Sky Pirates

Sawdust

They flew in single file lines over head. Airship after airship, following one another's lead, like soldiers heading into battle. And right below their under plates knelt a boy no older than thirteen. He watched as they let their bombs loose on the unsuspecting forests. As bullets rained from their machine guns. His eyes were pinned on the terrain, as bits and pieces of it were roughly ripped from their roots. But as he hid in the thicket of trees and bushes he heard a rustling coming from behind.

Slowly he turned his head, ears pricked, searching for the noise. Silence. Suddenly there it was again, but this time continuous. Footsteps, running in his direction. He swallowed, trying to rid the lump in his throat. Steadily, he tightened his grip on his pistol and raised it to eye level. His breathing quickened and his heart raced, and suddenly the maker of the footsteps came into view. "Sam? Timothy?" the boy breathed, and one at a time pulled the other boys into hugs. "August." Sam uttered into the other boy's coat.

Augustus pulled away and placed his hands on Sam's shoulders looking him straight in the eyes. "Where are the others?" he softly questioned. Samuel's eyes started to brim with fear. "I-I d-I don't know." he gulped "Tim and I... we saw them- we saw them coming an- and we ran- we ran for our lives August. They're chasing us." August's eyebrows knit together, "Who Sammy? Who was chasing you?" "Cyrus." he whispered. August's face dropped. "What?" "Cyrus." Sam repeated pushing past him. Wide-eyed, August glanced at Timothy then turned back in Sam's direction. And there he was. Cyrus Cowen; an old friend of Augustus', limping down the field, arms raised in surrender. As the spotlights of the giant machines cast him in a brilliant wash of light. "What is he doing?" Timothy whispered, obvious fear in his voice. "Please!" Cyrus called to the ships above "Please! Take me, and no one else has to get hurt!" Augustus' lips parted. "Please!" Cyrus yelled again. And out of nowhere gunshots fired from above. And Cyrus fell to his knees. "Cyrus!" Augustus screamed. "Cyrus!"

August's eyes burst open, as he awoke with a start. "Cy- Cyrus." He gasped for air, burying his face in his hands. Then bells could be heard outside. When he pulled his hands away, his eyes rested on the world outside the window, where he could see Big Ben's face read eight o'clock. August sighed and fell back onto the bed, trying to regain his breath. He turned towards the window again and looked over the peaceful, yet exciting city of London. The boy let out a shaky sigh and pulled himself out of bed, walking over to his closet where he picked out his usual white button-up shirt, a black waistcoat, trousers, and boots. Then he looked up at the looking glass in front of him, examining each of his facial features. Just as he thought, he looked exactly the same. Just as he always had, just as he probably always would. He still looked like the boy who was no older than thirteen. The same boy who watched his best friend in all the galaxies be murdered, right in front of his eyes. But that was some two hundred years ago. Although to human timelines, it could have only happened a few months back.

He sighed once more and turned away from his reflection, heading for the door. He didn't stop as he picked up his pocket watch and tucked it in his waistcoat pocket. As he crossed the threshold of his bedroom, he started down the turning staircase ahead, leaving him in his entryway, where he grabbed a long flowing coat from inside the closet. Then he pulled a messenger's bag over his shoulder and a top hat onto his head, and when all was said and done he turned the front door knob, and left.

