by Rachel Ford
“Yes it is.”
“I’m serious.”
She pulled a face. “Believe me, so am I. And, anyway, my clothes are wet too. I’m not torturing you with the details, am I?”
“I’m in real pain here, Nance.”
They’d been following the coast for a few hours. Their clothes had begun to dry, but were still soggy and uncomfortable – and chafing as they walked.
Aside from describing his physical discomforts, Alfred had regaled Nancy with his thoughts on their situation too. “This was a mistake. I can’t believe I ever let Winthrop talk me into giving up the generator. If we had the generator, we just zip back home and get new supplies.”
“If we had the generator,” she reminded him, “it would be at the bottom of the sea right now.”
The taxman was unconvinced. “We’d have figured something out. We wouldn’t have ended up in a fist fight with those pirates.”
“They weren’t pirates.”
“What do you call people who rob you at sea?”
“They didn’t rob us.”
“They did, Nance. That Dagson took our three coppers, and then threw us overboard. If that’s not robbery, I don’t know what is.”
“Still, he didn’t take the purse, or our supplies. It wasn’t piracy.”
“It might as well have been. He got his blood money, like a…a Judas Iscariot!” He shook his head darkly. “Only Judas at least needed a bigger bribe to spill innocent blood. He was wiling to murder us over three coppers, not thirty pieces of silver.”
“I wouldn’t be too offended by the disparity, darling. Judas’ target was a little more important than us.”
He ignored the teasing in her tone. “My point is, what kind of man murders someone over three coppers?”
“He didn’t murder us.”
“He might as well have, for all he knew.”
Nance, though, laughed and took his arm. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t, all the same.”
“I’ll tell you Nance, if I ever see that one-legged criminal again, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
She laughed at this too, though Alfred wasn’t sure why. “You do that, babe. But just as long as we’re on dry land, and not on any ship he’s captaining.”
That seemed like sensible advice to him, and he remarked as much. Then, he sighed. “The sun’s still up. I sure hope we don’t end up with skin cancer.”
Mercifully for the taxman’s exhausted muscles and aching feet, they came upon a road shortly thereafter, and, following it inland, another town. This was larger than the last village, with a bustling market and a distinct lack of fishy odors. Nancy perked up at the sight of the people, too. Here, there was less poverty. Here, they were dressed less for bare function and more for fashion.
“Oh my God,” she marveled, studying a shopper a few stalls away. “Look at that lady’s gown. It’s gorgeous.”
Alfred frowned at her description. He saw a cumbersome affair of much fabric, a too-large bustle, and a severe corset – a corset over her dress, no less. “It’s a miracle she can breathe,” he decided.
Nancy laughed. “Who needs to breathe, if it means looking that good?”
“And she’s wearing her underwear outside her dress.”
“It’s not under wear if she’s wearing it over the dress.”
“Semantics, Nancy. You know what I’m saying.”
“Look at her hat, Alfred. It’s incredible. The whole outfit is gorgeous.”
The hat was no more incredible, in the taxman’s estimation, than the rest of the ensemble. It looked top heavy, overburdened with feathers and a strange assortment of gears and metal pieces that seemed to serve no function beyond adornment. “It looks like her milliner raided a scrap yard.”
Nancy laughed. “I guess it’s time to feed you.”
“What?”
“You’re hangry again.”
He frowned. “I am not. I’m just being honest.”
“You mean, grumpy.”
An expensively dressed couple passed them by now, the gentleman doffing a top hat upon which, the taxman saw with disdainful curiosity, were fixed a set of miniature binoculars. What in tarnation?
Gadgets and gizmos, though, were the order of the day here. Quizzing glasses hung from chains dangling from ladies’ necks or fastened to gentleman’s jackets. Monocles were almost as popular, but nothing appeared more frequently than random metal fixings. Hodgepodges of gears and springs, levers and scrap metal, buckles and clasps, sometimes molded into sculptures, sometimes arranged with no apparent sense at all, adorned everything. They were sewn into shoulder pads and jackets; they decorated hats and vests. They hung from sashes – sashes that also served no purpose that the taxman could discern. Not even their boots and gloves escaped this senseless desecration.
Perhaps more perplexing to Alfred’s sense of order was the incorporation of scraps of lace and feathers, floral brocades and broad, ugly stripes into their garments. None of it made sense, and all of it gave him a headache. Tailors in these parts, he decided, must be mad.
Nance, on the other hand, delighted in it all. She could not get enough of these fashions. So they lingered in the market, Alfred contenting himself to shake his head and laugh at the silliness passing him by.
So preoccupied by the oddness as he was, it took the taxman a few minutes to notice a curious pattern. The tiny binoculars he’d already seen were very popular, incorporated into many of the ensembles they passed – sometimes fastened to a belt, sometimes a hat, others hanging like an ornament around the wearer’s neck.
These glasses, though, did seem to serve a practical purpose. Now and then, one of the curious-looking gentlemen or ladies would put them to their eyes, focus on some distant point, and shake their heads.
It took him some time to pick up on this pattern, and bring his own eyes to the focus of their attention. But after a space, he noticed that they all seemed to be drawn toward the same point. And he frowned. “Nance, do you see that funny cloud formation over there?”
