by A. C. Cobble
He turned and said as much to Sam.
“Let’s hope we find a different reception here, then.”
He blinked and turned back to observe the village life. Murder, secret societies, the clues they were meant to follow in Archtan Atoll — it had all somehow slipped his mind. He shook himself. A few more days, then he would worry about that.
Soon, they were following the litter bearers up the incline that led to the Company compound. It was a fortified square set atop an earthen berm. A castle, of a sort, except the fortifications were the same bamboo as the huts in the village below. The handful of cannon that oversaw the corners of the compound hadn’t seen use since they had been placed there except perhaps the occasional salvo to mark an auspicious holiday. In truth, the Company relied on the strength and fear of its airships to keep attackers at bay. A colony may be attacked, and the raiders could flee before defense was mustered, but there wasn’t a place on the sea the pillagers could sail that an airship couldn’t reach in half the time. Once engaged, a ship on the ocean had no chance against bombardment from above.
All the same, it was foolish to leave the place unguarded. A reckless, short-sighted pirate captain or simple thief were always a concern in the colonies, and native uprisings had plagued the Company in the past, so they paid for cannon and the men to man them. It was about as boring of an assignment as Oliver could imagine, but the rumors of the free-spirited native women kept Imbon a popular posting even after a decade of colonization.
They entered the gates of the compound, and Oliver glanced around, pleased at what he saw. The last time he’d been on the ground in Imbon, work was just getting started on building the berm, and the architects were still scratching drawings for the governor’s mansion, the royal marine barracks, and the quarters for the Company’s factors.
The place had come together in the following decade, it seemed. They found themselves standing in a tidy courtyard, ringed with simple but pleasantly dressed buildings. There was none of the stone that he was used to in Enhover, but the bamboo and local woods had their charm. Verdant green, brightly flowering native plants and vines climbed the walls in some places, contrasting with the pale wood and giving the square a cheerful aspect.
On the second floor of the compound, each building was dotted with wide windows and double doors, most of them thrown wide in the afternoon heat to catch the steady sea breeze. The winds blew constantly across the settlement, and placing the governor’s mansion up high where it could get the full strength of the breeze was not merely a decision based on security.
“Duke Oliver Wellesley,” boomed a voice.
The duke glanced at a red-faced, silver-haired man who was striding across the hard-packed earth of the courtyard.
“Giles,” said Oliver, sticking out a hand. “The Company still trusts you as a factor in these seas? I thought you’d been relegated to counting pallets of inventory at the warehouse in Southundon.”
“Senior Factor,” replied the man with a wink. He gripped Oliver’s hand and pumped it firmly. “That little altercation with Finavia’s men has been long forgotten. Governor de Bussy decided it wasn’t worth pestering the Company to clap me in chains and turn me over, and the Company decided they liked my initiative. The Board of Directors issued a stern reprimand, of course, but an entrepreneurial man could read between the lines and see the real message.”
“The real message?” questioned Oliver.
“Do what it takes to get the sterling, but don’t get caught,” said Giles, throwing back his head and laughing. When he got a hold of himself, he offered Captain Haines a friendly nod then bent and took Sam’s hand in his, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “M’lady, you are the finest sight I’ve seen on this island since… since I got here.”
“I’ve heard that line, Senior Factor Giles, in another time and another place,” remarked Sam. She glanced at Oliver, and he winked.
“No surprise, m’lady. It’s the honest truth.” Standing back up but not releasing Sam’s hand, Giles begged, “M’lady, please tell me you’ll be staying in Imbon. A woman like you could be royalty here.”
Oliver snorted.
“I’m not staying,” replied Sam, pulling gently on her hand.
The factor smiled at her and didn’t let go.
“He’s a merchant, always trying to sell something regardless of whether or not anyone wants to buy it,” remarked Oliver. “It’s how the man was raised and all he knows.”
“He’s right,” replied the factor, a twinkle in his eyes. “It is how I was raised, but I’d never be so crass as to say all transactions need be financial. I’ve learned a secret to success in my time. Now, I’m always trying to please my partner.”
