“Fighter!” snapped Cimozjen. “Hold!”
The warforged yanked his axe out of the woodwork and rounded on the Karrn, raising the axe for a deadly blow. Cimozjen stood still and folded his hands in front of him.
Fighter took a step and swung, but the movement slowed to a stop in mid-strike, then Fighter lowered his axe to the floor. “That was great,” he said.
Minrah tittered nervously.
Cimozjen thought about it for a moment, and said, “Well, Fighter, it seems that your definition of ‘home’ has expanded somewhat over the last few days. I think that’s probably a good thing. Now if you’ll excuse me”-Cimozjen bent down to pick up the parchment the boy had abandoned and gave it a quick read. “Hmm. Right, people, let’s go. Now!”
Minrah hopped to her feet. “What does it say?” She snatched the paper from Cimozjen. “ ‘NORTH DOCK NOW FIRE FLIGHT — T.’ What does that mean?”
“The answer’s at the docks,” said Cimozjen as he ushered his companions out the door. Then he paused, one hand tugging on the door’s latch. “Um, Fighter? The door cannot close, um, any more. Could you wait here, inside, just for a short while, and make sure no one but us enters the rooms?”
“Waiting is what I know best,” said Fighter.
“Many thanks.”
“Back in a trice!” said Minrah as she and Cimozjen dashed down the hall.
The two made their way quickly to the quays, thence to cut north along the docks. As they ran down the central thoroughfare, they sensed an excitement humming in the populace, and when they left the streets for the open waterfront, they discovered why. A large airship hung in the sky over the outcropping that demarked the north end of the docks, hovering near the airship tower. She had sleek lines, curved and graceful as a swan. Her hull shone with a fresh coat of ivory paint, and the ship’s rails and other trim were colored a royal blue. Delicate spars curled out from amidships to twine like ivy around a horizontal oval of fire that encircled the hull. Though the fires of the ring burned low, they still reflected in the seawater of Throneport, adding a splash of color to the otherwise steely sea.
“That’s the north dock,” said Cimozjen, “and we’re seeing fire in flight right now.”
As they gazed at the beautiful ship, they saw a scarlet tendril reach down from the deck to the airship tower that stood atop the rocky promontory. The end of the tendril held a wide wooden disk, and the fluid motion and image combined to remind Cimozjen of a servant offering a plate of sweetmeats at a posh function.
Minrah pointed. “Looks like they’re boarding passengers. We need to see who’s going on that ship.” She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled loudly. “Hansom!”
A small two-wheeled open carriage rattled over to them, and as Minrah sprang aboard, she cried out, “To the airship, and quickly! They’re loading the first batch now!”
Cimozjen swung himself on as the driver swatted the single horse with his crop.
As the hansom rattled across the cobbles of the waterfront, Minrah leaned over and said, “I hope you brought your coin, Cimmo.”
Fortunately for Cimozjen’s self-respect, he had, and he paid the driver generously for the speedy trip to the airship dock. Only one more diskload of passengers had boarded by the time they arrived. Cimozjen and Minrah ran to the end of the queue that led to the magnificent vessel.
Cimozjen shoved his way-with excuses made and pardons begged-to the ship’s crew who were taking the vouchers and admitting people to be boarded. “Begging your pardon,” he began.
“My apologies, good man,” said the crewman by way of reply, “but the Fire Flight’s billets are already filled. You’ll have to await the next vessel.”
“Already?” said Cimozjen. “But she seems such a large ship.”
“Not as large as she looks from here, I assure you,” said the crewman as he checked someone’s paper and voucher. “We just made a brief stop to engage supplies and drop some parcels. And to let our passengers off for a short respite. We only had a half dozen billets free, and those have long since been sold.”
Cimozjen considered. “Perchance was one of those billets sold to a man by name of Rophis, Raanel’s son? I had hoped to see him ere he left Throneport.”
The crewman shook his head. “No, I recall no such name. We sold four to various house members, and two to nobles.” He checked another passenger for voucher and papers. “Ah, yes, Lady d’Medani, any luck finding suitable earrings? No? I’m sorry to hear that, although I did warn that your chances would be slim in a small town like this. You’ll have better fortune in Fairhaven. It’s full of the finest artisans, and the Queen keeps them well employed, I assure you. Now if you please, we will be departing as soon as everyone is aboard.” He turned back to face Cimozjen. “If you please, good man, I have passengers and luggage to attend to.”
“Of course,” said Cimozjen. “Forgive the intrusion.” He turned around to depart, and saw that his companion had vanished. “Minrah?” He looked about briefly, calling her name, and finally spotted her on the second floor of a guesthouse, leaning over the balcony railing and staring intently at the airship’s activity. “Minrah!” he called.
Without turning her head, she pointed. “There he is, Cimmo. There’s no mistaking that frame.”
Cimozjen followed her arm to where the airship’s curious red tendril-by all appearances, a huge silken ribbon-was raising another disk’s worth of passengers and cargo to the ship. A small cluster of people stood on the wooden disk, some waving to those below. And at one side stood a large man, both tall and wide, with a rich red surcoat that near trailed the ground.
Cimozjen walked up to the aged half-elf and shook his hand firmly. “I thank you for your timely note, Theyedir,” he said. “It gave us the information we needed.”
“Thanks to the note? How about thanks to me?” interjected Minrah. “While you were diddling about in that crowd, I was actually looking.”
Theyedir chuckled. “I did nothing, friends, that any right-hearted person would not have done. So you found something?”
“In truth, we did,” said Cimozjen. “We also found a transport. Our ship leaves with the morning tide for Daskaran, and thence we take the rail to Fairhaven to see what else we might find. But before we left, I wanted to convey our gratitude.”
“Those are indeed excellent tidings. But if you truly wish to thank me, send me a message with news of your progress. It would be good to see that my trifling help might make a difference for the better in the world.”
“Would that not be dangerous for you?” asked Cimozjen. “Might not your officers read your post?”
Theyedir shook his head. “I am an old gaffer, considered an odd goblin amongst those of my House. I have been here my whole life, thus getting letters from afar is one of my eccentricities. They expect such quirks from me with my age, and leave me well enough alone so long as I guard this door when I am told.”
“As you wish,” said Cimozjen, and he clasped Theyedir’s hand. “Fare well, and thank you for affirming my beliefs in House Deneith’s standards.”
Minrah stepped forward and gave him a hug. “You’re cute.”
The two turned for the dock, inadvertently leaving Fighter standing there. The warforged shifted for a moment, then said, “Thank you for not attacking me.”
Theyedir laughed. “It was the least I could do. Literally.”
“It’s not like he knows anything,” said Minrah. “He’s a warforged. He doesn’t know anything about it at all. But if his presence bothers you, we can always send him out into the hall.”
Cimozjen stepped over to the window. Grasping the top of the frame with one hand, he leaned his head against the glass and stared out at the Aundairian countryside as it flew past the window of the lightning rail. “That’s not the point, Minrah,” he said.
“Then why couldn’t we get a nice stateroom with a big soft bed, instead of two separate cubby holes?” she asked, patting the cots that were built into wall of the sleeper cabin. “The rail has staterooms like that, right?”