From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
(continued from here)
Well, once again the day has been saved, and once again I am unable to determine who in the collective effort has been most responsible for saving it. All I can say is that this time, the deciding action was mine, and I believe I am prouder of it than of anything else I have ever done.
For all of yesterday’s excitement I must have dropped off to sleep after all once I had done writing up my diary, since it was certainly early dawn when a clang and a muttered oath woke me up and indicated that my precautions had not been in vain.
I groaned and sat up, rubbing my eyes. I must be growing accustomed to interlopers in the small hours, since I was hardly even nervous at the time – I only wished the whole thing was over so I could get some real sleep.
“You could have knocked,” I said. “Prisoner or not, this is a lady’s bedroom for the purposes of this journey, and it’s not as though I’m going anywhere.”
It was the fair young giant who last night had held custody of the captain.
“Why on earth would you leave those things there?” he complained. “You made me look like a fool.”
I shrugged. “I dislike being taken by surprise. Besides, you can’t possibly expect me to prioritize for your dignity under the circumstances.”
With the chamber pot disentangled from his foot, the young man set his legs astride in a heroic posture, swelled out his chest and beamed.
“Ah! Intelligence and a sense of humor. You will make an admirable queen for me.”
It was the first time any young man had given a hang about my intelligence and sense of humor and it ought to have piqued my interest, had the assumptions that went along with it not been so sweeping and unwarranted.
I yawned elaborately. “Oh? Are you a king? You hardly look like one.”
“I will be a king as soon as I like,” he snapped. “I am Royal Duke Harker of Norhammer.” He gazed importantly into the middle distance as though waiting for a round of applause.
I giggled. “I wish I had a penny for every deluded nobleman I meet who confidently expects to be king someday. Try again.”
His face became suffused with blood and I wondered if he was going to hit me. But the flush receded quickly and smiled with an effort.
“It is evident that you have not heard of me … I had not thought your country so backward. Ah, well, I have no doubt you will learn very quickly how to treat me once I get you back to Norhammer.”
I leaned forward. “You know, you’re not even the first person Bleake has tried this with,” I said earnestly. “He seems to have an entirely unwholesome view of the position my virginity should have in international politics. I shudder to think what he will come up with once we beat you.”
Harker strode forward and caught me by the arm. “Listen, you little cat,” he hissed. “You have no hope, do you hear? Your Bleake works at my command. My men have this vessel under complete control. No one will even know you are here until your parents receive my ultimatum. So it would be as well for you, princess, if you learned your manners.”
The grip hurt, but at that moment a scuffle and a shout were audible from the deck outside so I was able to smile. “Are you certain?” I asked sweetly. “It seems just as possible that you might be the one who needs to learn your manners.”
Harker actually raised his hand to me at this, but before the blow could connect we heard the clash of steel meeting steel in earnest, and the door flung open to reveal Bleake in a towering rage.
“I ought to have known I’d find you here, you ridiculous cockerel,” he snarled. “It’s those damned pirates. You told me they were gone. Where did they come from? How did they know? By god, I’ll have you flayed for this.”
Harker shoved me away and leaped up to tower over Bleake. “You have me flayed?” he sneered. “You have exactly as much power as I say you have, you puppet. I should have left you back in court; you’re less a bother as my uncle’s lapdog than you are playing at battle.”
At that point the slanging match surged forward high, loud and vigorous, and made a fascinating counterpoint to the clash of the swordfights outside. It was as though each man had touched in the other his deepest vulnerability, and neither of them cared what happened outside in the battle as long as he could best his verbal opponent here within.
I sat spellbound in my bunk, wondering if the whole thing was really going to be this easy. The battle was beginning to subside outside – although the argument was still going strong – when Long Bob strode in with his sword dripping blood and engulfed Bleake almost lovingly in an uncompromising armlock.
“Well, now, your majesty, if your flagship hasn’t got rats on it after all!” he boomed jovially.
I thought the whole thing was over now, but I underestimated Harker. With lightning speed and reptilian agility, he turned, snatched me from my bunk as though I weighed no more than a rag doll, and whipped his dagger to my throat.
“On the contrary, I believe you brought the rats with you, Captain,” he said through gritted teeth. “Shall we step out on deck and parley? I fear it will be an unequal bargain. Your captive, I’ll wager,” and he flicked cold eyes over Bleake, “is not worth nearly so much to me as mine is to you.”
We all stood frozen in silence for three long breaths, then Long Bob lowered Bleake to the floor and stepped back.
“Parley it is, young man,” he said slowly. “Come out -- carefully,” he added, with a meaningful look at me, “and we can assess the situation.”
(continued here)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
In Which the Princess Entertains a Guest
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
(continued from here)
I never thought I would sleep after such a day, and indeed spent quite a long time writing up my diary. But by the time the night reached its small hours, I was drooping over the page and thought it might do me good to try and doze for awhile before morning. I was in the fuzzy first-sleep stage in which dreams and reality feel as though they are melting together, and the most cockeyed circumstances seem perfectly normal – which may explain a lot – when I heard the splashing.
At first I thought it was some sort of porpoise or large fish, though I wondered even in sleep why I hadn’t heard any before. But as I came fully awake I realized that the periodic hurling of handfuls of water against the shuttered porthole was not behavior that made sense from a fish, and any doubt that there was sentience at work was dispelled a moment later when a rich, fruity and definitely feminine voice called from just outside.
“Hallo? Hallo, now. I say … oh, what was the name … Hawker? Falconer! Mistress Falconer? Hallo?”
I shot from the bunk as though from a cannon and flung open the shutter.
“Quietly,” I hissed, and was about to go on when my eyes fell on the indeterminate shape in the moonlit water and fell dumb.
The face was like none I had ever seen before – mesmerizingly beautiful, but hauntingly strange, with wide cheekbones, slanting dark eyes, a plush mouth and a broad flat nose. Her skin was dusky, and her hair, coarse and heavy, streamed back wet from the arresting face.
All of this would have been sufficient to attract my attention had I merely been introduced to her normally at the receiving. What overwhelmed me now was that she was not supported by a boat or raft as she dipped and bobbed on the wavelets lapping against the still ship, but by her own unmistakable tail, patterned in the moonlight by iridescent scales and trailing translucent fins like scarves.
A mermaid!
“Ah! Greetings,” she said when she saw me. “You are Mistress Hawker?”
“Falconer,” I corrected automatically.
“Oh yes. Greetings then, Mistress Falconer. I am Kah-ee-lah.”
“But I’m not she,” I added hastily.
“Oh?”
“No, I’m Princess Dulcie of Bentlefay.”
She put her head on one side and repeated “Oh?” in puzzlement.
“Not that it matters,” I amended. “Listen, normally I wouldn’t ask anyone a favor on such short acquaintance.” And I’m not sure you even exist, I added to myself silently. “But you don’t suppose you could take a message for me, could you?”
This appeared to touch off a train of thought in her. “A message!” she cried joyfully.
“Not so loud…”
“I have a message for Mistress Lynde Falconer from Captain Masters!”
Even under the circumstances I paid mental tribute to Masters for being the sort of person who had a mermaid running his errands for him, and wondered irrelevantly if it might not be a quality that would wear thin in everyday life.
“So,” Kah-ee-lah went on, sure of her purpose now, “do you suppose you could fetch her here for me or is there some other window I should try?”
“No!” I could only imagine what the reactions of Bleake and his thugs would be to a mermaid – she would probably be dried and powdered for sale as an aphrodisiac in a foreign port or something equally nasty. “Tell Captain Masters that a terrible fate has befallen us – has befallen Mistress Falconer, actually,” I added, since that was likely to carry more weight.
“This ship has been captured, and we are all taken prisoner. I don’t know where Mistress Falconer is, or if she’s hurt.” In spite of myself my voice trembled. “Please tell Captain Masters and the other two captains to come and help us.”
“Prisoners…” she began meditatively, as though the concept was foreign to her, as it may well have been. “You mean you can’t get out of where you are?”
“That’s right.”
“And even if you could, you wouldn’t be able to swim away, I suppose?” Her tone mingled heartfelt pity and slight condescension.
“…No.”
“So you need the captains to come and help set you free, is that what you’d like me to tell them?”
I wasn’t sure if her manner was an inevitable product of the way mermaids see the world, or if Kah-ee-lah was actually rather silly.
“Precisely.”
She thought for another moment. “I suppose I’d better hurry, then,” she said at length.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” I was not quite able to keep from sounding sardonic, and hastily pulled out my social manner to cover it up.
“It is terribly kind of you to help us. I do hope we are able to speak at more length when we meet again.” If we meet again, I could not help thinking.
Her smile was like a treasure box of pearls. “Oh, yes.” She inclined her head confidentially. “I am a princess too, so we will no doubt have much to talk about.”
“…No doubt.”
“Oh, by the way…”
“Yes?”
“Should I tell the captains who has captured you, or doesn’t it matter?”
“It probably doesn’t,” I said with amusement, “but tell them it’s Norhammer and they’ll understand.”
Kah-ee-lah made a grimace of disgust so pronounced that I could see it even in the moonlight flickering off the water.
“Norhammer!” she said. “Typical.”
And with a flash of her shimmering scales and a flick of her tail fins, which splashed me slightly across the face, she was gone.
Naturally I wasn’t going back to sleep after that, so I went back to my diary and set the whole scene down in black and white. Even so, it has taken on such a tinge of unreality that I now don’t quite believe it happened. If it did, though, tomorrow should be an interesting day.
(continued here)
(continued from here)
I never thought I would sleep after such a day, and indeed spent quite a long time writing up my diary. But by the time the night reached its small hours, I was drooping over the page and thought it might do me good to try and doze for awhile before morning. I was in the fuzzy first-sleep stage in which dreams and reality feel as though they are melting together, and the most cockeyed circumstances seem perfectly normal – which may explain a lot – when I heard the splashing.
At first I thought it was some sort of porpoise or large fish, though I wondered even in sleep why I hadn’t heard any before. But as I came fully awake I realized that the periodic hurling of handfuls of water against the shuttered porthole was not behavior that made sense from a fish, and any doubt that there was sentience at work was dispelled a moment later when a rich, fruity and definitely feminine voice called from just outside.
“Hallo? Hallo, now. I say … oh, what was the name … Hawker? Falconer! Mistress Falconer? Hallo?”
I shot from the bunk as though from a cannon and flung open the shutter.
“Quietly,” I hissed, and was about to go on when my eyes fell on the indeterminate shape in the moonlit water and fell dumb.
The face was like none I had ever seen before – mesmerizingly beautiful, but hauntingly strange, with wide cheekbones, slanting dark eyes, a plush mouth and a broad flat nose. Her skin was dusky, and her hair, coarse and heavy, streamed back wet from the arresting face.
All of this would have been sufficient to attract my attention had I merely been introduced to her normally at the receiving. What overwhelmed me now was that she was not supported by a boat or raft as she dipped and bobbed on the wavelets lapping against the still ship, but by her own unmistakable tail, patterned in the moonlight by iridescent scales and trailing translucent fins like scarves.
A mermaid!
