LAMPLIGHTER III
That was what was stamped on the Nyx class Zubmersible that emerged from the drydock into the waters of Mutton Island. It was sleek, masterfully crafted, and efficiently designed, but… I couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic already for the hodge-podge and barrel-like design, crafted through trial and error with the aid of some masterfully crafted works of fiction, that had terrorized the Zee for many long years.
The Lamplighter II. Now there was a fine vessel, even if early in its lifespan it was held together more with hopes and dreams than anything else. The first vessel I ever owned… perhaps. Built with my own two hands, and built upon even further. But refinement can only take a ship, or a man, so far. Sooner or later, you have to break things apart and start anew. A new ship, a true advancement in technology from the prototype I had forged.
It was magnificent. Almost as much as the original Lamplighter was.
The Zubmarine I crafted was, as mentioned, the first ship I ever captained. But The Lamplighter was no ship, nor did it come before The Lamplighter II. That ship wasn't always named that. Indeed, it only claimed that name for mere months before its retirement. But then, the original vessel that bore that name lasted for much less time, even if it hardly feels that way. But for most of its career, the Zubmarine was just that: The Zubmarine. First of its kind, as far as I'm aware. And it remained the only of its kind for a long time. There was simply no need to christen it anything else, and so it remained.
Until a chasm in the ceiling appeared, and the great eye cracked open.
When the Starved Men attacked, I was, as ever, the first into the thick of the catastrophe. My own blood, sweat, and tears went into protecting this city that I love from all comers. Stores of supplies and cash were swung open, as is right and proper; supplies saved up for a rainy day, not that any such weather ever comes to this bl_dy hole in the ground. When the Admiralty finally got up off its collective backside and started fighting back, I was there on the front lines. And when we took to the skies, to take the fight to their doorstep… well, it was only right and proper that I be on that frontline as well.
It was there that I met my most stalwart companion. A Sparrow-class airship, a nippy little thing, by airship standards. Khanate in design, suited to those who like to live dangerously, I was told. It was perfect. The finest in its class. We must have scouted half the d_n roof together. And its name?
The Lamplighter.
Not a name I chose. It was already in service by the time I laid eyes on it. I thought it amusing, perhaps even an intentional joke on the part of the one who assigned it to me. After all, I'd spent more time dousing lamps than lighting them. But if this was the name of the vessel I'd use to Liberate London from its would be destroyers, then so be it.
And when the great eye opened… neither of us hesitated to do our duty.
I had the luxury of Cider. The Lamplighter did not.
It lays there, now, upon the field below that terrible battlefield. Roc's Graveyard, they call it; the final resting place of countless airships (that's a lie, I've counted every last one) and innumerable fallen Starved Men. It took the full impact of ramming that damnable eye, and the burst of light it let out in its dying gasps. And yet, there it stands, somehow looking more intact and regal than any of the others. Even the name on its side remains unblemished. It will never fly again, and yet you'd be forgiven for forgetting that. It almost thrums under my hand, as if the roar of an engine long silenced still echoes within.
Of course, technically speaking, it was never really mine. Just a loaner from the Admiralty, placed under my command because they needed every man they could trust up in on the roof. But even if it had survived, I doubt anyone would have contested my ownership of it. That's how it always seems to go: I take what isn't mine, by hook or by crook, and little by little it becomes a part of me, impossible to separate from the whole. So it is with the airship I captained, the wars I've adopted, the vengeance I've delivered, the brother I clung to, the city I've protected.
And the title that was foisted upon me. The Lamplighter.
When I received the airship with that title, I looked on it with mild amusement. When I finally christened my Zubmarine with a proper name, it was with fondness; a way of honoring a good friend, if a short-lived one. It was only later that I really started to consider the name. A name that seemed to be a statement of fealty to Light and Law, a promise to keep the lights on forever more. That sentiment couldn't be opposed to that which I stand for. But…
What is a lamp?
A man-made device, designed to light your way in the dark, and keep that light burning in the harshest of weather. A vessel for a flame burning within, guiding you through the dark. Hence, it is nearly worthless in the light of day, drowned out by the more powerful beams of sun blanketing all.
Not unlike a soul.
Light is Law, the light of a soul most of all. That's all stars are, I think: massive, burning souls. Monstrous and vile, their law is. Forced upon us all, scouring all that fails to meet its every whim. Punishing those that break laws that they have no say in, nor any fair warning of. Yes, more than anything, this is what I would dedicate so much of my life to putting an end to, this greatest of tyrannies.
And when, not if, when the law of the stars is brought low, we will, for the first time in all our lives, have freedom. The freedom to make our own laws, build our own reality as we see fit.
As I stand here, taking my first steps aboard the Lamplighter III, that is what this name that I've taken for my own has come to mean to me. Not the suffocating radiance of an uncaring order imposed upon us, but the opposite. A beatific splendor we shall create for ourselves in the coming darkness. Creating and destroying as we see fit, not according to the designs of insane and ruinous celestial bodies. Where the law changes to suit the individual, not the other way around. Where power and justice are where they belong: in the hands of the people.
And the light of our souls shall be our only guide.