No Present Like Time

In response, the Castle has received command of four thousand General, one thousand Select Fyrd from Fescue and Shivel, placed under the control of Tornado and Hayl. The internal guard of the Castle, the Imperial Select, are on alert.

Sporadic clashes occurred today on the Dogvane Road from Ghallain between demobilized soldiers loyal to the Castle and rebels attempting to join Gio.

Kestrel Altergate

7/10/20

“How can Gio dare?” Wrenn said. “This is all on its head! We’re their guardians!”

“Many things are happening recently that have never occurred before,” Lightning said quietly, as if adrift.

“There’s an embargo on ships,” I read.

Mist pressed her hand on her belly, growled, “What kind of stupidity? Where does it say that?”

“Look, here. It says Gio’s men have occupied Awndyn and nothing can enter or leave the harbor, including your caravels.”

“Oh, for god’s sake. If I’d been here things would never have gone this far.”

I translated the Plainslands article aloud to make it easier for Lightning, and then I picked up the broadsheet he had been reading. He pointed out an editorial at the bottom of the page. “The Grand Tour just got longer,” he said.

RACE IS ON TO THE ISLAND OF DELIGHT

As Gio Ami’s uprising confounds the Plainslands, news spreads about the Island of Tris. It has caused a stir in Lakeland Awia. Our correspondent at the court writes that Queen Eleonora Tanager yesterday summoned to Rachiswater Palace one of the mariners of the 2019 expedition. The Court was entertained to hear, at first hand, the bizarre travelers’ tales currently filling the penny dreadfuls.

The Wrought Standard remains skeptical of the details, yet accepts that an island has been discovered since the flagship Stormy Petrel departed on another journey not one month after returning from the first. Mist’s statement that she returned empty-handed is now regarded as a half-truth at best. The Castle must have planned her venture because Stormy Petrel was careened and resupplied within a month; the Castle is invited to reply to allegations that it has been economical with the truth.

No place is perfect, but Tris comes close. The islanders are both winged and wingless people. The climate is good, and the soil on the slopes of the central mountain is as fertile as Plow’s black earth wheat fields. The sailor said their food was succulent fruit he had never seen before, and fish with sweet, rich flesh. The culture seems sophisticated, but sailors’ tales are not wholly to be trusted. They also tell of having seen men with paddles for hands and mountains that emit smoke like chimneys.

The island is mostly in a wild and natural state. There are no settlements in the interior; the natives travel around their rocky coast by canoe.

Queen Eleonora has expressed interest in mounting her own expedition, as has Lord Governor Brandoch. Tris offers opportunities to trade, and a place of settlement that can be offered to our displaced countrymen sadly suffering the lot of refugees. The race is on to construct or engage craft worthy of making this long sea voyage.

I was interrupted by a cry from Wrenn, who had turned straight to the sports pages. He pointed out a paragraph:

Gio Ami’s admirable life’s work was shattered in one flukish move by Wrenn, all reporters present at that immortal duel agreed. Wrenn proved that there are no universal laws in the Art; now, characteristically, the master of the Ghallain School seems determined to take unpredictability to extremes. His rebellion could not be foreseen by those of us who knew his cool fencing style. His aggression in the game used to be well controlled, he always kept some tricks back. Now he gains followers like swarms of Insects, determined to deal the Circle a mortal blow.

As Gio Ami told us, “Serein Wrenn is away, maybe lost at sea. If Eszai can’t give one hundred percent for the Empire, they should not be Eszai at all.”

D. Tir, Editor, Secret Cut Fencing Times

“So,” said Mist. “Gio Ami doesn’t know when to leave.” We were all silent, thinking of the man’s gall.

Lightning said, “There must be some mistake. It’s unthinkable! What does he imagine he can achieve?”

Wrenn tore the paper up and cast the shreds on the floor. “I’ll meet him for you.” He glared around at us. “I’ll take him back to the amphitheater and run him through!”

“It’s his followers I worry about,” said Lightning.

“They won’t stay with him,” I conjectured.

Mist slammed her hand on the table. “Gentlemen, a council to decide our course because we don’t know what we’ll find.”

“We should hasten to the Castle as quickly as possible,” Lightning said simply.

“Aye, but I won’t put in to Awndyn and risk a clash with any of Gio’s followers.”

Lightning said, “I will answer for Swallow Awndyn.”

“No, no, don’t be so unwise. We can’t trust any Zascai. Especially the allegiance of Swallow, whom San won’t allow into the Circle. I will not chance the safety of my ships. I’ll hide Stormy Petrel and leave an armed guard on her. You know in the past the most precarious times for the Castle are those when we’ve managed to beat back the Insects.”

Lightning nodded and said, “Well, Serein wanted a chance to prove himself.”

The next day the mainland was nearer. At first it was a pale gray silhouette, and at ten kilometers out I saw the exact instant when it became green. Colors on the coastline differentiated as we sailed nearer. The water had a blindingly bright mirror glare, as moving ripples reflected the sun. It was so calm it looked solid, almost as if I could walk on it.

At five kilometers out the sea was busy with traffic of various vessels coming and going, small sails in the distance. Ships turned left on sight, out of each other’s way; they hailed each other when gathering to approach the port. We were at the depth and bearings of the main north-south route along the coast, which the sailors called Carrack Roads. We anchored and all the Petrel’s crates of precious cargo were transported to the Melowne.

The Melowne sat lower in the water, a target for corsairs, so Mist ordered all her Castle pennants to be furled one by one until she only flew Tanager’s ensign. The Melowne then parted from us and Fulmer steered her northward, heading for Tanager harbor, where he and Mist had decided that the precious cargo would be most secure.

Gray dolphins packed our bow wave, jumping and snorting; their hard bodies slicked through the water. They rolled, breaking the surface and half-somersaulting as if they were spinning on a wheel. I wondered what Tarragon thought of them-snack food, probably.

“We’ll anchor in a sheltered bay I know well,” Mist said. But we headed for a blank chalk cliff with none of the cleavages where harbors lie. I didn’t much like it, so I climbed on the back railing, spread my wings and let the ship slip out from under me. I sailed up on a current, seeing the white chalk and lines of black flint speed past, till I was above the cliff. I looked down on the grassy top and realized that what I had thought was a continuous wall was an enormous flat, rugged stack hiding the narrow mouth of a cove. I soared along the cliff edge, hanging suspended in the wind which blew in from the sea and was driven vertically up its face.

Stormy Petrel tacked once, so close to the rock that the gallery at her waist scraped it. Mist and her bosun spun the wheel between them, and Petrel slipped through the passage behind the stack with only a couple of meters on either side. I turned again into the wind and glided back along the cliff top toward the inlet.

Stormy Petrel anchored herself fore and aft. She was hidden, but only from the sea. Anyone on the grass could look down two hundred meters to see the ship calmly bobbing in the dark quiet water crosshatched with ripples. Every wavelet made her dance; there was nothing in her hold but ballast and bilge water. The walls of the deep circular pool were sheer but there was a floating jetty constructed from barrels.