The Clockwork Caterpillar should be available for order on April 5th. To round out the crew’s introductions, today we shall look at the youngest member of Felicity’s ragtag members. Hope is a little Jader girl who dotes upon her curious exotic pet. While Felicity typically only takes on those with extraordinary skill, none dare question the presence of the little girl. Her relationship with her captain is a unique one but just because she’s a child doesn’t mean she lacks important assets.

Primarily, Hope is the gateway for Felicity into the western colonies. Settled by the Jade Throne centuries prior to Thyre’s arrival, the west coast of Athemisia is dotted with the fortified walls of these resilient people. They have survived and thrived for generations despite the neglect of their homeland. They have forged a unique history with the native residents and their long presence has been shaped as much as it has shaped those people. It’s a constant exchange of knowledge, culture and blood that has created a complicated environment which has completely diverted the course of history.

In fact, many would argue that the Thyrian throne wouldn’t have been so involved in the colonial expansions had it not been the constant threat that the Jade Empire would swoop in and take the land and resources right from under their nose. Part of the mad rush to expand rail lines was largely influenced by the thrones need to get people and, more importantly, soldiers to the farthest reaches. Course, the Thyrian aristocracy couldn’t possibly begin to understand the complicated motivations of these strange people. The Jaders had little interest in expanding beyond their mountain barrier, having fostered a very defensive attitude towards the continent since their earliest times. This has created holdings far more secure that the Thyrians could hope to break. Between their fortified homes, natural defenses and robust alliances with indigenous tribes, the Jaders are untouchable in a direct confrontation. They have seen much and outlasted far more than the rail magnates and redcoats could throw at them.

No, if the Jade Empire were to crumble it would be through the vices of its homeland. There, the throne has changed many hands as the Celestial Bureaucracy has ordained numerous conquerors and emperors. With Thyre’s powerful fleet, they’ve managed to create ocean trade networks to that distant country with its valuable wares. They’ve even managed to arrive as the empire is in its own internal throes as a powerful drug erodes the traditional power struggle. Rebellions have been spurred and supported by Thyrian merchants, hoping to leverage greater advantages in the ancient territory.

But the colonies are far removed from those issues. Some even think that, should the homeland fall, the colonies would hardly notice. In fact, they may even be enticed into rising on their own, announcing their independence and following in the steps of the southern people. And should that happen, then having a crew member who understands and speaks the language of these rich, complex neighbours would certainly be valuable indeed.

Hope

Clucked and cackled were the markets of New Fusang. Women in pretty coats spoke with men in dirty shirts. Clink, clink, clink went their fingers. Clink, clink, clink went the wen. Dangling the strings of coins, their square holes held tight to the lines as they were stretched and counted. Glasses raised and eyes pressed, clink, clink, clink went the fingers that counted out the disks. Squawked went the pigeons. Wan went the dogs. Bing bang the cages rattled.

Chatter and chat. Sing and spat. Round and round they prat. From stall to stall stepped the pretty ladies. And clinked went their strings. Whirled and wove like a little leaf on a stream. Fingers pointed and hands were filled. Mouths chomp and chewed on sticked fish and lizards. Boxes, bunches, branches and bundles bought.

The smell of roasted corn, fried jellyfish, cooked cat and brewed tea littered the air. They mixed with sweat, perfumes, cows and poop. Everywhere you looked something was being passed, eaten, purchased, tossed, prodded, fed or spied. No place was like the markets of New Fusang.

She sat upon the roped boxes, kicking small, tight shoes. They were simple cloth with a colourful floral pattern of some strange pink and white flower with long petals. They were her favourite for the simple black embroidery around the anklet slip studded with beads. At the tips were the worn remnants of some long lost tassels. She liked kicking her feet and making the little stubs bounce up and down in the air. The little frayed ends flapped like a bird’s tiny wing.

Across from her trilled the stringed wood. She watched slender fingers splayed across the rows of wires. Picked and plucked. The notes echoed and twanged. Picked and plucked. Talon fingers like the claws of an eagle. They danced and jumped and the board warbled. While the talons danced, the other fingers jumped about their ends. Ten and more strings stretched over the polished wood. Along the side ran pretty little symbols that she couldn’t read.

