Small hands clung to a cotton flotsam, and bare knees shook in the cold wind.

Grey eyes — soft as granite and less yielding — glared down at a young woman, who hung onto the hem of a grey skirt as if it were all that kept her on the ground. "Clarissa, child, this is inappropriate. I will not let him see us like this," the woman said, her jaw clenched and a warning finger extended. But even before the hard woman finished speaking, her gaze returned to the ship at the end of the pier.

Torn between fears, the girl hung on for just a moment longer, before she looked at her hands and forced them open. "Yes, Abbess," Clarissa said, as she smoothed her dress down. She realized her hands were shaking and squeezed the pockets at her sides.

"Compose yourself," the Abbess replied. But as Clarissa looked up, she wondered which of them the hard old woman was talking to. The Abbess' cloak — the uniform grey cotton flannel that every member of the monastery wore — barely twitched in the breeze as they waited. The still cloak clashed with the fingers tapping on the edge of her pockets, and the boots fidgeting impatiently on the uneven wooden planks of the dock.

Clarissa turned her gaze to the ship. A wide metal gangplank rested on the dock, its edges digging into the wood and drawing out splinters. Two people were crossing that plank, walking towards Clarissa and the others. A man and a woman, both dressed strangely, almost as if they had come out of the storybooks of her childhood.

To Clarissa's eyes, the man leading the pair looked every bit a pirate and a scoundrel. He wore both a sword and a gun in holsters at his left hip. His coat was midnight black and blood red. All the mud-brown hair below the top of his head was shaved off, leaving just stubble over skin the colour of well-creamed coffee. The man stepped up to the Abbess, and Clarissa was both impressed and appalled when all he offered in greeting was a raised eyebrow.

"You expect me to take the girl?" The man made a pointed look in her direction, and Clarissa squirmed under his scrutiny.

"To the shield, along with the box," the Abbess replied, and she pointed with her thumb over her shoulder. A lifetime of obedience had Clarissa's eyes following that gesture as if she had been told to, turning her head around to look behind.

Asides from the luggage trunk resting by Clarissa's feet, there was only one piece of cargo waiting at the dock. As tall as a grown man, and as wide as it was tall, the box was so black even the scoundrel's coat looked bright and colourful next to it. It wasn't glossy, didn't reflect the light of the sun, and was only marred by the tracings of long silver lines arrayed in impossibly complicated circuits. The only marring to its geometric perfection was a small control box on one side. It had no lid or hinges, and in fact, didn't look at all like it was meant to be opened.

Even Clarissa, who knew the people who had helped make the box, had no idea what was inside.

"A bird that's tasted the free skies doesn't always return to the cage," someone said. Clarissa turned back to see the strange woman had spoken. Her face was obscured by a rakishly tilted hat that covered the right side of her face. Like the man, she wore both a pistol and a sword at her belt, and silver clasps and buttons adorned her clothes. The combination looked to Clarissa, as close to dressing as a lightning storm as she had ever seen.

"She doesn't share your failings," the Abbess replied curtly, though she looked at the man as she spoke.

"Suspect you've written a book of my failings by now," the man replied, with a wry grin. "If you have it handy, you can add 'disinclined to charity' to your ongoing encyclopedia. What did you expect to pay for her passage?"

The Abbess sighed, and to Clarissa the old woman's eyes looked sad, the way she looked when Clarissa had lied about doing something wrong. "I'd hoped you'd have learned some gratitude by now," she said, as she pulled a necklace out of her pocket.

The chain was simple silver, or steel, Clarissa couldn't tell. But attached to that chain wasn't a jewel, or an ornament, or any kind of carving. It was a small black cube, with several blinking lights along one side.

In fact, as Clarissa turned back to confirm her suspicions, it looked exactly like the box she would be travelling with.

"Ship maintenance ain't cheap, and my crew have this expensive indulgence they like to call food. And coffee," the man reflected. Clarissa, though, could see the man's eyes brighten and his grin shift into a sly smile. "But I admit to being a little flattered you value my services."

The Abbess extended her arm, and the man took the necklace from her with surprising reverence. He put it around his neck, and Clarissa could see when his shirt shifted that he had another one on exactly like it. The man set his hand over his heart, tucking it behind his clothes and said, "I'll value her as I do my crew."

