Edit: I don't know why the font is so wonky. I hope you can deal with it alright.
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Maigel rounded the corner and fell against the wall, breathing ragged and heart pounding. His latest haul of stolen fruit slowly slipped out of his grip as he gave himself over to recovering from the chase. He had lost the bazaar soldiers, but he had also lost contact with the other orphans during their raid. He momentarily prayed for their safety, but then closed his eyes as his mind emptied of everything except his next breath.
A dull roar from high above interrupted his reverie. Looking up between the multistory, plaster-and-wood apartments was the sky, little glimmers of blue visible between the criss-crossed laundry lines and nationalist propaganda banners announcing the glory of the Imperial Parade (“See Your Armed Forces, the Pride of Pellaria, and the Spoils of Righteous Victory!”). He needed a better vantage point.
Breath still ragged, he ran through crowded street after crowded street, pushing, shoving, and dodging his way through the mid afternoon crowd, heading first to the roofs and then to the Docklands. He knew what the sound above meant – airships. Ten years ago, the last time the Fleet passed through, he had been too young to witness the conquest of Oren. While the war raged on, even though the front became more and more distant, the “newly conquered” territories were still banned from forming militia or using airships. News arrived six months ago that Narsket, the last holdout of resistance, had finally fallen. The Emperor’s “honored heroes” were to return with a token escort after the area was fully under control, and many trading magnates immediately began construction on ships to accompany the military escort while major cities constructed “harbors” for the new trade routes.
The Docklands was Oren’s harbor – A tall spire jutting out of the waterfront docks. Piers, supported by suspension cables and buttresses, jutted out in all directions. A constant groan of the clockwork operating the lifts, pullies, and secret machine inside the technological wonder permeated the port district. Steam billowed from the top as if it was the smokestack for the entire city.
Clamped onto the piers were three ships of the Imperial Armada, and docking around them were the tagalong traders, the first in what would become staples plying the skies of Oren.
The full catalogue of Imperial technology and, some whispered, hidden magics had begun arriving along with the end of the war.
During the construction, Maigel had often snuck into the Docklands, eager to catch a glimpse of the sheer foreignness of this monument to technology. Knowing that security would multiply when ships started arriving, he had convinced the orphans to help him make sure there would be a few secret entrances – A weakened wall here, a tunnel there. The preparation paid off, allowing Maigel to quickly dismantle a small section of wall, climb inside, and reseal it behind him. Making his way through the steamworks housed in the basement of the Docklands, he arrived into the tower proper.
Slipping into the hustle and bustle of the Docklands was easy, and he began making his way up the lifts and stairs to the piers. He spied foreign merchants dressed in all manner of exotic clothes and smelling of aromatic spices and foodstuffs. Laborers moved crates and milled about, looking half as likely to cut as carry. Cargo cranes swung with precision that bordered on recklessness as they convoyed cargo down and supplies up. Maigel watched with wide, glassy eyes. He changed lifts three times before reaching the first pier, the people at the bottom of the tower now simply dots in the haze that permeated the structure. As he stepped out from the inside of the tower, he blinked before the light glinting off the metal of the military airship.
Trade ships were primarily wooden, and many had only basic steamworks in which to keep them afloat, relying mainly on the cheaper and easy to repair system of propellers for movement. This ship, very obviously military, was encased in metal, wings a mixture of steam and wind power. The cannon doors were closed, but the outline allowed Maigel to easily imagine the similarity between this metal beauty and a porcupine. The other big difference between the trade ships and the military ships was easily observed as well – Soldiers were guarding the gangplank to the Imperial airship.
He sat on a nearby crate, eyes devouring every inch of the wonder. So awestruck was he that he did not notice the man in the casually undone uniform sit next to him.
“A true beaut, isn’t she?”
Shocked out of his daydreams, Maigel fell off the crate, scrambled to his feet, and stared at the now laughing soldier.
“Now, I can’t imagine why a kid like you would be here. Although, you walk with the confidence of someone who belongs, I don’t think you do.” The soldier’s grin got wider as Maigel’s jaw set in silence. “Well, how about I show you around this ship? A tour from Pellaria’s ‘greatest hero’ should give you a story to tell to the other kids, yeah?” He stood and walked toward the ship, Maigel hesitating for only a second before following.
He watched the soldier as they walked along the pier. Unkempt uniform, shaggy red hair under an uncentered hat, and a swagger that told of too much time spent in the sky. “…Who are you?” he half-whispered as they approached the gangplank.
The grinning man spun around in front of the guards watching the plank. “If these gentlemen have done their jobs right, you and everyone else in this city will have that answer before the day’s over!” He turned back to the guards. “Gentlemen?” The two guards nodded, unsuccessfully trying to hide smirks of their own. “Excellent! Well, boy, shall we begin your tour during the preparations for departure?”
Uncertain of the soldier’s meaning, Maigel nodded and followed as he was given a full walkthrough of the ship. The deck, almost empty, hid the bustle of the blowdecks. The machine room was undergoing a full repair and the cargo hold was brimming with supplies and men checking off lists. The crew quarters were almost empty, with the crew hustling around the ship, but the cannonry was almost too full to pass through, with cannons being cleaned, supplies being checked, and drills being run. When the tour brought them to the captain’s quarters, three men bent over a table hushed, eyeing Maigel distrustfully until the soldier laughed and told them to continue. The men started talking, but in forced tones that told of false conversation.
As the tour progressed, Maigel noticed that the people still boarding the ship were merchants and laborers dropping off cargo and then disappearing further into the ship. The few soldiers on board were keeping a watch outside the ship on the deck or the gangplank, not inside. And as the tour wound to a close back at the end of the gangplank, the eccentric soldier received a whispered message from one of the guards. Nodding, he turned back to Maigel.
“I fear this concludes our tour, as this ship will be departing in mere seconds. It was a pleasure meeting you, young thief,” he grabbed Maigel’s arm and shook a small pilot’s handbook and navigational chart out of the loose, baggy sleeve, “I hope your dreams are fulfilled as much as mine are about to be. Remember this: nothing will happen if you don’t make it happen.” He left Maigel standing on the pier and stepped back aboard the ship. “I’m sure we’ll be making a name for ourselves, so keep up with the rumors!” He was now shouting over the roar of the engines starting and the whirring of propellers. “Maybe you can use our bad example to learn some tips about what not to do when you get your own ship!” Laughing, he took off the military jacket, swung it over his head, and threw it toward the pier before turning and disappearing into the ship as it disengaged itself from the pier and, dipping only slightly, turned and set off.
Maigel picked up the jacket and watched dumbfounded, not entirely certain of what just happened. The ship made it’s intentions clear a few seconds later when it unleashed a volley of cannon fire into the Imperial ship on the next pier up. As it disappeared into the smoke still billowing from the Docklands, Maigel heard the sound of whistles and shouts from further down the pier, alerting Maigel to the immediacy of his need to not be here when they arrived. Shimmying down the side of the pier, he crawled along the support beams that criss-crossed the underside like laundry lines, slowly making his way down the pier and to his own, less glorious, escape.
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