Chapter 5: Copper Rings

The pipe organ loomed in the darkness like a sleeping giant, its silent tubes stretching up into shadow. Hannah ran her fingers along its dusty surface as she passed, feeling the ghost of music in the metal. How many years had it been since this place had known song? Since anything in Coghaven had known pure beauty untouched by desperation?

The brass token felt warm in her palm, as if it had absorbed some essence of the scarred merchant’s wisdom. Strange, how trust could be condensed into such a small thing – a circle of metal that might lead to salvation or betrayal. Like the crystal against her hip, like James’s final letter, like every choice that had led her to this moment.

She found him exactly where Mercury had promised – a mountain of a man bent over a workbench in the market’s deepest corner. The copper rings in his beard caught lamplight like falling stars, each one a perfect circle that seemed to hold its own story. Hannah watched them carefully as she approached, remembering Mercury’s warning. Copper shows truth like a mirror, if you know how to read it.

“Well?” His voice rumbled like distant machinery. “Speak your piece or move on. Time’s worth more than quill down here.”

Hannah held out the token, letting its surface catch the light. “Mercury sent me.”

The man’s massive hands stilled on whatever delicate mechanism he’d been adjusting. He turned slowly, eyes sharp as broken glass beneath heavy brows. The rings in his beard gleamed pure copper – no hint of green betrayal. Not yet.

“Did they now?” He plucked the token from her palm with surprisingly gentle fingers. “And what does one of Mercury’s chosen seek in my humble corner of the shadows?”

“A sand skiff,” Hannah said quietly, feeling the crystal pulse against her hip like a second heartbeat. “One that can outrun the sun to Steelwatch.”

He laughed, the sound like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. “Outrun the sun? Might as well ask to bottle storm winds or cage lightning.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless… you carry something worth the impossible?”

Hannah glanced around the shadowed alcove. They were alone, but in the underground market, walls had ears and shadows had hungry eyes. Still, there was no path forward but through truth – or enough of it to buy what they needed.

She withdrew the crystal just enough for its light to paint the workbench in soft radiance. The man’s breath caught, his beard-rings trembling slightly. Pure copper still, but the greed in his eyes made them shine like newly minted coins.

“Well now,” he whispered, reaching for the crystal with those massive hands. “That’s a pretty bit of—”

Hannah tucked the crystal away. “The skiff first,” she said firmly, channeling all of James’s lessons in survival. Never show weakness in a deal. Never let them sense desperation, even when it burns like fever in your blood. “I want to see it. Test it. Then we can discuss price.”

The man studied her for a long moment, his beard-rings catching light as he stroked them thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded toward a heavy curtain behind his workbench. “Through there. Mind the edges – they bite the unwary.”

The space beyond the curtain opened into a vast maintenance bay that breathed with the ghosts of old-world engineering. Shadows pooled in its corners like spilled ink, but the scattered oil lamps revealed a mechanical graveyard of dreams and desperation. The skeletal hull of an airship dominated one wall, its ribcage of stripped metal reaching toward the ceiling like practiced prayer. Sand skiffs in various states of repair dotted the space, some little more than scavenged runners and stripped engines, others gleaming with deadly promise in the low light.

But the man led her past these common vessels toward something different. Something special. The sand skiff waited in its own pool of lamplight like a creature of legend, its twin runners curved like the blades of ancient swords. Unlike its rougher cousins, every line of this vessel spoke of precision and possibility.

“She’s called ‘Stormwind,'” the man said, his voice softening with pride. “Built her around salvaged old-world technology – an advanced steam propulsion system I found half-buried in the wastes. Took years to restore it, longer to understand its secrets.” His massive hands caressed the hull with surprising tenderness. “But that’s not all that makes her special.”

He gestured to what looked like folded metal panels along the skiff’s sides. “Auto-expanding sails, triggered by these controls here. When the wind’s with you, they’ll nearly double your speed. When it’s against you…” He smiled beneath his copper-ringed beard. ” They fold away clean as sunset, vanishing into the hull’s embrace.”

Hannah circled the vessel slowly, recognizing James’s teachings in its construction. The reinforced hull that could withstand sandstorms. The modified engine that would run silent when needed. The hidden compartments that might mean the difference between life and death in the wastes. This wasn’t just transportation – it was a key to freedom, forged in metal and hope.

“We can exchange at dawn tomorrow,” he said, his eyes locked on the crystal’s glow. “There’s a rock formation at the edge of the wastes – looks like a hand reaching for the sky. The locals call it Dead Man’s Grasp. Meet me there when the sun first crests the horizon.” His rings caught the light as he leaned closer. “Come alone. Bring the crystal wrapped. Too many hungry eyes about, even in morning light.”

Hannah nodded, committing the location to memory. Dead Man’s Grasp – she’d seen it often enough from Coghaven’s edges, a stark reminder of the wasteland’s dangers. One more night in their tiny home. One more sunrise before everything changed.

As she turned to leave, the man spoke again: “That steam drive… it’s temperamental. Needs a gentle touch. But treat her right, and she’ll outrun anything else in the wastes.” He paused, rings glinting. “Whatever drives you to risk that journey… I hope it’s worth the price.”

Hannah thought of Thomas’s labored breathing, of James’s final gift lighting their way toward hope. “It is,” she said softly. “Some things are worth any price.”

She made her way back through the market’s shadows, feeling the weight of tomorrow pressing against her heart. Above, somewhere in the fog of Coghaven, her son waited with dreams of flight pinned to crumbling walls. Soon those dreams would either find wings or burn to ash in the wasteland sun.

The crystal pulsed against her hip, matching the rhythm of her steps. One more dawn. One more chance to turn desperation into deliverance.

Time to go home and prepare her son for the journey that would save or end them.