Every Wind of Change

by Frank Tuttle

  Mug turned all of his twenty-nine eyes upon her. “Into whatever scheme you’re executing. You need not waste any time charming me. I know it’s subterfuge.”

  She did not smile, but she did shrug. “To what end, Mr. Mug? What is my nefarious scheme intended to accomplish?”

  “I don’t know. Yet. But I’m watching you, I am. You won’t hurt her again.”

  “I have no intention of hurting anyone. Neither her, nor you.”

  “Humbug,” Mug said. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if all this—” Mug tossed his fronds, gesticulating at the wrecked machines and the darkened sky, “—wasn’t all your doing, somehow.”

  Meralda’s mother laughed. “You overestimate my influence. I have very little control over the forces of nature or the hands of fate.”

  “Considering what you’ve done with the matters you could control, that’s a good thing.” Mug swung his cage closer. “She cried herself to sleep every night for nearly two years. Two years. She kept asking me why you sent her away. Kept asking me what she had done to deserve such a thing. Do you know what I did? I started making up stories. Tales of evil witches and dark magic spells. Halfway convinced her that some fairy-tale villain had ensorcelled you, and the only way to put it right was for her to study hard and master magic so she could rescue you.” Mug put his cage inches from Miss Bekin’s nose. “And that’s just what she did. Became Mage trying to please you, to save you.”

  “That was a clever strategy to employ, Mr. Mug. I salute your inventiveness.”

  “Don’t,” Mug warned. “Don’t you dare. Because I am also the one who had to tell her the truth, one rainy afternoon. I’m the one who had to break the news.” Mug swung his cage an arm’s length away from her. “I’m the one who raised your daughter.”

  “For that, Mr. Mug, I thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Instead, just tell me. Tell me, right here and right now, why you did it. No lies. No half-truths. Just between you and me. Why did you do it?”

  She lifted a finger for silence. She listened, but upon hearing no sound of boots from the shaft, she lowered her hand and spoke.

  “Would you say, Mr. Mug, that I am a despicable human being?”

  “I’d say it. Write it down. Have it notarized. Framed and hung over the mantel.”

  “I won’t argue the point. However, I will offer up this one. What would Meralda have become, had I raised her? Who would she be now – the gregarious, compassionate young woman who rose quickly to the rank of Mage, or someone else entirely, Mr. Mug? You think me a soulless monster.” She smiled a shallow, humorless smile. “What if your summation is in fact correct?”

  “You had no right.”

  “Perhaps not. But I had a duty.” She paused. “You truly wish to know?”

  “I truly do.” Mug’s eyes moved, keeping watch below the squat wreck for any sign of Meralda’s lamp.

  “It was her father’s dying wish. With his last breath, he begged me to send her away. He knew what I am, you see. He loved me despite that. But he was no fool.”

  “Now comes the part where you tell me how much you loved him,” Mug said.

  “No. Because I did not. He knew this. He knew I married because he proposed a business arrangement. He always knew what I was. Unfeeling. Manipulative. Calculating. He knew, from the first moment, to the last.” She paused for a breath. “I spared her, you know. Spared her from my influence. From my example. Spared her from ever becoming me.”

  “Have you trotted out this same line of nonsense to her, too?”

  “Of course not. I will not soil her memory of the father in that way. I told you only because I know you will keep it secret for the very same reason.”

  Mug glared. “Is that how this works, then? You share a secret with me, thus forming a bond? Are we to be skipping merrily over a field of daisies before the day is done?”

  “I doubt that.”

  “So do I,” said Mug.

  Boots sounded from the shadows, and Meralda’s lamp-light played about the deck.

  “We aren’t the first ones here,” shouted Meralda. “But there a few things worth taking. Mother? Mug? Is everything all right?”

  “Just perfect.” Mug sailed toward Meralda’s voice. “What did you find?”

  “Some hand tools, reams of cloth, and what I think is a working bathtub,” Meralda replied.

  “A bathtub?” asked her mother. “With water?”

  “If we can free a stuck valve, yes!”

  Her mother brushed past Mug. “Show me.”

