No Present Like Time (20 page)

Lightning looked down from the
Petrel
’s highest deck, the back of the stern castle, an arrow at string, and wearing only trousers. Fulmer clutched the rope rail beside him. Mist’s face peered out of an open window in the array directly beneath his feet.

The surviving sailors on the
Melowne
clung to her rigging. Wrenn was a tiny figure down at the waterline, steadily climbing a ladder of metal brackets up the rounded hull. His short hair was flattened; water dripped from his bedraggled wings. His feathers were completely tattered, split and peeled back to the shaft. His arse crack and leg hairs showed through his soaked white shorts.

“What happened?” Lightning shouted at me. He leaned over so far that I thought the arrows would slip out of the quiver on his back. “Was that our Insect? Where’s Serein? Damn him, damn you! What were you bloody doing, perforating it?”

Mist yelled, “Did it just get those three Trisians? How many of mine?”

Fulmer gabbled, “Serein woke me up. I saw it massacre the sailors on the orlop. Master Mariner, I’m sorry. Serein said he would hold it off and took his rapier but it’s no good against shell.”

Mist turned away abruptly and hurried out of view. A moment later she strode onto the main deck, staring around at the devastation on the quay. The wounded teenager had stopped crawling; I hoped he was just unconscious, rather than slain. The traders’ goods were abandoned. The quayside was deserted by the living, but three or four faces crowded every open window and behind the bronze palings of all the waterfront houses, watching us with shock and outright terror.

“You didn’t kill it!” Lightning raved.

I retied my sarong. “I should have caught it, but it plunged down a drain. I wounded it and so did Serein, with his rapier. Stupid town swords. Fucking constables’ swords. The idiot didn’t have the right gear. It carried his rapier away! You—We must get archers to the tunnel as soon as possible. I need to know if it’s trapped, so you can shoot it.”

“And if it’s escaped to the town?” Fulmer whispered.

Mist shouted, “Captain, to your ship! Why were all the grids open? I’ll want to know! We can’t discuss this outside,” she added
sotto voce
to me. “Jant, speak to the Capharnai. Don’t let them carry off their dead without an explanation. As soon as you can, meet us in the
Melowne
’s hold.”

T
ypically, I had the most difficult job. While I waited on the corniche to be confronted by furious islanders, the other Eszai disappeared into the hold, and from their exclamations I learned that it was also strewn with carnage. I was very aware how alien I looked, wearing a sheet and with my long wings uncovered.

On the
Melowne
’s main deck the dismembered remains of six or seven men lay scattered, their limbs snipped at the joints and bodies gutted. The quartermaster’s body drooped through the hatchway. Following Mist’s orders, the sailors carried them to the land and lined them up by the anchor ready for burial because in a few hours’ time the morning heat would be appalling.

Step by step, a group of Capharnai merchants approached me, finding courage in numbers. I spread my hands down in the peace gesture and they seemed to understand. The first one, with an expression of awe and distrust, opened his arms like wings. I explained why I was the only man ever to fly, and told them it was nothing to be superstitious about. I repeated apologies as best I could and instructed them to wait in their homes and keep their children inside. Over the hiss of indrawn breath I continued—they should wait for word from the Senate that the Insect was dead. I asked them to bring down one or two goats for me to tether outside the sewer entrance and tempt the Insect out, but I suspected it was too replete for the trick to work.

I found myself talking over the wails and reproaches of families who had come to claim the Trisian merchant, the fainting teenager and Danio. I repeated that it was an accident and I clasped my hands and knelt, begging them to treat us kindly. When they saw that I couldn’t meet their eyes, they understood my sincerity but they were chary. News spread up the town, causing a commotion and banging on doors, until it reached the Amarot and a deliberative silence descended.

F
rightened, I retreated to the
Melowne
’s hold. “I did my best,” I said.

“We believe you,” said Lightning. “This disaster makes us all feel inadequate; it’s far from the work we’re accustomed to. Please attend to Serein and we’ll consider what to do.”

Lightning had found a young Trisian man lying halfway down the ship, his lower face torn off. He returned to inspecting the victim. Behind us the buckled door of the empty Insect cage creaked as Mist opened and shut it again and again.

