suddenly walked in with an arm and legs that
are not his, under their wings with open arms and smiling
faces.

I spend a little over a week learning the ropes for
thei
r trade, and by the end
of it I have promised myself I will not be the kind of pirate who’s
crew fears him – instead, I want to be the kind of man father and
Captain Davis are, showing kindness to their crew while still being
in charge. It is the kind of thing anyone could learn from, as the
world below is still so racist and prejudiced, yet aboard
the
Calypso
there are black, white and Asian men
and women, young adults to older men, of all ethnic backgrounds and
cultures.

They happily let me in, and
even convince me to sit by them in the mess in the mornings and
evenings.

The next two weeks is dedicated to learning a more
technical aspect from the sailing master – the use of the Aerial
Radar and Altimeter, and how to plot a course using them and a map.
That in itself proves to be educational in more than one way – as,
in my father’s journal, he mentions many coordinates, on more than
on
e occasion, but I had not
thought of them as coordinates until I am shown what to do with
them.

Afterwards, I spend another week learning the trade of the
Master Gunner,
how to utilize
the ship’s defences and how they work. This one is a post I do not
need as much, as the Forces were pretty strict on the idea that
recruits learn all there is to know about the latest weaponry –
such as the Tesla Bolt – but it still helps to know how older
models work.

The next is spent under the Quarter Master’s wing, where he
shows me how his post is pivotal to the airship’s functionality –
as he keeps order when problems arise, and bring them up to the
Captain. Things such as insubordination generally reach the Captain
through him, and he stresses that
it is crucial that, when I have my own crew, I have a man
loyal to me at my side that cannot be bribed, and will not betray
me.

The way my father’s Quarter
Master did, in other words.

I do no
t tell a soul,
though.

Finally, the last two before docking in Aeon are spent
learning the trade of the Captain himself, where he also
tea
ches me to fight using
both sabres and fists – the latter being gladly taught by Owen
himself, the best at hand to hand combat on the ship. Captain Davis
takes care to teach me the swordplay.

I never beat the man. Never once, but on the last day of my
training I drew blood on his arm – which, in his book, says a lot.
He says my father and a handful of others were the only to ever
draw blood, and that if I can hold my own that well against him,
then I truly am my father’s son – as his equal
was
my
father.

I also got to fly the ship.

It i
s at that very
moment that I decide that I regret absolutely nothing about my
decision, the power the airship offers me as it willingly bends to
my will making me alive in a way I have not been in quite some
time.

Later on, I
realise
that I have not been that elated since the accident. Flying does
that for me – it pulls back the man I was before I lost my limbs
and my heart.

We a
re some hours
away from port when Captain Davis allows me free reign, to pull her
into the docks and fly her right over to Aeon – that is a small
blotch in the distance, but growing steadily bolder with every
minute that passes. My hands hold the polished wood of the helm
easily, bringing us to the next part of my journey.

Although, to be fair, I feel tempted to look at the Captain
and tell him that I am reluctant to leave – even though it can be
seen by the way I sometime
s
lose myself in my thoughts. I have never felt more welcomed than on
the
Calypso
, but at the
same time I want to meet my destiny, and become the kind of pirate
father would’ve been proud of.