Serial Sunday: Tranquillity, Part I
By Paul Leone.
Captain’s Log
March 17, AD 1529
We are now five days out of Port Vitruvius and making steady time through the æther. The mist had a particularly fine and thin quality today, with a rose hue at dawn brightening to a golden color by the eighth hour.
The Orrery indicates we should be approaching Vulcan’s wake soon and will reach the world by morning: just on schedule. Commendations to Mr. Yim, as usual. It –
A sequence of yells on deck interrupted Captain Letizia Bruzzone just then.
The Genoese woman carefully replaced her quill in the inkwell, a look of annoyance forming on her face as she did. Letizia pushed the logbook back into the center of her desk and only when it was safe, or at least safer, from being dislodged by the ordinary or extraordinary swaying of the ship did she get to her feet.
Letizia left her cabin and hurried up the stairs to the deck of the Tranquilla. It was, as she expected, a scene of pure chaos. Her crew members were running around in all directions. A few were trying to jump overboard, the rest attempting to prevent that from happening. The fact that the aspiring jumpers were almost entirely men was only a puzzle until Letizia heard a faint and seductive song drifting out of the fine golden mist that surrounded the Tranquilla. The song echoed in her heart and tightly clutched that annoying organ, attempting to drag her into the mist.
come join us
sing with us play with us
come be with us
forever
The singers were hidden from sight, but all the same, Letizia could see them in her mind’s eye. The most alluring beauties imaginable, clad in nothing but an aura of pulchritude unmatched by even Helen of Troy or Simonetta Vespucci. They were out there, just out of sight, calling, beckoning, waiting... a world of sensual pleasure beyond imagination...
“Ugh,” Letizia moaned. She pursed her lips and then whistled sharply, a less pleasant but much louder noise than the song of the mist-dwellers. Everyone aboard or mostly aboard her ship froze and looked at her.
“Enough of this nonsense. Attend to your duties!” she yelled at them, hands on her hips. Then she strode over to the deck railing. “Now, you listen to me! I am Captain Letizia Bruzzone of the Tranquilla, and I have no time for your mischief. Go. Away.”
The powerfully enticing song faded away. There was the faintest hint of movement deep in the mists and vague murmurs of protest.
“Now, by God!”
The grumbling faded.
“Good.” Letizia eyed her crew until they scattered to attend to their duties and then she returned to her cabin where book, ink and quill were waiting.
– appears we will reach our destination in good time, assuming, if God wants, that the sirens do not trouble us again.
***
When Letizia was a very young girl walking along the pebbled paths of the family estate above Genoa, the sky had suddenly darkened. She had tugged at the dress of her nanny, a beanstalk of a woman named Antunietta, and asked the old woman, “Is it the Parousia?”
“No, child, it’s only Vulcan. It won’t hide the Sun for very long, don’t be afraid.”
Letizia, completely unafraid, looked up for a moment. She saw a dark spot in the sky, perhaps the size of a silver scudo coin, framed by a halo like the holy saints in church and chapel.
“Don’t do it, you’ll go blind,” Antunietta hissed.
Letitzia looked for a moment longer before turning away. “One day I’ll go there,” she declared.
Antunietta, who had never been more than fifty miles from the fishing village where she was born, shrugged. “Perhaps.”
***
“Perhaps,” Letizia whispered as she strode down the Tranquilla’s gangway and onto the black-sand surface of Vulcan.
“What’s that, Captain?” Emma asked.
“Nothing of importance,” Letizia told her.
She stopped and looked around. Kazem’s caravanserai hadn’t changed much in the six months since their last visit. It was a low, sprawling brick compound of many courtyards all around a vast central one. Colorful silk and linen drapery covered the courtyards, providing shade and some measure of coolness from the blazing sun. Each one was surrounded by covered paths that led to the caravanserai’s many rooms – rooms for guests, rooms for drinking and eating, rooms for discreet meetings either intimate, illegal or otherwise, and rooms of many other purposes.
A half-dozen worldships from as many different worlds hovered above the caravanserai with deceptive placidity. The traveler’s code did something to limit unsightly violence in and around the caravanserai, although Kazem’s impatient and imposing guards also contributed there.
Two crow-like birds perched above the arched entrance, glaring malevolently down with beady golden eyes. One flexed its wings and noisily cawed at Letizia and Emma.