Wrenn sat on a packing case that now held cardamom seeds instead of arrows. I cleaned his grazes. I slapped on some comfrey ointment and tied gauze around his shoulder. His crenated wings slipped open like damp fans; his adrenaline high was fading. His shorts stuck to his stocky thighs and blood had dried on his bicep; he was peeling it off in tiny flakes. Grim determination was vicious in his face. “Is this mine?” he said muzzily. “It’s all right. I don’t think it’s mine.”

I said, “Yes, it is, but your scratches are superficial. Keep them clean and go easy for a few days. We can succumb to infection and serious disease as readily as mortals. In fact I can tell you quite a few examples of Eszai who’ve died from dusty wounds.”

“No, thanks.”

“Unfortunately it won’t heal any faster, but the Circle will catch you and stop you being killed outright by little lesions and contusions.”

“Hey—what an advantage for fencing.”

I looked at him sternly. “The only Eszai who survive centuries are those who know they’re not indestructible. Zascai are relying on you not to get cut up.”

Wrenn lowered his gaze. “I know; I was just keeping it at bay.”

“No one can slay Insects with a rapier,” I admonished. “How many years has the Castle spent trying to develop the perfect weapon and now you try to use a
dueling foil
?”

Wrenn winced. “I managed it once in the amphitheater. My rapier was all I had to hand—Mist’s sold every single broadsword on the ship and I gave mine to Danio. But you didn’t do any better with your skier’s axe. Ouch! Jant, have a care! I know I need experience. It was the biggest, toughest fucking Insect I’ve ever faced. And I failed; I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch it,” I said.

Mist slammed the cage door. “Jant, you showed the whole town that you can fly. We agreed to keep it a secret.”

“Did you expect me to let your pet devour Serein?”

“I can defend myself,” said Wrenn sulkily.

Lightning picked up a bronze Trisian trident that was lying next to the youth’s body, and a purse made of soft leather. He approached us gravely. “It seems as if our midshipmen were accepting bribes from curious Capharnai to look at the Insect. See?” He tipped the purse and a knot of fine gold chains snaked out into his palm.

“It must have broken out of its own accord,” Mist concluded. “In response to them goading it. I wish I had commissioned a tougher cage.”

Lightning and I looked at her. She was well aware that we no longer believed a word she said. Lightning gestured at the cage. “The Capharnai just regarded this as a freak show.”

“That’s how they thought of us all,” I said.

Mist snapped at Wrenn suspiciously, “Why were you up at five
A.M
.?”

He glanced around, admitted, “I’d just got back. I spent the night in town with a local girl.”

“Oh, really?”

“I think she was called Pollan. At any rate, she kept saying ‘Pollan.’ She had world-class tits, I mean; you could get lost in there. Given last night’s performance she could be selected for the national team, but any more mushy stuff and I’ll relegate her to the second division—” Mist cuffed the back of his head. “Ow!”

Wrenn ran a hand over his feathers, knitting their barbs together. Missing vanes spoiled his zigzag style. He was quite hirsute with feathers; a couple were growing on his back between his wings, since he had not been near a barber’s in months. The pinfeathers were still wrapped in their transparent covering, like paintbrushes. Where the sheath peeled back and crumbled, the brown brush tip emerged.

Mist called, “Fulmer?”

The dandy’s shocked face appeared in the overhead hatchway. “Yes, Master Mariner?”

“Help Lightning carry this body up to the quayside. We have to return him to his relatives and try to find some way of atoning for this incident. Comet, sally out to the Amarot and request the presence of Vendace, with companions if he wishes. The Senate might have finished their three-day debate about us and we need to know the outcome.
Fly
there, and tell Vendace to meet us at his convenience, all together in my cabin.”

She looked at Lightning, who was naked from the waist up with disheveled hair; me in a sheet skirt and needle scars; and Wrenn, caked in gore with semitransparent shorts. “Not as you are.”

I
flew slowly to the Amarot, taking no pleasure in seeing the citizens staring up. I grieved for Danio; of course I’d only known her for two days but she was the Trisian I had spoken to most, and with untold depths of wit and humanity she had shown the greatest interest in the Fourlands.