In the blink of an eye, Sam’s free hand dipped behind her back and reappeared with a hand-length dagger. She spun it confidently and claimed, “That’s funny. I was raised in the kitchens butchering animals, and I’m always trying to cut something off.”
Senior Factor Giles dropped her hand and stepped back quickly. “By the circle, Wellesley, you sure do pick them.”
Oliver offered a friendly grin. “She’s a priestess, Giles. The Church teaches them how to care for themselves. Now, will you escort us to see the governor?”
“Of course,” said Giles, keeping a sharp eye on Sam. “The old man doesn’t make it much farther than his porch these days, but I’m told the warm climate keeps him breathing. I don’t think the toad would survive a week back in Enhover’s cold fog.”
Taking them toward a three-story building at the back of the compound, Giles continued, “I’ve missed you, Wellesley. Remember that girl in the Southlands? The one we thought might be from the Darklands with the two big brothers? My, wasn’t she a handful…”
Sighing, Oliver fell in line behind the old factor, reminding himself he’d left Enhover and its society far behind. Out in the colonies, the rules were different.
Governor Towerson met them on his veranda, waddling out of his quarters and flopping into a chair before offering chilled pitchers of water, white wine, and a punch he said was made with a liquor distilled from sugarcane, local fruit juice, and spices. “It’s no proper tonic like you’d find back in Enhover, but in the climate, I find it suits.”
“How is it so cold?” wondered Sam, marveling at the feel of the cool crystal glass of punch in her hand. “Surely you cannot find ice anywhere on this island.”
“No, we can’t make ice on Imbon,” replied Towerson with a laugh. “I have it imported for my private stock. I keep it in a spirit-bound icebox. Cost me a spirit-forsaken fortune to get that chest inscribed, and it’s not cheap to bring in the ice, but on a day like today, it’s worth every shilling.”
“A spirit-bound icebox?” asked Sam. “I didn’t know…”
“Aye,” responded the governor. “Some sort of shaman up in Rhensar did it. From what I understand, they find a spirit affiliated to cold and tie them to the chest. Not my field, you understand, but it keeps the ice cold, and that’s all I need to know.”
“A druid is doing this to get paid?” inquired Sam. “That’s… surprising, and a bit concerning, to be honest.”
“Since when does the Church care about life spirits and magic?” wondered Oliver. “I thought it was just underworld spirits and sorcery that the Church was concerned with.”
“You’re right. The Church hasn’t outlawed communing with life spirits in Enhover because, well, it doesn’t happen anymore,” began Sam. She brushed her jet-black hair behind and ear, furrowing her brow in thought. “The difference between druidic magic and sorcery is the nature of the practitioner, not the spirits. To the spirits, there is no good and evil. There is opposition between life and death, but it is not aspected. The spirits follow their own nature. They do what they do. There’s no intent behind it, no motive. You cannot blame rain for ruining your day, and you cannot blame the sun for shining and burning your skin.”
“I can,” grumbled Governor Towerson.
S
am continued, ignoring the man, “The spirits exist, but the concepts of them, good and evil, those are things we’ve assigned them. To them, there is no difference whether they are in our world or the underworld. There is only balance and the cycle — the ever-turning wheel between life and death. In practice, though, there is one difference. Death spirits must be forced — compelled — and life spirits must be, ah, negotiated with. Convinced, I suppose, is the proper word. I’m surprised there’s a practitioner out there with enough skill to convince a life spirit to be bound to an icebox, and that something so mundane is what they choose to do with that skill. It doesn’t fit the nature of a druid, you understand?”
“No difference between life and death spirits, no natural aspect, just different places on the wheel?” questioned Oliver. “That’s not the way your bishop talks about the spirits during his Newday services.”
“He’s not my bishop,” said Sam with a sigh. “The Church has taken a… a simplified version of things. They believe it will be more palatable that way. The Church’s version meets the needs of most of her followers. It explains what’s real to them, but it doesn’t explain everything that is real in the world.”