She tried to get her tassels to jump to the beat.

Suddenly, the stumpy remains began to flap of their own accord. They jumped and pulled without a kick of her foot. As she turned, regarding them curiously, she felt her jacket pull as a great wind nearly toppled her from her perch. She turned a small head with its little cap skywards. Overhead came the thump, thump, thump of great propellers as an enormous bladed vessel gently drifted past the stalls.

The gust of wind sent merchants scurrying for tarps and cloths to tie and bound their stalls. Cotton and silk caught in the draft, fluttering and lifting like little banners. She clapped her hands at the colourful twirling and twisting as women and men jumped and danced after the clothes.

And still those fingers plucked and danced. Twisted and bent were the scarves to the notes. Hopped and jumped went the women and men like guests at a pretty little party. Their voices cried and the strings sang, chirped, warbled and waned.

No place was like the markets of New Fusang.

The great airship passed overhead, groaning with its journey. As it passed the wind followed. She jumped from the roped boxes, chasing after the plucky notes and twisting scarves down the crowded streets. Sails caught in the passing gust, pulling their little carts by their single large, creaky  wheels as owners shouted and gave chase. A fancy little parade followed after the big boat as they all ran down the lane. She laughed and clapped and jumped and stomped all the while scarves played about her.

It was a parade of bright red and orange with bursts of green and blue. Lapis lazuli and jade, vermilion and saffron. All were on display as they marched. Doors burst open as others came to investigate. From a pile of colourful cushions arose cut sleeved robes, the two men joining in with others as they wove and wound their way down the lane.

Skipping. Jumping. Hopping. Twirling.

Plucked were the guzhengs. Twanged the sanxian. Whistled the xun. Banged the bolang gu.

A happy little parade chased the whirling airship.

But it made not for the docks. Groaning and twisting, the metal turned as the wind caught at ladies’ dresses and men’s robes. Voices gave rise to the music as the procession made its way. Chattered and chittered and shouted and sang. She laughed and skipped after them and their feet pounded the dirt.

Great dragon heads bit down on the large propellers. The undercarriage had magnificent carved lions with great flowing manes watching over windows. So close flew the great ship that she could see the faces of passengers looking out the silk drapes at the canvased markets.

A long row of bells gonged as they passed. Their great tubes were studded with intricate woven castings wounding around them like a beautiful ribbon. The supports were iron cast men, their bare arms balancing the heavy bars upon their heads and hands. The iron had begun to wash orange and green as if their skin and skirts were shedding the tarnished flakes to reveal the colours hidden beneath.

She stopped long enough to give a bright smile at the man watching over the row of bells. But his eyes followed the ship. So she quickly reached out, pushing on the largest and listening to it peel a bright, clear note.

She cheered and hurried after the fantastic ship. Busy was this day in the markets of New Fusang.

“What is it?”

“Where is it going?”

“Where are the soldiers?”

“Where did it come from?”

“Is that it? It’s bigger than I heard.”

“Isn’t it early?”

“Isn’t it late?”

“It looks magnificent!”

They chattered and chittered as they hurried, clutching to their hats as long braided tails bounced after shiny heads. Hurried they went through the streets of New Fusang. Doors burst. Windows raised. Women emerged from kitchens and men from taverns. Even the pagoda’s doors were opened as orange robed old men emerged, raising wise hands to shield their eyes as the ship thrummed over their tiered tower. The very tiles of the roofs clapped in anticipation as the vessel veered towards the plains on the outskirts of the town.

The gates were stuck with people pushing and jockeying to get a look. As their parade got closer, they got slower. And she had to duck and weave amongst the silk dresses and leather pants, the thin shoes and the heavy boots. In and out, under and between. Around and around.

Everything could be seen in the markets of New Fusang.

Everything but a ship that could fly.

Gears creaked and croaked. The dragons roared as the propellers shook. The sky banged and smoked as the ship turned and broke. People watched, questioned and gasped. All stood transfixed as the great ship banked on its airy waves.

Whistles cried and soldiers stomped. Guns and swords stirred. But the people did not make way, grabbing arms, sleeves, jackets and coats. They pointed, they gaped and they spoke.

“Is it from the Emperor?”

“Is it from the ministers?”

