No Present Like Time

by Steph Swainston

  “Not all the time, surely.”

  Vendace said, “In the evenings they discourse in the tea shops.”

  “Wow. Tea must be powerful stuff. Doesn’t Capharnaum have any crime at all?”

  There was a hint of smugness in Vendace’s voice. “Of course there is, occasionally, but why should people break the law when they all decide on the laws?”

  Wrenn whispered, “That waiter was wearing a tablecloth.”

  Lightning said laconically, “What’s odd about that? It’s much more practical than the clothes we have now; you can put your wings through the back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My mortal years were not so long ago that I don’t remember them, Serein.”

  As we walked through town, I noticed that the houses really were similar; apart from superficial variations in paint and plaster their furnishings were all equal. I wondered aloud, “No one is poor.”

  I elaborated for Vendace, who didn’t understand me. He said, “Our currency is based on labor. Every trade is paid the same, in days and hours. You can get more if you work longer, but people tend to work the same length of time. Time is the most valuable thing that exists, surely?” He unfolded some banknotes from his purse and showed us. “That one is five hours. This one’s the smallest-thirty minutes. What do you have?”

  “Coins. Notes are small change for us. See here? Where we come from is similar because everyone in the Castle’s given the same yearly handout-just a pittance. We can only ask for more money for appropriate projects.” I thought if we give the Capharnai steel, it would be worth hundreds and hundreds of hours in their currency, as precious as months of lifetime.

  Mist pressed me with more questions to translate. I waved my hands and glanced at the sky, trying to find words quickly, but Vendace stopped me: “Please save your queries for the Senate. Then we can all hear and you won’t have to repeat yourself.”

  In the center of town the road passed through a rotunda. The surfaces of its columns were covered with gaudy mosaics, squares of gold, blue sapphire and deep garnet; illustrated panels decorated the edges of its conical roof.

  We approached the crag, and the street began to ascend a slope. The gradient became steeper with a series of long steps. We were heading for the columned halls high above. I pointed up to them. “Lightning, aren’t the buildings beautiful? Your pad looks a bit like that.”

  He scanned them eagerly. “The Tealean north front of my house emulates the style. It was a fashionable revival in the latter half of the sixth century.”

  “A revival! Then how old could this be?”

  “Sometime in the early four hundreds the Insects put an end to the people who originally built like this. That was before my time, but I’m sure I recollect my history lessons.”

  Mist glanced at us. “Yes, but we don’t need one now! We are making history, gentlemen. Will you pay attention, please?”

  Vendace led us along the magnificent boulevard, between the shuttered dwellings. Suddenly we emerged from the town, the red riot of roofs below us. The panorama extended to the ocean beyond the massive harbor walls which enclosed the lagoon and narrowed together either side of the beacon islet. The Trisians’ canoes sheltered within it, secure from the breaking surf. Here and there between the sharp corners of the buildings I caught glimpses of a clean narrow river glittering until it merged with the ocean just south of the harbor.

  “The Architect must see this,” I said.

  Mist combed her pearly hair out with her fingers, pulled at the front of her strappy T-shirt and stared at the incredible view. “We could easily get trapped up here,” she said. I was an unarmed emissary, but Lightning and Serein carried their customary bow and broadsword as respective signs of their status. Mist walked between them, knowing that with Lightning’s lethality at a distance and Wrenn’s invincibility at close quarters she was as safe as in a fortress.

  I was wilting badly; I wasn’t born for a temperature of forty degrees. My clothes clung to the backs of my knees, my armpits, chest. I was more uncomfortable even than Fulmer in his designer suit; I was desperate to stretch my wings. Mist had decreed that their strength would raise too many questions among the Trisians. I had folded them under my baggy shirt, which gave me an unattractive hump running the length of my back. The wings’ elbows brushed behind my thighs and the wrists hugged at the level of my shoulders. My wings’ leading edges were damp; from the wrist of each one to the small of my back the feathery patagium webbing cleaved together with sweat. The flight feathers stuck out from under my shirt.

