From a porthole on the east side of the airship, Turner watched as they closed in on a tropical, footprint-shaped frontier. More an islet than a true island, it was nearly three miles long, with borders covered in sand and punctuated by seaweed. One of its most notable features was a mountain that gave over half the isle a sharp slant before levelling out to green planes of chaparral.

Gorso steered them down through a band of low-hanging clouds onto the sandy shore at the southern end of the isle where the ground was flat. Turner and Dorothea climbed out while the rest of the crew scrambled to secure the ship.

The islet was a paradise. The air was fresh and the water a striking ethereal blue, the cleanest and purest Turner had ever seen. It lay in stark contrast to Yarnsford, where the grime produced by its ironworks sullied every surface. The sun reflecting off sand and sparkling water made everything seem that much brighter, purer, as if the islet had never known a visitor before the airship had set down on its shore.

"My friends," Herrera said, coming up behind the pair who were busy looking around in awe, "I welcome you to Rainbow's End." Without warning, a huge geyser shot up from the mountaintop, generating a rainbow that reached over the islet like a great arm extending a warm welcome.

"It's beautiful!" Dorothea said. "You live here?"

"When time permits."

"And you're sure no one will find us here?" Turner asked, a shadow of worry crossing his face as he watched Dorothea pull off her shoes and sift her toes through the silky white sand, her eyes closing from the pleasure of it.

"Only we know where Rainbow's End is," Herrera reassured him. "It is on no map."

Angeline added, "And, even if it were to be discovered, we move it around quite regularly."

"Move it around!" Dorothea said, laughing. "You can't move an island!" At Angeline's amused look, she hesitated. "Can you?"

"This isn't just some dirt island, kiddo. It's a Wandering Isle, a manmade artifice disguised as an island."

"An illusion I help maintain," Collin said. "Blending in is my specialty, after all. And this isle is one of my greatest works, second only to my own magnificence naturally."

"They were made during the last war," Gorso said, "as mobile staging areas where troops could gather and resupply. Most were scuttled by the Commission. It was only by chance that we stumbled across this one adrift in the East Kimonese Sea. Didn't need much work to get it going again."

"That was the easy part. Do you have any idea how much work goes into maintaining an engine capable of moving an entire island?" Angeline asked, stormily.

"No. That's why we keep you around, isn't it?"

"And why do we keep you around, again, Gorso?"

"Because I know it would just break your heart, if I left."

Dorothea snickered.

Turner looked around in disbelief. "So this island really isn't real?"

"See there?" Herrera pointed at the mountain. Turner looked up to where the crag bore a gaping wound in its suit of stone and dirt. Looking hard, he made out a metal plate with a deep dent in it to one side. "Bit of a blemish, but nobody looks so hard as to notice." He clapped his hands lightly on their shoulders. "Come on, you two, let's hurry. It's a wonder any of us are still standing on such empty stomachs. Let's go, go, go!"

Herrera ushered them through the green periphery towards an abode that was cleverly designed to appear to be part of the false mountain. It had a wooden elliptic roof concealed beneath the forest's heavy veil of greenery. They entered a bricked dining hall, warmed by a large slate fireplace that had been fed and ignited in anticipation of their arrival.

"Can we help with anything?" Dorothea asked.

After quickly changing out of their Commission uniforms, Herrera shook his head as the crew bustled about. A large brick fire pit burned in one corner, over which the contents of two large iron pots were being brought to a boil. The mouth-watering smell of stew was already filling the hall, making Turner acutely aware of his gnawing hunger.

"You're our guests. Sit, sit, on your bums. The food will be on the table in just a while."

Turner settled into one of the many dark lacquer chairs set around a long brown table and Dorothea took a seat beside him. Tall cups of hot tea, with a green leaf floating on the top, were set beside them. Bowls filled with a steaming, meaty soup arrived moments later and the crew took their seats. Loaves of bread, mounds of mashed potato, and a bevy of baked delights were placed on the table. There was more than enough food to go around, and nobody needed to be shy about asking for seconds – or thirds, as in Turner's case. Dorothea had only just managed to finish her first bowl when Turner started on his third.

