“I think I will. I must replace the ones we’ve lost today.” Kobi turned on the spot, disposition shifting with his spin. “You should have surrendered when I gave you the chance.”
Kobi ran his sword through his scabbard as he squatted on level with the cowering man. Something felt off to Zala. The Vaaji weren’t known for their bravery, to be sure, but they weren’t cravens either.
“Now tell me,” Kobi said. “What brings the Vaaji so close to the shores of Kidogo?”
Chapter 5
Karim
An old saying had emerged during the earliest days of the Vaaji Empire: Efficiency is the manifest of the Supreme One’s Will. It had been the foundation of all the empire’s endeavors since it had been reformed. The saying extended to the founding of its government, the authority of its religion—even the simple customs of a greeting.
And these principles extended to the cabin space of the Viper, the first airship of the Vaaji Air Fleet.
Though Karim el-Sayyed was the ship’s chief officer, his quarters left little space for his work. As he wrote, he was forced to keep his elbows tight to his body, his penmanship suffering for it. The empire would never accept the jagged scribbles he etched on the parchment. He crumpled up the dozenth letter, tossing it alongside the others at the edge of his desk before starting anew.
Karim had thought his position on the Vaaji’s pride and joy would have been more exciting, but for the most part his time had been relegated to simple bookkeeping. Though there was not much activity on the ship itself, keeping tabs on Captain Malouf’s purchases of rum and women left Karim busy enough. Often, it was nearly impossible to keep up with the captain’s wild purchasing habits.
Clenching his jaw, Karim finished the manifest’s last line. The captain was spending more money than he should be… again. Over the past week, Malouf had thrown no less than three parties in celebration of his new title and the success of their empire’s invention.
It was wasteful and premature.
There had been no real success. At least not yet. The airship’s sole accomplishment to date had been the simple act of flight—and the vessel wouldn’t have been much of an airship without it. As a military ship ready for combat, it had yet to come even close to proving its true potential.
The Viper had set out on its first live mission almost a fortnight prior. Her crew had been charged with neutralizing the pirate threat sweeping the Kidogo Coast and securing an as-yet-undisclosed major target. But all Malouf had been able to manage was his slow choosing between their last purchase of palm wine or sugar rum. It was fortunate their mission was close to the homeland, or else there would hardly be enough resources for a return trip.
“Don’t fret,” Karim could hear Captain Malouf’s grating voice in his head. “When we find those pirates, we’ll replenish what we’ve spent and then some.”
Karim sighed at the thought as he stroked his short beard and traced his thumb over the old scar that drew from lip to chin. For those in the military with an ounce of acumen, it was a wonder how Malouf could have been assigned to his post heading the empire’s greatest technological achievement to date. But those more privy to the political machinations of the empire knew that it had always been that way with Malouf. He had a propensity for rubbing the right shoulders, and his family had very deep pockets.
It had been different for Karim. He did not share the same upbringing that certain other officers did. He was a grunt who had started from the bottom and worked his way up. It was his work ethic that had earned him his position, not a silver tongue or a purse full of coin.
Karim pushed his chair out, bumping into the wooden wall behind him for the fiftieth time that week. He couldn’t wait until this prototype ship was signed off so they could make for better accommodations. He knew such an early version of the airship couldn’t afford to spare the extra space, but he still would’ve allocated more to crew accommodations if he had been in charge of its constructions.
How was a man to work like this? Sighing and hunching over to avoid the low ceiling, Karim rolled up the parchment and tied it off with a bow. He’d faced worse than a cramped workspace before.
A small trill chirped outside the ship and Karim peered out his cabin’s viewport. Through the morning fog, he made out the wingspan of a large seagull approaching. Its voice carried over the ocean’s waves below, signaling an incoming message. Karim recognized the bird’s distinct black-and-gray-patterned feathers as the shape-shifting messenger from the naval ship, Saber’s Edge.
Hopefully she brought some good news, he thought.
But his musings were dashed when he noticed the gull-shifter’s jagged flight path. She must’ve been wounded. That meant there had been an attack—which meant the pirates were close.
In excitement, Karim rushed to shuffle his documents in order. For the first time in a week, news of pirates had come. He composed himself before wrapping his papers in a small pouch, stilling his mounting glee—though he couldn’t help the grin that creased his cheek.
When he had everything in order, logs for foodstuffs and the latest weapons cache documents in hand, he began his walk to the communications deck.
Karim strode down the corridor, some portions of the ship so small he had to walk sideways. Though the space was cramped, he admired the finish of the wood panels that lined the walls. His people’s architects were nothing if not talented craftsmen.
Ducking through the crew deck—and down to the utility deck and a supply room below—he came out into a long, tight corridor which led to the communications room.
Karim struck a short knock against the door and asked, “Permission to enter?”
The wooden door swung inward to a sparse room with a simple administration desk in its middle. Shelves pressed against the walls, each carrying a cage with an assortment of hawks, gulls, and owls. A single open viewport large enough to let in the birds who carried messages to the Viper lined the side.
Two women stood at the room’s center. The first, Officer Tahan, held the door ajar. She wore the empire’s signature naval uniform: padded red armor over a white tunic, wrapped at the middle with an emerald sash, and topped with a green headwrap and black underscarf. The bronze clasp at her breast denoted her position as communications officer.
The other woman’s clothing was less impressive: simple rags and no shoes with tangled dark hair. But her eyes were a particular shade of golden-brown, a signature trait for any shape-shifter. Karim was familiar—all too familiar—with the dimples that caved at her cheeks as she gave him a half-smile.
“Chief Officer el-Sayyed.” Tahan saluted. “We have a message from Saber’s Edge.”
“Then you should report to Captain Malouf,” he said begrudgingly.
“I did, sir, but he is—” The officer stopped herself then cast her eyes down to her boots.
Karim gave her a knowing nod. The captain was likely too drunk to be woken.
“Very well,” he said, turning to the messenger. “You may convey your report to me, Runner.”
Nabila, the gull-shifter, limped forward and away from a cage of mundane messenger birds. “Sorry it took me so long. Had to wait for my chance to get away from the pirates with a valid story.”