"Wake up, wake up!" came a frantic cry from the other side of the door. "You're going to miss it!"

Clarissa jolted herself awake in a panic, tumbled gracelessly out of bed, and lunged for her clothes. Whatever disaster was outside the door, she wanted to face it dressed.

It wasn't until Clarissa unlatched her trunk and was about to raise the lid that she realized she was still fully dressed. She slipped on her boots and threw the door open, to find the ship's engineer, Anita Hoffman, smiling like sunlight. "Leslie is making crepes! Come on, before the others can stuff their faces."

Both amused and bemused, Clarissa shut her door and followed at a jog as Anita lead them down the hall towards the kitchen.

"Miss Hoffman," Clarissa asked as the engineer stopped at the door to the ship's little mess hall. "If I may ask, are those people, um?"

Anita smiled kindly as Clarissa trailed off. "Your would-be kidnappers and slave traders? We passed a small island about an hour after it all went down. Trees and foliage abounded, so as long as they're enterprising they'll set up a smoke signal. Ships frequent these skies, so odds are pretty good someone will see it and pick them up."

"Oh," Clarissa said, troubled and a little angry. "That's a kind fate for them."

"Left on a deserted island with no guarantee of rescue, their names blacklisted by every shipping guild in the skies? Plus, we get to keep their stuff? It ain't justice, but it's all we can provide ya," Anita explained, and Clarissa found she agreed. Their only other recourse was Mercy's solution, which Clarissa wasn't certain she'd have protested.

.

Lost in thought, Anita's next words caught Clarissa off guard. "Oh, speaking of which, you get a one-eighth share."

"Really?"

"Captain said you're crew during this voyage. That entitles you to a full share of any job, including plunder. They didn't have much more money than what Leslie charged them for the trip, but they did have silkworms. We'll make damn good money off that."

"Silkworms?"

"Native to Olencia, and only Olencia," Anita said. Clarissa must have made a face, because Anita she held out her hands defensively and continued speaking. "Now we have standards and decency, but abiding by the letter of the law in every island in the sky is near impossible, even for Bankerloft's lawyers. So long as what we're carrying ain't crippling addictive and doesn't go 'boom', we'll ship it. And export embargoes like the one Olencia has on silkworms just means the cargo's more valuable to someone else."

Anita opened the door, and the aroma of baking washed over Clarissa like a warm bath. Her stomach growled, and she put a hand to her mouth just in case she had started to drool.

At the other end of the mess hall, Leslie was at work with two large skillets, steam rising lazily into the air from each. He hummed to himself while he worked, in tune with some quiet music coming from a nearby phonograph. Nearby was a small pile of fresh fruit, cut into small pieces, and a small bowl of stiff cream.

"Leslie, look at you, whipping up a feast fit for the princes of H'ael! Have you finally decided to make an honest woman out of me?" Anita asked playfully.

"I'd be executed by the princes of H'ael for serving this," Leslie replied drily, as he carefully peeled something from the skillet. "Most of them have food allergies, the kind that constrict the throat and get cooks put on headsman's blocks. As for making an honest woman of you..."

Leslie stopped speaking when he moved with startling speed and snatched up Anita as if she were just a balloon. Hefting her by the waist with ease, he spun her about so that her brown scarf twirled behind her, and set her gently into the middle of the space between the tables. "There's more to it than food. You'd owe me a great deal of dancing."

Leslie turned around and spun a knob on the phonograph. The whisper-quiet music burst into life, filling the room with an airy and lively music Clarissa didn't recognize. Leslie gestured with his hand, bowed politely, and lead Anita in a swirling dance that saw Anita spun about like a bird riding the wind.

It was clear even to Clarissa that Anita didn't know the steps, and she more clung to Leslie than danced with him as he lead her in twirls and twists, graceful swings and spun her about with a flourish that left the engineer's scarf dancing in their wake. Leslie finished with a deft spin and bowed with that Clarissa regarded as kingly grace.

