‚What were you thinking? ’ The captain of the harbour defence was furious, his anger turning his cheeks red. In his seventeen years of service, nothing like this had ever happened: a civilian taking control of the guard’s aircraft. And this civilian was still just a child!
Eva stood before the captain, her hands clenched into fists, while her blue eyes flashed with defiance and anger. ‘And what were you thinking? Why didn’t you call the Leviathans? You could have driven the pirates away in seconds, but instead you let them destroy half the harbour!’ The captain flushed even more. ‘This is not your responsibility, girl! Leviathans are not toys that we summon for no reason!‘ “No reason?” Eva took a step towards him. “The docks are burning, people have been injured, and that wasn’t reason enough for you?’
The crowd murmured in agreement. ”You broke the law,’ the man bellowed, ‘you stole a Wind Rider and put yourself in mortal danger!’ One of his commanders spoke up. ‘Captain! Isn’t that the girl with the stocking?’ He looked down at Eva’s ankles – one was hidden in a patterned sock, the other was bare. ‘Eva Mathilda No-Stocking! Well, I might have guessed. A considerable list of tips has come in to our station: illegal flight races, improper operation of Whizboxes, risky manoeuvres… I think it’s time you spent a night in one of our cells. Boys, take her away!’
Two harbour guards stepped forward, but Eva didn’t give them time. With a sudden lunge, she turned and sprinted off. ‘Stop!’ shouted one of the guards, but she had already dived into the crowd and disappeared.
Eva ran as fast as she could. The commotion of the harbour blended with the cries of the harbour guards behind her. The men were much taller than she was and could run faster, but she was familiar with the winding alleys of Nimbusheim and knew exactly which turn to take to lose her pursuers. She dodged a cart full of spices, its vendor shouting in outrage as she almost knocked over the sacks. ‘Excuse me!’ she called over her shoulder and turned into a narrow side street. Here, a tall person would have to duck because of the countless window sills, drainpipes and ledges, but the girl could easily slip under them.
A marketplace opened up in front of her, crowded with people haggling and trading loudly. In Nimbusheim, market day was every day, and the anonymity of the masses was exactly what Eva needed now. She glanced back and saw the guards emerging from the alley. Without hesitation, she climbed onto a stack of empty crates and reached for a window sill. With a swing, she pulled herself up. ‘There she is!’ she heard one of the guards call, but she was already out of reach. She leaped over the roof tiles, which had warmed up from the midday sun, and only stopped when she was already several houses further on, on one of the higher roofs. The view of Nimbusheim was breathtaking. Below her, chimneys, towers and bridges poked out of the cloud haze, and zeppelins, merchant ships and all manner of other flying objects passed by in the sky.
It wasn’t long before Eva reached Captain Theodore Greybeards‘ workshop. The old man was already sitting at a rickety table in front of a steaming bowl of soup. ‘There you are, girl,’ he grumbled without looking up. ‘I thought you might miss lunch.’ The old salt was what other people would call their family for Eva, and he often had to tell her the story of how he had literally plucked her from the air as a tiny baby in an emergency capsule of a Stormsailer during one of his crossings. And every time, he had to tell her how she was wrapped in a blanket, with two much too large woollen stockings on her feet. From that point on, she had practically grown up on board of his trading cruiser until he retired a few years ago in Nimbusheim – only to realise after a few weeks that he needed something to keep him busy. So he opened the workshop with his foster daughter, where he repaired all kinds of defective air vehicles and she took over the test flights.
Eva dropped onto a chair, still out of breath. ‘You won’t believe what happened today.’ Greybeard raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, I’ve got an idea. The whole harbour is talking about a daredevil lass who embarrassed the Guard. Perhaps you’ve met – among the prospective pilots?’ Eva grimaced. ‘Well, they really don’t know jack about aerial manoeuvres. Shouldn’t the Wind Riders receive proper training at the academy?’ Greybeard laughed softly. ‘You can fly better than most people your age, but that’s no reason to be reckless. One day it will get you dead if you’re not a bit careful.’ She slurped her soup. ‘Maybe. But not today.’
Greybeard pulled her ear playfully, which made her laugh. ‘Of course, I still have to punish you a little. I’ve got a broken glider to repair. You can attend to the engine – and I’ll attend to my sofa.’ With that, he got up, took three steps to the said piece of furniture and let himself fall on it with a contented sigh. Eva rolled her eyes. ‘You’re going to snore while I slave?’ ‘I won’t have any backchat – and don’t forget to clear the table.’
In Captain Greybeard’s workshop, a dim light filtered in through the only windows, covered in soot and dust. The air was heavy with a strangely soothing cocktail of gear oil and the spicy scent of his pipe, which he always filled with cinnamon bark. A small stove crackled in the corner and shelves piled up against the walls, their boards bending under a hodgepodge of spare parts, screws, wires, cables and tools. It seemed to be one big mess, but on closer inspection, a logic in the arrangement was evident. In the middle of the room, the broken glider took up the central place and waited there like a wounded bird for its recovery. The bonnet was already folded up, and underneath it showed the heart of the machine – an intricate network of wires, gears and pistons. Eva sighed and set to work.
An hour later, the captain still hadn’t shown up. ‚Sleeping beauty,’ grumbled Eva, pushing the tools scattered on the floor aside with her foot. Damn, where did the sealing valve go? Under the oil-smeared rag, maybe? Negative. Anyway, she was sure to have something suitable in the storeroom. Eva rummaged through shelves, drawers and boxes, tested and cursed – but nothing could be found. What a nuisance, what a hassle because of this little thing! Finally, she gave up the search in the workshop and trudged past the snoring greybeard up the stairs. There were more spare parts stored in the attic, maybe she would find it there.
A cloud of dust met her as she pulled the sheets off one of the stacked boxes. How long had it been since anyone had been up here? The first boxes turned out to be duds, nothing but old, rusty tools and lots of different screws for which there were no matching nuts. Then a leather case caught her eye, standing at the back against the wall under the window, almost blinded by the dirt. She pushed past the stacked boxes and reached out for the case. Its surface was cracked, the once dark colour faded by time, and the metal clasp showed greenish traces of corrosion. Carefully, she pulled it out, taking care not to topple the wobbly stacked boxes. With a short but strong jerk, she opened the clasp. A soft crack accompanied the resistance of the old leather, as if it refused to give up its secrets.
Inside, she found a jumble of yellowed papers, crumpled notes, and strange metal devices whose purpose she did not know. Her fingers slid through the chaos until she felt a piece of parchment that felt different – thicker, more resilient. She pulled it out carefully. An old map unfolded before her eyes, the edges frayed, the lines faded but still recognisable. It was a representation of the Cloud Islands as they must have been long ago – the names of some places were unknown to her, others seemed to be in completely different spots. Apart from the beautifully detailed representation, the map seemed to contain instructions: Lines of golden ink connected various places, and there were labels in tiny letters all over it. Curious, she turned the parchment over and her breath caught in her throat.
On the back, she saw a familiar pattern: an intricate decoration of intertwined tendrils and stars. She recognised it immediately – it was the pattern of her stockings.