All The Turns of Light (9 page)

“
Un
mentionables,” corrected Meralda, who raised a finger in warning against Mug’s inevitable commentary. “But you have a point. I need items I simply don’t have.”

“Tim the Horsehead would just conjure whatever he needed from thin air,” Mug replied. “But times were different then. Magic filled the land, and unmentionables grew from every branch and bow.”

Meralda’s pencil stopped in mid-scribble. “Times,” she said. “Times. The
Times.
”

“If that’s a song you’re singing, I don’t know it,” Mug said.

“Do you recall the name of the penswift aboard? The one sent by the
Tirlin Times?
”

Mug regarded Meralda curiously with four of his blue eyes. “Primsbite, I think she was. Funny first name–Banquet? Snowshoe? Meringue, perhaps. Something like that.”

“Wedding. Mrs. Wedding O. Primsbite.” Meralda smiled. “Mug, I think it’s time I renewed my longstanding friendship with the press.”

“You loathe the papers,” Mug said. “You always have.
The Times
, especially, since they always draw you with your skirts flying up.”

“Not today,” Meralda said. She rose and spoke to the Bellringers through her door, asking them to find Mrs. Primsbite. “Tell her I’m sorry I’m late for our interview,” she added. “Make sure you mention that. Tell her I’ll be in the aft observation salon in half an hour.”

“Yes ma’am,” chorused the Bellringers.

Meralda turned. Mug flew to her side.

“I’m still not clear on how this helps us slip a false rumor to the Vonats,” he said. “Surely you don’t think she’s a Vonat spy.”

“Of course not,” Meralda said. “She’s been the chief penswift for the
Times
for twenty years. Her reputation is unimpeachable.”

“Unless she’s also able to shout over distances of hundreds of miles, I don’t see how that helps us,” Mug said.

“You’ll see,” Meralda said. “I’ll need a few things. Thank goodness I brought a few of my tools–now where did I put my implement bag?”

When Meralda arrived at the aft observation salon exactly thirty-three minutes later, she found an eager Mrs. Wedding Primsbite seated and smiling inside.

Mug piped up before Meralda or Mrs. Primsbite could speak. “May I present Meralda Ovis, Mage to the Crown of Tirlin,” he said, accompanying his words with a faint flourish of trumpets. “Mage Ovis, Wedding Primsbite, star penswift of the venerable and respected
Tirlin Times
.”

Mrs. Primsbite surprised Meralda by laughing. She rose, hands on her hips, and made a mocking bow toward Mug.

Mrs. Wedding Primsbite was a tall woman. On most of the occasions Meralda had seen the penswift before, she had been merely one of many faces in a noisy mob, each one trying to shout down the others in the hope their question would be the one responded to.

Meralda met the older woman’s gaze squarely, and offered her hand to shake.

The penswift took it, her smile warm and her grip firm. “It truly is a pleasure to meet you at last,” said the penswift. “Now what can I do for you, Mage Ovis? Tut, tut, I know quite well we had no interview scheduled, and it’s no good blaming it all on some royal mix-up. I’ve been pestering the King for years to grant an interview with Tirlin’s Lady Mage, and he’s always refused, saying that decision was up to you.”

“Ouch. She’s smart,” Mug said, as he hovered near the door. “I’ll wait outside while you two plot. If someone looks as if they’re about to barge in, I’ll sound a warning. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Primsbite. Mistress, don’t forget to complain about the paper’s artistic license.”

Mug buzzed away.

“I’ll be blunt,” Meralda said. “I need a favor, and I need it quickly. You want an interview, or even a series? Fine. I can do that.”

Mrs. Primsbite moved to stand in front of the salon’s wide glass wall. “And what sort of favor is it you would ask of me, dear?” she said, staring out into the rushing clouds.

Meralda crossed her arms over her chest. “I need you to send a short article back to your paper,” she said. “One that mentions our next stop at the Air Corps base at Kenney. Within the hour, please.”

