No Present Like Time

by Steph Swainston

  Mist threw up her hands in complete exasperation, “Then read it!”

  DELIVER TO THE HAND OF MIST ONLY

  Gio Ami shows interest in Tris. Be informed that his spies will try to discover the coordinates and the means to reach the island. You will make it easy for them to learn this information. With discretion, leave your charts or records where they may be readily accessed. Comet will tell you my further orders.

  SAN, EMPEROR OF THE FOURLANDS, JULY 13, 2020

  I threw a cushion to the floor and sat down. Through the stern windows the panorama changed as Stormy Petrel turned on her anchor. The lamps of homes and pubs on the seafront, the lighthouse on the harbor wall, the notched tops of yew trees in Awndyn cemetery protruded above the land’s dark profile. The ship swung back: yew trees, lighthouse, seafront.

  “I don’t know what this means,” I said weakly.

  Serein Wrenn had his feet crossed on the table, honing his rapier’s edge with a tiny silver whetstone and watching the barometer drop. He said, “We hoped you would explain.”

  I told him San’s edict on rapier fighting and Mist listened intently as I described Gio’s rally. I folded the letter and held it in a candle flame until it burned completely back to my fingernails. I finished by saying, “So, Wrenn, you have to relearn broadsword techniques quickly; and Mist, you gave Gio’s spies that chamber pot and notebook.”

  Mist tutted. “Never! As ordered, I neglected to lock them in the safe, and they were stolen by a midshipman with confused allegiance. He thought he had performed a cunning heist…But it makes me scream with frustration; after all last year’s secrecy.”

  “Gio has a very strong force around the Pavonine,” Wrenn added. “And he’s got three other carracks. It’s not going to be easy to stop him leaving.”

  “Damn. That explains the lights I saw on the quay.” Wrenn threw me a packet of ginger biscuits and I started munching them. I said to Mist, “San said you have to take care of the rebels offshore. Can we follow him?”

  Mist gave me an incredulous look. “You have no idea, Rhydanne. Ninety percent of Awndyn supports him. He recruited most of my old crews and he’s cleaning out the harbor stores. Gio’s more ravening than Insects! May dogs shit on his grave. I need to send to Grass Isle to hire sailors loyal to me-mobilize some Awndyn Fyrd-call in old favors. He’ll be long gone before we can raise the troops. So I must find food and…blood and foam! That’s without counting recaulking, fumigation, repairs! It’ll take at least a fortnight! San knows that!

  “Tell him I’ll certainly follow Gio-Petrel is faster than those Plainslands crates. We have stun sails, bilge keel; we’re stable while they corkscrew, pitch and roll. I have tricks up my sleeve. If I catch them I’ll sink them all right, but I might not gain more than a couple of days on their tail.”

  She ruffled her hair vigorously. “This is not like the Emperor. San knows very well it takes me two weeks to get this ship prepared. He doesn’t make mistakes. Gio’s Awndyn carracks are tough second-class merchantmen designed to round the cape. Ships Taken Up From Trade. In the right hands they could reach Tris. So now we’re all STUFT.”

  “I heard that Tornado already had the dissidents under control,” Wrenn said. “San’s given Gio a means of escape. Why in the Empire does he want to do that?”

  Mist said, “He usually asks a lot of me, but this…”

  Wrenn slid a scabbard over the rapier lying across his knees. “Perhaps San thinks Gio will sink, then he’ll be rid of the little plucker and two whole boatloads of bastards.”

  Mist said, “No. He never leaves anything to chance. Sometimes I think even god coming back is just a story he invented to suckle us.”

  Nausea rolled over low in my stomach. I wanted scolopendium and my hands were beginning to shake. “San can’t be allowing Gio to reach Tris. Tris is so peaceful. Gio intends to ruin it.”

  “True, but if we save the island from Gio, it’s more likely to become part of the Empire,” said Mist. “What does Tris mean to San?”

  “I don’t know. It must be more important to him than Gio’s rebellion is…” Then I figured it, and in a moment I saw time as San sees it. Its profound length funneled out before me. I stared into a black well, as linkages and patterns suddenly lit up across centuries. Even Eszai can’t see them; the Emperor plans them.

  Of course I had no proof, but I was convinced that I was right. It was a feeling of falling as terrible as when the Circle breaks. One life was a second, a spark. No human can think back and forth over such an immense span. “Oh, my god! I’m absolutely certain…Gio is acting as the Emperor’s cat’s paw.”