“Ah! Greetings,” she said when she saw me. “You are Mistress Hawker?”
“Falconer,” I corrected automatically.
“Oh yes. Greetings then, Mistress Falconer. I am Kah-ee-lah.”
“But I’m not she,” I added hastily.
“Oh?”
“No, I’m Princess Dulcie of Bentlefay.”
She put her head on one side and repeated “Oh?” in puzzlement.
“Not that it matters,” I amended. “Listen, normally I wouldn’t ask anyone a favor on such short acquaintance.” And I’m not sure you even exist, I added to myself silently. “But you don’t suppose you could take a message for me, could you?”
This appeared to touch off a train of thought in her. “A message!” she cried joyfully.
“Not so loud…”
“I have a message for Mistress Lynde Falconer from Captain Masters!”
Even under the circumstances I paid mental tribute to Masters for being the sort of person who had a mermaid running his errands for him, and wondered irrelevantly if it might not be a quality that would wear thin in everyday life.
“So,” Kah-ee-lah went on, sure of her purpose now, “do you suppose you could fetch her here for me or is there some other window I should try?”
“No!” I could only imagine what the reactions of Bleake and his thugs would be to a mermaid – she would probably be dried and powdered for sale as an aphrodisiac in a foreign port or something equally nasty. “Tell Captain Masters that a terrible fate has befallen us – has befallen Mistress Falconer, actually,” I added, since that was likely to carry more weight.
“This ship has been captured, and we are all taken prisoner. I don’t know where Mistress Falconer is, or if she’s hurt.” In spite of myself my voice trembled. “Please tell Captain Masters and the other two captains to come and help us.”
“Prisoners…” she began meditatively, as though the concept was foreign to her, as it may well have been. “You mean you can’t get out of where you are?”
“That’s right.”
“And even if you could, you wouldn’t be able to swim away, I suppose?” Her tone mingled heartfelt pity and slight condescension.
“…No.”
“So you need the captains to come and help set you free, is that what you’d like me to tell them?”
I wasn’t sure if her manner was an inevitable product of the way mermaids see the world, or if Kah-ee-lah was actually rather silly.
“Precisely.”
She thought for another moment. “I suppose I’d better hurry, then,” she said at length.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” I was not quite able to keep from sounding sardonic, and hastily pulled out my social manner to cover it up.
“It is terribly kind of you to help us. I do hope we are able to speak at more length when we meet again.” If we meet again, I could not help thinking.
Her smile was like a treasure box of pearls. “Oh, yes.” She inclined her head confidentially. “I am a princess too, so we will no doubt have much to talk about.”
“…No doubt.”
“Oh, by the way…”
“Yes?”
“Should I tell the captains who has captured you, or doesn’t it matter?”
“It probably doesn’t,” I said with amusement, “but tell them it’s Norhammer and they’ll understand.”
Kah-ee-lah made a grimace of disgust so pronounced that I could see it even in the moonlight flickering off the water.
“Norhammer!” she said. “Typical.”
And with a flash of her shimmering scales and a flick of her tail fins, which splashed me slightly across the face, she was gone.
Naturally I wasn’t going back to sleep after that, so I went back to my diary and set the whole scene down in black and white. Even so, it has taken on such a tinge of unreality that I now don’t quite believe it happened. If it did, though, tomorrow should be an interesting day.
(continued here)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
In Which the Tables are Turned Rather Neatly
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
(continued from here)
Lynde and I had both frozen at the same time and now turned slowly around in mechanical unison. The ship’s complement was assembled in a travesty of its earlier military order. The crew stood in rows with their hands bound before them and gags in their mouths, overseen by a complement of large blank-faced men with fair hair and northern features.
The four men of our bodyguard had evidently been plucked silently and hit on the head one by one as they reached the top of the ladder, and now lay in a limp pile – breathing, I was relieved to see, but unmistakably unconscious.
The captain had been bound and gagged similarly to his men, but had been honored with a guard of his own: a strapping young godling, his chest almost as broad across as Long Bob’s, and with the beauty of one born at the morning of the world. He held a wicked long dagger to the captain’s throat, and the cockiness of his grin was in direct proportion to the outrage that bubbled up through the captain’s gag.
All this was assessable at a glance, and then a short, slight figure of a man stumped forward followed by a cloak that was slightly too long for it. His shoulders were narrow, his middle swelled out in a modest paunch, and he had knock knees, but as much as I wanted to find him ridiculous, his very frailties made the scene seem more grotesque. The slight flickering lamplight turned his knobby features and greasy scant hair into a mask, from the midst of which his eyes glittered with the madness of hate and triumph.
I had never seen him before, but I knew who he was before he said his name.
“Mortimer Bleake, your majesty.” He sketched an ironic bow. “I would add that I am at your service, but as you can see, you are rather unmistakably at mine.”
He glanced at Lynde. “Mistress Falconer, I presume. I would congratulate you on foiling my plans for the Marshweather annexation, but the credit is all Hugo’s, I’m sorry to say – now, now, gently, all of you.”
Lynde had made a sudden movement but found herself checked by a couple of burly Norhammers who had materialized at her elbows.
“You disappoint me, Mistress Falconer – surely you didn’t expect me to be taken by surprise again.”
My lips were dry and my heart pounding, but something in me stuck at showing Bleake any emotion.
“I believe I would wait the extra couple of days next time, and take the trouble to get a cloak specially made for you,” I said meditatively. “Looking as though you borrowed your older brother’s rather spoils the effect.”
Bleake did not respond directly to this dig, but his momentary immobility showed me the shot had hit home.
“Very amusing, your majesty – yes, very good,” he said smoothly. “But I would treat the situation with a bit more seriousness if I were you. You see,” he gestured around him, “your protectors are helpless; your conveyance is entirely in my control; and I am now in a position to bargain with Bentlefay for whatever I wish to ask of it…”
He flicked his eyes down to my feet and allowed them to travel slowly back up to my face again.
“…in exchange for your person.”
I could not repress a grue, but managed to turn it into a shrug, which I hoped looked nonchalant. “Surely you are forgetting something, Master Bleake,” I said, thinking of the cannon. “You ought know to your cost that the Porteous is not so ill defended as you seem to think.”
But he only chuckled. “Oh, you mean your relations? They are very well prepared, certainly. I intended to sacrifice the Soenhast, but I grant you that it happened much more quickly than I expected. However, if you look behind you, you will see that now your audience has concluded, they are already on their way.”
I whirled around to see the Blood Wind disappearing into the night, the Gull moving ponderously in the same direction, and the Sad Sarah’s sails flapping into place in preparation for doing the same.
“I should warn you, by the way,” Bleake went on pleasantly, “that if you do anything to attract their attention, your captain will die in a pool of his own blood a moment later.”
“Noted,” I replied through dry lips, and did not trust myself to say any more.
“Now.” Bleake turned to lead the way towards the captain’s cabin, with a slight delay occasioned by his cloak. “I am sure you would like to get some rest after your long ordeal, and to contemplate your position in decent privacy. You will be locked in, of course, but will remain otherwise unmolested. At least until tomorrow morning,” he amended. “Then I will see you again, and we can have a conversation.
“No, no,” he warned as Lynde began to follow me and was caught back again by her two guardians. “I would be fool indeed to allow the two of you an uninterrupted night of planning, and I am sure you will admit that whatever I am, I am no fool. No, Mistress Falconer will come with me. Sleep well, your majesty. We will meet again tomorrow.”
The door closed behind them all and a moment later I heard the clank of a chain and padlock.
I used to think that there was nothing I liked better than being alone, but I see now that such a feeling is completely dependent upon circumstances. Without Lynde in calling distance, without Mother and Father down the hall and a barracks full of guardsmen between me and a stout stone wall, I feel dreadfully, wrenchingly alone.
Well, loath as I am to take any suggestion Bleake might make, it is true that this situation is the occasion for some hard thinking. I dragged a chair and a chamber pot in front of the door to provide me warning if anyone should attempt entrance, and got into bed with my diary. What on earth is going to happen now, I can’t for the life of me imagine.
(continued here)
(continued from here)
Lynde and I had both frozen at the same time and now turned slowly around in mechanical unison. The ship’s complement was assembled in a travesty of its earlier military order. The crew stood in rows with their hands bound before them and gags in their mouths, overseen by a complement of large blank-faced men with fair hair and northern features.
The four men of our bodyguard had evidently been plucked silently and hit on the head one by one as they reached the top of the ladder, and now lay in a limp pile – breathing, I was relieved to see, but unmistakably unconscious.
The captain had been bound and gagged similarly to his men, but had been honored with a guard of his own: a strapping young godling, his chest almost as broad across as Long Bob’s, and with the beauty of one born at the morning of the world. He held a wicked long dagger to the captain’s throat, and the cockiness of his grin was in direct proportion to the outrage that bubbled up through the captain’s gag.
All this was assessable at a glance, and then a short, slight figure of a man stumped forward followed by a cloak that was slightly too long for it. His shoulders were narrow, his middle swelled out in a modest paunch, and he had knock knees, but as much as I wanted to find him ridiculous, his very frailties made the scene seem more grotesque. The slight flickering lamplight turned his knobby features and greasy scant hair into a mask, from the midst of which his eyes glittered with the madness of hate and triumph.
I had never seen him before, but I knew who he was before he said his name.
“Mortimer Bleake, your majesty.” He sketched an ironic bow. “I would add that I am at your service, but as you can see, you are rather unmistakably at mine.”
He glanced at Lynde. “Mistress Falconer, I presume. I would congratulate you on foiling my plans for the Marshweather annexation, but the credit is all Hugo’s, I’m sorry to say – now, now, gently, all of you.”
Lynde had made a sudden movement but found herself checked by a couple of burly Norhammers who had materialized at her elbows.
“You disappoint me, Mistress Falconer – surely you didn’t expect me to be taken by surprise again.”
My lips were dry and my heart pounding, but something in me stuck at showing Bleake any emotion.
“I believe I would wait the extra couple of days next time, and take the trouble to get a cloak specially made for you,” I said meditatively. “Looking as though you borrowed your older brother’s rather spoils the effect.”
Bleake did not respond directly to this dig, but his momentary immobility showed me the shot had hit home.
“Very amusing, your majesty – yes, very good,” he said smoothly. “But I would treat the situation with a bit more seriousness if I were you. You see,” he gestured around him, “your protectors are helpless; your conveyance is entirely in my control; and I am now in a position to bargain with Bentlefay for whatever I wish to ask of it…”
He flicked his eyes down to my feet and allowed them to travel slowly back up to my face again.
“…in exchange for your person.”
I could not repress a grue, but managed to turn it into a shrug, which I hoped looked nonchalant. “Surely you are forgetting something, Master Bleake,” I said, thinking of the cannon. “You ought know to your cost that the Porteous is not so ill defended as you seem to think.”
But he only chuckled. “Oh, you mean your relations? They are very well prepared, certainly. I intended to sacrifice the Soenhast, but I grant you that it happened much more quickly than I expected. However, if you look behind you, you will see that now your audience has concluded, they are already on their way.”
