I was harnessed to the back of the gondola, frozen cold from the windchill of the dismal morning. A canopy of gray clouds loomed overhead, requiring me to shine a utility light from the front of my flight cap. I shuffled my spanner as I balled my hands in and out of fists. Fitz guided me through a routine engine inspection, a procedure I knew well.

The engines were about the only things on the ship maintained at a high standard. Our balloon had the face of a much-beloved rag doll, covered in gray stitched patches with sloppy weatherproofing painted across the envelope. Many steel cables between balloon and gondola were frayed and being reinforced by rappelling rope. Our engines held our pride. They were high-speed cloud-munching machines.

"All done! Everything is handy dandy," said Fitz, wiping the grease off his hands.

"Good," I said through chattering teeth.

"Wind making ice blocks of your bollocks?" Fitz brayed, juggling his spanner with one hand.

His flight specs, a steel plate with horizontal slits, gave him the appearance of a deranged cyclops. He was wiry like me and made a good mate for arm wrestling because he could make anybody look good. Nobody messed with him, however, for three reasons: the first, that he was also friends with Baker; the second, that he was our best mechanic; and the third, and most crucial, that he could muster the most horrid shriek. The bloke was off his rocker. I personally did my best not to excite him.

"Are we nearly done?" I stuttered, exhaling hot breath over my exposed fingertips. "I'm freezing."

"Invest in a pair of thermal trousers, boy. It's only summer yet." He smacked my posterior and used his pulley to scale the side of the ship. He was right, of course. Though we wintered closer to the equator above the hot sands of the Wastes, there were always difficult weeks in autumn and spring. The spring prior, I had worn a hole in my gloves and nearly lost a finger to frostbite.

Equipment was a regular expense. With the deck open to the elements, we had to acquire appropriate gear: goggles, flight caps, and gloves. My own cap was fashioned of cotton twill. It had rain guard flaps that fell over each side of my face. Flight shirts had to be both utilitarian and elegant. The cuffs were fitted to the forearm, but the sleeves hung loose for better mobility. Laces up the front of the tunic could be drawn tight to the throat or given slack down to the navel, as the weather warranted. We kept three shirts: a black one for labor, a white one for sleeping, and a red one for raiding. When it came to flight jackets, crewmen owned only one, made of wool-lined leather. Trousers varied, depending on whether a man preferred agility to insulation.

Upon returning to the deck, Fitz and I discovered our captain pacing, his brow clenched in frustration. With each shift in his walk, his hip scarf whipped about like a tail.

"Clikk!" he shouted, pointing at me. "There you are. I need to see you." I blinked in disbelief, glancing around deck to see if there was another man named Clikk. When there wasn't, I stepped forward and followed my captain into his chambers. He shut the door behind me, locked it, and then circled me in a slow, predatory fashion, sizing me up.

"Yes. It's just as I thought," he said, tilting back his flask and exhaling a groan.

"Captain?"

Dirk took a seat on a luggage trunk, resting his elbows on his knees. He sniffed, took another slurp of his liquor, and smirked at me. "Oh, Clikk. Poor, sweet Clikk. There is something that I've known about you from the start, but I put up with it because you can manage a sword and you fixed my puzzle wheel. It is time we addressed it."

This couldn't be happening.

"Addressed what?" I asked.

"Don't play daft! I know you're a woman."

His statement knocked the breath out of me. "Captain, I—"

"We have a few lads on board who are slight of figure and might even pass for a port in a storm, but if you take off that flight cap, we both know I'll see it plain as day! You're more than just a pretty lad with a rasp in his throat. You actually make a fine woman." He ripped off my cap, spilling my short blonde hair.

My face got hot with shame. "I'll leave the ship at the next port."

"You will not," he said and gripped me suddenly by the woolen lapel of my jacket. "I need your help." He lowered his voice, his eyes shifting to the door of his cabin and then back to me. "I am about to expose a dangerous secret to you, Clikk. I have reached the point where I have no other recourse than to ask you for help. I need to know I can trust you."

"Sure."

"Swear it, Clikk. Swear on your life."

"On my life," I stammered. "You can trust me, Captain. You have me at your mercy. The truth of my sex is my deepest shame, and I would sooner die than be exposed."

"You would sooner live, I assure you. You might be embarrassed, yes, but you would have the option of moving on. My situation offers no such luxury. I have exceedingly more at risk, for my secret affects the safety of every man on this ship. To compromise me, you would damn all your brothers. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Captain."

His eyes flared with intensity as he brought his face close to mine. "Say it!"

"I understand."

"If you so much as make the slightest offhand remark to your friend Baker—"

"I would never—"

"—I will leave you copper-less at some rural port and post bulletins of your face in every tavern to see that you never work under the guise of a man again."

"Yes, Captain."

Dirk engaged me in a staring contest. "All right. Follow me."

He charged toward his sizeable four-post bed cloaked in heavy curtains. Pulling back the brocade, he switched a lever in the wall.

