“There isn’t an islander in this Archipelago who would do you any injury, Guildmember,” Olav continued, now offering her a finely stitched handkerchief. “Especially after the news of your devoted nursing of the Bar Island injured. When I consider how unselfishly you volunteered to assist, and you only an hour away from being rescued, why, we are all in your debt.”
Shielding her face from Torkes with the handkerchief, Killashandra looked up at Olav. She blotted the last of the tears she could manage to squeeze out. She had received his message. She gave a sniff, then exhaled in a huge sigh.
“What else could I do? Their need was far greater than mine for I had suffered no real physical injury. It was excellent therapy,” and she managed that on a rush of breath, “for me to tend those less fortunate than I. And I do feel safe with you, Harbor Master, and with Captain Dahl!” She touched each man on the arm, favoring them with a tremulous smile. Lars managed to give her shoulder an admonitory pinch which, she felt, indicated that she had milked this scene for all it was worth. “I hope you didn’t encounter that ferocious storm on your way here, Elder Torkes?”
“Not at all, Guildmember. In fact,” Torkes cleared his throat nervously, “we didn’t set out until sure that the hurricane had dwindled. I ought to have listened to Mirbethan’s representations, Captain” – he turned to the senior officer behind him – “for she offered to accompany us, Guildmember, on the slim chance that we would discover you here.”
“How very kind of her.”
“She would have been an ideal companion to settle your nerves, Guildmember.”
“Yes, she was most considerate but, though I appreciate her willingness, I now insist on someone . . .” she waved a negligent hand in Lars’s direction, “who is capable of managing himself in difficulties. I have seen Captain Dahl in action, fighting to bring his ship close enough to take me off that island, and in dealing with high seas, and injured people.” And that should be the end of that notion. Had it been Mirbethan’s? Or Ampris’s? From whichever source, she’d not spend credit on it.
“If I may suggest it, Guildmember, would you be feeling recovered enough to dine now?” Olav asked, deftly changing the subject. “Or should Captain Dahl escort you to the quarters prepared for you here in the residence?”
“Why, yes,” Killashandra said, extending her hand to Lars and smiling graciously at Olav, “I think that perhaps hunger is at the root of my deplorable temper. I’m not usually so easily upset, citizens.” Now that the scene had been played, she was ravenous and hoped that Olav’s hospitality would be to the standard she expected. It was, and she was seated on Olav’s right at the beautifully appointed banquet table. Torkes was opposite her, Teradia appearing at his right hand. Evidently she had merely had to change her gown. Killashandra did wonder how she had arrived so promptly. Other charmingly dressed ladies partnered the officers of Torkes’s retinue and from some discreet corner delicate music wafted to the diners’ ears.
The food was sumptuous, a feat, considering the island had so recently been in the throes of a hurricane. As Killashandra sampled the many dishes presented, she realized that the components were not as varied as the manner in which they had been prepared. Polly – fruit, pulp, and heart – was the basis of nine dishes. Smacker was served as a chowder, boiled, broiled, fried in a delicious light batter and in a rich piquant sauce. The largest yellowbacks she had yet seen had been lightly broiled with slivered nuts. A succulent mollusk was offered, grilled with a dollop of some flavor enhancer. There were salads of greens, molded salads of some jellied vegetable, fruit, and fish.
From the way in which Torkes’s officers filled their plates, and refilled them when the dishes were presented a second time, they weren’t used to eating. Torkes was abstemious by comparison although a fair trencherman away from Elder Pentrom’s dietary regimen. He did not refuse the wine, either, though his two senior captains did.
When the first hunger was appeased, Torkes addressed Lars, his expression far too bland to be as affable as he sounded.
“Just where did you discover the Guildmember, Captain Dahl?”
“On a polly islet slightly east of Bar Island. I don’t normally pass by for it’s a bit off the regular trade route, but with the higher tides to give me clearance over the reef in that area, I could take a bit of a short cut to Bar, which I aimed to beach before sunset.”
“Do you have this islet marked on your charts?”
“Of course, Elder Torkes. I will show you its location immediately after dinner.” Lars had one hand on her thigh under the table and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Had his father tipped him off as he had her? “As well as the entry in my log which verifies the position.”
“You keep a log?”
“Of a certainty, Elder Torkes. The Harbor Master is most insistent on such details which are, in my view, an integral part of responsible seamanship.”
Farther down the table, an officer nodded his head in agreement. Torkes returned to his meal.
“What is this delicious fish, Harbor Master?” Killashandra asked, indicating the smacker.
“Ah, that is one of the island delicacies, Guildmember,” and Olav launched into an amusing description of the habits of the tropical behemoth and the dangers of capturing it. In his tale he managed to touch on the strength and bravery of smacker fishermen and their dedication to an unenviable task. Much of the smacker catch went to feed the Mainland.
With such innocuous tidbits and discourse, the meal finished. Immediately upon rising from the table, Elder Torkes told Lars Dahl that now was the time to show him the islet.
“We can call up the information right here,” Olav said, going to the elaborate sideboard of the dining room. One section of its flat surface immediately transformed to display a terminal while the island seascape above slid to one side exposing a large screen.
Killashandra, watching Torkes obliquely, saw him stiffen until Olav merely gestured for Lars Dahl to retrieve what documents he needed. Within a moment, a small-scale chart of the entire Archipelago dominated the screen. Lars tapped keys and the chart dissolved to a larger-scale one of Angel Island, then flowed left toward Bar Island, slightly upward, and in another adjustment, magnified the chosen islet, complete with its protecting reefs, quite isolated from other blobs of polly-treed islands.
“Here, Elder Torkes, is where I discovered the Guild-member. Fortunately, whoever abandoned her left her where there is a good fresh spring.” He now magnified the islet so that its topographical features were apparent.
“I’d a bit of a shelter on the height,” Killashandra said.
“Here,” Lars agreed and pointed.
“And mercifully I was high enough there to be out of reach of the hurricane tides – just barely – I fished in this lagoon, and swam, there, too, because the larger things couldn’t pass over the reef. But, as you can see, gentlemen, I could not even have swum to an occupied island for help!”
One of Torkes’s officers noted the longitude and latitude of the islet.
“Just thinking about it again distresses me.” Killashandra turned to Olav. “That was a magnificent dinner to he served so soon after a hurricane, Harbor Master. And it was such a pleasure, for me especially,” and she graciously gestured, “to have so much variety to choose from and enjoy. Now, I would like to retire.”
“Guildmember, there is much to discuss – ”
“We can discuss it just as easily in the morning, Elder Torkes. It has been a long and exhausting day for me, remember. We left Bar Island with the injured at dawn and it’s now midnight.” She turned from the Elder now to Olav. “I am quartered tonight in the Residence?”
“This way.” Olav and Lars immediately escorted her to the inner wall where a lift door slid aside. “Let me assure you that this is the only way into the living section of the Residence. This will be guarded well tonight.” He peremptorily gestured for thc guard to be posted.