The Quest for the Crystals: The Book of Wind

by E.E. Blake

  ~

  With coffee mug to his lips, Dwain Spikeclaw watched from the far side of the hangar as the black-and-gold airship to Garia drew forward, cradled by two hefty straps across the bow and stern from the chain-operated crane above.

  The hedgehog had seen to the Alliance Army’s airships countless times in his three years of service as a hangar engineer to Prime Minister Lablanche – and yet he could never quite get over how majestic the vessels all were in their own way.

  Like most of Vida’s modern technology, such as steam-engineered electricity, radios, and other various things such as the Vidian civil calendar, the airships were constructed under Prime Minister Lablanche’s own personal designs – these vessels of what he referenced from “seventeenth century” sea ships … whatever a seventeenth century was.

  Aside from the ability to traverse Vida’s vast ocean, the Gabriel Sea, the Alliance ships were able to fly all over the planet at a far quicker pace, thanks to specially-crafted propellers on their hulls, as well as fore and mizzen masts.

  With a loud clank, the crane stopped with such force that the airship swung a bit under the hold of its harnesses. Directly below at the awaiting dock station stood four of Dwain’s fellow engineers, with tools and checklists at the ready. Dwain took another mouthful of coffee and turned back to his own work while the crane started to lower the vessel for its inspection before the midnight flight.

  He and the four other engineers were hand-picked to attend a conference in Garia that would showcase Prime Minister Lablanche’s latest technical designs to try to relieve Vida’s severely growing economical instability. Something Dwain thought funny, since everything that Prime Minster Lablanche thought would make Vida a better place to live seemed to only make the world more and more caustic.

  The hedgehog set his coffee mug down on top of a closed toolbox and overheard two other engineers, a mouse named Rad and a raccoon named Klous, who neared completion of another airship's preparation.

  “Do you think they found the guy who broke in last night yet?” asked Rad.

  “‘Broke in’?” Klous snorted, “I heard it was an inside job.”

  “Said who?”

  “I don’t know. That’s just what I heard, though. Anyway, who knows? I heard that the Prime Minister has soldiers stationed all over the place – not just here, but around the different regions, and that Chancellor Domini has his own forces out and about Mecia.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I dunno. That’s just what I heard.”

  Dwain felt the strong urge to head over to the Garia-issued airship, but instead bit down on his duty as an engineer and kept an ear open on the gossip. He had only heard snippets of what had happened during the previous night’s attack, and no one else he questioned seemed to know or wanted to talk about it.

  “I’m surprised the Prime Minister hasn’t made a statement yet,” Rad admitted as he came around the masthead and checked something off his clipboard. “Whoever that vandal who broke in here is, he’s a threat to all of Vida! It’s hard to believe Prime Minister Lablanche would let an attack on Doblah go unseen to the public eye...”

  “…We lost some good soldiers last night,” Klous grunted.

  “Spikeclaw!”

  Dwain’s attention faltered and he looked over to the Garia-issued airship, where his other co-workers were. The hangar supervisor, a tall, burly, fox named Jerek, made an impatient gesture at the hedgehog.

  Dwain nodded, finished his lukewarm drink in a single mouthful, and wandered over, neglecting a drop of coffee that had dribbled along his chin.

  “So how did lunch go, buddy?” grinned a short and stout long-haired feline named Sol, as Dwain drew closer.

  Wiping his muzzle on the back of his coat sleeve, Dwain’s other paw instinctively touched the ring box stuffed inside the hip pocket of his cargo pants.

  The hedgehog sighed.

  “Didn’t happen,” he muttered.

  “What?” Jarek blinked among the surprised looks of the three other engineers.

  “I couldn’t go through with it,” Dwain admitted.

  “Why not?” Sol demanded. “What happened? You didn’t get cold footpaws, did you?”

  “I’m just really hung up on what happened last night,” Dwain admitted. “I can’t get it out of my head. I’m still pretty shaken up about it, to be honest – that one guy slaughtered twelve soldiers, including a General.”

