Prelude to Anarchy - Princess of Steam

Cargo

A slip of cold air whistled through the thin walls of the cabin and crossed the room to mingle with plumes of suspended dust. In its crossing, the stream flirted with Elizabeth Sinclair's neck, sending a lone shiver down her spine.

She pulled her jacket up and closer around her neck, then turned to glare at the sliver of light poking through the cracked wall. She was going to have to bug Daisy to fix that, she reminded herself. They were almost at port, and there were plenty of things that needed fixing.

The young woman was alone in the topmost cabin of her airship. Across from her was the ship's wheel, worn and dented and held together by little more than tape and happy thoughts. The ship's biggest engine took up a large part of the room, rumbling quietly behind her with only the occasional choke and sputter as it misfired. Another thing to get Daisy to look at.

Elizabeth stood up from her chair, patted down the front of her riding skirts, then pulled herself up by holding the wheel. She could see the world beyond, a panoramic view stretching out to the horizon.

Forests of leafless trees stretched out below, the details lost as the trees swayed in a wintry breeze. Farther away, she could see a blue line marking the beaches where land met ocean to the west.

The forest was empty of humanity, save for a thick line cutting through the woods where a great beam of metal ran straight and true. It looked tiny from where she stood, but she knew it to be as wide as two horses abreast and made of pure iron.

Her own reflection stared back, superimposed over her view. Steel grey eyes framed in a sharp, angular face that reminded her of her aunt more than her mother. Her head was covered with a thin, golden sweep of hair that was dim in the reflection.

A thump, swear and rattle brought her attention back to the cabin. She turned and tried to wipe the glare off her face. Then she gave up. The expression was useful and it was coming up all the more often as of late. Anyway, she reasoned, captains are supposed to look gruff.

A hatch in the floor popped open. A gust of bitter wind swept in before a gloved hand hit the floor with a resounding thud. Elizabeth rearranged her hair against the wind.

A head covered in shaggy red hair followed the arm out from the hatch, then a leather jacket with thick fur around the neck, and finally the rest of the young woman slipped into the cabin, her heavy boots making a racket as she kicked the hatch closed.

"Hello, Katherine," Elizabeth said primly. She folded her hands over her stomach and waited for the young guest to lock the floor hatch in place. The room was no bigger than most prison cells, and they needed every bit of elbow room they could scrounge up for their frequent bouts and hissyfits.

Katherine grunted something, pulled up a chair and flopped down into it, the image of exhaustion itself. Elizabeth knew that Katherine had been doing a lot of nothing all day. "'Ello, Princess Lizzy," Katherine said, saluting the girl half-heartedly. Her green eyes held a gleam of mischief as she watched Elizabeth huff. She pulled up her booted feet and dropped them on the console beside the wheel. "Am I late?"

Elizabeth assumed that Katherine was a year or two older than she, but the woman hardly acted her age. She was tall, though still shorter than Elizabeth, with the sort of loose body language that told the world that she didn't care about it, usually before she had time to announce the fact aloud. Ripples of unruly red hair piled up around Katherine's shoulders, stuffed into the collar of her precious jacket to stay out of the way. The only thing striking about the girl's hawkish face were her eyes, two sharp green dots that twitched to follow any stray movement.

"Of course you're late," Elizabeth grumbled, then she too found her seat. There was only one empty chair left, pushed against the corner so as to not take up what little room was left. "But not nearly as late as Daisy."