Zachariah Ward observed their reactions and said under his breath, "God made the food, but the devil made the cook."
For some reason, Lara and Father Thomas didn't seem to mind the tasteless concoction. Neither did the captain, so not wishing to offend his host, Mathew decided to make the best of it.
"What are you plans after we get to Tyraine, Captain?" Father Thomas asked.
"Well, I'm carrying a fair number of crates of finished cloth and leather that should bring a good price in the market there—particularly with talk of a war going on. If I can locate enough Nyngary wine, I'll trade some of the silver I have and make a run over to the Coribar Islands. I can pick up a barrel of wine for six gold elgars and sell them for eleven. The islanders have always been more than willing buyers, especially for the green vintage, since their priests started sticking their noses into local politics."
"Really?" Father Thomas asked. "What do the Coribar clergy care about people drinking wine?"
"Nothing," Captain Donal said sourly, scratching his beard with two thick fingers. "It's all just an excuse to gain influence, in my opinion. Wine was as convenient as anything else. They succeeded in getting the governor to impose a tax on all the local wine producers, which nearly put them out of business. So now they import more than they produce. There's no tax on imports, at least not yet. It's turning a lot of farmers into merchants."
Alongside Captain Donal, Zachariah Ward nodded in agreement.
"Interesting," Father Thomas mused. "The Church of Coribar has always had its own agenda and it's not always obvious. They tend to take a long view of things."
"You seem to know a lot about their priests, Master Thomas. Have you been to the islands before?" Zachariah Ward asked.
"Oh, I visited there many years ago, just before the start of the Sibuyan War," Father Thomas replied mildly, taking a sip of his soup. "This soup is quite good, by the way."
The first mate frowned and looked down at his bowl.
"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it," Captain Donal said. "I've been after the cook to put more salt and seasoning in it for years, but he seems to be reluctant to do so."
With a quick glance over his shoulder at the door, the captain leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"I suspect that my wife may be at the bottom of this. She's not a great one for salt. Says it makes her puff up like a blowfish and it's bad for the heart. If I want to get any taste out of what she feeds me when I'm home, I have to sneak in my own salt when she's not paying attention."
Before Father Thomas could think of a suitable reply, Zachariah Ward spoke up. "What were you doing on Coribar, if I may ask?"
"You may," Father Thomas replied. "Twenty years ago, the relations between Coribar and Elgaria were somewhat more distant than they are today, largely because of the dispute surrounding which of the countries had the right to govern Senecal."
"I remember that," Captain Donal said. "Malach claimed the peninsula was an Elgarian possession, and Calvino claimed it for Coribar. They nearly started a war over it."
"True," Father Thomas agreed, taking a sip of pale yellow Nyngary wine. "For as long as anyone could remember—more than five hundred years, if memory serves—no one gave much thought to the Senecal peninsula at all. Then one day a farmer digging in his field struck an odd metal object. After a good deal more digging, the object was unearthed. It turned out to be a machine of the Ancients, and suddenly everyone was interested in Senecal.
"The priests of Coribar promptly reoccupied a temple that had been abandoned for years, decreeing, somewhat conveniently, their study of the sacred writings revealed that the peninsula was originally the home of their god, Alidar. Apparently he resided there in the distant past— when he was still mortal.
"The people of Senecal, supremely unimpressed with those who lived there in the past, showed even less interest in embracing Coribar's god than their ancestors had. They appealed to King Malach for help. Never one to miss an opportunity, Malach promptly sent a regiment there on the pretext that an old treaty actually made it a protectorate of Elgaria. I point out that neither side made any mention of the discovery or its considerable monetary value."
"What type of machine did they find?" Mathew asked.
"It was a type of vehicle—a coach, if you will," Father Thomas said.
"A coach?" Zachariah Ward asked. "All that fuss over a coach?"
Father Thomas took another sip of his wine, shook his head, and put his glass down.
"This coach was like nothing seen ever before or since. It rode on four soft black wheels of the most unusual material. The body was long, perhaps twenty-five feet in length, and came no higher than my chest." He indicated the height with his hand.
"From what I could tell, it was made of a silverlike metal. It wasn't silver, of course, but it seemed to have threads spun into the very heart of it. No blade of ours was able to scratch the surface. There were two doors on either side that opened straight up rather than out, the way our doors would do. And on the inside of the coach—I use this for lack of a better word—were four seats, and a wheel to steer it. Very much like the wheel of this ship, actually."
"You saw this yourself?" Zachariah Ward asked, his eyes widening.
Father Thomas nodded. "It had glass all around it so that anyone sitting inside could look out. Again, it wasn't glass like the same kind our windows are made of. It was something different and much stronger, The seats were oddly shaped too, curved and deeply cushioned."
Father Thomas's face became more animated than Mathew could remember in quite some time. The images the priest was painting fascinated him, and he leaned closer, listening intently along with everyone else at the table.
"Now I am truly lost. Why would a coach need a wheel to steer it?" Zachariah asked.
"Because this coach," Father Thomas said, pausing for dramatic effect, "operated under its own power—at least it did for a very short time. What I am saying is, there was no need for a team to pull it."
