by B.J. Keeton
Another strong gust of wind swept over the airship and Jude was very thankful his wind-goggles were securely fastened over his eyes. Without them, he guessed his eyeballs would have been blown out of their sockets.
Over an hour passed before Jude and the rest of the Hosers had successfully extracted all of the water. The cloud was gone. The skies were clear.
It was over.
***
“Excellent work!” Reedy said. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets to block them from the wind. “Everything off without a hitch. Excellent! Excellent!”
Some of the Hosers went to the galley to grab breakfast, while others went back to their rooms. Jude was part of the latter group. His muscles were sore from the Hosing and his head ached from waking so early. When he got back to his bunk, he fell asleep almost immediately.
When Jude awoke for the second time, Gwynn and Thorne were both gone and everything was oddly quiet. Little slivers of sunlight had just started coming in through the windows. Yawning, he strapped on his boots and went out into the corridor. No one was around—not even some of the more sociable crewmembers. The quiet emptiness could only mean one thing: wages were being given up on the deck.
Without going back for his coat, Jude started running for the stairwell. When he got out to the main deck, there were nearly a hundred people out there. In addition to the fifty Hosers, there were the engineers, the cooks, the deckhands, and the captain’s personal crew. Jude bypassed the engineers and got in line behind Valencia McCaw, another Hoser.
“About time,” she said. Her auburn hair was tangled because of the wind, and her goggles magnified her green eyes to comical proportions. “I thought if you didn’t show, I’d take your wages for myself.”
“I can go back to my bunk,” Jude said. He smiled. “But I wouldn’t want to encourage your greediness, Vale. It’s a slippery slope.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms and laughed. Despite her petite frame, she was one of the strongest people onboard—by far stronger than Jude, and they both knew it. “I wish Schlocky would get out here. It’s my turn to get paid this go-round.”
Before Jude could respond, the sound of clanking boots echoed around the deck. Captain Allister Schlocky was a tall, muscular man with dark eyes and a mischievous smile. As he descended the stairs from the pilot’s house, every head on deck turned to face him, which spoke more about his character than words ever could.
“Sir!” Reedy said. He brought his hand up in a salute, and the others followed his lead.
“Afternoon, Cal,” Schlocky said. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, as if he were angry at the world but laughing at a joke at the same time. “Afternoon, you lot.”
A few of the crewmembers returned the greeting. Schlocky walked over to a pile of stacked crates, each containing a dozen glass bottles of water: their wages. Schlocky took out a piece of paper and read from the list.
“Kathleen Burke,” he said gruffly.
Burke, a woman slightly older than Jude, came forward and received a crate. She looked awfully pleased with herself and was so busy smiling that she didn’t notice her cigarette had fallen out of her mouth.
Schlocky called three more names before Jude. At the sound of a surly “Jude Finley,” Jude marched forward and received his crate. He was pleased, too, but he tried to take the matter seriously. After all, this crate of water was going to be shipped to his family in Burrow 12 as soon as the airship came to a skyport.
Several other names were called, until Schlocky said, “Valencia McCaw.”
Valencia received the last crate and went back to stand in line with Jude. Schlocky dismissed everyone else and left.
“You going to ship yours home?” Valencia asked.
Jude nodded. “It should last them a while.”
“Yeah, I’m sending mine back home to my mom and pop in Burrow 23,” she said. “They’ll be thrilled. It hasn’t been my turn for wages in months.”
Jude knew how she felt. In the year he’d spent out of Burrow 12 and aboard the Gangly Dirigible, this was only the second time he’d received wages. But he’d take what he could get. His family needed the water. It would be a nice break from drinking the filth that trickled down into the Burrows from the skyports. He could still taste that swill if he thought about it long enough.
“We shouldn’t have to wait long,” said Valencia. “We’ll be stopping at Thunder’s Echo soon. It’s a small place, but they can ship the crates down to the Burrows for us. You won’t have to worry about them stealing it for themselves.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Jude said.
