Chapter 2: Eye

As soon as we spot Market City off the bow of the ship, we know we're in for a treat. Market City is one of the few cities in New Britain that holds both Faction shops and citizen stalls all within its expansive stone walls. The city is old, too, one of the oldest in Europe that somehow survived. The Faction didn't even bother to tear it down and build anew atop of it, or, like some of the other cities under Faction control, build a floating city atop it so that people avoided the ground.

Market City is most known for its reputation of mixed company. In other words, it's a well known haven for pirates. Speak to the right person at their booth, and a world of back doors opens up to you. There's a whole black market beneath the stone streets that the Faction doesn't even see. If they're aware of it, they turn their eyes the other way since the black market benefits more than just pirates. Captains like Locke and even the occasional Faction soldier can afford more than just rations down there.

During landing we keep one shoveler down below to stoke the flames and idle the ship. The docks of Market Town, like most port cities, are sturdy and wooden and built high above the streets. The ship pulls side-by-side with the dock and throws down a gangplank, and the crew has the freedom to scurry to the town without worry. The dock master keeps an eye on the floating ships, and in Market City, he's not even a Faction soldier but a regular layman of the town. Tori, the Helichrysum's pilot, parks the ship and joins the rest of the crew on deck while Locke bellows orders. I can barely wait to be released.

Upon every visit to Market City, my duties are as follows: pick up the mail gathered by the letter couriers for our crew, purchase the captain's supply of tobacco, and fulfill any other small duties the captain requires.

The rest of the crew is gone, and I'm still waiting without my orders. Locke is waiting, too, but for what I'm not sure. Then the cabin boy comes stumbling out from the lower decks, coughing into her hand. Locke thought it best to hire a one eyed girl to clean up the cabins and to wash the laundry. Her hands are in soft little gloves and her eye is covered over with a white scrap of fabric.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she says.

Locke smiles at her regardless. She is the only one who brings out a soft side in Locke. I've been on the Helichrysum for almost ten years, but Erin Bradley has been here longer. The girl is just a teenager. I wonder how long she's been with Locke, how old she was when she first came onboard.

"Your eye needs looked at," Locke says.

"Yes, ma'am," Erin says.

"Go with Finn. He'll accompany you to the doctor." Locke passes her a suede bag presumably filled with coins. I certainly don't have the money to pay for her visit.

"You'll see her on her way?" Locke turns to me and asks.

"Of course." I don't even hesitate. Erin smiles at me.

"Then you're free to go." Locke doesn't leave the ship as she usually does. Instead, she returns to her cabin. The case of lightning we gathered just last week has gone aground with the rest of the crew. They'll bargain until they find a good price and then return here with the money. From that, Locke will pay us. Tori, however, has probably gone to find a good opium den.

"So what should we do first?" Erin tucks her arms behind her back. She has a high pitched voice and is in every way Locke's opposite. Her hair is bright blond and her one good eye a bright green. Locke is much more muted with deep gray eyes and dark hair. Erin is short, and Locke is tall. The only similarity they share is that Erin's bad eye corresponds to the long, thin scar that trails down Locke's cheek and splits her profile in half. Even Erin's clothes are bright and frilly. She's like a beam of sunshine that doesn't belong here.

"Well, I need to do my regular chores, so we can finish them before visiting the doctor." My eyes linger on her eye patch. Does she even have an eye back there, or is it just an empty socket? Is she blind or was her eye simply taken away? I don't want to ask. I couldn't bare to see the one good eye in pain at my heartless comments.

There isn't much connection between Erin and I. We've barely spoken to each other despite our being part of the crew for what feels like an eternity. While I lead the way into Market City, taking extra care to walk slowly down the steps that lead from the tall docks to the city's ground, she says nothing, not even to urge me to slow down. Her depth perception is terrible, and I see her eying each step with care before moving her foot. I try to walk even slower.

Market City is large and shaped like a square. Everything is built on a grid, and the tallest and most Faction-controlled buildings are in the middle. I navigate my way to the center of the city and keep an eye out for the postal couriers. For those crews who return to certain cities often enough, the couriers keep the letters in the post station. I've done this job long enough that as soon as I walk into the station, the post master greets me. He's an older man with a bottle brush mustache the same gray as his hair, and he always greets me in German. I don't know German, and I don't know why he thinks I do, but he remembers my name and retrieves my crew's letter bag without a hitch.

"Any for me?" Erin asks, standing on her tip-toes and staring into the small bag as if it contained gifts instead of words. I dig through the bag and look at some of the names. None for Erin, none for me--there are never any for me as no one knows where to find me that would possibly write to me--and only one for Locke, which is also odd since she, too, keeps from contact.

"Nope," I say. She looks disappointed.

"Can I carry the bag?" she asks.

I'm more than happy to oblige that, and I pass the bag to Erin. As we walk to the tobacco shop, she puts the bag's strap over her shoulder. She walks with a little skip. Her shoes clap oddly against the ground whereas my steps are rhythmic.

At the tobacco shop, I haggle with the man behind the counter. He has inflated his prices once again. Unlike the post master, his recognition of me brings trouble. He demands more money of me for the tobacco, and after twenty minutes of arguing, I give in and hand over more coin than I had the last time I purchased Locke's stash.

