I ducked under the doorframe and immediately pulled up my tunic over my face.  If you learnt anything in your first few days in this godforsaken place, it was that the dust got everywhere, including all over your lungs.  Why they decided to build a town on a chalk deposit was beyond me.  The bartender locked the door behind me, the headscarf that most of the locals wore already tight across his face.  He bent towards my ear.

"Y'know where yer goin'?  Eastwise, then follow the crowd.  Dust a bit heavy today elsewise I'd be tellin' y' to look for the towers."

I nodded.  I'd seen the landing site before, although not when I'd came in.  Too many eyes on most of the passenger ships for me to risk coming in in that particular manner.  I rubbed the insides of my legs as I picked up the pace.  Horses were a much less comfortable mode of travel than airship.

It wasn't hard for me to find the landing towers.  Even without directions, there wasn't a whole lot of Cliff's Edge to get lost in, and a few turns later I was walking toward the towers.  I frowned - they were a little closer than was typical for a landing site.  If they weren't careful, an emergency landing might end up in the town buildings proper.  And an emergency landing was often just another word for crash.

I pushed my way into the middle of the crowd of onlookers that had formed and looked up, squinting against the sunlight that glimmered across the dust floating in the sky.  Two tugs, or at least that's what it looked like, were up in the air.  I turned to the person next to me and tapped them on the shoulder.

"What's happening?"

They glanced at me for a second, then seemed to reach some internal conclusion.  "Standard procedure, ain't it.  Distress call comes in, them what's on duty runs up the tugs and sees what's needed.  We ain't heard nothin' more about it since them dying bells."

I nodded a thanks and turned my head back to the sky.  Dying bells - skydust, this place was further out in the empty plains than I'd thought.  The last person I'd met who'd used that phrase hadn't known how to write their own name.  Mind you, I hadn't seen much evidence of writing in this place anyway.  Maybe it got that way, the further out you went.  But then how did they keep their records?

I shook my head and brought my focus back to the sky as another distress call sounded, this time five peals - tugs sighted.  I scanned the skies and something caught my eye to the North - a huge form in the chalk dust mist.  A low whistle escaped my lips and the rest of the crowd glanced first to me, then to the same region of sky.

"Mother below," someone muttered.  If I'd believed in that myth, I'd have been inclined to agree.  The ship was one of the biggest I'd ever seen, or at least it looked that way from what I could see.  It was a miracle it was still flying under distress.

The tugs sounded their own bells and I flicked my gaze back.  They looked to be dual ballooned craft and I frowned.  Strange that a place with run-down buildings that looked as though they'd been built before the first water was broached had tugs that modern.  The ships turned and accelerated towards the large form in the mist, propellers buzzing against the air.  After a minute, I couldn't see them any more - just a swirl of dust in the air that marked their trail.  One of the people in the crowd coughed.

"S'pose it might be useful to be gettin' the watermaster, 'leastways if we've havin' a crash on our hands."

There was a mutter of assent and someone peeled away from the crowd, heading back to the main part of the town.  A blue headscarf - ship's crew then, or that was what I'd managed to work out so far.

"An' the rest of y', y'all can make y'selves useful with the beacons.  It's heavy chalk t'day, not weather I'd like to be fixin' to land a ship in in typical circumstances.  Least we can be doin' is gettin' those lit."

I jumped as the bartender's voice issued from behind me, then turned to look for the beacons.  I could just make out two or three piles of wood through the dust, and as the crowd split towards them I figured they must be the beacons.  The bartender clapped me on the shoulder.

"Alright then, time t' make y'self useful.  Y'know what t' do?"

The physical contact caught me off guard. "Run the fires up the towers, yes.  Make sure they've got a target for the landing so they don't hit the town, and help set up the water pumps in case we lose control."

His headscarf shifted - a raised eyebrow, at my best guess.   "An' how long have y'been knowin' about emergency landings?"  He raised a hand.  "Never mind, not that it's important now.  But I'll be buyin' y' a round of drinks later to tell me a story or two.  Get to it."  He turned towards the dissipating crowd and raised his voice.  "Aye, y' lot!  Io here knows what they're about.  They get you to do somethin', you do it, or leastways you ask me."

