Beneath The Endless Sky

But Child Of Ravens, Recall You Mourn

Anita's head had never hurt so badly.

It felt like each strand of hair on her head had been replaced by a piece of metal wire, and someone had stuck the other ends in a furnace. She wanted to dunk her head in a bucket of ice water, or better yet, cut the damn thing off and have done with it. She groaned, and covered her face with her hands to shield her eyes from the darkness.

Blessed darkness. Anita was fairly certain sunlight would feel like a needle in her eyes.

"You awake?" Mercy asked, somehow screaming her gentle whisper into Anita's ear.

"Shush. Too loud," Anita grunted, and covered her ears. She rolled over, picked up her pillow, and covered her head with it.

"Cover your eyes," Mercy ordered. There was a single second wait, before the switch on the wall made its familiar tick, and the room erupted in light.

"Ow, I hope your teeth rot from scurvy. You and your stupid hat," Anita cursed, pushing the pillow on her head down tighter.

"Sit up," Mercy said. There was a subtle change in her voice, but a familiar one. Like the velvet glove now had the iron fist beneath it.

"Aye, Lieutenant," Anita said immediately, even as she sat up. Her head swam, her eyes watered, but she closed her eyes until the feeling passed.

Mercy pressed a pair of goggles into Anita's hands. Blessedly, they were the tinted ones, meant for working around the furnace. Anita put them on, and the stabbing in her eyes faded to a dull throb. "There are two glasses on the table. The shot-glass is a concoction of the captain's, will help your headache. Drink it first. Tall glass beside it is water. Drink it next. Then get ready for work, I don't think you'll want to wear that dress in the engine room."

"Getting caught and churned-up in the gears might hurt less, Lieutenant," Anita grumbled, but she pulled her feet to the side of the bed and leaned forward to reach for the glasses. The small one was filled with a liquid so dark it might as well be tar, and as she lifted it to her nose, thought it might smell worse.

"Medicine is supposed to taste awful. Captain would tell you it's because the strong stuff can cause crippling addictions, but I like to think it's to help make sure you regret your earlier decisions," Mercy said. Anita swore the woman was talking quite a bit louder than she needed to. "Leslie had to explain what a 'death in the afternoon' was twice, even the captain hadn't heard of it."

"I regret every decision that ever lead me to taking orders from a heartless harpy like yourself, ma'am," Anita said as she drank the small glass. It tasted like mouldy tree bark boiled with old leather.

"Good, but try to focus on having chased a glass of wine with two shots of absinthe diluted in champagne. Not one of your better decisions," Mercy said, and Anita couldn't tell what kind of smile Mercy was wearing. "Once you're dressed, come to the top deck. Captain would like to get back to pursuing the Matilda, and this detour is starting to wear on his good graces."

"Wait, we're flying already?" Anita asked, as she set the glass down and reached for the water. "Spit and soot, I'll get down there right away."

"Top deck, Hoffman. We have something to do first," Mercy said, as she reached for the latch. She pushed the door open, and stepped into the hall. "Get dressed, ready to work."

Anita fumbled with the dress, leaving it laid out on the bed rather than trying to put it away. She fished out her usual overalls. As she gripped the rough cotton-twill, dyed in a dozen different greases and oils, it felt rough for the first time in her life.

She dressed, strapped on her tools, gloves, clips and harness, goggles, and everything else she would need for the engine, and made her way up the stairs. Her head hurt less, or at least she couldn't feel her steps stabbing between her eyes. By the time she made it halfway up the stairwell, the prospect of spending hours running the Child's engines didn't make her want to jump off the side.