Thread by @vandroidhelsing

It's your job to pull up the plank after Mandip & Gio wrestle the chest onto the ship. Scarlatti shouts at them to make sure the lid stays on, sprinkling in several Venetian obscenities, which you suspect you'll understand pretty soon.
With the plank stowed, the ship takes flight

Below you, the moonlit Indian Ocean recedes, & with it, the great twisted form of the wreck: practically an island of metal, still uncorroded even after two hundred years. Strange lights swim in the waters around it. You're all lucky to be alive.
"Stow it," says Scarlatti.

The thing inside the chest clinks as you carry it. However, it does not clink to the rhythm of your steps.
You get it into the hold and have a breather. The chest keeps clinking.
The ship accelerates, banks, twists.
"What's going on?" you ask.
"Patrols," says Gio. "Shit."

Gio and Mandip race back on deck, but, well, surely SOMEONE must guard the chest, right? As the Nero turns, through the porthole you can see a Mughal cruiser in pursuit, slower but more heavily armed, and as eager to defend the wreck as you are to stay alive.

You've only been on the Nero a few weeks, and Scarlatti thought you too young to help with the salvage, but maybe—if you pull out whatever it is—you can defend the ship, and gain her approval.
It can't be that dangerous. Adrian handled it. You'd be fine, probably.

You put your goggles on. The granite lid is heavy, but artifacts have to be kept safe. A faint golden glow comes from inside.
At the bottom of the chest, on a bed of cotton wool, is what looks like a golden quill, though of course it's not.
There's a boom: the cruiser is firing

Why did you think
that t
th e
cotton w
ould
help

t
h e
co tto n
wou
ld

"Help," you say.
You open your eyes.

Your head hurts and your heart is racing and if you could just

breathe

A hand checks your pulse. Gio is next to you.
"I told Scarlatti you were ill," he says. "You're lucky to be alive, till she finds out the truth, then not so lucky."
It's day. The Nero hums along.

"You opened the chest, is what happened," says Gio. "You damn pollywog."
"It can't be THAT bad," you say.
"It can," says Gio. "She was saving it for herself, one thing, and two, look at your hand."

Your left hand is covered in a golden filigree, like the top of your mother's writing case back in Agra. Something you wish to forget, embedded in your skin forever. Maybe.

(cw: self-harm maybe?)
It won't come off, and it's painful even to try, but you can't stop. Gio stops you.
"They don't untangle," he says. "That's why you never touch them unless you're ready. Easier to take out your nerves and heart than an artifact."

Gio shrugs. "Aeolia."

Gio stares at you. "Aeolia," he says, as if that explains it. "The city over the Atlantic. People who study the wrecks. Too bad we're not going there."

"Of course I can help you," he says, and that's how you find yourself stealing a lifeboat at midnight.

Three of the Nero's four lifeboats are intended for marine use, but the fourth has a lode-engine like the ship herself, and this is, apparently, the only way to reach Aeolia.

Of course this makes it valuable, so you have to steal Mandip's keys first.

Here is the problem. Mandip has them clutched in his hands. And he is a notoriously light sleeper.

He stirs slightly as you kneel beside him. You have, to be clear, no goddamn idea what you’re doing. Gio only knows that using an artifact is an act of will, so he’s no help, and he’s not there anyway: he’s meeting you at the boat.
You rest your hand lightly on Mandip and try to:

In Agra, when the British attacked, there was a moment when everything seemed fine. It was a dream of the courtyard with the fountains, when the narcissus were in bloom.

You don’t want to remember how the dream went wrong; it’s enough to know that it was shortly after both empires developed the Copper Eyes.

But the dream goes wrong again, and you can’t prevent it, and this time it’s Mandip in the fountain.

You still have no goddamn idea what you’re doing. But this time you know how the dream goes, and most importantly: that it isn’t real.
Agra survived. You survived. Not everything is all right, but everything CAN be all right.
Mandip is asleep. That’s how the dream goes now.

And when you wake up, and the yellow light fades into the filigree over your hand, you’re able to take the keys.

Even in the dim light, Gio can clearly see something has shaken you, but he doesn’t ask. You give him the keys and he preps the boat for launch.
The lode-engine is entirely silent, but the winches and davits are not. And before it’s quite ready you hear Scarlatti shout

The boat rocks and Gio, on deck, hisses “NOT YET”. But climbing back out would rock it more.
At first Scarlatti seems to assume you’re only stealing the boat. But then she sees the lines of gold all glinting all over your hand.
“Damn you,” she says. “That’s MINE.”