“She’s got a point there,” suggested Captain Haines. “In Enhover, things are rather simple compared to out here. Out in the colonies, well, it gets complicated doesn’t it?”
“That it does,” responded Towerson, raising his glass.
Oliver frowned at Sam but raised his glass along with the rest of the group. The strange priestess, who wouldn’t admit she was one, was getting stranger by the day.
“So, Duke Wellesley,” asked Towerson, “can I thank business or pleasure for this visit?”
“Business,” remarked Oliver, “though not business with you. We have a matter to attend to in Archtan Atoll, so I’m afraid this is just a short stop to resupply, but while we’re here and Captain Haines is restocking provisions on the Cloud Serpent, I wouldn’t mind seeing some more of the island. It’s been a decade since I last stopped over, and I’m curious to see what changes you’ve wrought.”
Towerson nodded. “Well, the bulk of the change is here around the Company compound and within the village below. If I recall, none of that would have been in place when you were last on Imbon. Down in the lowlands, there’s not much else that’s different. The beaches, the jungle, we’ve found little value for the Company there, so it remains largely pristine. There are even a few native villages still scattered around where they follow their old ways. They fish, harvest from the jungle, and the like. We don’t interfere with them as they don’t interfere with us. The midlands,” continued Towerson, pausing rub a cloth over his sweat-damp head, “those have seen some change, though little of it may be interesting to you. We’ve cultivated many of the spice trees and bushes found on the island and organized them into orchards and gardens. It’s more efficient that way. Instead of having to thrash through the jungle undergrowth, our pickers can walk down a neat and orderly row. We’ve reduced the labor involved in harvesting Imbon’s spices by four-fifths. We’re now growing two-thirds of Enhover’s pepper supply in those orchards, you know? Mace, clove, cinnamon, nutmeg, we’ve got it all. Just a passing fascination, though. If you’ve seen one spice grove, you’ve seen them all.”
“I can taste the nutmeg,” remarked Oliver, lifting his punch glass. “I was thinking the highlands, though.”
The governor sipped his punch. “Too much of a hike for me, I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to give it a go. I’m told it’s rather safe now, and the view is spectacular, as it always has been. Truth be told, it’s rare anyone finds the energy in this heat to make the hike to Imbon’s peak. If you want a view, look out over the gunwale on the way in, I say. Up high, the soil isn’t as rich, and there’s little wildlife, so even the natives tend to stay at the lower elevations.”
Oliver nodded. “The journey is what’s of interest to me. I’ll go tomorrow, then.”
“Shall I send company?” asked the governor. “I’m sure some of the factors would leap at a chance to have your ear, and I can arrange for porters to carry food, utensils, and table and chairs if you care for a luncheon up top.”
Shaking his head, Oliver replied, “I rather hoped to get away from business for a moment, and I wouldn’t mind roughing it. If your kitchen could pack us a meal and perhaps include a bottle of that wine I saw on the table, that’d be sufficient.”
The governor’s eyes flicked to Sam and he smiled. “Of course. It’s a long journey from Enhover, even on an airship. I’m sure some fresh air and a bit of exercise will do you wonders. I’ll have the kitchen on it and they’ll have a luncheon packed before sunrise. In the meantime, I have a bit of a conundrum I could use your assistance with. Eventually, I think we could solve it ourselves, but since fortune has placed you here, you could save me a good bit of headache.”
“A conundrum?” wondered Oliver.
“Yes,” replied the governor. “You see, the Company sent a chap to do a more extensive bit of cartography on the island. We wanted to fill in the fine lines and details missing on the earliest maps, find out where there might be mineral deposits, more areas suitable for farming, that kind of thing. As a Company colony, I felt it was important to know everything there is to know about this place. The issue is the man’s sketches have proven irregular. We’ve found his maps close to worthless, to be frank. It’s rather embarrassing, but most of my men end up using your maps from when you first sketched Imbon. Of course, your old maps don’t have our plantations or this village marked. We’ve tried to pencil in details where we can, and we’ve made dozens of copies, but they get muddled, and the copies are never as clear or clean as the originals. The royal marines have been using the maps as well, trying to identify fall back points, positions they could mount guns, and all the other planning bored lieutenants on a peaceful island get up to, but they’re just as frustrated as I. Some months ago, they were planning to lug a cannon halfway up the hill before someone told them what they thought was a ridge was actually a valley. A waste of time even if it had been a good location for an emplacement, but doubly so since it wasn’t.”
