Fit for Life

[Kulindahr]

Kuli,
You've been a literary busy boy. Wonderful fun!
A little concern over the ship enroute to its new duties, and what to do about certain members of their crew.

At least a somewhat humane compromise has been reached.
They will have hard work, and only "standard" rations, but at least they aren't being whipped or keel-hauled.

Bathing suits? we don't know the word! I guess that's ONE way to be able to check out your future bride - even though you don't know it, yet, lol.

And, you've got to love our resident Haudenosaunee. Wise youth - certainly not a Sophomore - for he is no fool.

A little disinformation, not corrected by the PM, to fuel the verve for battle against the "vermin".

You work hard for our literary enjoyment, sir.

Are you going to go on vacation, or is your delving into our off-world experience providing you with relaxing release?

I'm on vacation.

Posting that was the last thing I did before hitting the highway. Now, much later in the day, after some wandering toward my eventual goal, mixed with stops for supplies (and rearranging the cargo -- I need a midshipman!), I pause by another highway for dinner and some wifi.

Thanks for its appearance is due to a fan who has not posted here.

Clothed swimming is a luxury for a higher economic level -- the only such thing which ever appeared before the emergence of a true middle class were actually coverings meant to entice, not to hide anything.

Some of these disparate strands are destined to merge, perhaps not in the next chapter, but soon.

And if you only knew what Lord Owen knows.... and Baron Fox, of course.

 

[DonQuixote]

I read your comment last night, but didn't reply -
You do so love to tease us!

 

[Kyanimal]

WOW! I'm away for a bit, and return to copious LIFE being imbued to "Fit"!

In addition to all of your recent activities, Portland, etc., you're truly Amazing, Kuli!

There is too much here to comment on! These updates have been Overwhelming!
My appreciation for all of it is without Bounds! Thank You!, SIR!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

190
Pass or Fail​

Rita noticed Tanner’s expression first. “You look like you had a revelation”, she commented. Rigel and Elizabeth looked up from their game of Chinese checkers.

“A profound one”, the latter ventured, pausing in moving a piece – it should have been a marble, to Rigel’s thinking, but since there weren’t any marbles on Resolute, it was a red pebble taken from a beach near Chester – which, being uninhabitable, since it was on a drifting bar moved by current and storm, wasn’t subject to the ban on going ashore. She looked down again, and completed her move, jumping one of Rigel’s pieces along the way.

“Tell it, Tanner”, Rigel requested. The tall former fundamentalist glanced at Elizabeth, clearly hesitant.

“If you can tell Rigel, you can tell me”, she admonished. “Did you forget I have excellent peripheral vision?”

Tanner blinked – he had. Now he looked to Rigel in open appeal, drawing a soft laugh from Elizabeth.

Rigel looked across the game board, refusing to admit to himself his gaze was fond. “I agree with Meriel”, he said. “Tell.”

Tanner looked a little uncomfortable, but shrugged and sat – crossed-legged on the deck, something they’d all grown accustomed to in their brief voyaging. “I walked in on Austin and one of the midshipmen”, he confessed.

“Austin waved at you”, a grinning Rita guessed.

Tanner grinned weakly. “They both did. But it was weird – that would have made me run, back... well, you know, Rye. Instead it was like an invitation, and I stayed, for a minute or so.” His pause was long, enough for Rigel and Elizabeth to play three quiet turns each, the former continuing to lose ground to the latter.
“I realized that Pastor Cantrell was right about sex, but really wrong. Sex is about life, but that doesn’t mean it’s just about procreation. Procreation is a side effect, not a purpose.” Rigel’s military commander stood and gripped the rail, clearly uncomfortable with his own words. “The purpose is to unite two people – how can theologians not see that? God is different people–“

“Persons”, came Oran’s voice. They all looked up to see the Scout stretched out on the spar above them, perfectly balanced, perfectly at ease, watching the sky go by.

“Okay, ‘Persons’”, Tanner agreed. “But they’re united persons, united into one – in one, okay, Oran? And God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our own image, male and female’ – well, His image is declared right there, in ‘Us’. We’re male and female to make us like God – multiple, but unified. So sex is here to lift people to be unified, or to celebrate their unity, or both.” Words stopped while Tanner turned and sat on the rail. “God isn’t unified so He can create, He creates because He’s unified. And He doesn’t have to create! Sex has to be the same way, if we’re in God’s image: we have sex to be unified, not to create. If He meant it for creating, for procreation, the girl would get pregnant every time. But she doesn’t, so it’s a side effect, not a purpose.”

“Or God’s a really sloppy engineer – Devon said that once, about something”, Oran contributed.

“Which He isn’t”, Tanner agreed. “So sex isn’t for procreation. I’d almost say it’s for being like God, but....”

Rita laughed. “Tanner, you did say that – it’s a way to make us unified, like God is.”

He looked at his feet. “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, that means sex doesn’t have to result in procreation, because God doesn’t always make it result in that.”

“So when we take steps to not get pregnant, we’re just being like God?” Oran mused. “Interesting idea.”

“And sex between two men is godly, because it unifies them?” Elizabeth asked. “I confess I am not happy with that.”

“You’re not happy with anyone not reproducing”, Rita pointed out. “For you, that’s a survival imperative.”

Elizabeth looked even more serious. “Some bishops say this of God’s laws in the Old Testament, that they were only for a time, for the people of Israel to survive. Are morals nothing but rules for survival, then?” She knew her answer, but how Rigel believed was important.

It was a question Professor Soovik had raised in his ethics class, a cross-disciplinary course between anthropology and philosophy, but Rigel had never gotten interested in it. His paper on “The Morals a Society Can Afford” had been good enough for a B grade: hardly brilliant, definitely not inspired. His result hadn’t even satisfied him personally, but with a nineteen credit hour course load he’d had to invest his efforts where most needed – like astronomy, where he had to get a B or better for the course to fulfill a science requirement.

Yet his thoughts didn’t linger there long, except to remind him that while there are morals adopted by societies only once they have the wealth and leisure to allow for those morals, there were nevertheless a core set held by essentially every human society ever examined. The church said it was God’s law written on men’s hearts, but if so, it was a very basic law. Ryan had argued that all of them in fact stemmed from one desire of all people, to be treated fairly and not harmed, and thus could be summed up in the Golden Rule, which was merely a summation of principles for enlightened self-interest, and thus required no God to explain its provenance.

Someone had answered that – Luke? Yes, Luke Zimmerhoff, a stud as fit as any athlete at the university, with a face and body that had almost every gal and many guys drooling over him, yet had been oblivious, because for him life was found in the mind. Luke had pointed out that a rational Creator would have endowed intelligent creatures with the reason sufficient to see the sense of whatever rules the Deity might set forth, as well as the reason with which to teach and explain them to the young, so that being able to deduce good behavior by reason was in fact exactly what one should expect; further, that the Creator’s way of writing this law on people’s hearts would be to integrate it into them – the meaning of “heart” being the core of their beings – in such a way that even apart from the Creator, that law would be reasonable and universal. Luke had argued beyond that, asserting that this law was inherent to intelligent creatures as we know them – but that was the point where he’d lost Rigel.

So what did he, Rigel, believe? Many morals were enforced by power– And that was it! He’d made a case for power and self-interest as sort of the two sides of things. “No, they’re not just survival, though they are that. The basic ones, like don’t steal, are actually part of us – like the Bible says, written on our hearts, but it’s not like we were blank, like that guy’s ‘tabla rossa’ or whatever, and God wrote them, it’s part of who we are, part of what it means to be human. We can figure them out for ourselves if we think about it, because of that. We get the Golden Rule that way – it just means that there are ways we want to be treated, so treat others that way, and it works because every one of us really wants the same things from others – fairness, and everything. We don’t want to be killed, or beaten up, or have our stuff stolen. We know that, and it doesn’t take much to figure out that’s what other people want – or don’t want.
“We need the commands, though, because we also want more. We want to have good things, and be comfortable, and have plenty to eat, and all that. And when we have power, we might think that it’s okay to take things from other people, because we can – even killing them to do it. And when we have power like that and do that, and no one stops us, sometimes we think that God must approve, so we tell ourselves it’s okay. The commandments, the rules, are there to remind us of the things we actually already know, but for some reason want to ignore.” Unbidden his thoughts jumped north.

Rita, knowing him well, said it out loud. “The inquisition. They break all the commandments, because they think God approves of them.”

“Right. And we have the commandments stated for everyone to know so that if we have the power, we can tell them to stop, and everyone will know we’re right.”

“Or just kill them all”, Oran suggested.

“No”, declared Rigel emphatically. “Those who ask for mercy get mercy – they might change their minds.”

“You mean repent”, Elizabeth offered softly.

Rigel felt drawn to her; she understood! “Yeah, I do. Hey – if we were that screwed up, and someone had the power to kill us, wouldn’t we want a chance to do things right? I mean, we might not think so then, but looking at it now, wouldn’t we want a chance to repent?”

“Blessed are the merciful”, Oran quoted. “Mercy is under the Golden Rule, too.”

“Definitely”, Rigel agreed. “So lots of rules are just because that’s the way we want to be treated. The priests will say God wrote them on our hearts, others might say they’re just logical. I think that’s the same thing.
“And all those rules help for survival, but they’re not there for survival. A rule for survival might be, ‘No fires on the savanna in the dry season’. But if your tribe or whatever moves from the savanna to the mountains, that rule is silly.’

