by Philip Hamm
Nacyon was sure Rhatany had known his father was close-by. He had deliberately given him the ‘honour’ of shooting first, knowing it would insult his father. Nacyon had tried to apologise but it was another feather plucked from his reputation. Naturally, the Prince denied everything and Nacyon couldn’t prove he was lying.
“It’s no wonder I’m bald,” he said to Quail.
“On the positive side, sir; at least we get to travel a bit.”
“A bit...?” Nacyon looked at his portly companion, “Do you know how far Agnatha is from Rhizic? It’s a three-week journey at the very least and then maybe another week or two while we wait for the Cissoid and then three weeks back again. We would be gone for at least two months and no sooner would we be back than we would have to set out again.”
Quail shrugged his plump shoulders, “I’d say that was a blessing, sir.”
Nacyon glanced at the note again, “Where have I heard of the Apus before?”
“She was the ship that took us to Megaron where we first became acquainted, sir.”
“That was fifteen years ago and she was old then...”
“Yes, sir; I believe she was decommissioned from the QRN five years ago and given to the Merchant Marine for use as a diplomatic vessel.”
“Is she still sound?”
“Probably not, sir.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“The captain is a woman; Captain Tringa. She’s got a reputation for being a bit of a harpy, sir.”
“Fantastic – a journey with one vicious bird just to see another. Perhaps I should just throw myself off the platform and hope Pater Junopta takes me in.”
“I expect the ship will fall apart long before we reach Agnatha, sir; no need to worry about seeing Zizania again.”
“That’s a comforting thought,” he agreed. “Is the Apus close-by?”
“I think she’s docked at the Merchants’ Platform, sir.”
“Good – pack our bags, we’re leaving.”
“But it’ll be longer than a month before the Cissoid reaches Agnatha, sir – she’s only just left Rhizic...”
“I don’t care – I’d rather be anywhere, even dead in space, than stay here and have to suffer Rhatany’s contempt for another day.”
*
The Merchants’ Platform, in common with all the platforms across the Quill Empire, was a forest of wooden pillars supported on Exarch disks with wooden houses, barns and port facilities, built on the top. The Quill may have loathed the Ulupan technology and avoided using it for anything else but these disks were war-booty, collected from the wrecks of a dozen battles, and as such they had a symbolic as well as a practical value.
Floating high above the surface of every planet, some were great conglomerations and others were just simple refuges, like rafts in the sky. Though the majority of Quill’s population lived on the ground, everyone aspired to have a home on a platform. To be closer to their bird-like progenitors, which the old stories described as living in great floating cities in the skies of the planet Junopta, was the dream of all their race. As a way of living, however, the dream was seriously flawed; all their food and water had to be brought from the surface and there was never enough room to live comfortably. Even the Royal Platform was cramped and crowded. On a really bad day, with a storm buffeting the Exarch sphere and making the timbers creak, they were like a ship on the sea and everyone felt sick. On a good day, with clear skies and perfect weather, looking down and seeing the ground far below was almost just as bad.
The Merchants’ Platform was shrouded in cloud when Nacyon saw the Apus again after a decade and a half. He marched across the gangplank, over the top of the iron hooks that had once formed the warship’s battering-ram, and knocked loudly on the door to the hold. Quail, dragging their luggage behind him, shouted up to the decks above for somebody to come and let them in.
The ship was a hundred and fifty feet long and sixty feet wide, not including the four masts that formed a cross above and below and to either side of the hull that held the solar sails and the wires of the Pavonine field generator. There were also four lug-sails sticking out diagonally from the stern and two parallel jibs above the square prow.
Like all Quill vessels, the Apus was made of wood; originally, most of it had been oak and the taffrails around the main and the quarter decks were made of mahogany but cheaper timbers had been used for repairs, like patches on a coat. However, there was still a sense of its former glory in the ornate lamps that stood like sentinels at the tops and corners of the exterior stairs and the diamond-paned windows gave it a dignified edge.