Mrs. Primsbite merely nodded. “You know, of course, the King strictly prohibited the inclusion of any message-sending apparatus or means in our luggage,” she replied. “So I have no way at all of sending any article, short or long, back to my paper.”

Meralda took a place before the window at arm’s length from the penswift. “Naturally,” she said. “But, speaking hypothetically of course, what if your paper had arranged for some means of clandestine communication, if only to provide several hours of lead time upon our return home? That would be a major scoop, would it not? Why, the
Times
would be two editions, if not a whole day, ahead of every other paper in the Realms!”

Mrs. Primsbite smiled. “Why, I’m sure the idea never occurred to me before, but you’re probably correct. How unfortunate this is all purely hypothetical, and by the way, not actionable in a court of law.”

“Of course, if the
Intrepid
never returns home, the story will be lost,” added Meralda.

“I was assured every precaution has been taken to ensure our safety.”

“What if I told you several attempts have already been made on the mission?” Meralda said. “What if I told you three small Vonat airships attacked us moments after our departure, and that more lie hidden in the forests just ahead of us?”

Mrs. Primsbite turned to face Meralda. “I’d say tell me more, and insist on an exclusive. I can cite you as a highly placed anonymous source, with ties to the Palace, if you prefer.”

“First things first,” Meralda said. “This purely hypothetical means of communicating with your paper. Would it rely on a magical object, or a simple predetermined drop of a letter in a bag, perhaps marked with a nice long tail of brightly colored cloth?”

“Both would have been discussed, I imagine. The former would no doubt have been employed.”

“I see. Perhaps you could describe this imaginary communication device?”

“Hmm. I’m having a vision—I see a bird-shaped silver brooch, which only acts as a telesonde when touched to a certain plain metal coat hanger, which of course does not hang in my wardrobe. Is that sufficiently detailed?”

Meralda beamed. “It is. It certainly is.”

“An exclusive. No restrictions, save those of propriety and Crown secrets. Full access to you, even after our return home.” The penswift grinned. “For life.”

“All that, if you send a report mentioning Kenney at precisely the top of the hour,” Meralda said, holding out her hand. “Put this on the coat hanger you don’t have, when you touch the brooch that doesn’t exist to it, please.”

Mrs. Primsbite took the small object Meralda offered. It was a short length of solid metal, wrapped around with many a tight coil of enameled copper wire. It vanished in her purse without a second glance. “I feel honor bound to mention we’re quite out of range of my paper,” she said. “I doubt they’ve even sent a man with a receiving device to the coast yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Meralda said. “It’s not really your paper we’re trying to reach.”

“Subterfuge! Deception! Plots and treachery!” said the penswift. “Dear, I believe we’re going to get along fabulously!”

Back in her cabin, Meralda hurried through the charging of her makeshift telesonde enhancer while Mug announced the time as the clock raced toward ten in the morning.

“Done,” Meralda said, putting down the spent holdstone and her latching wand.

“Ten of the clock,” Mug said. “Let’s hope this works.”

Meralda’s contrivance, a small, hastily assembled device composed of two teacups, sixty feet of wire, and a rather expensive electric meter that had been a gift from Donchen, began to hiss and crackle.

“This is Mrs. Wedding O. Primsbite, reporting from aboard the airship
Intrepid
,” said a shrill voice from deep within a teacup. “We are bound for the Air Corps base at Kenney, and after that, the vast, uncharted Great Sea! The airship is performing marvelously, as is the brave crew. Spirits are high as we near the coast well ahead of schedule. What wondrous sights will we behold? What strange and exotic lands await? Only the Great Sea can tell, and we will soon soar above it for the first time in the history of the Realms! I shall continue to record the details of our voyage, where you will find them published first in the pages of the Tirlin Times, the first and best of all newspapers, since 1277! Mrs. Wedding O. Primsbite, reporting. Authenticity cipher one one oh one. Out.”

