The hum of the turbines was something Taesia had not only grown used to, but it lulled her into the Dreaming each night. Well, bits of the night and parts of the day, the most tedious parts. The dawn was especially striking on-board ship, whether air or sea, and the stars were so beautiful away from the irritating torch and lantern light. Night-time was the best time to think, to contemplate. The rising sun held a freshness that set her awash with a hopefulness that naturally lent itself to creativity. Reflections from the past day at night, composition in the dawn, breakfast and then Dreaming, and then journaling with words, sketches and painting. It was the most productive she’d been in… well ever. Did she really want to give that up?
Taesia pursed her lips and set pen to paper again. Supposedly the great forests were tapped for tree oil and somehow this became lightning and this lightning chamber was what held The Princess aloft. That was as much as she’d been able to glean from anyone. One engineer was even sweet enough to let her actually sneak a peek at the great turbines. She had said something about an ‘enclosed system’ but none of it had made any sense to Taesia. But she’d liked the auburn-haired woman in her patched overalls, multi-lensed goggles, mouth-mask, sharp nose and canny eyes with her down-to-earth manner, which tickled Taesia given they were up in the air.
And so, her imagination sparked by the outlandish notion of lightning, which perhaps wasn’t quite so strange as storms sailed the skies, Taesia had sketched and painted what she imagined such a chamber might look like. Only now, as she studied it, she wasn’t sure what the Church would say, and by ‘Church’, she meant ‘Grandfather Prior’ and what would get back to her family and then to her through letters and lectures. Maybe she would turn it into a play, dubbed… The Storm Fairy? Storm Nymph? Why not? Even the Church endorsed theatre… ‘wholesome’ theatre, warning against sin and nightmares. She rolled her eyes. Grandfather was stuffier than most. At least, that’s what her sisters said and they weren’t to be trusted so maybe she should simply set aside her preconceived notions and just meet him as he was. The real test would be her choice of attire rather the state of dress as a ‘proper lady’ of Talmenar. Who was she kidding? It was much too cold for Talmenar summer dress, and she travelled light, so winter garb was out of the question, especially at sea.
She drummed her heels as she leant against the bulkhead and stretched, journal in one hand, pen between her lips. She would make the most of the voyage. The High City would still be there and she didn’t fancy trying for another vessel. Her bunk was as comfortable as she was likely to get, and lacked lice and bugs, which was apparently a thing. Disgusting. They would pull into the dock in a few moments. Six hours to sleep or explore the wharf. A stroll wouldn’t hurt, as long as she steered clear of the more unsavoury elements. It’d give her something to sketch. The plan was as good as any. Besides, she might even find Grandfather a gift.