#engineer husbands

On the foredeck, Sabin and Celes knotted rope to create a cradle for a small mountain of oiled canvas. They seemed to be having trouble following the blueprints, but they continued working nonetheless, albeit between bouts of laughter and cursing. The warmth of their friendship brought a touch of relief Edgar's mind as he hauled a bucket of water from the cistern.    

He climbed the stairs built into the rickety scaffolding that led to an outcropping of rock designated as the storage area for machinery that had been gutted from the ship. The stone plateau was illuminated by gas lanterns, a soft light occasionally interrupted by the sparks thrown by an old-fashioned hand welder. As Edgar approached the top of the stairs, a sudden flash was followed by a stream of foul language.

Setzer slammed the welder's handpiece down in frustration and withdrew a flask from a holster that he’d fashioned from two spare cables. After drinking, Setzer tossed away his gloves and reached into the bulking machine in front of him with his bare hand. He was promptly rewarded with a jolt of electricity large enough to make him drop the flask. Pale amber liquid spilled onto the rocky ground.

Edgar judged this to be an appropriate moment to intervene. He cleared his throat.

Setzer raised his welding googles in acknowledgment, and Edgar offered him a carafe of water he’d brought along with the bucket meant for the machines. Setzer took it without hesitation and drank greedily. A thin stream of water ran down his chin.

As Setzer had explained to Edgar at the beginning of this process, the geothermally heated cavern provided the perfect conditions for the preservation of the Falcon; it was moderately warm and very dry. The air quality might be good for wood and canvas, but it was a difficult climate for manual labor.

Edgar lifted one of the lanterns and used it to illuminate the cavity in the customized chemical mixer. One of the contraflow agitator blades had fallen slightly out of orbit, and a brief test run of the machine had resulted in an electrical fire that fried the power generator. Rebuilding the mixer from scratch would have taken even longer than assembling the framework of fins and rings, so Setzer had elected to attempt a spot fix. When Edgar offered to help, Setzer had waved him away, sending him to the cistern to retrieve a supply of water.

Edgar peered inside the generator. He couldn't begin to imagine why Setzer felt the need to use a hand welder to introduce an open flame into the tangled chaos. Still, if he'd managed to shock himself, then he must have been making progress.

"See something you like?" The annoyance in Setzer's voice was clear.

Edgar couldn't stop himself from smirking. "Must you be so territorial with your toys? Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?"

A dark look crossed Setzer's face before he suddenly burst into laughter. Setzer shook his head at Edgar's quizzical glance. "Darill used to say the same thing," he explained.

He stepped away from the mixer and gestured for Edgar to sit with him on the wooden crate. After lowering himself with a sigh of relief, Edgar accepted Setzer's flask. The whiskey was smoky and smooth, and it was exactly what he needed.

The pair sat in silence as they gazed down at the Falcon, which had once been hailed as the fastest airship in the world. Edgar remembered eagerly following accounts of its launch while resenting his obligation to remain bound to his desert castle.

"Do you think it will fly?" he asked.                 

"Who can say?" Setzer responded.

"Surely you can be more specific than that."

"If we can successfully manufacture the helium gas, and if neither of the bags has sprung a hole that we haven't yet caught, and if the rigging hasn’t deteriorated, and if the engine is still operational, and if we can manage to ensure that the power is delivered even to the new propellers… then I'd say we have about a fifty-fifty chance of gathering enough lift and momentum to clear the launch tunnel. Assuming it hasn't collapsed, of course."        

"I would say that those are somewhat low odds."

Setzer laughed. "And I'd say that those are betting odds. The real trouble will come when this girl is finally in the sky. We've got everything from bizarre weather to dragons to worry about, and I doubt the ship's navigation system is aligned with the current magnetic poles. And let's not forget that the Light of Judgment could strike us down at any time."

"Cheers to that." Edgar took another drink from the flask and fell silent, allowing the whiskey to warm his mouth.

Setzer removed his welding goggles and turned to the bucket Edgar brought from the cistern. He cupped water in his hands and splashed his face, which he dried with the hem of his shirt. Edgar watched the movement of his arms and shoulders with interest.

"What will you do when this is over?" Edgar asked.

"Be thrown into an unmarked grave, I suppose," Setzer replied.

"And should we succeed?"

"I haven't given it much thought. As you so aptly remarked, the odds are against us."

"Well then, let's make a bet. Shall we?"

"I'm intrigued. Do continue."

"If we fail, then you win. We may die ignominiously, but we'll have enjoyed some measure of freedom while we lived. However. If we restore balance to the world, and come out alive, then I win. We both return to my kingdom, where you will remain for three months."

"A quarter of a year is a long time."

"Certainly, but I believe we can find ways to make the days pass. Haven't you ever wondered how Figaro Castle works? How it moves within the sands? How we keep it running without Magitek? There are many who would give anything to see inside our engine rooms, and I'm offering you free run of them. If we survive, that is."

Edgar could see that Setzer's interest was piqued.

"Do we have a deal?" Edgar offered his hand to Setzer.

Setzer took it. "I like the game you play. What have I got to lose?"

"Nothing but your life, of course."

"Those are odds I can bet on."