No Present Like Time

by Steph Swainston

  “They only want immortality,” Lightning added. “Don’t wed the first one you meet just because she shows interest in you. You should wait for one who loves you for yourself.”

  The eldest girl was about twenty and she had a driven look that no makeup could mask. She was hungry for the chance to peel away from her rivals and address Wrenn alone; a social climber eager to find footholds in the flaws of his character. An expert seductress, Eszai-good, if there had been a place in the Circle for seduction. She had started young and become an expert in her teens. Well, that kind of dedication was necessary to win the ultimate prize.

  Tern wagged her finger at the Swordsman. “For god’s sake don’t tell them anything. You’ll be reading it in the gossip columns for the next six months.” She smiled and I pulled her closer. She instinctively knows how to flirt with anyone. The problem with having a trophy wife is that you have to keep rewinning the trophy.

  “There is Tornado,” Lightning said. “Wrenn, come and let me introduce you to the Circle’s Strongman.” Wrenn found himself shepherded expertly between the dancers, who turned to glimpse him at every step, so he was always the center of a space surrounded with people, all smiles and for the most part slightly taller than him.

  “That golden boy is going to get his orange juice spiked if he’s not careful,” I muttered.

  Tern giggled and curtsied. “May I have this dance?”

  We danced. Her hand draped on my whipcord upper arm. My hand clasped below her shoulder blade on the silk, basquewired like a lampshade. My lace shirt cuffs hid my fingerless gloves. She followed my steps in quick time like a snappy reflection. We had practiced this; we felt good. I felt great, only Tern can keep up with me when I go so swiftly. And underneath all her clothes she’s naked. She was giddy already from the room spinning about us. All those faces. Our bodies together, shoulders apart; my hips rubbed just above her waist. “I’ll lead, you can spin.”

  “Easy!” Her skirt twirled; she was laughing.

  The music ended; Tern leaned forward, hands on knees, little cleavage in danger of escaping. “Oh, Jant,” she said breathlessly in her carnal voice. I rubbed my cheek on her cheek and kissed her eyelids. I kissed her lips, and deeply her mouth.

  We were still snogging when Mist Ata appeared and nodded curtly. She carried a candle in a holder and her forehead was creased with worry. “Jant, come with me.”

  “Later, Mist,” I murmured.

  “This can’t wait any longer.”

  I disentangled myself from Tern and placed a finger on her nose. “Soon,” I promised.

  “Soon,” she repeated, as if from a distance.

  I followed the Sailor. “You were brave to ask San for leave,” she said. “Mind you, I could tell you needed a holiday.”

  “I was improving my flying. And besides, no one else ever goes to Darkling so I bring back news for the Emperor.”

  “Yeah, right. Lucky, lucky; I haven’t had any leave for five hundred years.”

  At the quiet end of the hall Lightning waited by the camera obscura, leaning against the door with his big arms folded. Mist beckoned us inside.

  “Oh, so you found a hiding place to avoid Wrenn’s questions?” I said.

  Mist replied, “Jant, you don’t even know the type of reason why you’re here.”

  The camera obscura was a tiny, black-painted room with a pinhole in the door that shone a circular image of the hall onto the far wall. The entire party was pictured inverted there-minutely detailed figures crossing the lit screen. I examined it. There was the tiny piano and musicians upside down. Miniature people waltzed past a section of the long trestle table. A blurred servant trudged behind them with a leather blackjack jug. I squinted to see the Emperor below the sun shield in the center. I spotted Tern; she was talking animatedly to someone whose image stepped forward onto the screen. I contorted trying to view them the right way up. It was Tornado, an unmistakable giant of a man. Tern put her hands up to his chest. He bent down; she kissed him lightly on the cheek. His hands embraced her hips, far too closely in my opinion, and together they danced off the edge of the projection.

  Oh, no. I wanted to run straight to Tern, but Mist blocked the doorway, setting her candle on the floor. Her shadow hid the screen.

  “Can we get this over with?” I said, annoyed. I craned to see the figures now dancing on Mist’s blouse and face. My wife was out there, chasséing with a man who had enough muscle in one bicep to make three warriors.

  Lightning said, “At least choose a more comfortable lair for your conspiracies.”

  Mist said, “Jant, what would you say if a land existed far out in the sea about which the Empire knows nothing?”

  “I’d say that if you want philosophical debate in a stuffy cupboard you can ask another Eszai. It’s not like me to miss a party. Especially important parties.”

