The Skyward Swindle B r e n d a W i l s o n The Skyward Swindle Brenda Wilson Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Skyward Swindle The Skyward Swindle Brenda Wilson Brenda Wilson An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The Skyward Swindle R enny “Wren” Calloway had never been one to shy away from trouble. Trouble was like a stray cat, it followed her, circled around her feet, and occasionally clawed her when she least ex- pected it. But this particular trouble? This trouble had a really bad attitude. She was dangling from a rope, a piece of fraying twine that barely looked up to the task of holding a sack of potatoes, much less a person. But Wren wasn’t about to be picky. The whole floating market had been nothing but chaos and questionable decisions, and she had just found herself in a particularly sticky situation: the kind where you’re hanging from the top of a skyship dock, watching the ground (which was way too far below), and trying not to panic. Brenda Wilson “Oi! Hands off!” Wren hissed, her voice barely cut- ting through the wind as she whipped her hand away from a too-dapper gentleman’s waistcoat pocket. She hadn’t meant to steal anything. Really. But sometimes a pocket just looks too inviting. And be- sides, no one had seen her, except for, you know, the guy she had just tried to lift a wallet from. The gentleman spun on his polished boots, eyes narrowing with all the suspicion of a hawk who’d just spotted a mouse sneaking a snack. Wren’s heart dropped like a stone into a pit. There was a certain look men got when you tried to pickpocket them: the “I’m about to ruin your life” look. “That’s a dirty trick, little thief,” he sneered, his hand shooting out faster than a bolt of lightning, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip. Wren opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled, panic-stricken squeak. This wasn’t just any regular, middle-aged man in a waistcoat. This was a problem in a waistcoat, and Wren did not want to meet the consequences of his fury. She glanced around. Too many witnesses. Too many guards. Too many people who would make her The Skyward Swindle life a thousand times worse if she was caught. Get- ting caught here, at a high-flying market above the city streets, was like getting slapped in the face by a flying whale. It wasn’t just embarrassing—it could be deadly. So, Wren did what any self-respecting street rat would do: she ran. And not just any kind of run. This was a serious run, the kind where you don’t just sprint away—you put your whole heart and soul into it, weaving, dodg- ing, and practically flying through the maze of mar- ket stalls and airships. “Hey!” the man shouted after her. Wren didn’t even glance back. She leapt over an overturned crate, her boots skimming the edge of a floating platform. The clang of her heels against the metal was drowned out by the shouts of traders, shouting for their goods as she left them in the dust. She could hear the thudding of boots behind her, and the shout of the man getting closer. Faster , Wren thought, faster . She swerved through a group of mer- chants peddling what looked like weathered lamps, dodging a stray bundle of fish being tossed through the air. Her lungs burned, but her legs just kept mov- ing, as if they had a mind of their own. Brenda Wilson And then, in the chaos, Wren’s hand brushed something. A little piece of folded paper, barely vis- ible among the grime of the market floor. She seized it without thinking. It crinkled in her palm, the pa- per soft but sturdy, like it had been well-traveled. She had no idea what it was—but in the moment, she had learned not to question valuable things in her hands. She stopped, breathless, and unfolded it as her feet slid to a stop. Her heart skipped a beat. A map. It was crumpled and torn at the edges, but the de- tails stood out as clear as a constellation in a moon- less sky. Ancient symbols, cryptic routes, and strange, twisting patterns across what could only be described as vast expanses of sky. Floating lands. Aether Isles. The kind of treasure that made you think you’d stum- bled into a legend. Wren froze, heart thudding. A treasure map. And from the looks of it, not just any treasure, but the kind that would make pirates murder for it. The Aether Isles? No one had seen those in centuries. The map was legendary , like something you’d hear whispered about in alleyways or read in a fairy tale. The Skyward Swindle “Well, this is awkward,” she muttered to herself, still holding the map. Because at that exact moment, she heard a voice behind her. “Is that mine?” Wren didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The voice was smooth, like it had been dipped in velvet and sharpened with a steel edge. It carried a weight of authority. And danger. The man’s shadow stretched over her like a storm cloud as he stepped into her path, and Wren’s stom- ach did a somersault. A towering figure stood before her, tall, broad-shouldered, and somehow far too clean for someone who called the skies their home. He wore a long coat, the kind with gold trim and polished but- tons, and a cutlass hung by his side like it was some sort of fashion accessory. His hair, black as night and slicked back with far too much care, framed his face with the arrogance of someone who knew they’d just stepped into the spotlight. Wren swallowed hard. Brenda Wilson Lysander Graves. The infamous pirate lord of the Aether Isles. The kind of pirate that had entire