much water, and as sickly a green as Master Fransitart or Master Heddlebulk or Master Pinsum had ever described. Rossamund marveled and stared fixedly. The sea! The sea! The cloudy surface seemed to be shifting constantly, much more than the Humour ever had. Flecks of dirty white danced, reared up, then disappeared-the tops of waves-and the smell of it blew to them from the basin below. It was like no other odor Rossamund had ever encountered. Sharp and salty, yet somehow sweet as well, almost like a hint of orange blossoms in spring.
Europe wrinkled her nose with a look of mild distaste.
Fouracres turned to them beaming with satisfaction. He breathed in deeply. 'Ahhh! The stink o' the Grume. Nothing quite like it. They say that the kelp forests just offshore improve its stink somewhat, that out in the deeper waters it does not smell so sweet. Makes me glad I'm not a sailor. Now look there, my boy. That is High Vesting.'
Below and before them, on the shores of the Grume, was a cluttered knot of marble, granite and masonry that made the high protecting walls and buildings of the fortress-city of High Vesting. It was not nearly as big as Boschenberg, but somehow seemed far more threatening. Great white towers, taller than any buildings Rossamund had known, stuck up from all the usual domes and spires. Out in the water giant blocks of stone had been laid out in a great groyne that protected the harbor. In this harbor, which the almanac had named the Mullhaven, were ships, actual ships! Even from here he could tell what kinds they were from his lessons under Master Heddlebulk.There were low, menacing rams; solid, blocklike cargoes and grand-cargoes; and sleek ships still running under sail in this age of the gastrine-many being guided and poked about the harbor by small gastrine craft known as drudges. He had been told of the great size of these vessels, but was not prepared for just how big they were. He could not wait to get to High Vesting now, to go down to its docks and stand near these monstrous craft. It might well be the last time he got to see ships.
He looked back at Europe, who had been so quiet the whole way. She too was staring at the fortress-city and looked bored. She turned to the foundling and seemed to search his face, heavy thoughts stirring inexplicably in her expression. Her attention remained fixed so for only an instant; then she went back to gazing at their destination.
As they drove down the southern side of the rise and into the basin, the Gainway became much broader, its paving smoother. On either side grew unbroken lanes of tall, leafless tress with smooth silver-gray bark and high curving branches. This late in autumn, their fallen leaves were piled in great drifts along the verges. Other roads and paths joined from the surrounding farms and villages, and with them more traffic. Some of their fellow travelers gave the landaulet a curious or suspicious inspection. Soon enough they joined the queue of vehicles and pedestrians waiting to pass the scrutiny of the gate wardens-who wore a uniform similar to the soldiers of Boschenberg-and enter High Vesting by her massive iron gates. Before long they would be within the walls.
With vague apprehension Rossamund wondered if, after all this time, Mister Germanicus would still be waiting for him.
14
Frigate (noun) smallest of the dedicated fighting rams, usually having twenty or twenty-four guns down one broadside (guns-broad). Nimble and fast, they are considered the 'eyes of the fleet,' running messages, performing reconnaissance and guarding a fleet's flanks. There are oversized frigates called heavy-frigates, having up to thirty- two guns on one broadside. These are popular among pirates and privateers.
Passage into the city had been easy. Fouracres had simply grinned at the gate wardens, said some pleasant words, and they had let them by with no more than a nod. Once beyond the gates Rossamund's head was swiveling left and right as he sought to see as much of this strange new place as possible. The buildings in High Vesting were generally taller than those in Boschenberg and made of a fine white stone, often with their foundations built of granite. Windows were taller, narrower, their panes rectangular rather than small diamonds. The streets, however, were wider and in better repair than those of Rossamund's home city.
Fouracres steered the landaulet nimbly through the throng of other vehicles: wheelbarrows, sedan chairs, carts, wagons, coaches and carriages as fine as Europe's, and some even finer. The smell of the Grume wafted up every south-facing street, brought upon breezes of frosty air. Europe covered her nose and mouth with a gloved hand.
As they went, Fouracres made arrangements. 'Now what is to be yer destination here?'
Europe roused herself and spoke first. 'I need to attend the offices of Messrs. Ibdy amp; Adby on the Pontoon Wigh,' she said.
'Very well,' the postman replied politely. '… And, Rossamund-yer mentioned something about Mister Germanicus at the Harbor Gov-'
'You can leave what he does and where he goes to me, postman!' Europe interrupted with a scowl. 'You're my driver and you drive. He is my factotum, and even if only for now, he attends me! When I decide it is time, his needs shall be met. Till then, serve me!'
Rossamund blinked.
Fouracres scowled in return. 'Last I knew, madam, he and most definitely I worked for the Emperor! So till I make a declaration otherwise, yer can keep yer 'serve me's' to yerself. I'm doing yer a favor, and I'll see it through, but I ain't yer servant by any more than common decency allows!'
Europe, her eyes slitted and glaring, looked as if she could say more, much more, but then she sagged and returned to her blank stare at the passing scene. 'However you want it… Just drive, will you?' was all she said.
The postman drove on while Rossamund intently studied the right toe of his shoe, not daring to look up.
They came to a great square: an enormous paved area cordoned off from traffic and filled with fountains and commemorative columns. At each corner was a massive statue of the Arius Vigilans-the Vigilant Ram-a heavily horned he-sheep in various poses of stout defiance or regal repose. These were the representative animal of Rossamund's people the Hergotts, and seeing them so boldly displayed made him feel proud. Glamorous crowds filled the area, their energy and foreign costume a spectacle of its own.
On the opposite side of this grand square was their destination. Messrs. Ibdy amp; Adby, Mercantile amp; Supercargo was situated in a lofty building of glossy pink stone. Its front was an almost windowless mass of giant pilasters with an impressive door of dull brown bronze in their midst. Immediately above the door were two columns of windows, as narrow and tall as any other in this city. Rossamund counted the windows by row. Thirteen! He had never seen such a large structure, but from what he could gather, there were several about High Vesting.
As Fouracres stopped the landaulet in the common courtyard before the office tower of Messrs. Ibdy amp; Adby, Rossamund, unable to contain himself any longer, asked eagerly, 'May I see the rams? Miss Europe? I might never get to see them ever again.'
Gulls cavorted above. To the south, out over the Grume, great bales of pale yellow cloud boiled and piled up into the sky. Their flattened undersides were a dark and ominous green-gray.
Europe looked at him, then to the postman, who shrugged and said, with a weary smile, 'May I suggest this, miss, that I wait here with yer fancy carriage while you do yer dealings and Rossamund be allowed to have a peek about. Aye?'
With a sigh, Europe pointed to a big clock upon the facade of an equally large building across the square. It was easily visible, and Rossamund had been taught his timings at the marine society. It was a little after the half hour of two.
'Be back here in one half of an hour, not later,' she allowed, sternly.
'I will! I will!' Rossamund's heart raced as he leaped down. About to dash off, he remembered that morning and skittered back, holding out his hand to help Europe alight.