I whirled around to see the Blood Wind disappearing into the night, the Gull moving ponderously in the same direction, and the Sad Sarah’s sails flapping into place in preparation for doing the same.
“I should warn you, by the way,” Bleake went on pleasantly, “that if you do anything to attract their attention, your captain will die in a pool of his own blood a moment later.”
“Noted,” I replied through dry lips, and did not trust myself to say any more.
“Now.” Bleake turned to lead the way towards the captain’s cabin, with a slight delay occasioned by his cloak. “I am sure you would like to get some rest after your long ordeal, and to contemplate your position in decent privacy. You will be locked in, of course, but will remain otherwise unmolested. At least until tomorrow morning,” he amended. “Then I will see you again, and we can have a conversation.
“No, no,” he warned as Lynde began to follow me and was caught back again by her two guardians. “I would be fool indeed to allow the two of you an uninterrupted night of planning, and I am sure you will admit that whatever I am, I am no fool. No, Mistress Falconer will come with me. Sleep well, your majesty. We will meet again tomorrow.”
The door closed behind them all and a moment later I heard the clank of a chain and padlock.
I used to think that there was nothing I liked better than being alone, but I see now that such a feeling is completely dependent upon circumstances. Without Lynde in calling distance, without Mother and Father down the hall and a barracks full of guardsmen between me and a stout stone wall, I feel dreadfully, wrenchingly alone.
Well, loath as I am to take any suggestion Bleake might make, it is true that this situation is the occasion for some hard thinking. I dragged a chair and a chamber pot in front of the door to provide me warning if anyone should attempt entrance, and got into bed with my diary. What on earth is going to happen now, I can’t for the life of me imagine.
(continued here)
Friday, July 30, 2010
In Which the Adventure Appears to be Over
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
(continued from here)
As soon as we reached the upper deck, Masters swaggered over to us – I can really put it no other way – looking almost suffocatingly romantic. His coat was off; his shirt was open at the neck; his long black hair was tied back in a queue with one lock tumbling effectively over his forehead. He ignored me completely and went straight up to Lynde.
“Mistress,” he said, still breathing hard from the fight, “you are unhurt?”
In her place I would have been unable to produce any sound but a watery giggle, but she bore up sturdily and gave him a crisp nod.
“Her majesty and I are perfectly safe,” she said and then wavered. “…thanks to you.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes.
“It is my privilege,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation she gave him her hand, which he kissed in a way which bore no resemblance to the sterile salutations of the court.
I would cheerfully have stood there watching them until they became aware of me, which honestly looked likely to have been hours, but Long Bob cleared his throat with a pointed rumble and they glanced up at him, still handfasted.
“I surely am sorry to interrupt you,” said Long Bob, and he really did sound sorry, “but the Sad Sarah was the closest to Norhammer’s bowshot, and you may want to signal your watch to make certain all is secure.”
Masters looked out toward his ship and then back at Lynde. “Yes,” he said, “I must go. But surely we will meet again?”
“I – I don’t know,” Lynde stammered. “I go where I am needed, you know. Needed by the princess, that is to say,” she added in a hurry.
“Ah.” He raised her hand again, and this time kissed the palm, in a way that made my knees go wobbly just watching it and Lynde herself sway as though in a stiff breeze.
“You will be hearing from me,” he said into her hand, and after a last meaningful look he strode away.
“Young Jock is an excellent earner, and altogether a most rising young man,” observed Long Bob casually to the world at large. “He has no attachments of which I am aware.
“However,” he went on, having made his point, “take a peep over there at all that remains of your enemy.”
Darkness had fallen over an hour ago, but there was a moon, and the burning hull of one of the three vessels provided sufficient illumination to view the scene. The other two enemy ships were already off for the horizon. The Porteous, the Sad Sarah and the Blood Wind hadn’t a scratch on them, and I supposed that the Golden Gull’s cannon had a greater range than whatever Norhammer had planned for us.
I was struck as an afterthought by the fact that we could see no people – just the two ships disappearing into the dark, and the ruined bulk of the third.
“I would have liked to see what they looked like, at least,” I said. “There must have been some survivors of that ship.”
“It’s true that troubles me slightly,” admitted Long Bob. “A cannonball may blow a hole in the hull but it do be physically impossible to kill everyone on board with the same strike. I wouldn’t use them if it did,” he added virtuously. “We must just take extra care – Norhammers are a tricky people at sea, I’m told. Ah, well,” he went on, “I’ll have your men fetched to you. We’d better get you back to your beauty sleep after the day you’ve had.”
He strode off with purpose and I turned to Lynde.
“Now that the whole thing is over, I wish I’d paid a little more attention to it,” I began, but she did not hear me. She was gazing dreamily at Masters in the bow, ordering together the contingent for the Sad Sarah.
I gave it a moment before I spoke again. “You know, when the battle started I had no idea you’d end up one of the casualties.”
She sighed and came back to earth. “It would be very uncomfortable living on board a ship,” she said, “but I admit this whole affair will be nicer to remember than I would have thought a quarter of an hour ago.”
I took her arm and squeezed it. “He did say you’d hear from him,” I said to tease her. “Come, let’s get back to real life before anything irrevocable happens.”
It took a little time, but the four men of our escort finally assembled, breathing hard from the excitement of the battle and rather inclined to wink raffishly and roll their gait. One of them even had his hat on the side of his head. Obviously fighting with pirates agreed with them.
“Sure, your Majesty,” said their leader out the side of his mouth. “We’d better get you back to the Porteous before the old man takes it into his head to do something simpleminded. He must be itching like a bed full of fleas.”
He was unconsciously speaking in a shadow of Long Bob’s brogue, and I grinned. “Aye aye, mate,” I said. “You and the fellows drop our boat off the port stern while I have a chinwag with himself here.”
The escort shuffled their feet and smiled shyly while Lynde cast her eyes ostentatiously toward heaven, and then she shepherded them away and Long Bob and I were alone.
I made my prettiest curtsy and held out my hand. “It’s been a rare privilege to share your table, Captain Langstrom,” I said. “And if the sequel was not according to expectation it was at least more interesting than most after-dinner hours I’ve spent in my time.”
He shook his massive head and looked mournfully at his feet.
“I take it on myself that they managed to sneak up on us like that; I surely do. I’ve got ears in every port in the Nine Kingdoms, and it’s a sore, sad day when Long Bob Langstrom has to face an enemy he hasn’t seen coming.”
He looked so pathetic that I laid my hand on his arm. “But it worked out though, didn’t it?” I pleaded. “Your cannon were just as big a surprise to them as they were to us.”
“Maybe,” Long Bob acknowledged, “but the time will come when we’ll all have cannon, every ship on the sea, and then it’s the old-fashioned ears that will save us in times like these.”
“Well,” I said, not wanting to coddle his mood any longer, “if you insist on borrowing trouble, you’ll never get out of debt – or so my mother says.”
He grinned like the sun coming out. “And a higher authority I can’t imagine.”
There was a companionable silence, unknowingly breached by Lynde, who arrived just then.
“The boat’s down,” she said, “and we’re just waiting for you. If you’re done.
“Please don’t hurry,” she added in the tone that means the opposite.
I was beginning to feel terribly sleepy – a reaction from my hysterics, I suppose. Lynde and the escort got me down the ladder and into the boat, and although the row across to the Porteous can’t have taken a quarter of an hour I believe I actually nodded off.
We were all relieved the thing was over and our escort made the boat fast and nipped thankfully up the ladder with no ceremony at all. It was up to Lynde to boost me up to the deck, and I suppose our guard was thoroughly down because we got all the way up to the deck without the slightest sense of danger before a harsh, grating voice I had never heard before stopped us in our tracks.
“Welcome to my new ship, your majesty,” it said, and my blood turned cold. “I was beginning to think you would never join us.”
(to be continued)
(continued from here)
As soon as we reached the upper deck, Masters swaggered over to us – I can really put it no other way – looking almost suffocatingly romantic. His coat was off; his shirt was open at the neck; his long black hair was tied back in a queue with one lock tumbling effectively over his forehead. He ignored me completely and went straight up to Lynde.
“Mistress,” he said, still breathing hard from the fight, “you are unhurt?”
In her place I would have been unable to produce any sound but a watery giggle, but she bore up sturdily and gave him a crisp nod.
“Her majesty and I are perfectly safe,” she said and then wavered. “…thanks to you.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes.
“It is my privilege,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation she gave him her hand, which he kissed in a way which bore no resemblance to the sterile salutations of the court.
I would cheerfully have stood there watching them until they became aware of me, which honestly looked likely to have been hours, but Long Bob cleared his throat with a pointed rumble and they glanced up at him, still handfasted.
“I surely am sorry to interrupt you,” said Long Bob, and he really did sound sorry, “but the Sad Sarah was the closest to Norhammer’s bowshot, and you may want to signal your watch to make certain all is secure.”
Masters looked out toward his ship and then back at Lynde. “Yes,” he said, “I must go. But surely we will meet again?”
“I – I don’t know,” Lynde stammered. “I go where I am needed, you know. Needed by the princess, that is to say,” she added in a hurry.
“Ah.” He raised her hand again, and this time kissed the palm, in a way that made my knees go wobbly just watching it and Lynde herself sway as though in a stiff breeze.
“You will be hearing from me,” he said into her hand, and after a last meaningful look he strode away.
“Young Jock is an excellent earner, and altogether a most rising young man,” observed Long Bob casually to the world at large. “He has no attachments of which I am aware.
“However,” he went on, having made his point, “take a peep over there at all that remains of your enemy.”
Darkness had fallen over an hour ago, but there was a moon, and the burning hull of one of the three vessels provided sufficient illumination to view the scene. The other two enemy ships were already off for the horizon. The Porteous, the Sad Sarah and the Blood Wind hadn’t a scratch on them, and I supposed that the Golden Gull’s cannon had a greater range than whatever Norhammer had planned for us.
I was struck as an afterthought by the fact that we could see no people – just the two ships disappearing into the dark, and the ruined bulk of the third.
“I would have liked to see what they looked like, at least,” I said. “There must have been some survivors of that ship.”
“It’s true that troubles me slightly,” admitted Long Bob. “A cannonball may blow a hole in the hull but it do be physically impossible to kill everyone on board with the same strike. I wouldn’t use them if it did,” he added virtuously. “We must just take extra care – Norhammers are a tricky people at sea, I’m told. Ah, well,” he went on, “I’ll have your men fetched to you. We’d better get you back to your beauty sleep after the day you’ve had.”
He strode off with purpose and I turned to Lynde.
“Now that the whole thing is over, I wish I’d paid a little more attention to it,” I began, but she did not hear me. She was gazing dreamily at Masters in the bow, ordering together the contingent for the Sad Sarah.
I gave it a moment before I spoke again. “You know, when the battle started I had no idea you’d end up one of the casualties.”
She sighed and came back to earth. “It would be very uncomfortable living on board a ship,” she said, “but I admit this whole affair will be nicer to remember than I would have thought a quarter of an hour ago.”
I took her arm and squeezed it. “He did say you’d hear from him,” I said to tease her. “Come, let’s get back to real life before anything irrevocable happens.”