A few curious heads turned my way, but most were occupied - or simply nodded.  I glanced back at the bartender with a new appraisal.  Clearly he held some kind of weight here, but exactly what?  I stepped over to one of those who'd turned towards me.

"Where do the pumps run?"

They scratched just below the upper wrap of their headscarf - red.  A farmer.

"There'n be two off t' the South, no more'n thirty metres off the landin' post.  Y'know how to open 'em up I trust."

"That I do.  I'll need an extra hand, if you're not doing anything?"

"Aye, I'll be with y'.  Gerr!  Tash!  Get y' grubby faces over 'ere, we're openin' the pumps."

I set off at a jog towards the pumps as the tug bells rang again - long and slow.  They were attempting a grapple.  The ship must be getting close.  The farmer I'd been talking to was close behind, as well as two others who'd peeled off from the crowd - Gerr and Tash, I assumed.

"The pumps are under those there slats, y' see 'em?"

I nodded and raised a thumbs up.  If Cliff's Edge skimped on some things, at least it kept its emergency equipment up to scratch. I stuck a boot under the edge and levered, adding a hand as I gained purchase.  Gerr quickly hurried around to the other side and together we pried the slats off with a sudden pop.  Tash and the farmer were working on the other pump, and I glanced down.  Standard empty plains design, a three tap interchange and no point for an external hose.  Practical, and it worked.  I opened the first valve and glanced up at Gerr.  "Nothing I need to be worrying about here, aside from the usual?"

He shook his head.  "Standard design, that's the way of it."

I knelt and pressed my ear to the pipe as the first hiss of rushing water made itself known, then quickly twisted open the second tap.  A small dribble of water leaked out of the release valve and I glanced back up at Gerr.  "Container?"

He stooped and uncapped a large barrel at the bottom of the recess where the pipe lay, and the water began to trickle into it.  The pump would be on until at least the landing - no sense in wasting so much water.  A look over to the other pair showed me that they'd also got their pump working. The farmer waved over at me.

"North pumps!  Same place, or just about."

I nodded and turned to Gerr.  "You'll manage with this one?"

He frowned and nodded.  "Aye, I will.  Y' not from 'round here are y'?  Can tell from y' voice."

I pretended not to hear and ran toward the north tower.  As I passed the beacons, a surge of heat on my right told me that they'd been lit.  A bell from the tug confirmed it - high and short.  Two more - they'd hooked the big one, or at least they thought they had.  Good.  I stooped and pulled up the slats of the next pump, the farmer helping on the other side.  As we ran to the next one over I heard a terrible grinding noise and looked up.  The hull of one of the tugs squeaked against the larger ship.

"Skydust.  What happened to her?"

The larger ship was shattered.  One of the propellers hung limp on its starboard, blades shattered beyond repair.  I peered up - punctured balloon?  It was a wonder she was still flying.  The tugs were straining under her weight and I glanced toward the landing field - they'd make it.  Just.  We watched as the tugs pulled the struggling ship above the square.  A cry went up from the crowd as they shot the landing lines towards them, and the ship slowly sank towards the ground, landing with an almighty thud.  I watched the towers nervously, but they didn't give so much of a shake.  There'd be no call for the pumps today.

"We'd best be goin' to see what's happenin' with her, I'd say.  Old Saran says y' name's Io?"

I nodded and he extended a hand.  "Jerem.  Y' know what y' about, an' we needed that today."

"Same with you."  I shook his hand - dry and scratchy, like the chalk.

The crowd gathered at the ship was parted as the healers moved through, a stretcher between each pair.  I averted my eyes.  The crew were alive, at least, but for how long.  The bartender - Saran - cleared his throat.

"Get y' sorry asses back to what y' were up to.  There'll be no scavengin' today."

Beside him stood another figure - old, by the posture, and short.  Their purple headscarf fluttered in the breeze.  The watermaster.  I started to turn away as the two began a muttered discussion.

"... there's no notes, ain't no chronicler neither.  No badge."

"It's bad business then, I'll be wagerin'."

I stopped in my tracks.  No chronicler?  Such a thing was unheard of.