A hidden bolt crunched, and the wood panel flipped up on a hinge and spring, revealing a chamber beyond that barely had enough room for the luggage trunk and bedroll within. Inside sat a red-haired girl who looked to be about thirteen years old. She was like a doll in every aspect—plump, pale, and rosy-cheeked—but her eyes were puffy and wet with tears. When she saw us, her mouth trembled.

"Ugh! Are you still crying?" Dirk growled in a hushed tone.

The round-faced, freckled child clutched the skirt of her striped gown, bunching the black ruffled edge under her nails. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered, sniffling.

"This is Molly," said Dirk.

Molly crawled out of the wall and onto the bed, swallowing her gut-wrenching sobs. "A friend at last," she said tearfully. "Oh, thank you, brother."

Rubbing his temples, Dirk closed his eyes. "Damn it, child. Have you no discretion?" The girl hid her face in her hands, weeping harder as he admonished her.

"This is your sister?" I asked, looking between the two. They had the same ruddiness to their complexions and the same greenish-blue tint to their eyes. Had Dirk not been so different from her in his style of dress and poor grooming, I might have surmised it myself that they were siblings.

"Our mother had her late in life. When she died, I became Molly's guardian. I spent a small fortune for her to go abroad to be raised up as a lady. Now she is old enough to marry. I want her future secured, and my investment returned. So I aimed as high as I could. I would make her concubine to the emperor himself, but because she is so young, his advisors considered her a better match for his son."

"The emperor's son?" I asked.

"Prince Torrent himself."

"The prince would wed a commoner?" I asked.

"She is a paragon of female perfection! Poised. Elegant. Cultured. And, as you can see for yourself, a rare beauty." Dirk faltered as he saw I was unconvinced. "I might have embellished the details of her pedigree. I got Prince Torrent on the hook, and then I pretended to kidnap her. As far as they know, we bear no relation. Hence the need for discretion."

"Naturally," I said. "So first you lied about her heritage, then you pretended to kidnap her, and now you are ransoming her to the fiancé?"

"They demanded a dowry! Can you believe it? I barely broke even. If Prince Torrent wants my Molly, he has to pay!"

I decided not to pry any further into Dirk's complicated scheme. With the girl crying so profusely, I could barely think.

"This tantrum came on only yesterday," said Dirk. "I need you to make her stop crying. You, being a woman, can surely understand the issues that plague the fairer sex."

I nodded in spite of being wholly perplexed and a little insulted. "I'll try."

"Good. Do it quickly. I'll give you some time to get acquainted; you can talk about your feelings, etcetera. Feel better, Molly, and good luck, Clikk." Without any further direction, he went out and shut the door, leaving me alone with the weeping child.

"Err," I started, sitting down beside her on the bed. "Hello there. I'm Clikk."

The girl said nothing but cried and cried as if her favorite mutt had just perished beneath a carriage wheel.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"N-n-nothing!"

"If there's nothing wrong then why are you crying?"

"I don't know!"

I tried imagining what made girls cry. I hadn't wept since beggars cracked my lip with a pewter mug. There were a few tavern songs I'd seen bring a tear to a bar wench's eye and I tried to remember what they were about.

"Tell me true. Do you want to marry the emperor's son?" I asked.

"I should love to marry a prince." She sniffled. "It is to be a wedding in the clouds on his ship, the Crescendo. It's everything I've ever dreamed."

Tears dribbled down her cheeks. She smothered herself with the captain's pillow, bawling into it like a dying animal. Something had to be done or I'd be exposed.

"You have to stop that now. Little girl, stop it."

"I can't!" Her voice grew hoarse as she let out a mortified wail.

If I went back out there a failure, Captain Dirk would let everybody know Clikk was a woman. The men would never treat me the same again.

Baker would feel so betrayed. He'd pissed in front of me countless times and had even put faith in me to look at his little pirate whenever he had anything resembling a rash after whoring. Worse yet, I'd heard all his disgusting jokes about wankers and shite, and I'd actually laughed. I'd laughed because they were hilarious, but if he knew he was speaking to a woman like that, he'd never have the nerve to face me again.

I went and banged on the forecastle door. "Captain! Captain, I need you!"

Dirk opened it a crack, peeked in, and hissed, "What are you doing? She's still crying!"

"You can garnish my wages, Captain. I'll work for free. I can't help you on this account, but I swear to be the most loyal—"

"Every man on this ship is as loyal as they come. I could make them eat dog dirt and they would thank me for the honor of flying on the Wastrel. Have I asked you to eat dog dirt, Clikk?"

"I can work harder than anyone. I'll work doubles to the end of my—"

"Have I asked you to eat dog dirt?" he repeated.

"No," I said, "But what does that have to do with—"

"No, I have not," he said firmly. "If you cannot calm that girl down, you will be sent away."

"But I don't know what to do!"

"You're a woman! Figure itout!" He shut me in and turned the lock.