Peoples from a smoky sky

The Agamemnon was an old three-decker air-corvette of the Eagle-class, with two engines powered by four boilers and a single Aetherium Vertical Magnetic Generator. The armour of four-inch metal plates and an armament consisting of four gattling machine gun and two three-inch breech-loading gun placed in two lateral pillboxes made the Eagle class one of the best choice of the Royal Air Navy.

At least when there was still an Air Navy. Or a Navy.

The entire structure used no helium for the flight, as the Aetherium allowed it.

The power given by burning coal was not totaly directed to steam engines, but part of it were converted into electricity and used to power the V.M.G.. The Aetherium had the incredible ability, once charged with electrons, to overcome the force of gravity and allowing the flight even to a big steam-ship.

Obviously it came at a cost: bigger the mass was, more electricity was required to raise it in the air. That's why they were not use anymore.

Airships were divided into three groups: in the first those which used hydrogen and helium to fly, whatever they were blimps, rigid, semi-rigid airship or old vessel with baloons. Cheaper and reliable, they were commonly found in the Southern continents where the lack of efficent artillery gave them a remarkable longevity. Pirates from the Barbary Coast could lift whole fleets of those things and strike anywhere they wanted.

In the Nothern continents rifled cannons, industry and Aetherium joined together to create a new kind of airships: the Leviathan class.

A Leviathan was namely a ship equipped with one or more V.M.G.. That's what they were, flying ships with a steel armour focused on the hull to deflect volleys from Armstrong rifled-guns. They exceeded their southern cousins in all aspects, and the simple projected shadows on the ground instilled fear in soldiers' hearts. But Leviathans were also more expensive as they required regular maintenance and insane ammounts of coals. Now they have become very uncommon: while ten years ago the Victorian Empire had fifteen Leviathans in the Royal Air Fleet, after The War they could afford just two.

The third type was a cross-over between a rigid airship and a Leviathan, keeping their recognizable shape, replacing helium and hydrogen with one or two V.M.G.

They were cheaper than a Leviathan and used by a large ammount of minor armies who could not afford expensive weapons.

The Agamemnon was one of them, built in the Latin Kingdoom seven years ago and sold soon after. When the war ended it would have been scrapped as many others, if were not for the love of Captain Francis Roland who bought the old airship and improved it.

I had spent the first travel day in my cabin, lying on the bed and reading both notes and books, when that night Francis came in my room, asking me to enjoy him and the other passenger for a chat in his office.

Captain Roland's office was on airship's rear, divided by small door from the deck.

The timber-floored room was higly decorated with cimels of Captain's adventure: two door-fastened narwhal horn remembered when he used to work on ships in the cold water of the Nothern Seas. Narwhals are fast but they had not been fast enough to avoid his harpoons.

All walls covered by life jackets, ropes, plates of old ships and photos of old comrades and even a small silver anchor with some words engraved:  To Captain Francis Roland, member of the Royal Sea Society.

On the shelves attached to the walls, books of all sorts of topics were piled: geography, history, mythology and mechanic. He read probably just for hobby.

The wall behind the wooden desk hosted a range of rusty plates with various ships' names:  the Ark, the Commonwealth and the Monitor were just some witnesses of his carrer. He had been trained to be a ship captain and became an airship captain.

But was not a problem: drive an airship was similar to drive a normal ship, and many famous airship captain had started their carrer on the water.

In the left corner were storaged Captain Roland personal weapon, a buckshot-loaded blunderbuss. Despite its age, that weapon was extremelly usefull a the fight's beginning, as it could decapitate two man in sequence and injure the others with one shot.

Sitted at his chair, he smoked the pipe near a curious lamp made out from an old shell.

As I entered he widellly grinned with his white teeth and pointed the sofa with his pipe.

“Good to see you Mr. Prescott! Please sit there.”

Roland offered a brown cigar to me and one to middle-heighted, black curled-mustached man sitted on his left, wearing a red army's jacket with two white empty bandoliers and a pair of shiny-black pants.

An unelegant dressing style,a scar near his black-sharp mustaches and a missing piece of the left ear made clear, as me, he was not a common passenger. A veteran officer not very modest who loved to showed his wounds and medal likewise.

Instead, the captain had left his heavy-brown coat on the neariest chair, chosing a more formal blue uniform, relic of his time in the army.  On it's white collar, the 3rd Royal Air Wing's motto: One foot above clouds.

“When we will arrive at New Yorktown, Captain?” the officer asked smooking his brown cigar.

“Twelve days from now. Perhaps more.“ he aswered.

“Twelve days!?“ he gasped “So long? Or it's just your airship that's outdated?“

“If you don't like my airship, then you can easily go down. I'm sure that some old fishing boat will be glad to welcome you, Mr Lock!“ Roland chuckled and inhaled the fumes of the cigar. “It's not my fault if we are taking the long way.“

“Are you mentioning the last incidents of the Western Airship Company?“ I asked.

The captain grimaced “One or two airships are an incident. But when four airships decide to fall over the same place, or the Company have the worst existing captains, or they really need to repair some of their vehicles.“

The officer shocked the head “You should discard the second hypothesy as the last one was the air-liner Calipso, which had three V.M.G. It's unlikely that all of them had stopped working in the same time.“

“And the first too. I know many mates who work for the Company and some have even more experience of me.“

I nodded in agreement “Whatever the reason is we should remember that we are talking about a dangerous air-way, located over Griffonia. As we know, they are in the middle of a civil war and skies are their battlefields. It's not a good idea to fly in the middle of a war-zone.“

“Is not the Admiralty's duty to protect the air-ways?“ the officer demanded.

