James E. Carter
The meeting wrapped itself up with polite words and softer hands than Carter cared for. Musings of hospitality and awaiting instructions. All of it rang the same in his ears, he’d had his fill of that kind of language.
Pity for Arkadios and the Inburian cause ebbed as he rose from his chair. War or no war, neutral or not, Carter knew exactly where this road led if he let others steer it. Precious resources such as gold had a way of becoming state property the moment it sat still long enough.
He offered a brief nod to the room, then turned and walked out before anyone could think to stop him.
Outside, the breeze hit him with a scent of coal smoke and morning damp. Folks walked around him, carts rolling, soldiers boots marched past, life going on as if a fortune hadn’t just floated in not long ago. Carter set a brisk pace toward the port, his blue coat pulled tight, mind racing ahead.
If the Mittel commanders took custody of the gold there’d be no bargaining after the fact, Arkadios certainly was in no capacity for it. Finder’s fees didn’t survive paperwork, he’d seen that trick pulled before, it didn’t matter how many civilians bled to make it happen. If these slimy officers wanted it, they'd take it no matter what.
A flickering thought of Zoe crossed his thoughts. She was a clever one, always smiling and with a plan rolling on her head by the looks of it. But perhaps it was just that, look… or maybe she had something in mind? She hadn't dragged them all into this on charity alone so whatever she was planning, it wouldn’t involve waiting patiently either. Maybe she’d already made her move. Maybe she was counting on the same confusion he was trying to outrun.
For half a block, he considered the Ardellian embassy. Make his claim for damages and perhaps get protection and a flag to stand behind and enforce his claim, but then he thought of the paperwork involved.
Too fucking slow. He thought.
First things first.The zeppelin mast came into view through the canopy of buildings, the great shape of the ship looming above the docks like a massive stormcloud. Carter didn’t slow down, whatever arguments were coming, he wanted to have them aboard his ship, with the gold still where he could see it.
One way or another, he wasn’t letting his fate get filed away under pending instructions.
Itzi Ku
Itzi had caught herself smiling at nothing for the third time that morning. Nuwa’s laugh still echoed somewhere in the back of her head, the way he’d spun bottles and coins through the air like gravity was a suggestion rather than a rule. The warmth of fancy liqour flowing down her throat, the sway of the deck, the reckless joy of it all. Ridiculous, really, how a stranger who’d quite literally fallen through her roof would stay in her mind so much.
She shook her head and forced her attention back to the present. The ship loomed above her, vast and scarred, like some wounded beast being coaxed back to its feet. Crews moved along the hull and gondola, Mitteland engineers shouting measurements, riggers hauling lines, sparks flashing where plates were being cut and fitted.
Itzi folded her arms, watching it all with awe. She’d flown ships before, smaller nimbler ones, bht nothing like this. At least not only now, and she was also overseeing repairs she barely understood, trusting strangers because there wasn’t much choice.
It was impressive, she had to admit. The Mittel knew their craft. She was mid-thought when hurried footsteps caught her attention.
It was Carter. He approached at a brisk pace, his coat half-buttoned, eyes wide and restless like he’d just seen death in the eyes or something worse.
“Hey,” she greeted, pushing herself off a crate, “You’re back already. How’d the meeti-”
“Has anyone been here for the gold?!” he cut her off.
The question caught her dazzled.
“What? No,” she said, frowning. “Why would they? They’re still inventorying the damage, and-”
“We don’t have time,” Carter said, already glancing past her toward the ship, “We need to move, now!”
Itzi blinked, her face incredulous, “Move? Carter, slow down, we’re docked… it's a friendly port. No one’s shooting at us, what’s got you so wound up?”
He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his beard, “I should’ve done this earlier, that’s on me. But if we wait then it means we lose out on what's ours.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then noticed movement at the edge of the port. A column of soldiers rounding the corner, Mittel uniforms by the looks of it.
She nodded toward them, “Carter… you seeing that?”
His jaw tightened, “Yeah.”
“They’re probably just here to secure the dock,” she said, though even to her ears it sounded like a bad lie to oneself. “Look, if you’re worried about claims, the Ardellian embassy’s only a few streets aw-”
“No,” he snapped, stepping past her. “That’s a dead end, we do this ourselves.”
He grabbed a crowbar from a nearby crate, "distract them if you can, I'll make sure we get what we deserve!”
Without another word he started for the gangway up the airship.
“Carter!” Itzi called after him, he was already out of sight.
The soldiers were closer now. Close enough that she could see the set of their faces, the way their eyes kept drifting toward the zeppelin.
She stayed where she was, torn between following him and doing the one sensible thing left.
Her gaze shifted toward the city beyond the docks, then back to the ship.
“Idiot,” she muttered, already turning away.
