Interlude

Ailek took a swig of marsh, waited for a moment to feel the fire begin to ebb from his limbs and walked towards the cage.  He walked past the other cages with the steely-eyed stoic chirops, the wide eyed huddled lemur-men, the softly whimpering humans, the three empty cages only to stop at the one that was most full.  Scurrying around, lighting up the cave in a purple panic were close to thirty cuttle babies of various sizes.  Ailek steadied himself with an outstretched arm at the gate. The last swig of marsh he had had, was not even close to the first of the day.  Some back part of his mind scolded him for escaping into his bottle like he had.  But with his duties it was his only choice.

He hoped the others would make their "breakthrough" soon, as he was as tired of their failures as the higher-ups were.  In the dim light of the caverns he was in, the purple strobing of the cuttle gave him a headache that seared through his skull like a knife heated to white hot.

"They're just cattle" he told himself as he undid the lock and looked for the slowest or easiest to catch.  He ignored the other cages full of eyes that stared at him.  He knew the cuttle were intelligent, they had scrawled pleas on the floor of their pen.  That had sent him into a marsh induced funk for days.

There was one cuttle outside the group that had been injured when it had been taken.  It seemed more a mercy to choose it, rather than one of the others.  Maybe by the time a new one was needed the others would have discovered what they needed to discover.

It made little effort to escape Ailek's net when he threw it over. Its purple cries no where near as bright as the others.  Ailek had no idea if it had siblings in the cage or if it was a stranger.  Perhaps, he thought, it would be best if it was a stranger.

A bell rang near the front his cavern. "Can't keep them waiting can we?"  He told his netted cargo.  Ailek worked hard to not make eye contact with any of the other occupants of the cavern but he could feel their enmity, their hatred boring into his back. 

He turned, quickly.  "Soon!" he shouted.  "This wasn't my idea, you hear me?  I didn't do this, they did!  I'm just trying to help!  I don't even like it here.  It smells!  The food is bad.  I just want go home too!"  The only response he got was a renewed whimpering from the human's cage.

Ailek walked as quickly down the cavern's corridors as his marsh-addled legs could take him.  The constant din of the world falls grew louder and louder as he approached the central chamber.  A green light that would grown in intensity beckoned him down the hall. 

Moments later, Ailek and the cuttle child entered a large semi-circular stone cavern.  Gas lamps lit the edges of the room in a flickering blue, but the main illumination came from a stone dais near one edge.  Runes and etches seemed to dance with their own green light that would brighten then fade like a breath being drawn in and out.  Each rune was too bright too look at, at its brightest.  The far edge of the room was a massive set of windows, secured with thick steel frames embedded into the rock.  On the other side of the glass and an relatively small airy void thundered the world falls.  Stepping up to the window, one could the dry edge of the continent that stretched off into the gloom, the water careening over the edge to form a ceiling.  Below stretched only darkness and whatever was at the base of the world falls.

Three other people were in the room when Ailek arrived, all dressed the same in long white lab coats with dark goggles shielding their eyes from the glare.  One of the technicians was looking nervously at a small bank of copper plated dials, the other two were securing ropes to an enormous cuttle that was already on the dais.  The two technicians used long poles with hooks and ropes at their ends to loop cables around the cuttle. 

The technician near the dials hit a button again, the bell sounding near the cages once more.
"Where is he?"
"I'm right here." Ailek slurred and sauntered into the cavern. 
"You're drunk again." the technician said.  The other two stopped what they were doing and stared at Ailek.
"What are you two doing?  We don't have much time left, we need to make the switch.  Hurry!"
The other two technicians redoubled their efforts and heaved the large cuttle off the dais.
"What are you waiting for Ailek, get read to swap!"

Without rushing, Ailek walked over to a cabinet and began securing the cuttle child to a pole and took position behind the other two technicians.

The pulsing light on the dais began to speed up as now half the large cuttle was off.  It seemed to try to move itself off as well but legs flailed uselessly.  The chitin on its belly made a squeaking scratching noise as it ground over the edge of the dais.

The pulse grew quicker, the dim never quite coming, the brightness growing.  Ailek took his pole and slid his cuttle onto the dais just as the last part of the larger cuttle left.  Almost instantly the light dimmed and stayed a dark evergreen.  The cuttle child began to twitch, its biolight voice turning from purple to nearly white as it cycled through its colors.  Ailek had to look away.  One didn't have to speak cuttle or know their lights to understand a scream.  He felt bile rising in his throat.

"Ailek what are you doing?  Finish it!  Do you need me to replace you?"
"Yes!" Ailek screamed in his mind.  "Let me go, release me!" but all he could manage was "No, hang on."  With one arm he used the pole to pin the cuttle to the center of the dais, with his other he managed to grab another and secure the cuttle to the center of the dais with steel cables.  There was no chance of the cuttle flailing itself off.

When he was finished he simply dropped the poles where he stood, turned and left the room leaving the other technicians to look at each other and wonder if his usefulness had finally come to an end.

Ailek began his mantra the minute he reached the doorway "for the greater good, its for the greater good, some must die so all can live, we will go..."

"Ailek, I would like a word with you.  Ailek, this specimen is sub-par.  Ailek are you listening to me?"  Shouted the main technician behind him.

Ailek let the words slough off him as he retreated deeper into his marsh haze.  Staggering he made his way back towards his room.  He had bought himself maybe a week with this specimen before he would have to do it all over again.

The lights from the giant cuttle in the cavern pointed toward the smaller, they turned from white, to purple to match the dull green of the runes, then they went out.

Something moves in the distance

Please note there will be some Ret-conning occurring with a couple of my old old old posts to make sure that my end of the thread stays coherent.  Namely, Vincenti was detained and stabbed by an anti-golem fanatic who sees them as

abominations walking the earth, Arthur's glamor was to make him look like a child not a dwarf human, and the black moth representatives may or may not have actually been on board the Cumulus, depending on how it goes with the Cirrus

gang.  Stay tuned. Now on with the story:

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Arthur was on the bridge as the Cumulus came in to final approach with the Cirrus Gang's floating island.  His already wide golden eyes, even wider looking at the sheer size of the structure hanging there in front of him in the sky. 

The island was built of 3 concentric "rings" expanding from a spire in the center.  The needle stuck above and below the superstructure by at least 20 stories on either side.  The spire and its central 'island' was surrounded by roads and catwalks, girders and cables and connected to the middle 'island' where five enormous hangers attached the five balloons that held the whole structure aloft.  Each of those cigar shaped balloons not only dwarfed the Cumulus but dwarfed the Trident building back home. He guessed if he sprinted from one end of a balloon to another it would still take him five or six minutes to reach the other side.

The last ring of the island also connected by catwalks and large thoroughfares was covered in low buildings, parks with trees, and what appeared to be clusters of bubbles, which, as the Cumulus got closer resolved to gun placements.  Large nacells with propellers were attached to all 3 rings by long struts.  The engines faced in every direction.  Arthur surmised that not only was this island heavily fortified but also highly maneuverable.  At this point in the twilight, only a third of the island's engines were being used to maintain the structures placement. The other engines sat quietly, their massive four bladed propellers catching the last orange rays from the sun.

As they got closer to their docking bay, He could see movement in the distance.  Figures moved about all surfaces of the giant ship.  From Lemur Men on long tethers swinging from one station to the next, spanners in hand, overalls covered in grease, to Chirops, flittering on their leathery wings, reaching the outer reaches of the structures with ease.  Humans were also in the mix, reading schematics and running to and fro with equipment, hoses, and what not. 

As the sun set Arthur could make out lights coming on from inside, but not the cold white/blue of gas lamps.

He turned to ask Captain Levkov a question and found she was already looking at him, a slight smirk on her lips.  He realized his jaw was open and quickly closed it to prevent drool from escaping. 

"Your home is amazing."  He said, not even caring that this may be his last night alive.

"My home is on the Cumulus here, but yes, the Garundi is impressive."

"I noticed lights from inside, but not gas lamp color..."

"We have our choice of plunder from all around the shallow sea and the two continents.  Treasure is not just gold or gems.  There are certain rarefied gasses, that, when an electric current is passed through, will glow with all the

colors of the rainbow.  I will admit the actual 'how' escapes me but it is quite useful as you can see."

Arthur had heard of thaumaturgic alchemists playing with electric currents in the city, but they were mere nestlings in their understanding, not even close to being able to light a structure.

"Have you or any of your crews been to the other side of the world falls?"

Captain Levkov studied him for a moment, the smirk still on her lips.  "You do know who we are, do you not?"

"The much vilified, often sought Cirrus gang, although I would admit from what I've see, you are far more organized than the guerrilla pirates my government makes you out to be."

"And what does the Cirrus gang do with prisoners?"

"From what is said, you don't take any.  Although I frequently thought you were either an excuse for the government to spend more money on lead shot or conversely merely a tale mothers to tell their nestlings to get them to go to sleep or behave."

"And you do know that we've removed all the locating wards from your clothing?"

Arthur swallowed slowly.  "No, this I did not know.  Are you sure?  Sheung can be pretty crafty when he needs to be."

"So knowing who we are and what we do, do you want to continue with your questions?"

"Well," Arthur realized the branch he was hanging from was significantly thinner than he thought.  "You haven't killed me yet or dropped me out of a hatch, and you did say I was a commodity, so you have use for me in some fashion.  So yes?  Have you ever gone to the other side of the world falls?"

She barked then stifled a quick laugh.  "For a dead man who's wanted by the black moths you are amusing.  No, I have not ever been to the other side of the world falls."

"That reminds me, why do the black moths even know who I am? I'm simply a poor and unassuming lemur man who got on the wrong side of a glamour and ended up in a burlap bag on a ship."