That raised Zachariah Ward's eyebrows, and he sat back in his seat, plainly skeptical.
"The most amazing thing was that we were actually able to navigate it for a few hundred yards, before it failed."
"You mean you sat in it?" Collin exclaimed, his eyes wide. "How could it have worked after all this time?"
"I did. And so did the commander of our company, a fellow named Royd. He was the one who figured out how to make it go. Strange, the way memory works, but I haven't thought of him in years. He lives in Anderon, I think. As to how it worked, I confess I haven't the slightest idea."
"Incredible," Captain Donal said, leaning back in his chair.
"Did they ever find anything' else in Senecal?" Mathew asked, his mind already skipping to the next logical question.
"As a matter of fact, they did," Father Thomas replied. "A number of books were recovered, along with other items. Nobody had the slightest idea what those items were. Some type of machines, I thought. Of course, the priests of Coribar sent word about the find to the governor—particularly in light of our arrival. He in turn notified the duke, who decided to come and see things for himself. Soldiers from our company were still assisting the locals with the digging when six ships sailed into the harbor bearing a full regiment of his soldiers. A standoff ensued, as you may have guessed, since the forces were approximately equal. We were under orders to maintain the status quo until an emissary from the capital arrived."
"And how was it resolved? I'd always heard that Malach got the better of the bargain," Captain Donal said impatiently.
Father Thomas smiled at the memory. "Well, as it turned out, a case of green Nyngary wine proved to be instrumental in helping liberate some of the very things Duke Rinalo's soldiers were protecting. While they were celebrating, four men, myself included, slipped into their camp and .. . ah .. ."
"You stole the treasure!" Captain Donal roared with laughter.
Father Thomas looked embarrassed, but replie
d, "That perhaps captures the spirit, but I wouldn't put it exactly in those words. Actually, I always felt a little badly for the duke's men."
"Why?" Lara asked.
"Um... it seems I was the one who sent them the wine. Their commanding officer was less than pleased when he found the soldiers... and several local women together the following morning. Senecalese women tend to be notoriously ... ah ..."
Captain Donal burst out laughing again. Even the dour first mate started chuckling to himself, while Lara turned pink.
"So I take it the things you recovered are now in King Malach's possession?" Mathew said.
"All except for the books. They were sent to the sanctuary at Barcora for safekeeping and further study. Copies were made, of course, and delivered to Anderon."
Mathew leaned back in his chair and looked at Father Thomas. The more time he spent with the priest, the more sides the man seemed to have.
"A wonderful story," Zachariah Ward said, shaking his head. "What are your plans once we drop you in Tyraine?"
"To go on and visit with family for a while. Lara's sister was recently with child, so there is a new relative we have yet to meet—a boy, I believe I was told."
Across the table, Lara nodded in confirmation.
"Your family lives in Tyraine?" the first mate asked.
"No ... no . . . just outside the city in the foothills. Their farm is close to the passes."
Mathew heard Collin mutter under his breath, "He lies as well as I do."
"Well, I don't doubt the young ones will find Tyraine ... interesting," Captain Donal said, addressing Father Thomas. "1 certainly did at their age. The first time I saw it, I was a sail maker's apprentice on the Maid of Malogan, but that was more years ago than I care to remember."
"I haven't seen Tyraine in at least fifteen years," Father Thomas said. "I wonder if it's changed much."
"Not very ... busier perhaps. It might be best to keep the girl close, though. If you'll pardon my suggestion, Tyraine can be a little rough on the uninitiated," Captain Donal said, addressing the last part of his comment directly to Lara. "Wouldn't you agree, Zachariah?"
The first mate nodded soberly.
"Is it much worse than Elberton?" Lara asked.
" 'Worse' isn't the word I would choose. Let's just say different," Captain Donal answered. "Actually, Elberton
is more of a backwater town compared with Tyraine. I would do no less if it were my own daughter."
The oft-quoted expression among seafaring merchants who traveled to and from that coastal city was that you could get anything you wanted in Tyraine. The residents there, perhaps because they were the southernmost city in Elgaria, and consequently the farthest from the influences of the government, were known for their liberal outlook. Taverns tended to stay open into the small hours of the morning, and it was not uncommon to see people hurrying home after an evening of revelry just as the sun was rising.
The clergy tried its best to shape the population's prevailing attitude toward more productive and conservative pursuits, at least the way the Church viewed them, but with only limited success.
Tyraine's newest mayor was the fourth in four years. Recently appointed by her grace, the grand duchess, he promised at the time he accepted his badge of office that change would be swift and certain. His first priority, he told her grandly, would be to see that taxes were again collected, and promptly delivered to the royal treasury at Longreath Castle. He was certain he could accomplish his task within two months at most.
After finding his first tax collector hanging by his heels from the watchtower in the city center plaza, the mayor began to suspect there might be more complexities to the job than he originally anticipated. The second tax collector fared less well than the first, being coated with tar and unceremoniously dumped, by persons unknown, onto the mayor's very own doorstep.