James E. Carter
Carter moved carefully, slipping back aboard the ship with a crouched pose and slow steps. The zeppelin was alive with activity, Mitteland engineers crawling outside, voices echoing down corridors, tools ringing against steel. He timed his steps between them, ducked through the corridors, taking careful turns to avoid being seen.
One gondola, then another. Down a narrow ladder. The deeper he went, the quieter it became.
The cargo section was ahead, dimmer than the rest as always, lamps turned the atmosphere into an orange tint. Carter slowed, hand tight on the crowbar and his other hand resting on his holstered handgun, he hoped not to need it. As he crept in furtjer he heard no voices of steps. There seemed to have been no sentry posted yet. Either they hadn’t gotten that far or they assumed no one would be stupid enough to try this.
He stepped inside. The crates were still there, filling the hold in orderly rows and each carrying the promise of either ruin or salvation. Carter went straight for the nearest one and quickly jammed the tool under the lid and leaned into it until the wood groaned and split.
Gold bars packed tight, their dull yellow glow catching the lamplight and throwing it back at Carter's eyes. For a moment he just stared, breath shallow.
One crate, he thought,
one out of hundreds. Enough to settle accounts, make things right, more than enough to give the others their share as well.
He shut the lid again and braced himself, muscles straining as he dragged the crate free. It barely budged at first as he grunted, he adjusted his grip and hauled it inch by inch toward a nearby cart. Sweat beaded at his brow. The thing was heavy as sin, but he then managed to get it onto the cart. He let out a tired sigh and readied to move, that’s when he heard it.
A soft, unmistakable click behind him. Metal on metal.
“Put the crowbar down,” a voice said evenly from the shadows.
Carter froze.
Urses Mallory
The party had come and gone in muffled echoes through the bulkheads. Music, laughter, the clink of glass. None of it mattered, Urses had not left his post snd would not do so until he was properly relieved, the cargo was his responsibility. After Inbur, after watching discipline collapse into panic and panic into slaughter, that much still meant something to him.
He stood in the dry provisions alcove, rifle slung, smoking slowly. The cigarette tasted like cheap paper and worse tobacco, but it steadied his hands. His thoughts drifted far from the steel ribs of the airship to the salty air, grey stone streets and the great water ships, back to Favis. A world that still made sense.
At least for now. The war didn’t feel contained anymore, it felt like a tide creeping outward and swallowing borders. He had hoped that the Isles would be spared, that he’d go home with Captain Le Mariner when this was over. But some part of him knew better, a war like this wouldn't stop politely just because he wanted it so.
A noise then cut through his thoughts, it sounded like wood scraping and metal shifting.
Urses frowned, flicked the cigarette away, and crushed it under his boot. He stepped out of the alcove, rifle coming free of his shoulder almost by instinct.
Down the hold, a figure moved between the crates. It didnt seem like one of the Mitten workers. One crate had been dragged out of line, half-mounted onto a small cart. The man held a crowbar in one hand.
Urses worked the bolt. The sharp clack echoed unmistakably through the hold.
The figure froze.
“Put the crowbar down,” Urses said, voice level, rifle already shouldere and aimed at the figure.
The man didn’t turn or run. Just stood there, shoulders tense.
“I’m just taking my share,” the man said calmly, though clearly tense. “That’s all. I am
not stealing.”
Urses advanced slowly, rifle never wavering. He got close enough now to recognize the coat and the man's complexion.
It was the Ardellian, Carter.
“Drop it,” Urses said again. “Hands on your head.”
Carter finally turned his head just enough to glance back, crowbar still in hand.
“Come on,” he said, frustration bleeding through his voice, “You know me, you know what we did. This ship didn’t fly itself… You didn't escape Inbur by yourself… I’m not robbing anyone… I’m taking what’s owed.”
“That’s not your call,” Urses replied. His finger rested along the trigger guard. “And it’s not mine either. I was ordered to guard this cargo. That’s what I’m doing.”
“You think the generals are gonna remember the crew, or you?” Carter snapped, “You think widows get paid in gratitude? I’m doing this for all of us.”
Urses didn’t waver, his finger shifted to the trigger at that moment, “Drop the crowbar now. Hands on your head.”
For a moment, it looked like Carter would comply. His shoulders sagged slightly as the crowbar shifted in his grip.
“Alright,” Carter said, “Alright.”
He moved as if to let it fall, but then he hurled it back.
The crowbar spun end over end and struck Urses hard in the abdomen. Pain flared through him as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
His rifle went off as he fell. The shot cracked through the hold, deafening in the enclosed space, the round slamming into steel as Carter dove aside. Urses staggered on the ground, boots scraping, fighting to get back upright as pain and adrenaline collided.
The crate cart rattled. Gold bars clanged against one another and in that instant, the quiet order of the hold shattered completely.
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