The number of people in the streets thinned as they proceeded toward where most of the warehouses and machine shops were currently located. The cafés and bars gave way to ramshackle domiciles and wooden depots with tin roofs and siding. The smell of beer and open pit cooking fires was replaced by a damp odor carried in by the fog rolling up from the river. Og’s sensitive nostrils just caught the scent of oil, grease, and rust on the wind as he tramped over rough cobbled ground.
There were few street lamps here, though dim lights emanating from workshops shone vaguely through the fog. Og and the sisters continued through dark shadowed ways and echoing alleys. The dingy streets and gloom woke primal misgivings of the dark within them all and stifled their desire to speak to each other. Only as the fog broke ahead and new lights appeared did Nela pause and whisper to them.
“Look,” she said, grabbing Og by the arm. “Something’s going on at Number 9.”
She was right. Dim shapes moved in the wan lights just in front of their warehouse. Og stopped and lowered Nala to the ground. “What could it be?” he whispered.
Nala blew smoke in the air. “Nothing good.”
“No…”
Og took a step or two forward even as he pressed himself into the shadows of the storehouse to his right. He just caught the glitter of metal as the shapes beyond moved through the light. “They might be soldiers,” he whispered. “I think I saw armor.”
“Soldiers?” Nela muttered. “What are they doing here?”
Nala shook her head. “Who knows? But we won’t find out hiding here, and time’s running out.”
“True,” said Og.
“Come on.” Nala hurried ahead. Og and Nela followed close behind.
As they drew near to Number 9, several shapes turned and walked toward them. The fog parted to reveal a woman dressed in a fine ermine cape. On either side of her were two armed guards.
“Lady Dovina!” Nala exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Nala!” the woman greeted her. “Nela! I’m so glad to see you.” She glanced at Og and nodded to him. “We’ve come to help. It’s been quite an evening.”
“You can say that again,” said Nala.
“Come quickly. I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a row.”
“The Damselfly?” Nela asked.
“Your vessel is fine, but Horatio…”
The sisters turned to each other and exchanged worried glances. Horatio was their steam engineer and boiler man. He was responsible for keeping the shop warm and powered.
“What happened to Horatio?” Nala frowned.
“Come on,” said the lady. “You’ll see soon enough.”
They crossed the avenue between buildings number 5 and 9. As they passed through the fog and came to the lights in front of the huge doors of Number 9, they saw a group of scattered soldiers. A few of the armed men stood on either side of an old man sitting on a stool. It was Horatio, and he was wounded.
The sisters noticed the lump on his head and the bruise on his cheek and ran to him.
“Horatio darling!” cried Nela.
“Ladies!” he looked up. “I’m glad to see you back in one piece.”
“But what happened to you?” asked Nala.
Before he could speak, Lady Dovina stepped in. “We found him defending The Damselfly,” she explained. She pointed at two men just beyond the doorway. The men were both seated on the ground and hog-tied. Their faces were bloody.
“But—” Nela shook her head in disbelief.
“Saboteurs,” said Nala.
“Indeed,” Dovina replied. “We feared as much even early on. I had planned for this and was ready. As soon as I was notified of the vote on Prop 83, I sent my men here to guard your work. They arrived just in time.”
“That’s very kind,” said Nela.
“Yes, I suppose,” said Lady Dovina. “But it’s not pure altruism. I didn’t do it for love alone. I have a considerable stake in the outcome of this project.”
The sisters nodded. Nela went to Horatio and hugged him. “Are you well?” she asked.
“I’m well, lady,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I had Agnes here to help.” He tapped a large wrench in his lap. “I wasn’t gonna let those thugs harm The Damselfly.”
“He’s quite proficient with that wrench,” remarked Lady Dovina. “But now, let’s not let his bravery count for nothing. You ladies—”
“Right,” Nala agreed. “We’ve got work to do.”
The sisters turned to Og. “Thank you, Og,” said Nala.
“Yes, thanks, dear,” said Nela.
Og shrugged. “I wish I could do more.”
“You’ve done enough,” said Nala. “Because of you, we might have a chance. Good night.”
“Good night, Oggie,” said Nela.
And with that the two sisters hurried to their ship.
Og looked on briefly as the sisters lit lamps and turned the light from dozens of glowing orbs on their craft. The Damselfly sparkled in black majesty before them. The hull of the ship shimmered like stars. Og stood and admired its ebony body, its long sleek tail, and its diaphanous, glimmering wings. It rested in the center of the workshop on six thin legs, looking as though, at any moment, it might leap off the ground and go whisking through the night.
Og waved to the sisters, but they did not see him. They were already too busy fine-tuning, stabilizing, and putting the finishing touches on their magnificent creation. He turned to Horatio. “Good night, sir. I hope you heal quickly.”
Horatio nodded.
Og left Lady Dovina and the soldiers behind. He stepped into the fog and went on his way. He had made it several blocks when a strange prickling feeling suddenly itched the bottom of his foot then worked its way up his calf. He paused in the middle of the street.
“What’s this?” he wondered. He lifted up his foot and peered at the ground. There, etched in chalk, was the remains of a yellow glyph.
“Oh, Og,” he muttered. “You idi—”
He looked up. A dark, swirling mass appeared in the air above him. The cloud wavered and undulated chaotically then descended straight for him.
“Oh, dear…”
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