Turner sat across from Bastion, who ate while he read. Bastion caught him staring and looked at him quizzically. Turner gave him an embarrassed smile and began randomly studying the surrounding furnishings. One item caught his eye.

"That soup was delicious," Dorothea said. "And such fresh ingredients, all the way out here. Where did you get them?"

"Grow 'em," Gorso said, "Got a good garden out back. Tend it, whenever I can. Keeps me busy, when I'm rarely not." When Dorothea's eyes lit up, he smiled. "Would you like to see it?"

Dorothea nodded eagerly.

"What's that over there?" Turner asked, pointing to an elaborate copper dragon statue that towered over the minimalist furnishings in the dining hall. It boasted a lithe scaled body, a long lizard tail, and long, sharp talons that gripped the pedestal upon which it sat. Its webbed wings were poised for flight. Intimidating and majestic, it dominated the room.

"That's Dorogoronpa." Herrera half turned in his chair, setting down his wine-filled goblet. "How're things, my Ronpy?" he asked the dragon. "Been taking good care of the place?"

The statue stared back in silence.

"There's a good boy."

"Doro... Doro...?"

Herrera chuckled. "Dorogoronpa; hero of another great Davishnan legend."

Turner frowned. "Are you saying dragons are real too?"

Herrera laughed mightily "Would that not be something, to see such a thing with your own eyes? Alas, Dorogoronpa is legendary but assuredly a myth."

"Oh, ho, is there a tale in need of telling?" begged Collin, appearing from nowhere and causing everyone to jump.

"I swear, Collin," growled Gorso, "the next cowbell I come across, I'm strapping to your neck."

"A thespian must answer his calling, sir."

"Thespian?" said Turner.

"An actor, my boy, one able to dissemble word and manner to play a role in any story, or to tell one with befitting deportment."

"Stop using big words, Collin, you're scaring Gorso."

"All right, that's it, Angeline, let's have it out, here and now. Bastion, toss me a gun."

"Enough, you two," Herrera said, immediately settling the pair. "Please, Collin, tell us the tale as only a seasoned performer can."

"Well, if you insist. Dorogoronpa is a very old story, known to all Davishnan children. It would be my pleasure to regale you with this fine fable."

Collin coughed once into his fist. "Once there a wise and ancient dragon, born when the world was young. It spent most of its time sleeping soundly, listening to the song of the world - the tireless symphony composed of the honest and pure sounds made by all living creatures throughout their lives - the buzz of a bee, the growl of a lion, the howl of a wolf,  and so many other voices, all beautiful to the dragon's ears. 

"And then another voice came to be. It more beautiful and intelligent than any other, pleasing Dorogoronpa greatly. But as time went on, the new voice began to ruin the world's song with the insufferable note of lies and deceit. This was the voice of man. And as their numbers grew, their din of deceptions began to overwhelm the world's song."

"Unable to slumber, with its lullaby so tainted by man, the old dragon decided to remove as many falsehoods from the world as it could, hoping it might one day return to rest. It wandered the lands, sweeping away the veil of lies men wove with its great wings and cooking the deceitful with its flaming breath before eating them whole."

"Makes you glad you ate already, huh?" Angeline joked.

"Davishnan parents often tell their children the dragon walks the earth still. And if they keep telling lies, old Ronpa will one day pay them a visit... and eat 'em up!" Collin jumped on the table and roared.

Herrera laughed, trying not to spit out his drink as he sipped his cup. "There was a time when we considered calling ourselves the Brigade of Dorogoronpa," he said, "but weren't sure people would take us very seriously if we did."

"If they knew we existed at all," Angeline said. She had settled down near the fireplace, holding a haze inhaler in one hand. A long, tubular device, it was encrusted with cogs and various mechanical parts.

Angeline drew on the inhaler and puffed out thick, artful trails of smoke. Her eyes flicked towards Dorothea.

"You know, I just can't believe it."

"Believe what, my dear Mistress of Mechanisms?" Herrera asked.

"Last night. What happened. What we saw." Angeline nodded. "'Because of her."

"Wasn't the golem proof enough? Or, the titan of water, the night before that?"

"But how, Herrera? How'd any of that happen. I think it's time we ought to know."