"And the Cirrus gang is a shareist utopian society bent on leveling the fields of slave and owner by liberating both's material possessions."

"Touche' Captain."

There was an almost imperceptible bump as the Cumulus nudged into a docking harness on the outer ring.  Arthur could hear the whir of machinery clamping the large ship in place. 

"Please Mr. DeMedilan, would you come with me.  We are just in time for dinner if we hurry.  We had a headwind that cost us almost three hours of flight time." 

Arthur had to jog to keep up with the Captain's long stride.  He noted how everyone in the hallways would salute and press their backs against the bulkhead as they passed.  No one said a word as they walked.  A long gangplank with low

rope railings had been lowered to the hanger's floor.  Once down Arthur noted that what he had assumed was a solid metal floor was actually a honeycomb structure, riddled with holes made out of a material he'd never seen.  Smoother than wood, brighter in color than metal.  He could barely make out whitecaps on the ocean far below him through the holes.  Even as a Lemur man he felt a slight wave of vertigo. 

They crossed the hanger to a door and exited.  The boulevard they faced was wide enough for nine or ten carriages to pass side by side.  On either side of the boulevard were gardens being tended by only a few people.  The thoroughfare's themselves largely empty.  They walked to the inner side of the boulivard where a cable ran overhead.  Arthur was surprised to see the cable was moving quite quickly and had to jump out of the way as a large crate suspended to the cable whizzed over head.

Captain Levkov beckoned him over to a small alcove where she sat on a bench, wide enough for 4 people.  He sat down, fastened a belt around his lap as she touched a button on the armrest to her left.  A hook seemed to sprout from teh top

of the chair and grab the moving cable above.  Arthur was pushed back in his seat as the bench lurched upwards and away from the hanger.

He could feel his jaw dropping open again.  His government had no idea what they were looking for, and he only wished Vincenti could see this.  The old golem who had seen and done it all in his hundreds of cumulative years would still be in for a surprise or two.

Arthur was marveling at the ingenuity of how the bench could change from cable to cable depending on the destination when his wide eyes filled with panic.  The cable they were on took them over the side of the outer ring and for a brief but still heart stopping moment they were in free fall facing the ocean directly below them.  The Lemur man gripped the armrest of the bench, wrapped his tail around the seat back and stifled a scream as the bench's hook caught the new cable and they sped in a graceful arc to a new path below the outer ring.

"I, ah, I..." Arthur stammered.  The bemused look never leaving Captain Levkov's eyes.  "Uh, I may need a change of clothes before dinner.  H-h-how many more of those are there before we get to wherever we're going."

"I thought all Lemur men ignored heights?"

"Yes, and I thought all humans hated them."

"Touche' Mr. DiMedilan"

The cable they were on stretched loosely to the lowest end of the central spire and it took almost eight minutes for their bench to arrive.  Once below the superstructure Arthur felt how cold it was at altitude and closed the fur lined jacket closer around his neck.

"How it that it is so much warmer on top, near the hanger?"

"The material Garundi is made of traps the heat of the sun and becomes lighter throughout the day as it does so.  From dusk through dawn that heat is radiated back out into the air.  That is how we heat our water and warm the soil for our crops."

"Crops?  I had assumed you merely ate food that was plundered or scavenged?"

"The Cirrus gang, as you call us, are not scavengers.  We are hunters.  Besides a diet of salted beef and hard tack gets enormously tedious after a while.  We have animal pens on the other side of the ship, so those who live on Garundi day in and day out actually have quite a varied diet."

"Do you have manufacturing on board?  The tools to do so would be enormously heavy, not to mention the raw materials needed..."

"Mr. DiMedilan, please make sure your appendages are fully inside your seat's envelope, we're about to arrive."

They sped towards and open door twice the size of the bench itself and came to an abrupt halt as an arrestor hook snagged the bench's own hook.  Shakily Arthur undid his belt and climbed out.  At least inside the central ring the floors were solid.  Still made out of that mysterious substance, but solid none the less. 

They walked to the doorway and down several flights of stairs to a room that Arthur surmisded was the lowest point on the entire island.  There must have been kitchens nearby as the flavors of the Southern Isles filled his nostrils.  His stomach growled.  Crew carrying empty platters were running up the stairs to pass them, but would flatten themselves against the wall as they continued downwards.

Finally they reached an alcove where staff was staging meal courses.  Not just the Southern Isles were represented but flavors from across the two continents were there too.  Foods Arthur had only heard about were there.

They entered a large room with a huge round table in the middle, some fifteen people sitting around it, all being attended by servers, pouring wine or beer, or bringing more food.  Again, vertigo hit Arthur as except for the wall where the alcove was and a small portion of the ceiling where this room attached to the rest of the island, every exterior surface was either clear or opaque, the floor being no exception.  The table and diners, for a brief second looked as

though they were floating in mid air, their faces all touched by the fiery orange of the sunset.

"Ah, Niyati you made it!"  said a man at the far side of the table.  He stood, causing all the rest of the diners to stand as well.  Levkov smiled and saluted.  "Yes sir, and I might add commodity aquired.  Say hello Mr. DiMedilan."

"H-hello."  Arthur said, suddenly shy as all eyes were on them.

The man at the other end of the table gestured for them to take the two seats closest to him.  "Mr. DiMedilan, please join us.  We were just beginning dinner.  We have many important matters to discuss, but the most important of them is your future, both short and long term."

Arthur gulped.  He was, suddenly, not very hungry.

This is what was overheard

"Slants!" Sheung swore. I've got nothing.  "Its like he just disappeared."  The small man threw his pendulum down onto the map with his good hand.

Vincenti overheard the little man swearing to himself.  He let his eyes flutter open, the cacophony of memories quieting to a din, then the separate shouts of his past lives until they became merely a background conversation.  He got up from his chair in the corner and went over to his master.

"Can I reach anything for you Sheung?  Get something from kitchen or cupboard?"

"Slants, Arthur is gone!"

Vincenti's slow beating heart fluttered in disappointment.  "But the wards..."

"Have been dissolved by someone or something.  I'm not the best mage around..."

To have Sheung admitting aloud that fact pointed to how distressed the little man must be.

"Do you think he's been discovered?"  Vincenti asked.

"No way of knowing.  Gods I hope Charue is still all right.  Tolo came and went just before you got back saying another several slimes had been abducted..."

"Children."  Vincenti corrected and then regretted speaking.

Sheung merely glared at him.  "Come closer, your glamour looks odd."

Vincenti stepped towards the wheelchair.

"I must be slipping, your golem roots are showing.  I'll need to rework your glamour again.  Remind me next week."

"If people know what I am..."

"If I can get you from the runners before I can do so again.  Don't worry you won't be pressed into service with that lot."  Sheung spat.  The reassurance, however did nothing for Vincenti who wanted to spend as little time with the runners as possible.  Golems were rare commoditiy these days. 

There was a knock on the door.  Sheung stopped, Vincenti's breath stopped in his chest.  Another knock.

"Hold your tail, I'm coming."

Sheung wheeled over to the door while Vincenti retreated behind the curtain that seperated the two lower rooms.

The mage opened the door, a man in a well tailored black suit and matching bowler was standing there.  He wore a monocle and instead of looking at Sheung as the door opened seemed to be scanning the room.  Still without looking at the small man, he said,

"August Sheung I presume?"

"And what if I am?  Are you in need of a potion?  An antidote?"

"Not so much of a what, as an..."  The man's eyes stopped at the curtain "It..."

He turned his head to someone outside out of Sheung's view.  "It's here.  We found it!"

Sheung could hear several pairs of footsteps begin up the stairs of the front.

Sheung backed up slightly and attempted to close the door when the man in the bowler put his foot in the jamb.  Sheung turned and said "Vincenti, be a good sport and get me some lanic please, while I deal with our guests?"

Vincenti flushed and ran towards the stairs to the basement.  He saw other men in bowlers dart passed the window, presumably to cover his escape at the back door.  In the front room he heard Sheung's chair being tipped over as the door burst in.  He wanted to run to aid his master, but his master's orders bound him to his course of action.

In the front room, Sheung rolled away from the chair, producing a small tube from his lizard arm sleeve when he stopped.  He brought the tube up to his lips and puffed, the dart catching the first bowler man in the back of the neck.  Two other men in bowlers charged in the front door.  They saw the man with the monicle sprawl face down on the floor, sliding until his momentum had evaporated.  Sheung managed to get another dart in the tube and fell one of the two assailants.  The third kicked the
tube out of his lizard fingers.

He held up his hands in front of his face to ward off another kick.

"Its antidotes you'll be wanting.  They have minutes until the poison stops their hearts.  Its my own brew and only I can save them."

The third bowler man looked at his compatriots and lowered his leg.

"That's better, now help me to my chair."

The bowler man helped Sheung into his chair, righting it and placing the tiny mage in the seat.

"Very well now, lets discuss payment first, shall we?"

Sheung was answered by the bowler man reaching into his suit pocket, pulling out a blackjack and receiving a sharp rap to his head.  The world exploded in stars then darkness as Sheung lost consciousness.

Vincenti could hear the scuffle upstairs as he ran through the shelved warren that was the basement.  Along the east wall he pulled out a box labeled lanic", the shelf immediately to the boxes right opened, revealing a dark tunnel that didn't come up higher than Vincenti's mid-thigh.  He replaced teh box and shimmied into the tunnel just as the door closed.  As silently as he could he made his way to the tunnel's exit some three blocks way.  In the distance he could hear Sheung's basement being destroyed as the men in Bowler hats looked for him.