  Meralda laughed. Mug rolled eight of his eyes but followed the women up the shaft.

  The interior of the ship was dark. Meralda’s spark-lamp lit the stairwell, and as they climbed it flooded the circular chamber above the stair.

  Mug whistled. The hull had been lined with machinery, but the interior was a ruin. Metal panels hung from every wall, bent and torn, as though by axes and determined blows. The machinery behind the panels was equally in ruin; cables and cut wires sprouted from every surface. Cavities showed that some of the larger components had been pulled whole from the craft.

  “This one isn’t going anywhere,” Mug observed.

  Meralda pointed to an open door on the far side of the chamber. “There’s another stair there. The next deck must have been the living quarters. It’s been looted, but not damaged.”

  “You say there’s a working bath?” asked her mother.

  “There’s a tub, and a set of handles, and pipes leading to a clear tank of water at the top of the craft,” Meralda said. “Unless I’m quite mistaken, there is even a bar of soap on the edge of the tub.” Meralda hesitated. “Of course, we don’t know if it’s safe for us to use.”

  She trailed off. Her mother was already hurrying toward the stairs, shedding garments as she went.

  “I’ll be more than happy to test it myself.” Her mother vanished through the door. One of her boots came thumping down the stairs a moment later.

  “Mother!” Meralda hurried after her.

  “Oh, let her go,” Mug set off close by Meralda. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “It’s an alien craft. Who knows what they might have added to the water? Wait, Mother!” Meralda shouted. “The valve is still stuck!”

  “Then I’ll free it myself.” The sounds of banging issued from the stairwell. Meralda was halfway up the stairs when she heard the splash of water in a tub.

  “Mother, don’t!”

  “Yes, don’t, oh my, mercy me,” Mug added. “Be a shame if she melted.”

  When Meralda topped the stairs, she found her mother already in the tub. The water was thick with suds. The faint aroma of some subtle but unfamiliar flower filled the room.

  “It’s heavenly,” said her mother, splashing about in the tub before sliding completely under the water.

  Mug turned his eyes away. “Not the word I’d choose.”

  Meralda’s mother emerged from the suds, fumbling with the strange faucet until the flow of water ceased. “It’s just soap, dear. And water. Cold, but quite tolerable, I assure you.”

  Meralda crossed her arms over her chest. “It could just as easily have been a potent acid, and the soap a burning poison. This isn’t Tirlin, Mother. There are dangers at every hand.”

  Her mother dismissed the warning with an imperious wave. “I wonder if these creatures employed wash-cloths, or towels? If so, I imagine they are stored in those cabinets, over there.” She pointed.

  Meralda rolled her eyes but stamped over to the row of cabinets set into the hull. After determining they opened outward with a single push, she found a stack of white towels and removed the top one.

  “Next, she’ll have you pressing her skirts and polishing her boots,” Mug said.

  “I have Goodwin for such tasks,” said Meralda’s mother. “Just toss it here, Meralda. I’m sure you’re eager to explore the rest of the craft.”

  “That’s true,” Mug buzzed toward the open door. “Please do
not remove yourself from the bath until I am gone. I’ll have nightmares for a week as it is.”

  Meralda’s mother chuckled as Mug vanished up the stairs. “He despises me. I confess I missed his sharp tongue.”

  Meralda crossed the room with the towel in hand. “Please don’t ever do anything this thoughtless again. Had you been injured in some way, what would I have done?”

  “Well, you’d have avoided bathing here. But I am quite undamaged, and we have gained a valuable asset.”

  “It’s a bath, mother. Not a flying machine.”

  “It’s comfort and hygiene, to people who have had none of either for weeks now. The increase in morale alone was worth the risk.”

  “You risked your life.” Meralda frowned. She dropped the towel beside the tub.

  “It is my life to risk.” Her mother splashed water on her face and worked the suds into her hair. “Why, one would almost think you cared.”

  “I care for every life.”

  “Admirable, but ultimately impractical. I feel so much better. I wonder how this drains?” She stood suddenly, causing Meralda to turn quickly away.

