Steph Swainston - No Present Like Time

“I’ll go after it,” Wrenn volunteered.

“Yes, we know; be quiet,” I said.

Vendace said, “The librarians are looking for charts. They’ve told me that the sewer drains the forum and branches throughout Capharnaum for six hundred meters. So you brought a legendary maneater as an object of wonder, and loosed it into the system under our town. I am astounded.”

“I can’t translate this quickly,” I complained.

Mist asked the senator, “If Tris communicates with the Castle even once again, we need a spokesman; a governor, you see. Tell me what you want.”

“The Senate wants you to leave.”

“No. Tell me what you want.”

Vendace turned pale, controlling his anger. He spread his dry palms like a scarecrow playing an accordion and said, “I have learned some words of Awian: Goodbye. ” He pushed his chair back and turned to leave.

Mist said, “No, wait!”

She touched the chair asking him to sit down, though he looked very uncomfortable. She sighed and refilled her coffee glass. Without looking at me, she said, “Comet, give us the benefit of your clever mind.”

“I say we stop insulting them. We should report to San and follow his instructions. I don’t know about this town, but we’re San’s servants. I think he should make the whole Senate the governor; they seem to take decisions with one voice.”

“Don’t interpret this,” Mist said. “Forget the stubborn, overbearing Senate. The common man of Capharnaum will want something. I don’t understand the desire that drives him.” She paced to the stern windows and looked out. “Every people I have met want more than they can supply for themselves. In fact, every single person’s greed is for more than he needs.”

“Not Rhydanne,” I said.

“Aye, a case to prove my point. Rhydanne are never drunk enough.” She nudged me as she paced back and nodded surreptitiously toward the casement. I peered through to see a crowd, mostly men, gathering on the quayside. Tridents glinted in their hands, with nets and the swords we had sold them. They stood in a passive silence that I found incredibly intimidating.

“Lightning, come here and take a look at this.”

Lightning muttered, “They think the Empire is another little island.”

Mist said, “Vendace, immortality’s the most important offer your people could possibly have. The very opportunity will make you idle Zascai feel alive! Tris is so stagnant I feel smothered. We can tell that it hasn’t changed for hundreds of years. You won’t reject the Empire once you’ve seen its treasures-the sky-worshiping spires of Awia, mills of Hacilith! Everybody wants to be Eszai! Why turn the proposal down? Don’t you wish to excel? Don’t you want to know what the world will be like five centuries from now?”

Vendace was silent for a time, then he murmured something that had the rhythm of a quotation and sounded thoroughly resigned. He shot me an envious glance. “It may be that we will not gain immortality, and we’ll never be able to fly, but we all want to stay equal. We’ll keep peace and our own pace. You have already threatened to upset the balance by coming here.”

“Give us a few more days,” Mist tried. “We can buy another crate of gold. Serein will find the Insect.”

“The Senate’s decision can neither be rescinded nor altered without a seven-day discussion. You must leave today.”

“I need to lay on enough water for the journey,” Mist countered. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will.” Vendace pulled his short cloak to his body, stood and left the cabin. Lightning stepped aside to let him go.

Mist gave a little scream and clenched her fists. “Ah! Damn! Jant, I’ve one more chance,” she said in Plainslands. “Follow him.”

“What did you say?” Lightning demanded. “Don’t exclude Wrenn!”

“It’s private,” she spat.

On the main deck, Vendace’s friends surrounded him. He looked reassured as they patted him on the back, and they began to file down the gangplank, Vendace shepherding them in front.

Mist caught the edge of his green-bordered cloak. The ex-fisherman tweaked it away and glared at her. She said, “Jant, tell him this: I can give him eternal life. It doesn’t matter whether we feel affection or not.”

She unnerved me. We must certainly be in trouble if Mist was prepared to play her last card. “Do you mean…?” I said doubtfully.

Her voice cleared of any vagueness, “Aye! I mean marriage! A link through me to the Circle. Time is their currency, so immortality is my most priceless offer to one man.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell him, damn you-we don’t have three days to mull it over!”

I repeated her words for Senator Vendace.

He was quiet, studying her for a long moment. His mouth twisted in disgust. “No. How dare you bribe me to breach the Senate’s resolution? To betray them! Just go! And never, ever return!” He strode down the gangplank without a backward glance.

Over the next hour, the Capharnai melted away from the quay leaving an air of animosity. I watched the streets for the Insect through Mist’s telescope, while the ships bustled with preparation to sail home.

“Well,” I said, embarrassed. “You blew that, Ata Dei.”

She muttered, “Next morning we’ll set our backs and rudders to this bloody insular town.”

Nobody was present to watch us leave. As our sails filled and our figureheads pointed toward the open sea, I felt my trepidation mounting. I did not want to go out there again so soon. I contemplated that the Trisians might never raise their sights or be forced into contest by a Challenger or by ambition as unquenchable as Mist’s. Who here cared about the Castle’s self-imposed trials? Half a minute’s difference in racing time in a Challenge could literally be my downfall. A millimeter’s distance on an archery target means life or death to Lightning. The Trisians will never know our accuracy or stamina but then they would never wear themselves out for a cause. By god, I liked them.

Isat at the stern, played a Rhydanne game of cat’s cradle, and watched Tris shrink into the distance. The wind battered the clouds down to a thick bank on the skyline around it. Our caravels trailed a path back to Capharnaum harbor, but the waves distorted then covered our wakes as if the sea was determined to hide the trail we had blazed. I hoped that the spectacular failure of Mist’s diplomacy would pass. I wished that Tris would eventually become a region like Darkling, which is part of the Empire but nobody expects it to get involved. The Rhydanne know vaguely that the Empire exists but really don’t care; unfortunately the island of Tris has more to offer than Darkling.

That night I could see the lights of Capharnaum but not the land, so I became convinced the town was floating on the ocean. The next morning Tris had diminished so much on the horizon that I could put my thumb over it. By supper it was a speck; by the following day it had gone.

When we lost sight of the island on the evening of May 10, I had nothing to do but cross the sea as an idle passenger. Melowne and Stormy Petrel sailed across the longitudes. We were two ships standing out proud on the ocean.

I settled into my sleeping bag on my cabin floor, with a jug of coffee and cat, and some licorice root to chew. I filled my silver fountain pen, carefully propped the book on my sharp knees and began to read. I transcribed the first chapter of the small volume I had stolen from the library, A History of Tris, by Sillago of Capharnaum.