the highest of the rich steadings. The land was splotched with snow and muddy waterfalls.
Spring in Woodcarver’s Domain was tendays of mud and rain. The land was not yet to the middle of that season, but this was one of those miracle days, when the storms briefly called truce and endless blue skies appeared, a tantalizing promise of summer. Mixed with the mud and avalanches and melting snow, the first flowers had turned meadows all the colors a human could see (including tints to which the poor Tines were blind). They could see all the way to the horizon through air swept clean by wind and rain. The horizon was a glistening line of silver, broken here and there by dark serrations.
The conversation between Tycoon and his various advisors had become mutually congratulatory. Tycoon gave a hoot of triumph and spoke to Ravna: “You’re surprised? Vendacious has radio contact with Nevil, so we have all the power of the starship in our support. No more do we have to skulk around, afraid that you would see us.”
“Indeed,” said Vendacious. “Your decision to abduct Ravna Bergsndot was a brilliant move, my lord. It has revolutionized our operations.”
“Ah, but it was truly your suggestion, Vendacious.” He made a noses-up gesture that was probably lost in Zek’s relaying. “I commend you.”
Jefri rolled his eyes, but remained blessedly silent as Vendacious continued with his analysis: “Things are sunny and clear in all ways now. We’re on schedule for the alliance show we’ve planned with Nevil. The raft fleet is even now at Hidden Island.”
“There’s still the Ravna faction to deal with,” said Tycoon.
“Trust me, sir. You recall our discussions about that. We and Nevil must simply make the proper show of our landing. And frankly, Ravna never had any powerful support, bar the absent Johanna and Pilgrim. Woodcarver has discovered her own reasons for disliking Ravna. If we play things aright, Woodcarver will have to accommodate the new order of things.”
“There will still be Flenser,” said Tycoon. “He may be our ally, and I have always admired him, but I fear he plays his own game.”
“Yes,” Vendacious’ voice trailed off in a thoughtful hiss. “Flenser will always be a problem…” For once, sincerity?
Through this, Jefri had been staring intently at the horizon. “There! I can see Whale Island!” Ravna followed his gesture. They were just two tiny blips on the edge the world, but she recognized the Notch and the Arch.
“Just follow right half a degree,” Jef continued, “and that should be Starship Hill.” The directions were clear, but all she could see were blotches of green and gray and white.
“Finally, a proper use for humans!” said Tycoon. “As lookouts … if only they could be believed.” Tycoon dragged up two long brass cylinders and set them in pintle mounts beside his outermost members. Four other members, still facing Ravna, were gazing down at a map set before their thrones. The two on the ends swept the telescopes back and forth in concert. “Vendacious! I see the starship! It’s exactly the magical glassy green you’ve always said.” He admired his telescopic view a few seconds more, then seemed to worry about further dangers: “Here’s where we bet we’ve found a human we can trust.” One of Tycoon was still looking at Ravna. “It’s true, is it not, that your ship could destroy us in an instant, even from this range?”
“… Yes,” said Ravna. If Nevil had installed the amplifier stage, the beam gun could burn anything in its line of sight. And in Ravna’s absence, Nevil’s sysadmin authority was probably sufficient to use it as a weapon.
Vendacious had his own ideas about the matter: “That’s still another reason to keep Ravna captive. Yes, Nevil is another two-legs, but he really needs us.”
Johanna’s flotilla was strung out along the direction of their course. As usual, her raft had ended up at the front. She looked back along the line of rafts. They stretched in a slight arc across two thousand meters. Hah. Blur your vision enough and they might be great sea battleships of the sort that Ravna had shown them back when she still thought Nyjoran history might mean something to Straumers. (Johanna, of course, had cherished the Princess tales since she was five.)
Altogether, there were over two thousand Tines aboard the flotilla. Once ashore, they would be the kind of trouble Tropical shipwrecks always were—times ten. Or maybe not. These Tines were her allies.
Now they were past the south tip of Whale Island. Ahead was Hidden Island to the west and the inland cliffs to the east. Her sailors had become quite the experts. Right now, all that skill seemed to be dedicated to a perfect “threading of the needle,” heading right up the middle of the Straits.
The radio abruptly came to life. This was not the barely audible mumbling of overheard conversations. This was Tinish sent directly from
“There there there!” Cheepers’ association shouted in Samnorsk, pointing toward the inland cliffs, but north of the piers at Cliffside. She saw a narrow beach, backed by rugged talus. Humans were standing there, waving colored squares of cloth.
Around Johanna, heads perked up. Tines shifted about on the various masts. Members on the deck were pulling at the multiple tillers. The whole craft began drifting toward the makeshift semaphores.
Merto again: “Hei, that worked! They’re turning toward Rock Harbor.”
To the south of Johanna’s raft, the rest of the formation was drifting right, all toward the narrow strip of Rock Harbor. She squinted for a better view. She hadn’t been down to Rock Harbor since the year two shipwreck, before the Tropical Embassy. The place was not so deadly anymore. The worst of the jaggedness had silted over and Woodcarver’s packs had used gunpowder to break the most dangerous rocks—but despite the name, it was not a proper harbor.
Ah! Of course. That was the reason Nevil wanted the Tropicals to land there. Innocent observers could be kept at a distance. The Tropicals and their freight would be completely in the control of whoever Nevil and Vendacious had positioned there.
The rocky shore was less than a thousand meters away. Johanna froze for a second or two. Then she grabbed the radio and raced up the familiar path to the top of the cargo jumble, the base of the tallest mast. After all these tendays, she had that worked out so the move was safe and fast—and every step was shielded from the orbiter’s lookdown.
She would not be shielded from observers on the shore.
“Hei, hei, listen up!” Johanna’s human voice was such a frail thing, but it was all she had. The Tines were looking toward Rock Harbor, or pulling on the sails to guide them eastwards. Johanna jumped up and down, waving. Cheepers and scattered heads turned in her direction; attention spread across the choir.
“Go west. Go west!” She pointed first at Rock Harbor and then swept her arm around the horizon, jabbing at Hidden Island. It was her best imitation of the sort of gesturing that a singleton might do with its snout and neck.
The radio at her feet remained silent. Her luck was holding; she hadn’t been noticed by Nevil’s observers.
The mob milled around for a moment. They’d gotten clear directions from the radio. This was the sort of situation where they might not play ball with her. By now she could even recognize their rippling dance as factions of mind dithered. But the radio remained silent, and more and more little clots of awareness were appearing in the mob, amplifying Johanna’s point.
Then she saw coordinated unanimity. All around the raft, jaws tightened on ropes and tillers, pulling just so, responding to the result to correct and maintain the maneuver. The raft turned again, ponderously drifting westward across the straits.
“Holy shit, the lead raft has lost control!” At Rock Harbor the hand-waved semaphores bounced frantically. Johanna could hear faint shouting coming from the shore, human voices all. Nevil might be consorting with Vendacious, but he remained a racist.
“What’s gone wrong?” That was Tami’s voice. “Powers! Nevil, there’s something strange on that lead barge. There’s a bundle of rags flapping around by the main mast.”