  Mist gave Wrenn a smile. “I know inspiration when I see it. Jant, what’s the real meaning of San’s command?”

  “He’s sending Gio to Tris!” I jumped to my feet and pointed at her. “You didn’t discover Tris by chance, did you?”

  She blanched, but stood her ground. “Comet, let’s work tog-”

  “Did you? How stupid I am! One little island-the vast ocean! What are the odds on that? Petrel should have sailed straight past on either side! You weren’t just lucky; San gave you the location, didn’t he? He sent you to find Tris. San must have wanted to find the Trisians ever since they left the Empire in the first place!”

  “What?” said Wrenn.

  Mist said, “I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘in the first place’?”

  “Ata, what were your orders? Why did you do it-to prove yourself? No wonder you even played the marriage card. San wants Tris back in the Empire at any cost.”

  Mist admitted, “Yes, Comet. All he gave me were the rough coordinates and I tacked east until I came upon Tris.”

  “The rough coordinates? You must have itched to ask him how he knew!”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “But I can’t question the Emperor, and I practice self-control.” Her eyes were expressionless.

  “Everybody knew, back then,” I said, awestruck. “Two thousand years ago, the whole Four-Fivelands knew there was an island in the eastern ocean. San wanted us to rediscover Tris.”

  “But why give it to Gio?”

  “Because every new problem is a solution to an old problem,” I ranted. “San has sent Gio to invade the island instead of us!”

  Mist said, “Oh. Because he can’t be seen to do it himself?”

  “Yes. Listen; San ordered me to tell the Senate, ‘Our Emperor has sent us to protect you from Gio Ami.’ He makes Gio sound like a formidable enemy, so that he has an excuse to send us!”

  “Gio is a formidable enemy,” Wrenn pointed out. “I’m determined to prevent him and his scumbag highwaymen from destroying Capharnaum.”

  My hand on the door handle. “Well, at last San has the means to reach the Trisians, to catch up. Tris is a loose end that must have bothered him for two thousand years! He gave you money to rebuild the fleet after the last Insect swarm, didn’t he, Mist? How does it feel to be one of his instruments? And Serein, what’s it like to be his Swordsman executioner? No better than Gio, who thinks he’s rebelling but he’s just San’s pawn. San wants the descendants of the fifth-century rebels returned to the fold; wouldn’t you? Oh, I really need a fix.”

  “Come back!” said Mist. “Tell us how you know all this. Where are you getting it from?”

  “A History of Tris. It’s…” I faltered. “I could do with some cat.” I ran to the hatch and down the ladder, heading for the sickbay.

  The book I stole from the library recorded that a group of radicals left the Pentadrica to found Capharnaum. San must have known. I was sure that he wanted their reintroduction to the Empire, and Gio provided the means. I knew that we had to stop Gio. I also knew that I had just flown an awful, demanding itinerary all over the Plainslands and that being back on a caravel was not helping the fact I badly needed cat.

  I ducked along under the low beams. Smells of gravy and hot flour rose from below. The ship creaked; the deck was gloomy. I paused and listened at the sickbay door lit by a single swi
nging lanthorn because a compassionate voice emanated from inside. It was the Doctor. I thought she was addressing Lightning, but no other voice answered or interrupted her. The old woman was talking to herself.

  “Over time, Eszai are supposed t’ get worn out and replaced. You’re no’ supposed t’ live forever, really.” I heard her bustling about. “My dear, you like stories? Of course you do, you’re a romantic. Hard t’ believe once I was a lit’le girl with brown plaits and a patched skirt tha’ spun ou’ when I twirled. I was walking down the cobbled back streets in a Hacilith summer, and I heard music. That were before you were born, Saker, a long time ago. Such music! It were a shawm an’ sackbut, though there could’ve bin a hundred of each, the way they wove t’ most tempting tunes. T’ music were coming from behind a high wall, with an arched green gate in it. I tried t’ gate but i’ were locked. I shouted to t’ musicians, but nobody answered. I sat down on t’ cobbles and began to cry.