I'm definitely going to get her to come in here next time. Many mess with the coal boys, but few mess with a captain.

"What now?" Erin asks. She takes the small bag of tobacco and places it in the same sack as the letters.

"Well, that's all I had to do. Now it's just to find the doctor. Do you know which one Locke wanted you to see?" I ask. I'm more than ready to disappear into the bars and crawl out the next morning.

"Yes." For once, Erin slips in front of me and leads. I don't ask where she's going, because I assume she knows. I'm too busy thinking about what I'll buy first--a large beer, some tobacco of my own, perhaps a dip in some hot water for a bath.

Erin leads us back to the edge of the city in an almost abandoned sector. There are few stalls and fewer shops. She stops at the stall of a man selling glass beads and picks up a large white orb with a cloudy center. "This is nice," she says. "Hard to look through."

The man smiles and holds out his hand. Erin passes him the glass ball, and he beckons the two of us to come around to the other side of the stall. Erin obeys quickly, but I pause to look both ways down the street. I'm not about to walk into a trap.

The old man pushes straw away from a trap door on the ground. He tugs at the steel ring and the door slides open. The wooden steps lead downward into a dark room, barely lit by what looks like flickering candles. I recognize the scent as something a natural healer would use. Is this where the doctor resides?

Erin disappears into the hole, and when I hesitate, she pops her head out like a small burrowing animal and waves me down. Finally I descend through the darkness and emerge in a cold, stone walled basement. Sure enough, the scented candles are burning, and once my eyes adjust, I realize that the numerous candles actually make it quite bright down here. A man sits behind a crowded wooden desk filled with golden trinkets. Some of them whir and whiz, some make a popping noise, and one smokes as it chugs around his desk. They were all sorts of odd, abstract shapes.

"Are you the doctor?" I ask.

The man's lips curl into a smile. He is extremely pale, his white skin showing his blue veins around his eyes. His eyes are a strange crystal blue that glow like his candles. He lifts his chin to show me a terrible scar running through his neck.

"He can't speak," Erin informs me. "But he's the doctor I need."

She takes a step towards him and pulls off the eye patch. I had assumed all this time that the doctor would take a look at her good eye, make sure it wasn't going bad like her other, but it was the bad eye that the doctor was interested in. When he pushes back the skin flap that was Erin's eyelid, I want to turn away.

There is no eye there, but it is also not an empty socket. Instead, there is a milky orb like the glass ball Erin had picked up outside. In the midst of the orb where a human's pupil would be are ticking golden gears, revolving as Erin looks around the room.

"Is it broken?" Erin asks.

The doctor shakes his head. He holds up a finger and a small blue spark appears at the end, glowing a bright blue that he then presses to Erin's eye. The energy moves into the orb, and Erin's eye glows until the doctor pulls his finger away. The spark subsides, and Erin blinks both eyes in unison. The doctor smiles. Erin says, "Thank you. Much better."

"What does it do?" I almost stutter.

"What?" Erin asks.

"Your eye--what does it do?"

"It sees."

"Not that one..." I want to laugh at her joke, but I'm too stunned by what I've seen today.

"It is an Aether infused object that connects to the ship," Erin says. The doctor hands her her eye patch, and she attaches it back over her apparatus. "Each ship has memories, saves data... I keep the ship's data here." Her fingers gently brush over the patch.

I nod, though I don't completely understand. The doctor's cold smile says I don't have to and that I never will.

"Thank you," Erin says once more. "I will come again the next time I am in Market City." She hands the man the gold that Locke had given her, and he tucks it into his frilly velvet jacket.

Back on the street, the booth owner pushes hay back over the hidden trap door. Erin nudges me as she walks back to the ship. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"Ye-yeah," I say, though I'm not sure why I'm lying. "What was that energy?" I ask. "How did he fix your eye?"

"While the Faction uses machines to gather Aether from the air for energy, some people can do it without the help of machines," she explains as if it's as natural as why grass turns brown.

"If you want to go into town, I'll take Locke's mail and tobacco back for her. I'll tell her you did a good job today." Erin flashes me a smile as if she's willing to lie on my behalf. Did I do a poor job then?

"Sure. That sounds good," I say. My vocal chords feel as numb as my hands.

I turn to go, waving goodbye over my shoulder to Erin just as she cries, "Finn! Wait!"

"Huh?" As I move to face her, she stuffs a letter in my hand. It was the one addressed to Locke.

"Read it," she says. "Please." She interrupts my excuse with a hand. "Please," she begs again.

She quickly breaks away from our brief contact and rushes towards the ship, the skip back in her step. The mail bag jiggles on her shoulder.

I look at Locke's name on the letter and take in a deep breath. What could it hold?

I tug it open with my thumb and pull out the contents. It's an official letter from the Faction. Why would Locke ever have contact with them? Then I read the actual heading--

Locke, 

As the nearest connection to Finley Sterling, you are hereby informed that Finn's sister, Fiona, has recently passed. Her funeral is to follow within three days. 

Sorry for your loss, 

Miss Moss.

The letter was brief and to the point. The cold tone stabbed me. My sister is dead. Her funeral, according to the date of the letter, was over a month ago. I clutch the letter in my hand, ball it up and then push it to my chest.

All I want is to find a good bar.