Andrew Cromwell sat at the edge of Forrester Pier at the Wolfstack Docks, legs dangling perilously off the edge over the bleak, green, glassy waters below. He sat in his blue long-coat and bowler hat – never without his hat – eating his lunch, always a zee-tuna sandwich and a sizeable apple. Beside him sat his bag and a second lunch, wrapped in cloth. His beloved lunch.
Every day he came down to the docks and waited for his sweet Deryn's ship, that feisty little steamer the Dauntless, which personified its captain so much. He would cradle a small, silver, heart-shaped locket in his hands and open it to admire the little portrait of his beloved inside – her cocky smile and brilliant, big cornflower blue eyes, somewhat obscured by a shaggy mess of honey gold hair.
The Dauntless was due back in London on the 8th of April. That's what Deryn had told him; the Harbourmaster insisted that seamanship was by no means an exact science, and that the lass had simply gotten sidetracked somewhere, or forced to take a detour like she was known to do. It was the 15th of May now, and still no word from Deryn. Andrew wouldn't have worried so much if his beloved hadn't had the habit of sending his messages by zee-bat almost every port she visited, which ensured that he was constantly receiving mail from her almost every week. Last he had heard, on a letter received on the 20th of March, she was at Gaider's Mourn, gambling with corsairs and (although this was obviously not mentioned in the letter) collecting information in exchange for a hefty payment from the Admiralty. Obviously, there was a lot that could go wrong for a young, attractive female spy in the midst of a lion's den of nasty brutes with no morals to speak of.
His family and friends had spoken to him for the first month with concern and grief, sharing their condolences for his loss – because, of course, that was the only possibility in their minds: the Unterzee had claimed Deryn McAlister like so many zee-captains before her. By April, however, they were much less sympathetic. He should move on, they told him; he could do much better than a filthy zee-captain who refused to don more than three layers of clothing at a time. Andrew heard the whispers of his colleagues at the Ministry of Infrastructure; rumor had it that his visits to the docks had somehow cost him a promotion.
The man would keep coming to the docks, though, until he was certain that Deryn was dead.
Just as Andrew was preparing to leave for the day, he felt it. A change in the air, in his heart. Through the afternoon fog, he spotted it. A little steamer trudging through into Fallen London Harbor, the word "DAUNTLESS" scrawled in chipped white paint along the side of the hull. Andrew's face erupted in an enormous grin as he dropped his bag, unable to truly believe that this was happening. He took off at a sprint, rushing to the Dauntless's usual dock, waving his arms like a lunatic.
A long, drawn out blast of the Dauntless's horn echoed throughout the harbor and shook the air. Just like always – three blasts of the horn to announce to all of London that Deryn McAlister was back in town!
Suddenly, a fourth bellowing call, and a fifth. Andrew lowered his arms gazing upon the ship in confusion as it veered suddenly to the starboard side with such speed that it almost capsized. He saw the large gun on its deck swivel around and without warning, launch a shell towards the lighthouse standing at the entrance to the harbor, missing and instead hitting the cliff below. The Dauntless turned again, heading towards Andrew and the docks, firing off another blast from its gun, this time missing entirely as the shell plunged into the zee.
"What in God's name?" Andrew exclaimed out loud in disbelief as the ship continued on its course, barreling straight towards him.
He fled from his place on the wharf, bolting up steps to the cliffs above and watching in horror as the Dauntless ploughed straight into the piers, splintering wood and obliterating that section of the docks. The vessel stopped just short of hitting the rocks, easing to a halt and letting out one last droning bellow of its horn that lasted several minutes before finally subsiding. Andrew stared down at the ship in terror.
Now that he saw the Dauntless closer, he saw that it was in terrible condition, with countless dents and gashes in its haul; the decks were filthy, splattered in many places with various substances he couldn't begin to name, and beneath was stained an unearthly black color; A leviathan golden crab was snagged on a rope flailing along the side of the ship, long dead.
Andrew rushed back down to the pier. Already, three Royal Navy frigates were moving to block the Dauntless should it try to escape, training dozens of guns on it at once; soldiers of the Admiralty were flooding the docks brandishing rifles and sabers. As he approached the ship, the gangplank was lowered and several men stumbled off; instead of running, or even greeting Andrew, they ambled around mindlessly, hands over their eyes. Andrew ascended onto the ship as another man literally jumped over the side. The entire ship smelt…wrong. Burnt.
