– – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 3rd day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Since I came aboard this ship, it’s not as though I haven’t thought about how to get out of my predicament. Oh, I’ve thought about it plenty! Yet every plan I’ve begun to hatch has died on the starting line in the face of one simple truth: not only do I have no idea how to get home, I know next to nothing about Tersain itself, so leaving the Epos for… well, anywhere else would be a mad leap into the void. Even if I did have a way to escape, I don’t know enough to navigate the unknown waiting for me out there, so surviving would be very difficult.

  Yeah… I can’t rule out that, for the time being, this prison is exactly where I’m best off staying.

  I don’t like it, but my one, real option is first of all to keep a low profile. With so little room to manoeuvre, I’m better off concentrating on analysing the environment and absorbing as much information as possible. I need to know where I am and how this world works, certainly… but more than that, I must understand whom I’m dealing with: figure out who my gaolers are, what motivates them, what they’re afraid of… and what I can do to talk to them.

  It’s not just about Dawn. Swept along by the flow of events, the abnormal flood of stimuli I received confused me a little, paralysing me. But after hours of reflection, I’ve decided that the most important thing is to resolve the misunderstanding at the centre of which I stand.

  I have to make the people who locked me up realise I’m neither a threat nor a danger. After all, I know perfectly well that from their perspective I’m a stranger who is quite probably an enemy ad well… and a cause of suffering, given Cyrus Sanders’ fate. It’s normal for them to treat me accordingly, yet from the hostility I can sense I also catch something else… a “whiff” of emotions not negative at all, enough to convince me that talking to them is possible. Though my instinct is to label them the bad guys, they really aren’t. If anything, they’re on guard at least as much as I am.

  Opening a dialogue, trying to make them grasp my sincerity, or finding a way to persuade them with logic… they’re all valid options. But to use them I must create opportunities and keep tempers as calm as I can while I search for the cracks through which to get my message through.

  Humouring my gaolers is the safest choice for that. Even when eccentric sorts turn up, like the “philosopher” nicknamed Archeos, who is now staring at me from the prison corridor.

  Following the man’s instructions, Jim now takes the keys and snaps open the lock on my cell. Without hesitation, Aimond Lacelet throws the bars wide.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” he says. “Will you come with me?”

  “Mm…” I agree.

  Another interrogation?

  I step out of the cell and stare at the kid.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Aren’t you supposed to…?”

  I mime tying something over my eyes.

  “Blindfold you?” Archeos finishes. “Let’s skip that bit of theatre. The captain said it really doesn’t matter.”

  “The captain?”

  “I had to ask him for permission to get you out of here,” the man explains. “You’re important, in your own way, you know? Come on! Off we go!”

  Giving me a pat on the shoulder, the philosopher heads down the corridor.

  “Don’t ask yourself too many questions,” Jim advises. “I reckon he’ll tell you what he wants later… heck, half the time I don’t understand him.”

  More important than that, do they really trust me with this much freedom? I wonder. True, I don’t exactly look tough… ah, but now that I think about it, Jim’s carrying a weapon. That explains it.

  The kid and I fall in behind Archeos, who leads us to a sort of lift. The clanking contraption carries us a little higher inside the ship. From there we walk along several corridors whose walls are lined with metal doors.

  What a place… it really feels like the inside of an old warship… or a submarine.

  On the plus side, up here the temperature is more tolerable and the air easier to breathe. Surely there must be some kind of heating and pressurisation system in this part of the vessel. Even the background hum is lower, though ever?present.

  Archeos stops at a door identical to all the others and slides a key into the lock. After a series of crisp clicks, the door swings open and he crosses the threshold.

  “His private cabin!?” Jim blurts.

  Puzzled, I step cautiously inside. It isn’t much better than my cell: an even narrower space, with a bunk perhaps more comfortable than mine, a table with a couple of chairs, some shelves crammed with odds and ends, and a small cupboard bolted to the wall. Naturally, almost everything here is metal too, but at least there’s a plain rug covering the floor.

  “Sit yourself down,” Archeos invites, settling onto a chair. “Jim, if you like you can perch on the bunk.”

  “I think I’ll stand,” the boy replies, closing the door behind him.

  “As you wish. Ethan?”

  I sit down with the man.

  This is a really odd interrogation… is he being friendly just to loosen my tongue?

  “I imagine you think this is an interrogation… no, it isn’t,” the philosopher declares, as though reading my mind. “Still, you may have aroused my interest. Jim tells me you spoke to him about a smokeless gunpowder… listing these ingredients.”

