Levitational drift rocked my hammock the next morning. I rolled out, climbed the ladder, and pressed my nose to the porthole. The ship actualized, and the thoroughfare changed to clouds with pinkish hues on their faces. An enormous market floated among the clouds. The ship flew under the marble pavilion that was large enough to shelter a planet. Beneath the pavilion was a continent. A rug with ornate red, blue, and green patterns spanned the entire world. Atop the rug were oddities and antiques that were organized into mountainous piles. There were fountains, cups, dressers, armoires, tables, chairs, desks, shelves, drawers, and stoves, as large as titanic towers and small as insects.

  “Step to it, boy,” Spieder couched, lighting his first cigarette. “Them landing legs ain’t gonna drop themselves, you know. Then go above and unstrap the load.”

  Offloading was like being told to wait for dinner when you were starving, and the food was on the table before you. I hated it, but there was no point in dawdling. I wasn’t going anywhere until I had a purse in my pocket.

  Poughkeepsy Relics had no port. The ships would land on the rug between the towering displays. Skippers and crew sold their goods like shops, opening their cargo doors to the public. It was busy and never took long to offload. I went up to the skipper’s office when the cargo hold was empty. Dick was sitting behind the desk, and Crickle was standing next to him.

  “Sign the ledger,” Crickle said.

  I dipped my nail in the ink and made my mark. We locked eyes when Dick offered me the sack.

  “You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, boy,” he said.

  I snatched the purse from his hoof. He was a miserable old thing, and nobody to be giving advice. The happiness of knowing I would never crew under him again flowed through me as I walked down the gangway.

  “Burgeon!” Crickle said, following me out. “You got a good life mask?”

  “A pretty good one,” I said, patting the breast of my jacket.

  “You’ll need to wear a mask in realms you don’t belong in.”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  Crickle handed me an envelope.

  “What’s this?” I said.

  “Your letter of reference.”

  His words went over my head for a moment.

  “How did you get Dick to sign this? I said.

  “He thought he was signing the cargo manifest.”

  The furry blue creature turned, heading back up the gangway.

  “Crickle,” I said.

  He turned to look at me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Make sure you have a good mask, Burgeon. You’re gonna need it.”

  The sun orbited the pavilion, providing just enough light to make everything shine. Her warmth was tempered by a breeze. Everything was immaculately kept, polished, and loved. Each of the realm’s oddities was made into a monument. Scores of minkish natives meandered about the city, some carried atop plush silk cushions by their mechanisms, casually shopping. Their fur was radiant as gold. Their eyes glimmered like jewels. They smelled of potpourri.

  My wandering took me to a table where a crooked pipe caught my eye. It had tiny engravings, like curling wisps of smoke.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the clerk. “Do you speak Doggish?”

  “Yes,” he said without looking up.

  “How much for this one?” I said, pointing at the billiard.

  Irritation flashed across his face.

  “You want to know how much the pipe is worth? Or you would like to buy it?”

  “I’ll buy it if I can afford it.”

  “You either want to buy it, or you don’t!”

  “Never mind.”

  I went down the row a short way, following my nose to a fruit stand. The minkish clerk tending the stand had sparkling blue eyes and polished oak claws.

  “Can I get you something?” she said.

  “Actually, I was wondering if you could point the way to a reasonable inn around here.”

  Her expression soured.

  “Reasonable?” she said.

  “Yes, I need accommodations for a few days.”

  She glared at me.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, returning to the book she was reading.

  “Are we not speaking the same language?”

  “I can’t help you,” she said.

  Creatures from Poughkeepsy Relics had noted reputations for being rude. I walked the long rows of antiques, searching for an inn I thought I could afford. I found a whitewashed, seven-story dresser at the far end of town. It said WayGone Inn in chipped paint over the door carved into the dresser’s leg. I went inside. My ears drooped to my shoulders when I saw that the inside was just as breathtaking as the rest of town.

  “Oh, I apologize for the state of this place,” the minkish clerk said. “How may I be of service?”