Promises Broken

Finnegan and the giant walked at a brisk pace towards the south end docks.  He quickly became annoyed with Berto's penchant for wandering off any time they stopped at a street corner.  One time he walked off to theoretically find a lost kitty that had turned out to be a rat, the second he was sure he saw a shining quag in the sewer and thought Raz would be impressed if he brought it home to her.  Keeping the giant focused for more than a minute at a time was a job in and of itself.

A walk that would have taken Finnegan twenty minutes ended up closer to an hour.  They slowed even further as they approached the wharf.  Finnegan took a moment to see who was there.  Maybe this wasn't the best of plans, he thought to himself. 

Fishmongers had begun bringing in their catch and were dutifully avoiding eye contact with Finnegan.  Twice he thought he saw people on the rooftops staring down at them, but ducking out of sight just as he looked up.

Eventually they came to a large warehouse at the end of Wharf 14.  The large wooden doors were closed and suddenly Finnegan realized how empty the dock had become.  The hustle and bustle of getting fish to market and unloading the boats was replaced with simply the scratches and creaks of the boats rubbing against the docks and the mooring lines shifting with the waves.

Head held high, Finnegan decided to push the investigation.  He walked up to the front door and knocked loudly.  A second later a small hinged window opened and man with small black beady eyes peered through.

"What'chu want?"

"We're here to see Furd!" Berto blurted out.

The beady eyes scanned Finnegan from shoes to bowler and then shifted to Berto.  The expression stayed nonplussed.

"He ain't here."

"Oh no we missed him?"  Berto looked genuinely put out.

"I know he's here.  You can cut the act" Finnegan bluffed, then continued:  "He's not in any trouble.  Just want to talk..."  
From inside he heard someone speak.

"Is that Berto? Hey let him in. I'd recognize that mook's voice anywhere!  Hey is his sister there?  Heh heh...  Who's the other voice.  It sounds familiar..." the voice trailed off as the main door opened.

Furd stood there and looked at Finnegan.  The smile vanishing from Furd's face like a tandil running away from a flame.  Furd's eyes narrowed from confusion to anger as he recognized Finnegan.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here.  You promised if I went straight you'd never show your mug around me again."

"Furd!!!"  Berto shouted, ran over to him and hugged him right off the ground.

"Get off me you lent!  I don't know you.  Who are you?"  Furd looked around for the runners.  "You and I have never met in my life."

Berto looked hurt.  "Furd, its me.  Berto!"

"Get out of here both of you. I don't know you" he pointed at Berto, "And I have nothing to say to you except that I am legit and you've broken your promise" looking at Finnegan.

Finnegan thought quickly.  "Mr. Ares, I admit we have not gotten off on the right footing, but belive me when I say I hold no grudges.  I'm sure you are fully rehabilitated and merely wanted to talk with you about an organization called the Black Moths?"

The frown on Furd's face turned to a scowl as his complexion turned white. 

"What is this?  Some sort of setup?  I don't no nothing about no Black Moths."  There was a hint of panic in his voice.

"Are you sure?  I can, ah make it worth your while?"  Finnegan grasped.

"Ain't nothing you have that can make it worth my while."

"C'mon Furd" Berto implored.  "You're usually so helpful!" 

Furd's demeanor returned.  "Shut your face mook. As I just told this gentleman here, I don't know nothing bout the black moths.  You get what I'm saying through that thick skull of yours?"

"If you're worried, since, as you say you're now legit, I could arrange protection from the runners for any assistance you might be able to give me."

Furd guffawed.  "The runners?  HA!  That's a good one.  Like they'd ever protect me.  Where were they fifteen years ago?  Huh?  Where were they at the Refinery?"

Finnegan steeled his face. It was time to pull out his last card.

"This is about the missing children Mr. Ares.  If you do not assist me, knowing your past, shall we say, indiscretions, I can have a score of Runner's accountants and investigators here within the hour to make sure that you are as legit you say?  You know how runners are, a carefully placed report from me and we may not have to worry about the black moths at all in regards to the missing children?  I'm sure your room at the refinery is still waiting for you."

Furd looked dumbstruck.  No one threatened him, especially not on his dock at his door.  He looked around nervously. At that moment at the head of a dock a Runner's runner came around the corner and stopped as it received updated instructions.  It stood their, its glowing red eyes seemingly staring at Furd and the little group at the end of the dock.  Instructions received, it continued on.

"Fine.  Come in, both of you.  Slants all to brindle I don't believe I'm helping a crat."

The door closed, and Finnegan's eyes adjusted to the lowered light levels.  What looked to be a run down warehouse from the outside was an immaculate and opulent building inside.  At least fifty people and twenty lemur-men scurried around with clipboards, files and carts.  The building was abuzz with movement inside.  Richly textured pictures hung on the walls, the reek of sea decay disappeared once he crossed over the threshold.  Whether it was real or a detailed glamor Finnegan couldn't tell but he was impressed none the less.  A glamor would have cost almost as much as the items themselves.

"Look, don't make yourselves too comfortable I don't know much. Berto! Put that down!  That costs more than your life."  Berto, looking chagrined, put a small statue back on a table.

Furd continued:  "I met a couple guys at the Refinery.  Said they worked for these Black Moths.  They deal in all sorts of stuff but they have backers. Big time backers.  They're not from here but they have pockets deep enough to buy their way into just about anything.  They're looking for something.  Anyway they tried to incorporate all of us on shorter term sentences at the refinery and I figured it was just a bunch of pie in the sky hooey till I got out.  Next thing I know while I'm gettin' my business out of hock, people I worked with for years ain't calling me back, and that's just those that are still around.  Some up and left town.  Others just up and disappeared.  These guys are more organized than anyone gave them credit for.  Problem is you only get one chance to join them.  Slants knows I've tried to get back with them, join the winning side and all but now I can't even find any of their people.  Its like I'm always two minutes too late.  That's all I know.  They need something, and what they can't buy here in the city they burn.  I swear that's all I know."

Finnegan nodded. What was he supposed to do with this?  Third hand reports of a new mob with ties to the refinery.  He would have to find Berthold again and see if he knew anything.

"I thank you for your time Mr. Ares and appreciate the information.  Berto you have anything to add?"  Berto shrugged.  Finnegan wasn't sure what made him ask the giant, but anyone who supposedly could speak to cuttle might have insights of some sort.

Finnegan left the docks with Berto trailing behind him.  Berto looked a little lost and forlorn.  A block away from his office he stopped.

"Berto what's wrong?"

"I'm worried about Raz.  I haven't been away from her this long ever."

"She'll be fine." He guessed.

"Why did Furd pretend not to know me.  He didn't like you.  Are you a bad man?  Raz told me I could trust you." 

Finnegan chuckled.  "Me? A bad man?  Compared to the likes of some of your so called friends I should be nominated for sainthood."  They began walking again.  Just before he rounded the last corner to his building he slowed.  Dancing lights of what could be a fire played off the buildings around them.  He picked up speed and rounded the corner.  It wasn't a fire, once again the square in front of his building was full of cuttle.  Not quite as large as the day before but there were still at least 50 of the creatures.  This time all of them were flashing in unison.

"Oh no!" Berto cried!

"What?  What is it?"

"Another child is missing as of last night!"

Finnegan watched a couple of cuttle near the back who were tenticle signing for the non-cuttle species.  Seconds later as he pieced together the sign language, sure enough, Berto had been spot on.

Another cuttle baby was indeed missing.

What waits at the top of the stairs

Had started this one about two weeks ago, now its finally finished!  Thank you Chrissie for helping bring two sides of the story together.

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Finnegan was in his high backed desk chair before any of the staff arrived.  The nightly showers had just ended, and a mist was flowing from the city streets out to the bay, its tendrils seeming to shy away from the rising sun.

A fleet of Runner's Runners had been kind enough to drop of box after box of missing person reports during the night, the boxes stacked neatly around his desk.  The boxes were now, in stark contrast to last night, strewn almost haphazardly around the office.  He had spent the better part of the last three hours pouring over only the missing cuttle children.  The Runner's so far seemed to have no leads.  All the usual trafficking outfits coming up as dead ends, one after another.

He straightened up and turned off the gas lamp on the table.  Early morning sunlight had started pouring in his windows.  His back spasmed as he stood up from the desk and he drew his breath sharply.  Finnegan had thought he had been able to avoid real work like this some decades ago.  He could still feel the censure buzzing in his skull each time he thought about handing off some of the files to an assistant.  The buzz would startle him at first, now it was a reassuring vibration behind his ear.

Finnegan walked over to a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of marsh off the top shelf.  He uncorked it and grabbed a small glass from on top of the cabinet.  This early in the morning he thought a scant minute longer before downing the dark blue liquid.

The squeak and groan of the wooden bench in front of the office broke his revelry.  Finnigan put down the glass and walked towards the front office door. No one was supposed to be there for hours yet.  He was halfway to the front door when he thought twice, backtracked and picked up a letter opener from his assistant's desk.  Putting his ear to the door he could hear the occasional creak and groan from the bench. 

Finnegan opened the door quickly and peeked around the frame, sitting on the bench at the top of the stairs, was a mountain of a man, the bench bending under his weight.  When the figure saw Finnigan he rose, head scant inches from the ceiling.  He was fully three heads taller than Finnegan and most likely at least twice his weight.

"Can I help you?"  Finnegan inquired.

For the man's size he stood like a child.  Head bowed, hands clasped nervously, feet pointed inward slightly.  The figures eyes closed and he began mouthing something obviously rehearsed.  Unfortunately there was no breath behind it and Finnegan was caught trying to read the man's lips.

"Ah, sir, you'll have to speak up I can't hear you."

That seemed to fluster the man who looked up surprised.

"Are you a golem?  If so, golem relations is one floor up.  But I don't think anyone is there yet.  Are you all right?  Is your hex wearing off?"

