The secret of Mesterline is an open one: there is something in the water, some unique combination of minerals, some consequence of the natural filtration beds.
Any new arrival on the island falls under the spell of the beneficent feeling within four or five days, and within a month sees no earthly reason to move to another island.
Kal Kapes, one of the few Mesters who regularly travels abroad, has often invoked the experience as a kind of metaphor for growth: what happens when you sail away, the grinding sense of loss, or fear of imminent death, that steadily increases until one day it vanishes and no longer hurts you, and what happens when you arrive, and succumb happily to the Mester experience, a change for the better, a shifting of earthly priorities, emergence into a higher state of being and understanding.
The two main Mesterline rivers arise from the drainage of precipitation, but both are fed by natural springs close to source. Water taken from either of the rivers has no great impact on the disposition of anyone drinking it, although after filtration and the usual treatment it has a faint but pleasant flavour and can act as a mild pick-me-up. The river water is mainly directed to industrial or irrigation uses, or as inexpensive mains supply to people’s homes.
To feel the full Mesterline effect one needs to partake of the spring water, tapped from only three natural sources inland.
For centuries the water has been bottled at source, two senior families running the business on a not-for-profit basis, themselves as much a product of the Mester outlook as the people they were supplying. One of the springs, indeed, could be freely tapped by anyone prepared to clamber up through the foothills with a suitable container. Mester water can always be drunk in its natural state, a mild aeration giving it a delicious and refreshing sensation on the palate.
Such was the essence of Mester life, but there is always some outside influence ready to try to ruin everything. On most islands it is the weather that comes along, changing the season, bringing a sharp or cooler wind, or in places a tropical storm or hurricane. In other parts of the Archipelago it can be the unwelcome intrusion from one or other of the combatant powers. Mesterline’s interruption was unique to itself. Some hundred years ago the Seignior of the day for some reason felt dissatisfied with the level of tithes he was receiving, and the open secret was turned into a business proposition.
An inter-island water supply company, apparently under contract to the Seigniories of several of the desertified islands to the south, opened negotiations to tap the Mester wells and purchase the water on an industrial scale. It involved the building of a large, mechanized bottling plant, new roads, several storage tanks, and the laying of a subsea pipeline away to the south.
The Mesters, dopily unaware of the consequences of what was happening, sat blithely in their cliffside houses, and sprawled on their beaches, sat serenely in their bars and along the sidewalks, watching the trucks trundling to and fro, and the construction workers spending money in the shops and bars, and the ships coming and going with building and construction materials. The local water became cheaper and more easy to obtain, and the Mesters cheerfully drank even more of it than usual.
Then one day the water was no more. The bottling plant moved into full production and the pumps were daily pouring unimaginable quantities of the precious liquid into a long pipeline that led no one knew where.
The trucks that once had taken construction workers to the mountains now came down from the heights, heavily loaded with crate after crate of attractively bottled water, bearing labels in foreign languages. The trucks went down to the port, where water-company ships bore the crates away. In the quayside bars and restaurants, in the local shops, in the homes and most of all in the bodies and minds of the Mesters, the water was no more.
Slowly the Mesters came to realize what they had lost. In parallel with that, and consequent upon it, the soothing, relaxing, cheering effect of the water wore off.
It coincided with one of the return visits of Kal and Sebenn Kapes. He, not feeling the familiar growth in him, the happy emergence into the higher state, was quickly apprised of the change that had taken place. Poets are not legislators, nor are they warriors or agitators, but they can be good with words. Kapes made a speech one day in the centre of Mester Town, a passionate speech well equipped with excellent turns of phrase, and what followed was unprecedented, unexpected, inevitable and noisy.
The ruins of the bottling plant are open today as a visitor attraction and access is free all year round. The summer palace to which the Seignior of the day retired can also be visited, on the small adjacent island of Topecik, but a boat ride is of course necessary. Parents with small children are reminded that parts of Mesterline are now historical or heritage sites where large explosions occurred in the past, and care should therefore be exercised. Although the direct action took place nearly a century ago there are still in theory legal proceedings being taken against the estate of Kal Kapes and certain members of the Seigniory families.
The remains of the undersea pipeline are normally closed to the public, but access to the remains of the pumping station is possible, and there is also a heritage section of the pipeline. It is possible to explore this if permission is obtained in advance.
Samples of Mester water may be taken freely from the source, and more supplies may be ordered from any of the shops in town. Visitors are reminded, though, that there is a strict upper limit on the quantity of water that may be taken from the island, and that what is permissible should be only for personal use.
Currency: Archipelagian simoleon; Muriseayan thaler.
Muriseay
RED JUNGLE / THRESHOLD OF LOVE / BIG ISLAND / YARD OF BONES
MURISEAY is many things, and there are many things it is not.
Although it is by far the largest island in the Dream Archipelago and is the most populous, it has the most powerful economy, the highest mountains, the densest forest, the hottest summer temperatures, has more lakes and rivers than any other island, has the greatest number of airfields, ports, railroads, businesses, criminals, TV channels, film studios, museums, and many other superlatives, Muriseay is not the ‘capital’ island of the Archipelago.
It does not have a seat of government for anything except its own administration, plus three regional assemblies in semi-devolved areas. Although Muriseayan banks are found all over the Archipelago, and its currency is accepted in most of the biggest islands, it does not control the economy of other islands, nor does it seek to do so. The same is true of language, cultural influence, policy towards the Covenant, and much more. Like most of the islands, Muriseay is run as a benign seignioral feudal state, inward-looking and socially conservative, but with a positive interest in market forces, and the freedom and human rights of the individual.
Although Muriseay has a civilian policier force and coastline guards it has no army, no air force and the only navy is a small fleet of fishery protection vessels. The civilian populace is banned from holding concealable weapons, and strict licensing arrangements cover sport and hunting uses. There are two military airfields, but each of those is used exclusively by one or other of the combatant allied powers. In this, Muriseay is in contrast with the smaller islands, some of which do maintain a standing militia or defence corps. Muriseay is constitutionally neutral even within the Covenant.
Muriseay’s wealth attracts many more immigrants than does any other island — it has full shelterate and havenic laws — so that while being the wealthiest place in the Archipelago, Muriseay also has a higher incidence of poverty than anywhere else. The apartments and houses of the major cities, including Muriseay Town itself, are crowded and in many places in poor physical condition. Some of the streets are all but impassable with traffic, mopeds, roadside enterprises and pedestrians — in other parts, especially in the Colonial Quarter, there are many fine buildings and open squares, and a network of old streets where restaurants, cinemas, houses and small privately owned shops are found. Many of the streets are lined with jacarandas and eucalypts. Air pollution is serious, especially in Muriseay Town. Crime is rife, particularly amongst ethnically varied immigrants. Huge shanty towns surround the outer city. There are numerous deeply entrenched social problems related to overcrowding, drug and alcohol abuse, prostitution, racial prejudice, child neglect and cruelty, homelessness, violent crime, and much more.