Steph Swainston - No Present Like Time

“What is going on?”

Mist held her upper arm as if I had hurt her. She conjured an expression of gratitude for the Archer and sobbed experimentally but it had no effect on him. “Jant is such a junkie.” She shrugged. “He’s so screwed up I am tempted to Challenge him myself.”

“No! This is nothing to do with cat!” I can’t escape my one failing; my fellow Eszai use the label to taint everything I do, even when I’m clean. With always the same friends, I can’t move on and begin anew, my mistakes stagnate around me. I smacked my fist against the joist, to take the heat out of my frustration. “Don’t tell me it’s a hallucination, because Serein saw it too! There’s an Insect, hundreds of cut-and-thrusters, a hundred caissons of arrows.”

Lightning listened carefully and at the latter he held up his hand. “I know about them. Of course, Jant, think about it. Stop flouncing around and sit still. Would you travel to an unfamiliar country without armaments? Our ships are our only means of returning home so they’re worth more than the Empire to us now. We have to protect them.”

“Mist said the island was peaceful,” I said sullenly.

“On the other hand, shipping Insects sounds sinister in the extreme. What is it for?”

Mist kicked open her folding chair and regarded the coffee soaking into her sea chart. “I have a license. No, not the usual showground license. A warrant you’ll respect.” She unlocked a tortoiseshell casket and removed a paper with the Emperor’s seal.

She passed it to me and I read aloud: “‘Every item of cargo carried by Mist on her journey is required and permitted in my name. It will benefit the Fourlands at the present time and in the future. San, god’s guardian of Awia, Morenzia, Plainslands and Darkling, January 19, 2020.’

“That’s all it says. It’s the Emperor’s signature all right. But does he know we have a live cargo?”

“Comet, I’m surprised at you, suggesting that I could keep information from the Emperor,” Ata said mildly. “Aye, listen, gentlemen. Tris has no Insects. Imagine their surprise, interest and fascination when I exhibit one. I will tell them: the Circle protects the world from these maneaters-see our benevolence. Even the fact that I have brought it such a distance alive will right well impress them. The governors of Tris can have the Insect for a zoo or a circus, or make soup out of it for all I care. I’ll present it to them with all our Darkling silver and Donaise wine.”

“Bullshit,” I said and glared at her as only Rhydanne can.

Lightning said, “I think Mist is telling the truth.”

“I’m going to hang her off the thingy mast on the doojah until she confesses and Fulmer can take us back to dock.”

Lightning said, “We can’t wrest command of the fleet from Mist. Anyway, Fulmer is not just captain of the Melowne but Awia’s representative to Tris. Queen Eleonora’s spy, in other words. If we turn back he’ll make her a dismal report.”

The wind changed direction, the ship heaved, we lurched and Lightning shifted position woodenly, his coat hanging in limp folds to the floor.

Ata smiled and shook her head. She tied her platinum hair into a ponytail, making her strong-boned face look even more martial. She smoothed down her waistcoat with its frogging and brass-domed buttons. “Don’t worry. We won’t risk enraging Eleonora. God, Lightning; I try to show you more of the world, but you just bring your own world with you.”

I was struck by a thought. If I was Wrenn, sincere and uncertain, or a sailor who witnessed my rapid departure from the Melowne, I would row across and try to eavesdrop on this conversation. I listened for any sounds outside the cabin and called, “I can hear you; there’s no need to bloody hide!”

Wrenn pushed open the glass-paned door and appeared, abashed. His shirtsleeves were wet with spray; water squeezed out of his soaked boot seams at every step.

I said, “Great, why don’t we invite the rest of the Circle in here and then we can have a party?”

“You could really hear me?”

“Not at all, but I thought it best to check.”

“Oh. Clever,” he said, downcast. He glanced around, taking in the leaded bay windows that gave a view over the stern, Mist’s cot with its embroidered canopy, a stand of scrolled charts, the navigational instruments laid out on her ledger and ginger biscuits all over the floor. With a fencer’s grace he had adapted well to the ship’s dimensions and he was short enough to stand without stooping, whereas Lightning rested his head on his hand pressing the beam.

Wrenn was well aware of Lightning’s one-night stand with Ata. It was common knowledge that one night Lightning comforted her a little too assiduously and now they have a daughter. Wrenn folded his wings submissively, their elbows at his backside and the wrist-joints just visible from the front, clasping his shoulders. He picked his way with care: “My lord. Um. Lightning. I respect your experience but this is my first assignment as an Eszai. You know that’s important. I don’t want to return empty-handed only a couple of days after setting out. I’m dependent on Mist for success and I’m sure you don’t want me to fail. Anyhow, we left with such pomp that all the matelots in Awndyn will laugh fit to piss if we sneak back.”

He slid his fingers into his rapier’s swept guards and grasped the grip worn to the shape of his hand. “When I was in the ranks Lightning’s honorable ideas sort of filtered down. None of us ever deserted. Well, I think it’s dishonorable to turn back.”

I scowled. Wrenn bit his lip but continued, “I agree that ambassadors shouldn’t carry weapons. ‘Weighted down with iron, weighted down with fear,’ the saying goes. If Mist intends to use the Insect against the islanders I’ll kill it myself. But she has set her heart on exploring Tris. Jant, if you threaten her you will cross swords with me. One sword keeps another in its sheath, so maybe if I support Mist there will be peace. You should be ashamed of yourself for intimidating a lady.”

I said, “She’s scarcely a lady.”

Lightning eyed us pensively. He stroked the scar on his right palm and eventually said, “Very well; we press on.”

“But-”

“Enough!”

Ata relaxed. “Jant, you clown. Stir a mutiny again and I’ll have you towed behind in a barrel.”

I said, “I need some fresh air.” I walked out to the main deck, slammed the cabin door with my drooping wing. I climbed the whatever ropes to the top of the mainmast and sat up there for hours on the something spar, face into the wind, and let the sea air fan my anger.

WRENN’S DIARY

February 29, 2020

Comet suggested that I keep a diary to record my exploits on this voyage. This morning I woke at six A.M. (bell eighteen), and did two hours of rapier-and-dagger exercises on the deck. I improved my time by a second or so on the “wild boar” sequence. I have to be ruthless with myself in practice because a Challenger wouldn’t spare me. Then jogged up and down the keelson in the hold until Fulmer asked me to stop. I would like to practice sparring but no one here is even half as good as they need to be to test my arm.

Lightning is the best fencer among them, I’ll ask him for a bout and in return he might teach me some archery. He puts target butts forward on the foredeck and shoots at them from the half deck. His arrows fly the length of the Petrel. It’s great to watch when we run alongside, but Mist only lets him have a quarter-hour a day rather than the four hours he needs. It’s amazing to meet Lord Micawater in person-and he treats me like an equal! I’ve always wanted to be like him. I wish Dad could see me now.