The clouds above the southern Okeanos sea hung in the air like a thick fog. An ironclad airship slid silently through the mist, sets of twin propellers on each side churning whirlpools of moisture in their wake. The ship was long and narrow. A tapered prow at the nose of the ship gave way to a slightly bulbous midships, before squaring off at the stern. The tip of the prow was edged like a blade, as if it was intended to cut through the air like a knife. Runes painted upon the hull in golden paint revealed the ships name, ‘Leiptr-hundr’, or Lightning-hound in the common language. Next to the runes was a round shield, painted in blue, the national sigil of the Norlander Confederacy.
The front of the top deck was occupied with a single artillery piece, its long steel barrel pointed to the fore. An observation tower rose behind the cannon, supporting a platform large enough for a single crewmen to operate an array of spotting scopes and maintain the radio transmitter. Behind the tower a crewmen wearing a thick fur coat emerged from belowdecks, their head obscured by a leather hood. Tufts of silvery white hair blew in the wind as the hood fell back, revealing a woman with pale skin and a blue tattoo running from cheek to cheek in a line bridging her nose. She approached the tower and pulled open a metal box at its base, removing a wired telephone handle.
“Time for bed mate,” she spoke into the handset, her voice authoritative but warm. A few moments later the sounds of the watchman’s boots clanging their way down the tower’s ladder neared, until he reached the bottom. “Anything to report ensign?” she asked.
“No, Master Wynn,” the young man answered, his face as pale as hers, but without the blue tattoo.
“Alright, go to bed,” she said, giving him a light pat on the back. After he passed by Wynn ascended the ladder in his place. A set of handrails at the top provided enough leverage for her to hoist her body up and over the top of the ladder, the small sword at her hip swaying back and forth with every step. She was forced to grip the handrails tightly, as they were slick with moisture from the clouds. She settled in, adjusting the fur blanket beneath her, the only thing that provided any comfort against the cold metal floor. The first task before her was to check the spotting scopes, which were currently doing a very poor job of providing her a view much farther than the bow of the ship, so thick was the fog.
She reached over and unlatched a metal box, identical to the one she had used previously at the base of the tower. She retrieved the handset and waited for the tone. “This is Master Wynn,” she spoke. “Reporting a change in watch.”
“Are you taking the morning shift, Master?” answered the officer on duty.
“That’s right.”
“You aren’t going to see much in this fog,” the officer said, his voice crackling slightly through the phone line. “Maybe if we gained altitude…”
“I don’t think the Captain would appreciate a change in course,” she said, a slight hint of amusement creeping into her voice. “And I don’t think this fog will look any more interesting from the top.”
“Yes ma’am,” the officer responded. She hung up the phone, the conversation’s true purpose accomplished, which was making sure the radio worked before she began the shift. She unbuckled her belt, removing her sword and placing it next to her. Next she crossed her legs, leaning forward so she could place her forearms over the front of the railing. She rested her chin on her arms and gazed off into the distance, her silver hair blowing gently in the wind.
Below decks Captain Max Ariosto lay in bed, a fur blanket draped over his naked body. He snored softly, his well toned chest rising and falling with each breath. His skin was several shades darker than Master Wynn or the ensign, and his hair jet black instead of silvery white. He shared the same blue stripe across his face as Wynn, although only half of it was visible as he slept. A few scars across his back marred his otherwise smooth skin.
A bell rang from the speaker above his bed, interrupting the silence of the cabin. After a moment of hesitation he suddenly jerked upright, the sound of the bell still echoing. He reached over for the phone that hung from the wall, fumbling for it as he struggled his way to consciousness. “Yes…” he mumbled, a slight accent to his speech.
“Get your ass up, captain,” Wynn spoke through the phone.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” he mumbled. “I outrank you.”
“Only on the ship,” she answered. “Seriously though, get up. I spotted a smoke column.”
“A smoke column? Through the morning fog?”
“The fog is starting to clear. Even if it wasn’t, it’s black smoke.”
“Black smoke? It must be some old junker.”
“I don’t think so. It smells like wood…”
“Alright,” Max said, his voice trailing off as he stretched. “I’ll be right up.” After hanging up the handset he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, throwing the remainder of the blanket that covered him to the side. He put on a pair of trousers that lay crumpled at his feet, a pair that was not as heavy as the uniform that Master Wynn or the watchman wore. He walked across his cabin, the only one that had carpeted floors on the ship. He approached his closet and made to slide the door open before realizing that Wynn’s oversized great-sword was leaning up against it, one of the many blades that the Weapon Master owned. With a slight grunt he pushed the weapon by the hilt and shifted its weight so it rested against the wall, instead of against the closet door.