Emma snarled back up at the bird, which recoiled and fell silent.
“Impressive,” Letizia said.
Emma grinned.
“They must’ve thought you were their mother,” Letizia continued as she pushed open the swinging doors and entered the tavern.
Emma snarled again as she followed. To be fair, she was draped from head to toe in midnight black garments, an outfit that was both pragmatic and flattering. The rapier at her waist was likewise a thing of beauty and practicality alike. As was the dagger at the opposite end of her belt, and the pair resting behind the small of her back, and the ones tucked into her boots...
It was a collection of accessories suited for Kazem’s establishment. While other caravanserais hosted honest (and not-so-honest) merchants, the old Persian instead catered to those living in deep, dark orbits around the law. Letizia didn’t enjoy visiting Kazem’s place, but she recognized its use. The caravanserai was always full of those with money or in search of it, be they human or one of the kindred folk who peopled the twelve worlds orbiting Earth.
The great hall of the caravanserai was full of them. Humans and dwarves, the native folk of Vulcan, for the most part, but others, too – centaurs, nymphs, elves, cynocephali and all the rest. All the rest except phoenixes and mermaids, that was. They tended to keep to their own peculiar worlds. All told, there were maybe thirty or so souls in the room, most of whom casually glanced at Letizia and her first mate as they entered.
Emma caught Letizia’s eye. “There. In the far corner,” she murmured without looking that way. Letizia held back a smile as she did look that way.
There in the shadowy corner between two guttering oil lamps sat Turnos. He was a Wose, a huge man-like person, tall and broad, covered with thick brown hair from head to toe. The large concave stool he sat on creaked as he leaned forward and beckoned Letizia and Emma with both arms.
“Arh! Welcome, welcome, Henit and Mev.” Turnos’ smile was full of jagged brown teeth. Both the shape and hue were signs of good health among his people.
Emma pursed her lips. “Who?”
“Hildegard of Bingen and Joan of Arc, or close enough,” Letizia murmured to her.
Emma scowled. “I’m English, not French.”
“Arh, it’s all the same to me, Mev,” Turnos said. He laughed loud and long, then thumped the table in front of him with one huge hand. “Now. Business.”
“Now, business,” Letizia said. “I hope you have some for us.”
“When don’t I?” Turnos asked. Letizia said nothing and the Wose laughed again. “Cassano Fregoso.”
“I know him,” Letizia said. “One of my countrymen. He’s got more gold in his pockets than wits in his head.”
“You could have some of that gold if you do a job for him.”
“Perhaps,” Letizia said. “What job?”
“Some Earthly ruffians stole one of his books. Some worldly ruffians stole the book from them. Fregoso wants it back.”
“A book? That’s all?” Emma scoffed.
Letizia glanced at her, then at Turnos. “What book might this be?”
“Some old Roman thing. A proper book, not scrolls. About one of your great Earthly rivers, I think.”
Letizia nodded. “Does the book have a name?”
Turnos cleared his throat and then answered. “Khorograph Egypty. Or something like that.”
“Ah, I see,” Letizia said after a moment. She almost drummed her fingers on the table but managed to restrain that hasty impulse. “And what does the good lord Cassano offer in exchange for the return of his book?”
“Two hundred gold lira.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Is the book written in gold, too?”
“It’s an impressive sum, to be certain. But who stole the book first and who stole it second?” Letizia asked.
“First, some band of – what are they called? Barbers?”
“Barbary corsairs,” Letizia corrected, frowning a little. Genoa and the corsairs had crossed swords often enough.
“And the second, Alfredh Langhley, captain of the Dlorh.”
“The Dlorh? Wait – the Doloire. Langley’s ship.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Turnos said, pressing his elbows to his sides in a Wodewosan shrug.
“I know that name, and the name of the captain, too,” Emma said. “He’s English. They say he’s bold.”
“Is he clever, too?”
“He’s been a captain, and free, since I first started.”
Emma was only ten years older than Letizia, but the Genoese woman knew her First Mate had ‘first started’ at around that age, too. Anyone who had been commanding ships across the æther for nigh on thirty years was likely to be very clever.
“It’s agreed, then?” Turnos asked.
“It’s agreed,” Letizia said instead of haggling over the details as she usually did.
Emma glanced at her but said nothing.
There was little more for Turnos to tell them, but all of it was useful.