  “Then along the road there came this crowd of people, dressed in t’ most beau’iful costumes, with plum-colored feathers and foil masks. They caugh’ me up in their masquerade, an’ I slipped in behind them when the green gate opened t’ le’ them through. From then on, I were lost among t’ drunken guests of an outlandish party, and I, only a lit’le girl with a calico skirt, became their amusement. They whirled tall and grotesque around me, an’ I stared in fright. When I tired of t’ constant noise and mysterious innuendo, I tried t’ run away. I tried t’ ge’ out of t’ ornate garden, but t’ high wall trapped me in. Ladies and servants bat’ed me away, their sharp heels ripped my skirt. Eventually I crawled under a bush covered with these massive waxy flowers and I fell asleep. When I woke up I found myself out in the stree’ again. I had been cleared up and put ou’ with all the refuse from t’ party.

  “Saker,” she said tiredly, “I heard how men break wild horses; tie their back legs, and when they attemp’ t’ run, they fall. That’s how i’ was for me before the Circle. You saved me then and we’ve been friends since. I’m saving you now. I can’t do withou’ you. Simply, if you leave me, I shall be alone forever.”

  The voice stopped and all was quiet behind the door. I pushed it and slipped inside. The Doctor was sitting beside Lightning, playing a game of solitaire with glass beads. She put her wrinkled finger to her lips.

  Lightning lay on his side on a cot that was attached head and foot to the ceiling and swung slightly with the ship’s motion. His wings were open, one thoroughly bandaged, the other spread to stop him moving on the mattress. The feathers had been cut down in accordance with Rayne’s theory of cleanliness. He was asleep. The blanket rose and fell with uneven breathing but in the indistinct light he looked like a tombstone effigy.

  Rayne followed my gaze to a half-empty brandy bottle on the floor. “Tha’s the strongest narco’ic I can get him t’ drink,” she said. “He’s feverish and t’ wound’s infec’ed bu’ he refuses t’ take painkillers. He’s afraid of them, I think, having seen what drugs have done t’ his friend.”

  I hugged her; her face only came up to my chest. Wrinkles beneath her eyes overlapped like an oyster shell. Her plain cotton frock smelled of wintergreen oil and steam. In the small cabin she stood tall whereas I had to stoop.

  “How is he?”

  “In a serious condition. T’ wound won’ close. I’ will take a long time, stabs have t’ heal from t’ base up and this one’s deep. He los’ a lo’ of blood. He’s weak, but a’ least he’s eating. A blood transfusion is t’ las’ resor’. I told him, ‘Lie still or i’ will trouble you for a century.’ I’m treating his sprained arm as well. What about you? You look like you’re dependen’ again.”

  “Yes…I’m…I’m back on the needle. Is there any way I can help Lightning?”

  She seized my wrist firmly and pushed my loose sleeve back. “Shi’, Jant. T’ pet cat you’re keeping has been scratching your arms again. What a mess. Thought you’d beaten i’ las’ time. More fool me.”

  I crouched down against one of the ribs that supported the deck above. If you use drugs, in time you grow unusually familiar with the corners of rooms. My own predictability sickened me: “Do you have any cat?”

  “Yes. I had t’ bring new supplies ’cause someone made off with t’ ship’s complement of skylarks. No pity this time, Jant. You use your habi’ t’ bask in sympathy, soaking i’ up like a sponge.” Rayne shuffled to prop her ample bottom on the work surface, obscuring her medicine case. “T’ chest stays locked. I can shou’ for Wrenn. He’s easy strong enough t’ chuck you in t’ brig.”

  “I’m not violent,” I said, aghast.

  “I know. Bu’ in a few hours you’ll be desperate.”

  I wanted to get away. “Look, I don’t want to take cat anymore but I don’t have the willpower to stop. In the last week I’ve had three nights without sleep and small shots give me the energy to keep going. I am trying, Rayne.”

  “You certainly are. Wha’s your dosage?”

  “Five grains every two days.”

  “Shi’. A Zascai wouldn’t live long a’ tha’ rate. I thought I felt t’ Circle strain to hold you.”

  Slumped against the hull and starting to shiver, I wretchedly submitted to her examination. She cleaned down my track marks and peered at my tongue and red-rimmed eyes. Macabre old woman. “If you don’t qui’ soon ca’ will kill you. You have one bugger of a problem.”

  “What problem-Gio determined to ravage the Fourlands’ only idyll, or Tern’s adultery that I dwell on for hours at a time?”