This seemed to prompt the mountian who finally found his voice:  "MynameisBertoandmysisterRaztoldmetofindthemanwhohelpsthechildrenandsaidyouwouldknowwhattodotohelpthechildren."

"Woah, woah, woah, slow down.  You're not a golem?"

"A golem?  No I'm Berto.  Raz told me to find you."

"Right, Raz?  Who is Raz?"

"Mysisteroraleastshesaysshe'smysisterandwegowayback..."

"Slow down.  Take a breath.  Why don't you come into my office.  You said something about the children?"  With that the buzz behind his ear intensified.  Finnegan scowled and said to no one in particular:  "If I can't ask about the children what use is any of this?"

Berto ducked under the office door and followed Finnegan to his office.

"Pardon the mess, I'm redecorating. I'm thinking of papering the walls with these and calling it 'early bureaucracy'"  He slid several files off of a second chair and motioned for Berto to sit.

"Now, you said something about Children.  Oh and can I get you anything?  A glass of water perhaps?  Take a deep breath and start from the beginning."

Berto took a deep breath and slowed down like Raz was always telling him to do, although it didn't look like this man was going to give him a slap to the back of the head like Raz did.

"I'm supposed to see the man who's looking for the children."

"What children?" Finnegan asked cautiously.  The buzzing behind his ear surprisingly silent.

Berto screwed up his face.  He was a study in concentration.

"The missing cuttle children.  They're so unhappy and scared."

"Who the children?"

"No the cuttle."

"How do you know?"

"That's what they were saying yesterday in the square."

"Right, yes of course, the cuttle in the suqare. And you speak cuttle correct?"  Finnegan said, grabbing another three fingers of marsh.

"Raz told me to say...  No I don't speak cuttle I just know anyway Raz told me to say"

"Raz, your sister right?"

"Right, at least I call her my sister.  We grew up together near the docks and we go on adventures together and we 'liberate and initiate the pockets of the unaware and the unrepentant' whatever that means.  Raz says its a noble calling."

"So your sister and you hang out on the docks and pick pocket?"

"Oh no no, pick pocketing is illegal.  We need the money so Raz says its the right thing to do and that the people would want to help us anyway, we're just saving them time!  We give it to our other brothers and sisters and buy them food!"

Finnegan sighed. 

"But that's not what I'm supposed to tell you. I'm supposed to say that we know who kidnapped the cuttle children!  All of them, not just the four you've sent reports to the runners for."

"There have only been four."  Finnegan lied.  The papers hadn't listed any of the other disappearances yet.

"No there've been a lot more.  The Cuttle said so yesterday, and Raz said to say that the Black Moths are involved!"

"The Black Moths?  Who are they?"

"They're the new gang.  Everyone's scared of them."

"Everyone?  Who is everyone?"

"Tom Chindle, the Ares Brothers, Benny Lopsided, Two-hits Linden.  Raz doesn't think I know but I pay attention. I really do!"  He looked so earnestly at Finnegan that Finnegan paused before pouring another glass of marsh.  He grabbed a pen and paper.

"All right, so Its the Black Monks?"

"Moths. The Black Moths"

"Right and the list of the others who are scared of these moths?"

He wrote them down assuming them to be a who's who of low level dock rabble.  At least he'd heard of the Ares brothers before, they had gone to the Refinery on a five year sentence.  Finnegan had been a witness at the trial in one of their lower level person trafficking schemes.

Had it been five years already since they were sent away?  Finnegan realized with a start that it had been much longer than five years ago.  He had born witness against them almost fifteen years ago. 

"Mr Berto. Is that your first or last name?"

"First, I don't have a last name.  Raz says some day we'll be adopted and we'll get that name.  That'll be a fun day!"

"Where is your sister now?"

"She had an appointment.  I don't know where she is but she said it was real important and that me coming to see you was just as important."

"So it was, so it was.  Do you have a way of contacting her?"

"No."  Berto hung his head.  He obviously hadn't thought this plan through far enough.

"Do you think she's doing something dangerous?  If so we should call the runners to help."

Berto panicked, eyes wide. "No!  No runners!  Runners hurt my friends!"

Finnegan had assumed as much.

"Do you have a way for me to contact you if I need more information?  I think I need to pay a visit the Ares brothers but I may need to talk to you or preferably with your sister shortly."

"no" Berto said quietly.

"Then you can either come with me, or stay here.  But I'm going to have to insist on one of those two options."

"I can come with you!  I haven't seen Furd in a long time!"

It made Finnegan uneasy that this giant seemed to be on a first name basis with a known criminal.

"Very well then, I need to write a quick report and send a message.  Would you mind waiting out in the front office?  I'll be ready to leave shortly."

"Yes!"

The mountain acted almost like a puppy, eyes wide, smiling at the thought of not having to be alone or make a decision himself.

Finnegan crafted a quick letter, addressed it to his cousin at the Citadel and put a time stamp on it so that his assistant wouldn't courier it for at least several hours.  Hopefully the runners would arrive in time and not make a mess of things but better to be safe than sorry.

"All right Mr. Berto.  Shall we be away?"

"From where?"  Berto asked getting up from the couch in the main room of the office.

"From here.  Lets go pay a visit to the Ares brothers."

Write the First Time

With Berto safely tucked away in the labyrinth of the Citadel, I threaded my way through the streets of the city. The address on the card led me to a small side lane that I had passed many times but never turned down before.  It was nondescript.  Just a dank side alley filled with overflowing garbage cans and the scuttle of small animals that took flight as I approached.  The alley had a few scarred doors on each side.  Every one had a patina of slime and disuse to them.  None matched the address I had so I kept walking, scanning ahead, ears perked for noise from behind, all the while the gloom of shadows lengthened.  The lane ended abruptly.  I don't know why I was surprised.  I mean, it wasn't like the Black Moths were going to have a welcome mat or placard announcing their presence but I did, at least, expect a door.  Forgive me my ignorance, it was my first time playing to this level of field.  I wasn't quite aware of how out matched I was.  But that sad realization was quickly approaching.

I turned around slowly at the dead end.  More rats.  More stink.  Less light.  But still, no sign of a door.  Just a solid brick wall ahead.  I stepped forward, my toes brushing the loose mortar that lay in front of the wall.  I could not see a since clue that there was anything other than brick before me.  It even smelled of old stone.  I glanced at the card one last time and notice something.  The dark winged moth was glowing.  It wasn't pronounced.  Nothing you could find your way by.  But the shine was there.  I lifted it closer to my eye and the glow intensified.  Clearly, something was happening.  I stepped back and scanned the wall.  Sure enough, there was now a slot, small enough for the card, appearing before me.  There were no instructions but it seemed pretty self evident.  I slid my card into the crevice and waited.

The bricks began to rumble.  It was low and quiet.  A smell of oil and sulfur tinged the air and suddenly my brick wall opened into a small lobby.  A man sat behind a desk directly before me.  He glanced up at me in irritation and waved me in.  I hesitated.

"Come now, mustn't tarry.  You are letting in the smell," he snapped.  His nose wrinkled in distaste.  I scuttled forward and felt the opening shut behind me.  The room was small.  Only a few feet wide with four chairs along the north wall.  The desk with the fussy man sat next to another door.  This one plane wood.  It was closed.

"Now, let me see," the desk man pushed his spectacles up his nose and shuffled some papers with gnarled hands.  "Ah yes, Miss. Raz?  Is it?  And your brother, ah, Umberto de la Torez?  Where would he be, um?" he peered over the rim of his glasses and tapped his fingers impatiently.

"My brother couldn't make it.  He had another engagement." I answered levelly.

"I see," the desk man sighed in disappointment and scribbled something onto the page before him.  "Take a seat please, they will be here for you shortly."  He nodded toward the row of chairs to my right.  I watched as he rolled the paper before him into a cylinder and then slid it into an opening behind him.  There was a woosh of air and it shot up the wall, through an opening below the ceiling and out of sight.  The man returned to his scribbling without further notice.  Warily, I took a seat and waited.

Write About A Sudden Silence

It took two more shots of courage before I left the bar. I needed time to think my options through. It wasn't pretty. Bert must of sensed something was wrong from my sudden silence. He wrung his hands and swayed quietly at my side while my head raced. The Black Moths were big time. As the Citadel grew in strength and pumped out more efficient Runners, the under belly of the city responded in kind. Small time gangs and loan sharks were efficiently rounded up by the Runners and swallowed whole by the dark tower. The ones that escaped detection were the most ruthless and most deadly. About two years ago, rumors began to circulate that a new organization had formed. Petty differences and territory skirmishes were squashed under this new leadership. In order to thwart a better mousetrap, the mice had evolved into something smarter, quicker, and deadlier. I didn't know much about how the organization was run. I liked playing in the kiddie pool and had no illusions that I could swim in the deep end. Unfortunately, it appeared I had just taken the plunge.  But I could run. Berto and I could high tail it right now for the countryside. Maybe find work on a farm or sheep ranch. Or we could head out to sea and try and loose ourselves on one of the outer islands. Maybe try our hands at piracy. But while we might slip out of the reach of the Black Moths, we would leave quite a few behind. Our step brothers and sister, friends, colleges.  I shuddered at the thought.  Santiago knew us.  I had no illusions that he would help me.  The casualties were too high for running away.