  He hands me a piece of paper. I try to read it, but the characters are quite different from mine and I can’t recognise every letter. What little I do understand tells me it contains the substances I listed to Jim.

  “That’s right,” I confirm.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Good, Ethan… so what is nitrocellulose?”

  “A… derivative obtained by nitrating cellulose… basically, the product of the reaction between a particular plant material and a certain acid.”

  “So that’s what you meant… but tell me—why do you use such odd names for the substances? Are you a foreigner?”

  “More or less.”

  “Well, coming from a world other than Tersain certainly makes one a foreigner.”

  First Jim, now him… should I assume the whole ship knows what I’ve claimed to be?

  “Thanks for the irony,” I remark.

  “I’m not being ironic… though I don’t believe you, mind. For now, however, we’ll suspend judgement on that matter. Tell me, Ethan… have you studied natural philosophy?”

  “At this point I have to ask… what is natural philosophy? You don’t seem like the kind of philosopher I’m familiar with.”

  “I’m a little atypical, but I meet all the main criteria,” Archeos says. “So you don’t know what I mean. I don’t know what they call them in your country, but it’s someone who studies nature… one who gathers knowledge about creation.”

  “A… scientist?”

  “I don’t know what that term denotes.”

  It’s like dealing with people from ancient Greece: back then philosophers were basically scientists. After all, philosophy means love of wisdom. Come to think of it, the alphabet they use here looks Greek… and many of their words too. What if…?

  “Tell me… does the word Greece mean anything to you?”

  “Ah… the ancient cradle of culture,” Archeos replies solemnly. “Of course it does. It’s the place from which much modern knowledge spread after the Mastodonic Sundering.”

  Bingo! I’ve found a point of contact with my world! So I have to assume that Tersain once had a geography similar to Earth’s before becoming what it is now.

  “Anyway, you haven’t answered my question,” Archeos points out.

  “You’re right… let’s say yes, I’ve studied some disciplines that I believe fall within what you call natural philosophy.”

  “Disciplines? Which ones?”

  “Chemistry, biology, genetics…”

  I break off: it’s clear from my interlocutor’s expression that those words are hard for him to interpret.

  “Let’s try to frame the conversation without using specific nomenclature,” the philosopher decides. “Ethan… tomorrow I’ll take you round the ship. I want to see what you get up to. Is that all right?”

  I’m not sure what he wants, but it can’t hurt me… at least I’ll be out of the cell.

  “Okay,” I nod.

  “Then we’d better get you back to your ‘room’,” Archeos concludes, standing up. “Come on, let’s move.”

  He brought me all the way here and we’re leaving already?

  ???

  “What exactly are you trying to achieve?”

  Jim has just shut Ethan back in the cell, then sets off after Archeos as the latter walks away.

  “In what sense?” the man asks. “Oh, I can imagine. You see, that boy seems to know philosophy—though in a form different from what is taught in Maltia. I’d like to understand what sort of things he knows.”

  “But he’s a suspected spy! Is it safe to do this?” Jim bursts out.

  “Look at him! Does he strike you as a spy?”

  “No, but…”

  “Relax—the captain’s given me the green light. He’ll gain something useful from all this as well. Now… seeing as we’re dealing with a suspected spy, you’d better not leave your guard post.”

  With a wink, the philosopher leaves the boy behind.

  “Blimey,” Jim mutters.

  I really don’t get him when he’s like that.

  – – – – – – – – – –

  Epos (Maltia)

  ?? ?? ????

  Ethan’s 4th day on Tersain

  – – – – – – – – – –

  The day after his visit, Archeos fetches me out of the cell and takes me to the engine rooms. Sion—the taciturn man who shares guard duty with Jim—follows us. Surely he’s armed as well.

  “Why are we here?” I eventually ask.

  Made up of several long chambers joined end?to?end to form a kind of corridor, the engine rooms are deafening places: they’re most likely the source of many of the noises that disturb my sleep. The section we’re in sits even lower than the cells. It’s unbelievably hot, and the air is even harder to breathe than in the prisons.

  ?I want you to make me understand what you know,? Archeos explains.

  He points at a huge piston shuttling up and down—one of many in the chaotic passageway we’ve entered. Scores of people are working on the machinery, shovelling what looks like coal into boilers. Jets of steam hiss from beneath the pistons, making the air not only scorching but also clammy.

  “That,” the philosopher says. “What is it?”

  “A piston?”

  “No good… we need to avoid technical terms or we’ll drive ourselves mad trying to understand each other. Let’s change the question: how does it move?”

  I examine the assembly at the base of the piston. It doesn’t take long to grasp how it works.