“I’ve shipped water from Thunder’s Echo tons of times. I know a guy there, and he’s trustworthy enough. He won’t try to cheat you,” Valencia said, and when she saw the incredulous look on Jude’s face added, “Well, I’ve never had any problems with him at least.”
“And you won’t,” said a fellow Hoser from behind them. It was Charles Ivanovich, a man they all knew as the Shrew. His face was cracked like old leather and his left eye was just an empty socket (he didn’t bother wearing a patch over it). “They know better than to mess with anyone on one of Alfred Gangly’s vessels. That old bastard has a lot of sway in Thunder’s Echo. He once had four men thrown off into the sky for stealing from the Gangly Trireme. I like to think the deathly fog ate em before they died from the fall.”
“You’re a real poet,” Valencia said. “You know that?”
“I just tell the truth,” the Shrew retorted.
Valencia headed for the stairwell leading below deck. “I’m going to grab some grub before the cooks close the galley up for the night,” she said.
“It ain’t even dark yet!” the Shrew called after her.
“Yeah, but you know how they are. They like to close early.” She started down the stairs. “You want to come with me, Jude?”
Ignoring the crude look from the Shrew, Jude went to join her.
***
The galley was just below the main deck, but above the housing level. The smoke from the boiler room did not reach this part of the ship, but the galley was filled with smoke nonetheless, because of the steam-powered stoves in the kitchen. As Jude and Valencia entered, Jude spotted Roebuck sitting at a table smoking and playing cards with several other engineers. He waved to them.
“Ho!” Roebuck called. “Vale! Jude! Grab your food and come sit with us. We need some more players.”
Jude got a bowl of murky brown soup, a meatless and nearly tasteless concoction the whole crew just called the Runs, while Valencia opted for a plate of half-rotten greens with a slab of fatty meat that was possibly pork.
“I’m feeling brave today,” she said when she caught Jude eyeing her plate in disgust.
They took their seats with Roebuck and the others. Valencia joined in their game of cards, but Jude didn’t. He’d just received that crate of water and he wasn’t about to go betting it away. Besides, his family needed that water.
“Fritz was looking for ya earlier,” Roebuck told Jude. “He left the galley a while back.”
“What did he want?” Jude asked. Fritz was one of his closest friends and Jude hadn’t seen him all day, which was odd.
“I don’t know,” Roebuck said, shrugging.
“I might go find him after I eat,” said Jude. He yawned. His midday nap hadn’t helped much. He was still drained from that morning’s Hosing.
“He wasn’t feelin too good,” Roebuck said, keeping his eyes on his cards. “He said he was going down to his room to sleep. If ya ask me, I think looking down at the clouds still gets him a little queasy. He just ain’t used to it.”
“I wouldn’t bother him,” said an engineer named Jessie Rutgers. She placed her bet on the table. “That chap gets real irritable. I’d leave him alone.”
“I hope he’s okay,” Jude said.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” said Valencia. “Just let him rest. Maybe he’ll be ar
ound tomorrow—”
“Dammit!” Roebuck yelled. He threw his cards onto the table, having just lost two bottles of water to an engineer Jude knew only as Patterson.
“Careful, little man,” said Patterson through a thick accent Jude couldn’t quite place. “Your next wages will be mine, too, if you do not watch out.”
“You be careful,” Roebuck retorted. “I got a switchblade that ain’t been used in a while, and it’s gettin pretty antsy just sittin around.”
Jude slurped down the last of his soup and got up from the table before a fight broke out. As he left the galley, Roebuck and Valencia bid him farewell. He decided against going to see Fritz. Jude didn’t want to be a bother if his friend wasn’t feeling well. Maybe Fritz just needed rest. Jude decided to go to his room to do some reading instead.
He went downstairs to the housing level, bypassing the Shrew in the stairwell. The Shrew eyed him suspiciously, but kept quiet.
