The Veiled Throne, page 13
Besides a few on-deck airings during the journey, the garinafins had been mostly kept belowdecks. This flight was thus the first time in a year that she had been able to really spread her wings. Shaken by the destruction of the Lyucu fleet and surrounded by strange, impossible sights, the garinafin was likely on the verge of a total mental breakdown. No wonder she was spooked by these decoy tigers.
“Let’s head back.” Toof had made up his mind. “Tana can’t take the stress.”
“Nacu isn’t going to like that excuse.”
“At least we can inform Nacu that these barbarian ships don’t seem to be very fast, and he can catch them on the open sea.”
* * *
The garinafin circled the fleet once from afar before heading back toward the city-ship. As it receded into the distance, crews on the Dara fleet once again broke into cheers.
A celebration was held on Dissolver of Sorrows that evening. Officers from the entire fleet congregated on the deck of the flagship, sharing a feast of freshly caught fish and crabs as well as warm rice beer and sea-chilled plum wine. A few sheep had been slaughtered, and Prince Takval oversaw their roasting after the manner of the people of the scrublands, in which the only flavoring used was sea salt (of which they had an abundance) and a dash of tolyusa juice (of which they had none).
Although a few of the officers, still suspicious of Takval, stood awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, most of the attendees came by the roaring bonfire in the bronze firebowl to accept a cut of roast mutton from the Agon prince. Takval taught them to eat with their hands, tearing off pieces of juicy meat, rather than relying on eating sticks. After a while, everyone grinned as their greasy lips and fingers glistened in the firelight.
“You know wha’ wou’ go well wi’ di’?” mumbled Tipo Tho, commander of the marines on Dissolver of Sorrows. She swallowed the mouthful of succulent meat before continuing. “A compote of wild monkeyberries and ice melon. My home village in Wolf’s Paw is famous for it.”
“That sounds like a very sweet dish,” said Takval. “And wouldn’t it be too mushy?” Before this, the marine commander had probably spoken all of two words to him.
“That’s why it will taste good. You want a good mix and contrast of flavors so that the sweetness isn’t cloying and the salty savoriness doesn’t parch the tongue.” She tore off another strip of meat with her teeth and chewed, closing her eyes in satisfaction.
“I’m sure we’ll have a chance to mix more of Agon and Dara cooking,” said Takval, smiling. “We’ll create flavor mixtures undreamed of by the gods or men.”
Food had a way of bringing people together like nothing else.
Elsewhere, the talk was more formal. “Modifying our signaling kites to resemble tusked tigers was pure genius, Your Highness,” said Çami Phithadapu. She had been one of the Golden Carp scholars elevated by Emperor Ragin, and Princess Théra had recommended her to the secret laboratory in Haan, where she had played a role in the dissection of garinafin carcasses to reveal their secrets. Grateful for the princess’s recognition of her talent, she had volunteered to come on this mission to Gondé.
“The real credit should go to the pékyu-taasa,” said Théra. She was trying to learn as much of the Agon language in as short a time as possible, and tried to use some Agon words in her daily speech to set an example for the rest of the crew. Takval had explained to her that although the Agon and the Lyucu tribes all spoke local topolects that were largely mutually intelligible, there were differences that clearly marked one people from another—mainly because the topolects spoken by the Roatan clan and the Aragoz clan had become the prestige topolects of the Lyucu and the Agon, respectively. Fluency in the language of their allies as well as enemies was critical to the ultimate success of their mission.
Théra paused to bow in jiri to Takval and held the pose. After a few beats, the others emulated her gesture of respect. Takval, standing next to the firebowl, grilling spit and fork in hand, smiled awkwardly and wiped the sweat from his brow.
A grin flashed across the princess’s face before she continued. “Without Takval’s knowledge concerning the debilitating effects of transporting garinafins across the ocean and their natural fear of tusked tigers, we wouldn’t have been able to scare the attackers away. Now that the creature has exhausted what little lift gas it had kept in reserve, it won’t be available for another flight for some time.”