‘Not totally”, Oran disagreed. He turned and hung from his knees. “There’s a principle in it to learn from. I’d say it’s, ‘Don’t do things that can destroy the place you live.’ So if you moved to the mountains, it might mean, ‘Don’t cut rock from under the cliff above the camp’.”

“I like that”, Rigel responded. “So ancient Israel got laws about how to do laundry and how to breed animals and which ones they could eat, who not to marry, and lots more. And they were all there for survival, just like the rule about fires in the dry season. Oh, maybe some were explanations of ways to focus on unity, but the point is that once there wasn’t any Israel any more, those were all gone. Once better methods for preserving meat had been found, those rules were outdated, too.
“But”, he continued after a pause, “there are rules that go beyond that – ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’ is just the Golden Rule in different words, but ‘Treat others as more important than yourself’ is getting into a different space, and ‘Love one another as I loved you’ is off into a really alien zone.
“Um... did I answer the question?”

Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek. “You answered mine.” Rigel didn’t know it, but he had just passed a major test for the hand of the Queen of Lost Britain.



Ryan laughed. “You made a what?”

“Bun sausage machine. Oh – you call them ‘hot dogs’. That’s a weird name – where’d it come from?”

Rigel’s regent shrugged. “Heck if I know. They get called ‘frankfurters’, too, and I don’t think they have anything to do with Germany. So do you have a sample of the product?”

“Affirmative. You’ll see them for lunch – I just wanted to let you know ahead of time.”

Behind closed eyes Ryan savored memories of barbecues, cookouts, camping trips with dirt in the mix, and just quick meals at the university. It would be a touch of home, a sort of anchor. “Why?” he inquired softly, without moving.

“We Yankees and you Vortex have them in common. They’re easy. And a lot of us are homesick enough, lost enough – truly, without the ability to get home, it’s more desolation. And it’s gotten worse: Landon used to help everyone by... I don’t know, really, but others have said he made them feel tuned to this place. Your Crystal said he helped her feel like she’s part of the melody here, not some invader fighting for a place.
“But Loren especially thought touches of home would help. It would seem more our world if things that are common in our lives were here. Aaron and Nymphette suggested food, because it’s central – we take nourishment from it and socialize around it.”

“I should knight them”, Ryan declared seriously. “Something like this can be bigger than winning a battle.”

But his visiting Yankee was shaking his head. “Knighthood here means arms. But the Empire had noble Orders equivalent to knighthood – that would be appropriate. Yet, nothing should be said until everyone has tried the sausages. They’re a mix of pork and venison, not terribly what we’re used to.”

Ryan chuckled. “We’ll work on that – actually, Eraigh is working on that: next year’s breeding rate from all our livestock will be phenomenal – by promise of the Druid of the Hall to the Lord Regent of the Realm.”



Oran saw it first. “Sail off the port bow!” he sang out, hoping he’d gotten it right. The ship’s boy – a position often held by youngsters not quite technically old enough to be midshipmen but who showed every evidence of being capable of holding that rank – shook his head slightly without taking his eyes off the horizon. A handful of seconds later, he, too, called out the sighting. By then, Oran had espied a second sail, but instead of shouting, he said quietly, “There’s a second one, beyond the first, to our port of it.” Soon the boy found it and called the information down.

“They’re sailing together”, Oran decided. “And getting closer.”

“A battle!” the boy concluded exuberantly. “I’m going to tell the deck.” Before the sentence was complete he’d swung off his perch and was zipping down a line – Oran thought it was called a ratline, but wouldn’t have bet on it. He laughed at himself; Rigel had become a regular sailor, and could probably name the planks on the hull, yet here he was, up atop the mainmast without knowing the names of anything – except spars – on the way up or down. He didn’t even know who was officer of the deck at the moment – not that he troubled himself trying to remember; if it wasn’t the captain himself, Heath would be called–

It was Heath; he could hear the captain’s voice though not make out the words. Their nature became obvious soon enough, as hands raced madly into the... shrouds? Oran guessed. Within a score of seconds, every sail on the three masts was catching wind. The added canvas came on so suddenly he could feel the ship vibrate as it surged ahead. Then he saw that Amazons were setting out jibs – if he had that right! – the triangular sails at the bow. He knew the term “spinnaker” from home, and wondered if that applied to one of them.

The ship’s boy was back, having helped with the main topsail – that term was easy, Oran thought, except he’d forgotten that on such a tall ship, the topsail was no longer the sail on the top of a mast. “It’s a fight”, was the word. “Captain’s going to go see who.” Briefly he looked unhappy. “He’s sending a midshipman to identify the ships.” Oran understood the emotion; the boy saw it as stealing some of his glory. “I know most of the fleet’s ship’s!” Oran said nothing; he knew he wouldn’t be able to identify a ship unless he read the name off the hull.

“Far one’s the Hesperus”, the ship’s boy announced when the midshipman arrived in “at sea” summer uniform, which consisted of a very short version of the light summer pants, and a sash from right shoulder to the opposite hip, which served to carry rank insignia.

The midshipman snorted as he swung up to the mast’s very tip. “If you weren’t a lord’s brat”, he muttered loudly. Then, grudgingly, “Correct on Hesperus. Her dance partner there is Invigorous – that’s Earl Chadwick’s new toy. I think it’s a grudge match”, he added with a grin as he slid down. His face went serious. “Chadwick’s stubborn to a fault, isn’t he, Bert?”

The ship’s boy, whom Oran now knew as Bert, nodded. “My da says he’s like a mule on the wrong side of a barn wall.”

Oran couldn’t decide what that meant. “Which side is that?” he asked.

“The one he’s on”, the midshipman replied. “The mule always wants to be on the other side, so he butts his head on it till he gets through. If you lead him through the door and take him inside that wall, he’ll look at it, and proceed to butt his head against it.”


Elizabeth looked unhappy. “Those two will get people killed!” she fumed.

“And you can’t do anything about it”, added Kevin MacNeil. “Though I suppose, Meriel, you could make a ‘suggestion’ to Captain Heath.”

But Heath was ahead of them. They’d chased down the feuding vessels; during that time only a few ranging shots had been exchanged. Now, though, things were getting more serious. “My lady–“ His voice was drowned out by the sound of a broadside.”

“He’s wasting shot”, Elizabeth commented. “Just to get in the first hit. And they’ll go on pounding, the two fools, till the ships are battered and broken!”

“I was going to ask, Lady Meriel, if you would like us to join the fray. We have far superior speed, a spot of improvement over their range, and the element of surprise – they’ve seen us coming, but most certainly will have decided we’re here for the spectacle.”

Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “Join in – I hadn’t thought of that. Captain, could we possibly capture Hesperus, and with two vessels force lord Chadwick to give over?”

Heath frowned and shrugged. “We could, but that would require maneuvering, which would give away our intent. I’d far rather take whichever first comes to hand. Soon enough one will be turning in hopes of raking the other’s stern. If that happens as we arrive, we could come alongside, and board, while their attention is on the other ship.”

“And if not, then we bestow a broadside on whoever’s closest?” MacNeil inquired.

“Or whichever presents its stern”, Heath replied. “Capture, or disable, then engage the other.”

“I’m certainly getting my coin’s worth”, Elizabeth commented, playing “Meriel” quite thoroughly. “The safest place in one of these engagements is up the masts, is it not?”

In a real battle that would have been a foolish place, since cannonballs occasionally ripped through sails and rigging in an attempt to deny the other ship maneuverability. In the duels, with their giant paint balls, shot was rarely wasted higher than the lowest yardarm. “I advise topsail height for the best view, my lady”, the captain replied. “And please – make sure all our guests are safely there; I would not be one to risk the Lords of the Admiralty’s wrath by losing one of these unofficial ambassadors in a game.”



Antonio thumped the table in frustration. “Percy, there has to be something! You can’t have just sat on your islands and ignored the world!”

Lord Sidmuth sighed. His was, he admitted, a plodding disposition: to him, the patient pursuit of a goal, step by careful step, was a delight. It had in fact been a motivation for wishing to oversee new settlements – to set them out in orderly fashion, advancing item by item by a reasoned plan. But this Count de la Vega, Grand Earl Rigel’s official hunter – an odd matter, in itself – had no such patience; to him, a thing was to be pursued and in short order caught, or lay in wait for and brought down when it appeared. He was organized and ready to go, lancers and archers and some riflemen all outfitted and supplied... and growing irritable over waiting, just as their commander.

“You cannot go to the libraries, Antonio”, he reminded the man who was becoming a friend. “Nor would it be swiftest. No, in this we hunt as does the spider, waiting in the web for things to come to it.
“Do not despair. There are yet three great libraries we have not heard from – the Royal at the University, the Burl at Oakwood,, and Shamrock Hall at Tara Hold. And two very old ones – Radcliff Hall, at Radcliff, and the Devon Academy, in Dennishire.” He frowned at that last; were the old Duke still strong and able, that response would have been swift. “So we wait.”

“I could wish the Aliens would attack – fighting would be better than waiting. Granger’s got the Wall sound and complete now, with the cannon towers complete enough to set cannon on top” – the insides of those towers were another matter, reminding Antonio of the way Devon had built only structure for a large section of Cavern Castle and finished only the most important parts. “And General McCutcheon’s troops have their barracks within ten minutes of the Wall, right between it and Port Shaugnessey instead of clear back at Sidmuth. Besides them, there’s the Cossack Foot Volunteers” – the two shared a chuckle, as it was doubtful there was a drop of Cossack blood in the people of Bobrinskigrad – “and though they aren’t really trained, they do number a full thousand, which is a serious reserve. Let the Aliens come – they won’t get on top of the Wall this time!”