"Thank you," the Abbess said, and her smile was kind.

The relief in the Abbess' voice somehow cemented Clarissa's fears, washing away her last irrational hope of seeing her journey aborted. "Abbess," Clarissa said, and she pulled on the stern woman's skirts with both hands. "Please!"

The Abbess looked as if she were about to say something, but the man knelt down in front of her, and pointed back at the ship. Kneeling, he was now slightly shorter than she was, and his smile was no longer roguish. In fact, he looked kind. "I'm rather against taking strangers aboard, so let's introduce ourselves. Vincent Locklear, Captain of the Ravens' Child, that ship you can see there behind me. The woman beside me is Mercy Larkin, first mate. And you are?"

Clarissa took a deep breath and extended her hand. "Clarissa. I'm Clarissa, a ward of the Monastery."

"Outstanding. Now that we know each other, Clarissa, I have a challenge for you," the captain said, as he rose to his feet. His smile was lopsided and roguish, the kindness gone as if he had taken a mask off. Or slipped it back on. "You'll have a few days with us, and I'm curious to see if you can discern why I gave my ship the name she has. Think you can figure that out?"

"I'll try." Clarissa nodded.

"Very good. Mercy, would you find Clarissa a cabin?" Captain Vincent Locklear asked as he stood back up and turned to examine the box behind Clarissa.

Clarissa lifted one end of her trunk and pulled it along the dock to get her luggage out of the path. When she looked back, it was startling to see the captain was inspecting the box as if he knew something about it, checking the small lights on the sides as if the series of blinking lights were instructions he knew how to read.

"Tinker!" Vincent bellowed without looking backward. Clarissa glanced at the ship, to see someone else running down the ramp. Another woman, wearing a shirt that was probably once white — now various shades of grease stain — with an odd, thick leather scarf tied in her tightly curled hair. She looked positively giddy as she eyed the Monastery's cargo.

A tap on Clarissa's shoulder tore her from her observations, and she looked over to see the first mate, Mercy, pointing towards the gangplank beside the cargo ramp, leading up to the ship's deck. "Come with me, kiddo, and let's get you settled in. Have any luggage asides from that bag of yours?"

Clarissa looked up at Mercy, transfixed by the sight of the woman. The left side of her hat was decorated with raven feathers, so many that when they trailed down the back of her hat, it was hard to say when the feathers ended and her hair began. The brim of her hat left her eyes in shade, which left her a rather menacing look that Clarissa was immediately afraid of. But most distinctive of all, a scar that ran from her forehead to her chin in a straight line, only broken where it passed over her right eye and the edges of her lips.

"I'm not a kid, madam," Clarissa found herself saying tartly, though she turned her eyes away from Mercy's imposing visage. "I'm fourteen, old enough to be a mother in some places."

"Fourteen. Too old to be a child. I remember being that old," Mercy said. As she spoke, her fingers traced the scar on her face. "Too old to be a child, too young to be tossed to the ravens."

"She isn't being cast adrift," the Abbess said, her frown hard as she stepped up to Mercy. Clarissa was surprised to see the ship's first mate shrink back slightly, but the Abbess was a hard woman. "The year she'll spend at the shield is an essential part of anyone's education here. We don't abandon ours. Even when they cast us off."

"Point taken, ma'am."

"The skies are less friendly to the monastery than they once were," the Abbess said. "It's safer for her to not fly with her own colours."

"Captain said she's valued as crew," Mercy said with a small shrug. "First time I've ever heard him say that. Suspect he hasn't cast you off as thoroughly as you say."

"I..." the Abbess looked taken aback, another unfamiliar sight for Clarissa, who couldn't remember the stern woman being anything less than assured. She sighed and put her hand on Clarissa's shoulder. "Safe journey through the skies. We will see you again."

Without waiting for a response, the abbess pulled her hood over her head, turned around, and walked away. The closest the stern old woman offered to a wave goodbye was the gentle flap of her cloak trailing behind as she crossed the long wooden dock.

"Abbess," Clarissa whispered, watching that firmament in her life get smaller and smaller. Despite standing on solid ground, it felt to Clarissa like she was the one moving, set adrift and cast away.

