Noise was the first indication they'd reached the Southern Terra-Firma.

At first, Amelia had been enjoying a relatively quiet lunch. She'd been relaxing on the bow of the ship, somewhere in the shadow of Turret Three, nestled between the washing lines the Vengeance's crew had strung up. She'd found a rather cosy spot—perched on a pile of fishing nets—to sit back and drink her coffee and watch Allston's men try to hook the native flying fish with jury-rigged fishing lines.

Their colourful lures danced and bobbed in the southerly wind, trying to catch the attention of the nearby schools of fish. Amelia recognised the slim bodies of longtails, gliding along the air currents like fluttering pieces of silk, and the stouter, meatier bodies of arkis, doing their best to nip at the tantalising bait without getting hooked. She saw other species—new ones that Amelia guessed were native to Ishaq's surroundings; small, vibrantly-coloured fish that darted around the ship before circling the upper-hull aetherscope.

Their attraction to the ship's superstructure was their downfall. Allston's men, confidently navigating the rigging with a peeka's dexterity, were able to catch dozens at a time with a well-placed throw of a net. While each successive catch brought a few celebratory noises, the activity on the first deck was limited; the growing heat and humidity stifled everyone's enthusiasm and sapped their energy.

The day ticked on, and the Vengeance suffered a continuous assault by not only the Red Moon's growing influence but also the relentless sunlight from above their heads. The deck was slowly becoming cramped as more and more of the ship's three-hundred-strong complement either got permission or found excuses to escape the ship's stuffy insides. Serena must have relaxed the ship's uniform regulations, as Amelia didn't spot a single common sailor without an unbuttoned and loosened shirt, damp with sweat.

Unlike her demon colleagues—tugging at their clothing and wiping their brows—Amelia was enjoying the heat. Of course, with the slightest encouragement, she could have willed her wards into maintaining perfect temperature regulation. But Amelia didn't do that. She didn't want to do that. She wasn't travelling the world to avoid new experiences, after all. She took the time to modulate her aether, finding a balance between her magical protection and the South's natural environment.

So she spent a quiet lunch sipping her coffee and enjoying the cooling southerly wind tickling her brow. Her nest of fishing nets grew more comfortable by the minute. It wasn't long before she felt her eyelids grow heavy. With the soothing sounds of the ship's purring lift engine, Amelia had almost been lulled into a deep sleep when a loud, jubilant cry sounded from nearby.

Blinking herself alert, her attention was drawn first to the demon observer who'd made the excited noise, and then to his arm pointing off the ship's bow. Amelia bounced up and, darting between washing, joined her fellow crewmembers in rushing to the railing and peering out into the expanse.

There, thirty-or-so kilometres to the west, level with their sailing elevation of six thousand metres, were the distant shapes of mountain tops standing tall and proud above the continent's edge. The mid-sky air shimmered from the heat, making it seem as if the mountains were waving at them—welcoming them to new lands and new adventures.

"Cascadia hoy!" exclaimed a nearby demon, his hands raised to the sky in celebration, an expression of relief plastered on his face. Another sailor echoed his cry. Then, before Amelia had time to think, she found herself caught in the midst of celebratory shouts and enthusiastic cheers—a sudden onslaught of activity that she wouldn't have thought possible coming from a group of sailors that were only just a moment ago so drowsy.

"Thank the Empress, we made it!"

"It'll take more than tornadoes and pirates to stop us!"

"The Moons guided us true!"

"Praise our wonderful captain!"

That last shout, of course, came from herself. After squeezing out of the rabble and finding some breathing room, she'd eagerly joined in on the cheers, throwing out the shameless compliment for her wonderful girlfriend. However, any hope that her words would be drowned out by the hollering demons quickly proved worthless.

Perhaps her luck—the same luck that had profited her a week's worth of Jimari coffee at Tomes' card table—had run out for an unexpected lull in the celebrations meant her words were carried clear and true over the Vengeance's deck. The surrounding demons stopped and looked at her. A moment of silence passed before a different type of celebration began, one where Amelia found herself hoisted up and thrown into the air.

"We should be thanking you, Miss Liona!" someone shouted as Amelia tumbled in the air, her vision obstructed by her hair. "If it weren't for you, we'd be arcwhale food! Ain't that right?" Amelia fell, but before she could hit the decking, a dozen pairs of hands grabbed her, launching her high once more.

