Captain Inglehart's crew consisted of fewer people than Zenetra expected. There was Wallis Pilluck, the sixty-year-old crotchety healer. The man who had dropped his onions at the sight of Mimi was Nibbs, the cook. Then there was the deckhand, a one-armed former military man named Delwyn, and the steward, a mute by the name of Lothar who was never without a book. A teenage mucker called Raoul had the light olive-toned skin of a Marzhanian, murky gray-green eyes, and large, flat moles on his face and neck.
As the mess hall was compacted into Nibbs' tiny kitchen area, mealtimes were divided into two shifts. After resting in Sickbay for most of the morning, Zenetra found herself sitting across from James and Raoul at lunch and watched, stomach churning, as the young men shoveled stew into their mouths. Though they consumed large portions with every bite, one could hardly describe it as eating. Food barely touched their tongues.
"Aren't you hungry?" asked James after returning with his second helping.
Zenetra blew on her spoonful of stew. "I like to chew first."
Raoul, half out of his seat to ask for another heaping of stew as James had done, reconsidered his actions. He blushed as red as a tomato and went to Nibbs with meek enthusiasm.
"Now why'd you go and say a thing like that?" asked James. "Raoul's a nice enough kid."
"I didn't mean to shame him."
"Well, you did." Swirling his spoon around to cool his food, James added, "You should eat more so you don't faint again."
Everyone aboard Sunray had learned of her condition by midmorning. Zenetra chose not to take the anti-anxiety medication Healer Pilluck had given her, as she was fine so long as she did not see how high they were flying, but carried the little bottle in her pocket as a precaution. It confused her as to why being on an airship caused such stirrings of fear when being nine stories high in Commissioner Fokle's office created no such distress.
Zenetra let her spoon rest in her half-eaten bowl of brown stew. The rounded part of the metal utensil sank below chunks of carrots, potatoes, and juicy cubes of seasoned beef. "Are you shaming me now?"
"No. It happens more than you think. I hurled for three days straight on my first flight." There was a moment of silence as James bit into his buttered bun. Mouth full of doughy bread, he continued just as bluntly. "You have bags under your eyes. Rough night?"
She considered retorting that he himself looked and smelled better, a backhanded compliment if there ever was one, but refrained. There was no reason to gain the ire of someone she would never see after the search and rescue operation was completed.
Tearing apart the rest of his bun with nimble fingers, James pressed harder. "So? You gonna spill? I promise not to tell. I'm good at keeping secrets." He stuffed a piece of the torn bun into his mouth. "Also, Commissioner Fokle and Captain Inglehart made us all sign an obscene amount of paperwork. Some of it was for you."
"How thoughtful of them." Zenetra picked up her spoon and took another bite, intent on ending the conversation.
James did not take the hint. He slid his long arms across the narrow table and rested his hands on either side of Zenetra's elbows, effectively trapping her in the conversation.
She let out an impatient sigh. Filling her spoon with stew once more and assuming the governor's visit was already in the morning print, she told James about the night before. "I was up late drinking with my father and Governor Ewald."
James' head snapped back as if he had been slapped. His arms folded in toward his body. He sat across the table in abnormal silence, brimming with judgment and wearing a glare that could turn a person to stone. "I don't know whether to be angry with you or laugh at your naivety."
Raoul froze behind James, second bowl of steaming stew in hand and buttered bun hanging from his mouth. Though he was young, he read the charged atmosphere at the table and fled back to Nibbs.
The spoon at Zenetra's mouth clattered back into her bowl. "Excuse me?"
"Gustav Ewald is a hard-line Guild Sympathizer. Everyone in the Hovels will tell you that. Since elected governor, he has systematically ensured that those with magical blood will lose their jobs and their homes. He hates people who are touched by magic. Hates them." James re-emphasized his sentiments with a finger wag. "Hates foreigners, hates alchemists, hates magic, and hates the people who support the rights of the groups he hates. You know, I'm shocked he even met with you considering your great-grandfather is the one who took down the Guild."
Zenetra's back went rigid. It couldn't be true. Governor Ewald had seemed drunk and rude, but not as terrible as James implied. "They...they were just having dinner! He wanted to discuss the election. The Noire's would never support—!"