I pushed away from the bar and headed out the door and up the stairs.  It was heavy night.  Two moons hung low over the horizon.  My thumb rubbed the embossed moth again and I noted the address.  It wasn't far.  As I headed across town with Umberto in tow, I paused to look up at the Citadel that spiraled up the sky.  Even at this hour of night it was alive with lights and smoke and noise.  That was another option. I stopped on the corner and gazed at the building, thinking.  The Citadel wanted the Black Moths.  They had been hunting them for years.  So far, their Runners had been lead on a merry chase.  They would pay for what I knew.  Heck, this address alone would buy me a years worth of coin alone.  But again, there was the small issue of my family and friends.  While the Citadel would gladly protect me and Berto, I doubt they would throw their cloak of protection over all those I cared about.  No, I knew I had but one real choice. One true choice but there were still a few variables I could finesses. If I was going to have to play this cruddy hand, I might as well stuff as many aces up my sleeves as possible.

"Come on Berto, let's go to the Citadel," I said, walking briskly toward the square.

Berto's face scrunched in confusion.  "Raz?  Why we gonna do that?  I thought you said to never ever ever go there?"

I turned to face my brother.  "I know, I know.  But this is special."  Berto crossed his arms and planted his feet.  Clearly, my earlier admonitions to stay clear of the Runners were in full effect.  I didn't have time to waste so I decided to go to my old stand-by, the harmless lie.

"It's the kids, Berto," I pleaded.  "Remember?  We promised to help them?  Well. my old pal Santiago at the bar told me that the Citadel needs to be told about what is going on.  He thinks the Runners may be able to help.  I have to go and, well, meet with someone real quick. I thought if you head to the Citadel and, you know, report what you learned, that would be fastest?

Umberto's face cleared and his shoulders straightened.  He fairly radiated determination.  "You got it Raz!  I knew you would think of something. I'm a gonna just go and tell..." he faltered and his brows fell again.  "Um, Raz?  Who am I gonna tell?"

"You know, the guy.  The one who deals with the Cuttle?  The ambassador...um, I forget.  Just tell 'em you want to see whoever is in charge of Cuttle relations.  I'm sure they'll direct you were you need to go," I nodded sagely and gently shoved Umberto toward the Citadel.  He didn't look totally convinced so I added, for good measure, "It's for the kids.  Berto.  The kids."

I watched my half-brother as he headed out.  I had no doubt that he would be scuttled back and forth for hours.  He'd probably land at some poor pencil pushers desk but he would also be safe.  For now.  And that was one less thing to worry about.

22342 South Reacher.  I fingered the card one last time before putting it in my pocket.  I twisted the ring around my finger for reassurance and headed off.  Time to meet the Black Moths.

A Green Eyed woman

Arthur awoke slowly, languorously.  

"How long has it been since I've been in a bed as comfortable as this?"  He asked himself.  Were it not for the rumblings in his stomach he would have blissfully retreated back to dreams and shirked his duties for another while longer.  It was the pieces of his surroundings that teased his wanting-to-be conscious mind from slumber even more than hunger.

The gentle rocking of the bed implied he was still aboard the Wonsoon, however the smells were off.  It was too clean.  The smell of wet wood, rusting iron and rat droppings were gone.  Lavender, sea salt and ozone had replaced those smells.

While he was snugged beneath thick blankets his face felt cool.  Gone was the boiler room heat that seemed to permeate every inch of the Wonsoon. Also gone was the groaning creak of the timbers and the iron joints.  Instead there was only a regular thrumming below the threshold of his hearing that was more felt than heard.

He popped open an eye, a clean white featureless ceiling greeted him.  Opening the other eye confirmed it.  The blankets he was under were thick furs.  He looked around his room.  The bed stood in the center.  This room was slightly smaller than the one he had been locked in on the Wonsoon, but was infinitely cleaner.  There was a small wooden dresser in the corner with a wash basin on top and a glass pitcher full of water.  Behind it a large mirror.  A thick door was too his left, curiously without a door knob, at least on his side.  To his right, however, was a sight that made him shrink into bed with a wave of vertigo.  A window stretched floor to ceiling, and ran the entire length of the wall.  Curtains were draped over half the window, but still he could see the ocean and its whitecaps far below.  Huge puffy clouds met him at eye level in the distance.  He looked down, the floor was covered in light colored wood, which looked solid enough.  Cautiously he put one foot down, then another.  The room had a gentle rock to it but nothing that threw him off balance.

With one large motion he slid the curtains to one side along a rail and basked in the sight before him.  Above he could see the gentle curve of the airship's balloon.  To his left almost as far away as a city block he could make out two spars with mounted engines' props spinning on them.  Below was not just ocean and whitecaps but an island.  Or at least a ring around what was once an island.  A thin beige band circled a tiny rock outcropping in its center.  Both inside the band and out the water was a dark and deep blue.  Arthur could make out trees on the band but nothing else.

To his right the sun was halfway down the horizon.  The light was still bright, the skies and ocean a brilliant blue, but the sun added a gold hue to everything.

Arthur's mouth hung agape at the scene when his stomach rumbled again.  Looking down he realized he was dressed in some sort of light weight uniform.  Gray top, black pants.  A pair of slippers were at the foot of the bed.  A wave of panic swept over him.  If his clothes were gone, there was no way for Vincenti and Sheung to find him.  He ran over to the dresser and stopped.  He had run.  He looked into the mirror and his old familiar face greeted him back. 

"Hello handsome" he grinned at mirror.  His height hadn't changed, but the glamor that made him appear much younger and human had either been removed or worn off.  He'd have to see what day it was when he had a chance.  Staring back his Lemurman features stared back.  He had his golden eyes back, a soft fuzz of fur over his body was very reassuring.  Best of all he could straighten his tail out again.  It had been wrapped around his right leg for days, one part of the glamor he'd convinced Sheung to leave intact.  He didn't know what he'd do without a tail. 

To his relief his clothes were in the dresser drawers.  They were neatly pressed and smelled as fresh as the day he had gotten them from the tailor.

He was just stepping into his boots when there was a knock at the door. 

"Come in."  He said, out of habit more than politeness.

The door slid open almost silently.  Two men stood there, faces dour.  Both were heavily armed. They wore dark uniforms made out of a combination of furs and leather.  The uniforms looked quite warm without being bulky in the least.  Leather vests and straps held an accoutrement of instruments, keys and other bits Arthur didn't have time to examine.

"You're to come with us."

"I'd be delighted, but can we stop by a galley or something first?  I'm not sure when I last... Say what day is it?"

"The fortieth of Largo.  Please come with us.  I'm sure food arrangements can be made."

"The fortieth?  Thank the gods, I thought I'd been out longer than that."  Then he began a mental tirade against Sheung as he followed the guards out of the room and towards the front of the airship.

The next time he saw that two bit parlor magician he would read him the riot act.  His glamor had only lasted until the fortieth?  He wouldn't have even made it to the refinery much less been able to infiltrated the abductees.  Not that people couldn't see he was under a glamor in the first place.  The whole plan had gone off half-cocked when Sheung's niece had been abducted.  He knew they should have merely gone to the authorities first.  But with the Trident staying mum on the disappearances and the Citadel seemingly more motivated to find the missing Cuttle children instead it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Arthur followed the two men down several hallways and up three flights of stairs and entered a large room surrounded on three sides by glass.  The view was astounding.  He could make out both tubes that made up the immense balloons above him.  The gondola where they were, for lack of a better was suspended between the two with both rigid metal struts and more flexible rope webbing.  Two steps lead into the main bridge, and a large window took up most of the floor so that the crew appeared to be walking on nothing at all.  Arthur assumed he was on the bridge.  Several knots of crew hovered around various stations talking in a level just above a whisper.   Two people stood at matching captain's wheels on the right and left sides of the bridge.  Several more people stood at various machinery and instruments that Arthur could only guess as to their purpose.  The guards stopped at the door and one knot looked up at him.  A woman dressed in a similar dark uniform stood at the center of that group.  She held half a smile while her green eyes locked with Arthur.  Her waist length black hair came down to the middle of her back in an intricate braid.  With a subtle dip of her head, the two guards turned on their heels and went back through the hallways heading back to wherever they had come from to begin with.

Arthur began to make his way down the two steps from the doorway when he saw the green eyed woman arch an eyebrow and cock her head.  Arthur stopped on the first step.  She turned to give her attention to three in the group.  They were dressed darkly, but, now that Arthur paid attention, significantly differently than everyone else.  The conversation concluded and the three men turned towards the step that Arthur had paused on.  His blood froze.  On the upper right breast of each stranger's jacket was a black winged moth.  One again, Arthur's tirade against Sheung began.  This time with epithets and language that would have made his rough and tumble father blush.

The three black winged moth men walked by Arthur, each one making eye contact with him and each one smiling.  The last one stopped.

"You're lucky you have such powerful benefactors Mr. DiMedilan.  But we'll be seeing you soon enough."

Arthur did his best to suppress a shiver.  Dressed in his regular clothes he realized how chilly it was, the abject terror he was feeling doing nothing to warm him.

"Leave him alone." the Green eyed woman said.  Her voice was both melodious and utterly impossible to ignore.  The Black Winged Moth man turned, gave her a smirk and left.

"Mr. DiMedilan please come here.  Eyes, have you spotted it yet?"

"Yes Ma'am" a man holding a telescope replied.  "Course is dead on.  Base is below us.  A new course downwards at .9 degrees will intercept."

"Helm, you heard him.  Angle us down .9 degrees."  Arthur now stood next to the Green eyed woman.  She was a full two heads taller than he was.  Granted, even for a lemurman he wasn't terribly tall, but she was still at least half a head taller then everyone else on the bridge.

"Arthur DiMedilan, pleased to make your acquaintance."  She held out a long fingered gloved hand which he took in his and gave it a tentative shake. 

"We'll be back at base within the hour.  I'd be pleased if you would join me for dinner.  We have much to discuss.  You are very popular, especially for being such a seemingly unassuming Lemurman."