Çami nodded and raised her cup to the Agon prince. Setting down the grilling implements, Takval lifted his cup in return and drained it in one gulp. Turning to the rest of the crowd, he said, “Théra and I might have come up with the idea, but we couldn’t have succeeded if the kite-crafters hadn’t been able to modify the signal kites so quickly. Let me raise a cup to everyone who helped bend a bamboo hoop, sew a silk strip, or paint a tusked tiger stripe today.”
The crew raised their cups in return, murmuring words of thanks to the prince.
“He makes it sound so organized and impressive,” one of the marines in the crowd whispered to another. “It was pure chaos on deck. I had no idea what to do.”
“It’s a wonder that we got those things up in the air at all,” her friend whispered in response. “I hope we do things with more planning in the future.”
“Shhh!” Commander Tipo Tho gave the two a withering look.
Takval’s face reddened slightly. But he went on as though he hadn’t heard. “A garinafin crew is more intelligent and fearsome than any of its members alone. So long as we hold one another as brother and sister, we can only fight better in the future.”
Théra was pleased. Takval might be young and inexperienced as a leader, but he clearly had the right political instincts. She had deliberately emphasized his contribution to today’s events, and he had immediately understood it to be an opportunity for sharing credit more widely. This was a small step toward making the Agon and the Dara expedition feel like members of a single family, a unified tribe.
“But we aren’t out of danger yet,” said Théra, injecting a somber note into the feast. “Under full sail, the city-ship is faster than we are. If we keep running, they’ll eventually catch us—and we can’t hope to scare away rested garinafins with silk-and-bamboo tigers again. Our small ships don’t have the armaments to take on a city-ship head-on. For now, we remain the prey and they remain the hunter. Let’s all put our minds to finding a way to reverse the situation.”
* * *
Nacu Kitansli, Thane of the Tribe of the Second Toe, commander of Boundless Pastures, the sole Lyucu city-ship to survive the ill-fated attempt to penetrate the Wall of Storms, was having trouble sleeping.
His crew was on the verge of mutiny.
Initially, the Lyucu warriors had been grateful that they had survived while the rest of the fleet foundered, thinking it a sign of favor from the gods of both Ukyu and Dara—or whoever was in charge in these waters. But news that the sole garinafin capable of flight after the arduous voyage across the ocean had been turned back by some decoy tusked tigers had plunged morale to the nadir.
He needed some way to rouse their spirits, but there weren’t a lot of good choices.
Increasing rations for the skittish garinafins so that they could attempt another assault shortly with a belly full of lift gas and confidence was out of the question—as known to everyone from the scrublands, where starvation was just one bad winter storm away, humans and beasts needed time to recover after a long period of hunger. Besides, after the yearlong voyage across the ocean, there wasn’t even enough food left on Boundless Pastures to feed the crew for the one additional year needed to sail back to Ukyu, let alone to indulge the garinafins.
That, ultimately, was Nacu’s biggest problem. It was impossible to see how the meager provisions could last even if the crew was put on a starvation diet of one-sixteenth rations. The expedition had been provisioned with the expectation of a welcoming base in Dara established by Pékyu Tenryo, not to wander fruitlessly around the ocean for two years. The prospect of cannibalism and worse loomed in the not-too-distant future.
Already, Nacu had had to have some crew members whipped and dunked in the sea after they were caught trying to break into the ship’s supply of tolyusa and pemmican. “A feast! A final feast before we join the cloud-garinafins!” the leader of the troublemakers had hollered. “Let us die at least with bellies full of meat and heads full of visions.”
The Dara fleet was the only ray of hope left to the tiger-thane. The Dara ships that had sailed out of the Wall of Storms could have had only one destination in mind: the Lyucu homeland. If Nacu and his crew could seize the rich stores aboard the Dara ships, they would have a chance to make it back home. The Dara fleet was a flock of plump sheep, and the Lyucu city-ship a hungry wolf that needed to eat before the coming of winter.