“As General McCutcheon and Colonel Granger agree with you, I shall not disagree. However”, Sidmuth said, emphasizing the word, “I do not share your wish for battle, even should it come with no injury to our side.”

Antonio chuckled. “I know, you’d rather have them for building things. Did that village of yours get finished, with defenses?”

“Timber, you mean?” Sidmuth suppressed a wince at the name, which was not one he would have chosen, but which was nevertheless appropriate, since the sole purpose of the village was to select trees for the building program. “The walls are still logs, but the towers and gatehouse are stone, and the road solid, though it lacks proper drainage.”

“It’s higher than the ground around it; rain will run off.” Antonio grinned. “You know you’re going to have to name that other village ‘Quarry’.”

Sidmuth looked pleased with himself. “Not at all. In fact, once ‘Timber’ was recorded as a name, the men changed it themselves: the name will be ‘Quarryton’. Before you laugh”, he admonished, actually waggling a finger at Antonio, “tell me in truth you fail to find it more dignified.”

“All right”, Antonio conceded, “it is a bit more dignified. But I don’t care if a name’s dignified, if it’s what the people there want. I doubt the ones up at Rockcrest chose it to be dignified – it’s just descriptive, like ‘Timber’.”

Sidmuth looked up the peninsula in the direction of that village, established by people who’d fared poorly in the occupations planned for them, who’d organized and disappeared to start their own village and find what they did well for themselves. It didn’t fit well in his orderly program, but on the other hand his orderly program had been overwhelmed by events from the start: from one town supporting a defense built only to draw in an enemy to be killed, somehow he’d ended up with two real towns and three villages. He could accept most of it, in view of the revealed size of the threat, but people striking out on their own, just packing up and going off to start their own village, didn’t sit well with him.

“Get used to it”, Antonio advised softly. “If we can hold a line against the Aliens, people will be doing it a lot. Heck, maybe some Celts will even come down here and build villages!”

The look on Sidmuth’s face was, Antonio judged, suitable for a Halloween mask.



Rita watched, appalled, as another broadside slammed from Hesperus into Invigorous. Despite being under the command of an officer from Resolute, the gun crews of the captured ship lessened their efforts not in the least. Screams came from the stricken ship.

“Sink that man!” Captain Heath swore, as an even more powerful broadside slammed back into Hesperus, followed by worse screams. “Sink both of them!” Taking a deep breath, he yelled a command. “Come to starboard, nine points!”

“Sir?!” an incredulous first officer called back. “Captain, that’s a ramming course!”

Heath was stone. “Aye, it is – but better that, than to let Chadwick keep killing men over whatever has a burr in his arse!” A crooked smile push anger to the side. “Saints know, maybe he’ll strike.”


On the deck of the Invigorous, disbelief disintegrated as the new course of the Resolute became undeniable. “Sink you, Heath!” swore Marvin, Lord Chadwick. “You’ve stolen my battle, and now you threaten my ship!”

“My lord, we can’t evade. Our only course would turn us straight into Hesperus’ broadside. We’d be ‘dismasted’ and ‘disabled’ in a flash.” The captain sounded as bitter as his lord.

“So we have no choice.” Had he been a Druid, the vitriol in his voice could have turned a ship to dust.

“No, my lord, we don’t. The only question is ‘To whom shall we surrender?’”

“Pah – Heath commands both ships now–“

The captain shook his head. “Technically, the officer Heath sent to take charge is in command. If we surrender to him....” He let his lord form his own thoughts.

Chadwick chuckled evilly. “Then we deprive Heath of a second ‘prize’. Captain, signal to Hesperus that we surrender to her.”

Heath laughed as he read the signals. “He thinks he’s scoring a point against me!” His tone turned serious. “Somehow I doubt that lord Chadwick will ever see life as anything but a game, with points to be scored.”

“Send him to head an expedition against the Aliens”, MacNeil suggested with a grin. “Insist he lead from the front.”

“Arranged murders are still murders”, Heath replied, wagging a finger at Kevin. “Still, it’s a nice fancy. Personally, I fancy the kingdom would be better off if he keeled over from apoplexy when I dress him down for a manner of battle that risks lives.”


“Good God, man”, MacNeil swore as they looked about Invigorous, “a child could sink this!” The nature of the construction dawned on him. “You built this for nothing but games! If Heath had actually rammed, she would have splintered like a toy! I call insult to Her Majesty – if we had enemies with an actual navy, building something like this would border on treason.” By the end of his tirade, he’d cornered Earl Chadwick in a nook formed by bulkhead and hull. “I should have you arrested – except you’d call in favors and walk free. Or perhaps I should have you arrested just to make you use up those favors.” He heard a soft laugh at the last words, and turned to see Rita.

“Or suggest the Queen visit his estates for a few months”, she proposed, “or both”.

“I imagine Her Majesty would rather entertain a court picnic in a pony barn”, Kevin replied, shaking his head at Chadwick. “My lord Earl, you are a fool. I intend to petition the Queen to have you arrested – providing a dangerously substandard vessel to the fleet, thereby endangering lives. You can call in favors to wiggle free.” He turned and started away, but called back over his shoulder, “Oh – the reason I won’t arrest you here and now is I don’t want to suffer your company on Resolute.”


“Kevin, you were right”, Elizabeth told him when he’d related the story back on Resolute. “You know I can’t have him arrested – but”, she continued with a twinkle in her eye, “I’ll make him burn favors before I ‘decide’ that.” The Queen looked over at the Invigorous. “And I’ll order that ship of his into the yards at Blackpool for rebuilding – at his expense.”

 

[Críostóir]

More fun, interesting theological philosophy, and...a ship-to-ship paintball game??!?!?!

Btw, Kuli, the custom of putting sausage into a roll with mustard originated in Frankfurt.

 

[Kulindahr]

More fun, interesting theological philosophy, and...a ship-to-ship paintball game??!?!?!

Btw, Kuli, the custom of putting sausage into a roll with mustard originated in Frankfurt.

Yeah, but you don't want to get hit with one of those paint balls, as a number of men found out.

As for Frankfurters -- I know that, and you know that, but that doesn't mean the characters know it.

 

[Críostóir]

Oops, of course!

And they also don't know that hamburgers were originally Hamburger Steaks from Hamburg, or that a Berliner is a donut with jam in the middle...

...or, probably, that a New York eggcream was invented in Brooklyn before it became part of NYC, and contains neither egg nor cream.

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
I saw this post this morning, but had to head off to work.

Packed full of adventure. And, I notice that it would appear that Lady Meriel stayed well aloft whilst Lord MacNeil roasted Earl Chadwick's arrogant arse.

Tanner sounds to be getting itchy and ready for some "other trouncing".

Thanks for the update.

 

[Kyanimal]

Excellent opening discussion! And, here I am still picturing "Morsel" lounging on a spar like a cat!

I'm eagerly awaiting Rigel's discovery of who Meriel really is, and the 'territory' that he's been traveling 'into'.

I'm liking the idea of the sausage machine. And, some of the comments that come to my warped mind ... well ...

I'm sure I could go back and read, and wished I had the time, but what are we waiting on the libraries for?

Loved the battle! And, the conclusion sounds quite just!

THANK YOU! for my "Fit" Fix!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

New chapter coming this eve -- I hope it's been worth the wait. This was a tough one.

 

[Kulindahr]

191
Loyalty, Duty​

Devon watched the mounted scout come up the hill, glancing regularly back to the faint wet streak below. They’d had light showers the night before, and a heavier one in the morning, and though now the sun was out, not a cloud in sight, he was concerned. Rationally, he knew that with the ground as dry as it had been, the water could sit on the surface because it couldn’t soak in yet; emotionally, he feared they’d have to unpack his mud wheels for the wagons, slowing them down – and this was the first of several such dips in the terrain.

“Basically firm, sir”, was the report. “A few places, we sank maybe the thickness of a saddle blanket, but no more. Two spots, the water was disappearing.”

To Devon the sinking spots sounded like sod softened by the rain. “Then we go on. Tell the plank crew to be alert, just in case.” Again he wished for the manpower having Conal’s command join him would have given, but he understood that Conal’s mission required speed. As the column began moving, Devon imagined what the place might look like with a railroad winding on a shallow grade, trestles spanning low spots.



Kevin MacNeil stared. “Why would the longboat be gone?”

“I don’t know, sir. I thought you should know before I go looking.”

“Do that – and get us a boat!”

They ended at the rail, meeting Captain Heath, some time later. Midshipman Keith stood with him. The captain nodded to the junior officer.

“Lady Lumina took the boat, my lord”, Keith said to MacNeil. “She told Midshipman Donnel it was Lord MacNeil’s wish.”

“My... what?” Kevin asked, surprised. “I haven’t spoken to either of them!”

“Why would the Healer misrepresent thin– Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Kevin, she meant your father.” Her voice was gentle.

“But he hasn’t– he couldn’t– how...?”

“Does he not wish to be strong again?” Elizabeth asked softly. Rita nodded, having reached the same conclusion; Kevin nodded in assent. “Then it would be his wish for a Healer, did he know there was one.”

“And I’ve spoken of how badly he fares. So when she knew we were here....” He gazed toward Dennisport. “But that’s a long row!”

“It is”, Heath agreed. “And so we are getting under sail. She is a foreigner, prohibited from setting foot on our soil.” With a curt nod, he turned and began issuing orders.