Regaining his composure and not knowing what was a better outcome, he had to think twice if being in the custody of the black winged moth crew was a better fate then being held captive with the Cirrus gang.  Arthur knew little of the Cirrus gang except for that their dirigible preyed on ships all along the seaboard.  It was assumed their base of operations was positioned somewhere halfway up the continent's seaboard in some small forgotten island.  The city he left had spent the better part of a decade looking and pouring money into fruitless searches.  Now Arthur was being taken to their base.  This information would be worth thousands!  And Sheung would be tracking him via his clothing ward.

"I trust you're feeling better?  That was quite a blow you took to your head.  We found you just before you drowned."
"I must say I'm feeling better due to your hospitality.  Your reputation precedes you, however, I've never heard of the Cirrus gang taking prisoners?  Is this part of a new public relations campaign on your part?"
"Oh you were the only one, and I'd rather say you're more of a commodity as opposed to a prisoner.  This was quite the profitable run for us.  Between you and the fourteen tons of rum the Wonsoon was carrying.  Its a pity the boiler room was breached so quickly as there was an additional twenty tons of tools that would have been useful.  But those are now at the bottom of the shallow sea."
"Well thank you captain..."
"Levkov.  You are on board the Cumulus.  Now excuse me I have some matters that need attending to.  The view is best from either here or the dorsal observation bubble.   We have a little under an hour until we dock.  Please be back here before then."

She spun on her heel and left the bridge.  Everyone on the bridge seemed to be making sure to avoid eye contact with him.  All questions were rebuffed in silence.  His stomach rumbled again.  He asked one of the crewmen at the large wheel where the galley was.  That was met with simply "Aft, deck two"

Twenty minutes later, carrying a sandwich, Arthur arrived on the dorsal observation bubble.  He looked around admiring the view.  The deep thrumming of the engines had chaged pitch, they were slowing down.  Ahead, Arthur could spot their destination.  All searches had been far wide of the mark.  No wonder a search team had never found them.  The structure was lit from below.  A roughly five sided disk suspended from the bottom of no fewer than 35 enormous dirigible balloons.  The structure dwarfed the Cumulus, which, by itself had dwarfed the Wonsoon.  In the shadows Arthur could make out windows shining like gems.  He peered through the telescope that was mounted in the dorsal bubble.  He could make out walkways that were wider than streets back home.  Vehicles, not just pedestrians zipped along the thoroughfares.  Three other ships the size of the Cumulus were already docked.  Tens of others flitted around the structure.  Some carried cables from one area to another.  He could just make out people with arc welders working on some structure underneath.  The workers were only suspended by cables as they swung from section to section.  Huge proplellers jutted out at virtually every angle from the disk, keeping the whole structure still.

Two singled hulled dirigibles were in the final process of attaching themselves to the Cumulus to tug the large ship into its berth.  A whistle came from a brass tube near Arthur's hands and a hollow voice came through:

"All hands prepare for docking prep.  Arthur DiMedilan please return to the bridge.  Repeat all hands prepare for docking prep.  Arthur Dimedilan please return to the bridge."

A place on a map

The sun was high by the time Vincenti stormed through the front door of the apothecary he called home. There in deep concentration Sheung was hunched over a map of western Liske that included the Bay on the other side of the hill and a sizable portion of the sea beyond. He could see little islands and archipelagos march their way along the coast. The map was larger than the table table top, its edges and foggy zones of exploration hanging lazily in each direction. Vincenti could see drops of sweat in the sea where Sheung was doing his best to divine the location of Arthur. "He's still moving." Sheung said, not looking up. "But too fast to be on a ship. Maybe a schooner. And where have you been? You were supposed to report back yesterday!"

Vincenti regarded the ancient man for a second. Sheung sat in a specially made chair that allowed him access to the entire apothecary. Large wheels with cogs on the outside allowed him to maneuver himself across the floor and up the walls when Vincenti wasn't there to push the chair. His wizened little legs seemed more like afterthoughts, barely emerging from under his long white beard. His legs had been shrunk in a thaumaturgical experiment some twenty years prior and no amount of coaxing had brought them back yet. His nearly reptilian right hand, another experimental casualty, held a fine platinum chain a foot above the map. A dark blue fluorite octahedron was soldered at then end seemed fixed at an odd angle above a point on the map no matter which way Sheung moved the chain.

"Don't just stand there, come over here and read me the location where Arthur is."

"He's on a coal steamer named the Wonsoon heading for the Refinery."

"Was. His course switched to northerly this morning. And you still haven't answered where you have been?"

Vincenti knew better than to try and explain the situation with the knife and the witch at this point. His shoulders slumped.

"Out investigating."

"Very well, go sit over there until I need you again." Sheung adjusted his thick glasses and became lost in the map once more. Vincenti walked over to his chair and sat. He needed something to do, and sitting and stewing on his memories was more than he could handle today. But, looking around, the apothecary was inordinately clean. There was nothing to dust, not even a beaker or vial to wash.

The minute he sat, the memories began flickering back behind his eyes. Movies and images playing at different speeds but all playing at the same time. The cacophony was overwhelming whenever he wasn't concentrating on something. Every memory of every synapse of his life and everyone's life he had been made up of came flooding in.

Vincenti realized, again, he could recite the first 1460 digits of the product of Sauer's Theorem, but even under penalty of death he couldn't understand what Sauer's theorem was good for or what it approximated. He could smell the little blue flowers next to a bubbling creek he would walk beside when he was a little girl and no more than five years old. He could feel the pats on his back as he had just baked the best loaf of bread in all of Rotma! Sometimes there were memories he would try to steer towards as they were less traumatic than others. Today, however, he had no such luck. He couldn't control where his mind took him. It was straight to the trenches during the wraith skirmishes some one hundred and fifty years ago. He remembered soiling himself he was so scared. It was night. The fog thick enough he couldn't see the other end of his trench.

"Hold the line" had been the orders from his captain. There was going to be no order of retreat. His company could either hold the wraiths back, or die trying. Between urine and sweat his uniform was soaked and cold. Looking around he could see the wild scared eyes of the rest of his troop. His arms started to shake. The wraiths took no prisoners. Countless waves of infantry just like his had been lost trying to find some weakness with the wraiths. The only difference between those poor souls and his was a new type of rifle with bullets made of iron and intricate little symbols engraved on them. Those symbols caused their rifles to jam more often than not, especially in the cold of North Fingers.

Fifteen trenches just like his had been dug on the southern side of that mountain pass. One hundred men per trench, all armed with the same type of rifle and bullets. Ring bearers were stationed every fifty feet reporting what they saw back to HQ.

The moons hadn't risen yet, and the high clouds would have obstructed any light they gave anyway. A hushing "Shush" came from one of the forward trenches. At least he was near the rear. Vincenti would have a chance to see his death coming. The man he had been held a pendant and prayed to a now defunct god, all the while thinking of his wife and daughter.

He could hear it now. The crackle of the rocks, the slight buzzing of the wraiths speaking to each other. The almost crystalline sound of the frost enveloping everything around them. There was a shout and the front trenches opened fire. He only had five bullets in his rifle. Another thirty in a bandolier across his chest. In surprise he accidentally squeezed the trigger and a round shot off straight up into the air. The sound caused three of his trench mates to open fire into the darkness ahead of them. Four other soldiers simply dropped their rifles and began running in the opposite direction of the wraiths.

Vincenti, or Lam, as he had been called then composed himself, finished his silent prayer and crawled on his elbows to the rim of the trench. It was too dark to see, except when another rifle shot sent blinding blue light into the night. He could see, in those times, the wraiths, moving through the fog, almost a living embodiment of the fog itself.

Watching the wraiths coming he could almost count the seconds until they would close in on his position. Another barrage of blue light, then silence. The front trenches were no longer returning fire. The middle trenches opened up. There were only five wraiths that glided over the terrain. Under any other circumstance their movement would have been beautiful. Graceful as a cloud mixed with the litheness of a flame.

The middle trenches were now silent. The meandering gate of the wraiths made them seem even more ephemeral, like a summer zephyr, but he knew that at least 800 solders lay in their trenches, their lives extinguished.

Lam's bowels released and he cursed himself for how scared he was. A shiver so great nearly made him drop his rifle. One of the wraiths was now in range. Lam took a deep breath and howled with the fury and frustration of a man who knew he was about to die. Four bullets left his rifle. Two went wide, one went high. The last found its mark. He didn't take any time to see if any damage had been done. In one fluid motion Lam broke open the stock and emptied the defunct casings. Almost idly he noticed his right hand, the hand inserting the bullets wasn't shaking. Of any part of his body, his right arm seemed supremely confident. Each bullet was placed in the rifle. Each bullet had a place. Each bullet had a function. In seconds he was reloaded, the stock closed, and he was now sighting the nearest wraith, only one trench away. Five more soldiers to his left dropped their guns and ran. He could feel his friend Nonce tugging at his jacket urging him to run too. It was a buzzing in his ears. The only sounds that were distinct were his own heartbeat, the sound of air moving in his lungs, the firing pin pulling back and that incessant chattering crackle coming from the wraith itself.

Three more bullets found home and this time he could watch them enter the wraith's body and slow. To his dismay they still passed through the creature. The being, It. No one was sure what they were. All anyone knew is that to see one was death and they moved in groups.

The bullets caught the wraith's attention. It stopped its lateral motion through the trench it was in, its gaseous head swiveling around to look at Lam with three red-black eyes. In one motion it leapt the edge of the trench and landed halfway between that trench and Lam's.