Nacu Kitansli ordered all the spare battens and sails brought out and rigged. The forest of masts on Boundless Pastures sprouted new branches and leaves to catch every scrap of breeze. A whole panoply of skysails, moonrakers, cloudcombs, butterfly sails, even “autumn cocoons”—giant, balloon-like sails that had no battens and rigged only on stays, suitable solely for off-wind or downwind sailing in calm seas—eked out every last bit of speed to aid the city-ship’s westward pursuit of the Dara fleet. Using such a top-heavy sail plan so close to the Wall of Storms made even old-time sailors, who had learned the craft of managing these man-made isles directly from Emperor Mapidéré’s original crew, sweat in their palms, but at least with every passing day, Boundless Pastures drew closer to its prey.
* * *
As the city-ship loomed larger behind them with each dawn, Théra and Takval anxiously debated possible courses of action.
“We have to fight them,” said Takval.
“How?” asked Théra. “Even the largest stone-throwers we have on board won’t make a dent against those thick planks.”
It was true. The city-ship was so much bigger and taller that a naval engagement between it and the Dara fleet would resemble assaulting a walled city with a few horse wagons.
Théra summoned the most experienced marine officers and ship captains to Dissolver of Sorrows for a council of war.
“Can we do something with the kites?” Takval tossed out the first idea. He had developed a fixation on battle kites after the ploy with the decoy tusked tigers.
Takval elaborated. He thought that the numerous flapping sails that had turned the city-ship into a moving aspen stand presented tempting targets for archers strapped to kites and armed with fire arrows.
“But if we’re in range to deploy fire arrows, they’ll also be in range to send out coracles and skiffs to board us,” said Admiral Mitu Roso, the commander-in-chief of the fleet’s armed forces, second in military authority only to Princess Théra (and in theory, required to seek the advice and counsel of Prince Takval). “Not to mention they’ll be able to deploy their stone-throwers—I’m sure the Lyucu have learned to wield the weapons on the captured vessel. They’ll have the range advantage due to the city-ship’s height.” He gave Takval a look of contempt. “This is the kind of idea that shows little understanding—”
“As the Ano sages would say,” interrupted Théra, “ ‘Sometimes a paving stone is essential on the path to mine pure jade.’ Even an impractical idea may spark a better plan down the road.”
Mitu Roso grumbled but said nothing more.
Encouraged by Takval’s first try, the captains and marine officers brainstormed other suggestions. Théra purposely kept herself largely out of the discussions so that the officers would feel freer to debate.
But none of the suggestions could pass muster when examined and discussed in more detail.
Takval tried again. “I’d like to quote an ancient Agon proverb: ‘A trapped wolf may bite off his paw—’ ”
“No.” Théra cut him off. “I know what you’re going to suggest: divide the fleet in half and dispatch one-half of the ships to use fire kites to disable or slow down the city-ship while the other half escape. I need a plan that will save everyone.”
“If we can’t outrun them and we aren’t allowed to make a stand and fight them, what else can we do?” Takval complained.
“I didn’t say we can’t fight,” said Théra, “but it must not be a head-to-head naval battle—win or loss, the cost will be too high.”
“I have an idea,” said a new voice. “I’ve been observing the whales swimming near us in the belt current.”
The war council turned as one and saw that the speaker was Çami Phithadapu.
The Phithadapu clan were prominent whalers from Rui. As a little girl, Çami had sailed all around the coast of Rui and beyond with her uncle, a whaling captain, as they pursued the dome-headed whale and the combing whale for profit. Close observation of the majestic, intelligent creatures had eventually made Çami more interested in studying their habits than killing them. For one of her essays at the Imperial examinations, in order to avoid retreading the same few topics favored by most examinees, she had discussed evidence of midwifery being practiced among the cetaceans. Once she had placed among the firoa—the top one hundred scorers at the Grand Examination in Pan—she had advocated that the Throne encourage fleets throughout Dara to adopt a new style of whaling invented in Gan, in which harpooners tired out dome-headed whales to get them to vomit up the valuable living amber without killing them.
