Isle of Wysteria: Make Like a Tree and Leaf

by Aaron Yeager

  “Have Hyperio attack the lead ship only,” Roapes commanded, “and have Echelon and Brendegar come about to course 265. If Hyperio can corral them further to the east, then we can surround them.”

  “Ooh, let me do it,” Rachael pleaded, bouncing up and down with her hand raised in the air, as if she were in grade school. Without waiting for a definite answer, she shuffled over to the call-pipes as best she could in the high heels she was wearing and opened one up. “Signal Hyperio attack lead, corral east. Signal Echelon and Brendegar 265.”

  “Um, excuse me?” came a young man’s voice from the pipe.

  “Ugh,” Rachael sighed as she grabbed the pipe again. “Signal Hyperio attack lead, corral east. Signal Echelon and Brendegar 265. And hurry up. Miguelito gets irritable until he’s had his afternoon nap.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I cannot do that,” the young man responded.

  “What is wrong with you?” Rachael complained. “Are you an idiot or something?”

  “Um, no ma’am, I’m a cook. This is the pipe for the forward galley.”

  Rachel stood up and looked at the pipe, which was clearly labeled “Forward Galley.”

  “Oopsie,” she said apologetically, twirling a lock of blonde hair with her finger.

  Admiral Roapes sighed, and wondered if he should start reviewing service records in addition to pictures when choosing women for his staff.

  “Nikki, would you please go clear up that mess?” the Admiral commanded as he rubbed his temples.

  “I told you to stop calling me that. My name is Nicole,” she grumbled as she walked over and shoved Rachael out of the way.

  While Nicole had sent out the correct messages, Admiral Roapes snapped his fingers and a gorgeous brunette placed an hors d'oeuvre in his mouth.

  As he chewed, it occurred to Roapes that this was quickly becoming the most exciting week of his entire Naval career. Pirate fleets normally stayed hidden, either in floating islands or volcanic inlets; venturing out only occasionally and in small numbers. But in the last week, suddenly they were everywhere, moving in great numbers. What was even better, they were not attacking any ports or ships along their path, just sailing in open skies. The entire Federal Navy had been mobilized everywhere, and Naval Flotillas like his were rounding up pirate fleets one after another as fast that they could. It was almost as if they were migrating.

  “Sir, I brought you the federal charts you requested earlier,” Nicole said as she returned and placed the charts on his desk before him. Naval charts were some of the most complete in existence, showing the hundreds of islands and kingdoms that made up the league, as well as shipping routes and Naval installations. Nicole had already taken the liberty of placing red marks where Guild Fleets had been encountered.

  “Now, what I’d like you to do Nikki is plot the Guilds’ headings onto the charts as well. Use the headings they were on when they were first encountered.”

  Nicole took out her beam compass and began plotting courses; drawing a small pencil line for the direction the pirates were headed. One after another, each red dot was given a line, all of them pointing in the same direction.

  “By the gods, maybe they really are migrating,” the Admiral commented as another hors d'oeuvre was placed in his mouth by a manicured hand with painted nails. Without being asked, Nicole took her straightedge and began extending out the pencil lines, until they all met perfectly on one island, like the hub of a wheel.

  “What is that place?” the Admiral asked, straining to see the small lettering without the aid of his spectacles.

  “That island is called Wysteria,” Nicole reported.

  * * *

  The sun had already set by the time Athel returned to the Dreadnaught, which was anchored beneath a canopy of large palm trees, obscuring it from detection from above. There was precious little air traffic over this side of the island, but a fugitive ship could not afford to be too careful. As she climbed up to the forecastle, she saw Alder sewing up the last few tears in the giant sails. Bunni sewed next to him with a small needle of her own, wearing her little maid uniform.

  “Would you like to play the Happy Dancing Unicorns game?” Bunni asked as Athel approached.

  “Not right now, Miss Bunni, we have to finish these repairs,” Alder admonished.

  Athel rolled her eyes. It was so ridiculous for a grown man to have a little-girl’s talking golem doll, and using it to help him with his chores was even more absurd.

  Athel had the impulse to scold him about it, but instead she found herself slapping him on the shoulder and greeting him warmly. “Hey, Alder, you look exhausted.”

  “Ah, Miss Forsythia. You startled me,” Alder said, turning around.

  “Alder taught me not to call you ‘mean old lady’ anymore,” Bunni said proudly.

  “What have you been doing all day?” Athel asked, trying to hide her irritation at the doll.

  “Repairing 500 feet of sails,” Alder explained.

  “We sewed a pretty bridal veil for the ship,” Bunni said happily.

  “Why did you do that? I didn’t tell you to do that,” Athel asked suspiciously.

  “Captain Evere gave the order.”

  “The man with the black eyes like coal,” Bunni said, cupping her tiny hands around her eyes to make them look bigger.

  Athel chewed on her lip for a moment, obviously upset about something.

  “I’m going to talk to talk to him, this is completely unacceptable.”

  “Oh, thank you, my Lady, this is really a job for three or more people. I can’t tell you how horrible it has been working alone in the sun...”

  “Yes,” she said, cutting him off. “I’m the only one who gets to order you around like that.”

