Perspective Flip

by Kris Schnee

  "Right. Is there someone else I might talk to in this village about buying equipment? For the things you don't sell, I mean. How about that big shell building up on the hill?"

  "That place? Aah, that's the local Penta-Coastal Church. Our Mother of Pearl. It draws people from all around so it's grown rather pretentious. The priests call it the Holy See, which even I think is weak. I've been working a little with them for the money."

  "Sounds like you fit in here."

  "We get along," said Klamath. "I suggested that they try a sermon to hook the souls of sea travelers — 'Sin Bad: the Sailor' — but they didn't bite. Instead they hired me to try developing equipment for their little order of paladins. They're interested in having enchantment on their side for once."

  Now Eamon was more interested. "You develop weapons and the like?"

  "Not very much weaponry. After all, the pun is mightier than the sword. Instead I've focused on armor and scouting devices." Klamath gestured toward a workbench where all sorts of junk was strewn about. There were toys, a shelf of books, bits of machinery, feathers, and an alarming array of color swatches from some city's paint-seller. Eamon supposed that with all the different names of shades there were many possibilities.

  "How exactly does all this magic work?" asked Eamon, looking over the experiments. Klamath had apparently bought a set of mechanical seagulls from the dragons' Steam City across the mountains. He'd made clumsy modifications to them.

  Klamath's eyes lit up like a child's. "It's a matter of creative misinterpretation! I learned to look at a thing and lose my assumptions about what it is, which let me see aspects of it that I had dismissed as unimportant. Two things that might seem unrelated in terms of their ordinary use and nature, can actually be closely related in terms of the arbitrary words applied to them. Utilizing that sort of arcane slippage between concepts is the way to abuse various aspects of reality. Which is how I found myself a gull-finned." He held up what had once been a sleek brass seagull. The machine had been bedecked with fins from a mutilated plush fish. There were several of the clunky fish-bird things.

  Eamon looked back and forth between the toy fish and the finned gulls. "How does ripping the fins off a cat toy help the Church upgrade its knights?" He braced himself, already sorry he'd asked.

  But the reply was a letdown: "It's an ongoing experiment. Or set of experiments. There are countless avenues to pursue."

  Eamon eyed the scattered junk and the way Klamath fiddled with it in his presence: possessive yet embarrassed, like a boy caught at a hobby. "You don't know what you're doing, do you?"

  "Not as such." The pun-mage tried to seem productive, leafing through a book of notes, and only succeeded in looking lost. He looked up and said, "The Holy See imagines having its paladins riding the waves, battling mermen heretics, and so on. So they wanted me to invent a device that could operate in and out of the water. Serving as a messenger or scout." He played with a mech-bird, making it swoop across the table. "Dragon steamtech is excellent for flight, but doesn't do very well with water. So while the devices were a good starting point, they need upgrading. I don't yet have a suitable trigger to go with the various waterproofing, speed and intelligence spells I've cobbled together."

  "All you've got is 'gull-finned'?"

  "Yes, and the results have been unspectacular. Too tangential to the effect. I'll come up with something before long, though; I've been working hard."

  Klamath seemed already lost in thought again. He was tinkering with the machines, the set of fish dolls, the various attempts to bludgeon language into doing his bidding. It might be worth paying the wizard to develop some gear after all, if he was able to put his mind to a project as complicated as this. The thought was boggling but intriguing: Waterproof bird gadgets for magic holy warriors — imagine that!

  Eamon stepped back, stunned by a realization. A groan flew out of him as though he'd been punched in the stomach. "You — this whole arrangement is a setup!" he said. He could feel the curling, twisting sensation of some awful magic energy at work.

  "What?" said Klamath. "Excuse me; I don't feel so good."

  Eamon glared at him as the full import of the situation hit home. "You did this deliberately!"

