Reinol von Lorica
Captain Whitlock had passed.
I wasn’t as sad as I thought I would be. It was…surprising. I was there when she spoke her last. As much as I wanted to yell, to scream, to shout, to ask why she did what she did…I couldn’t. I don’t know why. I just wanted to make her smile one last time.
We made it back to New Winchester not long after. To this day, I wonder that if I had been a second faster, might had she been able to survive? The doctor said that there wasn’t a chance but still…
The Stationmaster’s visit certainly didn’t help. But his questions helped to clear my mind at least. Made me remember who I was.
I was a zailor once. Just like my mother. And my father, or at least, that’s what she told me about him. She showed me the ropes, taught me how to sail the Zee, manage a crew, hold my grog, and bed the engineer. Useful things at the time, and even more useful now.
I sought fame in the Skies. Just like my father. I know that’s what he did, because I see his name in every book in every library in every settlement that dared call itself a dominion of the Empire. It’s not that I want to be like him. Quite the contrary.
I wish only to surpass and eclipse his name. To carve my own name into history, just like he did. I like to call this payback for what he’s done. To me. To mother.
I’ve been summoned to attend to the matters of our late captain’s will. Other than her passing of the locomotive onto me, it seems she left much more. And for that, I am glad.
17th of May, 1905
Fabian von Lorica
gooseygazette.art.blog 