She was studying a vendor’s cart, perusing the wares thereon with keen attention. Alfred threw a glance at the wrought metalwork goblets and plate ware, the candelabras and lanterns. Then, his frown deepened. They looked worryingly like the sort of impractical, faux-Victorian style Nance would adore – and, consequently, want to fill their house with.
He cleared his throat, now more interested in saving his bare, orderly walls from the disorder of such impractical adornments than any cloud formations. It was bad enough that she’d brought shelves of videogame gadgetry and Star Trek memorabilia with her. He didn’t want his living room to wind up looking like the vampire’s lair from a campy-television show. “Umm, Nance?”
She turned his way now. “Yeah?”
“Look at those clouds.”
Following the direction he indicated, she frowned. “What the hell?”
“Hummus,” he reminded her. “But, yeah: I’ve never seen clouds like that.” It was true. On the distant horizon, a great, dark mass of jagged shapes lined the sky. These were not the light, airy clouds he’d seen earlier, speckled here and there across a brilliant blue sky.
These were solid and dark, and sent a shiver up the taxman’s spine.
A voice at his shoulder said, “Gods know what that tyrant wants now.”
Alfred started at the unexpectedness of the voice. He turned to see a stout man of middle years beside them. It was the cart vendor, and he was shaking his head grimly as he beheld the same cloud mass. “What?”
“Trajan.” The other man spat after uttering the word. “He’s come back. Never good news when he’s back.”
“Wait,” Nancy said, “are you saying…those clouds have something to do with Atupal?”
The stranger surveyed her curiously. “Clouds, miss? That be the island itself. And all its little islands. And if they’re back over Inbalibrab…well, you know trouble’s brewing then.”
Chapter Ten
Alf
red required the other man to repeat himself some three or four times before he could fully wrap his head around the concept. “So you’re telling me, the island – or, islands – of Atupal…float? Like, in the air, float?”
“Of course.”
“They’re not on the ocean?”
“You can see for yourself, can’t you?” The vendor was nearing exasperation. “Why would they be at sea, when they can be in the air?”
“But how is that even possible?” Nancy wondered.
Alfred blessed her for her practicality, always thinking of the hows and whys. For his own part, he was still just grappling with the notion at all.
“I’m no scientist, miss. All I know is, they float, like them balloons their troopers use.” He moved his hand through the air, up and down, like a little boat at sea. “They say it’s science. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s black magic. I don’t know. All I do know is, it’s bad news.”
This was as much useful information as Nancy could extract from the seller. And, as far as Alfred was concerned, there wasn’t much of use in there at all.
She purchased a lantern, and they moved on. By this point, the taxman was beginning to doubt the vendor’s sanity. “Babe, let’s see what other people say. That sounds too crazy to be true.”
To his disappointment, however, everyone they questioned confirmed the same thing: Atupal was one large island with a few smaller landmasses in tow. But they were airborne islands. “Well no wonder Captain Dagson didn’t understand what we were asking, when we set out to sea to get to Atupal.”
Alfred scowled at the name of the pirate – because, however Nance felt, he was convinced that Dagson was a pirate, or as good as. He’d have been willing to bet his crimes extended beyond piracy and attempted murder, too. He and Ruthie seemed to have an agreement, to ferry fares his way. Alfred would have bet a lot more than three coppers that Dagson’s secondary income didn’t make it into his reported revenue. And he wondered where the nearest Inbalibrabian tax collector might be, so he could plant that little seed in his ear. That’d teach him to throw Alfred Favero into the sea.
Nance, though, pulled him from this happy reverie. “But I don’t understand. A floating island? That’s not even possible. I mean, the amount of energy it would take to lift a landmass like that? Much less to suspend it in air?”
This troubled him less than it worried her. Nancy might need to know why things worked, but Alfred only needed to know that they did. “I don’t know, babe. Who knows what their technology is like here?”
“Technology? I’m wondering about physics, Alfred. I mean, physics can’t change across dimensions. Can it?”
“Uh…” He shrugged. “No idea. But, the best way for you to get your answers is for us to get there.”
She paused her train of thought, mid-sentence, and flashed him a bemused grin. “Is that your diplomatic way of saying you don’t care?”
“Of course not, Nance.” He grinned too. “I can’t wait to hear your theories about how physics might be different here than in our own universe. I mean, you know how fascinated I am by our own physics. Why not another universe’s too?”
She elbowed him playfully. “I’ll bet you’d be interested if we were talking about Atupalan tax law.”
“Of course. Because that’s tax law. And tax law,” he declared sagely, “is always interesting.”
“You’re probably the only person on Earth who would say that, you know.”
“Well, technically, we’re not on Earth. And I know at least half a dozen people back at the office who would agree with me.”
They didn’t have much luck with the clothiers in town. They each managed to find a change of boots, but nothing practical or affordable in the way of outfits. It seemed anything that was remotely wearable cost too much; and as for everything within his price range? Well, the taxman would sooner stick to wet clothes. He refused to wear anything that sported gears or metal pieces. “I’m neither an escapee from a haunted clocktower, nor a lunatic, Nancy. I will not dress like one.”