Two more bullets sliced into two of those three eyes. It let out a caterwaul that froze Lam in his tracks. Vincenti, detached, urged Lam to run. He knew what would come next. What always came next. "Run you fool. You hurt it, it can't see you! Run!" Instead, Lam's right arm merely broke the stock open again and reloaded. Fingers still working as sure as if he were playing a game of Quin with his uncle. Nonce was shouting something at him, but Lam couldn't hear it. In the corner of his eye he could see the terror as Nonce let go of Lam's jacket and ran.

"You've solved it Lam, now run!" Vincenti's subconscious was screaming. "The eyes, the glyphs work on the eyes. Make sure HQ knows that, they can build a better gun that targets the eyes." Because Vincenti knew that exactly that happened. Some nine years after the wraith skirmishes began they were ended by the battle of North Fingers. The intel got through. HQ made the new weapon and the wraiths were a threat no longer. But, to Vincenti's dismay the battle of North Fingers had to conclude.

Lam reloaded. The ring bearer in his trench had sidled up near him, a look of determination and sheer terror on his face that Lam assumed must had mirrored his own. The ring bearer's ring was still spinning on the end of its string. The ring bearer reciting everything he could see into the spinning jewelry. He knew there was another ring spinning from another piece of string back at HQ with a scribe writing down everything in their peculiar shorthand.

Two more wraiths had thundered over to their injured comrade, head's searching for the offender. Lam locked eyes with one, his finger squeezed the trigger three more times. These shots perfect, they hit their marks and another wraith was incapacitated. The ring bearer was now shouting into the ring, a slight tone of excitement.

The other wraith charged Lam. Two shots squeezed off, only one hit its mark. It was not enough to slow the beast. The wraith collided with LAM and knocked him back. Instantly the breath was wrenched from his lungs. He could feel the burning cold grip his chest, his legs, his neck and head. He could see the blue flame his body had turned into and marveled at how painless it really was. His last thought was of his wife and daughter then nothingness.

Lam's right arm had been charged with enough thaumaturgic energy that the blue flame had spared it. It was that right arm and Lam's rifle that had been recovered three days later. It was that right arm that was now giving Vincenti the golem the memories of a man gone some one hundred and fifty years. Vincenti always cherished the sacrifices of those that made him up and he noticed he was blinking away tears of the memories of his or rather Lam's wife and daughter. Someday he'd find what happened to them, but Sheung kept him too busy to find out.

"Quit crying Six and make yourself useful". Vincenti sometimes wondered what happened to One through five, as Vincenti's name itself was merely the number six.

"We've got to go." Then Sheung's demeanor changed as he realized what had happened. "Lam, Pico or Flanda?"

"Lam" Vincenti croaked and stood. He removed his bowler hat from the hat stand and pulled out a handkerchief to dry his eyes.

"I'm sorry Six. Someday I'll remove those memories permanently."

Vincenti dreaded that day most of all. "Not a rush Sheung. Lets go find Arthur and figure out about those missing children."

Write About a Black Winged Moth

If you have to bluff, go big.  No hesitation, no thinking, just jump right in and trust that Lady Luck is feeling magnanimous.  It had worked so far in my life, so I decided to continue riding the great Lady's coat tails just a little longer.  I opened the door quickly and soundly.  No sneaking in, no slinking.  Just squared the shoulders and walked through like I owned the place.  If you look like you belong, who knows?  Maybe you do.  Of course, having Berto at the back helped.  Most people's glance slide right off my face and up, up, up to his.  Tonight was no exceptions.  My brother and I stepped squarely from that dank tunnel into a crowd.  The Lady held me in her arms yet again.  I knew exactly where we had landed.  We were in the back store room of McFreedy's Fine Ales.  The name was a lark.  The place was owned by a swarthy man named Santiago and the only fine thing it served was a wicked hangover.  It was near the docks however, and Santiago was known as a bit of a smuggler.  Nothing big.  Just little stuff slipped under the eyes of the Runners and the Citadel.  I had never known him to traffic in human goods but this was neither the time nor place to ponder such mysteries.  Our entrance had turned the heads of a group of gentlemen who were playing Sharks in the back storeroom.  The stakes looked high and one seat was already vacant.  The trail of blood that ran along the floor to the door I now stood in was relatively fresh.  The strange sticky substance in the tunnel behind me now made prefect sense.  We we lucky not to have run into the removal team.  Even luckier, Santiago wasn't there to alert the gamers to our uninvited status. The goons by the back door had taken a step forward when we appeared.  But they had stopped at our confident entrance.  Bless the Lady of the Bluff.  She was going to save our hides once again.

"Gentleman," I scanned the table, making brazen eye contact with each man present.  A few I recognized by reputation.  Without missing a beat, I headed across the room toward the back door that lead to the public room of McFreedy's.  The goons looked towards their bosses but no one stopped us.  With the same false confidence, I shouldered my way past them, tugged the door open, and left the room of players behind.  Santiago was serving behind the bar and his eyes widened when he saw us emerge.  I made a beeline to him and perched myself on a sticky stool.

"Hey, man, we need to talk," I stated simply.  Berto leaned his back against the bar, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room behind my back.  Santiago nodded to the men next to me and they grabbed their drinks and headed for a table.  The stools around me were now empty.  Time to run the bluff.

Santiago was in his late 40s.  His face and hands were heavily scared.  Whether from hard labor or hard fighting, no one know.  He was a distant cousin to someone in the Duermo organization and as such he was afforded their protection.  I hadn't had much dealings with the Duermos.  They were big time.  I was far to small to register on their business plan.  But it did explain what I saw the other night.  Human trafficking was right up their alley.  Now, I just had to confirm my suspicion.

I leaned into the bar and lowered my voice.  "I saw the 'delivery' that cam from your back room down at the docks the other night.  It seemed a bit...fresh if you get my drift."

Sanitago had an excellent poker face.  He continued to slowly rub the bar in front of me with a damp cloth.  The moment felt like it was stretching too thin so I played my next highest card.

"Heard the Runners were paying good money for any leads about these fresh deliveries.  Now, I'm not one to pick sides, you know that Santiago, but money is money.  If what I saw has a price, I want to be paid.  Don't rightly care where the funds come from.  So if there is someone else I should see about what I know, someone else in the market so to speak?  I'd be more than willing to take my business there first."

Santiago continued with those slow maddening circles.  I was just about to throw down my cards and quit this game when he left the rag on the bar and reached under the counter.  Berto tensed and I had to remind myself to keep breathing.  Slowly, he raised his eyes to mine and slid a card across the table.  Like a dealer in Sharks, he flipped it face up in front of me.  I'm sure I blanched when I saw it.  An embossed black winged moth stared up at me.  With deliberation, Santiago slipped a gnawed pencil from behind his ear, scratched an address across the bottom of the card, and slide it across the counter to me.  The stakes had just turned.  I picked up the small cream card and brushed my thumb over the embossed moth.  Santiago pushed back from the bar with a wry smile and set a shot of something foul before me.  Without hesitating, I downed it in one gulp.  I'd need all the courage I could find.  The Night Moths.  Fuck me.  I'd have been better off in the hands of the Runners.

A history of whispers

The citadel hadn't always been discussed in hushed reverent tones. A history of whispers had taken over its function more than 15 years ago after the assassination of Commissioner Thora. She had been a true believer. The streets safe, the air pure. Or rather, more pure and "safer", thought Finnegan.

The Runner's runner's pace was quick but not too fast for him to keep up with. Over his right shoulder looming over the bay was the trident. Its top just out of sight in the low storm clouds. Windows from two of the spires gleamed with light.

The citadel sat on top a hill that also overlooked the bay, one of five such hills around the city. The wide thoroughfares zig zagged their ways up the inclines to the gates.

Everyone knew the true power of the city ran out the dark spaces in the Citidel even though most public power was located in the Trident. The creation of the runner's runner, a fleet of peace keeping automatons had consolidated that fact and as such for the past 15 years there seemed to be an uneasy truce between those working in the Citadel and those in the Trident.

There were now Runner's runners working the large pointed topped gates where the streets met. A wall had been erected around the citadel since last he'd been there. It seemed to be made of a single piece of basalt twenty feet tall by ten thick and ran in a smooth circle around the hill top, bending out of sight.

Here, finally, he saw human runners as well in their smart polished button uniforms. The runners had started as simple messengers between the citadel and the Trident, then they had become empowered as go betweens able to broker deals. Then they were able to enforce the agreement brokered until finally they served as the main police force ensuring the peace throughout the city. The Runner's runners had been developed as a way for them to remain impartial and unable to be bribed or influenced. It was only now, years later, that people were realizing how much faith they had invested over time to those impartial servants.


Finnegan was escorted by his runner's runner keeping careful eye on the single red gem affixed to the top of its hat-plate as this differentiated it from the myriad other runner's runners scurrying throughout the Citadel.

He was somewhat taken aback that here at the Citadel at least, Runner's runners had grown past their mostly human form and now were working in forms that mirrored specialized functions. Two near the gate he had just walked through had four stout legs, a torso that looked to be more like a bathtub studded with long cables and ominous tubes of various diameter.

They walked across a courtyard that took five minutes to cross. The runner's runner stayed true to a straight path. Inside the courtyard regiments of runners and runner's runners performed drills even at this late time of day.

Finnegan noted that One of the moons had risen but the other two weren't high enough above the Citadel wall to be seen yet.

The wind was gusty and the rain had begun to fall in big fat drops that made Finnegan happy to finally reach the destination. The five story structure sat perched on top of its own hill with easy lines of sight to the bay and behind it to the farming valleys.

He was escorted to just within the front door and told to sit on a long dark wooden bench that ran almost the length of the hallway some seventy feet away. He was the only one sitting on the bench.

Finnegan had just removed his pocket watch to make sure it was wound for the fourth time when a loud voice echoed down the hallway: "Rumor Finnegan, rogue, scoundrel and threat to the empire if there ever was one."

