103

Scouting Party

Ansel hurried to the party, eager to be off the ship and away from Mammon’s attentions. Louis joined him with a grin, and Ansel recognised one or two of the men from other ships, from their brief foray in the desert.

“Always the same volunteers, ey,” said a burly blue-eyed man, shaking Ansel firmly by the hand as he arrived on the sand. “Name’s Amos, by the way.”

“Ansel,” said Ansel. Amos clapped him on the shoulder with a friendly hand, making his knees bend in protest.

There was an air of palpable excitement. Everyone was heavily armed, and they waited expectantly, eager to be off. The solid ground felt odd. After so long in the air it was strange to be still, and Ansel felt a little unsteady on his feet. The experienced airmen assured him the feeling would pass in a day or so. Some of the ship’s boys rushed over with food which was packed away for later. Talcott and Riley hung back when the others left.

“We’re coming too,” Talcott muttered. Ansel raised his eyebrows but he understood the impulse. Where they were heading was dangerous but so was staying with Mammon.

“Where’s Kip?” he asked. The young boys usually arrived as a group.

“Still in his barrel,” said Riley, tight-lipped.

“Right now, lads,” shouted the master of arms. A heavy-set fellow by the name of Kjell, he sailed with the Warspite, which made him the ranking official. “The boss captain has put me in charge of you filthy lot!” He sounded very happy about it. “Our mission is to scout the lay of the land! The two scribes here,” he gestured to Audric, and another nervous looking man beside him. “These two are going to start on a map! Our job is to keep them from getting themselves killed! We will start with a gander at our immediate environs! If all seems peachy we will proceed toward that there mountain and visit our neighbours the savages! Yes?” He grinned round at them all. “Let’s see if they are spoiling for a fight, ay? If they are, we know what to do!” He patted the length of his arquebus. “Or perhaps they can sell us some cavorite? Show us the mines? The sooner we find the damned stuff the sooner we land with our bums in the butter! Either way it’s up to us to see how things are…before the higher ups get their hands dirty, understand?”

Someone at the back made a farting noise, and Kjell’s face grin grew even wider. The big man was positively vibrating with enthusiasm. “I want you armed to the teeth and ready! Unless we encounter something,” Kjell puckered his lips and spat out the word with relish “unnatural, I don’t anticipate any problems, yeah? Everyone got that?” There was a rumble of assent. “Good. Let’s go.”

They set off at a good pace, tracing a wide perimeter around the ships. Finding nothing of concern they pressed forward, labouring their way across the dunes.

“Does the blasted gale never stop?” shouted Louis. There was a mutter of agreement, as they were hit by a wave after wave of fine sand blowing off the beach. It felt like the wind was trying to scour the very skin from their bones.

“Quit your bellyaching!” shouted Kjell. “Keep your wits about you and speak up if you see anything strange!”

The sand soon turned to vegetation-covered lumps clustered in powdery soil, beyond were more shrubs and then groves of wind-tortured trees. Ansel eyed them as they walked past. None of the trees were particularly tall, and the trunks had grown twisted and gnarled, pushed in the direction of the prevailing wind. The leaves released a sharp peppery smell as he brushed past.

The top of the rise afforded them a nice vantage point, and the scribes insisted they stop while they scribbled on their parchments. They could see for miles. The enormous bay lay before them, but more water gleamed to the south. To the east were more mountains, visible across a flat, narrow isthmus. It was, Ansel considered, an excellent and defensible spot. Perhaps that was why Varangot had landed here in the first place.

Moving on, the sun rose high and hot, somewhat offset by the sharp wind that had an unexpectedly chilly edge. It was hot, hard going. Ansel drank half of his flask of water before it occurred to him to ration it. The paler-skinned men grew pink and ruddy and the majority were soon sweating in their armour. Ansel cursed with the rest, feeling guilty. As he had suspected his rune-enhanced gear considerably lightened his discomfort. Once they had adequate cavorite he would mention it to someone. Probably.

They pushed on towards the mountain, fording a small river, then another. The earth turned to a deep dark red, like old blood. Everything was strange – the landscape, the mountains, the smells. More than once Ansel almost took a tumble, so keen was he to look around when he should have been minding his feet.

They paused mid-afternoon to eat an unsatisfying meal of cold soup and old jerky. They could see the airships in the distance, looking strange and toy-like, the little men barely visible.

“The savages aren't hot on roads," said Amos, wiping his brow. "Are they? How do they get about? Maybe they use ships?"

