Novel 3. The Last Autumn

De Gorazzo spent the next few hours in his hammock, trying to take a nap. The "Elena" danced with the waves, and the people inside her were tossed from side to side mercilessly. A warm lump came to the former royal bailiff's throat, and he couldn't swallow it. Only the tart potion he had received from Maria allowed him to keep his dinner in his stomach. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, Armando endured. Suddenly the churning began to subside. The wind was still raging behind the planking, the hull creaked and groaned, but the rocking was fading by the minute. Soon it ceased altogether — only the usual measured rocking remained. It was familiar, lulling. "The storm is over," thought Armando, exhausted. And almost immediately he fell asleep.

Chapter 19

— I never thought it would feel so good just to stand on the ground, — Don de Gorazzo said aloud. It was the first time in a long time that the surface beneath his feet did not sway, and it was unsettling. Armando rocked back and forth himself, but he did not feel any calmer. Maybe he was a sailor at heart, and the deck was more dear to him than the land? Then why did the storm make him so sick?

With his hands in his pockets, the ex-royal bailiff walked along the beach. The voices of the sailors and the bosun could be heard behind him, the edge of the deciduous forest on his right, the surf splashing on the sand on his left. A hundred metres from the shore stood the "Elena" at anchor. According to the skipper, the caravel had withstood the storm perfectly, but even Armando, who had little knowledge of marine science, could see that it had not been without consequences. The rigging was hanging in shreds, there were holes in the sails, and the mizzenmast was propped up by oak planks, with a dangerous crack at its base. It looked as if the ship would remain at the roadstead of the deserted island for a couple of days at the very least.

The storm had brought the ship to this piece of land. Or rather, in its vicinity — for another twenty-four hours the caravel was heading towards the island quite purposefully.

On the first quiet morning, when the sky had cleared and the waves had settled, almost all the inhabitants of the "Elena", crew and passengers alike, came to the upper deck. The sailors, under the direction of Dorlt, were busy inspecting the damage and making initial repairs to the rigging. Those who were free from business simply enjoyed the warmth of the sun. Armando, who had not slept well, plumped himself on the top step of the gangplank and put his face to the gentle rays, watching his comrades out of the corner of his eye. Captain Valria had arrived before the others. To say that the elf looked pale would be unfair — her face had more of a greenish tinge to it. She was leaning on Sergeant Dallan's arm, blinking often, but smiling her usual radiant smile. Armando couldn't tell she'd been turned inside out by a bout of sickness half a night ago. After greeting the others, she waddled straight to the bow where the Republic dragon was slumbering. Amagi had spent the entire storm on the deck, curled up in a ball and covering his fragile partner with his wings. She did not leave his side even for a minute while the wind raged, sleeping in the arms of the lizard and eating breadcrumbs from saddlebag. In the morning Armando had caught her cleaning the dragon, the young rider was bursting with energy. Now he saw Valria climbing onto the stern superstructure, talking to the Erdos woman. Akira listened to the elf, asked the dragon some question. Amagi gave a solid nod of his massive head, and the rider handed the stiff brush to Valria. Now the captain was rubbing the scaly side of the lizard with her ears twitching happily, while the rider and the sergeant watched silently, stepping back to the gangway.

The captain was followed by the rest of the company. The last to arrive were master Carlon and the alien girl Anya. Surprisingly enough, the magician held the guest from the other world under her arm and told her something in a soft fatherly tone. The girl smiled uncertainly, which finally knocked Armando out of his thoughts. After the escape from the alien base and the death of almost all her kin, Alex's friend had withdrawn into herself. She was cold and hostile to the mercenaries, and did not look at the defector at all. She rarely left her private room under the gangway. Even Valria's charm could not melt the ice in the black-haired girl's heart. The bearded mage seemed to have found the key... Curious, Armando rose from the steps, stepped closer to the strange couple, and perked his ears.

— After all, he gave you a future, — the mage said. He led Anya to the quarterdeck fence and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. — You don't have to be grateful to him for that, but you must use the gift. For your own sake. You're human too, you deserve to be happy. Let go of your past, don't let it poison the future. There is a whole world waiting for you. — Carlon looked out over the vast sea, dotted with the foamy whitecaps waves. — This world is no longer your enemy. Become part of it.