"That's right!" another demon called. "Did ya hear the rumours? Her magic—"

"Settle down, you fools!" A familiar, masculine voice cut through the chaos. "Put her down, you idiots. What if you throw her overboard by accident? Who do you think would have to explain that to the captain, huh?"

Amelia was quickly lowered. Blowing a lock of hair out of her mouth, she twisted her head to look at her saviour. There, with his towering muscular frame and a disapproving frown set against a background of marbled skin, stood her friend—Tomes, the ship's quartermaster. The demon was doing his best to look annoyed, but if Amelia wasn't mistaken, there was the faintest glimmer of mirth in his yellow eyes.

"I think I would be fine, Tomes," Amelia said with a grin as she found her feet. Straightening her clothing and tidying her hair, she continued, "It's not like I wouldn't be able to find the way back up, you know?" She punctuated her retort with a playful wink.

"You might be fine, but surviving going overboard is a little beyond a typical kitchen mage, don't you think, Miss Liona?" Tomes lectured, tapping his temple as if to say, 'Use your noggin.' The quartermaster leaned in, saying in a quiet voice, "Any large-scale magic you perform from now will be picked up by Ishaq's strategic aetherscopes. I ain't sure how influential Intelligence is all the way down here, but I'd rather not have our horns twisted by the Tasalsul when they find out what cargo"—Tomes gestured at her—"we're sneaking into Ishaq."

It took Amelia half a second to realise that she was the cargo the lecturing quartermaster was referring to. It took her another half a second to inflate her cheeks, place her hands on her hips and manifest the most perfect pout a magically-disguised human could manage.

"Hmmph!" Amelia turned away, turning her nose up in mock propriety. "Cargo my arse! How about I throw you overboard, mmm?" She stuck her tongue out for good measure, but only got an eye roll in return.

"Moons," Tomes intoned, tugging at his collar. "At least I'd cool down as I fall." He licked his finger and held it up high. "This wind better pick up or we'll boil alive." Tomes tapped his foot on the metal deck. "It's all well and good serving on the infamous Black Ship, but perhaps we need a change of colour around here. There's a reason the Southern Admiralty paint their ships white." Tomes nodded, his eyes focused on a point past Amelia's shoulder. "Look for yourself."

Amelia turned to see a white ship turning off starboard, slowly positioning itself in the Vengeance's vicinity. Unlike Menes' wooden Nefertari, this ship had white metal plates lining its hull. A short superstructure—crowned with the telltale bulbous shapes of aetherscopes—reached both to upper- and under-sky. It was more heavily armed than the Nefertari, but almost half the size of the Vengeance. Two turret pods and two smaller casemate turrets were all the potential conversation the ship could offer.

"Ishaqian perimeter ship," Tomes mused. "Let's hope we pass the check."

As if on cue, Amelia sensed a series of pulsations propagate from the Ishaqian ship. It was their aetherscope messaging the Vengeance. There was a brief moment of pause, and then their aetherscope responded, sending ripples through the aetherfield in time with whoever was tapping out the reply inside the bridge.

Feels like Finella, Amelia thought. She'd become rather adept at identifying which crewmember was staffing the communication equipment by their tapping cadence. Each person sent aethergrams with their own personality, and Amelia had practised trying to write down the encrypted messages as they came in. Aiden was the slowest and most inexperienced, Finella was faster and almost rhythmic in the way she tapped, while the Sensors Officer was the most proficient, sending messages with almost robotic efficiency.

The Ishaqian ship fired off another message. This one wasn't encrypted, and Amelia caught just enough of it to get a gist of its meaning. "I think we passed," she said, feeling the edges of her lip curl. "They're welcoming us to the South."

"Thank the Moons for that," Tomes said, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his forehead. "With how the Captain's been dealing with ships throughout the Passage, I wouldn't be surprised if we'd sent 'em a warning shot if they tried to play any games." Tomes sniffed, looking Amelia up and down. "I've heard rumours our Arakian lord has invited you and the captain to experience the delight of his further company, is that right?"

"That's right," Amelia chirped. "I can't wait!"

Before Tomes could open his mouth, Dagon appeared at his side, saying, "Better be careful, Miss Liona. Southern Lords might seem friendly, but they take their own form of etiquette every bit as seriously as the Eastern nobility." Dagon shared a look with Tomes before shaking his head and continuing, "Menes may let a mistake pass, but his wife is an influential politician over in Centralis. One slip-up from you and you'll embarrass House Halen, and—assuming that Menes' wife finds out your true identity—House Thornheart and everyone else backing your entry into Cascadian Lordship. Ain't that right, Tomes?"