  “I’m sure there’s a mechanism somewhere,” Meralda said, hurrying to follow Mug. “I have no doubt that you can find and operate it.”

  Her mother smiled. As soon as Meralda was well out of sight, she dropped heavily back into the tub and closed her eyes. She shook for a moment, clamping her jaw tight as to stifle a cry of pain.

  “How much water do you estimate is in that tank?” Donchen toweled his thick black hair dry.

  “Enough for three hundred and eighty-four full baths,” said Meralda. She alone had not bathed, insisting that the others went first.

  Donchen nodded, tightening the belt around his bright orange robe. Six such robes were discovered, packed neatly away in a cabinet. The fabric was cool and comfortable, and there were even pockets on each side.

  Donchen turned, striking a pose. “These will be all the rage on Bleaker Street when we return.”

  “You’ll need an orange hat to match.”

  Donchen regarded her with appraising eyes. “You shall display a scandalous amount of ankle, in this. Pray hasten your bath, so that I may cast mine eyes upon such a sight.”

  Meralda punched him gently in the stomach. “Pray hasten thy departure, so that I may commence.”

  “Yes, pray hasten,” Mug called, from just outside. “Or would you prefer mention of this wild communal bathing in my next column?”

  Donchen feigned shock and horror before handing Meralda the last of the dry towels. “I’ll do laundry in the morning. Although nothing will truly dry in this infernal darkness.”

  “Innocent Mage and Notorious Hang Expatriate Caught in Sudsy Scandal,” Mug cried. “Court in Uproar. Ankles in Salacious Display.”

  Donchen laughed, kissed Meralda, and departed. “I’ll stand watch just outside.”

  “And I’ll stand watch over he who stands the watch,” Mug added.

  “Is this part of a mating ritual?” Skoof asked, his voice muffled by distance. “If so, I am quite interested in—”

  The rest of his words were cut off by Mug’s frantic pleas for silence.

  Alone at last, Meralda tore out of her clothes and sank into the cold water with a sigh of deep contentment.

  18

  “It’s just so frustrating,” Meralda said. “Most of the engine is intact. If only the last ten feet weren’t sheered away.”

  She and Donchen stood in the shadows of the steel ship’s boat-shaped hull. Before them, the derelict craft’s engine loomed, forever stilled, its intricate system of gears and pulleys and rings still poised as if eager to leap into motion. Here and there, jellies crawled, though the metal of this craft seemed to resist their corrosive secretions.

  Donchen hefted the spark-lamp Meralda built earlier in the day. Shadows darted. “There is a central shaft that extends all the way through the mechanism. The big rings with the lead insets – they’re all fixed to the shaft, so their rotation would be constant.”

  “It would just be a rotation,” Meralda replied. “At best, the hull might turn with them. But there’d be no motive force.” She glared at the machine. “I realize some of the craft are from places with different physical and metaphysical laws, but this just doesn’t make sense. And where did the rest of it go?”

  Donchen put down the light and stretched. When he relaxed, his right arm was draped across Meralda’s shoulders.

  “It is a mystery. Did you notice, dear, that we are quite alone?”

  “It seems we are,” Meralda said, smiling. “Quite a rare occurrence, of late.”

  “Mage,” said a voice, in her ear. “Mage, do you hear me?”

  Meralda pulled away from Donchen’s embrace with a sigh and tapped her earring. “I hear you. Go on.”

  Donchen sighed in resignation.

  “Mage, your presence is requested forthwith. Where are you? Nameless shall come to you and guide you back to me.”

  “I’m in the boat-shaped ship,” Meralda replied. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”

  “No,” said the crow. “Miss Bekin found something. Mr. Mug urges you in the strongest possible terms to come at once, without delay. He is most emphatic.”

  “Very well. We’ll be outside.”

  Her earpiece fell silent. Donchen lifted an eyebrow.

  “They’ve found something, but won’t say what,” Meralda explained. “One of the crows is coming to show us the way.”

  “Let’s hope it’s an intact restaurant.” Donchen kept the lantern aloft as they made their way through the narrow corridors of the strange craft. “I confess I am growing tired of the generous tree’s fruit.”

