Verulian Sea
59th day of Banem, year 146, Era of Ke’larri
“Hogshit! I’ve got three fours, no way you’ve got two!” Jorin yells, slamming his fist on the table. The cups clatter at the impact and he gives a broad, toothy grin.
I flip my cards over to reveal a nine and a six and shake my head in mock defeat.
“Drink up, Commander! The pile is yours!” another sailor shouts.
The men all cheer in agreement and I give Amos a sideways glance. He looks amused and lifts his mug towards me with a raised eyebrow. I make a show of rolling my eyes and begin to chug. The rum is a delicate balance of sweet and spicy as it goes down, and warmth spreads through my stomach. Caramel-colored streams spill over the sides of the cup and run down my chin. As I continue to drink, the mug somehow feels fuller than before. I choke a bit while trying to wipe the droplets from my face and a small cough causes me to spit out the last bit before I slam the mug down. I snatch up the thick pile of cards from the center of the table as laughter roars around me.
I don’t mind the teasing - it’s nights like this that keep us all happy so far away from home. Across the deck, sailors laugh rowdily over games of cards and dice, cast in the dimly glowing lanterns. Someone begins a drunken rendition of “Sailor’s Folly”, and the tune catches on quickly, the crew assuming their various harmonies quite well despite their raspy, untrained voices.
“One five,” Amos says cheekily, placing his last card in the middle of the table.
“Hogshit!” I shout, flipping the card immediately. It shows five small flowers.
“Accept your loss, Balador,” he says. He laughs heartily as we all throw our cards to the center.
“This one time,” I say, “Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
With that, I rise from the table.
“Let us relieve Eilen, shall we?” I say. He nods and follows suit.
Eilen, a young half-vioran with long gray braids and gray-brown skin, is barely awake by the time Amos takes the helm. She mumbles a thanks and shuffles slowly towards the stairs before disappearing below deck. My eyelids suddenly feel heavier at the mere sight of her and I try to keep my time with Amos short.
It would be considerably easier for us to take separate shifts, but the excitement of the trip has me buzzing, even through my exhaustion. I look out over the inky black waters around us. I know that the ocean sprawls out endlessly, but at a certain point, my eyes simply see the void of dark night. The constant churning of waves bobs the ship around, all of us keeping ourselves upright through a subtle dance of sea legs.
It’s this darkness and the quiet shifting of waves, dotted with the sounds of distant laughter and shouts, that makes me think of my father. I imagine a night like this, he and Amos on their way to Eporo for the first time. Amos says father used to sing all night, even as his head hit the pillow. He sang and sang until his eyes closed and sleep came.
I look to Amos to find that he is already glancing at me. He gestures with his head and, as I follow, I spot Dorophon and two crown guards making their way toward us with purpose.
“Not again,” I groan, “What can I have possibly done to deserve this?”
Amos grins a bit, but it quickly fades as Dorophon approaches.
“Commander Balador, I must object to the excessive gambling and drinking aboard your… vessel,” he says, “How am I expected to sleep when your men are still creating such a ruckus?”
His hair is stringy and limp around the sides of his face. Sweat stains the armpits of his robes and his forehead shines with oil. Dark circles puff out under his eyes and I struggle to contain a laugh. My father used to say that the sea had a way of exposing a person in their most vulnerable state and I see the truth of this in Dorophon’s steady deterioration.
“Senator, this vessel operates every moment of every day. If you were expecting a luxury inn with a curfew, you are sorely mistaken,” I begin.
Dorophon scowls and opens his mouth to respond.
“How dare y-“ he starts.
“Unfortunately, I do not have any more time to spare discussing this issue with you at the moment. You may see yourselves below deck to the crew sleeping quarters if this is not up to your standard,” I continue, “Please do not ever interrupt the navigation of this vessel again. Your authority does not extend to the operation of Crown naval ships.”
I give a sharp look to the guards flanking him and they shrink back under my gaze. Dorophon’s face flushes for a moment before he seems to gather himself and forces a smirk.
“Of course. My apologies, Commander. A single additional question, if I may?” he asks.
I nod tersely.
“Why have we not seen a display of your airship capabilities? This is a very expensive ship and I have not yet been able to determine where all of the money was spent,” he sneers, giving a disgusted look around.
“Surely, you will recall the enormous amount of cadatite needed to fuel this ship. Especially as you have called for a restriction on our supply on several occasions,” I say.
“Why, yes-“ he starts.
“Well, with your imposed restrictions, we must conserve our use of cadatite only for the most essential travel. We shall cross the Verulian flats by air tomorrow,” I continue.
“It seems that your design is severely lacking if you must use so much of a precious resource for just one ship,” he says with a smile.
I ball my fists behind my back and it takes everything I have not to hit him across the face.
“Goodnight Senator,” I say and turn back to Amos. I hear Dorophon laugh under his breath before the sounds of their boots move away.
“My ‘design is severely lacking’ because he rallied against every other proposed method,” I grumble under my breath.