"Haven't seen a single boat," said Louis, "And not likely to with all those monsters lurking under the water."

"No airships either," said Talcott.

"Where do they get their food?" asked Ansel. "I didn't see any farms."

“Maybe there’s not many of them,” said Amos. “I mean one small settlement, all this space?”

"Hunting?" suggested one of the others. “Maybe they are hunters?”

“Haven’t seen any game,” said Audric.

They all stared out at the wild windswept mountainside, empty save for a lonely bird of prey riding the air currents high above. Now that Audric mentioned it, the lack of animals seemed slightly ominous.

"Let’s get cracking, lads," cried Kjell, slapping his thighs as he stood. “Not for us to ponder the mysteries of the universe! Leave that nonsense to the scribes!” The scribes rolled their eyes. “Not far now. Let’s hope our welcome is less… exciting than in the desert.”

These words galvanised them all. There was a great rustle, and checking of weapons, before they set off again, tensions high.

“At least they don’t have guns,” murmured Louis, to Ansel, as they walked. “The savages – if the witch is to be believed.”

“At least there’s no monsters,” said Riley, happily. Several of the men shot him dour looks.

“Yet,” said Audric, patting his pockets. “No monsters yet.”

“Don’t tempt fate, lad,” said one of the men.

Ansel shifted the arquebus on his shoulder and stared up at the mountain, and the savage enclave built in its protective embrace. Before leaving Stonehaven, he might have wondered why they built so far from the water’s edge, thinking it impractical in the extreme. But now he knew better. Bigger than a village, the settlement was perhaps the size of a small town. Closer now, he could not see much that looked like fortifications. The architecture was strange, favouring circles and domes. The place was encircled by several fairly impractical stone walls of varying heights, the tallest being only shoulder height. Too keep out livestock? Again, there were no animals to be seen. And some of the walls were inches tall.

"Curious," said Audric, and Ansel nodded. Perhaps they were decorative, or they worshipped strange pagan gods. The houses were conical stone, and seemingly held together without any mortar. Roofs were mostly thatched, and none of the dwellings taller than three storeys. The walls were painted with strange designs that drew Ansel’s eye and made his fingers itch with curiosity. Windows and doorways were sparse. All the openings were fitted with iron shutters and the doors appeared to be metal as well.

A cry went up ahead, a shout in unfamiliar tongues. Ansel hefted his gun, his breath catching in his throat.

“Here we go,” said Louis.

“Steady now,” shouted Kjell. “On your toes and ready to defend yourselves but don’t get trigger happy! Let me do the talking.”

Ansel swallowed, nerves tingling. The savages were gathering, spilling out of the buildings, crowding forward in the street, pointing and shouting. Somewhere in the distance a bell was ringing. At first glance it was intimidating, but then Ansel realised that many of them were women and children. There were no warriors in sight, no weapons. At least none that he could see.

They were brown skinned, while their hair ranged in colour from blonde to black, but they all stared at the Lochlanach with dark eyes. Their clothing was light and simple, worked over with patterns reminiscent of the designs on their houses. They had cloaks and shawls wrapped around their shoulders to keep them warm. Some of them had feathers and beads braided into their hair. They seemed curious rather than hostile. The Lochlanach men stared and the savages stared right back, chattering and exclaiming.

An old woman with a grumpy, imperious demeanour pushed her way to the front, and shouted something down at them. Kjall stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Greetings," he said, nervously. "We hereby claim this land in the name of Her Imperial Majesty Empress Yves Viskaria Thessadora of Lochlanach, Monarch of the Seven Isles and Queen of the–"

The savages all started talking at once, in an unintelligible torrent of nonsense words, that drowned him out. The old woman at the front gestured to Kjell and he looked up at her, confused. She gestured again, clearly beckoning him to come closer. Kjell shot an anxious glance over his shoulder and shrugged, taking a step forward.

“Alright old woman, what– ow!” She poked him with her stick and then sprang back as he doubled over, watching him intently. Some of the crew went for their arms.

"Easy," said Kjell, clutching his bruised middle, and holding up one hand. “She just …poked me. I’m fine! Just a scared old woman..." He straightened and plastered a smile on his face. He spread out his hands in the universal gesture of peace. “See?” he said, to both his men, and to the savages. “Everything is fine.”