Nor would he consider the jacket she found, that was covered in more buckles than he would have reasonably expected to find in a belt factory. “My clothes are almost dry. As long as I’ve got dry feet, I’ll be fine.”
“I thought the chafing was killing you?” she teased.
“There are worse things than death, Nancy,” he sniffed. “Like being caught alive in those clothes.”
She was inclined to agree, albeit in less dramatic fashion. “I love the skirts. They’re beautiful. But I’m not traipsing through fields in a dress.”
They had better luck with the rest of their supplies, though. They acquired new food, a bedroll, and a pistol. “I don’t think we’ll need it,” Nance said. “But just in case.”
“In case we run into any more pirates,” he agreed.
After that, they set out for Atupal. “We should get there just after dark, if we hustle,” Nance decided.
Hustling was not at the top of Alfred’s agenda. His feet were sore, his muscles ached, and he was generally feeling out of sorts. He would have far preferred to rent a room, eat a good meal, and spend a night resting before another long walk. But she was not persuaded. “You heard Winthrop. We’re on the clock.”
The taxman sighed. “How is it possible to work for an organization that can manipulate time at will, and still be under deadlines? I tell you, Nancy, there’s no justice.”
She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “One of those cosmic mysteries, I guess, Mister Favero. But let’s take a break, and get you fed.”
Wrapping an arm around her, he smiled. “Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad. If I’m going to face a floating island, I probably shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach.”
It was a good call. They lost about fifteen minutes, but Alfred’s mood improved by leaps and bounds once he had food in his stomach. His was almost – almost – cheerful when they set out again.
Nancy, though, fell silent for a space as they walked. “Why do you think Winthrop didn’t mention that Atupal was a floating island?” she asked after a time.
“Huh?”
“I mean, he told us it was an island. But why not mention the floating part?”
Alfred shrugged. “Who knows. I mean, it seems bizarre to us. But in their business, floating islands probably are not the weirdest thing they see. Maybe he didn’t even think about it.”
She nodded. “I guess.”
“Come on,” he nudged her. “We’re going to get our answers once we reach the island. Remember?”
She smiled. “Alright, alright. No more worrying.”
“Good.” Slipping his hand into hers, Alfred smiled too. They’d have their answers soon enough, he felt confident. Then, they’d figure out how to stop the madmen of the Inbalibrab academy. And then, they’d go home.
The taxman slipped his free hand into his pocket, confirming that the ring – Nancy’s engagement ring – was still there. It was, and the thought warmed his heart. Soon, they’d be back home, and life would go back to normal: no more pirates, no more floating islands, no more missions, for a little while anyway. And he could ask her to marry him, just like he’d planned.
And, before he knew it, Alfred was whistling to himself again.
Chapter Eleven
The sun had set by time they reached Atupal. They’d seen it, growing larger and larger in the horizon, blazing a fiery red against the sky. Now, though, it was just a darker gray against the dimness of dusk.
Nancy was carrying the lantern she’d bought in town, and Alfred fashioned a torch to help light their way. They were following a remote bit of road along a barren stretch of coast. They hadn’t caught sight of another person in hours now. At first, the taxman hadn’t minded. Meeting people was never a favorite pastime.
But in the near darkness, without a soul around for miles, he began to feel the tiniest bit uneasy. He wouldn’t have minded, now, running into another traveler, even if it did mean small talk.
/> It was all well and good to talk about getting answers in the sunlight, when the path was clear and the road open. But now, every quiet rustle, every distant creak, every soft murmur of wind or waves made his skin crawl.
Alfred was a creature of walls and towns. He had no love of being in wild places, much less after dark.
But even Nancy, whose idea of fun included such misguided pastimes as camping, seemed on edge. More than once, she’d start, or throw a furtive glance about, or ask, “What was that? Did you hear that?”
Finally, though, they reached the cluster of islands. The main body of land was massive, some several miles across, Alfred guessed. It hovered nearish the coastal cliffs. It was within a stone’s throw of the road upon which he and Nance traveled.
A set of smaller land masses trailed alongside it, some free floating and others tethered to the mainland by bridges. There were homes – mansions, more properly – on some of the smaller islands, and a small village on one. Torchlight and gaslights cast the streets and estates in reds and oranges, and Alfred caught glimpses of old-fashioned cobble roads and brilliant château facades. On the mainland, though, there was so much light, so much confusion of torches and lanterns, streetlights and window lights, that he could see little. The shadows and silhouettes of buildings crowded upon each other, and the sounds of voices and carriages, animals and people, echoed down.
In the center of the island, though, on a hill was a building so high and broad, elevated so far above all the others, that it could only be the palace. It was a good mile or two inland, but the taxman could see it clearly enough, even in the dusk. “There,” he said, pointing toward it. “That’s got to be Trajan’s palace.”
Nance nodded. “So how the he...ck do we get over there?”
Alfred smiled, squeezing her hand. He knew she considered his aversion to foul language something of an eccentricity, but he appreciated her efforts to accommodate him all the same. “Good question. There’s bridges between some of the islands, but I don’t see anything leading here.”