Everyone's eyes fell on Dorothea. Self-consciously, she stroked the pouch her neck. She looked about as if trying to make up her mind. With a sigh, she lifted the pouch over her head and held it out to Herrera. The leader of the Brigade opened it and carefully removed the folded piece of old parchment and unfolded it.

"Wherever did you come by this, young Dovetail?"

"It's something my grandfather gave me. That man, Kritzinger, said it was a name - the name of a spirit."

All at once, Herrera's eyebrows rose, Angeline exhaled a sharp puff of smoke and Bastion looked up from his book.

"Last night, that man Kritzinger took it and placed it inside the golem's mouth, thinking it could bring it back to life."

"If this really is the name of a spirit," drawled Herrera, "that is what you would do with it."

The other Brigade members approached and peered at the paper in wonder.

"In the stories I was brought up with," Herrera explained, "a spirit is what gives a golem life. It is its heart, its core, its soul. Without a spirit, a golem is no more alive than cold stone."

"Wait," Angeline interjected. "You said they shoved that thing down the golem's gob, right? So how'd you get a hold of it, after the biggun back at the fortress fell right to pieces?"

Dorothea opened her mouth and then closed it again. It hadn't seemed so unlikely when it happened but now, as she was about to put it into words, she felt embarrassed. "It flew back to me."

"It flew back to you?" said Angeline. "What? By carrier pigeon?"

"I called it back.. and it came to me."

"It really did," Turner said. "I saw it."

"Maybe we might be lucky and the Commission believes the spirit was lost along with the golem," Collin said.

"There was a man there I doubt would believe that," Dorothea said, remembering Kritzinger. "He knew things about the golem. He understood them. I don't understand them much at all. Like why it did what it did last night..."

"I've read some stories about the golem." Bastion said, the gunslinger surprising everyone. He was standing with the rest of the Brigade, looking down at the paper. "From what I've gathered, the spirit or animus or whatever you want to call it looks to the heart of their keeper for purpose. In the hands of a villain, you got about the worst sort of monster imaginable. But, when you got a good person working it, it is the villains who have reason to fear."

 "As we witnessed last night," said Gorso, staring off into the fireplace, "as the golem sung a din of utmost dismay for the Commission, toppling their mighty citadel and leaving not but ash and ruin in its wake; the survivors forever ruing the day-"

"But that isn't what I wanted at all!" Dorothea cried. "I just wanted to get somewhere safe."

"And did the golem not assist in this? I don't think we can fault it for doing what it needed to do in order to give you what you wanted."

Dorothea couldn't argue with this.

"I count us very fortunate it did only your bidding and not the Commission's," said Herrera. "Why this is, I know not."

"If the spirit only works for her," Gorso pointed out, "and they know it's still about, the Commission won't stop until they have both her and the spirit. They'll use her to make the thing show them the way to the city."

"If there really is any city to find," Angeline said, doubt evident in her voice.

Herrara turned to Angeline, a surprised look on his face. "You doubt the city exists?"

"I'm entirely open to the idea. But let's be realistic, the legend dates back five centuries. The place might be little more than a ruin now."

"Then the Commission would have no reason to hound Dorothea further, or be any threat to the free people of the world. We must find out one way or the other."

Herrera turned the parchment gingerly in his fingers, examining the black edges.

"It's burned."

"I think it happened back at the fortress," Dorothea said.

"What's it mean?" Collin asked.

"It means it can die," Bastion answered.

Herrera returned the parchment  to the leather pouch and cinching it closed. He handed it back to Dorothea. "Your grandfather saw no harm in leaving it in your hands and I see no harm in leaving it with you either."

Dorothea returned the pouch to its place around neck.

Herrera stood. "You have all performed far beyond my expectations, my friends!" he announced. "I could not be prouder. Now, I want everyone to take advantage of this respite and rest up. We shall take a few days to recover and then we shall prepare. "

With that, everybody left their places and settled around the room. Turner had been taking a closer look at statue of the dragon whose name he would probably never be able to properly pronounce, when Herrera approached him.

"You've been very brave, Turner Hullin."

Turner blinked, surprised. "Me?"

"Leaving your home and family to help Dorothea - that would have taken quite some courage. Have you ever visited anywhere outside of your home town?"