The device fell silent.

“She’s good,” Mug said, with grudging admiration in his voice. “Think the Vonats heard?”

“If they were listening, they heard,” replied Meralda. “I boosted the signal by several orders of magnitude.”

Mug’s cage buzzed. “What makes you so sure the Vonats had a hand in the newspaper’s secret telesonde?”

“That’s what I’d do,” Meralda said. “Too, it’s the only thing I could think of on such short notice.”

Mug rustled his vines in the expression Meralda knew as a shrug. “Well, if we make it to Ambervale in one piece, we’ll know you were right,” he said.

“You have such an uplifting, positive outlook on life,” Meralda said. “It’s always a joy, being with you.”

“Isn’t it though?” Mug sailed his cage about the tiny cabin, coming to rest by the open porthole. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see the Vonats coming?”

* * *

Three hours to the minute, and the mooring lines were cast away. The
Intrepid
, her hold filled with everything fifty soldiers and their wheelbarrows could haul aboard, soared away from the Ambervale tower on four fans before tilting her nose toward the clouds and engaging her flying coils.

Meralda let the breath she’d been unconsciously holding go. “No Vonats,” whispered Mug, from close by her ear. “You did it, Mistress. I’d insist on a hefty increase in your salary.”

The airship pierced the lead-grey clouds and emerged beneath a bright blue sky. Lightning played within the clouds below, arcing and racing silently in the distance, until the Captain gave the order to ascend to ten thousand feet.

Soon neither land nor sea was visible below, just the unbroken plain of flashing rain clouds.

“We’ve just left the Realms,” said the navigator, after a time. “We are now over the Great Sea, bound for Hang.”

Captain Fairweather nodded and reached for the brass handset that fed every speaking tube aboard the
Intrepid
.

“This is the Captain speaking,” he said. “We are now over the Great Sea. Our voyage has begun in earnest. Clear skies and fair winds to us all.”

He hung up the handset and faced the forward glass, his hands clasped behind his back.

Meralda joined him, marveling at the deep blue of the sky.

“Never was much for speeches,” said the Captain.

“You’ll have to get used to them,” Meralda said. “One day soon, you’ll be known as the captain of the first airship to cross the Great Sea. You won’t be able to buy a paper without first giving a speech.”

The Captain fetched his pipe from his jacket and clenched the stem of it between his teeth. “I won’t light this until my boots are on Hang soil,” he said. “My first speech will be along the lines of ‘has anyone got any matches?’”

Meralda laughed, and the
Intrepid
soared east toward Hang.

~~~

From the private journal of Mugglesworth Ovis, Novembre 15, RY 1969

You can’t see the salty waves for the clouds, but we’re well out over the Great Sea and even if wiser heads prevailed there’s no turning back now.

Mistress received her first report about the flying coils from Tower late last night. She claims everything is fine, but I saw her frown. I have no doubt that she has discovered some fatal flaw to the machines, and is hoping against hope to produce a remedy before we all plunge screaming into the caustic brine below.

Tomorrow, we’ll need to replenish the lifting gas we’ve lost to leaks by descending to within fifty feet of the merciless waves so some unwieldy contraption can be lowered in order to pump water aboard. Mistress contrived a machine which turns seawater into lifting gas, which is one of the many reasons I wish she’d focus her considerable intellect on more pressing matters of horticulture, most notably the suppression of leaf-cutter beetles.

If we survive the eight-hour stop in the morning to replenish our gas envelope, we’ll take to the skies once again, and repeat the pattern every day hereafter. Why all this is considered the superior alternative to a nice safe boat is quite beyond me.

But at least all this will give Mistress something to do. She was fine most of the day today, until suppertime arrived. She retired early from the Grand Salon and sat at her desk, mooning over Donchen with many a deep sigh and sorrowful gaze out yonder window or porthole or whatever it is they call flotsam before it is smashed to pieces on some nameless rocky shore.