The survivors of Ilinalta were in no condition to protect themselves. They hoped to receive shelter and protection.
Dumbledore agreed readily. He also persuaded Moonshadow and Aranea: send home those who wanted to go home, and bring those who wanted to head to Winterhold back together.
He tried to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on the flying ship, so the little boat's interior would have enough room for everyone, but because the vessel had already been soaked through with magical energy, his spell was hard to make stick.
"Looks like the barrier between these two kinds of magic won't be broken so easily," the old wizard muttered, rather vexed. Then he thought of something else. "But if that's the case, counter-curses will also have a harder time working on enchanted objects. That's a good thing, too."
Moonshadow only smiled, saying nothing.
By the lakeside, the survivors burned the bones. They planned to take the ashes of those they knew with them.
Dumbledore had a sudden flash of inspiration: he used Transfiguration to make a train carriage, then used the flying ship as the engine. That way, he could bring everyone along and solve the problem at once.
"Pragmatism never goes out of style, does it?" Dumbledore stroked his beard. He knew his life was short and had no confidence he could chase down the shared underlying principles between two magical systems, but he could use plain, practical wisdom to combine them in an organic way.
Three days later, the flying ship returned to Winterhold with a single carriage in tow. Using a boat to pull a train was a mind-blowing combo even in a magical world.
But the people of Winterhold had no time to marvel at that. At the North District harbor docks, everyone was gathered to witness the launch of a steamship: the North Sea Ghost.
The North Sea Ghost was a small steamship, and it was also the ride Skyl had prepared for this trip to Solstheim.
If Winterhold wanted to build a shipping system of its own, it would start by manufacturing steamships.
With wooden boats all around it for comparison, the iron-skinned vessel looked like some bizarre monster.
The Ilinalta survivors Dumbledore brought back also came to the port. When they saw the North Sea Ghost, they were baffled. "Is that a ship?"
The Winterhold locals nodded. "Yeah. Pretty, isn't it?"
"But why doesn't it have sails? Or oars? I've never seen a ship like this. It's all iron—can it even move once it's in the water?"
"Heh. You don't get it, do you?" A Winterhold man smiled and started explaining how a steamship worked. "See that windmill-looking thing at the stern? That's a paddle wheel. The engine drives it, the wheel turns, and it pushes the ship forward. This iron ship looks heavy, but its draft isn't even a meter… Engine? That's a machine that uses a fire enchantment to boil water, then uses steam to spin the wheel. Ah—stay at the general-education school for two months and you'll understand what a steam engine is."
"You have schools here?"
"Of course. And tuition's free!" The old Winterhold man puffed out his chest, and the outsiders clicked their tongues in envy.
Across all of Skyrim, the level of education could be described as tragic. There was only family tutoring and private master-apprentice teaching; illiteracy was extremely high. Most Nords couldn't read or write. Their language and culture were passed down by word of mouth, with an extremely weak ability to withstand disruption. If it weren't for those barbarians' fierce racial pride, they would've been assimilated by the Empire long ago.
Even so, Nords were still worse off with every passing generation. They had even abandoned faith in Jhunal, the god of wisdom, charging down the path of strong limbs and simple minds with no turning back. The College had poured endless effort into straightening these barbarians out, and of them all, Brelyna had contributed the most.
Building the general-education school was a major step for magical industry, but there was still a long road ahead before they could train qualified spellcasting workers for production lines.
The North Sea Ghost slid slowly into the water. The waves kicked up by a thirty-ton ship flipped several fishing boats moored at the harbor, and the fishermen watching from little skiffs yelped as they tumbled into the sea.
Winterhold's residents broke into applause and celebration.
From the start of construction to rolling off the line and launching, this finely made ship had taken less than three days: Transfiguration handled the hull and all the parts; College mages worked overtime to enchant everything; then Winterhold workers assembled the components into a whole.
Two magical systems combined—exploding into a staggering productivity that demanded attention.
Brelyna placed a captain's hat into Skyl's hands. "After you, Captain. Time to board."
Skyl tried on the tricorn, and everyone burst out laughing.
"Well? Still handsome?"