  “Not that I know the mechanism… but at a glance I’d say it’s steam?driven.”

  “Go on. Give me the details.”

  “The boilers fuelled with coal heat water, which evaporates, creating steam under pressure. This drives the pistons… which in turn move I-don’t-know-what.”

  “They drive one of the propellers beneath the Epos,” Archeos clarifies. “Why?”

  “Well… I’d assume… to keep the airship stable.”

  “Exactly.”

  Don’t tell me this vessel runs solely on coal! I understand there’s no gravity, but coal is far too weak an energy source for aeronautics.

  “You look doubtful,” the philosopher notes.

  “It’s just… I was thinking… wouldn’t it be easier to use hydrocarbons for all this?”

  “Mind the terminology.”

  “All right—flammable gases, and the black combustible liquid that seeps from the ground. Do you have those?”

  “Black liquid… the stuff for lamps, I suppose. Sure, it’s great for lighting, but we’re so skilled at burning coal that it’s more efficient to use that when we need a lot of power.”

  What!? They burn it so efficiently that… but that’s the opposite of what I know! They use coal to power airships? No way… that’s like trying to fly a passenger jet on coal!

  “After all, we’ve been using it this way for a very long time, and we’re highly skilled at using it,” Archeos insists.

  Even with my limited knowledge of the subject, I know enough to see how absurd this is.

  I can only think of one thing…

  “A very long time… how long?” I ask.

  “Mmh… the first large?scale use to power engines goes back about a thousand years or so.”

  Far longer than on Earth… apparently, on Tersain, coal technology has progressed to the point where it’s as effective as the modern fuels I know. Yet there are likely other technologies they know little about—or haven’t developed at all.

  Then I realise.

  “Perhaps I can prove to you that I’m not from this world,” I say.

  “I’m all ears,” Archeos replies.

  “Tersain and Earth have developed unevenly in terms of technology… I don’t know if, overall, one of the two is more advanced than the other, but individual technologies have certainly reached different stages of advancement.”

  “And so?”

  “I’ll tell you about technologies from my world that are less developed here. If I show you things you can’t produce with your own knowledge, you’ll have to admit I must have learnt them somewhere very different from this place.”

  “Nothing would please me more—seeing what you know is exactly what I’m after,” the philosopher says. “So how shall we proceed?”

  “Let’s see… I could go by trial and error…”

  I glance up and down the corridor, looking for inspiration. I don’t fancy explaining how to obtain more efficient fuels; I need a simpler topic.

  “I’ll show you the process for making smokeless powder,” I decide. “And then… what’s this ship made of?”

  “Iron—or sidero, I don’t know what you call it.”

  “Iron’s fine. Do you use it as it is, or do you process it in special ways? Do you know metal alloys? And steel?”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “It’s an alloy of iron and carbon—”

  “An alloy of… do you mean iron of fire?!” Archeos exclaims, suddenly amazed.

  “I don’t know… the name means nothing to me.”

  “It’s a metal derived from iron that was produced in antiquity. The technique for making it was lost in the Fragmentation. Is it possible…?”

  “I’m talking about a material far stronger than iron…” I begin to explain.

  “Archeos!”

  Interrupted, I turn to see who spoke. A girl a little shorter than I am has just walked up, cheerfully greeting Aimond Lacelet. She’s wearing a top and shorts smeared with grease or something like it. Her light?brown hair, not particularly long, falls in two quirky tufts at the sides of her cheeks, Light?brown hair is gathered into two quirky tufts that, which—along with her green eyes—sharpen the cunning expression on her freckled face. She looks about my age, maybe a bit younger.

  “Nipria,” says Archeos. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”

  “They had me working the starboard engine rooms,” she replies. “What are you up to down here?”

  She looks me over. Slowly her gaze drops, taking in my whole figure before coming back to my face. I feel embarrassed: not only are my clothes stylistically different from anything I’ve seen on Tersain, but I also haven’t changed them for several days—and a lot has happened in that time.

  “I was chatting with Ethan, this young man,” Archeos explains.

  Young man?

  I’m struggling to get used to some of the expressions they use here.

  “A philosopher?” she asks, still scrutinising me.

  “Something of the sort. Ethan, this is Nipria—an artificer.”

  Smiling, the girl wipes her hand on her shorts and offers it to me.

  “A pleasure,” I say, shaking it.

  The gesture seems to surprise her.

  Why is she staring at me like that?

  ahead of Royal Road?

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  See you in the next chapter!

  Tonkipappero) for her wonderful illustrations!