The next morning Diego woke Drew up by slapping him. Drew groaned and sat up he had the mother of all hangovers.

  “Get ready, you are late.” The man chastised.

  “Not so loud.” Drew grumbled.

  “Thren arranged a meeting with your keel’s patrons,” Diego said flatly. “Be prepared.”

  There was something in his tone that made Drew sit up despite the hangover. Drew moaned and got moving.

  By the time he arrived for the day’s instruction, his head had mostly cleared. He was already scribbling calculations into his journal as the palanquin set him down. Drew stepped into the warehouse and immediately sensed tension in the air.

  Inside, two of the keels stood apart, posturing openly.

  A blonde girl, usually attached at the hip to Claire, was boasting loudly. “Claire’s brothers attended the Masterwrights’ College of Nueva Trujillo. One is a famed engineer, the other a Commodore.”

  She smiled smugly as if the words themselves were weapons.

  The female skyborne from the opposing keel snapped back, her feathers bristling. “The ranks of some far off men have no bearing on your canoe here, tsk. All of the best engineers are women. Prove that your design is skyworthy.”

  “Oh, we will,” the blonde woman sneered. “The design was innovative enough to summon a priest for a Silent Wake Agreement.”

  Claire turned sharply and fixed her companion with a flat, warning stare. The blonde woman immediately stopped talking.

  Across from them, the three remaining members of the opposing keel stiffened at the mention of the agreement.

  “We’ll find out during the race,” one of the girls said coolly.

  Drew frowned.

  Whatever a Silent Wake was, it wasn’t invoked to settle arguments. It was invoked to stop them from becoming wars. The mention of an innovative design briefly piqued his engineer’s curiosity, but he dismissed it just as quickly.

  What could the technologically behind designers come up with that would threaten what he could design, manufacture, and deploy?

  Stolen story; please report.

  The rest of the lessons passed in a blur.

  The mentees learned the basics of sky combat and practiced elementary maneuvers in two-person canoes, one sailor trimming the sails while the other fired at targets with muskets or crossbows. Drew was becoming a competent, if cautious, pilot. He could feel the boost from his intelligence increase smoothing his learning curve.

  For firing under movement, he was also becoming an average shot with the crossbow.

  Not good.

  But no longer hopeless.

  That evening Drew put the scale model of his racing canoe in a wicker basket with presentation ready sheets of calculations of how fast his canoe would be and other key performance characteristics.

  Thren summoned him to a central building in the complex. A long low table with a large bean bag at head of the table dominated the middle of the room. Thren wrapped his remaining wing around him and got comfortable in his bean bag like chair. There were pillows arranged along the sides of the table and Drew took his position second from Thren just after a severe women with greying hair. She served as Thren’s head of operations on Deadwake.

  A messenger entered the meeting room and announced the visitors. The short man cleared his throat and declared

  “Present for the Golden Ledger Compact:

  Chief Factor Marisol Ríos, Senior Broker of the Drift Exchange,

  Holder of seven bonded trade routes,

  Signatory to the Grain Accords of Arawinaya,

  Custodian of three seasonal credit houses on Deadwake.

  Representing interests in provisioning, ship finance, risk underwriting,

  and long-term mercantile stability.

  Attending on behalf of Isabela Ríos, Junior Factor,

  Initiate of ledger law and contract navigation.”

  Isabela and her patron strode into the room decked out in funerary that screamed old money. They sat opposite Drew with Marisol Ríos sitting closest to Thren. Drew also noticed that Isabela shared the same last name as her patron. So she was related in some capacity. The two did look similar sharing the same sharp nose.

  The messenger opened the door again and cried

  “Present for the Red Wake Compact:

  Captain Esteban Perez,

  Breaker of the Third Iron Convoy,

  Victor of the Lorn Sky Ambush,

  Claimant of six enemy keels taken under fire.

  His banners have flown over three captured sky-galleons,

  his crews have burned two rival docks,

  and his name is carved into the Windward Ledger of Blood.

  Attending on behalf of Rafael Montoya,

  Heir to the Red Wake,

  Challenger in good standing,

  Blooded and sworn.”

  Rafael entered with Captain Pérez at his side, both of them carrying themselves like men who expected the room to make space.

  If Drew thought Rafael dressed gaudily, his patron was something else entirely. Pérez wore fire-engine red from boots to collar, trimmed in heavy gold. His right hand was missing, replaced by a brutal iron hook. The back edge of it was serrated and barbed, more weapon than prosthetic.

  A pirate captain with a hook for a hand.

  Of course.

  Drew suppressed a smile as the pair took their seats opposite him, positioned deliberately to Isabela’s right.

  The messenger closed the door then opened it a third time with a final announcement.

  “By mutual consent, the Silent Wake is invoked.

  Arbitration will be held by Brother-Confessor Alonzo,

  unaffiliated, sworn to silence and record.

  He bears no authority to judge.

  Only to remember.

  Any breach of confidence or non-compete

  will be reported to the Pirate Council of Deadwake.

  Let what is said here carry consequence.”

  A priest in plain brown robes walked towards the opposite end of the table and bowed.

  “The Silent Wake is invoked.

  I Brother Confessor Alonzo will remember.

  The Council will hear of any infractions.”

  The man sat.