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Chapter 16

Yvettesport et al

To cut a long story short, all the diplomatic bluster failed to interest the mayor of Boadiccea’s Girdle.

We booked passage on the Tiburon to Yvettesport, which was on its way to Neo Esteban.

We were rowed ashore at night by a crew that Kismet had pronounced “surly” within range of their hearing.

Turns out that Neonen sailors, at least some of them, speak enough Achaen to know that word.

.....

Yvettesport was barely larger than a village, perhaps three hundred two story houses carved from the local wood.

Kismet grabbed her nose. “This whole settlement stinks!”

“Yes,” Narces said, “They clearly just throw their filth out into the street and then don’t clear the streets.”

I said nothing, but put my boots on before we left the docks.

“Hey, you there!” said a dockworker. “What are you doing out here at night?”

“We’ve just arrived, and are seeking a place to stay.” I said.

“Stay on your ship, and out of Yvettesport!” he responded.

“How friendly.” Narces said.

We began to walk past him, up the central road.

“Hey, I said...”

“Do you want a knife in your belly?” Gamilla asked. “Then just shut up. We don’t want to be here, we won’t be visiting long.”

Yay, diplomacy.

Neither of the two inns would open its doors for us, so we just waited outside the local mayor’s house.

“Hey, you can’t wait here.” Said a patrolling soldier.

“Where can we wait?” I asked.

“In a cell is where you’ll wait if you don’t find somewhere else.”

“I am the ambassador from the Tidelands, and I will speak to your mayor, if only to be turned away. This is the correct house, is it not?”

“That’s none of your business. Move along.”

“Go get enough guards to make us.” Narces said. “We’ll wait.”

Yay, diplomacy.

So they came back with eight of them and attempted to arrest us. We were at the brandishing weapons phase when the mayor’s wife came out the front door.

She demanded something in Malosian, which turned into a discussion, which turned into an argument.

Shamed, the guards left us alone. She gave us a glare before returning inside.

Shortly after dawn, the aging mayor came out of his house to speak with us. In Malosian.

“Do you speak Furdish?” Kismet asked, still pawing the sleep out of her eyes.

“I speak better Manoran.” He said.

“I speak Manoran.” I said. “I am the ambassador from...”

“Nowhere. No ambassador behaves as you do. Begone. From my doorstep and from my colony. I banish you, now go away and stay there.”

Yay, diplomacy.

So we made our way back to the inns, both of which claimed to have no available beds.

We wasted no time getting to the docks, where there were no vessels.

“Well, this just sucks.” Narces said.

We found an available warehouse, and pitched a tent inside. We had to, to keep the bugs out.

It was like camping. During wartime.

#

Lavin Buscala was little better; the Jarl of the port lived half a day away at the snowy lip of a caldera. He had a laugh at our expense due to our unfamiliarity with cold, particularly Kismet.

I had better luck with a wind spirit that wanted us to save an Aware wolf cub from a ravine it had fallen into. No reward, but it promised to remember Kismet always.

Lord Monmouth of Vernice kept us waiting for three days before we gave up.

“Can we just go home, now?” Narces asked.

“No. There is a village here.” I said, indicating a nearby island. “People of the Sea-Bat, or mantas, as we call them.”

“I have to side with Narces.” Gamilla said. “These tiny tribes aren’t going to be able to offer anything worth our time.”

“And yet, I am assigned to visit with some ... twenty-seven such tribes, and a dragon, and the Daurians, and the kraken-spawn, in the order of danger to myself.” I said. “Small wonder so many previous diplomats ended up dead.”

Kismet’s eyes lit up. “We get to talk to a DRAGON? A real dragon?”

“How did you not know that before now?” asked Gamilla.

“Even I know the dragonwyr is home to an actual dragon.” Narces said.

“Come on, let’s go!”

“Kismet, we can’t just go and see the dragon. We need to visit the villages first.”

She crossed her arms. “Explain. Now.”

“They local mayors won’t see us because we have nothing to offer.” I said. “Until we start making trade with the villages, or with local companies, we’re nobody. What do dragons do to nobodies?”