“Teorically yes, but our goverment cannot afford military expenditure any more“ I said.

“Oh, don't tell me! I'd found myself with no occupation for that. Luckily seems that the New Yorktown's militia is looking for some military advisers. They are good guys, but with no experience.“

“So you are an officer, aren't you?“

“Lieutenant, Mr. Prescott. From the 19th Infantry Regiment.“ he smiled proudly and pointed to an hanging golden medal on his chest “Did I tell you how I got this?“

From then he started to talk about his carrer and personal achievements. He talked about when he'd took part in the battle of Assaye and in the Delhi's siege, when he had led his battalion under the enemy fire and took back the Kalazov's fortress and about his participation in a operation against pirates. But soon both me and Roland had enough.

“Mr. Prescott why did you decide to go to New Yorktown?“ Roland demanded glancing to me.

I bit my lips and tried to elaborate an convincing answer “For...businesses.“

Feeling my unwillingness, he smiled and nodded in comprehension “You don't want to tell me why, but it's fine: sailors always respect the privacy.“

He raised from the chair and glanced to both “Now I have to ask you to return in your cabin, gentleman. I've an airship to pilot.“

Once said that, he headed to the door firmly,the pipe held by his teeth.

I could not sleep even if my bed was confortale. First I tried a common remedy as counting sheeps, then I paced up and down nervously in the small cabin. I even took in consideration some of my book, but I have already read everything I had.

With a sigh I decided to take a break, so I wore a jacket and a pair of trousers and got up. There, the crew had arranged an elegant canteen for guests.

I said elegant in comparison with the canteen of other airships.

Five round tables were scattered in a restricted space, covered by a low ceiling, without any decoration that make it more pleasant. One crew's member, a sikh ,behind a long-old counter, occupied the role of barman in front of a countless collection of bottles.

Not exactly a cafe in Victoria's central district, but better than nothing.

The corridors were dark and the light came only from the external headlights. The airship was probably somewhere over the ocean, at two hundred miles west from the Western Continent. Grey clouds covered the portholes, eliminating our visual range. I wondered how the helmsman could be able to drive so confidently in such environment.

As I walked into the room, I blinked as I realized that there was someone else there.

A group of white dressed crew's members, some dark-faced for the coal, had gathered around one of the tables, looking in silence to a sitted man who holded an empty bottle in his hand. A candle lighted room with difficulty but I was still able to see his features: deep creases crossed his forehead and cheekbones, wide nose, dry grey hair and a messy beard.

Ten man was around him, looking with interest and apprehension, waiting for something. Some drummed fingers on the table, others stirring the brandy in their glass with a toothpick.

One of them left the group and leaded on the bar counter. I took the opportunity to gain information about the strange occurrence.

“Who is him?” I asked.

He glanced to me amused. “He's John Long Black, the oldest we have here. He knows thousands of old sea-stories but he  always takes too much time to chose which one to tell. You should listen, they are real.”

“Real?”

“Well...most of all,” he giggled.

“I found it!”

The old man had jumped from the chair on his leg with more energy I could immagine, his brown eyes wide, a grinn on his mouth.

“I found it!” he repeated hopping cheerfully.

Everybody in the room leaned toward him, their eyes twinkling in excitement. I got close following the reaction of all trying to tollerate a smell of sweat, coal and rum.

“Well?” someone asked with trembling voice.

He sunk on his chair smirking with satisfaction  “Do you want to listen?”

As everyone nodded, he took a huge breath and started “As you well know, seven years ago the city of New Yorktown declared its indipendence from the Company. While Equestria received the news favorably, the Western Airship Company's reaction was furious. They needed that city as the perfect landfall for their airships.

All the exotic goods and extraordinary incomes which came from there had vanished.”

“As first, they asked for a military campaign of the Victorian Empire, denouncing serious violations of signed treaties. Unfortunatelly, The War was in full swing and all available troops had to be sent on the frontline. When they understood that victorians would not help them, the Company made another decision: take back the city by themselves.”

“It was not as hard as it seemed: those vultures had many contacts and commercial basis in both Nothern and Southern continents, thus hired a mercenary army and a small flotilla. The objective was to invade the city by sea, annihilate any local resistence, murder the Major and the city council in the shortest possible time.”

“I knew a mate who were aboard in one of their ship, the Siren, as sailor. The fleet consisted of twenty modified steam-liner, armed with light artillery and some smoothbore muzzle-loading guns.”

“Hey! We already know that story!” someone shouted over my shoulder. He was a young mechanic, a large number of oils strains on his suit. That explained the smell.

“Oh, really? And what had newspaper said about, ah boy? What I'm gonna tell you, no journalist had the courage to write about!”  he shouted.

“Well, maybe because it's never happened?” someone objected.

He narrowed his eyes, glaring to everyone sitted at the table “Two weeks after their departure, the small flotilla anchored at fifteen miles east from the city, preparing to launch their attack the next day. While mercenary captains had gathered on the flagship, an old ironclad, both sailors and soldiers were on the deck enjoying that beutiful night, daydreaming about treasures that looting would have earned them and drinking every kind of bottle they had brought.”

“Oh, come on!” a tall sailor exlaimed  “Are you really going to tell that story again? That's ridicolus even for you!”

Many giggles, but the old sailor seemed no perturbed. He put some rum in his glass and grinned Are you get tired of my stories? Fine, you won't hear them anymore.