I stood alone in front of the Senate and explained everything. I offered our services to catch the Insect but they interrupted me with outraged cries. They seemed to surmise that the Insect was a ploy for us to stay longer at Capharnaum. The Senate agreed that Vendace should accompany me to the
Stormy Petrel,
to announce their decision to all us travelers at once. I waited as he gathered an escort of townsmen on the mosaic, but as we walked down the boulevard more men joined us from the houses, almost spontaneously, following closely without a word. They were armed with harpoons, their knives in their belts; one or two carried the halberds we had sold them. They were quiet, giving me space, but still I knew they were watching my every move. It was nerve-racking. I acted as amicably as possible, trying to alleviate the atmosphere. When we passed the piazza I saw the man in the tunic working in his restaurant. I smiled openly but he gave me a cold look and pulled the shutters closed.

I reached
Petrel
with relief, but Mist, after some negotiation, invited all Vendace’s supporters aboard. The caravel’s size daunted them, but twenty or so filed up to the main deck, where Mist and I convinced Senator Vendace to leave them and enter her office alone.

The long shade of the mountain had fallen over the harbor, and Mist’s cabin was so dark she had lit candles. The smell of tallow combined with brass polish, tar and black coffee made Vendace even more uneasy. He surveyed the Sailor’s gloomy office: the waxed paneling fixed between tough, roughly adze-marked timbers, the door with long flamboyant hinges across it, and the cassone in which Ata kept her clothes. The table bore a cafetière and a plate of yesterday’s bread rolls. Its turned legs were bolted to the floor. In the corner was a basket full of Trisian bric-a-brac and wine cups. This ornate room was at odds with the rest of the ship and the sound of uneasy crewmen scrubbing bloodied footprints off the foredeck.

Vendace did not sit down until I begged, and then only reluctantly. Mist pushed a lidded glass of coffee toward him but he did not give it so much as a glance. He watched his companions waiting on the main deck through the small panes surrounding the door. He announced, “The Senate has voted. Tris will reject all contact with the Fourlands’ Empire. We’ve heeded the advice of the constitution of Capharnaum. Everyone voted that you must leave, with the exception of well-loved Professor Danio, who wanted to learn more. We agreed this morning even before your messenger informed us of the tragedy. We do not want you here. The slaughter of Capharnaum citizens, including her, simply reinforced their decision. We know that your boats are restocked. Take them home immediately and never come back.”

I translated for the others. I was leaning against the wall at the back of the cabin, one knee bent and the boot sole against the wood, head bowed, listening. I let them speak directly to each other, facilitating their conversation without interrupting it, whatever words were said. I took no side, simply letting my translation flow from the shadow, echoing their words and rejoinders in the correct languages: Awian to Trisian, Trisian to Low Awian.

Wrenn said, “But Tris is part of the Empire too!”

“No, we are not. One man should not rule five lands. The Senate was shocked to find that one man has so much power. You have already tainted Capharnaum.”

Mist said, “Senator, let us—”

Vendace pointed at her. “On the occasion of your arrival last year, the Senate discussed the likelihood of more visits from your island. We gave you the benefit of the doubt but now we accept that we were wrong and the stories were correct. Although I personally have no idea what to do about the Insect, the Senate is making plans.”

The black moniliform antenna lay on Mist’s desk beside her cafetière. Vendace pushed it around with his finger as he spoke. “You say there are thousands of Insects?”

I said, “Hundreds of thousands infest the north of our continent. We’re sorry we lost this one. The tunnel was empty when I returned with bowmen and—um—harpooners.”

Vendace said, “Jant, you can actually fly, and you can run…The merchants reported the speed you were flying!”

“I’m the fastest thing in the world,” I said. “That’s the only evidence I can give to prove that we’re immortal.”

Vendace sighed. “Some of the Senate believe you, but it makes no difference to us. Tris should be left alone by mortals and immortals alike. If you ask me, being able to fly is wonderful pleasure enough without heaping accolade and immortality on you as well.” He toyed with the antenna, asked plaintively, “Why did you set an Insect on us?”