The gear hung for a moment, suspended between the wires. Threadbare paused, watching the gears next to it slip into place. Watching the wires slowly twist, waiting for the sprockets to slide into the sockets...

TING!

The gear shot off, and buried itself into the deck, and without having to check, Threadbare knew it was now useless, the weak enchantment on it fading from the slightest damage to its physical form.

The good news was that this particular part still had six spares left.

The bad news was that the number of spares had originally been about four times that number.

It had been a good plan, to go harvest spare parts from the dungeon. It had given him a lot of margin for error.

But the fact was that at the end of the day, he was very new to the Tinker job, and these were very complicated engines.

Threadbare had only managed to reconstruct a single engine thus far, and while the process of doing so had gotten him four levels and a new Tinker job skill, it had used up so many parts that he was worried about completing the others that Anne wanted.

The Tinker job skill wasn't any help with this task, either. It helped multiple Tinkers work better together on a major project. But there weren't any other tinkers on the ship, and the rest of the crew were too busy to learn. Not that he had time to montage it, and the engines were too important to risk letting others learn the job the hard way.

A knock at the doorway drew his attention, and Threadbare put down the improvised tools that he'd conjured up, and turned to see Stormanorm III leaning against the empty door frame.

“She sent me back down again,” Stormanorm said, putting his hands behind his back and walking around the engines, looking them up and down. “Wanted to see how things were going. I watched you for a few minutes, I can honestly tell her you're working your hardest.”

“It might not be enough,” Threadbare said, putting down a spanner he'd made from a collection of silverware. “This is very complicated machinery and I just don't have the raw skills to compensate for it.”

“Jean told us you were a Steam Knight at one point. Said that class required Tinker. Was she lying to us? Wouldn't be the first time...” The veiled beastkin shot an irritated look up and to the south, to where Jean's prison sat on the deck above the engine room.

“No, no, I'm a Tinker,” Threadbare said. “Though Steam Knight got traded back into the guild a while ago, I kept Tinker. But the armor was nowhere as advanced as these engines are. And there's not a drop of steam in them.”

The stretched truth slid past, and Stormanorm didn't seem to find anything suspicious in his statement. Lying was hard for Threadbare, and he wasn't exactly comfortable with it, but it beat the alternatives.

To cover his unease, he asked “Did you know Plumbarista well?”

“Who?” Stormanorm's brows furrowed, just visible below the top of his hood. “Ah, the one who died in the dungeon. No, not really. I think she was one of Mom's, from a few years ago. Never really stood out. Not really suited for this life, to be honest. She came out of the warren in... Spring? Yeah, this last Spring. I'm a little surprised she lasted this long.”

“She seemed nice,” Threadbare said, remembering the way the purple bandanna had burned. “So she came from a warren?”

“Mom takes late fall and winter off to visit her warrens, typically. She spends most of the off-season getting pregnant and having babies. It's also her time to touch base and spend time with her husbands and consorts and whatever new conquests she's seized over the last year or so. And check in on how her children from last year have grown.”

“She doesn't tend to them herself?”

“What? No, of course not. There's too many, and she's a pirate, not a nursemaid. Her lovers and the warren servants raise them, train them, teach them everything they need to know to survive.”

“That seems sad,” Threadbare said, pulling out another one of the wire-threaded gears, and lining up another try. “She has so many children, but she doesn't get to play with them, or spend much time getting to know them.”

“They get the finest nursemaids, and the best education their fathers can give them,” Stormanorm said, turning to look Threadbare over. “Some of the nannies in the warrens are retired crew, too. They make sure the kids are fine. And that they know how beautiful and strong and fierce their mother is. And how proud she is of them.”

“And then they grow up and join her crew?” Threadbare was starting to see the shape of things, and it disturbed him.

“Not all of them, no. Only the ones who are really drawn to it. Some warrens have tournaments when there are too many recruits in a year.”

“What happens to the ones who don't make the cut?” Threadbare asked.

“They're free to leave any time they want. But once they get too old they have to start earning their keep if they want to stay around. Some do things around the warrens, others guard them. We always need more guards. Mom has a lot of enemies. The ones that leave...” he sighed. “It doesn't usually end well for them. Mom's got a lot of enemies. And some are starting to find their way to the Keelhauled Council.” he shook his head. “It's not a life I would live, going out in the world without Mom at my back. Fortunately I didn't have to go through any tournaments. I was lucky enough to be male.”

Threadbare weighed the pros and cons of asking for clarification on this. Breathing people sometimes got funny where gender was concerned, and he was currently pretending to be Celia, so he really, really didn't want to appear naive.

Luckily for him, some of his confusion must have appeared on his face, because Stormanorm explained a bit further.

“So. Beastkin have it rough in most places where humans rule. Bunny Beastkin have it rougher than most. We're usually poorer than most, due to so many mouths to feed, and the way we have babies. Which is lots and often. Add to that the fact most of us are old by twenty, and how hard it is to earn enough money to take care of your family in the long-term by then in legal ways... well, living 'civilized' isn't a good fit for us, unless we make serious concessions. And modifications to our bodies and lifestyles. Modifications which cost money...”

“I can see how this would be a problem,” Threadbare said, taking the spanner and the tweezers and carefully, oh so carefully easing the gear into position. In a second he'd start it up, and hope that this one worked.

“Oh, it gets worse. See, we breed true. It's a racial skill. Almost every child with rabbit beastkin parent is born a rabbit beastkin. There are no half-breeds, and ninety-nine out of a hundred it's a bun.”