Scarlatti laughs. “Of course not. Nobody ever knows beforehand what they’ll do. But I found it, my ship retrieved it, and it’s mine. You can give it to me, or I can take it, but I warn you: if it’s not voluntary, it’s lethal.”

You duck into the lifeboat and try to start it up.
You…have no idea how a lode-engine works.
“Oh my god,” says Scarlatti. “Why are you on my crew?” Her hand goes to her pistol.

Lode-engines are derived from the wrecks, same as all artifacts. Use your artifact on:

This is not what it’s meant for. You know that instantly.

Your hand is hot. You have another dream. But this one isn’t yours.

You don’t understand what you’re seeing. You’re IN something, hurtling out of control toward a blue sphere. The curved lines of the space around you, the huge windows: they’re familiar. You last saw them, dark & hulking in the ocean.
It’s one of the wrecks, & it’s about to crash.

You find yourself shouting NO, and /pushing/ against the blue. You need to deflect away from it. You won’t die there, surrounded by all that water, the only intelligent life a primitive ape.
This is not what you’re meant f—

It’s day again. Your head feels like it’s splitting in half. The lifeboat is careening across the sky, the engine turned up so high it’s actually making noise. You don’t know where you’re going but you sure are getting there fast.

While you wait, you:

You’re…over the ocean. It’s not the Indian Ocean; it’s rougher, colder. The Atlantic?

There are supplies and maps, all of them mismatched and scavenged—it IS a pirate’s lifeboat—and a sextant, but that’s of no use to you. The maps…well, if you ARE over the Atlantic, you could soon be in North America, which wouldn’t be good. Or you might encounter Aeolia.

The tiller won’t move. It’s locked in place.

It snaps off.
Meanwhile, the ocean rushes away below you. You see a few sailing ships—probably fishing vessels.
Lode-engines don’t need fuel. They don’t run on steam. They just go. At this rate, you might end up circumnavigating the earth and crashing into the Nero’s other side.

You hesitate to touch it. No other time has been pleasant. It’s as if it creates nightmares, as if it tests you. Maybe even as if it doesn’t want to be used.
But what choice do you have? You put your hand on the tiller.

There’s a brief flare, a sense of something opening in your mind, and then nothing. But in that second the engine talks back to you.

And it says, “hold on”.

The lifeboat swerves starboard.

The ocean rolls on for an hour. You see an American warship off to port but it doesn’t see you, and you can’t tell which America it belongs to.

Then you see it, carved from a mountain, blue in the sunset, hovering on pillars of light: the city of knowledge, Aeolia.

All around the city are dirigibles and other aircraft, coming in to dock at the towers, or leaving again to ports unknown. You see flags of the British, the Chinese, the French, the Mughals, Unified Mali, the Twin Americas, and some you don’t recognize.

At the very top of the city is a great cathedral-like structure with a clock. A bell tolls the time as you come closer; other bells throughout the city pick it up.
Directly ahead is a promontory of the flying island, and the boat seems to be headed right for it.

It comes to a gentle stop on the dock. The engine’s glow dies. People in red uniforms surround you instantly.

There’s a woman with several insignia and a heavy white staff.
“With what?” she says suspiciously.
You hold up your hand.
She levels her staff at you. “Don’t move,” she says calmly. “That is dangerous, and you could hurt a lot of people.”

They put you in a coach and take you into a tunnel deep under the city. The woman asks you where you found the artifact.

“You stole it?” she says, almost sounding impressed. “From Scarlatti? The Pirate Queen of the Adriatic?”
“Yes,” you say, feeling proud.
“That must have taken some doing.”
“Oh, a bit,” you say.
“Well,” she says, writing in a small book, “all are welcome in Aeolia. Even pirates.”

You disembark at the foot of the clock tower. A British warship is passing overhead.
“How nice,” you say. She follows your glance.
“Everyone benefits from the research we carry on here,” she says with a smile.

She takes you up the steps of the tower and into a pillared hall. The tower is entirely hollow: up above are the works of the clock. Its core is another artifact. The sun comes through arched windows in the west.
“Right this way,” she says, guiding you down a corridor.

“We have been collecting and examining artifacts from the wrecks for just over 200 years,” she says. “Ever since the first crash. Nothing today would have been possible without us. Airships, burrowers, Euclidean warp, even the Copper Eyes. But you…you’ve brought something else.”

Tiebreaker lightning round!