The beleaguered mayor, a man in his early sixties, wanted nothing more than to put in his remaining years and retire in peace to an attractive country estate that he had already picked out. He began to see his dream moving farther away. Consequently, he placed the question before his advisers, who had little useful to offer. Finally, in desperation, he sent a request to Longreath Castle for several additional men to supplement the already overworked constable's office—along with two cases of green Nyngary wine. A week later the duchess sent back a wheel of Lirquan cheese and a polite note expressing her confidence in his administrative abilities and wishing him every success in his new position—but regretfully declining the additional men.
As it turned out, significant inroads to the problem occurred at a dinner with several of the city's more prominent merchants. Using his own funds, the mayor hired two very large and disagreeable-looking Felizian mercenaries, who made it their business to stand in the doorway and assist him in collecting his guests' overdue taxes when the dinner was over.
Buoyed by his first official success, the mayor began to see his country home more clearly in his mind once again. Tyrainian merchants, being resourceful people, fell back on the time-honored custom of raising prices and passing along the reductions in their net revenues to their customers. Thus, all parties were temporarily satisfied, except perhaps for the customers. That is—until the Var-goth fleet sailed into the harbor.
Still more than three hundred miles away, the Wave Dancer moved steadily closer to Tyraine.
Mathew felt light-headed and yawned. "I think I'll take a turn around the deck and get some sleep," he said. "This wine seems to have gotten the better of me."
"Why don't you stay for a moment?" Collin suggested. "They're about to bring out dessert."
Lowering his voice so only his friend could hear him, Mathew whispered, "If it tastes anything like the rest of the meal, I'll probably live longer if I pass it up. I suggest you do the same."
"I think I'll chance it," Collin replied. "Stay for another minute or two and I'll go up with you."
Mathew let out a resigned breath and shrugged. "Your funeral."
A look passed between Collin and Lara, but it was gone so quickly that Mathew wasn't sure he'd seen it. And the wine certainly didn't help.
A moment later the room went dark as Captain Donal and Father Thomas both leaned forward together and blew out the candles. The door to the cabin opened, and silhouetted against the lamp in the corridor, Vickers held a cake ablaze with candles. Right on cue, exactly as Lara arranged it, Father Thomas began to sing "Happy Birthday," along with everyone else.
Mathew was speechless. He'd totally forgotten it was his birthday, the glow of the candles almost matched by the color of his flushed face. When the song was finished and he blew out the candles, Father Thomas shook his hand. Captain Donal clapped him on the back, almost dislodging a bone. Lara whispered something in Mathew's ear that turned both it and his other one red, then kissed him on the cheek, which was followed by a hug that lasted longer than it might have, raising both Captain Donal's and Father Thomas's eyebrows at the same time.
While they were still congratulating him and wishing him well, Zachariah Ward spoke up. "You might be interested in knowing that a few months ago Captain Donal celebrated his birthday here on the Wave Dancer. Now, being a loyal crew member, I gave my oath not to reveal how old he is, but I can tell you the crew also presented him with a birthday cake on that auspicious occasion, just as we did here for Mr. Lewin. The captain wanted to blow all the candles out too, but sadly, the heat drove him back."
He said this in such a bland manner that it took Mathew a second to realize he'd just made a joke. Seconds later the entire cabin was laughing—Captain Donal loudest of all.
One by one, after sampling the cake, which turned out to be a far better effort on the cook's part than the dinner, people bade each other good night and returned to their cabins. Mathew and Lara, however, climbed the companion ladder and stood on the stern deck, just above her cabin. They watched the sea pass foaming by and listened to the dozens of little noi
ses a sailing ship made. Far out in the distance, across the port beam, they were able to make out the green and red running lights of a ship heading in the opposite direction. Each deep in their own thoughts, neither spoke.
Overhead, the stars shone brightly under a black velvet sky, and to the west, a full silvery moon rose, inching higher and higher toward its zenith.
27
Great Southern Sea
For the balance of the voyage, Mathew contin-ued to refine his skills at navigation and sailing, with the help of Captain Donal. Following the midday reading and after consulting the charts, he concluded they would reach Tyraine early the following morning and told the captain so. It was a fair day, with light breezes blowing from the northeast over a glassy calm sea. A few white clouds appeared here and there against a brilliant blue sky.
He looked over his shoulder and waved to Lara, who had just come up on deck. Over the last few days, she'd gotten into the habit of watching him take his readings. Usually, she stood by the opposite rail so as not to disturb him. He had no idea why she had any interest in his doings, but it didn't bother him. In fact, he liked her attentions.
Today she was wearing a pale yellow dress, a gift from Ceta. It left her shoulders bare and threw Mathew's concentration askew. Captain Donal, standing beside him, looked over his shoulder at the calculations he had made.
"You have the knack, Mr. Lewin. You definitely have the knack," the captain said. He tended to be a good deal more formal when on deck. "Yes, I quite agree with you. We'll reach Tyraine tomorrow. Excellent work, sir. Carry on."
When he was gone, Jaim, the younger of the two brothers, dejectedly tossed his ruler on the table and said, "I don't know how you do it, Mat. I really don't. We've been trying to learn this for more than four months now. You come along and learn it in a few days."
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 32