  "I don't understand what you're —" Klamath started to say, but was interrupted as his hair fell out, onto the counter. He grabbed the clumps with hands that were suddenly grey and webbed. The rest of his body shimmered, reshaping itself. His clothes faded to reveal grey skin. His vest remained, but it was flowing around him, becoming white and silken, hugging a body that now curved, turning graceful and feminine and wrapped in a shimmering dress! A dolphin's fluked tail flapped out from the wizard's spine and a shiny grey beak extended from his face, full of needle teeth. Even his feet changed into toe-less, sleek slipper-shapes. Klamath squeaked in alarm, looking down at his — no, her! — shapely new cetacean body, wrapped in expensive, delicate fabric. "What happened?"

  Eamon smiled weakly. "It's your own damn fault. You porpoisly made yourself a doll-fin gull set for knights of enchantment under the See."

  Island Tail

  * 1. *

  Dane now regretted jumping off JMS Seal. By day he'd sweltered under a blazing sun, fending off sharks and thirst with his water magic. By night he'd drifted in eerie silence on his stolen plank. The current was taking him back toward the islands on a stolen plank, but now he heard water churning and frothing ahead, miles from shore. He was approaching a cliff in the sea.

  The Luskinsday Islands were famed for three things. Near-tropical weather, and the natives — more otter than human! — and the uncanny holes in the water. In several areas around the islands, part of the seabed was dry and a ship could fall in and crash on bare ground. The sun rose ahead, stinging his salt-caked eyes, and showed him a suspicious white line. A waterfall's edge. After his exhausting trip, he took a while to remember how he'd planned to get past it.

  A well-equipped ship like the Seal could jump across the water-cliff, if the officers hadn't recently demoted, berated and flogged their magic-wielding "caskman" into deserting. Dane felt the sea dragging him closer, and the ever-present bite of saltwater in the wounds on his back. He muttered a prayer to Janya, patron of travelers, and cursed his former captain.

  Dane was getting close to the top of the waterfall. He dived. He had to get deep enough that he'd be safe, falling from only partway up. His lungs burned and forced him to surface again. If only he'd mastered that air-bubble spell! Worse, only the near-surface part of the current pulled him down and inward. Below that it churned upward and away in a great circle because of how the seabed repelled the water. How was he supposed to get down safely? He resolved to study how the current worked later, if his skull was intact.

  The white line ahead had become a writhing mass of ocean, seeking to break him. Dane took three quick breaths and plunged back into the dark water, aiming down and inward. He forced himself through the churning chaos. His left arm broke through the waterfall and pulled at nothing, and then the water forced him back and tried to bring him higher. No! He kicked down against the sea itself and against the instinct demanding that he rise and breathe. Then he crashed sideways into humid air, and tumbled onto the bare rocks. The world flashed white with pain.

  He lay on his back, gasping for air, while the ocean roared at him. He was staring up from the bottom of a water-walled canyon. The waterfalls crashed down to either side without more than a few drops touching him. Between these walls was a path of sand and grey stone, stretching in a long arc that curved out of sight ahead and behind him. Dane climbed to his feet, looked around, and let out a pained laugh. After floating all this way and spending a whole day and night soaked, now he was walking fifty feet below sea level! He took a few minutes to rest in the chilly canyon. There was still a chance of surviving, though jumping off of an intact ship had been the simpler and saner part of his plan.

  The rumor was that the otterfolk natives had a way to turn humans into their kind. A perfect
disguise for any Navy man not wanting to be recognized. As for the thought of being changed by magic, it was best not to let himself worry. It had to be better than the gallows that awaited deserters.

  Dane concentrated on the Weave of magic, letting his thoughts slip into that frame of mind that makes the world seem to be draped in emerald-green vines ready to be woven or plucked. The sea-cliff was alive with them, highly magically active of course. He carefully reached into one churning waterfall and pulled out a globe of rippling water. It hung there in his hand like a ripe fruit. He flicked his wrist and bent his thoughts, causing the salt to gather and fall. It tickled his fingers as it left. Dane smiled and lowered his head to drink from the orb of pure water that remained, then washed his face and his back with the rest. There were some benefits to being trained as a Navy caskman. He'd learned how to fill the ship's water barrels at sea with the same trick.