“Oh, of course,” she says. “The devastation in India was an unfortunate misuse, but the concept was sound.”
She opens a door and ushers you into an exam room. “Now just wait here until one of our specialists comes to see you.”

It’s not a very long wait. A man comes in within five minutes. He wears a black suit and a handlebar moustache.
“Well,” he says, not unkindly, “let’s see what dragged me away from my capon.”

“Goodness,” he says, looking at your hand. “The captain told me about it but I didn’t believe—you’ve picked up a bond. Previously unrecorded too, I should think, if you got it right from the ocean.” He grins and starts writing something down. “This could change the world—again.”

“Oh.” He sets down a black leather case and starts pulling out shining tools. “Mostly, the wrecks produce things we can use or repurpose. Lode-engines, for instance—or the warp, which, hooked up to a locomotive, gets you lettuce from California in New York the day its picked.”

“Those are all useful things.” He picks up a scalpel, considers it, rejects it. “But the bonds are something else. They, well, you can see: they become part of a human being. They work into you. It’s a bond that powers Aeolia, passed down over the years.” He takes a needle.

“There are seventy-eight registered bonds,” says the doctor. “All of them awesome in their effect, mysterious in their use. Each is different. What have YOU noticed happening?”

“Interesting,” he says. “Nightmares, but not just yours. Of the very beings who built the wrecks. You know, people in 1607 were very silly. Didn’t preserve much for us. Burned a lot of it. We have a head, or whatever it was. And their engines and machines. But you. A connection.”

“Do you know,” he says, selecting a tool you don’t recognize, “what a boon you are to this city? What we might achieve with you? Yes, at the price of a few nightmares, but imagine. A direct link to the builders. I never even thought to hope for this day.”

“You joined a pirate crew, correct?” says the doctor. “Seeking a new life after Agra? Well, with this, you can have that. Help Aeolia further human knowledge. Be our medium with the builders.”
“But it’s only through nightmares,” you say.
“Nightmares you’ve controlled,” he says.

“Excellent,” he says, and as he moves his hand you see that the tool he’s holding is like a pen, only connected to a silk-wrapped cable, which runs into the wall. “There is a chance this will sting.”

There are too many nightmares in this city, in too many sizes, from the tiny oneiric shards of the lab rats to the vast rolling agony of the clock tower itself, abandoned here, misunderstood and misused, dreaming its makers may someday return.

You can handle your own bad dreams. You can handle the nightmare of an engine. You cannot handle the monsters of the Aeolian mind.

The clock strikes half past the hour, single tone. The sound provides a momentary respite. You have a second of clarity, & a decision:
You can continue, & maybe come undone, as the city’s medium.
Or you can surrender this artifact entirely. Go back to the air. Escape yet again.

When you wake up, the gold filigree has blackened. The engine, whatever it was, has ceased functioning.
They can’t remove it without killing you, however, so you have to live with it.
Why do you always find yourself still alive?

You can’t help surviving, it seems, but that skill is of no use to Aeolia, and everything you learned before the fall of Agra made you for a life so different from this that you might as well have been born on the moon.
But.
You know who would value it.

You may have ruined a priceless artifact, but Aeolia isn’t heartless; they keep you around doing odd jobs for room and board. And you watch the docks every day. All ships come here eventually.

In June, the Nero arrives. She’s just come from the Arctic wreck, laden with contraband engines stolen from under the very noses of the Swedes. Scarlatti is still captain. Gio and Mandip and Adrian and Liza and all the others are still there.

Scarlatti sees you coming and laughs. She says something in Italian to Gio, who chuckles.
“I heard about it,” she says. “You ruined my prize. But I suppose I should thank you. I could be in your place instead.”

You ask to come back. She laughs again. But you were on the Nero long enough to know that a full hold makes Scarlatti indulgent. Indeed, she doesn’t take much convincing.
“But,” she says, “if you ever steal from me again…”
Her hand goes to her pistol.

You spend the rest of the day unloading the engines with Gio and Mandip. Scarlatti wants to get under way again as soon as possible: a Swedish ship is expected and she’d rather not be around for it.

The last you see of Aeolia is its lights. Then it drops behind a cloud bank.
“You take the watch,” says Scarlatti. “As a welcome gift from me.”
The deck is cold in the windy night. Gio is there, fixing something before he turns in.
“Good to have you back,” he says.

“Good to be back,” you say.
And it is. Because when you go to sleep, the only nightmares will be your own. Even they might fade: you could not change the world by remembering; you might change yourself by forgetting.

/FIN

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