Turn 79

    "Is it common in your lands for folk to carry such array of armaments?" he inquires at one point.
    Ibn Fadil answers, "We are engaged in trade, sir, which attracts bandits as meat attracts flies. We have encountered pirates twice in the last two years or so -- three times if you count the mad wizard -- and found our armaments quite useful. But ordinary shopkeepers and farmers have little need of such things in most places." It does not even occur to him to mention that iron is not so rare in other places as it seems to be on Rigol: that would reduce the potential profit to be gotten here.
    "Pirates and mad wizards? It sounds as if your adventures have been considerable. Is there none who takes it upon himself to ensure the safety of these seas between the worlds?"
    "Ah ..." he says, trying to work out how to answer that and not laugh at the same time. "The known universe is vast, sir." His expression straightens out. "Some of the elves try, but their efforts are not always well received. My own grandmother once referred to them as -- how would it translate? -- 'A batch of meddlers who always think they know what is best for everyone.' There are so many worlds, so many different interests, so much plain *distance* -- it would take inconceivable resources to protect more than a small portion of the whole."
    "So it was once thought here, until a strong enough hand emerged," the lord remarks. "You are very strange to us, of course, but I am intrigued by what you have told me. Should all go well, what is it that you would expect to do now? Other than picking up your boots, of course." He smiles slightly; he doesn't look like a man who does that too often.
    Ibn Fadil's friendly expression does not even flicker as he resolves to keep treading *very* carefully here. Glancing at Valarin for continued permission, he smiles back (looking like a man who does that easily and often) and forges on. "My boots, definitely. I will not forget to pack for all weathers again," he adds ruefully. "I like to learn about new places, so what I would like to do is wander about and talk to people ... but I suspect, my lord, that you would prefer if we confined ourselves to talking with yourself or someone knowledgeable about the trade and products of your lands, and about the goods we brought with us or could procure.
    "And we would send for our ship, of course, so that you can see it and meet the rest of our crew."
    "That strikes me well," he agrees. "We should receive word from there soon."
    "Many spelljamming ships do present a rather unusual appearance," the Zakharan says apologetically. "I have asked quite a few people why this is, but the best answer I have gotten comes down to 'tradition.'"