"Come on," Mercy said, patting Clarissa's shoulder awkwardly. "Let's get your stuff in a cabin, then you can watch as we cast off. Have ya ever been off the Core before?"

Clarissa followed Mercy up the gangplank, looking at the Raven's Child as if for the first time. "Just to the nearby isles, or Bankerloft. We only travelled on rafts. This is the first ship I've ever been on."

Mercy grinned, and even the wicked scar on her face couldn't hide the kindness in it. "Then we're going to ruin you for every other ship in the sky. There's nothing like the Ravens' Child beneath the endless blue. She's faster than any war sloop, cozier than any merchant lord's yacht, and can ride the far skies as if she were born to do it. Every other ship you'll ever ride'll just feel like towing a raft with a kite."

"The Ravens' Child," Clarissa murmured in awe.

The lift bag was so large it could cover any building in Bankerloft, even the mansions of the wealthy money barons. Pale grey canvas was stretched taut, not even rippling as the winds swept over it. The ship was sleek steel that gleamed in the white haze of the misty sky. Polished so Clarissa couldn't see rivets or bolts. The hull was an unblemished wall of steel from stern to the massive window that made up the bow.

The propellers on the rear of the ship were already spinning, too vigorous to be caught in the wind, but not strong enough to push the ship. Clarissa could hear the quiet hum of the engine, a happy rumble that reminded her of a kitten's happy purr.

To Clarissa's surprise, there were a half-dozen people standing in a group on the deck. All of them wore brown frocked coats and collared shirts, the current fashion of the nearby town of Bankerloft. The only one that stood out was the man speaking to them, perhaps the single burliest man Clarissa had ever seen. His arms likely as thick as Clarissa's waist, and his nose was bent distinctly to the left. The group from Bankerloft paid close attention as the big man spoke in a slow voice and gestured with his massive hands.

"Leslie!" Mercy barked, and she advanced with one hand resting on her right hip. Clarissa's stomach tried to leap out of her mouth when she realized it was a pistol she was resting her hand on. "We don't take passengers on the monastery job!"

"Mercy! Oh," the big man said hesitantly. He held up his hands, eyeing the pistol at Mercy's hip. "These folks came over from Bankerloft, said they had an urgent job in Volante, which is direct on our route. Figure it couldn't hurt to put them up for the day."

"Captain's orders are clearer than the air at the edge of the sky," Mercy insisted, and she gestured to the gangplank behind her, which was already folding up thanks to a mechanical winch. "Get them off the ship."

It was at that moment the engines came to life. The gentle whirr of the idling propellers transformed into a behemoth's roar that rattled Clarissa's teeth and shook her knees. The deck tilted slightly as the ship dragged its lift bag away from the dock, and into the open air. Above Clarissa's head, the smaller propellers swivelled in place, and coaxed the ship into a smooth spin, until the bow pointed away from the island.

Away from home.

"Fall forever between the isles," Mercy cursed under her breath. The scarred woman's quiet rage pulled Clarissa's attention back to the moment, and the nearly half-dozen unexpected passengers. She found herself almost grateful for the distraction of seeing Mercy's ire, as the ship's first officer pointed with her thumb over her shoulder. "Leslie, lead them below. If we take them on, it's only because it costs us less time than turning around.

The first officer spun around and marched towards an open hatch nearby. Clarissa followed Mercy down a flight of stairs and into a long metal hallway. All the doors were on the right side, with nothing but the steel hull on the left. Not as fast as the older woman, and her focus warring with her curiosity, Clarissa fell a little behind by the time Mercy reached the end of the hall and threw open a door.

Through the door was an astonishing array of gears and levers, set on a panel arrayed in a semicircle, with every dial, gauge, and ticking device facing a wheel Clarissa guessed to be slightly taller than she was. Standing at that wheel was a woman Clarissa didn't recognize, talking animatedly to the captain with one hand holding a spoke.

"Cutting it close, we might have to ride windward along Greymantle to make up the time," the woman at the helm said. "Poachers and worse on that route, but most should mistake us for a Corsair Hunter and leave us be."

