and easily overcome. The Governor sent them packing back in a merchant ship. However, not everyone sat well with these events. His secretary, a fellow by the name of Joshua Vrey, decided to set things aright. He rallied the militia, deposed the Governor, and restored order. Then, hoping to make amends, he got in touch with the first Naval vessel to make port, our very own H.M.S. Albatross . Joshua fills her holds with gold, silver, and rarer things as an apology to the King, with the Lantern thrown in as well. Then sends her homewards, hoping that she'll be able to beat the Marines back to the Kingdom. Two days ago, an aetherite working in Breachtown, who is also in the employ of our very dear Mr. Grey, divines that she's wrecked, in the mouth of the barely-known Silverpenny River. Which is completely the wrong direction from Edrus, I might add."
The first mate quieted, busily feeding himself another egg while the others absorbed his tale. Fengel blinked. Henry was rubbing at his forehead.
"Cursed treasure," groaned the steward. "We're sailing after cursed treasure."
"Poppycock," said Fengel. He sat up straighter on the bench. "While your tale is incredible, Lucian, it is not at all conclusive evidence that the gemstone in question is cursed and that our quest is doomed."
Silence fell over the room at this pronouncement. Fengel felt the faint vibration of the furnace back in the bowels of the ship.
Lucian furrowed his brow. "But...sir. All the deaths? And the madness? And the rather horrible results from anyone who has touched this silly gem?"
"Come now. While the information is alarming, we only have third-hand supposition about a supernatural jinx upon the Lantern. I need not remind you two not to give in to superstitions. There's no such thing a curse."
"Sir?" asked Henry. "Maxim can tell you they're real. I saw him cast one once, when we had that mix-up with the Red Corsairs in Haventown. Other fellow went all diseased and—"
"Magic, Mister Smalls, is another thing altogether." He turned back to his first mate. "Now the far more interesting thing, Lucian, is this tribute. Grey wants the gem, which we haven't any choice in acquiring for him. But how much was loaded into those holds? It stands to reason, that they should be easily much as valuable there as the Lantern, yes?"
Lucian sighed. "Yes, quite a bit more really."
Fengel beamed. "Capital! Well now. We might have to make a trip or two, I don't know how much we can carry aboard yet and still make good time."
"Sir," said Henry. "The aetherite, remember? If Grey knows where the ship is, everyone else is going to as well."
"That's not all," said Lucian. His first mate looked suddenly sheepish. "Dear old Mordie figured out where we're going somehow too."
Fengel started. "What? But how? Grey wouldn't have gone to Natasha."
"I'm not sure. But he knows. And if he does, then she does too."
Fengel considered. "Well. Obnoxious, but we're still fine. She doesn't have a ship, remember? And even if she can convince someone to come after us, we can make off with more than enough—"
The door to the mess flew open. The crewman, Ryan Gae, burst inside.
"Captain," he cried. "Navigator needs you up on deck."
Fengel didn't waste time. He leapt to his feet and ran to the hatch, his steward and mate close on his heels. A light-air gas leak? Curse it, that's the only thing it could be. Or are we too close to Engmann's Maelstrom? Damnation! This was too easy. I knew it was too good to be true.
Rising up onto the deck, he took in the scene. The crew were all assembled in the stern. Nothing was on fire, and the ship flew smooth and evenly through the sky. He ran over to the throng, pushing through. "Make way for your captain," he cried, and was gratified to see the crowd part.
Maxim stood at the gunwales, peering out past the steam of the exhaust. He noticed Fengel and pointed into the sky behind them. "There," he said, passing over a spyglass.
Fengel took it, extended it,
The first mate quieted, busily feeding himself another egg while the others absorbed his tale. Fengel blinked. Henry was rubbing at his forehead.
"Cursed treasure," groaned the steward. "We're sailing after cursed treasure."
"Poppycock," said Fengel. He sat up straighter on the bench. "While your tale is incredible, Lucian, it is not at all conclusive evidence that the gemstone in question is cursed and that our quest is doomed."
Silence fell over the room at this pronouncement. Fengel felt the faint vibration of the furnace back in the bowels of the ship.
Lucian furrowed his brow. "But...sir. All the deaths? And the madness? And the rather horrible results from anyone who has touched this silly gem?"
"Come now. While the information is alarming, we only have third-hand supposition about a supernatural jinx upon the Lantern. I need not remind you two not to give in to superstitions. There's no such thing a curse."
"Sir?" asked Henry. "Maxim can tell you they're real. I saw him cast one once, when we had that mix-up with the Red Corsairs in Haventown. Other fellow went all diseased and—"
"Magic, Mister Smalls, is another thing altogether." He turned back to his first mate. "Now the far more interesting thing, Lucian, is this tribute. Grey wants the gem, which we haven't any choice in acquiring for him. But how much was loaded into those holds? It stands to reason, that they should be easily much as valuable there as the Lantern, yes?"
Lucian sighed. "Yes, quite a bit more really."
Fengel beamed. "Capital! Well now. We might have to make a trip or two, I don't know how much we can carry aboard yet and still make good time."
"Sir," said Henry. "The aetherite, remember? If Grey knows where the ship is, everyone else is going to as well."
"That's not all," said Lucian. His first mate looked suddenly sheepish. "Dear old Mordie figured out where we're going somehow too."
Fengel started. "What? But how? Grey wouldn't have gone to Natasha."
"I'm not sure. But he knows. And if he does, then she does too."
Fengel considered. "Well. Obnoxious, but we're still fine. She doesn't have a ship, remember? And even if she can convince someone to come after us, we can make off with more than enough—"
The door to the mess flew open. The crewman, Ryan Gae, burst inside.
"Captain," he cried. "Navigator needs you up on deck."
Fengel didn't waste time. He leapt to his feet and ran to the hatch, his steward and mate close on his heels. A light-air gas leak? Curse it, that's the only thing it could be. Or are we too close to Engmann's Maelstrom? Damnation! This was too easy. I knew it was too good to be true.
Rising up onto the deck, he took in the scene. The crew were all assembled in the stern. Nothing was on fire, and the ship flew smooth and evenly through the sky. He ran over to the throng, pushing through. "Make way for your captain," he cried, and was gratified to see the crowd part.
Maxim stood at the gunwales, peering out past the steam of the exhaust. He noticed Fengel and pointed into the sky behind them. "There," he said, passing over a spyglass.
Fengel took it, extended it,
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