“Is it from the merchants?”

“Is it from the generals?”

“How does it fly?”

“How does it turn?”

“Where is it going?”

“I want a ride!”

She shouted and pointed, watching as the ship began to sink. Sway and shake, ring and clank. The dragons moaned. Bore aloft on their slender backs came this great metal egg. It was a sight and a show and she had to see it for herself.

She pressed against the gate and its thin metal studs worn and marked from the old blades and arrows of the wildmen in the hills and mountains. She tried to press her fingers into the dented and torn wood, pulling herself up as much as she could to look over the hats, heads, braids and parasols. The ship brought itself around, the great fins turning beneath the chains of working gears like a great puffed metal fish.

And then something popped.

And the crowd gasped.

And the ground shook.

And the air hissed.

Before she knew it, something warm and strong pulled her from the perch and to the ground. A frightful sound consumed the air. Shouts and screams churned from the crowd as people pushed and ran. Like little birds scattering before a coming cat they took back to the streets.

Whistles blared and voices shouted. The soldiers stamped their feet.

She looked up to the ship and only saw the frightful burning of a new sun. Lines dropped as fire rose. It ran all along the green and red sides. It licked the balloon and grasped the sky. In seconds the entire ship was ablaze as it shattered.

And it came crashing down around them.

She pushed herself to her feet but was bumped and jostled. Feet kicked and she shouted in pain as they passed. But no one noticed in their haste and their fear. They ran and they screamed and they shouted and she cried.

She found herself up against the wall, pulling her legs close. Her pants were torn and her legs were bruised and bleeding. One of her lovely little shoes was missing and she looked at her dirty purpled foot. She pulled it in close, wrapping herself up in a little ball.

Then the wall shook.

It toppled as a great series of steel beams and chains smashed overhead. For generations the walls stood strong around the markets of New Fusang. Down, down they tumbled on the day when the sky fell.

Fire dropped like thick rain. Metal screamed as it pierced through roofs. A nearby house immediately caught ablaze. People screamed as soldiers rushed to the spreading flame. Inside she could hear the cries of those that burned alive.

Smoke filled the air, choking her mouth and stinging her eyes. She crawled away from the fire and the people. She crawled along the wall. Few people ran alongside now. Many lay on the ground. They did not move. She could no longer hear the laughter. She could no longer hear the guzhengs, sanxian, xun or bolang gu. The bells did not peal. The chimes did not chime. Wood crackled. Stones split. Houses snapped. Fire and heat jumped from neighbour to neighbour. She watched as the sailed carts smoked up like little firecrackers during the new year festival.

The wall shook again and she crawled crying away as the great metal nose of the ship smashed through timber and rock. The earth sprayed over her as she hid her face behind her arms. She stumbled, scrambled, spun and slipped. She sprawled against the dirt and scurried into an alley.

The screams rang and rang. All she could hear were the screams. She hurt and she cried but no one came to her. The air grew heavy and dark as black smoke choked out the blue sky. She coughed and tried to spit the burnt taste from her mouth. Frightened and alone, she curled up waiting for it all to end.

There she would have stayed and lay but something stirred from the wreckage around her. From the broken and burning wood poked two small coals that pierced the smoke. Tumbling and turning flopped a small little creature. It’s large tail was singed. It plodded towards her, skittering around the flames and metal. It pressed its cold nose against her bloody hand.

And as she peeled her knees away, she could see something red beneath the soot. Two white ears pricked as she cried and its vermilion fur was not from the fires that burned around it. It pawed with its little foot then trotted a few feet away. Turning its white streaked face, it blinked before giving a sharp, airy cry.

She blinked back.

It walked a few more ponderous paces, turned and cried again. Slowly, she followed. Step by step on hands and knees. She made her way after its bobbing round tail. They skirted fires. They slide on their bellies beneath twisted metal and smouldering wood. Past darkened bodies and empty faces. Over tumbled stones and along cracked metal bones of the great ship. She followed and it scampered.

Through the ruins of New Fusang they wound until they broke from its burning shell into the soft grass and green trees. They climbed through the fields and scampered up the hills. As she fled, she turned and looked back at the city burning and choking in a dark black haze.

No place would ever be like the markets of New Fusang.