“That’s the end of a leisurely boat excursion”, Rita said, with a frown at Rigel for his evident relief. He plainly delighted in the work of the ship, but being “trapped” in a row boat made him claustrophobic, or so he claimed – and while he’d have enjoyed Elizabeth’s company, he’d now enjoy it much more in much less cramped space.


Heath was furious. “The anchor chain is jammed!” He swore profusely, to Elizabeth’s and Rita’s amusement; he was usually very proper around the British Lady. “That is no accident! She has corrupted my officers!”

“Hardly all of them, captain”, MacNeil remarked. “But I think we may yet catch her – a boat is ready, rigged with jib and driver. If I might take Midshipman Keith and the men he has selected....?”

Heath’s gaze didn’t leave the dot that was the receding longboat. “Take them”, he growled. “Catch that witch.”

Rita had to jab Rigel with an elbow to stifle his protest. Seeing that, Elizabeth understood, and pulled them aside. “The captain does not believe the Lady Lumina is a witch”, she admonished softly. “He is angry, and uses the word as is done commonly, for a woman who has pulled others under her influence. As she has”, the queen added firmly.


Lumina smiled as she hopped up on the stone steps on the side of the quay. She hadn’t asked anyone to sabotage any pursuit, but worshipful and enthusiastic hands had done so. Not far away – but too far to be in time – the longboat pursuing them was tangled in its own mast and rigging, a mess that would take at least ten minutes to straighten out. By then she would be beyond being stopped.


Kevin waited, frustrated, until Father Jonathon finished the prayers and gave the benediction. Past the priest, he could just make out his father’s face – a face that for the first time in years held no sign of pain. Near the face was a nun’s habit... of sorts; Lumina’s robes didn’t quite match a nun’s raiment. Close enough to pass from a distance, from within speaking distance it was plainly wrong. He wondered how Father Jonathon had been roped in – later, when he asked, the priest merely said, “I was here, and your father asked for the Sacrament. What priest would turn away?” And so under the guise of the holy Eucharist, the Healer had done her work.

“Kevin”, his father called softly. As he came forward, he saw no note of triumph in Lumina’s face; rather, the Healer seemed to be in pain. Indeed, as he neared the bed, she grasped at his arm and gasped.

“Oh! Contractions!” The Healer looked briefly bewildered. “My babies are coming!”

Father Jonathon reacted swiftly. “Midwife!” he called into the hall, with a voice that could make itself heard over a singing congregation. A servant, whoever was nearest, went running.

Elizabeth was in the room immediately, at Lumina’s side. “We will speak of violation of law -- and trust -- later, Lady Lumina”, she chided. “For now – come!”

Reginald MacNeil’s eyes went wide; Kevin covered quickly. “Father, you remember Lady Meriel? We have been traveling together.”

“Meriel?” the elder MacNeil mouthed, watching his Queen. Then a smile tugged at his face. “Ah, yes. A most interesting hour for a visit, is it not, Meriel?” he asked.

Aware that no one was looking but him and Kevin – Lumina’s eyes were closed hard – Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him. The laugh that came to the head of House MacNeil died in a spasm of pain.

Lumina’s eyes snapped open, fiery. “You must not breathe hard! You are not yet whole!” she snapped. “Lie in – oh!” Hands flew involuntarily to her abdomen. “Meriel, help me – quickly!”


“Two babes, a wee lad and a wee lass”, the midwife announced less than half an hour later to a waiting Kevin MacNeil and his Queen. “And she’s not through, yet, she isn’t. M’ lady”, she chastised Elizabeth, “y’ought not stand while y’wait.” With that, she zipped back into the birthing room as quickly as she’d popped out.

“Kevin, we can’t leave Rigel and Rita on Resolute”, Elizabeth said, as she heeded the midwife’s words and dropped to a seat. “Justice trumps the law.”

“If you say so, your Majesty”, MacNeil responded. The final pair of words came softly, almost silently, and with a rise of his eyebrows: Is that a royal decision?

She glowered. “Blast you, I can’t do that! Not now! Not after all this!”

Kevin chuckled. “Ah – you wish my father to continue an unknowing violation of the law?”

“For the sake of the kingdom, yes. You can say it was an error, due to his illness.”

“And you standing right here?”

She smirked. “Who, Lady Meriel? What importance has she? The Queen, as everyone knows, is on retreat.” She patted the curls falling on her shoulders. In a mannerism picked up from their outland visitors, Kevin marked a point in the air with a finger.



Captain Heath himself opened the gate in the railing. First, though, he spoke. “Lord Rigel, Lady Rita, Master Anaph, Squire Austin, Bard Landon: you know you are violating Kingdom law by going. Lord MacNeil, the elder, in his illness may not – but you know.”

Rigel nodded. “We’ll straighten that out later – so long as you don’t keep us.”

Resolute’s master shook his head. “I lie within the Duke’s anchorage; I bow to his wishes for those not members of my crew. Yet I wish you to know: there will be trouble.”

“Not here, I think”, Rita questioned.

“No, not here – the MacNeils are good lords, and loved. But later.”

Rita grinned. “We’ll worry about ‘later’ when it arrives. Right now, we have a friend in need.”

Heath’s visage softened. “Such loyalty, I cannot fault.” He opened the gate.

“We will find that this was meant to be, I judge”, Anaph commented on his way by. “This is no simple visit.” Leaving a puzzled look on Heath’s face, he swept by, down the long plank slope to the stone wharf.

Landon cheerfully met the puzzled look. “It’s a return”, the Bard asserted. “She had no choice.” Cheerful major chords changed to mysterious, incomplete minors as he strummed his way down behind Anaph.


It was an odd meal, in an long-unused small dining room near the family’s private quarters in the castle. Reginald MacNeil lay in a fresh bed that stood across the head of the table, propped up with pillows, breathing carefully and wincing occasionally, but presiding over a meal for the first time in years. Alfred, tears in his eyes, stood proudly in attendance on his primary master, now rejuvenated as he himself had been – only more so.

Kevin MacNeil couldn’t keep his eyes off his father, to Rita’s amusement and annoyance: seated beside him, she frequently had to catch his wine glass when he bumped it or landed it badly, or scoop up bites of food that tumbled from his fork. Meriel, sitting with Rigel, understood Rita’s amusement, but knew also that their guests just didn’t understand. She leaned close. “Rigel, he has been on death’s door for two year’s, on the stoop for two before that. He hasn’t walked in years. To you he seems a man held in bed by infirmity; Kevin – and all of us – see a miracle.”

“No miracle”, she heard Anaph say, though he wasn’t near her. From the expressions on faces, she guessed only she and Rigel could hear. “Unless you call the gift itself a miracle.” She assumed only the Druid would hear a reply, but wasn’t going to risk it; later, though, she’d admonish him to refrain from tricks hard to explain in her kingdom.

“Son, stop staring at me like some museum exhibit or sideshow rarity”, Reginald said clearly, then breathing deliberately slowly afterward. “The good Lord sent His servant, and I am stronger!’ The elder MacNeil managed to grin while breathing methodically. “And when she’s done with me, Parliament beware!” Alfred had to help him raising his glass, but he managed the toast. “Damned fools”, he muttered after drinking, then paid for it with an attack of pain from his lungs.

“She’s got a ways to go”, Landon stated, regarding the Duke intently. “Frustrating for her, trapped between childbirths.”

“For her? For me!” Reginald answered. “I could use a tad less of these knives in my lungs!”

“I can ease the pain”, Anaph offered. “It will not be healing, but it will be less like knives.”

Reginald regarded him for a long moment. “Pain restrains us from harmful things. “Will I be harmed, if this restraint is lessened?”

“No”, Landon answered, at the same moment Anaph said, “Barely.” Bard and Druid regarded each other.

“Switch the pathway”, Landon said. “Instead of pain, give something else – a tickle, perhaps. It will be more comfortable, and if he’s really harming himself, he’ll know to take it easy.”

Anaph looked distant. “Switch....”, he mused. “Landon, how do you see these things, and I don’t?”

“Probably because all I can do is see”, the Bard replied, only a little bitterness creeping into his tone. “Anaph, if you can tell the air to stay warmed on one side of a line you pick, you can do this!”

“I wish you could show me”, Anaph responded softly. “But... give me your hand.” Landon’s hand in his, the Druid poked at the back of it with a fingernail. To everyone in the room, he was staring intently – just with his eyes closed. Reginald MacNeil turned his gaze away; the Snatched watched, accustomed to it. “Okay, there’s a line... now if I–“

“Ow!” Landon yelped. “Harmony, Anaph – wrong path.” He tickled his own hand. “Try that.” It was a dozen seconds later that his face lit up. “You got it – a poke feels like a tickle. Now you just have to find the pain pathways in his lordship’s lungs and tell his brain ‘tickle’ instead.”

“Yeah, make it sound easy.” It was the young Anaph, first learning his way as a Druid, that his friends heard. “Well, I know I can do it.” Chief Druid again from head to toe, he walked to the bed at the head of the table, and took Lord MacNeil’s right hand.

Moments later, the lord of St. Denis island grinned, then grimaced. “Saints, that’s irritating!” he declared, taking a deep breath sharply. “Brother Anaph, thank you for the relief – and brother Bard, for the suggestion.” He shuddered. “Tickling in my chest... a warning I cannot ignore, indeed. Yet what, exactly, is the danger point?”

“Mere tickling tells of no real harm”, Landon advised. “But if it’s tickling, and you do something then that would bring a tickle, that could do damage for which the Healer would scold you.”

“So no tickles upon tickles. I can abide that.” He started to sit up, then dropped back. “Healing or no, I am still weak.”