  “We're all pretty spooked still,” said a frail-looking hound named Felix – one of the oldest Alliance hangar engineers. He took off his worker’s cap and mashed a clenched paw against a wrinkled eye.

  “You didn’t tell your girl about the attack, did you, Spikeclaw?” Jarek prodded him in the chest with scrutiny-filled eyes.

  Dwain went wide-eyed, and shook his head no. “Of course not.”

  “Good. Anyway, I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you today. Hopefully when we get back, eh?”

  “If we get back,” muttered Sol as he wiped his oil-stained paws on the thighs of his overalls. “Alive, anyway. Who knows what’ll happen if we run into him again at Garia.”

  “One in a million chances, Sol. Won’t happen,” said Felix, wiping the sweat from his brow. He leaned against the hull of the airship and yawned.

  “There’s gonna be at least 500 soldiers in and around the conference. Even if the heretic finds a way to Garia, he ain’t gettin’ far,” Jarek said. “Now cut the chit chat and huddle up. We gotta lotta work to get done still.”

  The three workers divvied up on the tasks listed on Jarek’s clipboard and went to work in silence for a while. When Dwain was finished topping up the coal supply, he wandered around the lower deck of the airship, until he found Felix inside the engine room, tweaking the exhaust pipes.

  Of anyone to know the workings of the great big Alliance pie, Dwain knew Felix must have had his thumb stuck in somewhere. People trusted Felix for some reason. Either because he was old and wise, or usually soft-spoken and disarming, the hedgehog didn’t quite know.

  Dwain leaned against the open doorframe and started to ask, “Hey, Fel—” when the old hound jumped in surprise, nearly bouncing his head off of one of the very pipes he had just fixed.

  “Dwain, you wanna gimme another heart attack?” he demanded.

  “Sorry,” Dwain muttered. “I just uh … I heard that the guy who broke in last night took something from the castle. Do you know what it was? I keep asking around, but everybody’s got their lips all stapled up.”

  Felix let out a heavy irritated sigh, and waved the hedgehog off. “You gotta stop frettin’ about that. It’s no good. The army’ll find him and wring him ‘round the neck good n’ hard. As long as the heretic’s not in Doblah anymore, it’s not our problem; we’re engineers, not soldiers. We got other things to tinker about with.”

  Dwain leaned harder against the open door with arms crossed over his chest, a deep scowl on his muzzle.

  “But if you really gotta know,” Felix went on, “I think I heard the Nimbus sword got hocked, and that’s what the heretic used to git past all those guards last night.”

  “…The Nimbus?” Dwain repeated. “Why’d he want the sword Prime Minister Lablanche uses to dub generals with?”

  Felix shrugged.

  “Thanks,” Dwain murmured, and started to head to the upper deck, when Felix called him back.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you and your girl today,” the old hound said.

  “Me too,” sighed Dwain. “If I could, I’d bring her along to the conference, but since that’s not allowed … there’s no point proposing until after we get back. I just hope Regina doesn’t flip out on me when I do pull the ring.”

  A broad smile formed on Felix’s muzzle, wrinkling his old face even more than it already was. “She sounds like a sweet girl, Dwain. I wouldn’t worry if I was you. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “She’ll say no?” Dwain frowned.

  Felix blinked back, su
rprised – and then exploded into a breathless fit of laughter that caused him to double over.

  Dwain stared at him.

  “How … how could a girl say no to a good ol’ sense o’ humour like yours, my boy?” Felix demanded breathlessly, smacking his knee. He let out a couple small puffs of laughter, wiped a tear from his eye, and then threw his head back with another loud guffaw.

  “Too bad I wasn’t kidding,” Dwain muttered while he left Felix to his thunderous chortles.

  “…‘No’ … ‘no’, he says … Gaahhh, ha, ha, ha!”

  “It’s not that funny.”