Chapter 8 #2
“Wow.” Phineus looked like he might pass out from sheer amazement. Amaya wondered how noteworthy the Skystone really was in sky pirate lore.
“Um, well, can I get you anything?” Phineus asked. “Do you want a tour? I’d be happy to show you around; I know all the best spots. And everyone’s dying to meet you. I mean, not so much Crowe—you already met him, and he says you talk too much. But I don’t think you do.”
Amaya stifled a giggle. “Actually, I’ll take that bath.”
Phineus nodded. “Right. I’ll go get that started.”
“Uh, I think Serena was supposed to do that?”
Phineus’s rosy cheeks darkened to burgundy. “It’s just that Serena’s a little scary . . .”
“Mouse.” Amaya tried out the nickname and did her best to imitate the tone the captain had taken with him. It seemed to have the desired effect, or maybe he remembered the threat of latrine duty.
“. . . Right. Let’s go get her.” He waved his hand and scampered up the stairs, Amaya trailing close behind.
“Do you prefer to be called Mouse? Or Phineus?” Amaya asked as they stepped out onto the deck.
“Oh, whichever,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “Mouse is fine. That’s what everybody calls me here.”
Amaya smiled. Lexington was right about one thing—it did suit him.
Mouse took the scenic route to the engine room, giving Amaya a brief tour along the way. The Maelstrom was probably three times as big as the Bitterwind and absolutely stunning, every inch spotless and shining. It even rivaled the Empyrean with its expansive deck and impressive sails.
Mouse showed her the mess—where the crew took their meals—and warned her where the captain’s quarters, weapons bay, and relic vault were so she knew what to avoid.
It was all impressive, but Amaya’s favorite feature was the tapestry of stars visible from the main deck. Sorrento’s light pollution made it difficult to see stars most nights, but up here, they dotted the midnight-blue sky like glitter.
Amaya wished she knew a thing or two about constellations. They were surely all on display here.
Cool, clean night air ruffled her skirt and caressed her skin, all of her senses sharpened. She could only imagine how refreshing it would be when she felt more like herself and less like a child who’d rolled around in the mud and let dirt crust their skin.
“C’mon. Engine room is this way,” Mouse said, pointing to a set of stairs leading into the belly of the ship. “Serena’s probably down there.”
“Serena’s your engineer?” The information sparked Amaya’s interest. Camden studied engineering at the University of Sorrento, but it was a boys’ club if Amaya had ever seen one. Pirating seemed like a boys’ club, too; Amaya hadn’t seen another woman since Corsair kidnapped her.
“Yep. She’s a really good one,” Mouse confirmed. “But do not, under any circumstances, get between her and her tools.” He shuddered.
“Understood.”
The chill of the night air diminished as they descended, replaced by humidity that made Amaya’s skin feel sticky and her hair frizz.
The low rumble of the engine sent vibrations through the notched steel floor and up through her feet, getting louder and louder.
A pair of voices soon joined the engine, one feminine and one . . . mechanical?
“Come on, you piece of shit!” the female voice shouted, followed by grunting and the screech of metal against metal.
“You’ve almost got it, Serena!” came a light, tinny voice. “Just a bit tighter.”
“You wanna help, asshole?”
“I think you’re managing quite swimmingly on your own.”
“Then why the hell do I keep you around?”
Amaya exchanged a glance with Mouse, who twisted his lips and shrugged his shoulders.
“I warned you. She’s kinda mean.”
Amaya bit the inside of her cheek, quietly questioning whether Serena was mean, or if she was merely a woman holding her own among men.
Mouse straightened his posture, as if steeling himself to face her before forging ahead.
“Well, this is the main engine room,” he said, raising his voice above the mechanical roar. “One of five, total. But this is the biggest one.”
The room wasn’t small by any means, but it was cramped, with a low ceiling and narrow walkways between the machinery. Pipes and conduits snaked along the walls and ceilings, powering the massive engine. The air hung thick and heavy, dampening Amaya’s entire body with sweat.
“Serena?” Mouse called, delving deeper into the suffocating room.
Amaya trailed behind him, taking in the whirring machinery and spinning gauges and trying hard not to think about Camden.
He’d have been so jealous to hear she’d been inside the engine room of a Sky Lord’s flagship.
The fact she’d never be able to tell him made it even harder to breathe, grief swelling in her throat.
Tears pricked her eyes like needles and gathered on her eyelashes, but she scrubbed them away. She still refused to let the pirates see her cry.
“You’re not allowed in here, kid.”
The steam cleared to reveal a woman wearing grease-stained hunter green overalls with a gray shirt underneath.
Her warm brown skin glistened with sweat and her dark hair was swept into a frazzled bun on top of her head.
Her overalls did nothing to hide her full figure, and when she stood from where she’d been kneeling on the ground next to a pipe, she towered over Amaya.