  Mist delved in her shoulder bag and brought out a thick book with crinkled pages. Her hands were pockmarked from her pre-Castle life as a milkmaid and butcher’s delivery girl on Grass Isle, rowing her skiff every day to deliver cuts of beef to the islanders and cutting remarks to the sailors who wolf-whistled.

  She gave me the book. “This is the log of the Stormy Petrel. I have discovered an island, named Tris, reached three months out of Awndyn harbor on an east-southeast bearing.”

  I said, “Where? Three months? No, that’s not possible; nothing’s that far away.” I glanced at Lightning. “You’re being very quiet.”

  “I’m not going with you, Ata,” he said.

  “Going where?” I exclaimed.

  Mist said, “The Emperor requests that you and Lightning sail with me to the Island of Tris.”

  “No!…Look, slow down, this is a lot to take in. San knows of this island?”

  “Yes. I returned from my voyage last month. I kept it very confidential though I wanted to sail in triumph into port. I told San everything and he has ordered a second expedition that you two must join.”

  “But…I don’t believe you. My duty’s here; I have lots of work to do in Wrought. You won’t need a messenger on a caravel; yes, I could be of more use working for you here. I-”

  “You hate ships, we know. Tough.”

  “Ships are fine as long as I don’t have to be aboard them.” I caught a glimpse of the projection, on which numerous Eszai by the long table were asking Wrenn questions, but I couldn’t see Tern. I was sure that I was being made the butt of a practical joke. I tried to give the impression that I was amused but was willing to see how far I could push Mist’s invention. “So what’s it like on this island?”

  Mist handed me the notebook. It began with the coordinates of the Awndyn coastline, the edge of the chart off which she had sailed. Her round feminine handwriting encircled a sketch map: “The Island named Tris by its inhabitants,” I read, and: “The town drawn from the harbor. The natives say ‘Capharnaum,’ this must be the town’s name? Another settlement due south, name unknown. Triangulated height of mountain approx. 3000m.”

  “Natives?” I said. “You mean the island is populated?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who by? Plainslanders?”

  “Some are human, some are winged people, living together in the town. As far as I could see there is no Insect infestation whatsoever.”

  The island was shaped roughly like the head of an Insect, being rounded with short, spiny peninsulae. Mist had recorded the inlets and promontories with customary precision. The land rose up a gentle concave slope, poured off a sizable river, and then soared into a massive peak. No details were marked, and the east coast was just a dotted line. “I didn’t sail that far, it’s only an estimate,” she explained. “I was interested in the natives. I couldn’t understand their language; that’s why I need you, Jant. I wrote some of the words down, see?”

  “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 s
atisfy 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.

  “…so the Empire must explore Tris,” Mist concluded eventually. Lightning glared; he rightly thought that we were making unnecessary problems for ourselves.

  “Are you worried?” she asked Wrenn.

  “Nothing worries me,” he said.

  “Nothing!” I said. “Poor lad, there’s quite a lot of it out there.”

  He stared at me. “I haven’t even unpacked my rucksack. I’m ready to go.”

  “Aye, thought so. Gentlemen, you will be discreet and keep this a secret. You must go out into the party with knowledge that no one else in the whole world has. Smile; you’ll find it hard. I will see you at Awndyn by the end of the week; the Stormy Petrel is ready to sail.”

  Lightning beckoned a butler and said, “Go down to the cellars and bring me a bottle of Micawater wine. The oldest you can find.”

  The party sashayed and shone around me. I walked through it, dead to the heart and scarcely seeing Tern in a clumsy two-step with the Strongman.

  I ran out to the balcony and jumped to the balustrade, threw myself off. Beating hard and yelling with fury I reached eighty k.p.h. between two spires, just brushing stone with my wingtips. I zigzagged close to tightly packed walls near-missing by a centimeter on every familiar turn. I exploded out of the fog, still climbing to the clear starry sky. The tallest towers poked though the mist’s cotton blanket like black sea stacks; lights flickered deep among them. I reached the top of my trajectory, for a second hung there. Somersaulted. Fell, headfirst, masonry soaring past, the mist’s surface undulating.

  I splashed through it, silently.

  I flew circuits of the Castle until I slowed down and my anger wore off, turning into hopelessness. I landed on the sill of the Northwest Tower, bounded down into my room, sprang onto the four-poster bed and ripped its curtains together. In its gloomy, ivy-entwined brocade cave I sat and thought. Drugs, that’s what I need. Drugs.