  “How much is a room for the night?”

  “How much?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to know how much it costs?”

  “Yes?”

  The clerk had the same offended look on his face as the vendors. A couple minkish guests sitting by the fire turned their noses up at me.

  “I beg pardon,” I said. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve visited your realm many times, but this is my first time staying overnight.”

  The clerk waved me in closer to whisper in my ear.

  “Minkish creatures believe it’s impolite to inquire about the value of things. Here, everything is valuable.”

  “But how do I know if I want to buy something if I don’t know how much it costs?”

  “You either want it or you don’t. Money should be of no object.”

  I was just a voyager. I couldn’t afford to throw gold and silver away on whatever I wanted.

  “I can’t stay in your inn if I don’t know how much it costs.”

  “Probably for the best,” the clerk said. “We don’t grant room and board to strays anyway.”

  I stopped and turned and put my nose in his little face.

  “I am no stray!” I growled. “I wear a collar. I am skilled, clean, and harbor no fleas.”

  “You’re from the dark side of the Loyal Trench, aren’t you?”

  “My family’s ship makes birth on the light side of the trench, actually.”

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  “Really?” said the clerk, his glimmering eyes going wide. “Ten apologies. I didn’t realize and surely did not mean any offense. And with the nature of your…”

  The clerk pointed at my wings.

  “A bastard,” I said. “Yes. But do not call me a stray.”

  “Very well. The room is two pieces per night.”

  I pulled two silver coins from the purse in my jacket pocket and placed them on the desk.

  “You’ll be in Drawer Number Seven.”

  A minkish bellhop stepped out of the back and gestured for me to follow him. I followed him as he hopped up the elegantly carpeted stairs.

  “Drawer Number Seven,” the bellhop said as he climbed up the small ladder next to the door, opened it, and handed me the key.

  The wicker furniture was white and clean, and the bathroom tiles, tub, and sink were shiny.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” the bellhop said.

  “No, thanks.”

  I turned to see the bellhop holding his paw out.

  “Oh, right,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling another silver piece.

  I looked down at the creature and reluctantly placed the coin in his little paw, then turned to have another look at the room. The bellhop cleared his throat. I turned to see him still holding his paw out. I placed another coin in his paw. He rolled his eyes and stepped out, sliding the door shut behind him. I’d have happily shown myself up to the room if I’d known following a bellhop up some stairs would cost as much as the room. My plans to stay in Poughkeepsy Relics for a week were foiled. I’d already spent half my money. I had to find another job, and fast.

  The day was still new, so I took the opportunity to head back out. I boarded ships, looking for their skippers and seeing if they needed voyagers, but with no luck. I got hungry and stopped at a tiny cafe that was inside an old glass breadbox and had a sandwich and some java. The meat was so fresh and juicy. The livestock of the realm probably ate better than I did. The bread was chewy and warm, and the salt from the pickle pinched my tongue with a sourness that drew even more flavor out of the meat. My java was hot and creamy. I felt revived until the bill came. I pulled two more pieces from my pocket to pay for it. I had to scurry to avoid being scowled at when I couldn’t afford to tip my waiter. It made me feel wretched, but I was out of silver. Still, a meal like that would only have cost half a piece back in Weeping Wallows. I couldn’t understand why everything there was so damned expensive.

  I flew off before anyone could say anything and landed next to a crew beside a jagged, one-hundred-and-six-cubit ship. Nobody turned their noses up at me. I fit right in with the other bastard voyagers.

  “Beg pardon,” I said, tapping a creature with six bulky arms.

  “What, boy?” he snapped.

  “I’m looking for ships bound for Delinquent Undergrowths or somewhere close to it.”

  “Ain’t we all?”

  “You know where I might board one?”

  “Have a look at the dock map and leave us be.”

  He pointed at a board across the street.

  “Thanks.”

  I ducked under creatures hauling barrels and crates and cages full of squawking chirpies and other critters of various sorts. Gandering at the map revealed that only five ships were headed for realms close to Delinquent Undergrowths. Persuasion would be needed to get a job on one.