"That's right, Dagon." Tomes nodded seriously. "The South are very particular about their dining etiquette. You've eaten Manwese cuisine before, haven't you?" After Amelia nodded, Tomes said, "Ishaqian culture has a similar concept, only instead of the Manwese method of building a small biteful using vegetables and meat with chopsticks, you're supposed to skewer your food using a long"—Tomes held out his hands a foot apart—"two-pronged fork, similar to a carving fork. You've got plenty of experience with that, haven't you?"

"S-shut up," Amelia said, doing her best to glare at the cheeky quartermaster. "I'm reading that book you got me, so I'll be prepared for anything." She gave him a nod. "Go on then, what do I do with the fork?"

"It's called a longfork. You need to layer the meats one by one, creating an almost kebab-like meal, but you'll mix in grilled fruits and vegetables. The key thing is"—Tomes held up a finger—"a proper Southern table will have meats from all over the Empire. Traditionally, the order you skewer and thus consume the meal is used to indicate your political and family alliances." Tomes' eyes flicked to Dagon. "Aint that right, Dagon?"

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"Mmm." Dagon nodded seriously. "Consider this: if they serve Eastern venison, when should you skewer it, Miss Liona? If you skewer it first, you eat it last. What message might that send to your Ishaqian hosts? Does eating it last mean you hold the East furthest from your own priorities, or does it mean you hold it as the most important, saving it to last where you can savour it the longest?"

"I… I don't know," Amelia said after some thought. "What do I do? It seems no matter what I choose, I might cause a misunderstanding!" She squirmed on the spot, feeling an awkward knot of anxiety form in her stomach.

Tomes shook his head. "There's no need to concern yourself, Miss Liona," he reassured. "For foreigners, there's an established way for you to show your respect while also maintaining pride in your background." Tomes raised a finger, saying, "First, you skewer the meats from the East, followed by fruits and vegetables if there are any"—a second finger was raised—"then you're free to explore the Southern dishes. You're expected and encouraged, as a foreigner, to experiment. The only important thing is to make sure you have more Southern food on your longfork than food from your native Terra Firma. Ain't that right, Dagon?"

"Perfectly explained, Tomes," Dagon said. "If you do it that way, Miss Liona, you'll get by fine. There's just a few"—Dagon held his thumb and forefinger close together—"niggles that might catch you out." As Tomes grunted in agreement, Dagon continued, "There are certain meats that follow their own rules."

"Like… like what?" Amelia asked, feeling her eyes widen.

"Mutton, for example," Dagon explained, "is considered a common meat, and should not make up much of your fork at all if your host offers a finer selection, which I imagine Sayyid Bastet will. And then there's the problem with fish…" Dagon trailed off, glancing at Tomes with a grimace and a shake of the head.

"Ah, that's right," Tomes said, scratching his chin with a thoughtful expression. "You can skewer normal fish with meat hunted from the land, but you should never mix waterborne fish flesh with anything but fruit. Doing otherwise is considered a slight in these parts."

"R-right." Amelia nodded earnestly. "Land-based meat with flying fish. Waterborne fish with fruit. Anything"—she swallowed awkwardly—"anything else?"

"It's unlikely, but you need to know what to do if they try and show off and serve native Ishaqian humonic meats," Tomes said with a sigh. "In that case, there's only one thing to do. Anything else and you'll be thrown out and blacklisted from every establishment this side of the Empire. Ain't that right, Dagon?"

"That's damn right," Dagon affirmed with a sigh. "Would be terribly embarrassing for the good captain, as well. I'm sure she'll remind you when we make port."

"Well, tell me now!" Amelia huffed. "Stop hiding information!"

"If they serve Ishaqian humonic meat," Dagon said, swallowing loudly. "Which is delicious, by the way. Very nutritious."

"I've always found it a bit stringy," Tomes said.

"You need to slow cook it, brother. Keeps it tender."

"But it can be so hard to catch, can't it?"

"It can. Expensive as well." Dagon faced Amelia and said, "If they serve humonic meat, then you should skewer it first and last. This shows you're fully enjoying the host's meal, and prioritising the shared experience of eating humonic meats over whatever your politics or relationship is."

"Got it!" Amelia absorbed the information. "Humonic meat. First and last. Uh, what's humonic meat anyway? It sounds like… like…" She found herself trailing off as her mind connected the dots and she realised exactly why Tomes' and Dagon's expressions looked like they were barely holding in their laughter.