The old woman gave him a look that could blister paint from a wall, and Talcott stifled a nervous laugh. She snarled something over her shoulder and a bright-eyed child brought her a small sack, handing it over with great ceremony. The crowd watched with rapt attention as the old woman delved into it, her eyes intent on Kjell. She shuffled closer and threw a handful of white stuff at him. Kjell flinched back in surprise.

“What now – oof–”

The savages watched him in silence.

"What is it?" asked Louis. Kjell licked his lips and looked surprised.

"Salt," he said. "It's just salt!"

The savages let out a cheer, breaking into smiles and fresh chatter. It was like Kjell had passed some sort of test, although what it could be, Ansel really could not fathom.

Only the old woman remained grumpy. She turned back to the crowd, waving her arms and yelling. Most of them ignored her, but a small girl rushed over to her with an iron rod, the kind you would use to stoke the fire. She took it and turned once more towards Kjell, who looked at it with apprehension.

"Uh oh," said Amos, leaning forward. "Hold steady Kjell, the old savage is about to beat you senseless."

"Thanks," said Kjell, through gritted teeth, "Oooof–" he doubled over as she poked him once more in the stomach. "Don't do that," he said, plaintively. Emboldened, the old woman rapped her knuckles on his chest plate. At last she seemed satisfied.

"Maybe it's some kind of ceremonial greeting," said Audric.

"I wish she would go and greet someone else," said Kjell, still bent double.

"Maybe they've never seen someone with blue eyes before," said Ansel, looking round. "Who else has blue eyes?" he grabbed Amos and pushed him forward.

The savages muttered and it was Amos’ turn to be poked and prodded while Kjell breathed a sigh of relief.

"I think you've hit on it," said Audric, thoughtfully. “Look at them! Not a single one has light eyes.”

“I’m more interested in the cavorite,” said Kjell, still rubbing his sore belly. “Where’s the sample? Fish it out.” The savages peered at it, then shook her head chattering away in a meaningless tumble of vowels. She pointed up the mountain.

Ansel’s heart was lightened by the unaggressive nature of the savages and their congenial reception. He had been steeling himself for bloodshed. Perhaps not all the natives were like Mammon after all. A small girl ran up to Ansel and gave him some kind of sugary bun.

"Thank you," he said, taking a bite and she beamed at him. It was delicious, if the flavours were unfamiliar to him. Amos smiled at her too but she shrieked and ran away, leaving Ansel laughing at Amo’s expression.

“Look at this!” called Audric.

The scribes had wandered away from the main crowd and were standing examining a circular structure that rose out of the ground, like a gate to nowhere. Silver rune-work gleamed amongst the stone. Ansel traced a finger over the cavorite, frowning. It was identical to the runes he used to work into the ship. Well not identical, it was laid out in a way he had never seen before and some of the runes were unfamiliar. But it was the same alphabet, the same lettering. Unlike the ship’s runes, these were unconnected.

“What do they use the cavorite for?” Ansel mused out loud. “What does it do?”

The scribes shrugged, as clueless as he was.

“Travelling,” said Louis, coming to stand beside him, and they looked up at him in surprise. “That’s what the witch said.”

They looked back at the stone structure. Could it be possible?

“You are right,” said Ansel, thoughtfully. “She did say that. And remember the ruins in the desert? But how? How does it–”

Just then a bell rang out and all the savages stopped what they were doing. The Lochlanach looked up, puzzled. The savages melted away, disappearing into their houses. All around them doors were shutting, and windows were being pulled closed. The old lady gestured at them, shooing them away with her stick. She chattered at Kjell urgently, clearly gesturing for them to leave. The old woman flapped her hands in seeming exasperation, pointing towards the sun, which was dipping towards the sea.

"I guess visiting hour is over?” said Kjell, taking his helmet off and scratching his head. She shrugged, before disappearing into a nearby house, shutting the door behind her firmly. A young man pulled on Ansel's shirt and gestured towards a nearby house, pulling him towards it.

"No thank you," said Ansel, in some alarm. The youth looked at him beseechingly, but then his father called him from the door. The little girl who had given Ansel the bun was dragged away by a sister.

Soon the Lochlanach were alone, standing in the deserted town.

"What do you think all that is about?" asked one of the men, looking around. “This place gives me the creeps.”

"Who knows," said Kjell, looking down at the piece of cavorite in frustration. Then he glanced out at the setting sun. "Come on, men," he said. "We had better be getting back to the ships. We might not have found cavorite but we have plenty to tell.”