Turner shook his head. "I've always dreamed of what the world beyond Yarnsford would be like, seeing amazing places and meeting amazing people – places like this, people like you. But," he added, searching for the right words, "it didn't seem right leaving my home. It's not that my parents would stop me. It's just that I've always felt like they needed me. Like the town needed me somehow. I guess that sounds sort of stupid..."

"A good home makes a child feel needed," Herrera said, resting a hand atop of the dragon's head. "It provides them with purpose, a direction in life. But there comes a time when all children need to leave the nest and find their own place in the world. It's just a shame that your chance meant placing your life in peril."

Turner looked at Dorothea who was giggling with Angeline over some private joke they had shared. He smiled.

"It was worth it."

******

"It's beautiful," Dorothea sighed, walking next to Gorso. Dorothea looked about the garden patch that the man whom she had been told was the Brigade's navigator and doctor tended, now flooded with bright sunshine, thinking wistfully of her own. It lacked the beauty of the knot garden she'd nurtured at home, but this one was far more practical. It was a hodgepodge of vegetation, spread over tilled sections and surrounded by a wattle fence. Each section was subdivided into beds, some containing fruit trees, some vegetables, herbs, and so on. A small stone well stood in the centre of the vibrant spread, a bucket poised on its rim. Plants of aloe, lemon balm, and bay, sat in decorative pots around the perimeter. "Can't say I'm here enough to give it the care it needs," Gorso said. "I've found it's quite hard growing things, on an island that doesn't stay put."

It began to drizzle. Dorothea looked up at the sunny, clear sky, baffled.

"It's water from the island's steam engine," Gorso said, grinning. "Happens every hour or so. It's the reason why I chose to grow a garden here. Keeps things watered." Dorothea gazed around and her eyes lit on several vines groaning under the weight of huge, dewy, red fruits. Dorothea clapped her hands, delighted.

"These tomatoes look fantastic."

"Try one."

Dorothea carefully selected a tomato and bit into it. Juice trickled down her chin and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She plucked a basil leaf and popped it into her mouth as well. "This is amazing! Look at all these herbs! You cook with all of these?"

"Mostly," Gorso said. "I make medicines out of some, too."

"You're so talented!"

"I just know my way around a garden."

"But it must be hard taking care of it, all by yourself."

"The others help from time to time."

"Do you have a garden at home, too?"

Gorso shook his head. "This is my home, Dorothea, and for all of those in the Brigade. None of us have homes of our own, or families. We give up these things, so we can better serve Davishna. In secret and unfettered by relations outside of it. You can imagine I don't get many visitors to show this off to."

Dorothea felt a pang of sympathy. "It must be lonely."

Gorso smiled. "Always got each other, don't we? We look out for each other, like any good family. You want to know the secret to good family relations? Getting on each other's nerves from time to time... although Herrera can really push it, sometimes."

"But Mr Herrera seems so nice."

"Yeah... but you haven't heard him sing."

******

Later in the evening, maintenance work began in earnest on the Tartaruga. Collin was busy with the hot air balloon, checking for tears or breaches in the plating before folding it up and stowing it away. Bastion could be heard outside, hammering new exterior panelling to its frame, replacing the dented plates. Herrera sat in the shade nearby, tunelessly strumming a guitar made of cypress and spruce, humming under his breath.

Turner was assisting Angeline in tuning up the ship's engine, meticulously following her instructions.

"Square driver," Angeline ordered, her hand extending from the top of the hatch. "Nine-inch, five-tooth."

Turner sifted through the tools splayed out on the floor.

"Four-tooth wrench," came the next summons. "No, make it the six-tooth, the one with the rubber grip." He slapped it into her outstretched palm. "Cable pliers." When he hesitated, she waggled her fingers impatiently. "The one with the bent beak."

As she continued to work, Herrera's humming grew louder, discordant with the sounds coming from his tortured instrument.

Angeline's hand reappeared.

"Gun."

"Pardon?"

Angeline's head popped up, her expression sour.

"A gun! Or a really long screwdriver," she added, glaring at Herrera who was oblivious to her irritation. "If I do him now, I may not lose myself to this murderous rage."

"Where did he get the guitar from?"