There were two decks to the forecastle, the upper containing the bridge with the men’s quarters below, and three decks at the stern, one for the galley and the crew’s mess, the second for the women’s quarters and the captain’s cabin was at the top. Inside the box-shaped hull, there were two gun-decks and a hold sandwiched between them. The ambassadors’ quarters were at the very bottom.
The door into the hold was opened by Wayfinder Whimbrel, navigator, second-in-command and the captain’s husband. In a provincial accent full of long vowels and twisted consonants, he asked to know who Nacyon was.
“I am the Rao of Sapadilla,” Nacyon announced in his clipped and manicured speech. “I wish to speak to your captain.”
“She’s not here,” Wayfinder replied. “She’s out buying supplies with Cargo Capella, our Quarter-mistress. What do you want with us?”
“I am here to take command of your vessel. Or haven’t you been informed?”
The navigator looked surprised, “Informed of what?”
“This ship is to be put at my disposal so I can carry out my duties to the King.”
“What duties?”
“To provide support and assistance to Princess Zizania and to report her progress to the Royal Household...”
“Is that so?” said Wayfinder, raising a feathered eyebrow at him.
“I’m afraid it is,” said Nacyon, losing some of his hauteur.
But for their accents and their clothes, they could have been brothers. The navigator was wearing a sailor’s brown sweater with a roll-neck and rope-design and a woollen hat on his balding head but he was the same height as Nacyon and was also beginning to widen around the waist with the onset of middle-age.
Wayfinder looked puzzled. “Am I to guess that this honour isn’t of your choosing, my lord?”
“It’s not,” he agreed. “And I’m sorry to bring it to your door. It will mean months of travelling up and down the roads.”
“Where will we be going?”
“Back and forth to Agnatha, in the northern hemisphere.”
The navigator paled slightly, “That’s a long way.”
“Yes, it is – do you think the ship will manage it?” He glanced at the patches among the original planks.
“The ship might but I’m not so sure about the crew; few of us have spent longer than a few days in the vacuum let alone a month or more.”
“It’s going to be quite an experience for all of us.”
“That it will,” he agreed. “Best you come aboard and meet your new shipmates…”
They entered the hold and two girls, the twins Stilt and Stint, daughters of the captain and Wayfinder, came to help Quail with the luggage. ‘Rigger’ Knot, the engineer, was there too along with his young assistant, ‘Boatman’ Crake. Both of them stared at the new arrivals. Nacyon, in his finest light-blue tail-coat, decorated with the ribbons and rosettes of his family’s history, stood out among them like a peacock among his hens. Even Quail, dressed in his Royal doublet and hose, impressed them.
Wayfinder led the way to one of the several staircases and they climbed down to the ambassadors’ deck. “The captain should be back soon,” he said. “The rest are in the tavern and probably won’t be seen until tomorrow.”
“How many crewmen do you have?”
“There’s thirteen of us; six women and seven men.”
“Is that all?”
“Aye – makes loading a bugger I can tell you that.”
As they passed through the gun-deck, Nacyon noticed the empty rows of gun-ports on either side and said, “What’s happened to the cannon?”
“They took them away when the Apus became part of the QMM rather than the QRN.”
“How are we meant to defend ourselves?”
“We’re not – but we can out-run most ships in the Third Sphere.”
The vessel sounded hollow and Nacyon saw cobwebs between the bannisters and in the corners of the beams. When he’d been on board before, along with Quern and Rhatany and the rest of the Royal party, there had been more than a hundred sailors, soldiers and servants. Like the platforms, the decks had been swarming with people. But now they were empty and Nacyon found, much to his surprise, that he was actually quite pleased.
When they reached the Ambassadors’ deck, he paused for a moment by the sloping windows at the front. He began to imagine seeing the lights of the Great Barrier with glimpses of the stars of the Second Sphere below and wondered if he would be able to spot the system of Junopta while they were in the north.
