The clouds of stinging spray gone, the commander allowed his cloak to fall back behind his shoulders and pulled his scarf down to his neck. Briefly, he removed his helmet and examined the cranium. The salt had wreaked havoc on the polished steel. He would have to have one of his men spend a few hours tonight working on it. Replacing the helm, he glanced up at the shore. The dock stood deserted and dilapidated, a wooden platform covered with rot and rubble, jutting out into the water. No matter how much work the island’s inhabitants put into their own accommodation, none of them had ever dealt with the dock. What would be the point? They’d not be leaving anyway.
A tall figure in a grey robe stood by one of the orchard’s plum trees not far from the shore, reaching high and plucking ripe fruit from the branches and placing them into the large basket on his other arm. As the commander watched, the grey-clad figure finally noticed the vessel cutting through the waters of the bay. It stopped for a long moment, staring out across the intervening distance and then turned with an unconcerned gait and ambled up the path to the large gatehouse building.
By the time the boat was finally nearing the dock and the sailors were coming afore to work the ropes and boarding plank, the grey figure had reappeared from the huge gate with two others and began the stroll down the gravel path to the jetty. Sabian watched as they approached. With a crunch the boat bumped up against the dock, the beams and planks making alarming noises as they groaned under the pressure. Without waiting for the sailors to finish tying off the boat and extend the plank, he hopped over the rail and onto the slimy jetty. Taking a deep breath, he strode purposefully forward to meet the three as they neared the shore and nodded at the central figure.
“Minister Sarios” he said loudly. “It’s been a while. May I request your hospitality for a few days?” The phraseology was formulaic. The inhabitants had little choice in the matter and Sabian held all power on the island at that moment. Even addressing the ageing Cleric as Minister was an unnecessary courtesy, the man having held no real power since the fall twenty years ago. Sarios narrowed his eyes and Sabian had to remind himself once more just how shrewd the old man really was. Idle courtesy was unlikely to hold any real weight with him.
“Commander Sabian” the man replied quietly. “It’s been six months since we’ve even heard from the mainland. I hope you’ve come alone this time. The troops you brought with you last time demolished our food stores in short order.”
Business-like and cold. What else could he expect?
“Minister” the commander replied, “I am alone. I’m not here to cause you any trouble, just to make my bi-annual report. I’ll need to be here two days; three at most. I’ve brought some extra supplies; some luxuries for you. I know you’re a bit cut-off here.”
He regretted the last, an opening for a jibe from the island’s leader, but Sarios merely smiled humourlessly; sarcastically even.
“Commander,” he said, “I’ll have a room prepared for you in the Peacock Palace. We’ve done some work there these past months and it’s quite habitable again now. I’ll have one of the brothers show you to the place immediately.”
Sabian smiled. “Not necessary. I remember where it is and I can make my own bed. I’ll wait until my gear’s unloaded and the things for you. I’ve got two sergeants on the boat. They’ll stay on board, but I’ll get them to bring your supplies to the Ibis Courtyard first.”
“Very well.” Sarios nodded once, his only gesture of respect, before turning and making his slow, ambling way back up the path towards the gatehouse.
Sabian stood for a moment gritting his teeth as his sergeants unloaded gear onto a pallet. He hated having to deal with the island. He knew they were helpless; prisoners even; but he still felt admiration for the Minister and what he’d achieved with his prison. He still felt compassion. He sighed and gestured to his men to take the goods up the path as he set off.
The Gorgon Gate had been designed by the great architect Himistes in the reign of the Emperor Elander; a pleasing mixture of stout defence and imperial grandeur. The building stood three stories high with thick walls softened by arcading of marble, many of the alcoves still retaining their original artworks: Osos and the Victory Bull, the winged Harpies, the Gorgon of Germalla. To either side of the gateway itself, the gatehouse stood proud in the form of drum towers, again punctuated by arches and columns. Beyond that high walls with a wide walkway stretched away, encircling the palace proper. Sabian glanced upwards involuntarily as he passed beneath the threshold, taking in the murder holes for pouring hot metal or oil on attackers and the huge, defensive bronze plated doors fastened back against the walls. They’d not been closed in more than ten years, though they appeared to still be polished regularly.
Sabian pointed ahead to the courtyard and the two sergeants strode on ahead, carrying the pallet of goods. The commander stopped inside the gatehouse as he noticed in the shadows an old man in a green-grey robe sitting on a boulder and carving a piece of wood. He cleared his throat and the old man looked up, a far away look on his face.
“I see someone’s keeping the gatehouse in good order” the commander said jovially. “Not intending to keep me out, I hope?” He smiled. The old man lowered his eyes to his work again and spoke quietly.
“Jobs don’t just go away” he said absently. “Gotta keep ‘em polished or they gets knackered.”
Sabian frowned and, biting back a retort, walked back out into the brightly-lit Ibis Courtyard. The bird carvings that adorned the stone seats and fountains were now long gone, but someone had evidently mastered the science of hydraulics. Two of the four fountains poured their sapphire blue water into the wide, alabaster bowls and the yard filled with splashes. The commander was never sure whether he should relax on one of these visits but every time the palace was a little more revived, a little less shabby. There seemed to have been serious work going on this past half year, though, beyond the level achieved in previous years. The two sergeants stood at attention by the pallet of supplies. Sabian returned the salute and then gestured back through the gate with his thumb.
“Off duty unless I need you” he said easily.
The two men fell into a more relaxed pose and sauntered off down the path towards the dock. Sabian gestured at a middle aged man reading a scroll on a stone bench. The man raised his head and wandered unhurriedly over to the commander. Sabian tried to contain his frustration at the obvious tutting sound that had issued from the man when he stood. As the cleric stood before him rolling the scroll back tight, Sabian reached down into the pallet of goods and pulled his pack from the pile, shouldering it.
“Everything else there is for your community” he commented. “Be real careful, though. There’s some glassware and a few books.”
The man blinked and looked up at the commander.
“Books?” he said uncertainly.
Sabian smiled. “Last time I was here I was led to believe that the one thing the island truly lacked was books. There are around a dozen. Mostly treatises; scientific, philosophical, that kind of thing. Hope they’re what you want.”
The man nodded greedily and reached into the centre of the mass, withdrawing a thick, heavy volume. “Deratius’s ‘On Aqueducts’!” the exclaimed. “Astounding!”
Sabian opened his mouth to speak, but the man reached out and grasped his hand firmly, shaking it hard enough to cause pain in the commander’s shoulder and repeating “perfect” and “thank you”.
The commander grinned and answered “Thank you” to the man’s back as he hurtled off through a door to give the good news. He sighed again and his shoulders sagged. At least somebody here was going to treat him as something other than a jailor.
Walking through the now empty courtyard, he made his way through the decorative Arch of the Four Seasons with its three remaining carvings and its trellis of creepers and out into the great court. The neat grass had been recently tended and, despite being punctuated with vegetable gardens and ploughed areas, it still retained its feel of spacious beauty. Ahead and to the right stood the doorway that led to the Peacock Palace. The commander nodded absently to a few of the inhabitants fulfilling the roles of farmers and gardeners as he disappeared into the Hall of the Swans.