— If listen to you, everything is so simple... — The alien girl leaned against the railing and crossed her legs in shiny boots. The wind ruffled her long hair and the narrow hem of her skirt. — I've... got over my grief, yes. But... what future do I look for here? — She glanced sullenly at Armando, leaning against the fence at her right hand. De Gorazzo did not pretend that he was here by chance, but simply nodded to the girl. Anya, hesitating for a moment, nodded back. She continued: — Suppose I am allowed to live freely in the Empire. Should I marry a miller and learn to embroider? I never dreamed of the female happiness of my great-great-grandmother's time. I'm an engineer and a linguist.

— So you'll help the Imperial scientists to master their... sphere of knowledge, — the magician suggested. — You'll set up the production of your radio stations, become the head of the Faculty of Radio Communication at the Imperial University. You'll teach, design, organise a network of stations....

— It doesn't work like that, master Carlon. — Anya shook her head, but smiled again. — Or maybe I'm not brilliant enough. It's not enough to have one person who knows how to assemble a radio. There needs to be... a scientific and technological base. The overall level of development of the world has to be higher. Otherwise whatever I build here will just be a curiosity. Like a steam turbine in ancient Rome.

— But you still know languages well, don't you? — The mage asked.

— What good would it do? — The girl shrugged her shoulders. — The language of my world is no longer needed, and there are few dialects in Daert. And all but Erdos are mutually intelligible. There's no work for a translator.

— Alex tried to sing us a song from your world once, but he couldn't. Because the rhythm gets lost in Daertian. — The black-bearded imp squinted slyly. — Could you translate it better?

— Make a literary translation, you mean? — Anya hesitated. A long strand of tarry hair fell on her face, and she tucked it carelessly behind her ear. — Yes, I suppose I could.

— There's your target. — Master raised his right hand palm up. — There, beyond the ruins of the portal, your old world remained — with its own songs, stories, legends. Here and now they live only in your memory. Give them to us, Anya! Remember them, write them down, retell them.

The girl remained silent, and Carlon added:

— How's that for a future? Youre own office in the Imperial Academy of High Arts, students and professors, meeting writers and poets, working shoulder to shoulder with them, visits to printers. Cabinets of books. New friends. The rank of professor, a title of nobility, a house in the capital, a fireplace on the ground floor...

Anya was silent for another long minute before answering:

— You're a wily serpent, master Carlon. Yes, that sounds marvellous. Now I want to see that future.

— You'll have to work hard to create it just like that. — The mage touched the girl's shoulder with a friendly, almost parental warmth that was unusual for him. — But you'll manage. Don't let anyone or anything stop you.

Their conversation was interrupted just in time by Skipper Dorlt — the elf must have heard the whole dialogue and intervened only when he felt it necessary.

— Ladies and gentlemen, the forward lookout can't see any sails around, — said the commander of the "Elena", stepping out into the centre of the quarterdeck. — Ha! The chase is behind us. Before evening I plan to determine our position and move on. The storm should have carried us to the outskirts of the Thousand Islands, which means there must be one of the Thousand Islands somewhere nearby. We'll find the nearest one on the map and set a course for it. We could all use a rest and the ship could use some repairs.

And so it was — at dusk of the same day the caravel aimed its bowsprit at an invisible point beyond the horizon. A day later she reached a round wooded islet and anchored near its shore. Work began. No passengers were needed this time, and they were left to their own devices. Valria went along the beach with Dallan to find a secluded place to swim, Akira flew off to reconnoitre, and the others, led by Maria, went deeper into the forest. The Lady Guard intended to gather medicinal herbs and bark to help with fever. Armando could have joined the expedition, but the former magistrate was simply lazy. He wandered mindlessly along the beach, occasionally sitting down to rest on the sand — and it felt good. To think about nothing, to plan nothing, to trust others. Just laze around. After a couple of hours, the don lay down on the grass, on his cloak, and dozed off to the sound of axes. Armando did not really fall asleep; as soon as a shadow fell on his face, de Gorazzo opened his eyes and raised himself on his elbows.

— I didn't mean to wake you, Don, — Elena, the navigator, apologised.