“In time”, Rita assured him, “all in good time. Lady Lumina won’t leave you only partly healed.”

“Then she ought to be done with birthing bairns!”

Elizabeth laughed. “‘Bairns’, is it now? I’d expect to hear that on the Isle of Bruce!”

“There’s Scottish and Norse blood in all of us, lass, and I’ll borrow words as I please!” Reginald fired back with a grin. “To the side o’ which, it enriches our speech.”

Rita cleared her throat. “Lord MacNeil, I suspect Lady Lumina would rather be done with the birthing, herself. As the midwife said, ‘It’s not normal, it’s not! Poppin’ out two wee ones, then falling to sleep with more waitin’ in the oven!’ She’s quite right, too.” She gave him a sharp look. “And besides, the Healing she did took a lot of energy – she’d wait a day before doing more, even without the births.”

“Weird, how she was in control so long, and got caught by surprise”, Austin ventured. “She didn’t ask for it, my lord.”

Landon shook his head. “It isn’t weird.” He glanced at Anaph, who shrugged. “She was meant to give birth here, on loyal British soil. It wasn’t her choice. I’m not even sure it was really her choice to come ashore. Anaph, you know what I mean.”

The Druid sighed and nodded. “It’s possible. I don’t like it, but it’s possible. In fact I think it’s scary.”

“Elizabeth Kennessee”, Rita ventured. “You think she... planned this.”

Landon frowned. “‘Planned’ isn’t the word I’d use – ‘arranged’ is better. You know it wasn’t any normal conception, don’t you?”

Rita gave a bit of a sour smile. “I’d guessed. But she hasn’t really said much.”

“She hasn’t been happy about it – Wise Woman, she’s been a tool. No one likes to talk about that.”

The Duke took a turn at clearing his throat. “If you expect dessert, I expect you’ll explain all this”, he pronounced.


In the birthing room, Lumina lay silent and still. The pause had been a respite, a welcome rest at first, but then she’d reviewed what had passed, and was now furious. You used me! she accused silently. I am not a tool!

We are all tools, a voice replied, faint but firm. There is a task to be done.

Make mine like yours! Lumina demanded. You have no right–

Who I am gives me the right!

Bullshit, Lumina retorted. You think power gives you right. Well, let me say something about Power: I can ask Anaph to silence you in the Stone. And I can let these two babes be stillborn, and take the first two as my own!

Silence fell in her mind. Lumina felt the wisp of Elizabeth Kennessee weighing, measuring. Finally there came a rueful chuckle. The curse of the Healer, the reply came, powerful because when angered, we bind ourselves with our oaths. You have not learned enough – but you have learned too much.
So be it: have the first babes brought back, and bring forth the other pair. The sentence didn’t seem complete.

Ah. You wove it all into them while they grew, Lumina realized. But for my two – it will have to be set on them, and they will grow into it. So be it.

Kennessee’s tone was mildly bitter. So my two shall be stronger at the start, for the knowledge is a gift, but....

My two will be stronger in the end, because they will have to grow into it. Lumina understood the bitterness. Elizabeth, I am not your enemy. I will aid your plan – but this is my age, not yours: you must let go.

After the births....


Rita looked around at her friends. The other Snatched understood; she was asking if they approved her being the spokesperson. “Speak wisely”, Rigel quipped. The two shared a grin; for a moment, the world seemed wrong to Rigel, because it was just the two of them, not five. Rita reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“I must require something of you, or say no more”, said Rita firmly. “Nothing of this may be shared beyond this room.”

“And what penalty have you, Wise Woman?” Reginald inquired. “Or do you trust our word?”

“Penalty?” Anaph asked. He concentrated a moment. “I could fill your harbor with the hill, and the watchtower on it.”

Kevin MacNeil closed his eyes and muttered a prayer. “Father, he can do it – believe me.” The Duke looked to Meriel, who nodded.

“For my part, I trust your word”, Rita cut in. “The character of the son attests to the character of the father.”

Reginald chuckled, then scratched at his chest – and frowned. “Bloody”, he muttered. “Wise Lady, do you advance that as a universal proposition? And you, Gray Brother – if you can topple land into my harbor, can you topple silt out?” Austin laughed.

“I can look”, Anaph answered. “Rita?”

“If you’re like this in Parliament....”, Rita mused. “No, advance it as generally true, and specifically in this instance.” The Duke looked disappointed. “We can speak of the range of application sometime, if you wish.” He brightened. “Now – I repeat: nothing I say, in fact very little of this meal’s discussion, may go beyond this room.”

“I presume you mean beyond the persons in this room”, Alfred ventured, a hand on his Duke’s chest.

Rita grinned. “Always on target, Alfred”, she replied. “Do I have everyone’s agreement?” Nods, as she caught sets of eyes pair by pair, gave assent.
“In a valley to the north, there is a Stone”, she began.



Devon cursed. “Another shower! We should have done this a month ago!”

“But we didn’t”, Chen responded. “You’re the engineer – find a solution.” He was tired of mud, which wasn’t helping his attitude.

“Smart-ass. What would you do?” Devon swore silently as the wagon slipped again on the slope, despite its wide mud-planks.

Chen thought. “Oran talked about spikes on running shoes, for mud.” He frowned, having never seen any, and wondering how to apply that to wagons.

“Spikes”, Devon muttered. “Yeah – we have big nails, and drills, and wooden pins!” He grinned. “Good job, Scout!”

Chen flicked a good, palm-out, British style salute, but Devon was already gone. Well, it felt good to have helped, even if a world of races with special shoes was gone forever..



Rita was pleased; no one had interrupted her. Then an interruption – just as she was about to moved on to how Healer lore had gotten in the Stone – came from outside.

“Enter”, Alfred called, moving to the door.

“Sir, the Lady Lumina says she’ll be birthing again soon, if anyone would like to attend.” The servant looked a bit bewildered at the idea of anyone wishing to watch a birth. Alfred just turned, eyebrows raised in curiosity and question.

“I think she means we should be there”, Rita judged. “We can finish this later.”


Lumina grimaced. “Now”, she said faintly. The midwife looked disapproving, but held the first baby girl so Lumina could touch her. Contractions began, with no evident progress for over a minute – at which point Rita slid into the room, followed by a string of others. Suddenly Lumina knew it was done, as Elizabeth Kennessee’s faint touch faded. No longer overpowered by the experience of childbirth, she took control of her own body and moved things along quickly.

“Triplets. Oh!” It was a cry of pain, and got Lumina’s attention.

“My lord Duke, you should not be walking!” she scolded.

“It only hurts when I move, dear lady.” He winced, belying the claim.

“Come – oh, bother. Anaph, take my hand, and take his. Foolish patients”, she added, not quite under her breath. Duke Reginald grinned weakly and accepted Anaph’s grasp. “Just let my energy – oh, that helps!” Lumina exclaimed as a set of pathways, that Ocean might have described as channels in the surface of the Druid’s aura, opened for her. “Would have done this before, but you were supposed to rest!” she griped. Duke MacNeil’s eyes went wide as he suddenly stood more easily, pain in his joints fleeing... but not totally. “That’s a reminder”, Lumina informed him.

“Lumina – why touch the babe?” Anaph asked softly. “What’s happening?”

She sighed. “Water, please, someone.” The midwife waved to a servant girl. “Elizabeth Kennessee is a conniving bitch! First she plays games with Patrick’s and my child, making four” – she rolled her eyes – “and then she gives two of them a batch of skills and knowledge! That little girl” – she pointed to the firstborn – “will have all the skill and knowledge Elizabeth did, as fast as she learns to talk. And the boy will have everything she knew for being a Druid-protector.” She looked at Anaph. “Think warrior-Druid – she thought of protecting Healers, too.” A water glass arrived and she gulped it. “Wow – giving birth is thirsty work.
“Anyway, I made her fix it so my two will have the same – they’ll just have to grow into it. And – oops! Talk later; time to work. Midwife!” Scowling, at the intruders, at her patient, at the task of holding now the boy baby close for Lumina to touch, the midwife moved to her work.

Austin’s eyes went wide. “Rigel – draw your sword! Anaph, can you....?”

Anaph got the idea immediately. “It’s worth a try”, he agreed. He still held Lumina’s hand, and now reached to Rigel with his other. “Lay the blade across my palm”, he instructed. However much he concentrated on what Lumina was doing, he couldn’t make out details, only feel a sort of rhythm. Going by intuition, he melded his own rhythm with it. Rigel felt a sort of tug at his mind, and thought hard: yes. Again he rode the memories of Lord Jadriano Escobar.

“Five minutes to bear a son”, the Duke commented. “Remarkable. Now – what was that with your sword, friend Rigel?”

Rigel looked to his right, pointedly. The Duke nodded. “Perhaps we should leave the midwife and mother”, he said. Marveling at his renewed mobility, he led the way out and to his own room, where he dropped wearily on the bed. “Wholeness returns, but strength – that takes time”, he gasped, sinking back on pillows that Alfred made appear behind him. “And now...?”

Rigel drew his sword and looked at it. “It looks like a good sword”, he pointed out. “But it’s more than that. It was fashioned by Druids a long time ago, to hold all the skills and knowledge of a certain man – Lord Manuel Jadriano Ferdinado Escobar. He was the most loyal of the Conquistadors to the cause of fighting the Others – the Aliens – and the best, too.” The sword’s current owned shuddered a little at all the memories the blade held. “I’m not totally sure why it was made – maybe he wasn’t sure he’d survive the war, maybe he knew even if they won the Foe would still be around – but it served his purpose: I found it, and while I own it, it owns me. It killed a man who wanted it, but couldn’t make the commitment needed, that it demands.” That memory made him swallow hard; he didn’t understand the greed and grasping of people like Raoul Escobar, and still felt guilty sometimes over all the death. He snapped back to awareness at a touch on his arm.