He retrieved a white short sleeved shirt from the closet, slipping it over his head before sliding his arms through a heavy coat that he grabbed next. Finally he retrieved his captain’s hat, placing the blue cap upon his head. With one final glance around the room, his eyes lingering on several of Wynn’s garments that still lay discarded on the floor, he walked out his door.
He emerged into the corridor beyond, which traded the soft carpeting and golden hued wooden panelling of his cabin for cold iron and flickering electric lamps. A midshipmen saluted him as he passed, his pale face absent the blue tattoo that graced Max’s. He ascended the steps and reached the top deck just as Master Wynn descended the ladder. She traded places with an ensign and approached to brief him.
“Captain,” she smiled, a mischievous glint in her bright blue eyes.
“Master,” he nodded, his tone adopting mock seriousness. He glanced around the deck, sniffing the air. “You’re right, that is definitely wood smoke. Which direction did it come from?”
“I first noticed it out of the east.”
Max glanced in the direction she mentioned, a mental image of the ship’s navigation charts running through his head. “We might be coming up on one of the island chains.”
“We are supposed to be hunting pirates,” she said, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Maybe some of the islanders have a pyre burning?”
“The islanders down here don’t burn wood,” Max pointed. “Not enough quality lumber they can waste on a fire. We better check it out.”
“Should I get my people ready?” she asked.
“Couldn’t hurt,” he shrugged. Together they retreated belowdecks.
The ship descended through the atmosphere. By now the bright morning sun had dispersed much of the fog that had surrounded the vessel. General quarters were sounded, igniting a wave of activity across the ship. Crew scattered about, battening down hatches and prepping the main cannon as well as the smaller secondary guns underneath the airship’s gas chamber.
From the bridge Max watched as the pilot steered the ship towards the island chain beneath them. That had been his job not too many years earlier, although he had served on a much different ship than the patrol craft he now captained. Piloting a nimble patrol craft like this was much different than helming a Norlander destroyer. Max felt it was more engaging, rather than less, as he watched the pilot.
The ship descended by compressing the buoyant gasses held within its air chambers into storage tanks. Ordinary air was pumped in from without, replacing the buoyant gas and causing the ship to descend. The ship fell vertically, without the tilt associated with heavier-than-air propellor craft. There was no need to dip the nose in the air, which would rain chaos upon the crew aboard. Max stepped over towards the forward viewport of the bridge. He looked out over the deck of the ship, although most of the view was obstructed by the observation tower and the forward cannon.
“About face,” Max ordered. “Let’s get a look at this island.” The pilot flipped a lever, switching his steering from the propellor shafts to the aileron. The ship spun around gracefully, presenting its rear to their destination, even as its overall course did not change.
Max turned and went to the rear viewport. Below the spinning propellers, which were now slowing after the pilot had cut their power, he could make out four mountainous islands, arrayed in a line going from northwest to southeast. The largest island consisted of a ring of forested hills surrounding a volcanic mountain. The column of black smoke that Wynn had spotted rose from the western shore of the island, where a section of the forest had been cleared away.
As they descended towards the island the smoke revealed itself to be rising from a village. A series of small houses, almost all one story structures, surrounded a central clearing in concentric circles. In the middle of the village was a great-house, kind of a mix between a town hall and a dining center. It was shaped like a long rectangle, the center half twice as tall as either end. Even as ruined as it was, the ceiling blackened and collapsed, Max could tell it had been built by Norlanders, the people of the north.
A door opened from behind and Max turned to find Wynn entering the bridge.
“Sir,” she saluted, maintaining formal discipline while in the presence of the bridge crew. She approached the rear viewport, her tall build shadowing Max by almost six inches.
“Someone torched the great-house,” Max said, pointing out the obvious as she gazed down at the village herself.
“These were Norlanders,” she said, growing angry.
“So it seems,” he said. “I didn’t know we had any colonies down here.” The pilot glanced at him when he said ‘we’. “If it were pirates that did this why isn’t the whole village up in flames.”
“We don’t tell people where to live,” she said sidelong, having noticed the pilots glance toward Max. “If the village had come under attack everyone would have gathered at the great-house, it’s the most defensible building. Perhaps that is why only it is burning.”
Max turned from the view port. “Pilot, put us down in the water, next to the docks.”
“Yes sir,” the pilot answered dutifully, any hint of resentment towards his non-Norlander captain vanishing.
“Wynn, get your marines together. Recon the village and look for survivors. Send up a flare if everything is clear.”
“Aye captain,” she answered, nodding in agreement. “And if everything is not clear…do you want prisoners?”
“….at least one or two,” he answered.
ThisFicWriter 