It took a little time, but the four men of our escort finally assembled, breathing hard from the excitement of the battle and rather inclined to wink raffishly and roll their gait. One of them even had his hat on the side of his head. Obviously fighting with pirates agreed with them.
“Sure, your Majesty,” said their leader out the side of his mouth. “We’d better get you back to the Porteous before the old man takes it into his head to do something simpleminded. He must be itching like a bed full of fleas.”
He was unconsciously speaking in a shadow of Long Bob’s brogue, and I grinned. “Aye aye, mate,” I said. “You and the fellows drop our boat off the port stern while I have a chinwag with himself here.”
The escort shuffled their feet and smiled shyly while Lynde cast her eyes ostentatiously toward heaven, and then she shepherded them away and Long Bob and I were alone.
I made my prettiest curtsy and held out my hand. “It’s been a rare privilege to share your table, Captain Langstrom,” I said. “And if the sequel was not according to expectation it was at least more interesting than most after-dinner hours I’ve spent in my time.”
He shook his massive head and looked mournfully at his feet.
“I take it on myself that they managed to sneak up on us like that; I surely do. I’ve got ears in every port in the Nine Kingdoms, and it’s a sore, sad day when Long Bob Langstrom has to face an enemy he hasn’t seen coming.”
He looked so pathetic that I laid my hand on his arm. “But it worked out though, didn’t it?” I pleaded. “Your cannon were just as big a surprise to them as they were to us.”
“Maybe,” Long Bob acknowledged, “but the time will come when we’ll all have cannon, every ship on the sea, and then it’s the old-fashioned ears that will save us in times like these.”
“Well,” I said, not wanting to coddle his mood any longer, “if you insist on borrowing trouble, you’ll never get out of debt – or so my mother says.”
He grinned like the sun coming out. “And a higher authority I can’t imagine.”
There was a companionable silence, unknowingly breached by Lynde, who arrived just then.
“The boat’s down,” she said, “and we’re just waiting for you. If you’re done.
“Please don’t hurry,” she added in the tone that means the opposite.
I was beginning to feel terribly sleepy – a reaction from my hysterics, I suppose. Lynde and the escort got me down the ladder and into the boat, and although the row across to the Porteous can’t have taken a quarter of an hour I believe I actually nodded off.
We were all relieved the thing was over and our escort made the boat fast and nipped thankfully up the ladder with no ceremony at all. It was up to Lynde to boost me up to the deck, and I suppose our guard was thoroughly down because we got all the way up to the deck without the slightest sense of danger before a harsh, grating voice I had never heard before stopped us in our tracks.
“Welcome to my new ship, your majesty,” it said, and my blood turned cold. “I was beginning to think you would never join us.”
(to be continued)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
In Which the Agreement is Put to the Test
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay
(continued from here)
Fortunately, we had warning. Even in the holiday atmosphere of the feast, the captains had too much experience to take down their guard, and I had already been feeling sorry for the “watch” swaying dejectedly about in the crow’s nest of the great ship, although Long Bob assured me over dinner that he and the kitchen staff would have their share of the food if not the merriment.
Now, over the shattered remains of the sweet course, we heard the thudding on the deck that could only be someone running, and the men were on their feet before the watch burst in.
“’Ware!” he gasped out. “Three ships. Norhammer flags. Coming straight at us!”
It was as though he had touched a match to a powder trail. Long Bob roared “To your stations!” and the men shot up the ladder to the deck one by one with the precision of arrows. “Young Dulcie,” he said to me, “stay down here with your escort. I’ll be damned if any harm comes to you in pirate hands!” And he was gone up the ladder himself, with Harker and Masters in hot pursuit, each shouting “My ship!” in an inharmonious counterpoint.
The four men of the escort were on their feet, but not before Lynde. “I’ll protect her,” she yelled at them. “You go fight!”
That confused them and they showed a disposition to argue with her, but she gained her point. “If you four are fighting, they will be less likely to get down here,” she said reasonably, “and if they did get down here, it will be with more force than five of us could overcome in any case.”
So we were alone in the long room of the crew’s quarters, with the crumbs of the feast around us, and I looked around a little dazedly.
“That all happened so fast,” I said. “I suppose fighting is like that?”
“We had better stay by the ladder,” said Lynde. “I want to hear the progress of the battle, and there will be time enough for us to hide under the table if we are boarded.”
It was so typical of Lynde’s practical common sense, with the tail of absurdity at the end, that I burst out laughing and couldn’t seem to stop.
Lynde looked surprised. “I don’t see what’s funny about that. Under the table is an excellent place to hide. It offers excellent facilities for snatching intruders by the ankles, and…” She looked sharply at me. “Oh. No, this is a very inconvenient time for you to have hysterics, your majesty.”
Which made me laugh harder, until she asked me if it would be necessary to throw cold water over me, and I closed my mouth but the laughter seemed to squirt out my nose and my eyes started to water. Finally she sighed, went to the table, and plucked a bottle from one of the cruets. “Here,” she said. “Take a deep breath.”
The vinegar felt like it was shriveling my nose away from the inside, and my eyes were streaming abominably, but at least I stopped laughing.
“There,” said Lynde with exasperated affection. “Honestly!”
“I’b sorry,” I said with my voice all in my nose. “I’b dever had hysterics – I doad dow what habbed to be.”
“Have a napkin,” she said more kindly, and I blew my nose as comprehensively as I could. “I’m sure it will be awhile until they’re within bowshot and we may as well be comfortable.”
Just then there was a barked order from Long Bob, and a momentary silence fell. “I wonder what--” I began, only to be interrupted by a tremendous booming sound which set the ship rocking till we could no longer keep our footing and had to grab for something fixed to keep upright. A bottle fell sideways and rolled who knew where, and a sprinkle of debris pattered down on the table and our heads. I wondered if it would be inappropriate for me to have hysterics again, but Lynde remained unperturbed.
“Cannon,” she said in an interested voice as she held on for dear life to a spar. “I have heard of them, but never seen them in use. Your relations are ahead of the fashion, your majesty.”
The ship took an unconscionable time to stop swinging, but at last we were able to let go of our supports and brush the dust out of our hair.
“Well,” said Lynde with the air of someone making the best of things, “that’s a convenience. I couldn’t imagine what kind of back-and-forth we would have with arrows in the middle of the sea.”
Long Bob barked again and we grabbed our supports. This time we were prepared for the boom but it seemed even louder, and I wondered if it were possible for the Golden Gull to be broken apart that way, and if it were, would it take very long to drown.
Lynde seemed to be thinking along much the same lines. “I’m certain we will have won the battle with that round, as long as we stay afloat,” she said brightly.
I stuck my tongue out at her. “If all you can do is be cheerful I wish you’d shut up,” I said. “You sound like a nanny.”
“All right, so long as you can manage not to have hysterics again,” she said unperturbed. “In that case, I’m sure if the water is cold enough it will take us practically no time to drown.”
“That’s more like it.”
The ship was still swaying and we had not yet let go of our supports when Long Bob came clattering down the ladder. “All’s well, miladies!” he chortled with high good humor. “One of their vessels is taking on water fast and the others are headed toward the horizon. Masters is keeping his eye on the matter by spyglass, but I’m not worried – they’d no idea what hit ‘em.”
“I don’t even think we have a single cannon in Bentlefay,” I said. “You’re ahead of your time.”
“Well,” Long Bob said modestly, “it’s all in the way of business. An investment, you might say. Would you care to come up on deck? There’s no danger now.”
(continued here)
(continued from here)
Fortunately, we had warning. Even in the holiday atmosphere of the feast, the captains had too much experience to take down their guard, and I had already been feeling sorry for the “watch” swaying dejectedly about in the crow’s nest of the great ship, although Long Bob assured me over dinner that he and the kitchen staff would have their share of the food if not the merriment.
Now, over the shattered remains of the sweet course, we heard the thudding on the deck that could only be someone running, and the men were on their feet before the watch burst in.
“’Ware!” he gasped out. “Three ships. Norhammer flags. Coming straight at us!”
It was as though he had touched a match to a powder trail. Long Bob roared “To your stations!” and the men shot up the ladder to the deck one by one with the precision of arrows. “Young Dulcie,” he said to me, “stay down here with your escort. I’ll be damned if any harm comes to you in pirate hands!” And he was gone up the ladder himself, with Harker and Masters in hot pursuit, each shouting “My ship!” in an inharmonious counterpoint.
The four men of the escort were on their feet, but not before Lynde. “I’ll protect her,” she yelled at them. “You go fight!”
That confused them and they showed a disposition to argue with her, but she gained her point. “If you four are fighting, they will be less likely to get down here,” she said reasonably, “and if they did get down here, it will be with more force than five of us could overcome in any case.”
So we were alone in the long room of the crew’s quarters, with the crumbs of the feast around us, and I looked around a little dazedly.
“That all happened so fast,” I said. “I suppose fighting is like that?”
“We had better stay by the ladder,” said Lynde. “I want to hear the progress of the battle, and there will be time enough for us to hide under the table if we are boarded.”
It was so typical of Lynde’s practical common sense, with the tail of absurdity at the end, that I burst out laughing and couldn’t seem to stop.
Lynde looked surprised. “I don’t see what’s funny about that. Under the table is an excellent place to hide. It offers excellent facilities for snatching intruders by the ankles, and…” She looked sharply at me. “Oh. No, this is a very inconvenient time for you to have hysterics, your majesty.”
Which made me laugh harder, until she asked me if it would be necessary to throw cold water over me, and I closed my mouth but the laughter seemed to squirt out my nose and my eyes started to water. Finally she sighed, went to the table, and plucked a bottle from one of the cruets. “Here,” she said. “Take a deep breath.”
The vinegar felt like it was shriveling my nose away from the inside, and my eyes were streaming abominably, but at least I stopped laughing.
“There,” said Lynde with exasperated affection. “Honestly!”
“I’b sorry,” I said with my voice all in my nose. “I’b dever had hysterics – I doad dow what habbed to be.”
“Have a napkin,” she said more kindly, and I blew my nose as comprehensively as I could. “I’m sure it will be awhile until they’re within bowshot and we may as well be comfortable.”
Just then there was a barked order from Long Bob, and a momentary silence fell. “I wonder what--” I began, only to be interrupted by a tremendous booming sound which set the ship rocking till we could no longer keep our footing and had to grab for something fixed to keep upright. A bottle fell sideways and rolled who knew where, and a sprinkle of debris pattered down on the table and our heads. I wondered if it would be inappropriate for me to have hysterics again, but Lynde remained unperturbed.
“Cannon,” she said in an interested voice as she held on for dear life to a spar. “I have heard of them, but never seen them in use. Your relations are ahead of the fashion, your majesty.”
The ship took an unconscionable time to stop swinging, but at last we were able to let go of our supports and brush the dust out of our hair.
“Well,” said Lynde with the air of someone making the best of things, “that’s a convenience. I couldn’t imagine what kind of back-and-forth we would have with arrows in the middle of the sea.”
Long Bob barked again and we grabbed our supports. This time we were prepared for the boom but it seemed even louder, and I wondered if it were possible for the Golden Gull to be broken apart that way, and if it were, would it take very long to drown.
