I shook my head in wonder at my brother’s retreating back and turned towards the Swift. Our conversation was far from over, but I knew better than to push before Richard was ready to continue. I put the exchange out of my mind as I walked up the gangplank, focusing on the prospect of sailing away with only the people I wanted on board my Ship.

Marjory was coming along, of course. Even if she wasn’t a permanent part of the crew, the people of Whitehall thought she was the brains behind the so-called dwarven flying ships. Mable was also still on board. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her about her position on the Swift yet, but she’d shown no interest in disembarking on the flying island, and seemed to be settling down into a combination cook and purser.

The last, and latest, addition to the Ship’s crew was Doreen. I had even less of an opportunity to discuss things with her than I had with Mable, but she was clearly unwelcome by the warped townspeople, and I certainly wasn’t going to strand her.

I planned to talk to both Mable and Doreen on the way to Whitecliff. If they stayed on board, we’d need to be clear on their responsibilities and pay, preferably before we got into another old-world ruin. And if one or both of them decided to leave, Whitecliff was probably the last bastion of civilization I could leave them in for the foreseeable future.

First, however, I wanted to get the Swift a full complement of Deckhands. I had two crew stations that required rank II Shapes, the arbalest and the wheel, and needed two Deckhands for each of the Swift’s masts to get the Ship to sail at its maximum speed.

It took about fifteen minutes for the skeleton crew to unfurl the sails and set the Swift to sail, and I aimed her bow in the direction of Whitecliff and called up the Sailor to take the wheel. With only the three Deckhands, or less, since I’d need to Unshape at least one of them before I could Shape new ones, left on the masts, the Ship would respond extremely sluggishly to changes in either her own or the wind’s direction, but I didn’t want to delay more than absolutely necessary.

An hour later I finally had a full crew for the Swift, and left my cabin to look for my living crew members. It would take about half a day of sailing to reach Whitecliff, and I wanted to make sure that everyone on the Ship was truly on board.

A glimpse of the sun shining over blue scales from the port bow informed me that Doreen was overboard practicing her flying. She’d gotten a lot better at it since we’d rescued her from the warping chamber beneath the old-world ruin. She still needed a serious drop off to get in the air, but she’d gotten strong enough to gain altitude once she was in the air, and I knew she’d stay out until she got tired, which would take a couple of hours at her current levels of stamina.

Marjory was on the forecastle deck, standing behind the mounted version of her steam cannon and watching out for enemies I was almost entirely sure she wouldn’t find. I desperately wanted some alone time with my dwarven lover, but it would have to wait until we had some down time. Maybe once we reached the city we’d be able to get a room at the Rickety Rukh and have another go at what my denseness stopped on our previous visit.

I could feel the Swift accelerate as I walked towards the bow. The new Deckhands were hard at work on the sails, optimizing their angle to make the most out of the wind. I estimated that we would reach Whitecliff in time for dinner, and as much as I appreciated Mable’s cooking skills, I had to admit I was eager for a meal that wasn’t prepared from dried and preserved provisions. And maybe some ale that wasn’t brewed in a dwarf’s basement using a makeshift distillery.

The interior of the Swift’s forecastle had been completely rearranged in the short time since our passengers had disembarked. I’d taken a quick look at it after the Ship finished ranking up, and it was set as a very single barracks-style room, with enough bunk beds filling the space for about half the townspeople, and a ladder leading down into a sectioned off part of the hold, where another identical room was waiting for the other half.

In the short time since we reached the island, the forecastle had changed into a small mess room, with a table large enough to sit four people comfortably. Large windows let in light and clean air, and a small cupboard at the far end turned out to be a dumbwaiter, leading down into what had to be the galley. The only remnant of the room’s previous configuration was a ladder leading to the lower deck.

The galley was indeed located under the mess, and took up more or less the same amount of space. The port side of the room was filled with cupboards meant for cooking and eating utensils, and on the starboard side was a working surface complete with sink. There was also a door in the aft side of the cabin, presumably leading into a part of the hold meant for provisions.

All of which I had a mere couple of seconds to see before I was tackled by a very enthusiastic Mable.