The Islanders

Havocs were quickly reserved for collectors and national galleries, the sketches for the Havocs went to a museum on Derril, Large Home. The Shroud was not for sale, and neither was The Singer of Airs.

That loving portrait of Muy, an insight into Bathurst’s past and his deeper self, his talent never before seen to such minimal but brilliant effect, remained the property of the artist. For that short time at the gallery view, a woman was briefly seen through the artist’s eyes, a beauteous woman with wind troubling her hair and her clothes, and unspent passion troubling her eyes.

Bathurst and his entourage departed quietly from Gannten Asemant a few days later. It was never revealed where he was going, but Kammeston’s biography suggests that it was to Salay, or one of the other islands in that group. Bathurst’s life was destined to be long and he had many more islands to visit. The proprietor of the Blue Lagoon, Jel Toomer, became a wealthy man on his commissions from the exhibition. He donated the gallery building and all its remaining contents to the Gannten Seigniory, left the island and has not been heard of since.

The Blue Lagoon is still in existence and is open daily to visitors. Most of the paintings Bathurst exhibited that day are displayed in the building, but obviously only in reproduction, and in some cases fairly poor reproduction.

Dant Willer continued to work for the Ganntenian News until the period of apprenticeship was complete, but then moved away to Muriseay.

Ferry services to the Gannten Chain have improved in recent years, but it remains a remote part of the Archipelago. Hotel accommodation is not available at international standards, but inexpensive pensions can be found near the gallery and are recommended on that basis.

There are no shelterate laws anywhere in the Gannten Chain, but havenic rules should be observed.

Currency: Ganntenian credit, Archipelagian simoleon.

Goorn CHILL WIND THE SEACAPTAIN

It was not much of a course, but I was not much of a student. Choices of college education on my cold home island were always limited, unless you were able to win a scholarship to somewhere on another island. I was not, so in the company of many Goorn people of my age I headed for the technical college in Evllen. This town, sheltered by a range of hills in the surrounding countryside, and touched by the tepid last flow of a warm sea current from the southern reaches of the Archipelago, enjoyed a comparatively moderate climate. In Goorn terms this meant that it rained almost every day.

I completed my first year and then prepared for the obligatory gap year. A gap year was a way of saving expenses for the administration, while maintaining their grant-in-aid by keeping the student count technically higher. It was not for students an option. Most of my fellow students drifted off home, while the ones whose families had money set off on several months of vacation, the most popular choice being an extended sequence of island-hopping in the warmer island groups to the south.

I did neither of these because unexpectedly I landed a gap-year job in the north of Goorn.

My subject was practical stagecraft, the course I had drifted into by default, but which after the first week or two began to interest me. By the end of my first year I was sufficiently motivated to write several application letters, and when a temporary job in the town of Omhuuv was offered to me I jumped at it.

Omhuuv. I had never heard of the place, but soon tracked it down to a part of Goorn I never imagined I would visit. It was in the region known as the Tallek, in the mountains along the northern coast, a small port whose main industries the year round were the packing, smoking and canning of fish. Until I started applying it had not occurred to me there would be a theatre up there, but it seemed this was so. Teater Sjokaptein, located in the heart of the town, closed its doors during the winter months, but maintained a repertory of drama and mixed entertainment throughout the summer. Tourism appeared to be the third industry in Omhuuv. Internet checks revealed that climbing, trekking, water sports, orienteering and tunnelling were all popular activities around Omhuuv’s fjord, or in the surrounding mountains.

Once my place was confirmed I was anyway told that because of the winter closure there was no point in my attending until spring was due. I went home to Goornak Town, where my parents lived, and drifted through the cold months. Then, after an email confirmation from the theatre, I set off for Omhuuv on one of the round-island buses. The trip took four days.

My first priority was to find somewhere to stay. I had been browsing a college website which listed possible addresses, and in the weeks leading up to my departure I made provisional bookings at three of them. The one I chose after I arrived was an upstairs room in a house close to the seafront. The window looked out towards one of the smaller wharfside smokehouses, with a view beyond it across the smooth waters of the fjord. On the far side a mountain rose sheer from the water, and for the first few days of my time there the steep sides were patched with traces of clinging snow. Later, when the thaw settled in, the same mountainside was etched with white watercourses, as a dozen wild falls tumbled down to the sea.

I went shopping — there appeared to be only one general food-store in the town, but compared with the prices in Goorn Town and Evllen it felt inexpensive, at least for the sort of food I usually bought — then the next morning I walked through the narrow streets to find the theatre.

The centre of town was set back from the main road, so even the trucks, with their huge engines and deep- treaded tyres rumbling through towards the interior of the island, hardly broke the silence. In one of the side streets I found a large, almost monumental building: a white fascia wall, and two mock towers, castellated and painted deep blue. Across the white front was a long electric banner, presently unlit, with the words Teater Sjokaptein picked out in electric bulbs. Next to the name was a stylized picture of a fishing boat, casting its nets, with the snowy mountains of the fjord in the distance behind. The grizzled face of a mariner, with a waterproof cape and cap, was superimposed across the view.

The main doors to the theatre were closed and barred, with brown paper pasted on the insides to discourage people from looking in. There were several glass display panels next to the steps, but I saw no announcements of performances, and there were no show cards visible. However, the building did not look at all derelict and was in good repair. The paint had been recently applied.

I pressed my face to one of the door windows trying to see into the foyer beyond. I rattled the handle lightly, not trying to force the door but to make enough noise to alert anyone who might be inside.

After a few moments a man appeared from within. He stooped to peer at me past one of the brown paper covers, then seemed to realize who I might be and unlocked the door.

‘I’m Hike Tommas,’ I said. ‘I’m starting a job here.’

‘Hike? I was expecting you last week,’ the man said, but not in an unfriendly way. He extended his hand, and we shook. ‘My name’s Jayr. I’m the acting manager here. For the moment there’s no one else on the staff, so we’ve a lot of work ahead of us.’

‘What’s to be done?’

He ushered me in, closed the door against the cold wind and led me through the lobby, where dust-covers had been laid over the carpets and counters, and down two narrow passages and a short staircase up. The theatre building was unheated and lit only by dim bulbs set high in the ceilings.

Jayr gave me a hot drink from the coffee machine he had set up in the tiny office behind the pay-booth. We sat casually in the cramped space, leaning against the edges of furniture.

‘Do you have any experience in a theatre?’ Jayr said.

‘We had to do practicals in my course.’

I described some of them, naturally embellishing the facts to make them sound more impressive. In fact I had already set out my c.v. when applying, and I assumed Jayr would have seen it. Most of my real experience had been in watching other people working behind the scenes, but my interest in stagecraft was genuine and I had spent a lot of time reading the books and talking with other students.

I gained the impression Jayr was glad to have someone to work with him, and his questions soon sounded desultory to me. I decided he was probably unimpressed with his new assistant, but it did not seem to matter