Chase the Stars

Mila Beckett stood on the deck of the Peregrine, cool air blowing across her face and trying to tug her curly brown hair free of the knot she'd wrestled it into. She steered the sleek airship down below the clouds, breaking through the fog. The gray-blue waves of the Ergyll Sea crashed below them and a flock of gulls squawked and scattered as the ship startled them.

Mila grinned even as salty air stung her cheeks. She never felt more free or content than when she was soaring high above the world, like she and the Peregrine were all that existed. She steered the ship lower, until it hovered just above the water and she could feel the spray from the waves.

As the sun lifted higher in the sky she could see the skyline of Etherport swiftly approaching. She hadn't been back in the city for several months, but it was one of the largest cities in the entire Terrapin Empire and she needed to restock on supplies. The smaller outlying ports carried only the most basic of essentials.

The Peregrine slid smoothly into port and Mila released the tether to keep it floating in place. Her ship was small; much smaller than any of the other ships around her; but Mila preferred it that way. She didn't need a crew to run the ship efficiently, and the fewer people she had in her life the better.

Mila climbed down to the dock and settled her plumed hat on top of her head before setting off up the cobbled streets. She consulted first with several vendors she trusted to get fuel and other necessities for the ship. Then she went to her favorite tailor for a new coat and pair of boots. She had left behind her world of luxury nine years ago, but even a girl on the run needed some comforts and indulgences. Mila's preferences lie with boots, guns, and sweets.

Every time she came to Etherport she visited what was arguably the best chocolatier in the entire Empire, and always came away with enough chocolates and confections to sustain a small army's sweet teeth. After stowing her new treasures safely away on her ship she made her way to The Golden Boar for dinner and a drink.

She tapped the wooden sign sporting a grinning pig that hung above the doorway; a local tradition meant to bring good luck. A raucous card game was taking place in the corner as she entered and Mila waved to the bartender before taking a seat in the quietest booth she could find. A harried looking barmaid brought her a mug of cider and a plate of smoked fish. Mila leaned back in her seat and stared out the window as night fell. She had almost finished with her meal when someone slid into the seat across from her, the hood of their coat pulled up to hide most of their face.

"Excuse me, but I prefer to dine alone," Mila said coolly, cocking her pistol beneath the table. The stranger held up their hands, slowly removing their hood.

"I do apologize for interrupting your dinner, but I've been sent by my employer to deliver a message." The man looked to be maybe ten years older than her, with a smile that was obnoxiously pearly white.

"Who, exactly, is your employer?" Mila narrowed her eyes.

"Horace Crawforde."

Mila couldn't keep the surprise from showing on her face. Horace Crawforde was an extravagantly wealthy merchant. It was widely rumored that he dealt in all manner of underground and black market business, but was always able to keep his nose clean enough that the law couldn't touch him.

"What does Horace Crawforde want with me?" she asked.

"Perhaps you'd like to put away that gun?"

"Perhaps you'd like to conduct your business here quickly, before my arm gets tired and I accidentally pull the trigger."

"Miss Browne-"

"Ah, ah. Hardly seems like fair dealings when you have the advantage of knowing my name but I don't know yours."

"Of course. Dreadfully sorry, where are my manners? Andrew Cook, at your service."

"What does your boss want, Mr. Cook?" Mila scrutinized him carefully. He knew of the alias she used when she came to Etherport, so Horace Crawforde definitely dealt in less than legal matters. Mila always came to The Golden Boar to conduct her illegal activities, as did many other unsavory characters who robbed, blackmailed or killed for a living. Each of them gave their own code word to Big Mabel, the woman who owned the pub. You wanted someone to do your dirty work, you learned of their code word and Big Mabel or her nephew the bartender would direct you to them.

"Mr. Crawforde is an avid collector of rarities. Rare coins, rare gems, et cetera. As it happens, a very impressive jewel thought to be lost forever has recently surfaced, and the Terrapin Historical Society got to it before anyone else, squawking about its historical value and whatnot. So it's currently encased in glass at the Archives."

"You're not talking about the Eye of Ommera?" Mila stared at him in disbelief. The gem in question was an emerald nearly twice the size of Mila's fist and had originally served as the third eye of a statue of the goddess Ommera on the Isles of Ilsifa. The statue had been discovered among the ruins of the old temples and the Eye had been among the treasures being brought back to the Terrapin Empire. The ship had been lost at sea. Mila had heard of the emerald's miraculous recovery, but she never imagined this.

"I am indeed referring to the Eye of Ommera," Andrew Cook replied. "Such a jewel would be the ultimate addition to Mr. Crawforde's collection."

"You want me to break into the Archives, and steal what must be a priceless gem, for a man as well known as Horace Crawforde?"

"Exactly. He would of course pay you handsomely."

"I should say so."

"Can you manage it, Miss Browne, or should I contact a better thief?"

Mila jabbed him in the leg with her pistol, making him wince. "There is no better thief, Mr. Cook."

"Crawforde is willing to pay five million crescents. He'll double it if you can get the Eye in the next forty-eight hours."

Mila blinked. That was far more money than she'd ever been offered for a job, and more than the worth of anything she'd stolen on her own. She could use that kind of money to vanish from Etherport permanently. Maybe leave the Empire altogether and start somewhere new and far, far away from where she'd grown up. But it wouldn't be an easy job.

"I expect some payment up front," she said finally. Mr. Cook nodded, plunking a heavy purse on the table.

"Five hundred thousand," he said. "You get the rest once you've delivered the Eye."

Mila pursed her lips. "Forty-eight hours and he'll double it?" she asked skeptically.

"Absolutely."

"Tell your boss we have a deal. Now get out and let me eat."



The following night found Mila stashing an unconscious night guard in a supply closet and stealing his keys. She had pretended to be a lost, tearful tourist and the guard had allowed her inside and offered her a glass of water. She almost felt guilty for whacking him over the head when he brought her the water, but a girl had to do what she had to do. She yanked off the frilly dress she'd been wearing, balling it up and stuffing it in the supply closet with the unconscious guard.

She took his shirt, which was several sizes too large, and pulled it on over her own clothes before creeping down the corridor and heading toward the room that housed the Eye of Ommera. She knew another guard would be making his rounds through here soon; she had about five minutes to get into the case and take the emerald. She had spent the entire day exploring the Archives to figure out the best escape route.

Mila reached the room where they kept the emerald, and she unlocked the door and slipped into the display room. Even in the dimness the emerald sparkled. It was a breathtaking sight. Mila crept toward it silently, moving to the thick glass case and studying the lock. The night guard didn't have a key for something this important, so she would need to disassemble the lock. She had just gotten started when she heard footsteps in the hall. It was too soon for the guard to have reached this wing.

Mila tensed and her hand flew to the gun at her hip as the door began to ease open.