  Based on the charts he'd seen, and what he remembered of the Seal's brief visit, the islands were on the inner side of this arc of natural road. The closest should be near the north edge. The plank he'd been using to float had gotten lost somewhere in his fall, but he was a good enough swimmer to do without it from here. He marveled at the sight of the rising sun through the inner cliff, like roses behind a curtain. With that color on his right he walked north until the magical canyon ended and there was no choice but to swim out again. Dane took another drink, sat down, and rested. What motivated him to get moving again was anger. How dare the Navy conscript him, an honest and loyal man! He leaped into the eastward cliff and used the outward current to drive himself as far away as possible before surfacing. He caught his breath. The surface was trying to pull him backward for another attempt on his life, so he kept swimming mostly underwater for a few minutes until its drift faded away. At last, land ahead!

  Dane washed ashore in time to see early sunlight shining around thatch huts and long cabins. He'd been fortunate to reach the northern part of the island chain. Compared to the one where the Seal had docked, it was more nearly surrounded by the water-cliffs and hence more isolated. Safer for him. He splashed onto the beach and flicked most of the water off him. To those who could see the Weave, green sparks chased his hands as he gestured to cast the spell.

  He'd seen the natives briefly while the Seal was in port. The otter-folk had rowed close in boats full of bananas and oranges, rum and raisins. Dane had stared at their fuzzy faces, their tan and brown bodies with tails, until a lieutenant ordered him back to work at scraping the hull clean. Things had gotten even worse from that moment between Dane and the officers, because they knew men like him weren't serving willingly and were within sight of freedom. Seal had sailed off into the drab ocean again, and the regular seamen complained of being fed these exotic foods and deprived of their usual dried peas and salt beef. Once the ship was back out to sea, the officers had relaxed their vigil on the conscripted men a little too much. At least, too much for someone with magic.

  Now, he had a closer view of one of the natives. An otter-man with a net over one shoulder had stopped his conversation with a short human who overflowed his uniform.

  The human sputtered, "What? A sailor!"

  Dane cursed as the two trotted down the beach toward him. He had escaped while still wearing the shorts and shirt of a sailor. He staggered across wet sand, vaguely hoping to escape, but the strength left his legs and he collapsed.

  "What happened?" said the otter-man. He paused. Dane lifted his head and saw the native's little ears flick backward. "You fell overboard, right?"

  The human laughed. "He may not have his sea-legs, but I recognize the mark of the lash."

  The otter said, "That's common with you lot, isn't it? Newcomer, I'm Arn and this man is the governor's hand. Stop and think."

  Dane shuddered and pulled himself upright. He tugged his shirt down to hide his whip-scars. Of all the people to find him, it had to be some dutiful bureaucrat who suspected Dane was a Navy man! "I can't remember what happened," he lied. He'd admit nothing.

  The governor's man said, "Then come with me to the mansion. Unless that bothers you somehow?"

  Dane looked toward Arn, the native. Did these creatures have compassion for humans facing the noose? Apparently so, but Dane doubted this native would help him fight a royal servant. "Of course." Going along was his best chance.

  The official told Arn, "You may go."

  "I'm a witness. You know how your master hates 'misunderstandings' between our peoples, ever since the uprising."

  The human glowered.

  * * *

  Governor Connor had a mansion of white limestone, but only seemed to use a fraction of it. The half that Dane saw first had a shoal of chalkboards and tables outside. A room for carriages had been opened up with a tent extending from it to form a colorful hybrid space. Dane wondered at the sound of children from in there.

  "The school," explained the governor's man.

  He and Arn took him around to the front side and up its stairs. Dane's thoughts raced uselessly as he sought an escape route. The best bet was to hope this ruler would spare him. He was still searching for the right argument when a guard led the three of them into the governor's office.

  Governor Connor loomed over them, appraising Dane with startlingly bright green eyes that contrasted with his flame-red hair and mustache. He wore a lightweight version of a gentleman's vest and trousers with the addition of a wide sash around his waist that dangled behind him. His imported desk looked heavy enough to crush a horse. He listened to his henchman and then said, "What do you have to say for yourself, castaway?"