— I wasn't asleep. — The former bailiff tried to get up, but the swarthy elf stopped him with a gesture and sat down on the edge of his cloak. She asked with disarming directness:

— Did Captain Valria ask you to court me?

— Gh... — By sheer effort of will de Gorazzo kept his face, but his eye twitched, and the navigator couldn't help but notice it. — I knew someone in the corridor would have heard....

He looked around, but there were neither a couple of stout sailors with clubs nor an angry Dorlt. A group of sailors in the distance continued to chop wood into planks, but none of them even looked in the direction of the don and the elf.

— Oh, nobody told me," — the navigator shook her head. — It's just that the captain asked me to look after you yesterday. — Elena emphasised the word "me". — I understand that she first suggested that you take the initiative, but you refused....

Armando covered his face with his palm. He muttered:

— I'm sorry. Did she explain it to you?

— Yes. — The dark-haired elf nodded. — Hardly, but I understood her. How do you see it?

— Hold on. — De Gorazzo blinked a couple of times. — Are you seriously considering the possibility of....

— Why not, don? — The navigator raised her eyebrows. — I spend most of my time on the ship. Taking sailors from my own crew to bed with me would kill discipline at the root. The harbour establishments offer mostly girls and lads... not interested in women. I have nothing against human girls, but such liaisons are tiresome. I see you nice, and we're not under any obligation. It could be a pleasant co-operation for a couple of months — until we part at the end of the voyage. Do you like me?

— Very much so. — Armando swallowed. Elena spoke in her usual deadly serious tone, without a smile, looking him in the eye. It really was a strictly business proposition. — You know, a year ago I would have accepted without hesitation. But things have changed since then. I've decided to be a bit of a romantic. I wasn't when I was young, but now I am. I've got a girl waiting for me, you know.

— I see. — The dark-haired elf smiled, with just her eyes. The corners of the navigator's lips didn't even quiver. She reached up and touched the Don's cheek with the palm of her hand in the finest black glove. — A bit of a pity, but what can you do. I respect your strange human ways.

Elena straightened up in one flexible movement, pointed her finger towards the sea:

— Our sentinel returns. Time for us to get back to business.

At first de Gorazzo saw nothing in the sky, but soon there was a black dot rising above the waves. It turned into Amagi, who flew toward the beach. The dragon touched the sand a dozen paces away from Don and Elena and jogged, slowing down. Akira sped off even before the lizard came to a complete stop. Dropping her helmet, the little woman snatched a motley cloth from the dragon's claws and waved it over her head. Armando was surprised to recognise the banner of the Iolian Republic in the cloth.

— The enemy is near! — excitedly exclaimed the rider, running up to the don. — In the sea to the east! An Iolian carrack! One of those, it seems...

— Coming this way? — Elena asked quickly.

— No, on the contrary, — Akira shook her head. — I watched from a distance for about an hour. She was passing the island, but at some point she suddenly reversed course. I think they spotted the "Elena" off the island.

— Why didn't they attack? — The elfess frowned. — The carrack had a good chance against the caravel.

— They were very badly battered by the storm. — The rider threw the banner over her shoulder like a towel. — I didn't see any cannons on the upper deck. Perhaps they were thrown overboard in the storm.

— That sounds like the truth. — The navigator rubbed her chin with two fingers. — They may have fought off the flotilla, but it's more likely than not that they were sent forward to notify the Republic ports of us. And now they've turned back to the main force to put them on our trail.

— Shall we catch up with them? — Armando suggested.

— No, it's too dangerous. — Elena put her hands behind her back, squared her shoulders. — Who knows if the other ships are far away, how many cannons are left on the carrack, and how big the crew is. We'd have to leave anchor at once.

— But we haven't even patched the sails.

— Yes, and it's best not to use the bisan at all. We will go at three quarters of the pace, no more. But better that than to be caught here on the anchor. — The elf met Armando's eyes. — In the depths of the archipelago it would be possible to play cat and mouse even in this case.

The former royal bailiff sucked in air with his nose. How unfortunate the situation was! This Iolian ship should have travelled south or north. Although... then it would have arrived at one of the ports of the Republic before the "Elena" and raised the alarm. Maybe it's for the best.