Maledictus Aether by Sydney Alykxander Walker

walking
over to my left side as quickly as possible. I lose my shirt in
record time, and I help her hold my prosthetic while she aligns it.
“As well as any other man angry at you for what you’ve done. Hold
still, this’ll hurt.”
    In one quick motion she connects the nerves of my arm to
the prosthetic, the jolt of pain as agonizing as the first time. I
hold in my scream, focusing on my breathing while she tightens the
screws an d testing the
movement once she is done.
    Content with it, I suit up
again and pull on the gloves, shaking with suppressed anger and
fear.
    “ Be cautious,
Kennedy,” Elyn warns, helping me into my tailcoat. I thank her,
buttoning it up before retrieving my borrowed hat – the entire
setup is far too ostentatious for me. “The life of a pirate is
often short-lived, and yours even less so. You’re aware of it, are
you not?”
    I look up at her, locking eyes
with her hazel ones and nodding.
    “ Aebra’s blessing be with you, lad, and should you ever find
Tier, come find me. I will gladly leave the land behind to offer my
services,” she states, taking hold of my hands and gripping them
tightly. Shouts ring out from the front of the shop, and we both
look towards the source. “They’re here – quick, I’ll lead you to
the back door. Don’t look back.”
    She pulls me behind her forge
and past a maze of tin, steel and copper reserves, as the shouts
get louder. We reach a wooden door, the protests echoing around
us.
    Elyn is a moment away from
pushing me through when I turn on her and embrace her, my sincerest
thanks in the gesture. She remains immobile a moment before she
thaws, returning the gesture.
    “ Cephas would be proud,” she whispers, and I pull back to
look at her more fully. She seems to notice how much those words
mean to me, for she smiles warmly at me before releasing me. I push
open the door, and without a glance back I disappear into the
crowd, intent on leaving London and its frantic
behavio ur behind.
    The sky is my home now.
     

 
VII – The Atlas
     
    I shake my arm, the stinging numbness still making its home on my person. I am
torn between the notion that the idea was good or bad – and I am
not quite sure which one is more accurate.
    Regardless of that, I lay out a large sheet of grid paper
on my workstation, pencil already tucked behind my ear as I cross
my arms and regard my canvas. There are three other sheets awaiting
the strokes of my utensil
that will lead to the design of my ship.
    Behind me, in the studio and just beyond the doors of the
drafting room, some of the shipment is being delivered, and Captain
Davis is overseeing it while Fulke’s taking charge of the crew
recru itment – and,
apparently, there is quite a list being drawn up.
    Nevertheless, I ha ve
been given free reign of this project and total solitude in the
room that’s about the side of the quarters I had back aboard
the Calypso. The walls are specially outfitted to
display the various pages of drafts when they will be drawn up, and
I pull out the chair and lower myself onto it, the end of my pencil
between my teeth.
    I did a brief study of various older models, both still
functional and scrapped, and took the pros and cons of every design
into consideration. However, for all m y research, there’s one model I have yet to come
across – as if the very thought of the model is so downright
obvious, it is not the right one.
    For a full century, the question has been what is the most aerodynamic airship
that will give the best outcome, and last the longest?
    Naturally, you woul d
expect a model shaped after the frigates, galleons and other such
sea-worthy ships would be the key.
    Logically, that i s
incorrect. The circumstances are so different; it is ridiculous to
expect that it would be the logical thing to do. On the sea, you
have waves and wind, and are at the mercy of the sea. In an instant
you could sink to her depths, and never be found.
    It i s similar in the
sky, but there is