  “Don’t spread,” Mist muttered.

  “You don’t know what this is like. I’m boiling!”

  “Come now, it’s no hotter than a Micawater summer,” Lightning said cheerfully.

  The crowd of Trisians were not at all bothered by the sun. They kept pace with our party at a respectful distance and chattered together inquisitively, with curious and affable expressions. Children ran among them, peering from behind their parents’ legs. A flock of white doves burst from a roof, wings whistling. I strained for refreshment from the faintest breeze, and I envied them. They didn’t have to hide their ability to fly.

  The street started to zigzag up, its steps closer together; it turned hairpin bends as the gradient steepened. It was immaculate with low walls on either side beyond which was open ground strewn with boulders under craggy outcrops. Blooms of butterflies rose and fell on lavender, wavered over planted hibiscus, lemon trees and bougainvillea, honey-drunk.

  Then we reached the flat hilltop and entered the open courtyard of two dazzling white granite buildings. At the far end was the massive columned square edifice we had seen from the quayside, set edge-on to the sheer side of the crag’s cliff. A second, longer hall of the same two-story height adjoined it on our left. It had pilasters with scroll capitals set flat against its walls, a roof made of red pantiles. I was awestruck by the vibrant buildings; they were only the size of the Throne Room but somehow as impressive as the entire Castle.

  The crowd trotted in behind us, and when we stopped they gathered around, watching Fulmer exhale smoke and stub out his cigarette in its amber holder.

  “This is the Amarot,” Vendace proclaimed. “From here, the Senate cares for Tris. Please follow me…”

  “It’s the hall of the governors,” I said in Awian. “Come on.”

  We crossed the courtyard that was one hundred meters square, paved with mosaics in copper, blue glass and black ceramic. Geometrical designs ran around its edge, and in its four quarters there were pictures: galleys, a weighing scale, a dolphin and Insects. Insects?

  The mosaic showed a young woman with brown flowing hair, standing in a swarm of Insect heads and huge antlike bodies. She held a wine-colored pennant that streamed out behind her and the folds of her dress molded closely around her breasts and thighs. She had flowers in her hair and an expression that looked more pained than noble.

  Lightning recognized it at once; his eyes opened wide. “I’m right,” he said. “It’s Alyss of the Pentadrica.”

  “It must be a coincidence. How in the Empire could they know that story?”

  “I don’t know, Jant. I really don’t know.”

  Vendace led us through an open door into the long building. The air was cool and still, and we all stood blinking for a second until our eyes adjusted.

  “If this is a church,” said Wrenn, “then thank god’s coffee break.”

  Vendace said, “This connects with the Senate House. I will show you the way. It is the library of Tris. A quarter of a million books have been collected here. Danio is the Senate member who takes special charge of it.”

  “It’s a library,” I translated.

  “Then thank the librarians!” Fulmer took a cambric kerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead with it.

  A library! I trailed my fingers along the cedar shelves as we passed, and my heart beat faster than in the Moren double marathon. A quarter of a million books! It may n
ot be as extensive as the royal collection in Rachiswater, or the archives of Hacilith University, but I had been through most of those.

  Vendace saw my rapt expression and chuckled. Every single book was unknown to the Empire and brimful with new information I could spend the next century piecing together. Some of the larger tomes were attached to their shelves with brass chains. They were bound in leather and their pages were paper or vellum. There were coffers full of codices and square baskets packed with papers.

  The lower stacks were divided into pigeonholes storing scroll cylinders made of bronze. Some were green with verdigris and others polished by use. There were ledgers of loose leaves; slim volumes bound in boards, in violet and dark red buckram. There were folded maps and plans of every town on the island.

  A few books lay open on a table where a reader had left them. One was actually hand-copied and beautifully illustrated with colored ink. The rest were woodcut-block-printed, which again showed how far behind the times Tris was.

  We passed bay after bay; each shelf had yellowing posters listing its contents but Vendace was leading too quickly for me to translate. All the same, I was beside myself with joy; I had found my treasure.