  “I feel so honored,” he said coldly.

  “She’s the boss! She’s the boss!” Bunni sang to herself as she danced.

  “Wait a minute, Alder. Was that sarcasm you used just now?” Athel asked, raising an eyebrow. He became embarrassed and looked downward, as if expecting to be punished.

  “Good for you,” she praised, slapping him on a bony shoulder. She held out a small wrapped package. He looked at it for a moment, then looked up as if unsure what she was getting at.

  “This is for you,” Athel clarified, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

  “For me?” he asked, confused.

  “Yes, now take it and open it,” she commanded. Alder carefully opened the package, like a young child does when still learning. With an expression of shock, he pulled out a brand-new male Navy uniform.

  “Miss Athel...I...” Alder stammered.

  “It’s no big deal,” Athel insisted, feeling her cheeks blushing. “You’ve been going around in those green-stained pants for so long now; I just couldn’t stand the smell anymore.”

  A few minutes later, Athel and Alder joined the rest of the crew in the Captain’s Cabin. Alder looked much better in his new clean uniform, and he received much praise from those who noticed, especially from Mina, who insisted that he sit next to her. Athel had to admit, he did look rather dashing, but the thought quickly left her as they focused on the task at hand.

  “Okay, from what I was able to find out from my buddy who works in the communications grid,” Odger reported as he wiped his greasy black hair away from his dirty face, “Duchess Erin Strelan is definitely the current owner of The Eye of the Storm necklace, and she’ll be attending her stepmother’s birthday celebration on Stretis next week, so that will be out best chance to nab her.”

  “We’re not going to kidnap her, Jhonstin, we just need to take her necklace,” Captain Evere clarified as he snatched a bauble away from Ryin, who was trying to slip it into his pocket.

  “But then who will keep our prisoner company in the brig?” Odger demanded to know.

  “We don’t have anyone in the brig,” Evere reminded.

  “We don’t? Then who was I talking to last night?” Odger mumbled to himself as he wandered off.

  �
�I was able to get some high-quality fabric today,” Athel explained as she kicked away some discarded cigar butts on the floor to make room for her feet. “It should be enough to make the clothes we need for a formal occasion.”

  “Make?” Dr. Griffin asked as he spun a globe absentmindedly. “Why not just buy some nice clothes?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t want to do that,” Margaret interjected as she cleaned her glasses. “People will think you’re too poor to afford a personal fashion designer.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Ryin snorted as he leaned back in his chair.

  “I still don’t see how this is going to work,” Dr. Griffin said, concerned. “I mean, this lady spends every day and night of her life fighting off would-be thieves. She’s going to have an army of security with her, and at a formal event, her guard will be up even more than usual.”

  “Not to a foreigner,” Margaret suggested. “She’ll assume that any outsider won’t know about the necklace.”

  “Well, she can’t be that gullible,” Mina observed as her tail swished, stirring up plumes of dust, “or she would have lost the necklace long ago to an outsider hired by one of her rivals.”

  “All women let their guard down when they fall in love,” Pops the janitor mentioned as he passed by in the hall, mopping the floor.

  “Well, that’s so simple,” Evere chuckled as Mina slugged him on the arm. “Thanks, Pops, all we have to do is make the Duchess fall in love.”

  “You guys are getting way ahead of yourselves,” Athel said as she dusted off the arms of the hardwood chair she was sitting in. “Stretians are notoriously formal, even compared to my people. We’ll never even get in the door unless we have someone who knows how to act the part. We need someone formally taught in social graces and customs.”

  “Well, good thing we have a resident princess on our staff, eh?” Ryin said as he thumbed through the bookshelf.

  “No, not good,” Mina clarified. “Athel’s face is too well known in the royal communities. Someone will be bound to recognize her. We need an unknown. Someone proper, someone ceremonial, someone...anal.”

  Everyone in the room turned to look at Alder, whose eyes bulged in terror.

  “You can’t be serious?” Evere complained. “The boy couldn’t woo a Duchess if we put a gun to his head.”

  “Maybe he won’t have to,” Dr. Griffin hypothesized, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’ve got a very old and very illegal recipe for pheromone enhancement down in my lab that might make up for his lack of personality.”

  “Um, can we please find a more positive way to talk about me?” Alder pleaded.

  “That would have to be one beast of a potion,” Ryin commented. “Alder’s got the body of a starving ten-year-old.”

  “I’m sure there must be a nicer way to say that,” Alder suggested.

  “Pheromones are the scent chemicals all people release into the air naturally,” Dr. Griffin explained. “They form the basis for the attraction between men and women. I’ll use a potion to magically enhance his pheromones. The Duchess will find him so irresistible she won’t care how uncomely he is.”

  “You do realize I’m sitting here listening to this, don’t you?” Alder asked, irritated. “Besides, simply because you come up with a plan doesn’t mean I will follow it.”

  “You swore an oath to the ship like we all did.” Evere retorted.

  “An oath to fulfill my duties and wooing a foreign duchess is not numbered among them.”

  “Aye,” Evere said slyly, “but you’re trained to always obey orders from your matron, aren’t you?”