The members of the High Tower gave him a sailor's salute and shouted, "O Captain, my Captain."
The whole harbor drowned in laughter.
Skyl swept his gaze across the crowd and spotted a travel-worn Dumbledore. The old wizard removed his hat, gave him a nod, and even winked playfully.
"My professor, please come aboard with me!"
The North Sea Ghost's first batch of crew and passengers totaled only twenty-three.
Skyl, a total landlubber, was acting captain. Brelyna was his first mate. J'zargo served as boatswain, and Onmund was chief engineer. Winterhold provided fourteen sailors, plus a cook and a few attendants.
The Dragonborn found it all fascinating and asked to serve as a powerless second mate. His follower Lydia, Dumbledore, Moonshadow, and Aranea boarded as passengers.
On the very day it was launched, the North Sea Ghost officially set sail. It was a custom build: not only was it powered by enchanted steam, the hull itself was enchanted as well, giving it extremely low resistance on the open sea. At full speed it could reach nearly forty knots, and with favorable wind and water, even faster.
From Winterhold to Solstheim was still a five-day voyage, and during that time everyone got a taste of sailor life. Early on, with not enough experience, they were clumsy and frantic; coordination took real effort. Out at sea, there were all kinds of unexpected situations, and dealing with them was no easy thing.
If they were in a hurry, they could've simply used a flight spell—or copied Dumbledore's flying ship and arrived in less than a day. Or, even more bluntly, Skyl could use an Oblivion Gate to enter Apocrypha directly, then everyone could find Miraak, beat him senseless, and make him cough up the dragon souls he'd pocketed…
They went to all this trouble not because Skyl had nothing better to do, but because he was following the College council's advice: open a trade route from Winterhold to Solstheim, trade their cheap agricultural goods for local resources, and—while they were at it—attract some Dark Elves to relocate to Winterhold.
These five days at sea were, in truth, quite pleasant. Feel the ocean breeze, fish in the open water—sometimes the ship would stop along the way, and everyone would jump into the sea for a swim to kill the boredom.
Brelyna said she'd bought a new swimsuit, and Skyl strongly suspected it was just an excuse to show off her figure. Winterhold was huge, yet it only had one clothing shop—and it sold winter clothes. Still, Brelyna really did put on a bikini: pure white, generously cut, with big bows tied at her back and waist.
"I asked little Hermione to buy it for me," Brelyna said with a shy smile. "I get along with her pretty well."
Her swimsuit was an instant eye-catcher. The women all wanted to outshine one another and wear that sort of thing too, but there were no tailors in the middle of the ocean—so they remembered Transfiguration.
To maintain his gentlemanly image, Skyl firmly refused to use Transfiguration to make bikinis. But there was still one friend to women aboard: the old bumblebee, Dumbledore.
The old man looked like a traditional wizard, but he knew far more than he let on. The lovely swimsuits he conjured up could've strutted into a fashion show without the slightest shame.
Lady Moonshadow didn't mind changing into a swimsuit at all, giving these mortals a feast for their eyes. When she stepped onto the deck from the cabin, the men's praise instantly drowned out the sound of the waves.
Aranea the ascetic refused at first. She didn't want to wear something so contrary to her vows of discipline, lest Lady Azura think she was an improper believer. But in the end Moonshadow talked her into it, and she came to the deck as well, red-faced.
The last was the Dragonborn's follower, Lydia. This Nord girl was like a blade of iron—straightforward and direct. When she saw the Dragonborn staring at the other ladies with eyes gone stupid, she didn't say a word. She changed into a swimsuit too, then dragged the Dragonborn into the sea.
"Teach me to swim." There was a suspicious blush on Lydia's cheeks. Her treading-water skills were actually excellent, but she wanted to give the man a chance to show off.
"I can't." The Dragonborn was an honest kid. He really couldn't.
The landlubber gulped and sank. Thankfully, the Dragonborn had learned Waterbreathing—otherwise he'd become a joke sung for centuries. In the future, young Nords would sit in taverns listening to heroic tales as bards sang: our Dragonborn was meant to defeat dragons, but he slipped into the sea and drowned.
And everyone would surely think: this is the Dragonborn? What a dumbass.
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