* * *

    "Sergeant, if you w two will step this way." Emmett motions back along his tracks to the _Distraction_. "I do have to warn you, you might find some of crew a little...odd looking."
    The half man yells up "Ahoy. We have visitors and I'm freezing. Open the door!"
    Emmett makes a quick judge of the Sergeant and decides the man would rather forego courtesy and *follow* Emmett rather than have a possible threat at his back and he entered so strange a place, so he motions for the pair to follow as he enters the _Distraction_.
    "As I said, this is the TTS Distraction. And this is some of the crew."
    Yestin is looking rather more imposing than usual in full mail. The two Rigolians freeze for a moment. The giff nods politely to them and says, "Welcome aboard," doing his best to appear harmless - which isn't much, but when he makes no movement they relax a fraction.
    Emmett gives the Giff a formal salute, "Sir." He turns to face their guests. "This is Yestin, our first officer. And this is Pham, our cleric. Nyala and Hiro are also on board - Hiro is the one who tried to talk to your people earlier."
    Emmett guides them through a quick tour, giving away as few specifics as possible while--he hopes--whetting their interest. The inspectors are visibly reassured to some extent by the sheer ordinary "ship-ness" of the place - the galley, the dirty socks, the crates of mostly-identifiable things in the hold.
    On the other hand, they are visibly unnerved by Nyala, and almost as much by Inez' presence, shocked almost to the point of revulsion. They both do their best not to even look at either of the women directly. Pham takes note of the reaction. {Hmm}, he thinks, {a segregated society. That would fit with Ginevra's status as a trade good.}
    When the tour has moved on, the two females exchange a glance in a rare moment of shared thought. "Hmph," Inez sniffs. "First man I've ever seen look at me like I was pond scum."
    "Human pond scum, at any rate," the elf replies dryly. "I think that if any of my people dwell here, these at least have never met one of us. This could be... difficult."
    Relieved of female presence, it turns out that the two inspectors do want to know how the ship *moves,* looking for levers that might move the legs, or hidden sails, or wheels, or who knows what as they poked around the place.
    Emmett holds off on the question until the second time they ask, while they're in the galley. Then he shrugs. "Magic. I'm afraid our expert on magic is with our captain, but you can ask him. Mind you, I've been flying on these ships for years and I still don't understand a good half of what comes out of Master Alais' mouth."
    "The one your captain calls 'the mad' is a magus, then?"
    "Oh, you've met him? Care for some tea? It's pretty cold out there, and we can't have fire when we're off a planet, so this is a double luxury." With more deftness than one would expect he manages a to pour half a mug of tea and pass it over with his hook.
    Trusting that he has thrown them off into a tangent, Emmett moves on with the tour.
    "No fire?" the sergeant asks. "Why should that be?" And, "Er, what... is this?" glancing at the mug.
    Until now, Pham has been quietly following the group of them, helping with hatches, and letting Emmett take the lead. At this question he pipes up. "It is called tea. A drink make from boiling leaves of particular plants. Quite refreshing and relaxing. There are many different kinds; of course, on as small a ship as this one, we take whatever is left in supplies."
    Brunon tastes it cautiously; hard to tell if he likes it or if he's just being polite, but he does finish the cup.
    "As far as the fire goes, well, the nature of the universe is very strange. What you see in your skies is only this sphere. Other worlds exist in their own spheres. Between the spheres exists the phlogiston, which is unfortunately quite volatile in the presence of open flame. One spark in the phlogiston could easily destroy a ship."
    "This is the ballista turret. This is an advanced model, which comes in handy when we're attacked by hundred yard long Krajen." He looks up at it with some pride before looking back conspiratorially "But it's better just to outrun the things. I still think they chase us because we look like a giant bug."
    They are suitably impressed by the ballista -- especially since the crew didn't try to use it on them -- and look skeptical about the krajen. "What sort of speed does she make, then?" the armsman inquires, in a rare moment of speaking up.
    Emmett shrugs again, "That's hard to say. Faster than any water ship, as fast as a Griffin or Eagle when we're over a world. Faster when we're off world, faster still when we're between spheres. But for on a world, I don't have any good way to measure, and there are a lot of strange magical things that cause our speed to fluctuate. It's too complicated for a military guy like me."
    The two inspectors exchange a faintly amused glance.
    Meanwhile, a couple of messengers are meeting midway between city and town. Even on horseback, the trip takes some time in the snow, but by early that afternoon it has been sorted out that His Lordship would indeed like to see the flying vessel and the rest of her crew. Word is put out, so that the people of the city won't panic. The sergeant and his second agree to stay aboard while the rest of the men return to the city and the confused peasants--who of course still have no idea what this is all about--to their village.
    When the time comes, Pham asks "Please, everyone, if you could stay clear of the pilot's chair, I need a clear view. Nyala, you have the best eyesight of the lot of us, could you please go forward and navigate for me?" He takes his seat in the helm, and the ship begins, slowly, to rise.
    Emmett leans in towards the armsman "Not to worry. Pham's the best pilot among us."
    "Truly, a fascinating means of travel." He glances forward, as if considering what the view from there would be like, but that would mean standing near Nyala.
    It is a very short journey, of course; it almost no time Pham is landing the ship in the specified place, on some bare and open ground between the city wall and the sea--on the opposite side of the city from where the others had entered the previous day. From the bridge they can see the faces of the men guarding the wall. There is an escort waiting outside the Sea Gate, another half dozen of the soldiers, with a considerable civilian crowd pressing close behind them.
    Brunon nods approvingly as the ship sets down, and also relaxes a fraction. "Impressive. If you will excuse me, I must have some words with my fellows before we may proceed."
    The crowd gives a collective gasp, then a little cheer upon seeing Brunon emerge from the bizarre device. He speaks with the man at the head of the escort for a few moments, then returns to the _Distraction_. "All is in readiness; His Lordship awaits you, as do your captain and fellow crew. His Lordship has made it plain that this... 'ship' is under his protection; it will not be molested while you are away. Your women will remain here."
    "And will not be molested while they're away?" Nyala says in an amused tone, mostly just to see what his reaction is--as it happens, a sharp frown and a visibly-bitten-off retort. She smiles sweetly at him and leaves the bridge.
    "Come. They are ready," he says to Emmett, Hiro, Pham, and Yestin. They descend to the ground.
    In an attempt to look less menacing, Yestin has doffed the mail, though he still wears his massive two-handed sword; there are gasps and a couple of shrieks from the watchers, and the giff heaves a slight sigh as he resigns himself to hysterical reactions for the duration of their stay. He has never in his young life been among groundlings, and now determines to do the best he can, given his disgrace, to be ambassador for the giffish species to this world. He wonders what their songs are like.
    They walk a relatively broad street through straggling outliers of the main marketplace--which they soon pass through--and thence to the square and the castle gates, the curious crowd following close, only to be replaced within the walls by one composed of everyone able to manufacture a duty that brings them outside to idle until the strangers have passed by.
    In the main hall they are reunited with the others of their crew, introduced to Lord Tesfaye, Captain, Feliks, and the chamberlain, Master Cengiz.
    "He will see to arrangements, while you remain as guests here," the lord tells them. "Other duties await me, but we will speak again at the evening meal, and perhaps tomorrow I shall visit your ship." Nobles here clearly don't go rushing out to gawk at any old starship that happens by the place. "You may do as you will, but I suggest that if you are to spend time in the city you will take one of the men with you, to see that there is no... confusion."
    The chamberlain is of middle height, middle age, and somewhat portly build, wearing the thick robes that seem to be the usual indoor garb for the higher reaches of the hierarchy. There is a hint of panic about his eyes--entertaining a half dozen sailors and a... thing lies somewhat beyond the borders of his training--but he rallies and says, "We have rooms prepared, if you would care to inspect them?"
    There are two rooms side by side, which from the looks of them are normally expected to house fewer people; it's a castle, therefore slightly cramped under the best of circumstances, and the place clearly wasn't designed with entertainment in mind. The beds are high and well-heaped with furs. Everything is sturdily built, despite the absence of metal fittings, and there has been attention paid to comfort where possible, so while not luxurious by any of the visitors' standards it is quite passable. Indeed, most of the furniture has been heavily carved and ornamented, and carved ivory faces and figures lurk among the eaves--although whether their presence is prophylactic or merely decorative, none of them can say.
    The chamberlain explains that the "evening meal" mentioned generally takes place at dusk, whatever the time of year -- which in this season gives the visitors several hours yet if they would care to do further exploring or questioning.
    

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