fleets at his command, whose name was whispered in every port and bar across the floating world. He was a legend, the kind of man who’d throw you overboard without a second thought if you looked at him wrong, much less if you stole from him. And Wren had just taken his map. Her heart skipped a beat. The map suddenly didn’t seem like a lucky find. It felt more like a curse “Well,” she said, trying to sound confident, though her voice was a little too high-pitched to pull it off, “this is... I mean, this is awkward.” Lysander smiled, but it wasn’t the sort of smile that made people feel better. No, this was the kind of smile that made Wren think she might end up as fish food in the near future. “Awkward?” he said, taking a step forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “I think you mean fatal , little thief.” The Skyward Swindle I. Wren had made a lot of questionable decisions in her life, like stealing from the market stall that sold suspiciously expensive shoes, or that time she con- vinced an old woman she was a distant relative just to get her hands on a collection of rare coins (they turned out to be worthless). But nothing compared to the decision she’d made about two hours ago: get- ting onto a pirate ship. Well, technically, she hadn’t gotten onto it by choice. There had been a certain amount of wrig- gling, and running, and dodging (mostly dodging), and now here she was, tied up to a chair in the mid- dle of the pirate ship Wind Ravager , surrounded by the strangest group of people she’d ever laid eyes on. Brenda Wilson It was a real special kind of ship, this one. The wood creaked like it had been around since the time the Aether Isles were nothing but myths. The sails were patched together with what looked like spare socks, and there were, Wren counted, at least three parrots sitting on the rails, each squawking in its own lan- guage. One was trying to talk to a rat that appeared to live on board. Wren had no idea if the rat was part of the crew or just a very industrious stowaway, but either way, it was giving the parrot side-eye like it had seen it steal crackers before. A giant wooden plank jutted out from the side of the ship—Wren had no idea why they kept it, but the look on the crew’s faces whenever they pointed at it suggested it wasn’t there for decoration. The pirate crew was... well, they were pirates , but not the swashbuckling, charming kind you see in books. No, these were the type that gave pirates a bad name. A very bad name. There was Tiny Tom, a man whose nickname was a cruel joke because he was the size of a mountain. He didn’t talk much, preferring to grunt and glower, which was far more intimidating than Wren liked to admit. Then there was Nix, who wore a scarf around his head and had a penchant for twirling knives in The Skyward Swindle the air just to see if they’d stick in walls. There was also Finch, a wiry woman who seemed far too cheer- ful for someone who appeared to have a permanent scowl on her face. But the worst part? She was nice, which Wren couldn’t decide was weirder than her grimacing demeanor. And of course, there was Captain Lysander Graves, who was standing across from her now with that in- furiating smirk on his face. Wren gave him a glare, but he only chuckled as if she’d just told him a joke. She clenched her fists. “So,” she said, trying to project some semblance of authority. “You’re the pirate lord everyone’s been whispering about, huh?” Lysander leaned back in his oversized chair (the thing was probably meant for a giant, considering how much of it he didn’t fit). “I try to avoid whispers. They make me look bad. I prefer grander entrances.” “Well,” Wren said, scanning the dismal surround- ings, “you’ve really outdone yourself, haven’t you?” He didn’t even blink. “I’ve seen better, actually.” “Well, maybe you should stop boasting and start Brenda Wilson explaining,” she shot back. “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m not a sailor. I don’t even like the sea.” Lysander raised an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “I’m aware. But you are good at running. Which, I’m told, is an essential skill when being chased by some- one like me .” “Funny, I didn’t realize I was supposed to be afraid of you,” Wren said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Oh, don’t worry, you will be. Eventually.” He leaned forward. “Now, as much as I enjoy watching you squirm, I think it’s time you get familiar with your new job.” Wren blinked. “New job? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Captain Lysander motioned toward the door of his quarters, and the sound of boots on wooden planks echoed in the hallway. The door swung open, and in walked a hulking man with an eye patch so large it covered almost half his face. His name, Wren gath- ered, was Scar. The man didn’t say anything. He just stood there, glaring like he’d been born with a per- manent frown. Wren felt her stomach do a nervous flip. The Skyward Swindle “Meet Scar,” Lysander said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Scar, you wanna show our guest the ropes?” Wren raised her eyebrows. “You’re joking, right? I’m not doing any...rope business.” “Oh, no, no,” Lysander said with a wave of his hand. “Not that kind of rope. No, this kind of rope.” He turned to Scar, who took a step forward, holding up a length of thick, coiled rope like it was just part of his usual morning routine. “Wait,” Wren said, shaking her head. “What is this? Are you tying me up for