Lynde seemed to be thinking along much the same lines. “I’m certain we will have won the battle with that round, as long as we stay afloat,” she said brightly.
I stuck my tongue out at her. “If all you can do is be cheerful I wish you’d shut up,” I said. “You sound like a nanny.”
“All right, so long as you can manage not to have hysterics again,” she said unperturbed. “In that case, I’m sure if the water is cold enough it will take us practically no time to drown.”
“That’s more like it.”
The ship was still swaying and we had not yet let go of our supports when Long Bob came clattering down the ladder. “All’s well, miladies!” he chortled with high good humor. “One of their vessels is taking on water fast and the others are headed toward the horizon. Masters is keeping his eye on the matter by spyglass, but I’m not worried – they’d no idea what hit ‘em.”
“I don’t even think we have a single cannon in Bentlefay,” I said. “You’re ahead of your time.”
“Well,” Long Bob said modestly, “it’s all in the way of business. An investment, you might say. Would you care to come up on deck? There’s no danger now.”
(continued here)
Sunday, July 25, 2010
In Which Apologies Are Made
Hi all-
The archivist was absent this weekend at a very important historical conference and was unable to update on Friday. However, everything is now back to normal and you can tune in Tuesday for the next installment of the Norhammer Conflict. Thanks for stopping by, and we hope to see you Tuesday!
The archivist was absent this weekend at a very important historical conference and was unable to update on Friday. However, everything is now back to normal and you can tune in Tuesday for the next installment of the Norhammer Conflict. Thanks for stopping by, and we hope to see you Tuesday!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
In Which the Hospitality of the Pirate Kin is Put to the Test
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
(continued from here)
The feast, as it turned out, was to be the main event of a longer programme. Apparently the last respectable person to have set foot on the Golden Gull was Mother, and since that was twenty years ago and counting, Long Bob and the other chiefs were ready to put on a show while they had a captive audience.
First there was a sort of music and dancing exhibition put on by a few of the younger seamen – I say “sort of” because while they were certainly issuing sounds from a bagpipe and a flute, and moving their bodies to the aforementioned sounds, none of it bore any relationship to dancing and singing as we practice it back in the capital. They did things with their feet that I couldn’t even describe, to the extent that I was able to distinguish separate movements of their feet in the first place, and the music was a queer, plaintive chant with the tempo of a happy song and the key of a sad one. It was very stirring, but I was glad when it was over.
Then there was an exhibition in the rigging which was rather wasted on me but which had the four men of our escort looking green and defensive. The crewmen seemed to flicker through the rigging as effortlessly as though they were walking on solid ground, and the ropes and flags rose and fell like magic on Long Bob’s barked command. They moved in such precise concert that I found myself on the verge of the trance state which comes upon me when I watch soldiers on parade and had to pinch myself surreptitiously to keep alert.
Finally, with the crew once again lined up on the deck, the captains took us on a tour of the ship. We had experienced the hospitality of the Porteous for a few days already, and while it was acknowledged to be the jewel of the fleet, it couldn’t even approach the amenities available on land. I couldn’t imagine what a pirate ship would have to offer in comparison, and braced myself to smile and be polite about it no matter what they showed me.
But the Golden Gull is more than the flagship of a fleet, it is home to a dozen men who don’t set foot on dry land more than a few times a year. The number of conveniences that could be crammed into a small space and then built in, fastened down or folded away was beyond my reckoning. The galley alone seemed to have everything Tess had in her kitchen at home, and it wasn’t a quarter of the size. The men slept below deck in hammocks, but their possessions were slung neatly in nets overhead or shut away in low lockers against the inside of the hull.
Long Bob didn’t show us everything – no mention was made of weapons or an armory, and I didn’t ask – but it was enough for me to rearrange everything I had assumed about pirates and seafaring. He kept my hand tucked in his arm solicitously the entire time “so I wouldn’t take a tumble in that pretty dress,” and Lynde, to my great joy, found herself commandeered by Masters as grandly as any court lady by her gentleman, and led about with a courtliness that made her fighting leathers and short sword look foolish.
The last part of the ship we were shown was Long Bob’s own quarters in the stern, which were lavish with brass fittings and polished hardwood, and as much like the captain’s quarters on the Porteous as a bouquet of roses to a dandelion seed. There was a shutter, not a porthole, and a curious ledge outside about two feet wide and one deep.
“How curious – it’s like a little seat,” I said before I thought. “Who on earth would want to sit outside your window?”
Long Bob looked at me quizzically.
“Well, when one of the mermaids comes up for a chat, it’s only polite to make her comfortable, just as you might any honored guest.”
The joke seemed a labored one, but I laughed politely and filed the ledge away with the armory as a pirate secret I wasn’t allowed to be told.
“Now then,” Long Bob went on with a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving!” I exclaimed, and we all trooped below deck for the feast.
The crew’s quarters had been stripped bare, the hammocks taken down and the whole place scrubbed white. A long narrow table had been set up down the middle for the crew, with a short table set on it like the crossbar of a T for the captains and guests. The tables were already groaning with tureens of soup, decanters of wine and rum, loaves of bread in every shape imaginable and gleaming jams and jellies. On the head table was an enormous and perfect whole fish, with discreet grill marks on its side and transparently thin slices of lemon draped over it at intervals. It was like an illustration in a book.
Long Bob made another elegant bow and handed me into my place with his best court manner. Lynde sat on his left with Masters on hers – I think the place had been meant to be Herring’s, since he looked surprised when Masters nipped into it, but Herring came quite philosophically to sit on my right, and the four men of our escort sat at the long table with the crew. The crew was standing at attention again to allow us to get to our seats, but their eyes were on the table just like mine were, and Long Bob didn’t keep them long.
“Fellows,” he said, “this is a historic day. We’re going to fight on the respectable side for a change, and never for a worthier cause. In honor of Princess Dulcie of Bentlefay and the glory of her house, I dedicate this feast!”
There was a cheer, and then a great scuffling as the men flung themselves into their seats, and then nothing but the slurping of soup, the sawing of bread and the clinking of spoons. Long Bob and the other two captains devoted themselves in a similar fashion to the activity of eating, so I really didn’t see why I shouldn’t follow suit.
The feast was divine. There is nothing in the world so deceptively simple as soup: easy to make, but almost impossible to make superlatively. This was superlative soup, accompanied by the queen of chewy yeast breads, and followed by the brave fish that had given its life in the cause of diplomacy. I wondered what they would do for a main course – surely there weren’t facilities on a ship for the large-scale roasting of meats? – and was interested to discover that it was sausages: humble as a rule, but glorified in this instance by the nobility of the boar from whence they came and their delicate infusion of spices.
There was an interval, while we lay back in our chairs and toyed with some salted nuts in preparation for the sweet course, and finally, the sweet course itself, a witches’ brew of sweetened cream, rare fruit and the thinnest and most tender layers of pastry. I have never enjoyed a meal more.
The dishes had been taken away and the last thimblefuls of wine were trickling mellowly into our glasses, when the adventure started.
(continued here)
(continued from here)
The feast, as it turned out, was to be the main event of a longer programme. Apparently the last respectable person to have set foot on the Golden Gull was Mother, and since that was twenty years ago and counting, Long Bob and the other chiefs were ready to put on a show while they had a captive audience.
First there was a sort of music and dancing exhibition put on by a few of the younger seamen – I say “sort of” because while they were certainly issuing sounds from a bagpipe and a flute, and moving their bodies to the aforementioned sounds, none of it bore any relationship to dancing and singing as we practice it back in the capital. They did things with their feet that I couldn’t even describe, to the extent that I was able to distinguish separate movements of their feet in the first place, and the music was a queer, plaintive chant with the tempo of a happy song and the key of a sad one. It was very stirring, but I was glad when it was over.
Then there was an exhibition in the rigging which was rather wasted on me but which had the four men of our escort looking green and defensive. The crewmen seemed to flicker through the rigging as effortlessly as though they were walking on solid ground, and the ropes and flags rose and fell like magic on Long Bob’s barked command. They moved in such precise concert that I found myself on the verge of the trance state which comes upon me when I watch soldiers on parade and had to pinch myself surreptitiously to keep alert.
Finally, with the crew once again lined up on the deck, the captains took us on a tour of the ship. We had experienced the hospitality of the Porteous for a few days already, and while it was acknowledged to be the jewel of the fleet, it couldn’t even approach the amenities available on land. I couldn’t imagine what a pirate ship would have to offer in comparison, and braced myself to smile and be polite about it no matter what they showed me.
But the Golden Gull is more than the flagship of a fleet, it is home to a dozen men who don’t set foot on dry land more than a few times a year. The number of conveniences that could be crammed into a small space and then built in, fastened down or folded away was beyond my reckoning. The galley alone seemed to have everything Tess had in her kitchen at home, and it wasn’t a quarter of the size. The men slept below deck in hammocks, but their possessions were slung neatly in nets overhead or shut away in low lockers against the inside of the hull.
Long Bob didn’t show us everything – no mention was made of weapons or an armory, and I didn’t ask – but it was enough for me to rearrange everything I had assumed about pirates and seafaring. He kept my hand tucked in his arm solicitously the entire time “so I wouldn’t take a tumble in that pretty dress,” and Lynde, to my great joy, found herself commandeered by Masters as grandly as any court lady by her gentleman, and led about with a courtliness that made her fighting leathers and short sword look foolish.
The last part of the ship we were shown was Long Bob’s own quarters in the stern, which were lavish with brass fittings and polished hardwood, and as much like the captain’s quarters on the Porteous as a bouquet of roses to a dandelion seed. There was a shutter, not a porthole, and a curious ledge outside about two feet wide and one deep.
“How curious – it’s like a little seat,” I said before I thought. “Who on earth would want to sit outside your window?”
Long Bob looked at me quizzically.
“Well, when one of the mermaids comes up for a chat, it’s only polite to make her comfortable, just as you might any honored guest.”
The joke seemed a labored one, but I laughed politely and filed the ledge away with the armory as a pirate secret I wasn’t allowed to be told.
“Now then,” Long Bob went on with a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving!” I exclaimed, and we all trooped below deck for the feast.
The crew’s quarters had been stripped bare, the hammocks taken down and the whole place scrubbed white. A long narrow table had been set up down the middle for the crew, with a short table set on it like the crossbar of a T for the captains and guests. The tables were already groaning with tureens of soup, decanters of wine and rum, loaves of bread in every shape imaginable and gleaming jams and jellies. On the head table was an enormous and perfect whole fish, with discreet grill marks on its side and transparently thin slices of lemon draped over it at intervals. It was like an illustration in a book.
Long Bob made another elegant bow and handed me into my place with his best court manner. Lynde sat on his left with Masters on hers – I think the place had been meant to be Herring’s, since he looked surprised when Masters nipped into it, but Herring came quite philosophically to sit on my right, and the four men of our escort sat at the long table with the crew. The crew was standing at attention again to allow us to get to our seats, but their eyes were on the table just like mine were, and Long Bob didn’t keep them long.