"Found it. Haven't the faintest where. I suspect the devil left it for him to torment me with. He plays it like a tone-deaf orangutan." Glaring at Silverio, she shouted, "I swear, Herrera, if you so much as pluck another string on that wretched instrument, I will see it fed to the ship's furnace and its ashes dumped out at sea." Herrera stood and gave a deep bow.

"Constructive feedback from my audience is always welcome."

Angeline snorted. "Collin," she yelled, "you be careful packing those balloons, you hear? One tear and we'll never get off the ground."

"Most unwise trying to rush an artist, my dear!"

"And Bastion, when are you going to start welding those armour plates?"

"Welder's bust," Bastion said, shrugging apologetically. He wiped his sweaty brow with his left sleeve, unhitched the welder from his work kilt, and demonstrated it for her. "Can't turn the thing on. See? Knob's stuck."

Turner jumped to his feet, grabbed a pair of pliers, and held his hand out for the welder. Twisting the pliers, he loosened the stubborn knob and then handed it back to Bastion.

"Better?"

"Much," Bastion smiled for the first time in Turner's presence, tipping his wide-brimmed straw hat. "Appreciate it, friend."

Angeline gave Turner an appraising look and then called out to Herrera, "I'm keeping him."

"That's nice."

She winked at Turner. "Not that I don't love these people like family – I'd follow them to hell and back – but, when it comes to the technical stuff, let's just say that good help can be a hard thing to come by around here. You even squeezed a compliment out of Bastion. Can't remember the last one he gave me."

"He seems kind of dangerous."

"Bastion? He is. But he's that paradoxical sort of dangerous you want by your side, come a fight. The sort of dangerous other dangers fear. Was a tiny, tiny bit scared of him, to start... ok, maybe more. But he's saved all our hides on more than a few occasions. He's a good sort. They're all good sorts."

"Have you been with the Brigade long?"

"Not as long as most. Collin's the only one who's been in it less time than me. Bastion's been in it longer than Collin and me put together. Gorso, even longer. And then, of course, Herrera who put the band together. There are others you haven't met yet who are out on assignment. Stick around and you'll meet us all eventually," Angeline suggested, with a grin, before darting back down through the hatch. "Ahh, four-tooth wrench. And get me some more lamp oil. It's getting a bit dark in here."

Herrera was staring at his guitar somewhat sadly, as Collin gave a shout.

"Herrera! Something's coming in through the clouds. I don't know what it is, but it is mighty huge!"

A faint, distant rumbling could be heard that steadily grew louder. Everyone gathered on the beach, staring at the empty sky, in search of its source.

"There!" Collin yelled, pointing. About a mile out to sea, a palace of fearsome majesty was descending through the clouds, held aloft by two grey-black zeppelins, each easily three hundred yards in length and fastened by threaded wings composed of numerous iron cables. A teeming multitude of edifices sat atop of it that looked to be part of an industrial borough that could roam the skies at its leisure. Apart from a smidgen of greenery around its forefront, it seemed to be made of one big piece of black and grey stone, bound together by drab metal framing. A tower stood at the centre of the airborne district, surrounded by several stacks that shed long trails of ebon smoke. Silhouetted against the yielding sun, the most prominent feature was its weapons, with one particular cannon of intimidating girth that looked capable of rearranging the topography of just about any landmass.

"They've found us," Herrera said, stunned. "I have no idea how, but they've found us."

"What is it?"

Herrera turned and looked at Turner."The Commission has long controlled all the great fortresses, Turner Hullin. You've seen Fortress Five. Now behold the flying mountain of menace that is Fortress Six."

"We have company!"

Six fighter planes approached quickly from Fortress Six in a V formation, each sleek, silver, and shaped like arrowheads, propellers twirling on their tips.

"Angeline, raise the defences. Collin, Bastion, man the turrets. War has come to Rainbow's End."

Angeline flipped a switch on a panel concealed in a nearby slab of rock and watched as two large gun platforms rose out of the strand. Collin and Bastion hopped into the chaired controls, steering the platforms by pedal and lever. Their long iron barrels filled the air with gunfire and smoke, launching amber rounds over the tide that swiftly destroyed three of the planes. The remainder scattered, intent on evading the storm of flaming lead, but they too were cut down, their wreckage littering the sea.