Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 22: Breakfast Strategy, with Coffeeish

Barnaby lay in a narrow bunk, peering out the window beside him. The land below the directable looked green as his homeland. But Demetia had the orderly flatness of a well-tucked blanket embroidered with farms and woods. This countryside rose and fell in swells of gentle hills crisscrossed by strange lines. A soft green quilt of a land, decorated with strange patterns and devices.

"What are the lines along the roads?"

"Rails," Val informed him. Lying close, one arm settled across his chest. "Most are iron. They chain carts together, then pull them along with horses. Using sails when there's a proper wind. A few carts move on their own. Like this airship. Except the front carts blow out smoke like a dragon."

"Huh. Like to see that. What about the trees waving their arms?"

"Semaphore towers. People pull ropes to raise and lower the arms. Different combinations make letters, sending a message from hill to hill."

"Astonishing land, Hefestia." He tapped on the glass. "Even their windows."

"They call them portals."

"Why?"

"Hmm, because they are round? Don't really know."

"In Mill Town most windows just have wooden shutters. Sometimes we cover them with oiled fish skin. But the Squire's manse has glazed windows. Diamond shapes of glass fitted together with lead. Amazing how they let in the light, keep out the wind."

Val slipped atop him.

"Is everything new to you?"

Barnaby turned, considered Val's nose, her eyes, all the pleasant press of her atop him.

"I spent overlong hours daydreaming. Still catching up on things. Windows. Foreign lands. Kisses and such."

"Oh, was that catching up? Not the first time?"

"Well, I've kissed the Goat Girl plenty. Though she'll give you a kick to say 'quit now'. And there's a weaving prentice I'd meet each year at the Jahrmarkt. We'd partner for the dances, go for walks through the tents. Behind the tents, a'times."

Val propped elbows on his chest, resting chin in palm. From this position, she gazed down with critical eye.

"Oh, yes, clearly you are quite the experienced lover."

For reply he reached, traced a finger along a cheekbone, down her neck to the back. There he scratched between her shoulder blades. She shivered, emitting bardic purrs.

"You are new to me," he replied. "But I think... I could lie like this with you for years and years, and it would still astonish. Like a, a sunrise. Some things are just always new."

There came whispers from beyond the door.

"I hear you out there," growled Val. "Prurient sneaks."

"I deny it," shouted Bodkin. "But we need everyone up and about. Captain Cedric's calling a meeting. Dress first, please."

The Society of St. Benefact gathered in the control cabin. Cedric stood by the wheel, gazing out portals, tapping a brass spyglass thoughtful as king wielding scepter.

"You look a proper and proprietary captain," declared Matilda.

"Just the pilot," replied Cedric. "Bodkin commandeered the captain's hat. And coat. And goggles. Possibly the boots."

Jewel went to the wall, released a catch. Down unfolded a short table. This short table expanding to become a longer table. Then from beneath that unfolded small stools. Barnaby laughed, poking at different joints and hinges.