“Fellows,” he said, “this is a historic day. We’re going to fight on the respectable side for a change, and never for a worthier cause. In honor of Princess Dulcie of Bentlefay and the glory of her house, I dedicate this feast!”
There was a cheer, and then a great scuffling as the men flung themselves into their seats, and then nothing but the slurping of soup, the sawing of bread and the clinking of spoons. Long Bob and the other two captains devoted themselves in a similar fashion to the activity of eating, so I really didn’t see why I shouldn’t follow suit.
The feast was divine. There is nothing in the world so deceptively simple as soup: easy to make, but almost impossible to make superlatively. This was superlative soup, accompanied by the queen of chewy yeast breads, and followed by the brave fish that had given its life in the cause of diplomacy. I wondered what they would do for a main course – surely there weren’t facilities on a ship for the large-scale roasting of meats? – and was interested to discover that it was sausages: humble as a rule, but glorified in this instance by the nobility of the boar from whence they came and their delicate infusion of spices.
There was an interval, while we lay back in our chairs and toyed with some salted nuts in preparation for the sweet course, and finally, the sweet course itself, a witches’ brew of sweetened cream, rare fruit and the thinnest and most tender layers of pastry. I have never enjoyed a meal more.
The dishes had been taken away and the last thimblefuls of wine were trickling mellowly into our glasses, when the adventure started.
(continued here)
Friday, July 16, 2010
In Which the Agreement is Made
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
An adventure sounds like a nice thing to have, and I hope that once it’s over I shall be in a position to remember it fondly, but just at the moment there’s no guarantee of that – quite the contrary, actually. I am trying my best to be very calm and logical about writing it down, but I don’t feel at all that way inside. One never thinks about that sort of thing when one hears the old stories.
We had no inkling of what might happen when we went over to the Golden Gull at sunset – me in my best, Lynde in her leathers, and four large and musclebound seamen in their dress uniforms. The captain seemed back in the swithers about letting me go, but there being nothing he could do about it short of putting me in restraint, which would get him in even more trouble, he bowed stiffly over my hand and stood on the deck radiating disapproval as we climbed down to the boat.
A rope ladder is not the easiest situation to negotiate in a court dress with a train, but at the slight sacrifice of my dignity I kept it out of the way long enough to tip ignominiously into my seat. The rowers got us to the Golden Gull in double-quick time, which made Lynde turn a bit green around the gills but which, as I explained to her, at least got it over with quickly. She didn’t seem to quite see that bit of philosophy, but we were there before she had the chance to give it too much thought.
We could see Long Bob’s immense beard smiling at us from the deck as we bumped up against the side. “Halloo!” he bellowed. “Drop a ladder for our guests, boys!”
“Me and Jemmy will go up first,” said the leader of our escort grimly. “If we don’t holler safe, Seamus will pull like hell back to the Porteous, and give the alarm.”
But of course he “hollered safe” right away, although he sounded a little disappointed about it, and we made the boat fast and Lynde went next so she could haul me aboard. I didn’t want to depend on our hosts for that, and I didn’t want too much shoving from behind on the part of Seamus and his mate, but with Lynde at the top of the ladder to grab me by the arms I was able to clamber on board with a bit more grace than I had displayed on the other end.
I brushed down the front of my dress and Lynde arranged my train behind, and when the last two of our escort had swarmed up behind us, we went forward to the receiving party.
The three captains were there, of course, and I was interested to see that Masters had thought it was worth dressing up a little more for this part, with a fine linen shirt and a blue coat instead of a brown one. The Gull’s crew was lined up in rows just like the Porteous’ had been this afternoon, and I wondered if that was habitual for pirate crews or if Long Bob had been more impressed by his reception than he had made himself out to be. Pirates do not wear uniforms, of course, so the effect was not as tidy as it was on the naval ship, but the gay individuality of their working clothes certainly made them more interesting to look at.
“Good evening, young Dulcie,” said Long Bob. “You honor us with your company, and I can promise you won’t regret it.” He turned to the ranked men. “How about three cheers for the princess, boys?”
And cheer they did, full throated and gleeful, flinging their fists into the air. At the end of the cheer they scattered back to their business, some climbing cat-like into the rigging and some disappearing below deck. Just the three captains remained, and Long Bob stepped forward.
“Did you bring the treaty, young Dulcie?” He was uncharacteristically solemn, and I gestured to Lynde, who opened the pouch at her waist and brought out the scroll. Long Bob read through it, and handed it to Herring, who made a long job of it before finally wiping his forehead and handing it to Masters. Masters read it, handed it back to me, and stepped back expectantly.
Long Bob proceeded to astonish Lynde and our contingent by taking out an immense horn-handled dagger with a wickedly sharp tip. Mother had told me what to expect, but I didn’t know the knife would be so large, and I’m afraid my apprehension showed. The leader of our escort hissed his breath in between his teeth and Lynde moved as if to stand in front of me.
“It’s all right,” I said quickly, and was disgusted to find that my voice had gone away into my head. “It’s all right,” I said again, normally. “This is part of the ceremony.”
So Lynde fell back and the escort drew in around me, and Long Bob took my finger and pricked it with the very tip of his knife with the tenderness of someone changing a baby. There was another gasp when everyone saw the blood, but Long Bob ignored them.
“Excellent,” he said, and I made a fingerprint in blood on the scroll. “Hook!”
Herring came up with a bottle of spirit and a clean rag and fussed over my hand, and then Long Bob pricked his own finger and did the same thing, and then Herring and Masters in their turn.
“There, now,” Long Bob said. “With that out of the way, we can have ourselves a feast!” And the other two captains nodded and smiled as though the feast was what everyone was here for, and we all knew it.
(to be continued)
An adventure sounds like a nice thing to have, and I hope that once it’s over I shall be in a position to remember it fondly, but just at the moment there’s no guarantee of that – quite the contrary, actually. I am trying my best to be very calm and logical about writing it down, but I don’t feel at all that way inside. One never thinks about that sort of thing when one hears the old stories.
We had no inkling of what might happen when we went over to the Golden Gull at sunset – me in my best, Lynde in her leathers, and four large and musclebound seamen in their dress uniforms. The captain seemed back in the swithers about letting me go, but there being nothing he could do about it short of putting me in restraint, which would get him in even more trouble, he bowed stiffly over my hand and stood on the deck radiating disapproval as we climbed down to the boat.
A rope ladder is not the easiest situation to negotiate in a court dress with a train, but at the slight sacrifice of my dignity I kept it out of the way long enough to tip ignominiously into my seat. The rowers got us to the Golden Gull in double-quick time, which made Lynde turn a bit green around the gills but which, as I explained to her, at least got it over with quickly. She didn’t seem to quite see that bit of philosophy, but we were there before she had the chance to give it too much thought.
We could see Long Bob’s immense beard smiling at us from the deck as we bumped up against the side. “Halloo!” he bellowed. “Drop a ladder for our guests, boys!”
“Me and Jemmy will go up first,” said the leader of our escort grimly. “If we don’t holler safe, Seamus will pull like hell back to the Porteous, and give the alarm.”
But of course he “hollered safe” right away, although he sounded a little disappointed about it, and we made the boat fast and Lynde went next so she could haul me aboard. I didn’t want to depend on our hosts for that, and I didn’t want too much shoving from behind on the part of Seamus and his mate, but with Lynde at the top of the ladder to grab me by the arms I was able to clamber on board with a bit more grace than I had displayed on the other end.
I brushed down the front of my dress and Lynde arranged my train behind, and when the last two of our escort had swarmed up behind us, we went forward to the receiving party.
The three captains were there, of course, and I was interested to see that Masters had thought it was worth dressing up a little more for this part, with a fine linen shirt and a blue coat instead of a brown one. The Gull’s crew was lined up in rows just like the Porteous’ had been this afternoon, and I wondered if that was habitual for pirate crews or if Long Bob had been more impressed by his reception than he had made himself out to be. Pirates do not wear uniforms, of course, so the effect was not as tidy as it was on the naval ship, but the gay individuality of their working clothes certainly made them more interesting to look at.
“Good evening, young Dulcie,” said Long Bob. “You honor us with your company, and I can promise you won’t regret it.” He turned to the ranked men. “How about three cheers for the princess, boys?”
And cheer they did, full throated and gleeful, flinging their fists into the air. At the end of the cheer they scattered back to their business, some climbing cat-like into the rigging and some disappearing below deck. Just the three captains remained, and Long Bob stepped forward.
“Did you bring the treaty, young Dulcie?” He was uncharacteristically solemn, and I gestured to Lynde, who opened the pouch at her waist and brought out the scroll. Long Bob read through it, and handed it to Herring, who made a long job of it before finally wiping his forehead and handing it to Masters. Masters read it, handed it back to me, and stepped back expectantly.
Long Bob proceeded to astonish Lynde and our contingent by taking out an immense horn-handled dagger with a wickedly sharp tip. Mother had told me what to expect, but I didn’t know the knife would be so large, and I’m afraid my apprehension showed. The leader of our escort hissed his breath in between his teeth and Lynde moved as if to stand in front of me.
“It’s all right,” I said quickly, and was disgusted to find that my voice had gone away into my head. “It’s all right,” I said again, normally. “This is part of the ceremony.”
So Lynde fell back and the escort drew in around me, and Long Bob took my finger and pricked it with the very tip of his knife with the tenderness of someone changing a baby. There was another gasp when everyone saw the blood, but Long Bob ignored them.
“Excellent,” he said, and I made a fingerprint in blood on the scroll. “Hook!”
Herring came up with a bottle of spirit and a clean rag and fussed over my hand, and then Long Bob pricked his own finger and did the same thing, and then Herring and Masters in their turn.
“There, now,” Long Bob said. “With that out of the way, we can have ourselves a feast!” And the other two captains nodded and smiled as though the feast was what everyone was here for, and we all knew it.
(to be continued)
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
In Which the Princess Meets Some Relations
From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:
Heavens! I’ve certainly been welcomed with all the panoply of the pirate kin – and quite a panoply it is!
They were already at anchor when we hove into view, and what a festival of flags and bunting, and colorful paint and costumes they were, in comparison with the drab and uniform utility of the navy. There were three of them: two sizable barks, and an immense flagship, a little distance apart, so that when we hove up ourselves we made quite a little archipelago in the middle of the open water.
I will say for our captain that although regulations constrained him from competing in the matter of flags and bunting, he was not to be outdone in clean maneuvers and naval etiquette. We barreled stoutly at them until I thought the captain had fallen asleep, and then he barked out an order. There was a great sound of flapping in the rigging, and we suddenly seemed to curtsy, swerve, and edge up into the archipelago almost completely sideways on. The captain barked again; we glided to a halt, and the sailors slid out of the rigging and down the mast with the smartness of acrobats, to stand at attention in rows on the deck.
The flagship dropped a boat, and their boarding party came gliding up with two sweating sailors toiling away at oar, two passengers sitting squarely and with dignity in the stern, and a giant of a man standing astride the bow, with his legs taking the motion of the boat occasionally, but otherwise with no concession to the fact that he was not standing unconcernedly on land.
