The Wind Merchant by Ryan Dunlap Page A

just wished he could explain his actions without being deemed insane.
    He undid the bandages on his hands before unscrewing the bottle cap to take a swig of the burning liquid. His eyes watered and throat tingled, prompting a cough. After pounding his chest with his fist to drive away the tickling sensation, Ras managed to croak, “You wouldn’t happen to remember a man named—”
    “Elias Veir?” The man let the moment sink in. “I had wondered when you were going to ask that.”
    “But—”
    “Who else were you going to ask me about, honestly?” He flipped a lever and spoke into the comm unit in a foreign language before receiving a confirmation. “Yes, I knew your father for a brief time. You are sitting where he did when I ferried him to Mr. Napier.” He pulled back once more, forcing the ship to climb, deepening the sinking feeling in Ras’ stomach. “Ah, here we are.”
    Ahead gleamed the white ship Ras recognized from the brief glimpse in Framer’s Valley. The Kingfisher .
    In what seemed to be no time, the shuttle made a landing—no, a rejoining—with The Kingfisher, becoming one with the larger vessel. After a surprising snap-hiss that made Ras’ ears pop again, the airtight seal sent wind rushing in to fill the cabin, and a light purple glow emanated from the ship.
    “Mr. Veir, if you would be so kind as to follow me,” the man said.
    Ras obliged and stood, stretching his legs. He walked from the shuttle to the corridor lined with a half-dozen rooms on either side of the hallway. Between the doors hung artwork of landscapes, ranging from crude to masterfully done. Clouds, mountain peaks, plains, bodies of water…Ras had to make sure not to linger on the pre-Atmo artwork. Callie would have loved it, but the thought of her staying on Verdant drained any joy from the thought of him describing the paintings to her.
    They came to a door at the end of the corridor. “Mr. Napier awaits,” he said, bowing slightly as he pulled the door open for Ras. The circular study was filled with books, models of airships, and a very impressive telescope that cut through the center of a domed ceiling. Glass walls flooded the room with sunshine.
    In the center stood a man looking to be in his early sixties. He hunched over a painting on an easel, scrutinizing the brush strokes, applying a few more. He wore a dark brown smoking jacket and had a neatly trimmed white beard that continued into a short haircut for a matching set.
    “Mr. Napier,” the man guiding Ras said, announcing his presence. “May I present to you Mr. Erasmus Veir.”
    Halcyon Napier looked up from his painting, standing to a height at least a head taller than Ras. He appeared as virile as a man in his forties. He smiled and leisurely strode over to Ras with his hand extended.
    “About time,” he said, grabbing Ras’s half-extended arm and giving his hand two firm pumps, forcing Ras to contain a grimace. He motioned to a couple of wing-backed chairs next to the easel. “Come, please have a seat.” He turned to the man with the hat. “Thank you, Dayus. You may retire until I have need of you.”
    “Very good, sir.” With that, Dayus left the room.
    Ras sat uneasily in the leather chair. It creaked loudly but was the softest leather he had ever felt, considering there hadn’t been an easily ready supply in a century.
    Hal sat across from him, then leaned forward. For a few moments he studied Ras from head to toe. “You got big,” he said.
    That phrase always confounded Ras. One summer when he was thirteen he had shot up six inches, but hadn’t grown at all since, yet people throughout his teenage years kept asking how much he had grown recently. All that aside, it was a peculiar conversation starter, and Ras had no clue how to respond.
    “Your father showed me a picture of you ten years ago.”
    “ Verdant is under attack,” Ras said. “Right now.” The clarity in his voice surprised him. The tonic had done more than