Young Writers Society

The first thing Folie felt when she slipped through the hatch was the cold. It bit at her senses like rabid dogs, and honestly, she wasn’t sure her stolen goods were worth the whole freezing-her-butt off part. Nonetheless, she’d come this far. Having a few officers on her tail was nothing compared to the time she almost had her neck broken by an angry vendor.

She slammed the hatch shut and kneeled down, the metal burning with cold as she spun the closure.

A slight cackle arose from beside the ship. Folie spared a moment to peek over the edge before speeding towards another hatch. Were those sky-dolphins? They must have been close to a high peak. What had the captain announced that morning? All Folie remembered was that they were in the southeastern quadrant.

She looked behind to see officers spilling from the hatch she’d just used. Nope, she’d have to get to the next one before descending back into the ship. Her feet were almost out of heat by the time she reached the next one, and she leaned over to open it, her hands numb from the cold. Good thing her bag was secured to her belt.

With a squeal, the hatch opened, blasting her with warmth from the boilers. That was good; her hiding place was nearby.

She peered over the edge to make sure there weren’t any police down that corridor before climbing down and closing the hatch above her.

The corridor wasn’t a familiar one, but she’d never bothered to explore the ship to its fullest. Bad idea, really, given her occupation. But it wasn’t too long before she reached the same tight hallway she used to get to her hiding spot. It was the smallest place she’d found, so tight a squeeze that no who even got remotely close to well-fed could fit through.

With a slight grunt, she pulled herself through what probably used to be a duct and dropped into her little ‘home’. It wasn’t big, hardly enough space to fit herself, a small bundle of clothes, and the abandoned mops that cluttered the doorway. But it was comfy enough for her, and Folie settled into a corner to nibble on the cheese she’d managed to get her hands on.

When she’d finished, she stood, wary of her head hitting the ceiling, and let her white hair down. Even malnourished, her hair was shiny enough that a good finger-combing and over-sized coat would let her disguise herself as normal. Everyone here looked like her, with their cream-colored hair and chocolatey skin. Years of interracial marriage, she’d learned. But that was forever ago, when she still bothered to listen to the trivia the captain always mentioned during reports.

She shoved her coat into the opening duct before following after it. The fit was tighter with her coat, but soon enough she was out, standing in the corridor and donning the jacket. It was a nice one that she’d taken fairly recently from a rack with about twenty others that looked kind of like it. Red with pretty faux ivory fasteners, and from the texture, it was wool, not something cheap like linen. Folie thought herself very skilled for being able to steal something so fancy.

She walked confidently down the hallway, pulling on her gloves -cheap knit ones- and readying herself. The coat was too bulky for stealing outright goods, but she was still nimble enough to pickpocket. She quietly joined a crowd headed for the market, feeling the hum of the engines under her feet. They weren’t as noticeable at the edges, but in the middle of the airship, engine vibration was very, very obvious.

Snatches of conversation met Folie’s ears, catching her attention if it was about their most-produced items. She spotted a middle-aged man with broad pockets and hands gripping the full bags of whatever he’d bought. Deft as the wind, she flitted past him, even feeling daring enough to give the man an innocent smile after fingering his wallet and slipping it into her own pockets.

The man stared at her for a moment before dropping his bags. Drat, had she been too obvious? He felt himself all around, stopping the crowd. Folie tried to slip past, but people began whispering, glancing around for signs of a thief. Folie joined in, assuming the air of a schoolgirl. It was a Saturday, afterall. She searched the faces of everyone around her for a guilty-looking suspect, but a nearby policeman spotted her first.

“You!” he shouted, pointing and holding his hat. Collectively, the crowd turned to glare accusingly at Folie. They gathered in towards her, trying to catch her for the police. She slipped off her coat, reluctant, but aware that it was hindering her escape efforts. Wallet left behind, Folie dodged through grabbing hands and angry folks as she beelined for a hatch. There was one nearby, if she could just find it.

The tall building in the center square had a ladder up one side, leading into the metal ceiling of the market. She pushed through ahead of the crowds to reach it. When she did, she was quick to clamber up and drag herself into the main hallway of the second level. She tiptoed here, heading for a door to the outside and trying to avoid the largest passageway. That one led to the bridge.

She found a door and cranked it open before braving the cold yet again.

She looked down. Officers were already swarming the decks. They spotted her and a clamor of yelling arose. Folie gulped and turned back to face the door. More were already coming through the hallway after her. She’d underestimated an officer’s ability to part the crowd.

A soft cackling came from beneath the ship. Sky-dolphins. There was hard ground nearby. From the bottom of the ship, the drop could only be so far. From the wind, Folie deduced that they were traveling upwards, scaling the fog-covered slope. She weighed the outcomes: if they caught her, she’d be sentenced to death. If she jumped, there was the chance she’d survive. And if she survived, she might make it to Salvation Peak.

She lifted a leg over the fence of the deck and dropped to the lower one. A dozen officers pounced on her, but limber as she was, she slipped free and hurled herself over the edge, the fog obscuring her landing place.

***

The first thing Folie noticed about her new surroundings was the cold. It was just as cold on the ground as it had been on the ship. Her clothes were damp from the fog and clouds, and surprisingly enough, the ground was actually soft. With the small amount of light that reached through the fog, she could see white fuzz surrounding her. She reached out to touch it and found that it felt much like the silk that ladies used for their scarves.

Unsteady on her feet, she rose and squinted to see how far this silk ground extended. But she saw no further than a few feet in front of her and so decided to just walk in the direction she was already facing. After slowly forcing her way through the field, she reached a small cave. She’d heard of such structures, but never actually seen one before. Cautiously, she walked in and the walls set themselves alight with bright blues and yellows, stunning her with their beauty. Mushrooms like the ones farmers grew on the ship poked out from cracks, and the lights were actually a sort of plant that grew on the walls. Folie found it unsettling, but amazing all at the same time.

She decided that when she reached Salvation Peak and was welcomed back onto the ship, she’d have a literate person write an account of her adventures, or she’d learn to read and write and try writing it herself.

Folie continued further into the cave, the plants lighting up as she passed. There wasn’t much distance left before she reached a rather strange formation. It was a cropping of rock that didn’t have any of the glowing plants. Compared to the soft magnificence of the silk field and glow-plants, it was barren and jagged. She turned to leave, but something shiny caught her eye. Metal. She crept closer to the rocks, feeling like the cave was begging her not to go towards it.

But Folie stayed her course. The plants began to dim, and Folie waved her arms to get them going again. The metal was a huge piece, far larger than she had expected. The cave itself was gigantic, and stuck sideways in the ground was a rusted old airship.