  As we were led through the long room I began to grasp the enormous extent of the repository-it was floor-to-ceiling full of recorded knowledge. A few solitary scholars occupied chairs and tables in the bays. Fluid music drifted in from outside, a stringed instrument, but the windows were too high for me to see who was playing.

  I tried to glimpse words on the covers and I lingered until I was trailing behind the group. Wrenn and Fulmer gave the books not one glance. Fulmer swung his walking stick as if he was taking a lunchtime stroll in Rachiswater Grand Place. Wrenn’s astonished gaze scanned everything without perceiving it. Mist was trying to communicate with Vendace and took no notice of the books. Lightning, however, had the gleam of fascination in his eye.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” I said.

  He nodded with the ardor of a collector. “What an excellent discovery! I must have copies made and shipped back to my library. Of course it won’t generate the profit Awia so badly needs, but the knowledge might help us. I think I can afford the payload room for one or two shelves.”

  I wondered if Lightning could see any work of beauty without wanting to own it. Sculptors and painters in the Fourlands vied for his patronage, knowing he would preserve their creations and provide the means to support them for life. “We must curate this for the Empire,” he continued.

  “It looks like the Trisians have done a good job of that already.”

  “Jant,” Mist called back over her shoulder. “Stop dawdling. Are you under the influence? Shall we maroon you here and pick you up in a couple of hundred years?”

  The books on the nearest shelf seemed to be works of philosophy and natural science: The Germ Theory of Medicine, Manifesto of Equality, Optics and the Behavior of Light, The Atomic Nature of Matter and other Theories by Pompano of Gallimaufry, Zander of Pasticcio’s “The Explication of Dreams,” An Inquiry into the Uses of Saltpeter, Worlds Beyond Worlds: Transformed Consciousness, Some Descriptions of the Afterlife, Tris Istorio-A History of Tris.

  Superb. I whipped Tris Istorio from the shelf and behind my back. I shoved the little book under my wings into my waistband and pulled my shirt down over it. No one had seen me. Vendace was still talking to Mist.

  We went along an open corridor that joined the library to the taller square building. Its entrance was an alabaster arch with an inscription engraved above it. Mist stretched up and swept her finger over the words. “What does this say?”

  I considered it. “You’re reading it the wrong way. They write left to right. Um…It says, ‘All men are the same.’”

  “You bet they are,” said Mist.

  We found ourselves in a semicircular open area like a floor-level stage. In front and stretching up above us were rows of stepped seats on which around fifteen men and women sat, watching us. Some were young, some elderly. To our left, the columns were open to the air, the sheer side of the crag. The hall seemed to extend into space. We stood on the proscenium and felt the weight of the audience’s scrutiny.

  “What is this arrangement?” Lightning frowned.

  I asked Vendace, who said, “This is the Senate. Elected democratically-”

  I waved a hand to slow him. “I don’t know that word.”

  Vendace stopped and stared at me.

  Mist said, “What did he say?”

  I struggled: “There’s no Awian analogue. It’s-it’s like the voting that takes place for mayors in Diw and Vertigo townships in Morenzia, or to choose a governor for Hacilith. But not just between influential families, for everybody. Um…rule by the people…That’s what Vendace said.”

  Lightning unslung his longbow and unstrung it. He bowed and whispered to me, “This will do nothing but fray tempers and affect our judgment. We’re depending on you to loose words as swiftly as arrows. Who’s in charge of this court?”

  “I think they all are,” I said.

  Lightning concentrated on Vendace. For all the old man’s gravity, he looked unsettled under Lightning’s gray assured gaze. By now my throat was so dry it was sore. “Can I have a drink?” I asked Vendace. After a while I was handed a green glass of water, cool and so pure it tasted of nothing.

  A boy with a tray provided us all with glasses while Vendace continued to tell the Senate about our ships. I listened but was dimly aware of Wrenn sneaking out behind me, the way we had come, toward the library. I didn’t know where he was going; I was concentrating too hard to worry about him. Our prestigious arrival was not proceeding the way I had hoped.