Clarissa clapped wildly, jumping up and down. Leslie turned to her and bowed again, just as gracefully. "I'd face the whirlwind to see smiles like that more often," he said before he spun around and sauntered back to the kitchen.

Anita sat down at one of the tables, her face red and her hands clutched together. But she was smiling as she looked back at Leslie, and she was humming in time with the music.

"Mister, uh, Leslie? That was wonderful! Where did you learn to dance like that?" Clarissa asked breathlessly.

"You pick up a few things as the fourth son of a minor baron," Leslie remarked as he toyed with the food on a plate. Using a pair of forks he carefully wrapped up a pile of berries and cream inside a thin, light-brown pasty. "Mostly things to make sure you don't embarrass the family when you're out in public. Enough science so you don't gape like a virgin at a boudoir when someone talks airship navigation, and just enough etiquette to dance without falling on a countess' favourite daughter and your getting your father dragged into six duels in a single evening."

"That was, uh, very specific," Clarissa said hesitantly.

"Now what I have here is a family staple," Leslie said, as he rounded the kitchen counter with a pair of plates in his hands. "We had it with whatever was in season, since we'd only eat it with fruits that grew at the manor."

Leslie set a plate down in front of Clarissa and the paused, listening to the sound of distant footsteps. "Best take a few bites and lay claim to that," he said after a moment. "I don't have enough ingredients for more than one each."

Clarissa nodded and took her utensils to her food. Her first cut made a disappointing mess of the food, but she shoveled most of it onto her fork and lift it to her mouth. The taste shocked her as thoroughly as anything she had seen or heard on this voyage so far; a vibrant medley of sweet fruit that tasted better than anything at the Monastery, carried by cream and pastry, with a slight, sharp sour note that Clarissa couldn't place. She greedily took to carving off another bite, not noticing that Leslie had sat down next to her with his own plate.

"Oh, you made one for each of us, and didn't think about yourself?" Anita asked, holding a knife and fork in her hands. "You are so sweet."

"Oh no," Leslie said as Anita sat down across from him. "Cook enjoys the fruits of his labour, and the guest deserves the first fruits. Afraid you'll be a fixing your own confection."

"But it won't taste as good. Asides, you used up all the fresh fruit," Anita pointed out somewhat sullenly. She leaned forward on the table, opened her eyes wide, and stared at Leslie with a trembling lip. "You wouldn't leave me to porridge and whatever we have in the canned stores, would you?"

"Most of that's my cooking, thank you anyway." Leslie replied.

Clarissa watched the banter between bites, wondering how long it would take before Leslie would give up his breakfast. Anita had a certain vibrancy to her behaviour, a frayed innocence that made someone instinctively want to keep her happy. But Leslie surprised Clarissa, and she suspected surprised Anita as well, when he cut a piece and slowly set it in his mouth.

"Oh yes," Leslie said just after he swallowed. "The calamondin pieces were exactly the right touch. That sour note carries well. How's it taste, kid?"

Clarissa set her knife down and held up a fist, pointing her thumb straight up in the air. With her other hand, she speared another bite and put it in her mouth.

"Well, you're both monsters," Anita pouted indignantly.

"How long do you think she takes to notice there's more on the kitchen bar?" Leslie asked Clarissa with a wink.

"My affection for you both is beginning to come back," Anita said. She spun in her seat and nimbly pushed herself off the bench, skipping a little as she rounded the long counter and scooped up a plate. She spun around with a flourish, humming along with the quiet music from the phonograph, and returned to her seat.

Anita stuck her tongue out at Leslie first, then Clarissa. But her ire vanished like a puff of smoke in a storm, when she took her first bite. "Okay," she said, her hand over her mouth, "I forgive you for all your past slights. You are once again my favourite person on this ship."

"Your affections are a fickle thing," Leslie said. "But at least they're honest."