  I leaped and flew to the other side of town.

  “Beg pardon,” I said as I landed.

  “Bugger off, boy!” one of the crew growled.

  “Might I get a word with the skipper?”

  “What did I just say? We ain’t hiring, so away with ye!”

  “I’d like to hear that from the skipper?”

  Someone shoved me from behind and I fell on my face.

  “We are the skipper, far as you’re concerned,” a voyager said, standing over me with a whip. “Now piss off, or I’ll flog you senseless!”

  I got up, brushed myself off, determined not to let them think they rattled me, and then flew to the next ship I saw on the map. The crew was on liberty, so I boarded. I called out inside the hold, but nobody answered. I walked down the corridor and poked my head into the skipper’s cabin. Then I saw something that would be burned into my memory. The skipper was in union, quite athletically, with a minkish young thing on his desk. I ran.

  The crew of the third ship was meandering about, awaiting orders.

  “When’s takeoff?” I said.

  “Before the moon rises,” one of them said. “And we’re full up. We got no jobs, even if you were working for free.”

  The fourth ship was remarkably well-kept. Grande was her name, and she bore a crystal figurehead over the cargo door. The crew was busy stowing cargo, too busy to notice me sneak past and into the skipper’s cabin, where he and his first mate were busy with the manifest.

  “I beg pardon, skipper,” I said.

  The skipper looked up from his desk, then back at what he was doing.

  “We don’t hire canids,” he said.

  “I’m more of a raptor than a canid, sir.”

  “Still a canid. And selling yourself as a raptor ain’t gonna help, neither.”

  The skipper’s words were a punch to the gut. I’d heard of racism toward canids before, but this was the first time I’d experienced it for myself. I became angry.

  “You got some kind of problem with canids?” I said.

  “Not so long as they stay off my ship. Flea-ridden, mangy, and gullible… But you need hands, not paws, to tie a knot and hold a rod.”

  “I have hands,” I said, holding up the talons I inherited from Mom. “And experienced they are. I’m a lifelong voyager with the letters of reference to prove it.”

  “What did I say, boy? I don’t take on canids. Now get off my ship before I have you skinned and boiled for supper!”

  I walked down the gangway, angry and defeated. My spirits were crushed when I saw my last chance, the fifth ship listed on the map, lift off. I’d failed.

  The bed at the inn was the most comfortable I’d ever slept in, but I couldn’t sleep. If I couldn’t get a job the next day, I’d have to sleep on a park bench and would actually become the stray everyone was accusing me of being. I could feel the fleas itching me already. The Hearth would have made way back to Weeping Wallows by that time, which meant I couldn’t go back either. I started doubting myself for the first time. Maybe everyone was right. This was a bad idea. I missed Sharubym something terrible, but I had to succeed. I’d be a laughingstock if I returned to Weeping Wallows with nothing to show for my efforts.

  Dawn came, bringing a sense of dread. I was officially homeless. I walked down the stairs to a complimentary breakfast and sat at the long table with the minkish guests. A stocky mustelid with a nice jacket and black stripes on his face sat at the head of the table. He was almost as big as I was, making him about five times the size of everyone else. A mechanism dropped a couple of biscuits into my bowl and slathered them with breakfast gravy.

  “Do you live in Poughkeepsy, Mr. Badgerine?” one of the guests said.

  “No,” the mustelid said.“I’m from Toughing Throughits–just here on business.”

  “Toughing Throughits?” she said. “I’ve never been. Is it pleasant?”

  “It’s home.”

  “There are many mustelids native to that realm?” another guest chimed.

  Another mechanism poured me a cup of java.

  “Yes,” the Badgerine said. “Though most of them are sedentary and not very sociable. “What brings a canid to Poughkeepsy?”

  I glanced up from my food to see everyone looking at me.

  “Oh,” I said, wiping my mouth and straightening my posture. “I’m a voyager looking for a job to Delinquent Undergrowths, or a realm close to it.”