“There’s a galley,” said Wayfinder, waiting patiently behind him. “But we’ve only got the one cook and Stuggy won’t do with hauling plates up and down the stairs all day. Your man will have to do it or you’re welcome to eat in the mess with us.”
They turned and watched Quail coming down the stairs with their luggage, helped by the twins. He was sweating and his knees were shaking.
“We’ll be eating with you,” Nacyon replied. “I don’t think Quail will last very long if we give him too much exercise.”
“Aye,” agreed the navigator. “I’ve seen thicker legs on a chair.”
There were four cabins, each with a sitting-room, bedroom and bathroom. Wayfinder went to the first on the starboard-side and opened the door. Nacyon walked in and looked around. This had been Rao Quern’s quarters, Prince Rhatany had been in the port-side cabin and he’d been at the stern. The room was still well-furnished with big leather chairs and occasional tables, all covered with sheets. Against the inner wall, there was a bookcase with glass doors but no books and a wide desk by the windows. The fixtures and fittings were made of brass. The room smelt musty and there was a thin layer of dust on the floor. When he peered into the bedroom, the bed was a bare mattress.
“We’ve not much had call to use these cabins,” Wayfinder admitted. “We’ve had a couple of navy captains who needed transporting to Rhipidat but most of the time we just carry supplies to the platforms.”
They heard a commotion outside as footsteps banged down the stairs. Quail and the twins backed out of the way as Captain Tringa burst into the room. She was tall, even for a human woman let alone a Quill; five-feet-eleven against an average of five-feet-four. She had a large bosom, big hands and a broad face with a pinched nose. The stiff quills of her hair were drawn back from her forehead and she glared at Nacyon with piercing yellow eyes.
“You’re early,” she said in a voice that could boil an egg. “I’ve only just received our commission from the harbour master and he believed you wouldn’t arrive until next week.”
“I want to leave immediately,” said Nacyon, standing straight but aware she was still looking down on him.
“We’re not prepared. We need new batteries, capacitors and filters. And we’ve got to lay-in at least two months of supplies and that will take time...”
“How long?”
“Three days...”
“Make it two,” he said, staring back at her.
She breathed deeply and contained her temper, “Is there some reason for your haste, sir?”
“Yes,” he said. “But that’s my business, not yours.”
Her yellow eyes flashed and tersely, she replied, “We’ll do our best, my lord.”
Before he could say anything else, she turned around and stormed out of the cabin. They heard her thumping up the stairs and shouting for Cargo the Quarter-mistress.
“You’re brave,” said Wayfinder. “Lord or not, my wife doesn’t take too kindly to being spoken to like that.”
“I really want to leave as soon as possible.”
“Aye – but do you want to get to the other end in one piece?”
Nacyon shrugged, “I’m not sure it really matters.”
“And why’s that?”
“There’s nothing to look forward to except the journey.”
The navigator was confused, “But isn’t it an honour to serve the King?”
“Up to a point...”
“But he gave you this task...”
Nacyon sighed, “Because nobody else wanted it.”
Wayfinder understood and sympathised. “I’d better go and do my bit,” he said, turning towards the door. “She’ll be in a foul temper for the rest of the day and if I don’t get the others back from the tavern before they drink too much, it’ll be my head that’ll be sore in the morning.”
When they were alone, Quail said, “Mater Quill, what have we let ourselves in for? An Ulupan task, a patched-up boat and a mad captain – couldn’t we just run away?”
“I won’t disagree with you about the task,” he agreed. “But it will be good to get away from Quill, especially Rhatany. And I think this ship will be ideal; she might be old but I’ve got a good feeling about her and the crew.”
“And the mad captain...?”
“I think she’s rather magnificent,” he smiled.
*
Fratris asked, “Have you met Captain Tringa?”
“I’ve seen her from a distance,” Faam replied. “And she really is very big. But I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
Fengtai asked, “What did Nacyon see in her?”