After Cyrus' death, Augustus had taken the liberty of moving to London. He had told his party that he was searching for new recruits, but mostly it was just because he needed some time away from the war, and pain, and suffering. As he walked, August observed the many buildings on the streets of London, avoiding carriages, and people to the best of his abilities. Then suddenly a crowd in the distance caught his attention. At first he thought it might be a group gathering round to listen to what one of those anti-witch activists had to say, but then something changed his mind. As he approached he took note of about half a dozen police officers making a semi-circle to prevent the crowd from getting past. The boy cocked he head as he walked, trying to decipher what in heaven's name could be going on. He picked up more and more details with every step. Like the fact that there was a very tired, yet serious looking man with grey hair and a long coat, speaking to two of the officers nearest to him. August noticed that every now and then he would flash a gold badge, as the boy had expected. He was definitely built like an officer, but there was more to his character. He appeared to almost look stronger, but also as if he possessed great power. This was especially reflected whenever he got as little as a meter and a half away from any officer, who immediately stood at attention. Even from a distance August could tell that this man was a casual one. With every copper that straightened up in his presence, he'd look a little bit confused as to why they were doing so, but not entirely bothered by it. Detective Inspector the boy thought, smiling to himself at his oh-so-perfect conclusion. Had to be. No one else could be in a position like that and think standing at attention was weird. As he examined the Inspector further, he felt himself step back onto the pavement, which didn't faze him much of course, not at all really, that was until he suddenly was knocked out of his thoughts by the feeling of someone crashing straight into him. Now this, he was definitely fazed by.

When the boy had finally regained his balance (and self awareness for that matter) he found himself looking down at five-or-so books that had been scattered on the ground, evidently he had been the one to put them there, it being an aftermath of the collision. He looked up from the books to see a red faced young man, looking to be almost his age. The boy chuckled nervously, leading August to realize that this was the very boy he had collided with. He looked quickly back down at the books, and gracefully crouched to put them back into a pile. "I am so sorry." He said stacking the last few books on top of the pile, and handing it to the boy he had run into. "No, no it's- it's okay." He said smiling, his cheeks still tinted with pink. "I wasn't watching where I was going," he admitted. "Oh and uh thank you by the way." The boy's lips curved into a small smile as he gently retrieved his books from August's hands. "Of course." The boy nodded slightly and slowly turned his gaze to the crowded alleyway. This gave August the chance to truly look at his features. The first thing he noticed was his hat, it was fairly old but still looked warm, and comfortable. It was the same hat that newspaper boys wore, with the top caving down to touch the very brim of the bill, but it looked nice on him, and very much at home. He then simply grazed over the shoes and trousers, nothing special, just pleasant. He did however notice the boy's coat. It was "camouflage green" as August had heard they called it in the twenty-first-century, and looked to be nearly as old as the hat, except less worn. It was that of a suit jacket, though Augustus doubted it had come as a set of the jacket and trousers. Next, was his face. To be honest, it didn't look that dirty, and any trace of grime was erased by the bright smile he wore. His eyes, that was the thing that truly pulled everything together. They were a lively blue-green, and round, filled with wonder.

The boy was brought out of his deductions when the green coated one started to speak again. "So," he began. "What do you think's going on over there?" August slowly lifted his gaze to the crazed alleway on the other side of the street. He saw people fumbling over each other, attempting to see past the officers ahead.

August was honestly about to break into a whole explanation of why there had obviously been a murder, but then decided against it, realizing it would probably be a lot to take in, so he just gave the most generic and average answer he could think of, "I have absolutely no idea." The boy sighed and nodded, "Neither do I." He turned back towards August and gave him a sad-ish looking smirk. The boy looked up all of a sudden, realization embroidered on every inch of his face. "I just now realized," he started, almost shamefully. "I never caught your name." August raised his eyebrows. "My name?" "Yeah!" the boy insisted enthusiastically. August shook his head. "Um, right yeah, uh, August... It's, August." he stuttered. The boy chuckled, and shifted his books, resting them under his left arm, and freeing the other one to shake August's hand. "Mine's Thomas, Thomas Kingsley." This brought a smile to August's face. "It's a pleasure... Thomas." "Believe me good sir," the other boy started, trying to sound proper. "The pleasure is all mine." They let their hands fall to their sides, and a curious look sprouted on Thomas's face, as he turned around, evidently looking for something, only stopping when he spotted Big Ben. "Eight-fifteen." he sighed turning back to face August. "Well," he said sadly. "I best be on my way. Gotta return these and all." he shrugged, lifting the books slightly for example. "Yes, well I suppose I best be on mine." August returned. "It's a pleasure again August, and I hope I'll be see you around soon." August nodded. "Indeed."