  “Silly boy. Tern’s infideli’y is her way of coping with your drug habi’.”

  “It’s the other way around,” I said. “I use cat because I can’t bear to think of her affairs.”

  “Pull yourself together! You and Tern blackmail each other…but she’s more likely t’ enjoy i’, whereas you hurt yourself t’ ge’ her attention. You’re addic’ed t’ sympathy-from Tern, from me and even Saker. Well, i’s run out bu’ you’re still dying. Stop get’ing guilt kicks from asking for help and then rebuffing i’. Stop saving all your pain till later, live in t’ real world. I know i’s harsh but i’s no’ as bad as t’ damage you wreak on yourself trying t’ escape. If you don’ break t’ vicious circle, you’ll wreck both your lives.”

  “Tern left me first…She doesn’t care about me anymore,” I complained.

  “Don’ argue,” Rayne snapped.

  “I’m not arguing. I agree with what I’m saying!”

  Lightning stirred and Rayne continued quietly. She turned her back on me and began to sort through vials. I didn’t want to listen but I had no option. “I find tha’ selfishness is t’ worst chronic disease of Eszai. Tern also suffers from t’ condition. She loves you as a daredevil, how you used to be-flying t’ Ressond gale, climbing t’ cliffs a’ Vertigo. Admi’ that you’re a lo’ less beau’iful lying on t’ floor staring a’ t’ ceiling. An’ after ninety years t’ res’ of t’ Circle’s bored and sick of you collapsing all t’ time… Sometimes I think t’ greatest strain on San is restoring everyone’s livers. Tornado challenges ten men to a drinking contes’, Frost sups enough coffee for ten men, and you do both stimulants and narco’ics.”

  I wished that people could see and believe my exploits in the Shift. I folded my arms tightly; my sharp fingernails dug into my biceps. I rocked forward. “It hurts, it hurts. I don’t want to do the fast cure…I can’t kick now. The Empire needs me.”

  “You mus’ have some now because you’re going into shock. I don’ wan’ two Eszai in life-threa’ening states. Then I ration you, one dose a day, oral no’ intravenous, until I have chance to straigh’en you ou’. I can guess a’ t’ difficulty of injec’ing on a moving ship in a tempes’.”

  I nodded, relieved to submit to Rayne’s regime. She would look after me. “It’s a deal.”

  She held out a hand for my nearly empty hip flask. The whorls on her fingertips were worn smooth through age and she had cured the warts, leaving small brown circles. I forced myself to
open my fist a finger at a time and drop the bottle.

  “Well done, Jant,” she said approvingly.

  Hopelessness washed through me; dread filled me. I gave her a look that would have been puppy-dog if my eyes hadn’t been so wildcat. A few minutes later I was rewarded with Rayne’s confident grip on my bare arm, and a flick of her finger as she pushed the needle into the crook of my elbow. I felt no pain; Rayne was good. Unlike me she left no time for a red wisp of blood to spring into the syringe and dissipate, be sucked back with the drug. She just pushed the plunger down efficiently. So I got half of the ritual that I so badly craved. She shook her head, shaking her wattles like a bantam. I lost focus of her concerned face. I may look ill but it’s beautiful in here. I breathed a week of strife out in one sigh; sleep at last.

  I spent the next four days delivering communications. Governor Swallow could only find fifty Select Fyrd whom she could vouch had no sympathy with the rebels, and double that number of reliable General Fyrd. Mist employed a crew but could only find basic supplies, poor quality and meager quantity: salt fish, three hundred barrels of flour bulked out with ground peas.

  Mist came to the deck where I was supervising the fyrd carrying baskets of crossbow bolts up the gangplank. She said, “Make them work faster. Gio’s ships left during the night and they’re already out of sight.”

  “How many ships?” I asked.

  “Three. Well, he took four carracks. Three of them, Pavonine, Cuculine and Stramash, sailed right out through the overfalls at slack water. I don’t know the lead skipper, but he’s a capable navigator. Gio’s braving heavy seas-force-ten gales! But no one will follow him since the Demoiselle Crane capsized. I altered the harbor coordinates in the logbook before I so carelessly let a deckhand steal it.” She laughed with asperity. “The Demoiselle Crane hit the Corriwreckan overfalls at flood tide, one A.M. exactly.”

  Her thin-lipped expression was unsettling. I shuddered, as an echo of my sea-fear returned.