"Apologies, Captain, but we have another stop to make," Mercy said. With how angry Mercy had sounded just a moment ago, it was a surprise that she reported it so blandly to the captain. "Leslie took on a group heading to Volante, I couldn't steer them off the ship before we left."

The Captain nodded without looking away from one of the nearby gauges. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, the tone carefully controlled. "Leslie's right on one count, Volante is on our route. As of now, it would take longer to put them back then to take them on. Guess we'll take the money, but I don't want anyone getting ideas. We don't fit side work into the Monastery job."

"Want me to talk to Leslie?" Mercy offered.

"Best I do it, it's my problem. But make sure he doesn't get a share of whatever was negotiated for passage," the captain said. "Clarissa gets her own room, regardless."

"I promised them two to a room, Captain," Leslie said, stepping into the bridge hesitantly despite nearly taking up the entire doorway. The other passengers followed him inside, keeping close to the exit.

"Your promises aren't the currency that makes things happen aboard my ship, Mister Madrigan. You and Mercy go get our guests settled," the captain ordered, gesturing down the hall. He then stepped up to the other passengers and looked each of them over carefully. "You're to keep yourselves to the top deck, the mess hall, or your rooms. Snooping beyond those bounds might end your time aboard prematurely."

"Hey Cap, who's the girl?" the woman at the helm said, turning away from the controls for the first time. The woman's skin was the colour of expensive chocolate, her eyes had a playful twinkle, and her hair tied back with several coloured ribbons, at least one of which had '1st' embossed in gold thread. "A monastery-raised kid joining the crew would be mighty useful. She could probably teach any of us math or engineering, except you or tinker."

Clarissa blushed and looked down. "I don't know much about airships, ma'am."

"Reckon you know more than you'd expect. From what I've seen, a Monastery education is the envy of everything from here to where the sky gets thin," the woman at the helm said.

"Enough of that," the Captain said. "Clarissa, this is Tonya Hughes, ship's pilot. And she'll stop trying to poach you."

"Just saying, kiddo, if you ever feel like jumping ship, think of us first," Tonya said with a sly smile.

"Come on," Mercy said. She put a hand on Clarissa's shoulder and gently steered her back down the hall. Leslie followed Mercy and Clarissa, leading the small group of guests along with them.

"What did she mean, monastery raised are valuable?" one of the other passengers whispered.

Clarissa shivered as a wave of icy fear washed through her. She looked back, and a woman with greying hair and a crooked smile was eyeing Clarissa with an oddly hungry look to her. "Rumour has it they study magic. Or old science. The kind of knowledge that can change the fortune of nations."

"The kind of knowledge worth a king's bounty," another one said.

To Clarissa's relief, Leslie coughed once and stared down each of the other guests until they fell silent.

The trip took less than a minute until Mercy stopped at a door and opened it. She ushered Clarissa inside, into a small room with a pair of beds set against a wall, a small desk with a chair welded to the corner walls of the room, and a single metal shelf. There were no decorations aboard, and the room was illumined with a single lightbulb.

Mercy shut the door behind them. Wordlessly, Clarissa set her bag down on the desk and sat down on the chair.

"Do you need anything?" Mercy asked.

The question brought a quiet sob from Clarissa, but she managed to smother it. "No ma'am. Thank you."

"Dinner's in an hour. Kitchen's just the last door before the bridge. Leslie will make something for you. Captain's orders about being confined to quarters for the voyage don't apply to you, but I'd advise staying here until we get the Bankerloft quintet off the ship. Frankly, I don't like having you here at all. It troubles me deeply."

"I'm sorry," Clarissa mumbled, failing to hide the small sob in her voice.

"Oh, no, it ain't you," Mercy said soothingly. "Just bothers me that the Monastery don't feel it safe to ferry their own, sailing their colours. You've been nothing but soft sunlight and a gentle breeze so far. I'll go attend to my ship before I put my boot in my mouth again. See you at dinner, Clarissa."

And with an exaggerated tilt of her hat, Mercy winked and bowed, before she stepped out of the door and shut it behind her.

Clarissa kicked off her shoes and sat down on the bed. She pulled her legs up and hugged her knees, stared at the door, and tried her best to not cry.