“It wasn’t your fault, Rigel”, Rita admonished. “Now pay attention.” He realized that Austin was giving an account of that battle – and doing it well, too.

When his squire finished, he nodded. “That memory’s in here, too – sometimes I wonder what I could have done differently, and the sword just brings it all back, the whole thing, every last blade and bullet and bit of blood. The fight took... forever; the sword does it in three seconds.” He grinned weakly. “It remembers all the lessons Lord Escobar could give about fighting the Foe, every memory of every maneuver or battle or planning session – and almost nothing else. But it remembers anything I think is important.
“Anyway – Anaph, you took the knowledge from the sword, and passed it along to the kid, right?”

His Druid nodded. “It’s like the knowledge I got from the Stone: it’s all there, complete, along with whatever Lumina passed on about being a Druid-Protector. When he’s old enough to start learning to use a sword, that boy will – well, give him three years, and no one will be able to beat him.”

Rigel looked at the blade. “Maybe I should hand this over”, he suggested.

Rita laughed. “You won’t get out of it that easy!”

Reginald was looking serious; he raised a hand rather than speak loudly. “Friends, you are plainly foreigners. I fear I shall have to make amends to my Queen for this, but... you have the freedom of the Duchy, as my guests. No one will bother you for being here, unless Her Majesty hears of it and sends her own guards. Now, I must do as the Healer says – rest.”

Elizabeth wanted to kick the old man – “Unless Her Majesty hears of it”, indeed! While she glared inwardly, Kevin spoke up. “Father, I suspect Her Majesty will forgive a great deal, just for having you sound – and back in Parliament.”

“They called you ‘Her Majesty’s lion’”, Elizabeth reminded the Duke. “Sometimes it seemed you were her only friend. I suspect Kevin may be right.”

Reginald MacNeil grunted. “Fine, then. Lady Meriel, if these guests grow tired of the isle, perhaps you could give them the freedom of New Eire.” That would make her masquerade interesting, he thought. Now, why is she playing this game? He fell asleep while working through it.


Lumina slept an entire day after giving birth. The Duke did much the same, except every few hours he awoke to his body demanding to purge itself. His sweat was foul, and he drank water – and occasionally ale – by the flagon. Kevin kept the Snatched busy, touring the ancestral home in ever-expanding arcs. Rita especially fell in love with a cliff overlook, while she wondered if Anaph and Landon were paying attention at all, the way they were always talking together.

Lumina and Reginald MacNeil had dinner together the second day. Both were ravenous. “M’lord, your body had been flushing out diseased and damaged parts”, she said around a slab of turkey breast. “You’ve lost two or four kilos, and your body wants it back.” Healer reached over and touched Duke on the elbow. “But it will come back healthy – strong, and healthy.”

“I should exercise”, he mumbled through some baked seaweed dish.

“No, you should sleep. Your new muscle will be strong, if they have rest – they’ll grow that way.”

He felt the persuasion of the Healer voice, but it didn’t compel him. “Rest to become strong – a wonder if there ever was one!”

Lumina belched, then chuckled. “But first, you have to nearly die, and spend five years in the doing”, she pointed out. “Hardly a bargain, m’lord”.

Reginald stared, then snorted. “I do no believe you cannae do so wi’out the disease.”

Lumina wagged a finger at him. “There’s a difference ‘tween what a Healer can do, and what she will do, laddie!”

The Duke guffawed. “No one has called me ‘laddie’ in many years! But as ye’ve given me back years, I’ll let it pass.” Lumina did a table bow, and pondered whether she ought to give him added years.

After dinner, the Duke returned to bed, greeted on the way by servants and retainers who hadn’t seen him walk in clear memory. Lumina went is search of her friends.

“I learned something, in my little contest with Elizabeth Kennessee”, she announced when they’d gathered in the sitting room of the quarters the men were sharing. She looked around to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “If she’d made it to the battle at the Stone, history would have been totally different. If I’m right, she had a way to kill all the Others not just within the boundary of the stones and valley, but even ten kilometers away.”

 

[Kyanimal]

WOW! As difficult as this chapter may have been, for you, what it portends is absolutely Astounding!

Yes! It turned out quite intense, in many ways! 'Foreigners' on 'forbidden' soil, with leave to explore as they wish. Lady Meriel in attendance, 'without' the Queen's 'knowledge'.

And, E.K.'s 'forward plan' coming to fruition, in Time. Possibly defeating "The Foe" for Good?

And, then, my thoughts turn to the "Inkies", but that's for a later adventure, I'm fairly certain.

Landon's insight, to Anaph's surprise/discovery, and Lumina's ability to make it through 'events', is truly Awesome!

I'm certainly looking forward to what may 'tickle' through your talented fingers, Next!

THANK YOU!, dear Kuli!, for this most Excellent Adventure!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
Chaz has done a good job recapping the hilites.

This is definitely a "turning point" for both the snatched AND the kingdom.

I would say the Good Duke, and all of the other members of the realm, have had their eyes opened in astonishing ways.

And then there's Alfred - the keystone of this juncture, if you will.

Had it not been for Lady Lumina's healing of this humble Seneschal of House MacNeil, Kevin's father might never have received the healing the Isles needed for him, with the ensuing land fall and birth on "New British" soil.

And the babes - the price Elisabeth is exacting from Lumina - two of her children are committed to the realm, two to return. What a massive sacrifice.

It will be interesting to see how you direct us from here.

Thank you, kind sir, for all of your efforts.

 

[Kulindahr]

192
Quickly, Now​

Devon looked out at the rain and swore. “Tomorrow”, a voice said. Devon looked down from the wagon and saw a slender, mostly-bare figure standing in the mud.

“Arslan – hop up.” Devon extended a hand. “Do Scouts foretell weather now?” The engineer’s strong arm did most of the work, practically lifting Arslan up.

“My thanks. Engineer, I’m a Druid – I just work with the Scouts.” His tone was wistful. “If I could have that gift, as well....” A sigh punctuated the wish. Businesslike, he explained his initial comment. “I’ve been learning to ‘read’ life. It’s how a Druid can tell the weather – we reach out to living things as far as we can, and know what the weather is there. If we listen often, we can tell which way the weather is traveling. This rain is traveling east and a little north. Things half a day away are getting a little rain, a little sun, one then the other. A few hours after that, it’s just sun. He looked distant a moment. “Not as warm. I’ll need leggings, if not a shirt.”

“So will the Scouts”, Devon decreed. “Lad, why haven’t you been telling me the weather before?”

Arslan sighed. “I just made sense of it two nights gone. The High Druid says never share knowledge unless you’re certain it is knowledge. For the morning I’ve run hard and fast, to learn if what seemed to be knowledge remained constant while I did not. It did, and I felt the weather creeping across the land. Now I have told you.”

“Don’t tell ‘em what you know till you know what you know is really what you know”, Devon said in agreement. “A teacher of engineers told me that. Anaph’s right – and said it quicker”, he added with a grin. “So now you know you have knowledge. Well, it helps now, anyway.” He swung out and looked around. “Rider! Spread the word – rest the horses. We’ll stop fighting this till morning.” As he dropped back into a dry seat, he frowned. “Unless – Arslan, is it raining hard enough to flood us?”

A wet grin responded. “I thought of that, from running through a stream to my knees. No, all your people and horses will do well if they stop.” He chuckled. “Some Scouts will have to swim, but they like it.” His eyes went unfocused again. “The hollow we crossed yesterday is becoming a chain of ponds. I think they will never be dry again.”

“You mean we’ll have to go back a different way.” Devon felt like kicking something, but he’d already broken the only thing in range – the foot rest ahead of the seat. “Druid, how far can you read the weather?”

“Not like Anaph – three or four days. More, if the air flows slowly.”

“So there could be even worse weather coming, behind the sunshine?” Devon decided he need to talk to Chen.

“Or better”, Arslan countered. “I can’t feel that far.”

“But those ponds aren’t going to dry out for us. Okay, next Scout you see, pass the word for Chen – we visit the city of metal, and we keep going north to the Escobars. If we get metal, Ryan needs it”, he added as explanation. “If we don’t get metal, I’d rather tell Ryan that sooner”.



Conal reigned in, astonishment on his face. “A tower! There was nothing out here!”

“There is now”, Casey assured him cheerfully. “Want a guess?”

Conal sat back down on the saddle. “A guess... either it’s someone new, or the Escobar are out here.”

“I think it’s the Escobars”, Casey responded. “Up where that tower is should be the turn to go to one of the places with hills, that Osvaldo was talking about settling people. It’s not the fastest way to go, but if they followed our path this way, that’s where they’d turn.”

The casual way Casey said the Escobar lord’s name annoyed Conal, but he knew that Rigel’s own people were like that, so again he dismissed it. “I heard mention of such hills. So the tower is Escobar.” He looked down at the Scout. “I suppose you want to run there and see.”

Casey shrugged, but with a grin. “I think I can beat those clouds over there. But you’re going to get rained on.”

Conal shook his head, though smiling. “All right – I know you can beat the horses; they’re tired. Just put clothes on before you get close”, he admonished.