She scratched an elbow, then uncrossed her arms. “Okay, so Manta Clan. What do they want?”

“We’ll have to visit them and see.” I said.

“And learn more about the dangers of this area.” Narces said. “Those fishfolk weren’t a joke.”

“Maybe we could recruit them to the Red Tide?” Gamilla asked.

I clicked my talons together. “It’s worth asking them, if they use a language we can learn.”

“What about this tribe here?” Gamilla asked. “Just the other side of this island.”

“We could get a small boat, learn to sail it.” Kismet said.

“Nah.” Narces said. “This place is too dangerous. We can’t just sail about here, we’ll get eaten for sure.”

“Kismet.”

“Whaaat?” she sounded suspicious.

“We can rule out visits to any tribes of pigmy cannibals that don’t trade with the local sailors.”

“And why tell me?”

“Because,” I said. “You are good at finding things out.”

“I’m good at finding things out.” Said Gamilla.

“Okay, then team young women, you’re in charge of finding out what these tribes have, and what they want. Kismet, you are now Heroics Officer. Find us quests somewhere to do something.”

“Where’s Turtle Clan?”

“Here.”

“Giant crab, possibly a Makura.”

“Never just one Makura.” Narces said.

“Okay, someone just see if we can get passage out to the nearby village.”

“Why not you?” asked Gamilla.

I produced a parcel, wrapped in leather and sealed in wax. “While we’re in Vernice, I need to get THIS mailed back to Sholwyr in Furdia.”

#

.....

It’s a depressing thing, to send a month of failures to someone who desires you to fail.

I was starting to understand why humans imbibed so much poisonous alcohol.

Or... maybe it was just hormonal changes going on while my physical body de-calcified my pituitary gland. All kinds of crap, throwing off my emotional center and actually developing Resolve skills I never paid enough attention to know were skills.

The Festival of Planting was coming up, the week that officially split the months of spring from summer. Counting travel time, had I done anything that was a success?

I scratched off some gunk from below my eyes. What WAS that? Had I picked up an infection or a fungus somewhere? There was nothing on my status screen.

It was better in the morning, over breakfast. Fried fish over mashed plantains and maize (a grain-like vegetable), flavored with ham-fat. Even only partially infused, each serving was worth ten or eleven points of nutrition.

“I could go for seconds.” I admitted.

“Not if we’re to catch our ship.” Gamilla said.

So, we gathered our bags, and met the rowboat of the Merry Vendor, a single-mast cog.

The crew was mostly Furdian, accepting of Kismet and wary of the rest of us.

I wouldn’t have wanted to swim the distance to the People of the Sea-Bat, but we made it with hours to spare before dusk.

I got confirmation that the captain would be back for us “in eight or maybe nine days”, and resolved to meet the challenges of the tribe with such ability as I could muster.

There were rowboats sent from the village to meet us. The natives waved.

“They sure seem friendly.” Kismet said.

“Suspiciously so.” Gamilla said. “They must want something.”

“As long as it isn’t spiders. Seen enough of those things.” Narces said.

The waters were clear, and showed tiny mantas crisscrossing the bottom of the bay.

“Kismet, look at the patterns.” I said.

“Yeah, mantas. Boring. Hiya!” she said, waving back at another boat.

“Gamilla... they seem to be waving at you in particular.”

“I don’t know why.” She said. “I’ve never been to this area before.”

“It’s the tone of your skin, I reckon.” Said Harlin, one of our rowers. “Local legend on these three islands about an adobe woman.”

“Adobe?” she asked.

“It’s a kind of brick.” Harlin explained. “It’s used east of here. Cliff dwellers, mostly.”

Hrm... reddish brown brick. I wondered why that hadn’t come up earlier.

“So what should we know about this Adobe Woman before we land?” I asked.

“Oh, just the normal healing and fertility goddess stuff.” Harlin said.

“She sometimes gets chucked into volcanoes to have sex with the lava gods.” Clauret, the other rower said.

“Only sometimes.” Harlin said. “It probably won’t happen here.”

“I can only hope.” Gamilla said.

#