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed, huffing, pouting, and rolling her eyes all at once. "You idiots are incorrigible!" The idiots in question began braying with laughter, sniggering in satisfaction and wiping tears from their eyes.

Amelia did the only thing she could think of, and that was to summon an ice-cold wind.

"Ahh!" Tomes spread his arms. "That feels nice. Thank you, Miss Liona. Always a pleasure when an innocent jest is rewarded! I just—Ooo! Ahh!" The quartermaster's noises of gratitude were replaced with sharp exclamations as Amelia twisted her aether and rapidly lowered the wind's temperature. "N-now, Miss Liona. If you freeze us, we won't be able to give you the b-book on Ishaqian culture, a-aint that right, D-Dagon?"

"T-that's right, T-Tomes," Dagon chattered, rubbing his arms.

Amelia stood straight and placed her hands on her hips. She asked, "Other than your little jest, is longfork etiquette a real thing?" At her words, the two demons nodded earnestly while the surrounding crew members laughed and cheered. With a bit of willpower, Amelia ended her Marzanna ice magic and allowed the incorrigible quartermaster and First Officer to defrost in the moonlight and sunlight.

"What a bizarre feeling," Tomes mumbled. "To go from disliking the sun to welcoming it in the span of only a few seconds."

"You're telling me," Dagon said with a shiver. "Miss Liona, you could earn good money keeping trade caravans cool throughout the Red Sands, should you ever consider a career change."

"Maybe," Amelia said, grinning. "But you're stuck with me for now!"

"Our privilege," Dagon mused with an eye roll. Before Amelia could protest, the First Officer pointed at the sky. "Looks like we're getting a welcome party."

Amelia turned to see that more white-hulled ships were joining the Ishaqian perimeter vessel. Only, these weren't military ships. They were fishing ships. Not the jury-rigged fishing vessels Amelia had seen throughout the Passage, but proper, well-equipped ships with the rigging to support large nets and dozens of fishing lines.

And what colour they boasted! Allston's men and their fishing lures seemed almost dull in comparison. The Ishaqian fishing vessels draped vibrant flags that drew the eye. From what Amelia could see, they were a form of advertisement for whatever company owned or insured the fishing vessel. Half the flags bore bright Imperial script, while the other half were in the curvy Hakian script Amelia had struggled to learn in recent days.

The flags were supplemented by colourful ribbons, streaming from the rigging and trailing for a dozen metres. Some of the larger ribbons had a line of script sewn into them, running their entire length. Amelia couldn't yet read Hakian, but she wondered if they were further advertisements or the textual form of the prayers she'd seen Menes and his men frequently utter reverently. At the ribbon's ends, there were even more colourful lures, enticing longtails to try their chances.

Even the nets weren't bland. They were richly decorated with more lures, more ribbons, and patterned cloth. They were larger than the nets Amelia had seen the Vengeance's crew use, and larger than the nets she'd made her nest in. Covering dozens, perhaps hundreds of square metres, they were attached to lengthy portside and starboard beams, seeking to catch any fish daring to nip at a bit of bait and too slow to escape. Looking closer, she saw the nets were layered in such a fashion that a fish could enter easily, but would struggle to leave.

It only took a few minutes for the Vengeance to have more than twenty fishing vessels pulling in close. Their crews were friendly, shouting their welcomes and waving. While the Ishaqian crews had thick accents, making their Imperial a little difficult to decipher, Amelia had enough practice from Menes that she could make out most of what was being said.

"Welcome, foolish and brave souls! You must have been mad to sail the Passage!"

"You won't last long if you keep that ship black!"

"Hungry? Come to Samak's Fishery! We always serve the same day we catch!"

"Afternoon, boys! You look tired!"

The last shout came from a slender Ishaqian woman with slightly curled horns. She stood at the railing of her ship, her white dress contrasting with her darker skin. "Get closer!" she called to the ship's captain.

The demon at the helm operated his station with deft hands and a moment later the ship pulled up alongside the Vengeance, closer than any of the other vessels.

"Long trip?" she chirped, winking at the Vengeance's crew. Raising a hand, she pulled a pin from her shoulder. The top of her dress fell away, revealing her bare chest.

There was only the briefest moment of quiet before the sailors on the Vengeance's deck began hollering as a different type of heat descended upon them.

"If you like what you see," the woman shouted, turning her body to the left and right. "Come relax at Madam Sakina's! You hear that? Madam Sakina's! Ask for me, Ihra!" Ihra giggled, spinning her enticing body. "I'll be delighted to be your company for the day… and the night!" As the demons around Amelia shouted all kinds of nonsense, Amelia couldn't help but respect the woman's brazen confidence.

