Chapter Four Hundred and Twenty-One - No Trophies, No Flowers, No Flashbulbs, but at Least there's Wine

The after-party very quickly got out of hand. The crews from the race, both winners and losers, didn't seem to discriminate in their celebration. The closest bar, a rustic timber establishment called the Pour House, was bursting at the seams with jubilant aircrew, locals, and fans who had come from far and wide to witness the spectacle of the race.

Abraham, already several ales deep, had made it his mission to regale anyone who'd listen with tales of their almost-victory. Each rendition of the story seemed to grow more grandiose, and each time he gestured towards Awen, the mechanical miracle-worker, the crowd around them would cheer and toast to her.

Awen was trying very hard to wince herself into another dimension every time a cheer went up, but lacking the ability to do that, she instead tried to match her uncle ale-for-ale.

It didn’t take long before her cheeks were rosy and she was cheering along with the crowd.

I had to cut her off after a while because she was having a bit of a hard time walking straight. Abraham, on the other hand, barely had a hint of red on his big old nose.

The party probably continued late into the night. Smoulderglen seemed like the kind of place that knew how to throw a celebration. There were fireworks going off, as well as magical spells detonating with loud bangs into the empty skies above the city. Music filtered through the streets, though no two bards seemed to agree on the same song, which just added to the happy chaos.

I might have wanted to stay out and party, but the last couple of long nights were wearing me out, and I was worried that Awen might get into a spot of trouble if we let her stick around. So my more sober friends (which included Caprica and Calamity) helped my less-sober friends back to the Beaver and into bed.

The next morning, Abraham appeared at the Beaver, looking as fresh as daisies, as if he hadn’t spent the night drinking and having a fun time. Raynold, standing next to him, looked a smidge dishevelled. His suit was a little crooked and his tie wasn’t done correctly, but at least he looked entirely sober.

“Haha! Rise and shine, kiddos!” Abraham said. He was carrying the propeller of the Redemption over his shoulder the way someone might carry a stick.

It had taken two of us to carry that over to the pits a few days ago, but I guessed that something being heavy wouldn’t stop Abraham.

“Hi!” I called out from the deck as I waved down. “Caprica and I are the only ones that are awake,” I said. The rest were sleeping off the night. I was a little surprised that Caprica was fine, actually, she’d had her share of drinks, but they didn’t seem to affect her at all. I’d just stuck to juice.

Abraham responded with a hearty laugh, shaking his head, “Ah, the perils of youth! Never mind, let ‘em sleep. We have a bit of work to do here anyway.” He started up the ladder leading up to the Beaver and I waited for him at the top. Raynold had a backpack which jingled and clanged and which was obviously filled with more spare parts.

“Did you bring the stuff Awen used on the Lady back?” I asked.

“That’s what all this is,” Raynold said. “I’ll take the rest of the afternoon to put our older parts back in their places. Some I’ll want to replace outright, which should be easier now.”

“Oh?” I asked.

He nodded. “The race is over. The rush for new parts won’t be so bad, and a few ships were destroyed or damaged during the race. It’ll mean a lot more spare parts getting onto the market.”

Abraham and Raynold paused at the top of the ladder. “Permission to come aboard, captain?” Abraham asked.

“Please do!” I said. “Welcome aboard the Beaver Cleaver! If you want, I can give you the grand tour?”

“Haha! I’d love that! But maybe we can wait until the kids are all up and at ‘em? I’m sure Awen will want to show me what she’s been up to.”

Grinning, I decided to stick to a short tour of the top deck only. Raynold had come aboard already to fetch some tools and parts previously, but this was Abraham’s first time on the Beaver. His ‘hahas!’ worked as a fantastic alarm clock for all the others, so it didn’t take long before the others were up and about, though they didn’t all look happy about being awake.

“How can someone be so loud,” Amaryllis complained as she pressed a talon to the side of her head.

“Haha! If you’re not loud, then how will the World know you’re there!” Abraham said.

Amaryllis narrowed her eyes at the big man. “That can’t make sense,” she muttered.

I didn’t find out what it was she was wondering about though, since it was time for breakfast! That turned out to be a bit of a riot. We had leftovers from a dozen small meals, mostly because we’d been spending some time off the Beaver lately and grabbing food off the streets as we went.

Between the clanging of pots and pans, laughter, and the constant banter, the ship came alive. I noticed Abraham and Raynold standing to one side, watching our chaotic breakfast routine with gentle smiles.

“So, Abraham, you mentioned something about last night's scuffles?” I asked, attempting to direct the conversation back to last night’s events. I wanted to know what happened once we left.

Abraham's hearty laughter echoed around the deck. “Ah, nothing too serious, Captain Broccoli! Just a bit of a disagreement between some overexcited folks at the Pour House. Nothing like a bit of competition to get people's blood boiling, huh?” He shook his head with a grin, his eyes sparkling with the fun memory.