real?” “Don’t get ahead of yourself, love,” Scar said, his voice a gruff growl. “We’re just getting started.” Wren’s eyes narrowed. “Started with what ?” Lysander grinned. “I need you to help me find the Aether Isles. And no, I’m not asking nicely.” Wren’s breath hitched. The Aether Isles? She had heard the stories, of course. They were the stuff of legends—the floating lands that no one had seen in centuries. Some said they were full of riches, others said it was a place where time stood still, where you Brenda Wilson could live forever. No one really knew, but if you did know... well, you’d be more valuable than a sack of gold. But why did Lysander want her to help him? She wasn’t even a sailor! “And what makes you think I know anything about the Aether Isles?” she demanded. He let out a small laugh, but it wasn’t exactly friend- ly. “Oh, we know you don’t. But we also know you have the map .” Wren froze. Her heart skipped, and she felt the blood drain from her face. That map. The one she had stolen “You’re... you’re insane if you think I’m helping you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. Lysander’s smile widened, his teeth gleaming like pearls in the sunlight. “Oh, I’m not asking. Not really. You are going to help. Or...” “Or what?” she cut in, crossing her arms. “You’ll throw me overboard? I’m really not worried about being in the sea, Captain. If anything, I might prefer it to being stuck here with you .” The Skyward Swindle He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with that dan- gerous glint. “Well, you’ve got two choices, sweet- heart. You help me, or you really help me.” Wren’s stomach churned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” At that moment, Scar took a step forward, cracking his knuckles with a sound that was far too satisfying for Wren’s liking. Her eyes darted toward the plank again. She swallowed. “Alright, alright,” she grumbled, “I’ll help you. But don’t think for a second that I’m sticking around for long.” Lysander gave her a smug look, as if he’d been ex- pecting that answer all along. “Good. You’ll need to grab some sea legs. First stop, the steering wheel.” Wren’s heart stopped. “Wait, what?” And just like that, Wren found herself facing the one thing more terrifying than a plank of wood: the actual steering wheel of a pirate ship. Brenda Wilson II. Wren had never imagined that getting to the Aether Isles would involve so much wind . And so many ropes . And so many sails . Frankly, she was starting to wonder why she hadn’t just taken a nice, calm stroll through the streets of the city rather than climbing aboard a floating hunk of rusting metal to follow a map she’d stolen from a pirate lord. The wind whipped through her hair, tangling it into a bird’s nest she would likely never get out. Be- low her, the sky stretched out like an endless canvas of blue, dotted with the occasional fluffy cloud. Above her, the sails creaked ominously, and every time she looked at the vast expanse of sky beneath them, she had a brief moment of panic where she thought they were way too close to falling out of the sky. The Skyward Swindle “Are you alright?” a voice asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Wren looked up to see Joss, one of the crew members, looking at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Joss was a wiry fellow with unruly hair that seemed to always be falling into his eyes. Despite the fact that he wore pirate gear like everyone else, slightly battered tunic, worn boots, and a belt full of knives, there was something about him that felt almost... too polite for a pirate. He had a certain air of concern in his eyes that seemed completely out of place among the rest of the rough crew. Wren plastered a smile on her face, though she felt like she might faint from the sheer dizziness of it all. “Oh, I’m fine!” she said, swatting the air around her with an exaggerated flourish. “Just ...uh... getting used to the, uh, view .” “Right,” Joss said skeptically, eyeing her greenish complexion. “I’ve seen you go green. You’re not fool- ing anyone.” Wren immediately regretted saying anything. “Well, you’re mistaken!” she blurted, straightening up with what she hoped was the kind of confidence that pirates would respect. “I’m as fine as a bird in Brenda Wilson a...” She paused mid-sentence, her eyes darting to the edge of the ship where the ground was an absolute long way down “A high bird!” Joss didn’t respond right away. He just stood there for a moment, brow furrowed, studying her. Wren felt a bead of sweat trail down her neck, and she cursed herself for not pretending to be more in control. She was terrible at pretending. Finally, Joss gave a shrug, as if to say, “You do you, kid,” and turned to go. “If you say so.” Wren watched him leave, feeling a little like she was caught in a trap she had no way of escaping. It didn’t help that she was currently clutching the railing like it was the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the sky and being eaten by Elephines. She had no idea if they actually existed, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to take any chances. From across the deck, she could see Captain Ly- sander standing at the helm. He was leaning over the wheel, looking at the map as if it were some sort of personal nemesis he was determined to destroy. Ev- ery few seconds, he muttered things like, “Hidden routes,” and “Dangerous currents,” and, “I swear this thing is cursed,” under his breath. His crew gave him