“Careful now,” Amos whispers, eyeing them until they are out of sight.
“What?” I snap.
“I overheard a… peculiar conversation yesterday evening,” he says quietly.
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.
“I didn’t catch much, but he mentioned Aldemarius is expecting a report from him upon our return.”
I feel the blood leave my face and my stomach tightens.
“There’s no question of his intentions. I’m sorry,” he adds.
I find that I am not bothered by Dorophon. His actions are not a surprise - he has tried to have me removed from my position for years. My father’s once-grand legacy of exploration is now commonly a joke in Althaes - thousands of lost gold and a failed expedition to Perimia that cost him his life. Most people speak of my father as though he was hubristic and naive and I’ve always known I had to prove myself well beyond the aspirations of others who would have my position.
Many of the older senators support Dorophon and I have learned to mostly ignore their goading. However, it is the thought of Aldemarius’ mistrust that makes anxiety rise in the pit of my stomach. I truly felt secure that he believed in me and I worked hard to live up to that standard. I can only assume that Dorophon and his supporters have campaigned to undermine me.
“What does the report include?” I ask.
Amos frowns.
“I did not hear the details,” he replies.
“Let’s get hold of them then, yes?” I whisper.
He thinks a moment before cracking a grin.
“Alright. I’ll find a way,” he says, “You Baladors are all the same.”
***
An hour into Amos’ shift, my eyes are bleary and red from exhaustion and I can barely stay awake. He sends me to my cabin and sleep comes quickly. By early morning, sweat pools in the creases of my elbows and the air is warm and sticky against my face. I hear commotion on the deck and quickly gather myself to check it out.
As I exit the cabin, the full heat of the morning nearly takes my breath away. I see Kisma closest to me, her face coated in dark ash, watching as Jorin shouts around at the crew and Crown guards. They have unfurled a large pocket of fabric from under several panels of the deck and have raised a small exhaust funnel that leads to the furnace room through the opening. Dorophon looks on lazily with his arms crossed and I can't help but concern myself with his reaction to the chaos. I can barely make out what Jorin is saying and Amos is nowhere in sight. I close the space between Kisma and myself. She perks up when she sees me.
“Vanya! I thought I would have to take orders from Jorin all morning,” she says.
Her hair is slicked up into two small, twisted buns and her apron is covered in stains. She stands a full head shorter than me but is still fierce and strong. Jorin continues to argue with the crew as they arrange the balloon over the funnel and she gives a dark scowl.
“He has no idea what he’s doing,” she adds.
“Where is Amos? Why hasn’t he taken over?” I ask.
She scans the crew herself and then shrugs.
“Probably below deck already,” she says, “where I should be right now.”
She lifts an eyebrow at me and I wave her away.
“Okay, okay! I’ll get everything in order,” I chuckle, “Be on your way and I’ll get us up soon.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll take a nap while I wait, yes?” she laughs before bouncing off.
Once she has gone I march over to Jorin and take over. We have the balloon set and ready in no time. It is tethered in several spots and covered in a woven net, currently rested over the funnel. Someone shouts down to Kisma to light the furnace and there is an explosive crack from below as the furnace roars to life. The balloon begins to fill with fumes.
Once the balloon has lifted enough, several men rush to secure the second funnel attachment - a tall iron tube that they haul with a pulley. I guide them to maneuver it over the funnel as several others get the balloon over the top. It is still barely inflated as the final portion of the exhaust funnel is snapped into place with a series of locks and bolts and then tied across to several hook points around the ship. With the balloon secured above and filling quickly with cadatite fumes, I leave the others to go below deck.
There, I find Amos waiting with a few other men where they carefully unclip four long, canvas wings and wooden scaffolding along the sides of the hull. Amos gives me a quick glance.
“I was able to find that document you wanted,” he says with an intense look.
I know he must mean Dorophon’s report and I feel my stomach churn. I give a small nod.
“Thank you. Almost ready to go here?” I ask, looking around at each of the men.
“Aye,” Amos replies, “Give the word when you’re ready.”
I give another nod and head above deck again. Over the next few hours, the balloon fills and the tethers grow taut enough that small rope ladders are attached to the sides. Each ladder leads to a simple hammock where one can sit to control the fume valves. Eilen scales one and lounges patiently.
By early afternoon, the balloon has grown giant overhead and casts the deck in its shadow, a cool reprieve from the oppressive sunlight. The ship rocks to and fro as it slowly lifts, but becomes steadier once it is airborne. I yell to Amos below deck and the crew echoes my command until I hear the wing carriages grind and groan open. The wings are unfurled and thrown open over the next few minutes.
The sails are adjusted and the crew is in place. I feel shivers of excitement as everyone finds their station. Once they are ready, I call out.
“Row!” I bellow. The command is carried down the line and below deck.
The sailors churn the wings until we surge forward, the glittering blue ocean growing ever-smaller beneath us.
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