Afloat

Aseroe’s horns had never bothered her. Nor had the red pigment of her skin. Her fangs had caused some discomfort when they’d come in after her baby teeth had fallen out at the age of seven. They took a bit of getting used to, but she had managed to shake off her lisp and stop biting her tongue when she chewed. Her appearance bothered others though, like the man currently opposite her.

She sat in an overly stuffed office, brimming with trinkets and certificates, as the subject of, not participate in, conversation between the two men in the room. The elder one, on the far side of the desk, was named Mr Huskwidth. He wore a waist coat with fine embroidery, a fob watch chain, and a crushed cream shirt. His waxed moustache tips scratched against his rum-darkened cheeks as he spoke.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not putting that thing on my roster. It’s bad enough you brought it into my office.”

The thing in question, Aseroe, thinned her lips, but a gentle hand on her forearm settled her before she got too honest and blew the whole plan. The hand belonged to Fiallete, the younger of the two men, who sat beside her.

“Mr Huskwidth,” Fiallete began. His voice, soft and earnest, drifted from beneath his own waxed moustache. Though not as long as Huskwidth’s, it stood much firmer. “I recognise my proposal as unorthodox. But I truly believe Aseroe to be a fine asset to the Company. In fact, maybe even the finest.”

Huskwidth laughed. “If I wanted the place reeking of sulphur.”

Aseroe didn’t smell of sulphur, that was a misconception. But you couldn’t convince people otherwise. If it looked like a demon, so too then must it smell of hell. She wouldn’t waste breath correcting him. Instead, she circled one fang with her tongue, lips still pressed together. Doing so kept her from speaking her thoughts out loud.

“No one is suggesting you put her in with the cabin crew,” Fiallete replied. “She’s purely built for down below. Out of the public eye. I respect the Company’s reputation. And its investors most of all. You’re doing great things here; I don’t want to jeopardise any of it.”

If Huskwidth couldn’t smell the smoke blowing up his arse, surely he’d feel it. But that was Fiallete’s strength; candour. He had a way of keeping anyone’s attention and respect, even when he was walking his compliments right up to the point of parody.

Huskwidth leant forward in his chair, his heated breath steaming the edge of his glasses. “So you say, but you didn’t enter the Company’s compound through the back door. You chose to walk right through the front gate. With the company’s integrity stitched on your sleeve.”

He gestured to the company’s logo on Fiallete’s suit jacket. A stylised cog ornamented with curly lettering sat on the upper arm of each sleeve; Wooldridge & Co. Est. 1818. Or to those more familiar, which was damn near everyone on the east coast, just saying ‘The Company’ was enough.

“I put a hat on her head, didn’t I?” Fiallete said.

“A leather top hat,” Huskwidth replied, disapprovingly.

Fiallete twitched, just briefly. “Only to match her cape. Mis-attiring her would have only garnered more attention.”

“Both of which it is still wearing,” Huskwidth huffed. “Doesn’t it have any manner of etiquette at all?”

Fiallete’s top hat, silk with a ribbon trim and flat crown, sat in his lap; a sign of respect and courtesy. One always removed one’s hat when indoors. Aseroe’s hat, conversely, remained squarely in line with her eyebrows, covering her horns. Given the choice, Aseroe would rather use the hat to carry water or store berries.

“Would you rather see what’s underneath?” Aseroe said plainly through her teeth.

Her voice, not loud in any way, had a quiet rasp to it, like the sound of bullrushes caught in a breeze. It sent a visible discomfort up Huskwidth’s spine. He shivered at the sound of it, and at once his pompous demeanour dropped, if only briefly. It seemed that by speaking, she’d reminded him she wasn’t some thoughtless creature dragged out its forest hovel.

Fiallete held out a calming hand. “Look, Mr Huskwidth, how many crew have you lost overboard in the trial runs of The Dauntless?”

“None. The Company has ensured all safety measures are held. Officially—”

“Unofficially,” Fiallete said, lowering his voice. “There’s been five. Now, no one is blaming the Company. I’m entirely sure all pay-outs to the grieving families are sorted and squared away. But Mr Huskwidth, consider the optics moving forward. The Dauntless makes its first commercial flight in two weeks. And, regardless of the stringent safety standards set by the Company, it’ll only take one afternoonified worker with a skinful of slosh to ruin it. They don’t bother to tie down their harness while making a repair and they take a long drop. And if someone comes across 180 pounds of raspberry jam wrapped up in The Company’s uniform and logo splattered along the road between here and Luton, the whole floating dirigible enterprise will be sunk.”

Huskwidth shifted uncomfortably in his chair and a smile crept across Aseroe’s lips. Threats to life didn’t matter to Company men, only appearances. And money. Now, Huskwidth was stuck in the unenviable position of gambling the Company’s standing on a bunch of drunken repair crew or finally indulging Fiallete’s alternative solution.

“You think yours is a better option?” Huskwidth grimaced.

“I do.”

“In what capacity?”

“Well, sir. In order to answer, I’m afraid I need to admit to a little white lie.”

Fiallete leant back in his chair, exchanging a look with Aseroe. She nodded; it was time to show their trump card. She stood up and took a few steps backwards, to ensure Fiallete wouldn’t get caught in the reveal.

“Lie?” Huskwidth asked. “What lie?”

“Strictly speaking, Aseroe isn’t wearing a cape.”

On cue, Aseroe shook her shoulders and a leathery snap cut through the room. Shadows spread across Huskwidth’s desk, face, darkening his glasses enough for them to act like mirrors. Aseroe could see herself in them. She could see her unfurled, outstretched wings. They spanned nearly the entire room, blocking out all the lantern lights. She sighed with comfortable relief, it felt good to stretch.

Huskwidth stammered something of a reply, though no words made it past his surprise.

“No raspberry jam with this one,” Fiallete said. “No unpleasant accidents. And no need to waste money on damage control. Best of all, she’ll work for food and board. We both will, if you let us crew The Dauntless. Best deal you’ll find. I guarantee.”

“That right?” Huskwidth asked warily.

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll have to … run it by the board,” he said. “Before I can say yes or no to it.”

“Of course,” Fiallete said, standing up and donning his hat. “You know where to find me. Us. I’ll look forward to the good news.”

Fiallete extended his hand and shook Huskwidth’s. Aseroe extended hers as well, quietly appreciating the discomfort Huskwidth broadcast in accepting it. “A pleasure,” she said, baring her fangs with a wide smile. “I can’t wait to see your wonderful airship.”

She wasn’t lying, she never lied. She was genuinely excited to board The Dauntless. It would make crashing the thing so much easier from the inside than the outside.