"Hey," said James, holding up his hands in pseudo-surrender. "I'm not the one hosting dinners for known Guild Sympathizers." In a much more subdued tone, he continued with, "Then again, I don't usually have dinner."
Zenetra was normally a good judge of character, or believed herself to be, but as she sat across from James, she could not tell if he was telling the whole truth. "If what you say is true about Governor Ewald, then why hasn't it been in the papers?"
"There's no proof he targets those minority groups." James rested his elbows on the table. He didn't seem as incensed anymore. "But numbers don't lie. The Hovels are filled with touched now, and their stories of how they got there conveniently revolve around Gustav Ewald. If you don't believe me, ask Raoul. He's touched by magic."
"Is he really?" Zenetra glanced at Raoul. "How can you tell?"
"Touched people pass down a physical attribute of the mage relative they descend from."
"A magical mark," Zenetra said. She didn't know a lot about those touched by magic, but she knew that much.
"Yeah," said James. "They keep their magical mark until their bloodline merges with too many untouched. Raoul's mage relative lived hundreds of years ago, so he still has a bit of magic in him but his mark is gone. If he doesn't marry someone touched like him, his children won't have any magic at all."
Zenetra starred at the young mucker. On closer inspection, she saw tiny holes in his slate-colored sweater and the bones in his face where there should be muscle. Though he was only a few years younger than her, she had the distinct impression that he was still very much a child. The thought made her uneasy. Raoul and his family were touched by magic and yet scraping by in the Hovels. Wasted talent if there ever was one.
"What's his magical specialty?"
James' face lit up with childlike wonder. "He can see in the dark! Can't hold it for long, but it must be amazing to do things no one else can do. Don't you think it would be nice to have magic?"
"Haven't given it much thought, really."
"I have." James' excitable expression changed. His lips fell into a frown and hid beneath his beard. "Shame there won't be any more mages in the world. Mages need to morph to make more mages, and no one can morph anymore...not after the Qoman War. The ones alive will be the last. Then all the bloodlines of their descendants will eventually filter out to become untouched. You know, there are places you can go to bet on which mage will be the very last."
"That's horrible!"
James shrugged and took another spoonful of stew. "The mages know it. They're probably wondering the same."
"You may not be able to harness magic," Zenetra said, picking up her spoon, "but you could try your hand at alchemy."
James snorted.
Zenetra's spoon slipped back down under meat and vegetables. "Alchemy is another form of magic and highly respected."
"Alchemy isn't mage magic."
"It's attainable magic," Zenetra argued.
James stuffed his mouth with stew and shook his head.
"It is!" Zenetra folded her arms over the table. "There is innate power behind each rune. Runes are strung together to form an equation. Every equation creates a transmutation. Wood to iron, copper to steel, dirt to gold, and on and on. The more difficult a material's base makeup is the more equations it takes to make a transmutation. An alchemist must consider not only the internal equations—the act of turning one material into another—but also the external equations. That's why runes are drawn within stars. Those circles you always see surrounding stars act as barriers. A transmutation must be contained."
"Then alchemy is art, not magic."
Zenetra heard the tease lurking in that statement. "It's insanely difficult to master. A person spends decades studying alchemy."
James seemed to relish their back and forth discussion. The grin tugging at one side of his lips was a clear indication. "Hundreds of alchemists work for you."
"Those who work at Noire Transport have not mastered all the ancient orders. They use the same transmutations over and over. It's actually good practice for them. They hone their skills, get experience, and some go back to Marzhan or Vorroco to resume their studies." Zenetra reclaimed her spoon from her stew. "Most come to us for the money. They want to work to support their families."
"Obviously. Only people who have no family or a lot of money can survive off of books and studying." James stopped eating to stir his food around. "I can...if you want...I'll give you a tour of the Hovels when we get back. You can see for yourself and hear all about Gustav Ewald firsthand."
Zenetra brought a spoonful of food up to her lips. "Is that where you live? The Hovels?"
The same insecurity James showed that morning took over. He pulled at the collar of his green sweater, unintentionally revealing a thin, silvery scar along his neck. Skirting the topic of home, he replied, "Not anymore."
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Preview for next chapter:
Zenetra learns why Mimi is barren and finds out that one woman's tragedy is another's life lesson.
Liking it so far? Lemme know what you think of the pacing and the dialogue of this fantasy/mystery story in the comments below. Or just leave a star to encourage me to continue :)