  Alder opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it tight. Timidly, he looked to Athel for confirmation. She felt a great sympathy for his plight. She knew what it was to be ordered around, and she admired his strength to take it far better than she ever did. She wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t have to, but deep down she knew it was the best plan so far, even if it was convoluted.

  “Alder,” she said tenderly, “just remember, we’re doing this for Spirea.” Alder thought for a moment then nodded in agreement.

  “Okay,” Evere said, clapping his rough hands together, “Shall we get going, then?”

  The crew nodded in agreement, but everyone looked to Athel for the final word.

  “Hands on deck for immediate departure,” Athel ordered, and everyone stood up and leapt into action.

  “Hey, stop waiting for her say-so,” Captain Evere complained as he followed the group out of the cabin. “I’m still the blasted Captain around here!”

  The mooring lines were hauled in and the anchor was weighed, leaving the Dreadnaught peacefully hovering a few feet above the white sands as Margaret prepared herself. The chill of night was beginning to creep in and the palm leaves veiled the stars above.

  “What’s all of this?” Athel asked, referring to a bag of papaya seeds that had been loaded on the quarterdeck.

  “Oh, that was Evere’s idea,” Alder explained as he secured a length of cordage.

  “When this is all over he and I want to take a second honeymoon to Artice,” Mina explained as she walked by hefting a water barrel. “We thought it would be fun to plant them there and see if they’ll grow.”

  “You might as well leave them here, they’ll never grow on Artice,” Athel said.

  “Why, is the climate wrong?” Mina asked curiously.

  “No, they’re just stubborn. Papaya refuse to grow anywhere there isn’t an established colony of papaya plants. They get too bored otherwise.”

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Margaret announced, standing up from her kneeling position. She straightened her Navy uniform and raised her palm into the wind, listening for what she often called the voice of the wind. When she felt she had it, she pulled out a black headband and tied it around her forehead, a look of determination and focus running across her face.

  “When did you become a black belt?” Ryin asked as he secured the anchor-lines.

  “Oh no, this is just for good luck,” Margaret clarified. Spreading her hands apart, she closed her eyes and the air began to hum sweetly. A gentle breeze wafted by, gradually growing stronger, billowing the sails before the Navy ship. Just as they began to glide forward, a powerful microburst roared across the ship, knocking crew members to the deck and scattering papaya seeds everywhere. The sails of the Dreadnaught strained under the pressure and the ship lurched rapidly forward. There was a horrible tearing sound, and the ship stopped again, floating to a halt about a hundred yards from where it had begun. Captain Evere took to his feet and swore at what he saw. All three sails had again been completely torn apart by the force of the gale, hanging and flapping limply in the dying breeze.

  “I’m sorry,” Margaret apologized, nearly in tears.

  “I thought you had been practicing,” Evere accused, fists clenching.

  “I know, but the air is so humid here, it’s hard for me to control it.”

  There was a general groan from all of the crew members on deck, and several of them started climbing below deck to look for something to drink.

  Near the bowsprit, Alder stood before the torn sails and shook his head. “What are we going to do now?” he asked quietly to himself.

  A strong hand from behind patted him on the shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got a long night ahead of you, boy. I’m going to turn in and get some sleep.”

  “Sir, surely you are joking,” Alder said as he turned around in shock.

  “I believe this IS numbered among your duties. Make sure we’re ready to leave before sunrise,” Evere shouted as he climbed below deck. “Without our tree cover we’ll likely be spotted if we don’t get a move on.”

  Defeated, Alder turned around and sighed as he looked at the tattered sails. He pulled Bunni Bubbles out of his pocket and held her out to look at the work before them. Bunni sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

  “Well, at least I have you to help me,” Alder said reassuringly.

  �
�Bunni is too sleepy,” the tiny doll said.

  “But, you’re a golem,” Alder said in confusion. “You don’t need to sleep.”

  Bunni yawned and laid back down in his hand and fell asleep again.

  Alder let out a sigh of frustration.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Pheromone

  Alder held the ladle tightly between his forefinger and thumb, just far enough away from the flames of the stovetop to prevent getting burned. Softly, he spoke the incantation that he had been taught, his eyes focused firmly on the flames.

  “Remember,” Ryin coached lazily as he laid on one of the tables, munching on a piece of dried apricot. “You’re not trying to generate the heat. You’re drawing it from the fire and into the metal to make it softer.”

  Alder paused his chanting for a moment, long enough to open the stove and check the rising cake inside. “If the ladle gets red-hot, won’t it burn my fingers?”

  “Oh yeah,” Ryin snorted, sarcastically. “You better put on a cooking mitt or something.”

  Alder sighed and put on a mitt before continuing the chant. “I can’t believe you were going to let me burn myself,” he said between recitations.

  “C’mon man,” Ryin said, rolling over onto his side. “What’s funny is that you actually believe there’s a chance you’d get burned. We’ve been at this for a week. If you had any aptitude at Ferran spells we would have seen some progress by now.”

  Alder sighed and set the ladle down. “You’re right, of course,” he said, defeated. “I do appreciate your lessons these past few days. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better student.”