He approached the wheelhouse, which provided the only source of noise he could hear beside the lapping of waves and the shouting of approaching soldiers. Entering, he saw immediately across from him a young man standing leaning against the wall, looking morosely at the floor; Ethan, the usually energetic and irrepressible engineer. Beside him, another man – the navigator, Samuel – sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, babbling frantically.
"The sun, the sun, the sun…"
At the back of the pilothouse, the ship surgeon, an elderly, one-eyed fellow named James, was crouched beside another person, looking on with clear concern.
What was this? What was happening? He knew these men – they were his friends, even.
"Where is Deryn?" Andrew demanded, looking between the three men. His eyes fell to the blonde figure next to James.
The woman's frame was wracked with sobs as she rocked back and forth against the wall. James rubbed her back and seemed to be slowly inching his hand towards her arms, where she held something tightly to her chest. Deryn whispered the same words as Samuel: "The sun…the sun…the sun…the sun…the sun..."
Andrew approached his beloved slowly, hesitantly. "Deryn? Sweetie?"
James looked over at him with wide, worried eyes, slowly shaking his head, motioning discretely at the object in Deryn's arms. A gun, maybe? A grenade?
Boots thundered up the gangplank and onto the deck, storming he pilothouse with weapons raised. Ethan threw up his hands and allowed himself to be removed from the ship without a word; Samuel was dragged away, still in a trance. Two men placed their hands firmly on both of Andrew's arms, but stopped short of taking him away at the sight of Deryn and a look from James.
A sound came from Deryn's arms – a whining, a squealing, which erupted into the wailing of an infant. Deryn raised her head slightly, looking around at the bewildered men gathered on her bridge, on her ship, with wild blue eyes. She shook her head, eyes welling up with tears as she hugged the child closer to her chest.
"The sun…the sun…the sun…"
"Madame Captain…" James said gingerly. "Please, you're going to hurt her."
"The Sun….the West…what was it…" she continued to babble. The captain suddenly whipped her head around to look at the doctor. "What did we see, James?" she asked quietly, her voice icy and dripping with terror. "What did we see?!" The woman struck the floor with both feet in her sudden outburst, causing the infant to wail even louder. "What did we see what did we see what did we zee what did we zee…"
Men began to part in the assembled crowd; the soldiers holding Andrew pulled him to the side and saluted. A tall, bald, dark-skinned man in a suit, wearing a pair of dark spectacles, entered the pilothouse and looked around. 'My God,' Andrew thought, upon recognizing who it was. The Admiral looked around, his expression absolutely severe. Upon seeing Deryn, though, that expression softened considerably after a moment. He walked to the back of the room so that he was standing directly in front of the zee-captain.
"Madame McAlister." He said over the crying babe's screams, addressing her as if all was well.
"A-ad-adm-m-iral…" Deryn said slowly between sobs. She stopped suddenly and giggled, a high and demented sound. "You're so smart, you'll know...you see so much behind those silly glasses…" She looked up at him and tilted her head to the side. "What did we see in the West?"
The Admiral was speechless for a moment, eyebrows raised. Deryn seemed to gaze right through his spectacles and into his unseen eyes. He looked to the side, at Andrew. "I can't answer you here, McAlister," He began tentatively. "But perhaps we can discuss it at dinner. Your…suitor here can join us."
"Wouldn't that be lovely, Madame?" James said. "A nice dinner with the Admiral and Andrew – you'll get some good food in your belly and answers in your head."
Deryn looked warily between James and the Admiral.
"Come now, De-de." Andrew said reassuringly, using his pet-name for her and trying to give her a smile despite the situation. "You've had a long voyage; I've missed you. Let's take the Admiral up on his offer."
"I can even watch the little lass for you." James offered, holding open his arms to receive the child, displaying a sincere smile.
Deryn looked down at the child for a long while, apparently weighing her options, before relinquishing it to James, who took a few steps back immediately as a dart whistled through the air and lodged itself in Deryn's chest. Within seconds, her outraged, dangerous eyes closed as she blacked out from the tranquilizer. As soldiers put restraints on her and carried her away, Andrew looked to James and the infant.
"Who…whose child is it?" he asked as the men released him on the Admiral's command.
James smiled wearily. "Why, Andrew my boy, it's yours!"