  Vendace said, “We are debating if we should let you stay, and whether or not we assent to any contact with the Fourlands. Our constitution advises against it, because we do not want your culture to damage ours, of which we are proud. Ours is a perfect society built on reason. There are myths that tell of others, very undesirable in comparison.

  “The Senate is obliged to discuss every issue for three days before voting. So matters are considered thoroughly and no spurious motions are ever raised. We will let you know our decision in two days’ time.”

  I translated word for word. Fulmer almost laughed. “Really, three days, the sluggards,” he spluttered. “Imagine if on the battlefield you had to wait that long!”

  “It sounds inefficient,” Lightning agreed. “If we followed such a tradition the Insects would overrun us all the way to Cape Brattice before we made up our minds to fight.”

  I grinned. “Look, you two, be quiet!”

  The senators murmured with curiosity, trying to figure out what we were saying. Mist hushed us, angered by her dependence on me. I marshaled my scanty knowledge of Trisian and introduced our company, ending with myself: “Comet Jant Shira, the Emperor’s Messenger, and you can call me Jant. We’ve come to tell you the fortunate news: you all have the chance to join the Circle and have eternal life, as we do. Time does not age us…Although I can’t really prove it unless we sit here for ten years…Anyway, we want to remind Tris of its place in the Empire; we’ve come at the behest of the Emperor San, that your island and the mainland may no longer be adrift but firm allies-” I halted because at the mention of San the senators leaned to each other and started talking.

  Vendace turned to the fifteen men and women; they conferred together, speaking in complicated terms at a natural speed, much faster than I could hope to follow. They came to a consensus and informed Vendace, who motioned for me to continue.

  “San makes us, and will make the best of you, immortal. We fight the Insects, but-” Another buzz passed between them, and I knew I had hit a chord. “Insects, yes, like the picture in your courtyard.”

  A young lady rose from the center of the audience. She wore a short dress and a patterned stole wrapped around her body. Her sandal thongs crisscrossed her slender legs to the knee. Her features were light, her hair close-cropped. Unlike Vendace, s
he had wings; they were small, brunette and very pert. “Danio, Bibliophylax,” Vendace announced. The library’s keeper, if I understood him correctly.

  Danio said, “Insects are just a story; there’s no evidence whatsoever. And how can people be eternal? You’ve taken old tales and you expect us to believe them? The threat of death defines humanity; nothing is as unnatural as an immortal.”

  I translated, saying, “Mist, they don’t believe in Insects. I think it’s your turn now.”

  Through me, Mist spoke to Vendace, but everyone in the Senate assumed her words were also addressed to them. “Sir, we brought an Insect to show you Capharnai-I mean Trisians. It’s imprisoned on our ship, so if you come to the harbor I’ll give you a tour of the caravels.”

  Vendace said, “What do you think, Professor?”

  Danio paused, reluctant, then answered smoothly, “Our visitors’ colossal boats themselves suggest this isn’t a hoax. Yes, this is truly a historic occasion. If they really have an Insect and if the myths I’ve spent my life discrediting are true, I want to see it.” She stepped down over the stone benches to the stage, approached me closely and looked at my face. A bitten-nailed finger brushed over my Wheel scar and then down to rest on my feathers, questioningly. We gazed at each other. She leaned forward; humor danced in her strikingly intelligent hazel eyes.

  Mist announced, “Jant, tell them that anyone who desires can return with us to see the Castle. I’ll show them the glory of the Fourlands; give them a great welcome and lavish ambassadorial treatment.”

  Danio roused herself and turned away from me. Damn.

  I closely translated Mist’s offer but none of the Senate seemed impressed. Much of the island’s adventurous spirit must be lost, because the few individuals who possess it in abundance could not be frozen forever at their optimum age. I resumed my speech: “You don’t understand. The Empire’s hundreds of times larger than Tris. Our city of Hacilith could swallow Capharnaum ten times. Our fyrd’s half a million men, our fleet of caravels like those two in the harbor is-”