Steph Swainston - No Present Like Time

“Can I study this?” I said enthusiastically. I would soon learn if it was a practical joke or not.

“That’s just what I want you to do! If the knowledge alone doesn’t satisfy you, there’s more than enough rum to wash it down with. Their accent gave me quite a shock. I think the corsairs used some of those words, who infested the Moren delta when I was a girl.”

I leafed through the logbook. Mist’s entries for each day were brief: “June 5. Distance traveled, 240 kilometers, lat. 29°S long. 129°E. Fresh gales and cloudy, good visibility. Sounding 100m, black sand with small shells. Ate a number of flying fish.”

“Flying fish?”

“Yes. And I have seen a place where oysters grow on the branches of trees.”

I shrugged. Well, why not? “You left Stormy Petrel stuck in Oriole River.”

“Aye. Frost’s company raised her. I spent last year refitting her for a deep-sea voyage.”

Lightning spoke: “There have been explorations before. They found nothing.”

“Saker, the ocean is a big place.”

“It’s not possible,” I said finally. “I don’t believe it.”

“Where the fuck do you think I’ve been for the last six months?”

“Keeping your head down and escaping embarrassment!”

Mist gave me a candid look, which was a sure sign not to trust her. “I have but recently rejoined the Circle, and this venture will prove my worth to those who would Challenge me or mutiny. This is not just another Grass Isle project seeking Shearwater’s Treasure. I’m serious! There’s nothing for me on the mainland, is there, since I lost Peregrine?”

Lightning looked at her mildly without replying. He opened the door a chink because we were all starting to suffocate, and muted music seeped in from the party outside. I lowered my voice. “How did you know which direction to sail?”

Mist said, “By chance. Yes. Well, there might be many-”

“No, there are not!” Lightning was quietly furious. “God founded the Castle to protect the world. If the Castle doesn’t know about this island then how could we fulfill our purpose? Insects might run rampant over it and we’d be none the wiser.”

“It might not fit with your ideology but all the same it’s there.”

I thought, maybe the Fourlands isn’t the only land and maybe we’re not the only guardians god left behind. I examined the scale. It was big-four hundred kilometers in circumference. “It isn’t an island like Grass Isle at all, more like a chunk of Darkling out in the ocean. Tell us, what’s in the town?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t leave Petrel.”

“Convenient.”

“I wanted more than anything to put ashore! We had weathered storms with ten-meter-high waves. Petrel lost half her caulking and cladding because Awndyn’s shipbuilders are so shoddy. You would not believe the trouble I’ve had with the unions. Her sails were torn, the rudder splintered. Most of my men were sick, some with scurvy, and we were desperate for fresh water. I took on supplies from the natives’ canoes but I didn’t land because the governors of the town didn’t permit me. They have many governors.”

“What?”

“I’m telling you it’s true. People came out in big canoes and surrounded us. I sketched them, there.” Stormy Petrel dwarfed the canoes, looking like a goose with her goslings, and none of the vessels had details since Mist was a poor artist.

I crouched down in the cramped space on the parquet floor by Mist’s feet. The sea was not my element; boats bring on a phobia that I can never rid myself of completely. My fear was reasonable because if I ever tried to swim, the weight of waterlogged feathers would drown me. I also had a sneaking idea that everybody was acting and deeper lies were readily being believed. “I’m not going. I might be the only Eszai who can crack this language but you can choose mortals from the university who have just as good a chance.”

“Don’t mistake me; I hardly want you there, Jant. The last thing I need is dead weight and winged liabilities on my ship. If I had my way, I’d be doing this on my own! But San picked you two from the whole Circle to accompany me and we’re obliged to obey. Here’s his written command.” She passed Lightning and me small envelopes with the familiar crimson insignia. “If you want to appeal, go ahead,” she added.

“I will,” said Lightning grimly. “I would love to see the result of my investment and your method of operation. I would like to be the first from the Fourlands to trade with Tris, but I am repairing Micawater and I should be there.”

“You knew? Damn,” I moaned, beginning to have the feeling that the conspiracy was against me.

“Yes, although I wish otherwise. The Melowne, the supply ship to be taken on this voyage, belongs to me. I have the Queen’s permission to send it so that Stormy Petrel ’s crew will not suffer hunger again. And in return I have a quarter-share in whatever goods we bring back. But that doesn’t mean I must accompany the expedition, Mist. I will be a passenger on your ship if the Emperor decrees it. No more, no less.”

Lightning was rebuilding Micawater to look exactly the same as it did before the Insects damaged it five years ago. He obsessed about every detail in the restoration of his palace outside the town, believing it an inviolable duty to his family. He wanted to fulfill the trust they had placed in him to conserve the palace: he matched masonry, sourced silks, kept both its wings as symmetrical as the day it was first completed. I thought the fact he was tinkering with it and not helping Tornado and Queen Eleonora clear the remaining Paperlands that the Insects had built in northern Awia showed he had time to spare.

Mist addressed him: “You can’t sulk for a whole generation. Do you want your world view to become obsolete and eccentric like the portraits that hang in your house? Jant, listen to this: Lightning’s family portraits have been repainted many times, about every two hundred years once they start to fade. The artists try to be accurate but scarcely perceptible changes creep in accidentally, flattering trends to the ideal of the era. Next time, those alterations are copied along with the rest and new ones are made. His portraits are as idealized as his memories. Saker, how can you tell what’s real and what isn’t when you rely on the past? If you don’t want to know of new discoveries, how long will you last as an Eszai? Suppose the island has better bows than Awia? A better type of wood?”

“Without Insects to inspire them, I doubt it. Let them come with their Challenges.”

The camera obscura was growing even stuffier and I was gasping for air. I nudged the door wide, looking for my chance to escape. Serein Wrenn caught sight of us and strolled over with a limber gait. I wondered what he thought, seeing three Eszai in an alcove. When everything else at his party was so perfect, we stood out as a great anomaly. “What are you talking about?”

“We beg your pardon,” said Lightning. “This is a private discussion.”

Wrenn bowed and was about to leave us to it, but Mist sized him up. “No, wait…What time is it? We have to tell the truth for an hour.” I could virtually hear her mind calculating. She took in his shirt buttoned down the left side showing his strong torso off to the best advantage, his small round stand-up collar and sharp-styled hair, the worn cherry-red leather thigh boots with the tops folded over his knees.

Out came her travel-worn notebook again. “You need experience. You’ll find this interesting,” she said, and set her plans on him like wolves.

The others blocked my view of the party, so I turned again to the pinhole image. The beam angled by the half-open door illuminated the wall next to me, unfocused and with washed-out contrast. Fuzzy figures rippled over the uneven surface, so small that their activities looked quaint but nonetheless unsettling. I checked them one by one: Gayle exchanging a few words with the Emperor, Frost crammed into a ball gown and wearing steel-toed boots. I couldn’t see Tern. Where was she? Why wouldn’t Mist let me out? I tried to edge away from the stifling corner but Mist stood firm, talking hotly into my face, toes pressing against my toes, only the logbook between me and her ample breasts. Tern’s figure must be in my shadow, but though I inched forward I couldn’t see her waltzing on the wall. The perfume on Mist’s long white hair tickled my sinuses; there was also the pong of Wrenn’s gravy breath. His shoulder was up against mine and the bright love of adventure in his eyes would enthuse the entire fyrd. It was even worse to think I would be on the ship with him.