They made fast to our side and swarmed up the ladder with the grace and alacrity of men for whom the presence of a ladder cannot be relied upon when boarding a ship not their own. First the oarsmen, to stand at attention on either side of the ladder, then the pair from the stern, and finally the giant, who identified the players of importance in a half-second glance and strode forward.
He ignored the ranked seamen, gave a correctly modish nod and a brief “sir” to the captain, and came directly to me and took my hands in his.
“Ah, now if it isn’t little Dulcie after all these years,” he said in a resonating velvet voice rather like Father’s, except that Father’s is definitely golden and this was much more of a rich mahogany. “Sure, and I would recognize you anywhere by your resemblance to your ma.”
It was in every way the behavior of a long-lost uncle, and I wondered if he was one. He seemed the right age to be Mother’s contemporary, he had obviously known her well, and he certainly had her unconventional social grace – it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if that turned out to be inherited. He looked even larger up close, overtopping even Lynde by half a head, so that I only came up to about the middle of his chest and had to crick my neck to look at him. His muscles were superb, his clothing was as various as motley, his luxuriant black hair and beard were curled into careful ringlets and on his head was an immense black hat which, after releasing my hands at the end of a prolonged and almost painful squeeze, he swept off and made an elegant bow over one leg.
The captain, who had been as jumpy as a cat the entire journey at the thought of running across pirates on purpose, cleared his throat in a disapproving manner. “The princess will not know your name, any more than I do,” he remarked distantly, “sir.”
The giant looked astonished. “Sure and I’m Captain Robert Langstrom of the Golden Gull – Long Bob Langstrom that was childhood sweethearts with her blessed ma before ever his majesty entered the picture. The little lady will surely know me from my description.” And he beamed – which put me in a bind, of course, since while Mother had certainly told me who I was going to be meeting, and mentioned on more than one occasion her childhood sweetheart Long Bob Langstrom, to say that I had known anything about what to expect would have been wildly overstating the case.
So I said the only thing I could, which was “Oh, yes,” and smiled my widest. “Of course, Mother talks about you all the time. I knew you immediately. Thank you so much for agreeing to receive me.”
I thought by the end that I was beginning to overdo the emphasis but Long Bob seemed accustomed enough to emphasis where he was concerned and began to coruscate visibly.
“There now, you see?” he said, dealing the captain a friendly buffet on the shoulder, which made him sway though he caught himself from stumbling. “We are all family here.”
He turned back to his attendants. “This is your great-uncle, Captain Jem Herring of the Blood Wind.” He indicated a short, tubby man in a wildly eclectic garb, each component of which was new and clean and obviously intended for state occasions, but which seemed to have nothing to do with the whole. There were dimples in every corner of his round face, and one of his legs was missing from the knee and had been replaced with a peg. He limped forward to squeeze my hands in his turn.
“Blessed day for us to see you here, young Dulcie,” he said. “Your ma was the apple of our eye since she was a baby.”
“And this is Captain Jock Masters of the Sad Sarah, your second cousin once removed.” Captain Jock was almost as tall as Long Bob but nowhere near as broad, and much younger than the other two – about thirty, I thought. He was very handsome in a ruffian kind of way: dark and picturesque but with unexpected pale gray eyes that made him look like a brooding eagle. He was dressed for utility rather than show, but he looked so distinguished in himself that his clothes seemed distinguished by association. He bowed over my hand with an offhand courtesy.
“Your majesty,” he said, and then surprised everyone by looking over my shoulder and bowing to Lynde, who was wearing her fighting leathers and standing at attention.
“Mistress,” he said with courtesy infinitesimally less offhand, and his eagle eyes softened into a smile. I heard Lynde give a slight gasp – ever since we hove in, even the captain had treated her like one of his own men, and neither Long Bob and Jem Herring had acknowledged her at all – but she collected herself in a moment and gave a cool military “sir,” which seemed to satisfy Masters for the time being.
“Now,” said, Long Bob, “we can take you over to the Golden Gull and get this signing business over before the feast.”
Our captain didn’t like that. “My orders did not include allowing the princess to leave the ship,” he said. “I am afraid that any business you have with her will have to be conducted here.”
Long Bob looked at the captain from his great height, and in his silence seemed to gain menace. Herring and Masters stood quietly and at ease, and Herring even twinkled a little. I had the feeling he wanted to wink and couldn’t.
Our captain stood straight and looked Long Bob in the eye, but he was sweating lightly in spite of the breeze, and the tension in the air was palpable. I saw one or two of the seamen exchange glances, and the officers were looking definitely concerned by the time Long Bob spoke.
His great voice was gentle and courteous, but it was immediately evident that there would be no compromise. “Sure and I’m sorry to put you in such a bind, captain,” he said. “But I’m afraid that isn’t going to be an option. Our rules are very strict on that point, and I represent a great many men who would not be willing to put themselves in danger for a monarchy that didn’t have trust in them.”
The captain clearly didn’t know how to handle the situation – his distrust was plain, and he obviously assumed that I’d be taken for ransom in the blink of an eye, but it was no part of his orders to keep me from signing a crucial treaty. I decided it was time for me to weigh in.
“Of course I’ll go,” I said. “These are my kin. You’ve no need to worry.”
The captain cleared his throat. “If those are your orders, your majesty, then they must be carried out. But I insist on augmenting your bodyguard with at least four of my own men.”
Long Bob thumped the captain on the shoulder again and broke into a hearty laugh. “Bless you, man, there’s plenty of room and enough food for a platoon. You’re invited yourself, and as many men as you’d like. I’ll wager you’ve never sat up to a pirate feast before – it’s something to remember!”
So we are to go over to the Golden Gull at sunset, in our own boat with the requisite four men. The captain chose to stay – he still hasn’t convinced himself that his vessel won’t be swarmed while he is over there, but on the other hand it is evident that he will be on pins and needles for every moment I am out of his sight. It’s a difficult situation and I feel for him, but needs must – and in any case, I can’t imagine that anything will happen to me over there. They obviously worshipped Mother, and they certainly wouldn’t bring harm to one of their own.
Heavens! I’ve certainly been welcomed with all the panoply of the pirate kin – and quite a panoply it is!
They were already at anchor when we hove into view, and what a festival of flags and bunting, and colorful paint and costumes they were, in comparison with the drab and uniform utility of the navy. There were three of them: two sizable barks, and an immense flagship, a little distance apart, so that when we hove up ourselves we made quite a little archipelago in the middle of the open water.
I will say for our captain that although regulations constrained him from competing in the matter of flags and bunting, he was not to be outdone in clean maneuvers and naval etiquette. We barreled stoutly at them until I thought the captain had fallen asleep, and then he barked out an order. There was a great sound of flapping in the rigging, and we suddenly seemed to curtsy, swerve, and edge up into the archipelago almost completely sideways on. The captain barked again; we glided to a halt, and the sailors slid out of the rigging and down the mast with the smartness of acrobats, to stand at attention in rows on the deck.
The flagship dropped a boat, and their boarding party came gliding up with two sweating sailors toiling away at oar, two passengers sitting squarely and with dignity in the stern, and a giant of a man standing astride the bow, with his legs taking the motion of the boat occasionally, but otherwise with no concession to the fact that he was not standing unconcernedly on land.
They made fast to our side and swarmed up the ladder with the grace and alacrity of men for whom the presence of a ladder cannot be relied upon when boarding a ship not their own. First the oarsmen, to stand at attention on either side of the ladder, then the pair from the stern, and finally the giant, who identified the players of importance in a half-second glance and strode forward.
He ignored the ranked seamen, gave a correctly modish nod and a brief “sir” to the captain, and came directly to me and took my hands in his.
“Ah, now if it isn’t little Dulcie after all these years,” he said in a resonating velvet voice rather like Father’s, except that Father’s is definitely golden and this was much more of a rich mahogany. “Sure, and I would recognize you anywhere by your resemblance to your ma.”
It was in every way the behavior of a long-lost uncle, and I wondered if he was one. He seemed the right age to be Mother’s contemporary, he had obviously known her well, and he certainly had her unconventional social grace – it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if that turned out to be inherited. He looked even larger up close, overtopping even Lynde by half a head, so that I only came up to about the middle of his chest and had to crick my neck to look at him. His muscles were superb, his clothing was as various as motley, his luxuriant black hair and beard were curled into careful ringlets and on his head was an immense black hat which, after releasing my hands at the end of a prolonged and almost painful squeeze, he swept off and made an elegant bow over one leg.
The captain, who had been as jumpy as a cat the entire journey at the thought of running across pirates on purpose, cleared his throat in a disapproving manner. “The princess will not know your name, any more than I do,” he remarked distantly, “sir.”
The giant looked astonished. “Sure and I’m Captain Robert Langstrom of the Golden Gull – Long Bob Langstrom that was childhood sweethearts with her blessed ma before ever his majesty entered the picture. The little lady will surely know me from my description.” And he beamed – which put me in a bind, of course, since while Mother had certainly told me who I was going to be meeting, and mentioned on more than one occasion her childhood sweetheart Long Bob Langstrom, to say that I had known anything about what to expect would have been wildly overstating the case.
So I said the only thing I could, which was “Oh, yes,” and smiled my widest. “Of course, Mother talks about you all the time. I knew you immediately. Thank you so much for agreeing to receive me.”
I thought by the end that I was beginning to overdo the emphasis but Long Bob seemed accustomed enough to emphasis where he was concerned and began to coruscate visibly.
“There now, you see?” he said, dealing the captain a friendly buffet on the shoulder, which made him sway though he caught himself from stumbling. “We are all family here.”
He turned back to his attendants. “This is your great-uncle, Captain Jem Herring of the Blood Wind.” He indicated a short, tubby man in a wildly eclectic garb, each component of which was new and clean and obviously intended for state occasions, but which seemed to have nothing to do with the whole. There were dimples in every corner of his round face, and one of his legs was missing from the knee and had been replaced with a peg. He limped forward to squeeze my hands in his turn.
“Blessed day for us to see you here, young Dulcie,” he said. “Your ma was the apple of our eye since she was a baby.”
“And this is Captain Jock Masters of the Sad Sarah, your second cousin once removed.” Captain Jock was almost as tall as Long Bob but nowhere near as broad, and much younger than the other two – about thirty, I thought. He was very handsome in a ruffian kind of way: dark and picturesque but with unexpected pale gray eyes that made him look like a brooding eagle. He was dressed for utility rather than show, but he looked so distinguished in himself that his clothes seemed distinguished by association. He bowed over my hand with an offhand courtesy.
“Your majesty,” he said, and then surprised everyone by looking over my shoulder and bowing to Lynde, who was wearing her fighting leathers and standing at attention.
“Mistress,” he said with courtesy infinitesimally less offhand, and his eagle eyes softened into a smile. I heard Lynde give a slight gasp – ever since we hove in, even the captain had treated her like one of his own men, and neither Long Bob and Jem Herring had acknowledged her at all – but she collected herself in a moment and gave a cool military “sir,” which seemed to satisfy Masters for the time being.
“Now,” said, Long Bob, “we can take you over to the Golden Gull and get this signing business over before the feast.”