  "Very little, your lordship. I've been adrift without a bed or a meal." In truth Dane felt ready to collapse again, but he kept imagining rope around his neck.

  Connor listened to Arn and the bureaucrat, then poured himself a glass of water. He spun and flung it at Dane's face. By instinct Dane raised one hand and magically deflected the water in front of it, to either side. Connor grinned. "Neither of you witnesses commented on how a common sailor got here across the sea-cliff?"

  The bureaucrat reddened. "I assumed he'd been swept around it, sir."

  Connor said, "Well, sailor, you have magic training. Any ship would be happy to have you refilling their water-casks or drying their sails or saving them from leaks. We have a number of merchant vessels come and go, and the occasional shipwreck. You could be from any of them. Even the Seal or the Halberd." Connor watched Dane's face; Dane tried to keep his expression blank. Connor sighed. "You've made my life more complicated. I have duties both to uphold His Judicious Majesty's laws, and to keep peace on Hikkoi."

  Dane asked, "Hikkoi?"

  "The natives prefer not to be renamed based on the day we discovered them. They get upset easily and can't control themselves."

  Dane thought he saw an opening. Connor didn't seem eager to kill him and show the natives the King's lethal justice. "Sir, is it true that the natives can change a man into one of their kind?"

  Arn had ignored the governor's comment. He said, "Yes. A good fate for someone who's lost their memory, your lordship."

  Connor leaned against his desk, then laughed. "You're lucky with numbers. More witnesses and I'd have to arrange a trial. Fewer witnesses, and I wouldn't need to." He poured another drink for himself, of rum this time. "My servant will get you food, and discreet transport to a ritual chamber. The natives will be eager to recruit you. Don't let me see your face again while I can recognize it, or I won't be able to err on the side of leniency."

  Dane felt suddenly lighter, and stopped just short of thanking Connor outright for saving him.

  * * *

  The shaman in his hut of reeds didn't know the King's language. Dane had noticed that Arn had an accent, influenced by the otterfolk's short muzzles, but had foolishly assumed they'd all learned to speak like humans. Instead the man with swirl-painted fur jabbered too quickly to follow, in meaningless words.

  Dane hesitated outside the ritual circle on the floor. "If I'm goin
g to live here, I have to learn. What's this, for instance?" He pointed at the table.

  The shaman's ears flattened, and he spoke a word. Dane tried repeating it. The man nodded. Dane pointed to wands, the rug, a feather, a jar, trying to tie the shaman's words to the few he'd overheard. Traces of civilized language hid in this one, making it vaguely familiar.

  The shaman looked amused when Dane floated a handful of water up from a bowl outside the ritual area. "You shaman?" he asked.

  "Journeyman mage," he said. Or so he'd been before drinking at the wrong tavern and being unwillingly appointed as Seal's new caskman.

  The native grinned and ushered Dane back to the intricate circle of sand and chalk on the floor. He pressed a glittering green bottle into Dane's hand and spoke, miming "Drink".

  He chugged the stuff and gagged. This potion had been made from rum.

  Dane tried to understand the spell being woven around him. Emerald light filled the hut and warmed his skin like sunshine through rippling leaves. The magic's tangled, waving aura was much more complex than anything he'd trained with. Dane steadied his breathing. No going back! At last the light faded, leaving Dane warmed but visibly unchanged. "It didn't work?"

  The shaman patted him on the shoulder, looking winded. "In days. Slow."

  "Days!" said Dane. "What am I supposed to do until then?"

  The shaman shrugged.

  Dane tried to convey that he needed to hide, but the shaman shooed him out to the blazing sunlight.

  The shaman's hut was within sight of the beach. Dane sighed. Getting farther away might protect him from the governor. Dane walked along the shore and approached an otter-man who was lugging a heavily loaded canoe into the waves. "Hi! You... go?" He offered help. The native let Dane haul the canoe with him. Dane used a simple spell to pull the craft the rest of the way and steady it, startling the man. After giving Dane a long appraising look, the native shrugged fluidly and gestured for Dane to ride along.