When Letizia had no more questions, the great Wose leaned forward and stared intently at her. “Good. I’ll take my tithe now,” he said.
“What? It’s not done yet,” Emma said. “That’s not how it works.”
Turnos showed his jagged brown teeth in what might have been a grin – or a grimace. “Tell that to the mob behind you.”
Letizia turned and looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, there stood a half-dozen ruffians of three different kindreds, united only by their visible anger and their equally visible blades.
One of them, a tall elf with pallid skin and snow-white hair, pointed a long sword at Emma. “Emma Hawkins, it’s time you paid your debts – in blood!”
Letizia sighed, turned back to Turnos, and slipped him his tithe of gold coins. Then she stood up and tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her sleeves. “If you insist, dear sir, but you should recall that ‘He that is patient, is governed with much wisdom: but –”
Emma drew her sword and lunged at the pale elf with a wild cry.
“– he that is impatient... exalteth his folly...’” Letizia sighed and drew her own slender sword.
One of the ruffians, a stocky, scar-covered man, came at her, wildly swinging a curved, broad-bladed sword. Letitzia backpedaled rapidly, barely stepping aside in time to avoid both the blade before her and the table behind her. She continued to side-step, then executed a clumsy thrusting attack at him. The ruffian parried it and, broken yellow teeth bared in a gap-filled grimace, swung his blade at her again. Letizia was able to get her sword up and knock his clumsy attack aside, but she didn’t dare count on that working a second time.
Setting aside her constant but suddenly much more urgent regret at not spending more time in Emma’s swordsmanship lessons than with Friar Mateo in scholarly debate, Letizia took a quick step back and flailed with her empty hand until it struck the table. She then flung it forwards and upwards at the ruffian with the broad-bladed sword.
That, at least, was her intention. The table went forward a foot or so, then fell over. The ruffian ducked back rather than letting the table fall on his feet. He sneered at Letizia and pointed his blade at her.
Meanwhile, Emma was busy trading thrusts and parries with the elf, who was just as quick and skilled as she was, to the point where he scored a few shallow cuts on her. All the same, Emma grinned.
“What amuses you?” the elf hissed. He took a cautious step back, his blade held defensively.
“Your arrogance, to begin with!” Emma shot back. “Why do you trouble my captain?”
The elf sneered at her. “It’s not your captain we’re here for, Emma Hawkins, more worthless than worms.”
(Hearing that, Letizia pursed her lips. Worms were humble creatures, but they quietly and diligently played their part in the divine order.)
Emma scoffed and made a circling motion with the tip of her blade. “How dare you! I am at least twice as worthy as a worm, Goodman Elf, and you but half that, as you’ll see soon enough.”
“I doubt that,” one of the other pirates – such they were, Emma knew, recognizing at least two of them from days gone by – said, sneering hugely as he waved his knives in her direction.
“Why would you say such a thing?” Emma asked, stepping back to keep both the elf and the knife-wielder in clear sight. “Don’t you know you’re overmanned?”
“You’re not any kind of man,” the pirate with the knives said.
“It’s true! But...” Emma grinned and pointed her sword at him. Or rather, just past him, at Reynolds, Yeung, and Korr-Kohera, three of the largest and fiercest members of the Tranquilla’s crew, who were standing just behind the assembled pirates.
What ensued was noisy, energetic and destructive, but short-lived. Fortunately, that couldn’t be said of any of the combatants on any side, although the one that Korr-Kohera, a rather stout specimen of cynocephalian manhood, was sitting on might have perhaps wished for death, or at least unconsciousness.
“A moment, please, Captain,” Emma said as Letizia sheathed her sword and started towards the door.
Letizia looked at her, more curious than usual, then nodded and stood her ground.
Emma stared down at the elf, lying prone next to his broken sword. She pushed his loose shirt open with her own sword, revealing a pale chest, slender and hairless. “I keep my word,” she said, then spent a moment marking his skin with the tip of her blade, lightly tracing out what might have been a worm (or a snake). “I am twice as worthy as a worm and you but half that... written for all to see.”
She saluted him with her sword, vigorously enough to leave some of his pale blood on her forehead, then hastened away.
Letizia, sighing, followed her with the others close behind.
A moment later, someone else slipped out and hastened off in another direction...
Paul Leone is an author who, among other works, wrote the book In and Out of the Reich for Sea Lion.
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