  “As am I,” said Meralda, pausing at an intersection. “Right or left?”

  Donchen kissed her.

  “That’s not an answer,” said Meralda.

  “Right,” Donchen said.

  A moment later, they stepped out into the dark. A crow flapped down to greet them, lighting on the hull of the ship briefly before flapping its wings and returning to the air.

  Donchen and Meralda followed quickly through the maze of ruined machinery. Within a few moments, Meralda stopped recognizing any of the hulking shapes and realized they were heading well beyond anything familiar.

  “Your mother certainly went far afield this morning.” Donchen ducked beneath a drooping trunk of twisted, burnt cables.

  “I’ve asked her to search in an orderly fashion,” Meralda said, also ducking.

  “Mistress!” Mug swooped down from the shadows. “There you are. You are not going to believe this. I’ve seen it, and I still can’t.” He buzzed down beside her, his cage bobbing.

  “Seen what?” demanded Meralda. “Tell me.”

  “Oh no. You’re almost there. See for yourself. This way.”

  Mug soared on as Meralda fumed.

  They climbed over a pile of metallic debris, and into a clearing. A short distance away, Mrs. Primsbite, Skoof, and Meralda’s mother stood in a small circle. Their necks craned as they stared up at a derelict ship. A light from Skoof’s dome rose in a beam, illuminating the side of the long, ungainly craft.

  The crows flapped down as Meralda and Donchen joined the others.

  Her mother greeted her with a nod. “Daughter. Look there.”

  She pointed toward the ship.

  The machine was gargantuan, easily as large as three of the biggest airships Meralda had ever seen put nose to tail, and then some. The hull was a flattened cylinder which tapered to a blunt prow at the near end. A neat cage of some transparent material, held in places by a frame very much like the bridge of an airship, loomed above the group. The craft sat high above the deck on four house-sized feet, each a thing of struts, girders, and complicated joinery that appeared to be retractable into openings in the hull.

  Faint lights still shone, blinking white and green, at regular intervals along the craft. Toward what Meralda assumed was the rear of the ship, en
ormous bulbous tubes were set in a ring around the end of the hull.

  A battered orange ramp extended from the belly of the machine to the Hub’s deck. A few puddles of grayish muck were scattered up and down the ramp. Dead jellies, thought Meralda. This metal must not agree with them.

  “It’s remarkably intact,” Meralda said. “But we’ve seen dozens of similar machines.”

  “None of them bore these,” Mug said. “Skoof. Light up the writing on the side.”

  Skoof played his light slowly across the ship.

  The craft was dirty white, soiled with soot, but upon it were letters. Stylized, and accompanied by fanciful images of dragons and otherworldly monsters. As Meralda inspected them, they became oddly familiar.

  Meralda’s hands fell to her sides.

  There, written out in Kingdom, were the words ‘Cordwinder and Cavern’s Amazing Wonder Circus.’ Below the stylized words, in smaller, plain letters, was the single word ‘Celestia.’

  “There’s more,” Mug squeaked. “There’s writing everywhere and all of it in Kingdom.”

  “It can’t be,” Meralda muttered. “It simply can’t.”

  “Remarkable,” Donchen said.

  “Historic is more like it,” Mug said. “Skoof, what did you tell me the odds are against a random match between a completely alien race having the very same language, spoken and text, as ours?”

  The machine continued to play his light along the hull. “It is a practical impossibility.”

  Meralda took in a deep breath. “Has anyone been aboard?”

  “No,” said her mother. “I thought you should be first.” She handed Meralda the Gow warning device. “I did have a look up from the base of the ramp. The interior appears to be accessible. Shall we?”

  “I shall remain behind,” Mrs. Primsbite said. “Just in case you get into trouble inside.”

  Meralda nodded assent. This is impossible, she thought. If Skoof is correct, this craft is many thousands of years old. Perhaps as old as the history of the Realms.

  “Quite the discovery, isn’t it?” Mug said, from close by her ear. “Might as well come to grips with the obvious, Mistress. The first thing we’ll need to do when we get home is throw out all the history books.”