When he got to his room, Jude was thankful that Thorne was still gone and Gwynn was asleep in his bunk, snoring quietly. As Jude headed to his own bunk, he passed their mirror and caught a glimpse of himself. He needed a good shave, but he wasn’t about to spend his allotted water rations on tidying up. When he was allowed water, he drank it.
He also noticed that he was in need of a haircut. His dark hair was nearly to his earlobes and his bangs hung over the tops of his eyes, hiding the gap in his right eyebrow (the prize of a knife fight he’d won as a kid in Burrow 12). Maybe he’d get Fritz or Valencia to help him cut his hair in the morning.
He looked into his own eyes for a moment. When he’d left Burrow 12 a year ago, his eyes had been a brilliant shade of blue. Now, they were a sallow grey. If that wasn’t a sign of overworking, he didn’t know what was.
He plopped down in his bunk and started to read. He didn’t know all the words, but he knew enough to get him through it. Maps of the Skies: A Complete Guide to Nimbus was a thick book, but Jude enjoyed reading what he could. He was particularly interested in reading about the Skyline and theories about why the deathly fog never rose past it. He was tired and sore from the day’s labor, but he managed to get through four pages before falling asleep. Reading, like Hosing, was tiring work.
So was life on an airship.
Chapter Two
When you get to know me, you will hate me. You just won’t have the power to resist me…
***
The dining hall was exceptionally warm today, which made Demetrius Rucca’s glass sweat. The condensation ran down the sides, and Rucca reached for it, ignoring the droplets that fell on his lap as he drank. He smiled as he tasted the crisp, clean water. Almost everyone Rucca knew drank wine with their lunch, but not him. He didn’t like the way it made his head swim, and the light meals he usually enjoyed for lunch were better accented with a tall glass of water, anyway. It was more refreshing.
He finished the last bite of his salad and placed his fork upside down in the middle of his plate, which signaled for a servant to come remove it from the table.
“Of course, Lord Demetrius,” the servant said. He must have seen Rucca’s expression harden and corrected himself. “Of course, sir.”
The servant tapped a button on a large cart by the entrance to the dining hall, and gears began to whir inside the box. Immediately, the cart began to roll toward the dining table and Rucca. The servant demurely reached in front of the nobleman and sat the plate inside the locomotive cart. Gears began to grind immediately and scrub the plate clean. The man then turned away from the table, his job finished.
“Wait just a moment,” Rucca said.
The man turned around to face Rucca, but his eyes never left the ground. “Yes, sir?”
“My glass of water.”
A moment passed, and the man asked, “What about it, sir?”
“You looked at it.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to. It meant nothing.”
“Did it not?” Rucca asked, and leaned back in his chair. He removed the napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth with it before placing it in a wad on the table in front of him.
“No, sir.”
“I think it did.”
“Honest,” the man said. “I didn’t mean nothin by it.” The servant’s eyes were still looking at the floor.
“You want this water, don’t you?”
No response.
“I asked you a question. You will answer me.” Rucca repeated his question. “You want this water, don’t you?”
“I do,” the man said. “But it’s not mine, I know that,” he added hastily. “That water’s yours, sir.”
“And you don’t think I’ll share with you? You think so little of me, Milton Hartselle,” Rucca spat out his name as though it were a mouthful of vinegar, “that you do not believe I will share this water with you? This ice cold water?” Rucca reached for the glass and sipped from it. “After all, Milton, it is dreadfully hot in here today, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you do think so little of me then?”
Milton looked up at Rucca. It was for just an instant, but their eyes did meet. Milton looked back at the floor immediately. “No, sir. I mean, sir, that it is hot in here. That’s all I meant. I…I…” He coughed. “No, sir.”
“I understand,” Rucca said. “I’m glad that misunderstanding is taken care of.” He waited for Milton to nod in agreement. “Now, back to the matter at hand. Would you like some of this water, Milton?”