The Wall of Storms, the boundary that had played such an important role in the fate of Dara, appeared not to constrain the migration of whales at all. The barnacle-encrusted whales that greeted the fleet in these uncharted waters were indistinguishable from those seen among the Islands. Thus, no one had been paying much attention to them—except Çami.
It took Çami some time to explain her cetacean-inspired plan. She even had to illustrate it with a bulky writing wax block and some slender ink brushes, serving as models of the ships.
The captains and marine officers sat in stunned silence, trying to digest Çami’s plan.
“It’s a completely untested tactic,” said Captain Nméji Gon, Dissolver of Sorrows’s commanding officer. “I don’t even know if this ship could handle what you’d be asking of her.”
“Just about any tactic taking advantage of the unique features of these ships will be untested,” countered Çami. “This is actually the most orthodox one of the several plans I’ve devised. If you want to hear a really innovative—”
“Maybe later, Çami,” said Théra. “Let’s talk through this one first.”
“Even if the idea works in principle, there won’t be enough time to drill the marines and sailors in such a novel method of war,” objected Admiral Mitu Roso.
“Marshal Gin Mazoti always said that there’s never enough time to prepare the soldiers adequately. You always go to war with the army you have, not one you wish you could have had,” said Théra. “The benefit of unorthodoxy is that the Lyucu won’t be expecting anything like it either, despite their deep study of Dara tactics from the captives taken from Krita’s expedition. I note that you didn’t object to the plan as fundamentally flawed.”
“To be honest, I’m both awed by it and a little terrified,” admitted Mitu Roso. “It has potential, but there are a lot of unknowns.”
“And that makes it interesting,” said Takval. He and Théra exchanged a quick smile. “In fact, the more I think about this plan, the more I like it!”
“Easy for you to say,” said Captain Nméji Gon. He had once commanded one of the mechanical crubens that had played such a crucial role in Kuni Garu’s rise from the tiny island of Dasu. “You won’t be the one who has to make this ship do what she was never meant to do.”
“I agree with the prince. On an expedition like this, we all have to do what we thought we weren’t meant to do,” said Tipo Tho, commander of the marines. Before volunteering to come with Princess Théra, she had been an experienced airship captain. As there was no airship corps in the fleet—maintaining a few expensive airships for a voyage to a faraway land with no known source of lift gas was deemed impractical—she, like the other air force veterans on the expedition, had been reorganized into the marines. “Don’t tell me that your ship won’t be up to the challenge.”
“Oh, the ship will be up to the challenge,” Captain Gon said through gritted teeth. Insulting his ship got his hackles up far faster than insulting him. “I’m just worried that a thin-boned swallow like you, used to the luxurious accommodations and stately pace of an Imperial airship, won’t be able to take the rough sailing. You’ll be vomiting up your dinner, lunch, and break—”
“If you think sitting in a waterlogged wooden tub that can dip a few yards below the surface is even one-tenth as rough as flying—”
“Please!” interrupted Théra. “If you want to carry on the ridiculous rivalry between aviators and submariners, play a game of zamaki after this mission. I just want to know if you can do what Çami is asking of you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Count on it.”
“I’ll have the ship sailing so smoothly you’ll think you’re out picking lotus seeds on Lake Tututika—”
“Even without my airship, I’ll lead our troops on an assault so fast and deadly that our enemies—”
“Instead of all this strutting and posturing,” pleaded Théra, rubbing her temples with a pained expression, “why don’t you each try to poke holes in the part of the plan the other is supposed to carry out, and let’s see if Çami’s idea really is workable?”
Captain Nméji Gon and Commander Tipo Tho worked through Çami’s plan step by step, arranging and rearranging the wax block and ink brushes through different configurations on the floor. Each tried to outdo the other by coming up with new ways that every step could fail, and both furrowed their brows as they refined the plan in response.
Admiral Mitu Roso edged up to Princess Théra. “I served under Emperor Ragin in campaigns against the Hegemon, Duke Théca Kimo’s rebellion in Arulugi, and the Lyucu,” he whispered. “Your father was always skilled at using rivalries among his lieutenants to perfect a plan. Seeing shadows of your father’s style in you makes my heart leap in joy.”
