Turn 82

"Whither shall we ride?"
    "Where danger lurks!" Says the Half Man with enthusiasm. "No, on second thought, how about somewhere with some game?"
    "We can but search," the sergeant shrugs, "and if we are in luck, we shall find only what we seek."
    "Men make their own luck, then thank the gods for letting them." Emmett says, then spurs his mount forward. Being in the company of all soldiers - regular soldiers - again is bringing his elite forces attitude back to the fore, not that he is self aware enough to notice.
    He probably also doesn't pick up on the somewhat bemused look the two locals exchange. Emmett just doesn't act the way they expect him to, and there's a faint undercurrent of "Is he putting us on? No, I don't think he is..." in their thoughts.
    Emmett spends some of the time talking looking at the local defenses and plying Brunon with questions about battles in the past, specifically those in the last war. There hasn't been any serious fighting here in recent years, but Brunon tells of caravans and barges attacked on their way to or from the mountains despite their guards, and the skirmishes that result from those.
    As far as the castle itself, there are plenty of tales of the late, unlamented Lord Baris (spit), who wanted to be a king fifty-odd years back and was quite vehemently shown the error of his ways by the current king's father. They say there are still pieces of him on display in the capital.
    "Well that's...thorough." Emmett's eyes are raking the woods looking for signs of game, but he keeps up a stream of talk "How are the caravans moved? Land, sea or air?"
    "Air?" He sounds startled. "Ship to our port here, then they go up the river usually, overland when they get far enough up."
    Emmett files that for a moment. "What's the local beer like? What's the brewing process?" At the men's explanations, Emmett nods. "Oh yeah. Had some of that last night. Hard to remember how much..." He shakes his head, as if clearing cobwebs. "Anything else? Wine, Whisky, Gin?"
    "Wine, whiskey," Brunon agrees. "What's gin like?"
    After some further discourse on beverages, "Any followers of Gond?"
    "Who?"
    The half-man takes his amulet out from under his cloak. "Gond. He's the master craftsman, the worldsmith, the watchmaker. He's the god of technology. It was his power that put me back together after getting fireballed 3000 feet up. I'm not a cleric or anything, but I spread the things he teaches."
    Emmett shrugs. "That came out wrong. OK, look, when you put your hand over a fire, you know how you can feel the air move up away from it?" At their nods, he continues "Air moves straight up when it gets too close to flame. So you can harness that by putting a big lightweight sack, a balloon, over the flame. The balloon fills up with the hot air, and then when the air has nowhere further to go, it pushes the balloon up into the air. If you tie things to the bottom of the balloon, they'll go up too. That's how you can move those caravan goods by air, where the bandits can't get to them - we did that on my homeworld - that and put surveyors and troops in them to get a good look over battlefields. And that's the sort of stuff Gond teaches you to do."
    The two men again exchange a glance. "That's wizard talk, sounds like," the armsman Jack ventures after a moment. "Moving stuff around with air?"
    "Are these... 'balloons' proof against dragons, then?" Brunon wants to know.
    The three men ride inland, along the river, but turn off into the woods before reaching the village where the _Distraction_ first set down. Under its heavy blanket of snow, the world seems fresh-created, the crunch of hooves, creak of leather and steady huff of pluming breath the only sounds. Through the course of the morning they spy quite a few new tracks--rabbit, fox, ermine and lynx--and Emmett learns that many of the animals on this world change their coats for winter, even the deer. In the afternoon they spy a small herd of those, but a shift in the wind betrays them and the tall, spindly-legged creatures bound away, pale grey ghosts in the shadows among the trees.

* * *

    In dealing with the tailor, Val endeavors to ensure that something is provided for Inez and Nyala,. and is assured that they will be provided for as well. As long as everyone maintains the appropriate social distance, it seems no one is concerned about the two women.
    Ibn Fadil hesitates, not really wanting to owe anything more to these people, but it would be even more rude to refuse and he finally agrees.
    "Captain," the chamberlain addresses Val, "His Lordship wishes to inspect your ship this afternoon, if you would."
    "It would be my pleasure to give him a tour," Val replies in a friendly manner. Despite his outward appearance of cooperation and acceptance, these peoples' social conventions still rankle him.
    Ibn Fadil will come along, and slip ahead to warn Nyala and Inez. "His lordship is coming to see the ship," he says. "Might be best to stay out of the way," he adds sourly.
    "That we shall, most certainly. We had a visitor from the castle this morning--a seamstress, and no doubt what passes here for a respectable woman, for she would not say one more word than was necessary." There is an ironic glint in her bright eyes. "I hope you others are finding success."
    Later that day, the tour goes on as planned. His Lordship appears surprised by how small the ship is, and seems to be deep in thought for much of the time.
    "Captain," he says at last, "you may have heard, two days from now is to be the midwinter festival, which I hope you will all enjoy. If you wish to go masked, Erek will assist you. It is the tradition that afterward, the guild leaders hold a series of banquets. This may be a propitious time for us to ascertain what dealings there may be, now that you have seem somewhat of our city."
    

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