“I know, but Captain said . . .”
Amaya didn’t hear the rest of Mouse’s explanation because her attention was pulled to Serena’s companion: an automaton.
The automaton was humanoid—tall and slender with long arms. Its eyes glowed yellow behind a silver face, its skeleton made of exposed steel and ornamented with carved wood.
A metal sphere rested inside its chest cavity with strange etchings on it.
They seemed to glow, but so faintly Amaya couldn’t tell if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
“You must be that Skystone girl my brother told me about.” Serena drew Amaya’s focus back. The engineer tilted her head, dark brown eyes scanning Amaya from head to toe.
Amaya nodded, struggling to tear her focus from the automaton. “Amaya Sinclair. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Serena grinned. “My, aren’t you proper? I’m Serena, the engineer. That’s Malcolm.” She nodded to the automaton, who waved cheerfully.
“Hello!”
“. . . Hello.”
Amaya was transfixed by the machine. Camden used to tell her about automatons becoming more common in the sky cities, particularly the three man-made ones, and she had seen some prototypes at the university, but those were all primitive in comparison to Malcolm.
His movements were fluid, his intonation only a few degrees shy of sounding human. How?
“What can I do for you two?” Serena asked. She wiped her hands on a towel and threw it to Mouse, who caught it with the tips of his fingers and flung it to Malcolm instead. The automaton caught it without even looking.
“Uh, Amaya would like a bath, and you’re supposed to give her one,” Mouse said. Serena’s eyebrows shot up and Amaya giggled. Mouse caught his mistake and flushed, hurrying to amend his statement. “I mean, you’re supposed to set her up.”
“Uh-huh. You have your room yet?” Serena asked. Amaya shook her head. “All right, we’ll take care of that, too. Mouse, help Malcolm finish cleaning up.”
“But I have orders to watch her—”
“Not in the bath, you don’t,” Serena said. “Come on, hun.”
Amaya cast an apologetic look at Mouse, but followed after Serena.
“Who’s your brother?” Amaya asked on their way out.
“Sebastian, the first mate. We’ll get your room assignment from him.”
Twenty minutes later, after a heated discussion with Sebastian in which Serena passionately asserted that any woman who finds herself on a strange airship deserves a cabin with a private washroom, Amaya found herself in a small room outfitted with a bed, wardrobe, desk, and a mirror edged in gold.
It was far from extravagant, but the washroom turned the tiny space into a safe haven.
Amaya soaked in the tub until her skin pruned, the hot water soothing her soul. She scrubbed herself raw until there was no trace of the Bitterwind on her and washed her hair three times before it finally squeaked clean between her fingers.
When she emerged, she wrapped herself up in a soft, fluffy towel and wrung out her curls before cautiously stepping back into the bedroom.
Serena was waiting, sitting on the chair with her feet propped up on the desk, fiddling with a puzzle box. She had washed up too, trading the green overalls for a gray bathrobe. Her hair hung just past her shoulders, released from its bun.
“Better?” she asked, glancing up from her puzzle box and setting it aside. Amaya took a deep breath and nodded.
“Much better.”
“I put a dressing gown over there for you, and some clothes for tomorrow. And here’s this.” Serena tossed her the room key, now dangling from a chain. Amaya caught it with both hands. “Lock your door if you don’t want Mouse literally watching you sleep. He takes his assignments quite seriously.”
“Got it. My other dress . . .”
“Leave it. Someone will get it tomorrow.” Serena stood and handed Amaya a mug of scalding hot chocolate. The rich, sweet aroma made her mouth water. “All set?”
“I think so. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Sleep tight, princess.”
“Oh, I’m not a princess.”
“If you say so.”
Serena left with a wink and a wave. Finally, Amaya was alone.
Mouse arrived soon after and announced his presence, but settled outside the door for the night. He had to be just as exhausted as she was; hopefully the captain didn’t expect him to stay awake until morning.
Amaya dropped her towel and slipped into the soft white dressing gown from Serena.
It was too big for her and slipped off her shoulders, but it was clean, and that was all that mattered.
She curled up in the bed and held her hot chocolate with both hands, alternating between sipping at it and looking out the window at the infinite starfield.
Although she was more comfortable now, her heart was heavy, dragged down by wistful thoughts of home. Daisy. Her father. She even spared a thought for Victor, though she couldn’t claim to miss him much.
Camden occupied the majority of her thoughts. Home felt so far away, and Camden’s death still didn’t feel real. Up here, she could imagine he was back in Sorrento, waiting for her.
He wasn’t—she knew that. There was nothing she could do to bring him back, but that truth was too painful to give space to. She couldn’t bear it. So instead, Amaya forced herself to refocus on the goals she could actually accomplish: getting her photograph back, and going home.