Finnegan looked up to see a large man silhouetted at the end of the hallway making his way towards the main doors. He strained to see through the dim hallway any identifying detail to determine the man's identity. Once the stranger was only thirty feet away A smile spread slowly across his face.

"Cousin Bertram? You work in the Citadel now?"

Bertram let out a laugh that echoed and was entirely too loud for the location.

"Rumor, how long has it been? Six? Seven years?"

"It was at the last Festival of Crumple! You were drunk, had just met some conniving trollop fortune teller who had said something about marrying into riches and both of you were carrying on about eloping to Sarc."

Bertram looked suddenly serious then broke into a grin, "That's no trollop, that's my wife!" and gave Finnegan a hug that squeezed the breath from his lungs.

"You two married? I don't know whether to offer my congratulations or my condolences then cousin."


"Ah you never changed Rumor. Come walk with me."

They walked down several large hallways filled with dark, fading oil painted murals. Sometimes of Citadel dignitaries, sometimes of locations under control of the city. Finnegan was momentarily captivated by two. The first was of the Southern Isles, a plantation growing Fleck's root with Lemur-men workers happily helping the plantation owners.

The other mural made Finnegan shudder. It was a picture of the refinery its single enormous rocky peak rising up out of the ocean, a single point of land this side of the world falls, and area were the ocean simply spilled over into nothing and supposedly fell forever. The refinery and its leviathan turbines stretched into the water on either side of the rocky island harnessing that great power. The buildings on that outcrop smouldered in the picture. Finnegan wasn't' sure if their orangy reddish hue was due to the sun's setting in that painting or the massive energies being dredged and harvested.

After twenty minutes of walking up and down flights of stairs and catching up on old times, Finnegan finally arrived at Bertram's office. There in the middle of Bertram's desk were all of Finnegan's inquiries into the disappearance of the Cuttle grubs. Next to them a stack ten times as high of their paperwork. Bertram followed Finnegan's gaze and said:

"You have been contacted by 8 cuttle families regarding their children's disappearance. I can assure you that while the cuttle have experienced the largest percentages of losses especially recently, all clans across the city and in some other cities we are in contact with are experiencing losses. You know of 8 cuttle losses, our records show it closer to 52 cuttle grubs. 17 lemur children, 9 human, 14 Chiropts and..." he furnished one large file in a different colored envelope to put on top of the stack. "One golem."

Finnegan let out a surprised whistle. There had been rumors of disappearances but this was an epidemic. Bertram signaled that Finnegan should take a seat. In the stack Finnegan could see his own handwritten requests for help.

"What leads do you have?"

"None at the moment. Or rather none I can discuss with you. There seem to be many groups in play here and the citadel is determined to figure out who's on our side and who needs to be eradicated. This many disappearances can rock the faith of a population so its in everyone's best interests to maintain the status quo. Needless to say you will not discuss what you see here with anyone outside this office."

Finnegan felt a brief buzzing in his head just behind his right ear. He knew he'd just been censured.

"Why tell me this then, cousin?"

"We need your help. Your status and placement makes you privy to locales, information and people without alerting various parties that we may be listening. We need you to make some discrete inquires, nothing more, to help us solve this and move on."

"I'm happy to help as any good citizen would be. Why bring me here? Why the pomp?"

"Various parties here were not as convinced as I was that you would need no coercion. You can't know what sort of battle I had to engage in to make sure it was only me you met with. I can't tell you how happy I am that no coercion was needed."

Finnegan shuddered involuntarily.

Bertram rose. "I will be your point of contact here so know that you have a sympathetic ear, here within the citadel. I will provide information when I can. In the mean time, keep your ears and eyes open and we'll be in touch."

"Very well. Its been good catching up with you cousin. Be sure to tell Aunt Fabrice a good hello for me." Bertram paused then regained his composure.

"I'm sorry to say Rumor that my mother passed away quite unexpectedly a few years ago."

"Oh, I didn't know! Nothing was said! I'm sorry for your loss Bertram."

"A slants all to brindle, its all in the past now, and you didn't know."

"Well again, my condolences. And we should endeavor to meet more often than every seven years."

Bertram looked wistfully distant "True cousin true."

A Runner's runner with a red gem, two blue and a purple gem on its hatplate was waiting for Finnegan just outside the office door.

Bertram said: "This fine unit will escort you back home. You'll keep my cousin dry in the rain I trust?" Bertram added to the Runner.

"If it is required then it will be done." was what was answered.

Finnegan's mind swam all the way back to his apartment. He got in and was able to close the study windows just as the nightly deluge began.

Write about sinking

Three days into the journey and Arthur had finally gotten used to the idea about heading to the refinery, sure that he could tell someone what sort of mistake had been made.

While he hadn't been able to talk the captain into getting a larger room, at least he was free to walk about this one.

The captain had come down shortly after leaving the harbor and, upon seeing Arthur had been a mass of wild eyed panic, his greasy hands leaving dark streaks through his hair as he pushed it back from his eyes.

"You're not a child!" The captain had stated and began pacing in front of the door. This caused the Lemur-men to look around in agitation.

"You are correct, my good man. In fact I haven't been a child in a very long time. Care to untie me?" Arthur had said.

"My contract is to only take the slimes and the occasional fur baby." Arthur noticed that the captain hadn't even looked over at the lemur men when he had made the specist slight."

"Be that as it may, I am quite willing to attest to this faux pas and relieve your burden, simply untie me, drop me off at the next port of call, and I shall simply let bygones be bygones. I'll have you know this hasn't been the first time I've been mistaken for a child." Arther flashed a grin, hoping it was as caviler looking as he was trying to be.

"Gods be damned, you're not a slime, nor fur baby. Slants all to brindle! My contract is for slimes and furs..."

Arthur's smile faded. "We've established that. Now simply untie me, and drop me off at your next port of call."

"Next port is the Refinery." the captain had started wringing his hands.

"If geography serves the isle of Alta is in between here and there, without being too much out of your way. Simply drop me off there?"

"Can't schedule to keep. They'll know if we've deviated. Only enough coal to reach the refinery."

Arthur was beginning to feel some of the captain's panic. No one chose to go to the refinery.

"Why are you taking children to the refinery anyway? Last I heard it was for the desperate and the cast out."

"Do you know what ship this is?" The captain asked suddenly.

"The Wonsoon." Arthur said without thinking, but then quickly added, "But if you drop me off I could forget quite easily. All these coal steamers look alike to me."

"Slants all to brindle!" He shouted; "You!" he pointed at the nearest lemur man hanging from a rafter, go get me some marsh so I can figure out a way out of this."

"Keep dealing with me my good captain and I can have you in as much marsh as you can drink!"

"Slants all to brindle... Slants slants..." And with that he slammed the door closed. Seconds later he heard the agonized scrape of the bar sliding across, blocking all egress.

Arthur heard the lock click. He sloughed off the ropes that bound him that he had been loosening for hours and stood up to stretch. All his muscles ached. Even standing up straight he was only 2/3 the height of a lemur man.

That exchange had been three days prior. Food had been delivered by a non-speaking Lemur man. Arthur spent many hours gazing out the one porthole that was mere feet above the water line, listening to the constant thrum of the boilers. By his reckoning he still had another three days before they made it to the Refinery.

While all obvious enchantments had been relived from him, he could still see the aura of location around his clothes. Hoping against hope that Vincenti and the others had a map fine tuned enough to divine his location out at sea.

At one point he tried to call Vincenti using a crude wire ring hanging from a rat's whisker he was able to procure, but without fire the thaumurgy had little chance of success and there was very little that was flammable in his room anyway.

On the fifth day he awoke to a change in the engine pitch. Perhaps they had hit a headwind or the tides were against them but either way the engine was now straining. Arther was also pushed against the hull slightly from where he was sleeping. They were turning, a sharp turn. For an instant Arthur allowed himself fantasy of a change of course to Alta, but then he heard the thunder. Or what only sounded like thunder. Seconds later what sounded like a giant with a sledge hammer hitting the steel of the ship's frame made his teeth rattle.

Arthur scrambled up to the porthole. In the morning haze, dimly silhouetted and brooding not fifty feet above the water was an enourmous double bodied zeppelin. The gondola hanging below was many times the size of the wonsoon itself. A cargo platform had been dropped from the gondola and small steam powered cruisers were making their way towards the Wonsoon. The fog lit along the port sides of the zeppelin in an eeriy orange as another round of artillery left. Then came the thunder. Arthur dove behind a barrel just as the porthole he was looking in opened to the outside. The hole was barely above the water line and the stray wave began splashing in the jagged hole. Another flash, lit his room. This time Arthur could barely hear the thunder of the guns as the engines changed again to a deafening roar. Dimly he could hear someone shouting something about water in the boiler room.

Arthur found the sturdiest barrel he could and began pushing it towards the gash just as another volley made it even larger. Water began flooding into his room. The Wonsoon was officially sinking as Arthur could see the bulkhead of the compartments below his already filling with water.

One more heave and he and the barrel landed in the ocean, freezing water gripping his limbs and shocking his breath from his body. It took everything he had to position his body over the mostly-floating barrel so that only his legs were in the water. He watch the Wonsoon careen away from him, leaving his barrel twirling in the wake so that once every 2 seconds he had a view of the now listing ship.

Men, women, Lemur-men and women were darting amidst the rigging, some making graceful dives into the frigid water. Then the sea hit the boiler. The last thing Arthur saw was the bright orange ball of flame that seemed to split the Wonsoon in two. Arthur held onto the barrel for dear life as pieces of the wonsoon began raining down. It was one of these pieces that came down on his still tender head.

"Slants all to brindle." He mumbled as he lost consciousness...