“Oh, that sounds nice,” I said.

“I punched the lights of the leader of the Red Wing pirates right out! Haha!” Abraham said. “He swore eternal vengeance against me and mine!”

“Uh,” I said.

Raynold sighed. “If we’re lucky, the pirate won’t remember most of that. He was very drunk, and somewhat annoyed that we wouldn’t sell him the Shady Lady.”

“Why would someone wanna buy your old ship?” Calamity asked. “Well... actually, I guess it did come in second, but I think that had more to do with the pilots than anything.”

“Prestige, wanting to steal some good ideas, wanting the ship to be out of next year’s race,” Caprica listed off on her fingers. “I can probably come up with a dozen more ideas. And since they’re pirates, I imagine the price they offered wasn’t great.”

“I recall him saying something to the effect of letting us live if we made the trade,” Raynold said.

“Which is when I gave his beak a workout! Haha!” Abraham mimed a bit of shadow boxing.

“Ah, you might not want to stay here for long, then,” Awen said. “They might try to steal the Lady.”

“That has happened before,” Abraham said. He rubbed at his chin. “Six times, actually.”

“Six?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine the Beaver being stolen once, let alone six times!

“I think a few of those times were less theft and more... misplaces,” Raynold said. “Abraham only looks like he holds his liquor. Sometimes it does get to him.”

“Haha!” Abraham haha’d without shame. “But speaking of the Lady. I was thinking that maybe we could follow you back to Port Royal. I have some business there, and I do love crashing weddings.”

“No, you can’t crash this one!” I said. It would ruin Booksie’s magical moment, that would be super mean.

“I’ll make sure that if we attend, we come in through the front door in a timely manner,” Raynold promised. “And I think I can stuff Abraham in a suit as well.”

I only had to think about it for a second. “That sounds like a ton of fun!” I said. It would be nice to introduce my dragon friends to someone like Abraham. Plus I think it was always his dream to fight a dragon.

Maybe I could arrange for a friendly spar?

“Perfect!” Abraham said. “We’ll fly together to Port Royal then!”

“It will be nice to have another ship nearby, in case of another crash,” Raynold said. “Even better, a ship that’s actually in decent condition.” He gestured to the Beaver.

“Awa, before that, we need to pack up,” Awen said. “I made a mess of my tools, and I think some are still with the Shady Lady. And there’s parts that need replacing.”

“How long do you think it would take to get everything back in order?” Amaryllis asked.

Awen shrugged. “Half a day?”

“We’re already approaching noon,” Amaryllis complained. “And taking off at night is risky at the best of times. I imagine Smoulderglen will have a number of ships departing today so the traffic will be thick. Can you manage to make it faster?”

“We could leave tomorrow,” I said.

“And lose another day?” Amaryllis asked. “Besides, another night here is another night of drunken reverie, which means a much-heightened chance that one of you nitwits will end up in trouble. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

“We can probably manage it if we all pitch in to help,” I said. I recalled worrying that Awen was being overworked already. “I can organise your tools, Awen! And if you need more time, then... you need more time. We’ll leave when you’re ready.” I was happy to help... I was also really happy to get the opportunity to get Awen’s tools in order. Every time I stepped into her corner of the ship I had to resist the urge to start picking things up and sorting them away. It wasn’t dirty, exactly, because I tried to keep the Beaver nice and clean, but it was... disorganised.

I didn’t complain because that was mean, and Awen did seem to have an easy time understanding her unique way of sorting tools by just shoving them into drawers at random.

The rest of the day was a chaotic flurry of activity. Awen’s workspace, once a sprawling mess of bits and pieces, started to take on some semblance of order under my careful organisation. Screwdrivers found a home together, wrenches were arranged by size, and each gauge and measurement device was given its own special spot.

Meanwhile, Calamity and Caprica returned from the market, arms laden with bags of fresh food and other supplies. Amaryllis was deep in concentration, pouring over the maps as she charted our course back to Port Royal. Her talons traced the routes, taking into account the wind currents, weather patterns, and possible pirate-infested airspace that we’d have to travel.

We were far enough south of the area where the independent cities were that we could finally fly straight to Port Royal without having to make any more stops.

As evening approached, the ship was buzzing with anticipation. The Beaver Cleaver had never looked better, the tools were organised, our stocks were replenished, and we had a clear plan of action.

Unfortunately, there was no way we’d be ready to take off by evening. There was just too much to do, and tasks that we thought would take a few minutes bubbled out into hours and pushed other things back. Amaryllis eventually gave up on insisting that we work faster and we decided that we’d leave at the crack of dawn as soon as the sun hit the horizon.

By the time night fell, the Beaver was ready to take off, but the crew was exhausted from the long day of post-party recovery and quick maintenance work. We made vague conversation over a hearty dinner, then went to bed earlier than usual except for a watch rotation.

The next day would be a big one!

***