  “Yes?” the Badgerine said. “Are you simply looking for work, or are you headed for adventure?”

  “A little of both, I suppose.”

  “What’s in Delinquent Undergrowths?”

  I paused. Creatures hadn’t anything good to say about my intentions when I told them before, but what did they care? They didn’t know me and were in no position to judge.

  “My Mom and Dad were estranged some years ago. I’m trying to find her.”

  “Delinquent Undergrowths?” one of the guests said. “Lovely realm. I’ve visited many times.”

  “Yes,” repeated several others. “Quite nice.”

  My ears perked, lifting my snout into a smile.

  “Even without layovers, that’s one long voyage,” the Badgerine said.

  “Aye,” I said, taking another bite of my breakfast.

  The Badgerine nodded, looking pensively at my wings. I can’t explain why, but he seemed to understand.

  “Are you an experienced voyager?” he said.

  “Yes. With letters of reference.”

  “Have you spoken to the port authority?”

  “The port authority?”

  “He’ll get you a job if you need.”

  “I didn’t know voyagers were allowed in his office.”

  “Usually true, but exceptions can be made.”

  The Badgerine pulled a business card out of his jacket pocket.

  “Here,” he said. “Just tell him I sent you, and he’ll see to it you get under way as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you very, very much.”

  “You’re welcome, lad. I wish you the best of luck on your journey.”

  I stuffed the rest of my breakfast into my mouth and gulped my java. I could smell the clerk’s relief as I dropped the key on his desk and shuffled out the door. I jumped into a breeze, flapped my wings, lifting above the city of baubles, and flew to the port authority’s office. I landed right outside his door. My senses were distorted when I went inside. A mechanism stood in the corner, and a wooden creature sat behind the desk. He looked like an awkward little yew-wood tree with stringy arms and legs, and smelled like hemlock. He had bark growing on his head, arms, chest, and legs, where most creatures grew fur. I pulled my wooden mask out of my inner jacket pocket. I had to remove my collar and compass to put the mask on my face, so I did, and stuffed them into my pocket.

  “Can I help you?” he said, my mask translating his fluting language to words I could understand.

  “I’m looking for passage to the realm of Delinquent Undergrowths,” I said. “Or at least a realm within close proximity.”

  “What’s it to me?” he said, rubbing his gut that protruded like a knot on the side of an old tree.

  I took the Badgerine’s card out of my pocket and handed it to him.

  “You won’t find a passage going to Delinquent Undergrowths here in Poughkeepsy Relics unless you’re willing to pay a fare onboard a passenger liner.”

  Much to my surprise, the wooden creature’s nose fell off his face, bounced off the counter, and rolled onto the floor at my feet.

  “Oh,” I said, picking up the nose and handing it to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  He took the nose and placed it into the bag on his desk. I’d have guessed he was embarrassed.

  “What you want to do is go to Falsick Beds.”

  His ear fell off next, bounced off his shoulder, and then hit the floor behind him with a crack. I pretended not to notice. An insect crawled up to his shoulder, and started squeaking in his ear.

  “Falsick Beds?” I said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Aye…” he said, and the finger pointing out the window fell off at the knuckle.

  “You’re saying I need to go to this realm to get passage to Delinquent Undergrowths?”

  “Aye. Delinquent Undergrowths doesn’t import any goods from Poughkeepsy Relics. But Falsick Beds exports wriggle bliss. It’s a caviar them raptors love to eat. Many more ships are leaving that port, and you should have no problem securing passage to Delinquent Undergrowths from there.”

  What remained of his hand fell off at the wrist. His story made sense, and I knew the pay would be considerable. Voyagers were usually paid based on the earnings from the cargo. The richer the cargo, the better the cut.

  “The Withheld is hiring and will lift off tonight.”

  There were many strange creatures in the Infinite Beyonds, but even with all my problems, I didn’t have to live with parts of myself falling off like withered tree branches.

  ******

  You land on a planet-sized mall with mountains of trinkets and oddities; what to you buy for yourself? Let us know in the comments!