“I understand,” said Oliver. “I’ll take a look. You understand, though, I won’t have time to properly ink a new version…”
“Anything you can do would help,” acknowledged the governor. “Perhaps on some of the old maps you could update them with the Company compound and the village. We could extrapolate from there, and maybe I can find someone in this place who can produce a clean copy of your work. I must admit, I’m embarrassed to even request it. A man of your stature…”
Oliver grinned. “Believe me, I’ve been asked to do worse.”
The governor turned back his punch and then held up the empty glass. “Another round, some dinner, and then the maps?”
A night breeze, cooler than the day, but still hot by the standards of Westundon, stirred the air in the room, bringing with it the scent of hibiscus and the hoots of a troop of monkeys traveling through the jungle a few hundred yards uphill from the mansion. Oliver smoothed a corner of the map and placed a jar of ink on it to hold it down and foil any errant gusts of wind. Any movement in the air while drawing on the map would be frustrating but not quite as intolerable as a stuffy closed room in Imbon’s heat.
The room he was in was cooler than most, though. The governor’s mansion sat at the back of the Company’s compound, and the third floor rose above every other wall or barrier in the colony, allowing the breeze to blow through the wide open windows unobstructed.
“It’s an old volcano,” said Oliver, hunched over a long table.
Sam turned from where she’d been looking out the window at the jungle. “It’s so dark here. I can see a trace of the moonlight on the closest fronds and then nothing. It’s like the world just ceases underneath that canopy.”
Not looking up, he replied, “There are few ambient surface lights like we have in Westundon, and the moonlight doesn’t reflect off the water like
it does when at sea, but you get used to it. When you’re outside in the clear, the stars and moon provide a bright enough shine.”
“More radiant than in Westundon?”
“I’m sure it’s the same, but you can see it better here. The stars sparkle brighter.”
Sam glanced out the window again and then came to stand at his shoulder. “How bad is it?”
“Well, the man they brought in made a mess of it, to be sure,” said Oliver. He was poring over a set of inked maps, jotting notes and drawing quick lines on a blank sheet of paper he’d pulled from a notebook in his satchel. “I can’t recall the details as it’s been too long, but whoever they had drawing these most recent maps didn’t know the first thing about cartography. The shape of the landmass, the streams and ridges, he’s got it all wrong. I could tell that even if I didn’t have my old maps to compare to. My dear hope is that they hired an amateur, and no Company cartographer is responsible for this.”
His steel-tipped quill scratched over the paper, outlining the mass of Imbon and then sketching the rise of the peak, the curve of the harbor, and a few dozen small blocks that represented the Company’s village of Imbon.
“From the peak tomorrow, we’ll get a good view of the place, and I can fill in more details from up there,” he murmured, bent over this work. “Between the two of us, there are also a few things on my own maps I’m wondering about. Here. See this? It doesn’t make sense.”
She looked over his shoulder at a bowl shape he was indicating on the side of the peak.
“It’s noted both in my map and the newer versions, so I believe the feature must be there, but why?” queried Oliver.
“I…”
“I don’t expect you to answer that,” he said, standing up straight and rubbing the small of his back with one hand while the other twirled his quill. “If we can’t get a good visual from the top tomorrow, we’ll take a route down that passes through this spot. I can’t believe I didn’t take more notes on it when I was last here, but admittedly, I wasn’t the student of geography that I am now. I believe the company directors hired me solely to get an avenue to my father, and they were rather surprised when I showed an aptitude for cartography.”