“I have no idea. I suppose he was attracted to dominant women. I expect his mother was quite forceful too. But whatever the reason, he was certainly smitten with Tringa from the moment he first saw her.”
Crotal asked, “Do you think that changed his mind about the mission?”
“I think he was already seeing it as more of a blessing than a curse. He was sailing away from the Royal Household, his embarrassments and Rhatany’s cruel jokes. He might have felt some apprehension about the journey ahead but over-all, I think he could see its benefits – not just in terms of Tringa, but for his own reputation too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fratris. “I thought you said he only got the job because nobody else wanted it…?”
“But that didn’t mean he couldn’t use it as an opportunity to make himself look better in the King’s eyes. He was now responsible for Zizania’s welfare and he hoped, even if she didn’t appreciate the dangers he was going to endure on her behalf, the Royal Household might.”
“Was he right?”
“Not really but we’ll come onto that.”
8 - Captain Tringa
Nacyon left Quail to make the bed and finish unpacking and walked down the ship to the stairs at the stern. He passed the room where batteries stored the energy gathered by the sails, the ambassadors’ galley and the cabin he had used on his last journey, now quiet and empty. He went up the stairs, through the lower gun-deck and on the next he passed the lines of machines that kept the air clean and cooled the room in the centre where the Pavonine generator whirred and crackled. Then he went through the upper gun-deck, as hollow as the other, and came up inside the mess-hall.
‘Stuggy’ Plover, the ship’s cook, was busy in her galley. He would discover later that her pastries were fine but everything else was heavy and dour. Her idea of cooking cabbage was to leave it to boil for several hours and what she did to meat would have been a crime in the Royal Household. But she was short, round and cheerful, and he never had the heart to complain.
Out on the open main-deck, the captain’s son, Snipe, was carrying a crate of beer towards the mess-hall. He gave Nacyon a cheery smile and said, “A little something to celebrate your arrival, sir.”
Nacyon smiled
back, “I hope it’s an excellent vintage.”
“I don’t know about that, sir, but it should do the job.”
Nacyon held the door to the mess-hall open for him and then crossed the deck and climbed up the stairs up to the bridge. Inside, he saw ‘Radio’ Crake (the older sister of ‘Boatman’ Crake, the engineer’s assistant) in her radio-room and said ‘hello’.
On the other side of the short corridor, ‘Clocks’ Calidris, the oldest member of the crew, who was responsible for the repair and maintenance of the ship’s instruments, met him outside his small workshop (the former captain’s cabin). Behind him, the walls and bench were covered in dials and cases, clockwork wheels and tiny tools of every shape and description. A lamp on a flexible arm formed a pool of light over the carcass of a fat watch the size of a swede. “You must be our Very Important Passenger,” said the old bird. He was wearing a magnifying glass strapped on his head that made his right eye look four times as large as the left. He tilted it up to see Nacyon properly.
Radio joined them, “The captain said we’re going on a journey, is that true?”
“Agnatha,” said Nacyon.
“In the north...?”
“Is there another?” said Clocks, shaking his head at the young woman’s ignorance.
“In Xramaria,” said Nacyon.
Radio looked worried, “I’ve never been so far from home...”
“I was stationed in the north during the war,” said Clocks. “We attacked the City of Ice on Abaddon and razed it to the ground – that was a fine day’s work...”
He was going to continue but Radio said, “I’m sure the Rao has better things to do than listen to your old war stories.” To Nacyon, she added, “Don’t believe a word he says, my lord – he was nothing but a mop-carrier at the time.”
Nacyon smiled and quoted, “‘The smallest wheel can turn the hands of fate’.”
Clocks looked pleased and went back into his workshop chuckling to himself. Radio said, “Welcome to the Apus, my lord.”
When he entered the bridge itself, he found ‘Driver’ Dunlin, the pilot, and his assistant and son, ‘Chick’, working on the controls. But there was no sign of the captain.