“I'm not sure how that's worse.”

“You're not sure. Humans are. Especially human nobles. And this causes very big problems when it comes to heirs, and titles, and bastards. A lot of humans find our kind sexy, and the nobility are no exception, so this used to cause all sorts of wars and disagreements and assassinations both quiet and loud.”

“That sounds awful!”

“It is. Which is why most big kingdoms and places where bunnykin are common have a no-rabbits law. If the mother's a rabbit beastkin, then the child can never inherit or hold a title, and will never be recognized by its peers. Doesn't stop love, and lust, but it means that nobles have to be careful about who they marry. So the ones who are drawn to bunny beastkin usually just have a mistress or six on the side.”

Threadbare tilted his head to one side. “You know. The human nobles in our lands were wanting to make laws about marrying golems and doll haunters. Because we're potentially immortal, mostly.”

“Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. Humans are all the same,” Stormanorm said, with a trace of bitterness. “They're decent until they get a taste of power, then they do everyone else dirty to hold onto it, and keep everyone else out of the club. And they band together with other humans the second a non-human tries to get into the good life.” He paused, looking Threadbare up and down, eyes widening. “Uh, no offense, Miss Celia.”

“It's all right. My father has much to answer for, and he was a human noble.” Threadbare paused, considering. “This doesn't explain why it's important that you're male.”

“Several reasons,” Stormanorm said, getting closer and squatting down a bit as he lowered his voice. “One is because we're rare. Very much prized by those lucky enough to marry us, or become otherwise... involved. Two is because we're the only ones who can carry our family names. Three? Three is because all of the laws are old. And they were written before the bastards who shut us out knew that we had males as well. Old laws are hard to change. Even in the face of new crimes.”

“So what you're suggesting is that you're going to marry someone noble and have a lot of babies that count for holding titles and all that sort of noble stuff?”

“Close. Marriage is optional. I've been training as a bard for most of my life. Pretty sure once I get past twenty-five that I'll be able to seduce damn near anyone I need to.” Stormanorm shrugged, and waved a hand. “Not that that's a good way to do stuff with noble titles. Usually leads to wars. But once I get rolling, I figure there are going to be wars anyway. So I'll probably end up marrying someone really powerful and influential, and backing her to get our children to where they need to be.”

“And where is that?” Threadbare asked, starting up the array. The wires twisted, the sprockets eased toward the sockets...

Your Tinkering Skill is now level 22!

...and the gear caught. A full rotation. Two. Then Threadbare nodded, as it chugged along. Then he shut off the drive, and looked at the rest of the engine, at the places that the parts were waiting to be sorted into their assemblages.

“To a place where it works,” Stormanorm said, watching the gears slow and fold into each other, running a hand over the casing. “To a place where we can live with fewer enemies, more prosperity and more choices. The same thing that anyone wants, really.”

“And kidnapping me gets you closer to that place?” Threadbare asked.

“Yes. I'm sorry, but it does,” Stormanorm said, straightening up and turning away. “Oh, for Mom this is just a grand adventure, and a chance to get us more experience and skills. But the payout will help keep the warrens going for another year. Give us wealth we can turn into influence. And make us friends with pirate employers in a place far from our worse enemies.” Stormanorm sighed, and turned his head back to consider Threadbare. “I'm sorry, Lady Cecelia, but it was too good to pass up. Even if I like you and think you're a good person.”

Threadbare looked at the deck as he thought, gathering his thoughts as he gathered up his tools, and the spare parts required for the next assemblage.

“I understand what you're trying to accomplish,” he said. “I think it is a worthy goal. But I don't think your methods are good. At best they'll earn you a lot more enemies, and at worst it will make things even harder for your species.”

“You may be right,” Stormanorm said, sighing. “And perhaps we could make better progress slower, and with more caution. But right here and now I'm a pirate, and all my power comes from piracy and one of the best damn pirate mothers a boy could ask for. And pirates go for the prize, and throw caution to the winds, or they sink and drown.”

“No matter how many like Plumbarista have to die for it?” Threadbare asked, and immediately regretted it. “I'm sorry. That's unfair.”

“No. No it isn't.” Stormanorm said, looking away. “She had her dreams too, even if I didn't know them. And I would have helped her try to bring them to reality, if she'd gotten brave enough to tell me about them. She was crew. And crew helps each other find their dreams. I'm sorry I can't help her do that now.”

And that decided Threadbare. He was a pirate, and very sketchy overall, but he was still a good person, down deep. While Stormanorm looked away, Threadbare walked behind the engine and whispered “Soulstone.”

“What did you say?” Stormanorm asked, ears twitching.

Threadbare walked out from behind the engine. “I asked if you would do me the favor of carrying a Soulstone?”

“Necromancy?” Stormanorm took a step backward.

“Yes. It's a place you can put your soul if you die. Then I could build a golem body for you.”

“Why would I... why would you think I would do that? Or be all right with that?” Stormanorm asked, voice hesitant.

“I don't know if you are. But this would give you a second shot to work on your dream, if the worst happens.”

And as Stormanorm hesitated, Threadbare heard the wind whisper in his ear.

“Threadbare, this is Cagna. You don't know me yet, but I'm with Celia and allies and we're here to rescue you. Sit tight, and be ready for violence.”

“I rather think you should take it,” Threadbare said. “I just have a feeling that it will come in very handy...”