Perhaps Ihra has a sixth sense, as Amelia found her eyes suddenly locked with the Ishaqian woman.

"Oh?" Ihra mouthed. "We welcome women as well! Whatever your taste is"—Ihra winked—"we have more than enough talent to—" Ihra was cut off by a hiss of steam and the rumbling noise of Turret Three's bearings. The several-tonne weapon groaned as it began to rotate, its barrels slowly coming to bear against the nearby ship and the topless vixen aboard. Its movement was accompanied by the snapping sounds of the washing lines attached to the barrels.

The neighbouring ship's captain wasted no time in spinning the wheel and pulling the ship away from the Vengeance, darting away and low out of sight. "Remember, Madam Sakina's!" was the last cry Amelia heard before Turret Three's rotation began reversing, returning to face its original bearing.

She shared a look with Tomes and Dagon.

"I guess that's why they say ships lose men in Ishaq," Amelia said with a grin. She glanced at the bridge, under no illusion as to exactly who'd ordered the perhaps slightly too aggressive response to Ihra's sales pitch.

Well, Serena had nothing to worry about. Amelia had already made a solemn vow to make up for the weeks of relative inactivity they had suffered during the three-week trip since leaving Asamayawa. No matter what kind of pleasure might occur during a night at Madam Sakina's establishment, it would pale in comparison to what Amelia had planned for her soft-hearted and occasionally scandalous girlfriend.

Making a mental note to tease Serena about this in the future, she moved to the very bow of the Vengeance, where she could get a good look past the dozens of colourful vessels and at Ishaq proper.

"Whoa!" Amelia exclaimed, taking in the sight of the Southern plateau city. That said, could it be called a plateau city? From what she could see, it was more of a slope city. Ishaq did have a large level area at the top, from which hundreds of two- and three-story buildings sprouted, coloured not only white, but also light blues, greens, and even pinks. However, unlike the previous plateau cities of Kenhoro, Shimashina, and the Three Sisters, there was no distinct sheer drop to continent level.

Instead, there was a constant, gentle slope all the way to the ground. There had clearly been some effort in creating more even ground for construction, as there were distinct tiers to the city, each one forming a semi-circle of urban life, curving around Ishaq's centre and ending at the mountain range behind. Instead of vertical plateau lifts, there were inclined platforms that served the same role. Great tracks sloped from the ground to the top, and Amelia could see systems of counterweights and steam engines working to pull people and material up and down the city.

Peering left and right, she couldn't see the start of the Southern wilderness—Ishaq had cleared the thin strip between the mountain range and the continent edge further than she could see. But she could see some examples of the great towering trees that were the South's version of the East's ironwoods. The trees she sighted throughout the city had evidently been left with purpose; their broad leaves offering large patches of shade, in which she could see the Ishaqian natives relaxing.

She could barely stop herself from bouncing on her feet as the Vengeance made its final approach, aligning with a ship bay at the highest tier of the city. Drawing ever closer, Amelia realised Ishaq was in the midst of some form of celebration. She could make out the natives—dressed in vibrant, loose clothing—drinking and making merry throughout the city. Dozens—no—hundreds of colourful kites flew from rooftops. She could see some kite flyers practising moves while others seemed determined to battle it out in the skies.

After hearing about Ishaq's kite-flying culture, she'd asked Allston whether they were a danger to the ship. Her concerns that a rogue kite might tangle the ship's propellers were quickly put to rest by the chief engineer, who'd scoffed and told her that 'You'd need a kite made of chain and metal to have a chance of denting my propellers.'

As they came into dock, Amelia could see many Ishaqians—especially the children—pointing at the Vengeance with expressions of wonder and curiosity. For them, she imagined, the ship was an unusual sight. Not only was the Vengeance an unusual hull shape, but it was also black—a very impractical colour when sailing under the burning sun and moon.

Amelia did her best to wave back. If she wasn't mistaken, she earned a few welcoming waves and toothy grins in response.

The last few hundred metres were the slowest. The Vengeance belched steam from its vents to counter the southerly wind, now noticeably stronger than before. It manoeuvred into its waiting bay, and, with a judder that ran throughout the ship, it settled into the keel blocks and hissed out one last burst of steam as if to announce to Ishaq and the rest of the South, 'I am here!'

Amelia grinned.

They'd finally arrived in Ishaq!

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