Part 2 - Diver Down
Submersible No1 lying off the Poison Shore. Mason Otool and a Jolanti three times his height practising winding a clockwork torpedo. In a nearby cupboard pilot Nilmergs arguing over who will be first to steer a live one to oblivion.
Further aft are the crew's sleeping shelves. Gunner Gneiss squats in his niche polishing the opals adorning a Caladran ceremonial knife and dreaming of Lunar scimitars and Trowjangian Longswords. Below him Assistant Stoker Shovel is mentally reviewing his list of all the items on the vessel that begin with the letter "G" while Canopener of the Quicksilver Caste is cataloguing his extensive collection of left shoes.
In the airlock Deputy Mission Foreman Slaghammer has his face pressed to one of the specially shaped opening portholes which ring the conning tower. The padded leather seal does not fit exactly and a dribble of cold water runs down the inside of his jerkin as he senses the flow of currents around the vessel.
A closed hatch separates Slaghammer from the rest of the crew. Below it, on the bridge, dwarfs patiently man their stations. Captain Pickaxe peers into a rear porthole while Wheeler the Helmsman waits impassively at the controls for forward motion to mean his skills are needed. Beside them Rockmatrix the Quantity Surveyor (Third Class) is calculating the tonnage of rock moved by the tremor that shook the fabric of the World Machine here just minutes ago.
Aft of the bridge the vessel's engineer, Hotmantle by name, is tending the main boiler. As Senior Stoker Clubhead feeds in earthbone, Hotmantle carefully adjusts the flow of seawater through the cooling pipes. The deepfire elemental that powers Submersible No1 is particularly agitated of late. It seems to be sensitive to the extreme seismic activity of this part of the coast.
So much for the busy crew within the submersible but an external observer would also see the object of the two supervisors' attention. Filthspeaker, at the end of a flimsy airtube is clambering over the riveted brass surface of Crystal Extraction Plant No7…
Thirty fathoms below something purposeful moves through the writhing weed.
Richard Crawley
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