Our captain didn’t like that. “My orders did not include allowing the princess to leave the ship,” he said. “I am afraid that any business you have with her will have to be conducted here.”
Long Bob looked at the captain from his great height, and in his silence seemed to gain menace. Herring and Masters stood quietly and at ease, and Herring even twinkled a little. I had the feeling he wanted to wink and couldn’t.
Our captain stood straight and looked Long Bob in the eye, but he was sweating lightly in spite of the breeze, and the tension in the air was palpable. I saw one or two of the seamen exchange glances, and the officers were looking definitely concerned by the time Long Bob spoke.
His great voice was gentle and courteous, but it was immediately evident that there would be no compromise. “Sure and I’m sorry to put you in such a bind, captain,” he said. “But I’m afraid that isn’t going to be an option. Our rules are very strict on that point, and I represent a great many men who would not be willing to put themselves in danger for a monarchy that didn’t have trust in them.”
The captain clearly didn’t know how to handle the situation – his distrust was plain, and he obviously assumed that I’d be taken for ransom in the blink of an eye, but it was no part of his orders to keep me from signing a crucial treaty. I decided it was time for me to weigh in.
“Of course I’ll go,” I said. “These are my kin. You’ve no need to worry.”
The captain cleared his throat. “If those are your orders, your majesty, then they must be carried out. But I insist on augmenting your bodyguard with at least four of my own men.”
Long Bob thumped the captain on the shoulder again and broke into a hearty laugh. “Bless you, man, there’s plenty of room and enough food for a platoon. You’re invited yourself, and as many men as you’d like. I’ll wager you’ve never sat up to a pirate feast before – it’s something to remember!”
So we are to go over to the Golden Gull at sunset, in our own boat with the requisite four men. The captain chose to stay – he still hasn’t convinced himself that his vessel won’t be swarmed while he is over there, but on the other hand it is evident that he will be on pins and needles for every moment I am out of his sight. It’s a difficult situation and I feel for him, but needs must – and in any case, I can’t imagine that anything will happen to me over there. They obviously worshipped Mother, and they certainly wouldn’t bring harm to one of their own.
Friday, July 9, 2010
In Which Lynde Sees a Bit More of the World
Lynde Falconer to Master Owen Falconer:
Dear Father,
Well, here we are in Seaward, and while the journey has been full of interest, I am saddened when I remember how much farther I am from you.
We left the day before yesterday, an hour after dawn. We would have left at dawn, only Lady Winifred Fleem had to get married first. Lady Winifred is – was, I should say – the princess’ principal maid of honor, and it is difficult to imagine what the court will be like without her. Her engagement to Sir Bardolph Hingle was a shock to everyone, announced only the day before, but now that I think about it, it was brewing for a long time. The king performed the ceremony, the wedding breakfast consisted of bread and cheese in the saddle, and we were on our way by the time the sun was over the tower.
The landscape in the south is very different from the trip north to Dumcruckle. Our hills are gray and jagged, but theirs are round and green, and the farming is done on a scale to make you open your eyes. There are no patches of cultivation hewn out of the rocks as we have in the north, but smooth tilled fields for as far as the eye can see. You are probably not plowing yet, but the weather is softer here so it is almost time to sow, by my reckoning.
We stayed the first night in the town of Durrell, but yesterday brought us to the Grange, which is Sir Bardolph’s new house on the way to Seaward. His face when he brought his bride into his home was beaming like the sun itself. Lady Winifred is a bit of an armful, but he insisted upon carrying her over the threshold, and managed nobly to behave as though his burden was as light as a feather. Lady Winifred, however, is a born courtier, and managed to identify the precise moment when the needs of his pride gave way to the needs of his lower back, and made him put her down.
The entire household was standing in the hall at attention to receive their new lady, with the steward and housekeeper in front, looking apprehensive for some reason. Sir Bardolph gave a brief and correct speech introducing his bride, and everyone clapped politely, then Lady Winifred herself gave a longer speech, after which they clapped enthusiastically, and finally they introduced the princess, which made them all gasp, and the steward started to get down on his knee and said something about them being her humble servants.
“Oh, nonsense,” said the princess, and they all gasped again. “No, really. Bentlefay has citizens, not servants. Please treat me like any other guest, or I shall feel terribly lonely.”
So they smiled, and the steward got up, and we were shown to our rooms. The Grange is only a few years old, so of course it is in the newest style – a manor, not a keep, low and wide to the ground with no fortification. The rooms are similarly low and wide, large enough to be comfortable but not so vast as to be drafty, and with wide plank floors instead of flagstones, covered with richly colored rugs. There is an impression of wood and fabric instead of stone and steel, which I enjoy very much.
The Grange is very close to Seaward so we did not leave until after noon. Our parting from Lady Winifred was very emotional and the princess came closer to tears than I’ve seen her since the last war. She has pledged to come stay with us at least once a season, and Sir Bardolph backed her up, so it is only “until we meet again.” It was an easy couple of hours to Seaward, and the next leg of the journey.
I suppose it is something to be able to say that one has been to sea, and perhaps I will think so someday, but just at present I am not enamored of it. It is certainly picturesque, and the ships are impressive – there is quite a ceremony about boarding, especially when the royal family is involved. We won’t actually push off until tomorrow, but if that ceremony is half as grand as the coming on board, I will have had a lifetime’s share of pageantry. I ought to have enjoyed it, but all I could think about at the time was my stomach, and whether I could prevent myself from being sick, and if one’s face could actually turn green or if that was just a turn of phrase.
The princess was soon running about the nasty old bucket as though she had grown out of it – which I suppose she has, in a way, being of the pirate kin as she is. I asked if I could see our quarters, but the mate took one look at me and said that it was best to be on deck if I felt poorly, so I must have looked green after all. He was very kind and explained it to me carefully: that the fact of motion is only part of what can make you sick, and if you subject your stomach to the motion while your eyes think you are still (by going down to your quarters, for instance), it would be much worse.
He also said it would get better, which I’m afraid I didn’t believe, but sure enough I had got used to it in a few hours – sufficiently for the mate to allow me below, at least. I must say that the living conditions on board a ship leave much to be desired. This one is said to be a marvel of modern comfort because the men have bunks instead of hammocks, and the captain has a cabin of his own, which is apparently unheard of. He has given the cabin to us, which is fortunate, because there is no other, and we would be living in the hold if the ship had been of the old style. I thought the captain’s cabin would hold all the possible comforts that the ship had to offer, and so it does. Unfortunately, that isn’t saying much. We have a bunk, a chest, a table, a chamber pot – and that is all.
I will give this to the messenger tomorrow before we push off. We should only be at sea for a few days if everything works out as expected, so I will try to send you an account of our journey by the end of the week.
Your loving,
Lynde
Dear Father,
Well, here we are in Seaward, and while the journey has been full of interest, I am saddened when I remember how much farther I am from you.
We left the day before yesterday, an hour after dawn. We would have left at dawn, only Lady Winifred Fleem had to get married first. Lady Winifred is – was, I should say – the princess’ principal maid of honor, and it is difficult to imagine what the court will be like without her. Her engagement to Sir Bardolph Hingle was a shock to everyone, announced only the day before, but now that I think about it, it was brewing for a long time. The king performed the ceremony, the wedding breakfast consisted of bread and cheese in the saddle, and we were on our way by the time the sun was over the tower.
The landscape in the south is very different from the trip north to Dumcruckle. Our hills are gray and jagged, but theirs are round and green, and the farming is done on a scale to make you open your eyes. There are no patches of cultivation hewn out of the rocks as we have in the north, but smooth tilled fields for as far as the eye can see. You are probably not plowing yet, but the weather is softer here so it is almost time to sow, by my reckoning.
We stayed the first night in the town of Durrell, but yesterday brought us to the Grange, which is Sir Bardolph’s new house on the way to Seaward. His face when he brought his bride into his home was beaming like the sun itself. Lady Winifred is a bit of an armful, but he insisted upon carrying her over the threshold, and managed nobly to behave as though his burden was as light as a feather. Lady Winifred, however, is a born courtier, and managed to identify the precise moment when the needs of his pride gave way to the needs of his lower back, and made him put her down.
The entire household was standing in the hall at attention to receive their new lady, with the steward and housekeeper in front, looking apprehensive for some reason. Sir Bardolph gave a brief and correct speech introducing his bride, and everyone clapped politely, then Lady Winifred herself gave a longer speech, after which they clapped enthusiastically, and finally they introduced the princess, which made them all gasp, and the steward started to get down on his knee and said something about them being her humble servants.
“Oh, nonsense,” said the princess, and they all gasped again. “No, really. Bentlefay has citizens, not servants. Please treat me like any other guest, or I shall feel terribly lonely.”
So they smiled, and the steward got up, and we were shown to our rooms. The Grange is only a few years old, so of course it is in the newest style – a manor, not a keep, low and wide to the ground with no fortification. The rooms are similarly low and wide, large enough to be comfortable but not so vast as to be drafty, and with wide plank floors instead of flagstones, covered with richly colored rugs. There is an impression of wood and fabric instead of stone and steel, which I enjoy very much.
The Grange is very close to Seaward so we did not leave until after noon. Our parting from Lady Winifred was very emotional and the princess came closer to tears than I’ve seen her since the last war. She has pledged to come stay with us at least once a season, and Sir Bardolph backed her up, so it is only “until we meet again.” It was an easy couple of hours to Seaward, and the next leg of the journey.
I suppose it is something to be able to say that one has been to sea, and perhaps I will think so someday, but just at present I am not enamored of it. It is certainly picturesque, and the ships are impressive – there is quite a ceremony about boarding, especially when the royal family is involved. We won’t actually push off until tomorrow, but if that ceremony is half as grand as the coming on board, I will have had a lifetime’s share of pageantry. I ought to have enjoyed it, but all I could think about at the time was my stomach, and whether I could prevent myself from being sick, and if one’s face could actually turn green or if that was just a turn of phrase.
The princess was soon running about the nasty old bucket as though she had grown out of it – which I suppose she has, in a way, being of the pirate kin as she is. I asked if I could see our quarters, but the mate took one look at me and said that it was best to be on deck if I felt poorly, so I must have looked green after all. He was very kind and explained it to me carefully: that the fact of motion is only part of what can make you sick, and if you subject your stomach to the motion while your eyes think you are still (by going down to your quarters, for instance), it would be much worse.
He also said it would get better, which I’m afraid I didn’t believe, but sure enough I had got used to it in a few hours – sufficiently for the mate to allow me below, at least. I must say that the living conditions on board a ship leave much to be desired. This one is said to be a marvel of modern comfort because the men have bunks instead of hammocks, and the captain has a cabin of his own, which is apparently unheard of. He has given the cabin to us, which is fortunate, because there is no other, and we would be living in the hold if the ship had been of the old style. I thought the captain’s cabin would hold all the possible comforts that the ship had to offer, and so it does. Unfortunately, that isn’t saying much. We have a bunk, a chest, a table, a chamber pot – and that is all.
I will give this to the messenger tomorrow before we push off. We should only be at sea for a few days if everything works out as expected, so I will try to send you an account of our journey by the end of the week.
Your loving,
Lynde
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