Both sets of eyes in the room rested on the glass of water. It was crystal clear. Rucca guessed that it might have been the clearest water that Milton Hartselle had ever seen. Rucca had heard stories about the Dwellers in the Burrows and how they didn’t even believe water could be clear.
“Yes,” Milton whispered. His lips barely moved as he spoke.
“I’m sorry, my good man. What was that? Speak up next time, would you? I’m afraid I’m a trifle deaf in one ear.” He really wasn’t, but it never hurt to say such things.
“I’m sorry, sir. I…” he hesitated. “I…do want the water, if you please.”
“Why, of course, Milton. I could never sit here and enjoy it knowing you wanted it, too.” Rucca reached out for the glass and picked it up. “Why don’t you have some then?”
Milton nodded, but remained still. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”
“Come then,” said Rucca. “Don’t be shy.” He held the glass up as though offering it to Milton, who began to walk forward. “That’s a good lad.”
The ice cubes clinked together as Rucca sipped the water one last time before he offered it to Milton. When the servant stood before him, Rucca raised the glass and deliberately shook it. Ice clinked again. He cupped his hand, and the droplets of condensation pooled in his palm, wonderfully and delightfully cold. When no more would fall, he rubbed his hand against the side of the glass, collecting anything that remained. When there was no more, he held his hand out to Milton.
“There you go, Milton. Fresh, clean, crisp water.”
Milton didn’t move. He just looked at the small pool of water in Rucca’s right hand.
“Drink up.”
Milton didn’t move.
“Are you not thirsty anymore, Milton? Is my water not good enough for you?”
Still, Milton remained immobile and silent.
“Drink it, Milton.” There was steel in Rucca’s voice. Until today, he had never used that tone with Milton. Other servants sure, but never with him. There was no arguing with him when he used that tone, so Milton knelt beside Rucca’s chair.
“That’s a good man.”
Over the past few months, Rucca felt as though he had gotten to know Milton Hartselle. He knew, like any person, Milton was a lot of things—including a fine waiter. But he wasn’t proud. Rucca was certain that he could see Milton’s spirits fall when he realized what was being demanded of him. It was probably the cleanest water he was going to get this week, which Rucca figured offse
t the fact that he was being forced to lap out of his master’s hand like he was an animal. He had been a Dweller, after all.
The servant’s face flushed red, growing a deeper shade with every slurp.
“Make sure you get it all, Milton. You surely don’t want to waste any of my water, do you?”
Milton licked his master’s hand until the only wetness that remained was from his own saliva. Then, without looking at Rucca, he stood up and asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, Milton. Lunch was delicious, and the water was…exquisite. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would, sir. Have a wonderful afternoon, sir. I’ll see you at dinner.” With a bow, the servant excused himself from the dining hall.
Demetrius Rucca chuckled to himself as he reached for the napkin in front of him. He had to wipe that old Dweller’s spit off his hand before he caught something. But the risk had been worth it. The old man’s shame had been absolutely delicious. It would probably be the most fun he would get to have all week, too. It would also be the last time the servant used Rucca’s first name.
He flipped a switch on the arm of his chair and the cogs that controlled its motor sprang to life. He felt the familiar vibration and knew that it was ready for him to drive. He wrapped his fingers around the tiny joystick that controlled his wheelchair and maneuvered himself out from under the table and out the door.
***
Rucca had often wondered what it would be like to grow up poor. He spent most of every day wheeling along the promenade on Cloud Nine, watching the poor people go about their daily lives. Some of them he knew were good people who were just trying to make ends meet and take care of their families. But others…well, others weren’t quite so noble. Some of them, like Milton Hartselle, didn’t know their place.
He rolled his wheelchair out of the dining hall and onto the promenade’s third tier. He hadn’t even made it fully out of the doorway before he was accosted by one of the not-so-nobles.