"Consistent could happen," Anita replied as she cut into her crepe with zeal. "But you'd have to cook more."

"Blame the captain," Leslie said. "He seems to need me to do other things."

"If you could make us more money as a wandering restaurant, I'd help you pitch it to him," Mercy Larkin said. Clarissa looked up from her food to see the ship's second in command was still wearing her hat with the long plumage of raven's feathers, titled rakishly to the side and partially covering her right eye and her long scar.

"Mercy!" Clarissa waved, smiling with her cheeks full of food. She covered her mouth with one hand, embarrassed, and turned back to her food.

"Leaving the slavers on that island has given us the chance to shave a couple of days off this trip. We're riding Volante's wake, and we're going to be riding it for the entire length of the island," Mercy explained as she took a plate from the kitchen bar and sat down next to Anita.

Clarissa swallowed quickly, not understanding much of what Mercy had just said. "Riding Volante's wake?" she asked.

Mercy took an empty cup in her hand and held it up towards Clarissa. "Air currents will be blowing across Volante towards where we want to go. At the same time, because it's facing the sun, the warm air rising from the ground will help push us away from the island," Mercy explained, as she mimed wind currents rushing along the side of the cup. "Taking advantage of it can shave a day or two off our overall trip."

"Okay," Clarissa agreed. She didn't understand much of it, but she suspected that there was a great deal of foundation knowledge she didn't have. Slipstream currents and the interplay of air pressure changes from the largest islands was knowledge Clarissa still struggled with.

"Downside is the wind's intense," Mercy added, and she gave Anita a pointed look. "We're going to be running the engines hard. Propellers will be on most of the day, even with the sails out. Captain will pilot for the first few hours, Tonya's already in her bunk."

"Captain's hard on the engines. He doesn't have a feel for the winds the way Tonya does," Anita reflected.

"Which is why he's taking the first shift. We'd all prefer Tonya at the wheel when we have to ride the Whirlwind," Mercy said. "Clarissa's with you in engineering. Reckon she knows enough to help keep the furnace stoked, and the coolant full. Use her much as she's willing."

"Aye, ma'am," Anita said quietly, more serious than Clarissa had ever seen her before.

"Leslie, once you're finished, head topside. You and I will be minding the sails for the next little while," Mercy said.

"Of course, ma'am," Leslie replied.

To Clarissa's surprise, Mercy had somehow finished her plate while giving orders, and stood up as soon as Leslie acknowledged her last command. She marched to the kitchen, cleaned her plate, stowed it in the cupboard, and picked up two of the other three crepes left on the bar. "Leslie, make sure Tonya gets a plate. If she hears we ate these and didn't leave a share, she'll get her revenge when she takes the helm again."

"Like that time during the Corevay syzygy she put us into a corkscrew spin so hard you could stand upright on the walls? I ain't eager to repeat that," Leslie said.

Mercy cringed, but didn't respond. She took the plates and left the mess hall about as fast as a person could move without jogging. Clarissa looked back down at her crepe and started eating faster.

"Nervous?" Anita asked Clarissa, just as the woman finished her own plate. Clarissa nodded as she stuffed another bite in her mouth, which made Anita laugh. "Don't be. A ship like the Child was made for the slipstream. Your biggest worry will be keeping your hair out of your sweat-plastered face while you shovel."

"Shovel?" Clarissa asked indignantly.

"You think the engines run off happy thoughts and good cheer? Or that we just stick Leslie in some kind of exercise machine to run the propellers?" Anita laughed at her own joke, and she glanced over at the big man with a wry grin. "Ship's engines run on fuel, and the dispenser system won't push the propellers as hard as the captain's gonna need. So you and I get to make up the difference."

Clarissa groaned and hung her head.

"Relax. Shovel duty entitles you to a bath after. Besides," Anita trailed off, and she leaned forward and winked. "Been hoping to show you the engines."