Rags had to admit that Codswallop had been right–the airship’s commissary had been laoded with fine foods, and he had gorged himself on toasted buttered bread, thick fat bacon, and thick pulpy orange juice. Rags had eventually stopped eating not because he was full but because he was bored, a circumstance which he had never felt before in his years on the street.

He had to admit it was nice, even as it galled him somewhat to have Codswallop nearby constantly wiping his mouth.

Laying in his cabin, on his bed–fully clothed, because after seeing the pajamas on offer, Rags refused to have anything to do with such a prissy garment–he had to admit as well that a full belly and a soft bed had their merits as well. Even if the bed was so soft and his belly so full that it felt unnatrual to sleep, accustomed as Rags was to having sleep for dinner.

As Rags lay there, he heard a distant sound, and the china on his bedside table rattled. The tea within it was long cold–Rags had not been able to finish it despite loading it with sugar and milk–but ripples were clearly visible in the liquid. The shadows of the full moon outside were also shifting through the cabin porthole, which led Rags to realize after a moment that the entire airship was shifting–perhaps changing course?

A second impact rattled the ship hard enough for the cup to bounce off the nightstand and shatter.

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