Casey stuck out his tongue. “Then I’ll have to walk, if there’s mud.” It was more teasing than anything, the final word punctuated with a piece of turf kicked up as Casey dug in and set off at full sprint. Conal watched a minute, wishing he could run like that – long enough he saw Casey drop to his ground-covering stride Sir Oran called a “race pace”.



Reginald MacNeil, The MacNeil, Duke of St. Denis, flexed his arm and grinned. “Yes, Healer, I tried my sword. You said I would be strong. Saints!” he exclaimed, “sore muscles are a welcome thing! They tell me I have muscles again!” Still, he winced as he picked up his knife to slice off another bite of venison.

Rigel and the others were glad of any topic besides Lumina’s revelation. Questioning had brought out that as far as the Healer knew, Elizabeth Kennessee was gone from her mind, taking any additional knowledge with her. Lumina’s only consolation was that she was certain both Elizabeth’s and her own Healer children would have the answer – but it was a bitter one, because Elizabeth’s would have it first. “If five minutes’ work made you that sore”, Rigel observed, “you won’t be ready for any sparring for weeks.”

“One week”, Anaph disagreed. “Okay, Rigel, you’re right, but I think I can teach his muscles to... recover faster.” Druid looked to Bard for comment on his choice of words. Landon shrugged, but nodded.

The elder MacNeil looked interested. “How much faster?” he asked, a hint of demand in the tone.

“One week”, Anaph repeated. “Landon, you explain.”

The Bard leaned over his plate. “We sought through this together”, he began. “Your body has fought cancer. One of the major characteristics of cancer is uncontrolled growth. To cause your muscles to recover faster does things a great deal like growth. There is a serious risk, my lord, that whipping them into even faster recovery would bring back the cancer.” The Duke of St. Denis looked frozen, as Landon held his gaze. “One week, my lord – no faster.”

Reginald swallowed hard. “Perhaps ten days would be fast enough”, he ventured.

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Reginald MacNeil, I have never known you to retreat!” she exclaimed softly.

He looked at her fondly. “Meriel, child, I have met an enemy to fear – I cannot see it, I cannot lift blade to parry, as it eats at my vitals, robs my strength, sullies my will, muddles my mind from pain. I will not face it again needlessly.” He paused. “To face an enemy apart from one’s body, when in control of one’s own body, that is no great thing, but to face an enemy that steals one’s body” – he shuddered – “leaving one not knowing where or how to strike, that is a wholly different war.”

The Duke’s grin returned, and he hoisted his flagon. “To a foe I can fight without fear, for friends and family:” Glasses and mugs rose, faces curious. “To Parliament!”

Tears sprang to Kevin MacNeil’s eyes even as he echoed the toast. “He’s really back”, he whispered, too soft for anyone to catch the words. But Elizabeth saw his lips move, and knew. She waited until all had set their vessels down, still holding hers half-high. “To the lion of Parliament, the Queen’s defender”, she intoned softly as servants scrambled to refill ale and wine. “One and all: his lordship, our friend, Reginald MacNeil!”

The locals understood what their visitors didn’t: their Queen had toasted a loyal lord.

Austin decided they needed a new topic. He’d figured out recently that being able to keep conversation going a dinner was a knightly responsibility. “Lord Duke, we know the Quistadors, the Celts, the Escobars, and now the Lost British.” He realized he’d missed one. “We know Onatah, which tells us of the Haudenosaunee. Is it just you and them, here?”

Reginald lifted a finger. “You missed one, Squire Templeton – we have neighbors to the south, in their own sea. Though I willingly concede they are easy to forget, seeing we don’t know their name. We only know that from time to time, some of them sail north, to attack and be driven back.”

“And from time to time, the Crown sends a squadron south, to test them in turn”, Kevin added. “Now, Austin, you can say ‘the unknown people south of the Sea’, and your list is complete.”

Onatah lifted a hand. “Pardon, lord Kevin, but it is not.” All eyes swivelled to him; everyone in the room would have agreed with the younger MacNeil. “It is knowledge of the elders, but I judge it fit for this company – only”, he added. He collected nods of assent one by one around the table; the servants knew enough that anything said in the dining hall remained there, anyway.
“Above the great cliff, beyond the flat, in rumpled hills, there are the Peaceful People. They are three: the First Ones, the Ronams, and the Daregoan. Their elders exchange knowledge with the Haudenosaunee.” The young advisor-trainee pondered a moment. “One time in many, one judged not fit to remain with his people is sent to the other.”

Rita had jerked up straight at the list of names. “Onatah – what were those three, again?”

“The First Ones, the Ronams, and the Daregoan, Wise One.”

Rigel caught what she was after. “Could that be ‘d’Aragon’, Onatah?” He gave it emphasized pronunciation, with the Spanish long “o”.

Onatah reviewed both pronunciations, mouthing the words silently several times. Finally he nodded. “The elders teach that speech changes. People are lazy, so they say words in ways that are simpler. ‘Daregoan’ is simpler than ‘d’Aragon’. If it has been a long time, they could be the same.”

“And if other people are saying the word”, Landon added. “When strangers say a word, they say it however is easiest to them. Your ‘Ronams’, I think, are ‘Romans’, their name said by someone else – your ‘First Ones’.” He grinned. “Though I cannot imagine any Romans being ‘Peaceful People’.”

“Maybe they learned something”, Rita teased.

“In this world? A foolish lesson”, the Bard countered. “I wonder how many peoples Snatched to here have vanished because they failed to be violent enough. These likely survive only because they have violent neighbors some distance away, who keep the greater threats at bay.
“But the greater item here: Don Antonio needs be told, we have found his goal.”

“But if they’re peaceful, are they going to want their sword back?” Anaph posed. “It may be pointless to go – but still, he has to try.”

Rigel nodded. “Definitely. Lord MacNeil”, he asked their host, “how fast can a message be sent west?”

 

[Críostóir]

I want to know who these First People are. I'm hoping they're the indigenes of this planet, and that they're friendly nonhumans.

 

[Kulindahr]

Crio...

now you're having ideas like Chaz.







Hmmmm.......

 

[DonQuixote]

Happy Thanksgiving, Kuli, Criostoir.

I, too, am interested in who the "first ones" are.
I like your surmisal, Crios, although they might also be the First of the snatched.

You do keep us wondering about the wanderings in this Snatched world, Kuli.

 

[Kyanimal]

Hmmm ...

Lost Britain, being the "self sealed" realm that it is, seems to have imposed itself between those "to the South", and the rest of the "known" peoples to the North. However, Onatah's People seem to have found a way, though very tenuous, "around" that. AND, there seem to be portents, of a more violent community, even further South of "The Peaceful People", holding off even more to the South of Them!

THIS just keeps getting Better and BETTER!! (And, Curiouser and CURIOUSER!!)

Peaceful Romans? Well ... if The Snatched were those who were about to die, then, yes, I can see that. I'd guess that being killed might make you quite docile, as opposed to wanting to continue overcoming/killing/conquering others! I can understand that almost dying might instill a greater sense of only being as violent as it takes to survive.

As for "next generations", that may not hold as strongly, but would still be taught, if not Completely learned. CONQUEST is more a cultural than genealogical "thing".

I'm quite intrigued by the concept of "The First Ones". I'm thinking "First Snatched" rather than indigenous "people". Then again, this is an epic tale constructed from the inner musings of our incredible Author! I eagerly await what yet might be further revealed to Us!

And, Yeah! More Nakedness certainly won't hurt! (Oooo! Scout muscles straining at race pace! )

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

193
Duties Call​

Rigel was troubled. “Lumina, are you sure?” He didn’t like the idea at all.

“Yes – very sure.” The Healer’s eyes twinkled. “I’m still Healer to your House. Reginald’s father’s offer was amazing, but not tempting. I chose my allegiance.”

Rita laughed. “I thought Healers had no House.”

Lumina shrugged. “I didn’t know that when I made my pledge.” Then she grinned. “At least being Rigel’s Healer won’t be a problem in politics here! All Houses here are equal, to me.” Behind her, Elizabeth frowned, but understood – besides, her plans would change that.

“All right.” The callouses on Rigel’s soul from giving in to the inevitable had taken on a smooth polish. “Don’t mix the twins up”, he teased. Lumina just rolled her eyes; she could tell them apart with her back turned, eyes closed, and ears plugged – which she’d told him the first time he’d delivered that admonition.

Their Bard spoke up. “The twins solve a problem”, Landon said. “Born on kingdom soil, they are subjects of the Crown. Their mother is thus a subject as well.”

Onatah understood Rigel well by now. “This was decreed by Parliament in a matter of my people.” He grinned. “Parliament does not govern my people.” Elizabeth swatted at him in jest. “Yet we honor their customs, when we are in their lands.”

Rigel realized he was going to miss the Haudenosaunee youth almost as much as he was going to miss Lady Meriel. If they hadn’t been still on the dock, and he on shipboard, he might have hugged both. Somehow, he determined, he was going to make being with her part of his duty – somehow. “That’s wise”, he responded, for something to say. “Take good care of Lady Meriel. Lady, you take good care of that Duke.” And of yourself, he didn’t dare say aloud.

“Reginald will be well”, Elizabeth affirmed. “Lady Lumina will see to that.” Lumina gave her a disgusted look; the Duke had bestowed a title on her – at Elizabeth’s suggestion. With it came a dilapidated estate that would become the home of the Healers in the kingdom. Five of her Healers were staying with her; add their protectors, and it was a beginning. And Rita had already bet him they’d collect a dozen orphans and one student per Healer, along with aspiring protectors, before their return. His counter had been they’d only have one orphan per Healer and Protector, not a dozen, and that Lumina would only gather as many students as she herself could teach, even if she assigned lower-ranked Healers to tutor them as well.

“He’ll be better if Anaph manages what he’s trying”, Lumina declared. “And since Anaph is expecting you....” She mimed pushing the ship away.

The captain of the Thorn, Ian MacNeil, laughed. “Could you push us off so easily, you would become more famous than for healing!”

“Wealthier, too”, added his cousin Kevin. “I’d pay to be sure ships left on time.”

“How much, uncle Kevin?” Ian stuck a hand out over the rail.

Kevin tossed him a silver coin. “Move that tub, you scamp.”

Ian was about to reply when the harbor seemed to lurch. “Off the dock!” Landon urged. “And move that ship! Anaph just dropped the lip of the harbor off the edge – it’ll make a wave, soon... maybe as tall as a man.”

“I’ve seen one such”, declared Ian MacNeil. “John! Get us moving!” he yelled, half-turning, then turning back. “It could toss Thorn on the dock – bad for the dock, and maybe for my Thorn.” He cocked his head and heard the movement that said the ship was getting under way. “Heed the Bard – and warn the small boats.” He pointed around the harbor, where a half dozen fishing boats and a small shore-hugging bark rode at anchor or moorage.


Anaph sighed. He’d misjudged the rock strength, and lost control. Now it would do what Landon had warned against: slam down onto the shelf around the islands, and make a tsunami. His little sailboat wouldn’t survive that. “Boy, get us to shore – someplace we can pull the boat up”, he ordered.


“Interesting”, was Ian MacNeil’s comment. “Looks near as high as the deck.”

Landon gave rueful grin. “Big enough to kill your ship, and you call it ‘interesting’?”

“Oh, ‘tis no danger to Thorn.” The captain surveyed the approaching wave. “Thorn’s a sturdy one.” Then he grinned. “And this captain knows the bottom, not just the top. More, we have the speed.” He turned from the bow rail, a full turn about. “John – two points to starboard! When you could shoot a fish in that wave, come back five to port – we’ll ride it up!”


Lumina watched the small ship rush to meet the wave. “I’ve seen this before”, Kevin MacNeil muttered. “Ian boy, do us proud!”


Rigel grinned as they crested the wave. Ian MacNeil was a completely different sort of captain than Heath on Resolute, but he knew his ship and his business. Only from his perch on top the mainmast could he have seen that the wave started to break only seconds after they passed the top. As that top turned to white froth, everyone knew, but he’d known first. “A sailor’s life for me!” he crowed.

“A foreigner you may be, Midshipman King”, the ship’s mate perched there with him said, “but you’ve the soul of a Brit!” A slap to Rigel’s back punctuated the compliment. “Now to work – left’nant John’s a-callin’!”

With a deep sigh of satisfaction with life, Rigel swung down to help furl the topsail.


“Boat won’t move, lord”, the boy decided. “Not wi’out a score of men.” The vessel lay askew in mud where the passing wave had lifted it.

Anaph closed his eyes and counted to seven. “I can’t leave you to face that”, he declared. “So when that ship gets here, we’ll get your pa’s boat moved.”

Ian MacNeil found amusement in sending a dozen men to dig out and move the stranded sailboat. “Your Druid can shake the harbor, but not move a skiff!” he observed to Rita.

“The world’s a strange place, Captain Ian”, she responded. “Some men can command a ship, but not lift an oar, I suspect.”

“Oh, you’re right on that”, he agreed. “But they use the common faculties God gave them, not powerful strange ones given to but few.”

“A fair point”, she conceded, wondering how it was this cousin had gotten Reginald’s love of a good dispute, but not Kevin. “Now, what if I told you I knew a man who could bring down a bird with a rock, but never nock a bow to save his life?”

They were still at it when Anaph climbed to the deck, dropped his staff upright, and turned to assist in hoisting the ship’s boat. While the sailors put it in its place, the Druid moved to the rail and waved at the departing boy in his father’s small sailboat.

“You moved the sea bottom from that?” Ian MacNeil inquired.

Anaph nodded. “Only the last bit.” He cast around for an illustration. “Much like setting up books in a row, ready to fall, then standing back to flick the first one with a finger.” He sent himself a mental memo to suggest introducing the game of dominoes.

MacNeil nodded. “Or knotting the fuses on a chain charge, then lighting the lead from a distance”, he suggested. “Though I understand not at all how you stick fuses to rocks, and ones none can see, at that!”

Landon strummed his harp. “I saw.” The chord turned minor. “He who has eyes to see, let him see!” The chord went major again.

MacNeil gave the Bard a neutral look. “You use the words of our Lord so. I think you do not mock, so I will venture the lesson.” He paused, tapping his left foot on the deck. “The Spirit gives gifts as He wills, not we, and we ought not judge His giving.” He raised his left eyebrow in question.

Landon strummed the opening chords of “Jerusalem”, a hymn know here and in both the worlds of the Snatched. “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be!” he declared.

“You mean he’s right”, Anaph interpreted.

Landon grinned. “Unless you know a better way to say it.”

Ian MacNeil shook his head. “Druids and Bards. Enough trouble, with priests and lawyers, now we have Druids and Bards!” In mock anger, he shook his fist at the sky.



Rigel leaned into the oar, pulling with the youngster on his left. To his right, Landon was doing the same, rowing relief for two seamen. Captain MacNeil hadn’t let them join the first rowing crew, bluntly telling them that he wasn’t going to risk a trained man getting hurt because novices were tackling the task of getting the ship up to speed – though the more difficult task was matching the dwindling speed of the Thorn as the wind died.

Anaph was the popular man at the moment. He’d spent some time, as the voyage began, commanding wood to straighten and strengthen, but when Ian MacNeil had ordered the oars dug out, he’d reached out along their course and found what he wanted. If it hadn’t been for the confidence his uncle Kevin had in the strangers, Ian wouldn’t have altered course for the patch of shallows, a move that would cost an extra half hour of time. But then they’d coasted across the patch of up thrust rock, some close enough to the surface to be seen, he’d actually danced a jog at the sight of barnacles and mussels and all the rest of the little ecosystem falling off the ship’s hull to land below. Even the algae had let go, so the ship’s exterior was smooth as new – or better, since Anaph had made the few knots in the wood swell and fill out the tiny gaps those often left, and evened the surface where a bad saw blade had left the planks with something like wrinkles.

Not that Anaph cared much for being popular. He’d gotten started on improving the vessel, and he was still at it. The Druid had trued the masts, straightened the railing, aligned the bowsprit, and righted the small quarterdeck, correcting flaws that were obvious plus those only a Druid – or Bard – could see. Now, guided by a midshipman, he was going from spar to spar, truing each one.

“Ropes finally clicked”, he related to Landon and Rigel when their stint was over. “All at once the fibers and the twists and the braid made sense as a whole. I was on the front mast when it happened, next-to-the-top spar.” Rigel winced – he had so absorbed Lost British seamanship the inaccurate description irritated him – but didn’t make a correction on the terms. “I didn’t have to feel along the stay line to tell where it needed help – it was like all one piece, and the problems just jumped at me.”

“You grasped ‘ropeness’”, Landon asserted. “It stopped being ‘this long thing made of plant stuff, that is used to tie to things’, and became itself.”

Anaph shrugged. “Whatever. But I see ropes as whole things, now, kinda like I see all the land as one whole thing.” His eyes went unfocused. “Bloody brilliant – isn’t that the phrase? It’s the difference between looking at the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle one at a time and then trying to picture the whole thing, from having it all put together and barely seeing the borders between pieces.”

“Sounds ‘bloody brilliant’ to me”, Landon agreed with a grin. They both turned to Rigel.

“I just feel bloody worn”, he responded, blushing a touch, “and – don’t tell anyone! – bloody homesick. All I want is the hot springs in the Cavern.”


Antonio laughed. “All these scholarly people, and it’s a foreign kid who knows the answer!” All the waiting now vanished behind him. “That ship’s ready?”

“The Darter, yes”, Sidmuth answered. “What else does your Lord Rigel say?”

“Else? Oh, uh... shit.” Antonio looked unhappier than Percival Sidmuth had ever seen him as Rigel’s friend stared at the horizon, then the letter. “He’s leaving. He sent this, and says three days after, he’s heading for Fort Winchester. I can catch him there, and go home, or....”

A hand landed on his shoulder. “You are truly torn”, Sidmuth said softly. “I cannot aim you, in this.”

“‘What price duty?’, Antonio quoted. “Friend of mine asks that a lot, when he’s training officers.”

“Lord Tanner”, Percival recalled. “Yes, I have heard that from him. But first one must ask, ‘Where lies duty?’ And Mother Ocean says never ignore your heart.”

Antonio stood, shaking his head. “My heart? I don’t think I would have come, if I listened to my heart. But now... Rigel expects me to find these people. Friends in the north are counting on it.” He stared, holding the letter, his face troubled.

Percival’s voice came from behind him. “Seek your answer as you will. The Darter will be ready in four hours, to go north, or go east.”

Three hours, forty-seven minutes later, Antonio came riding down to the harbor on Muskatel. The Darter had room for seven horses; six were already on board. Antonio rode up the plank and to the quarterdeck. For a slow minute he turned his steed in place, looking at where he’d sat waiting instead of riding – or at least sailing – with Rigel.

A gong sounded the hour. Antonio swung down onto the quarterdeck rail. “Helmsman – we go east”, he instructed.

 

[Autolycus]

Hey Thanks for another great episode of this epic tale.