Mistress of the Waves

By George Phillies

Goddard is a world trapped in its non-technological present by brilliant social engineering. Orphaned Amanda Kirasdotr rescues a space traveler, flies on his starship, and wants a starship of her own. That's challenging when the hottest ship on Goddard boasts three masts and a full set of sails. But Amanda has a plan. First she must overcome storms, pirates, poverty and assassins of the mysterious Order of the Bell.

Mistress of the Waves is about overcoming economic and technological challenges. Yes, there are pirates, a revolution, and the mythical giant squid, but Amanda solves her challenges through hard work, thoughtful investment and planning, and clever responses to a massive fiscal bubble. Her answers are quite the opposite of 'we have gunpowder, so let's conquer the world'. Amanda has 'we have trading ships. Let's make the world a better place.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Phillies
• Release date: Jun 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301603459

George Phillies

George Phillies is a retired Professor of Physics. He also taught in Biochemistry and in Game Design. His scientific research is focused on polymer dynamics. He also writes science fiction novels and books on politics. Books by George Phillies include:FictionThis Shining SeaNine GeesMinutegirlsThe One WorldMistress of the WavesAgainst Three LandsEclipse, The Girl Who Saved the WorldAiry Castles All AblazeStand Against the LightInpreparation: Practical ExerciseBooks on Game Design SeriesContemporary Perspectives in Game Design (with Tom Vasel)Design Elements of Contemporary Strategy Games(with Tom Vasel)Stalingrad for Beginners - How to PlayStalingrad for Beginners - Basic TacticsDesigning Board Wargames - IntroductionBooks on PoliticsStand Up for Liberty!Funding LibertyLibertarian RenaissanceSurely We Can Do Better?Books on PhysicsPhysics OneElementary Lectures in Statistical MechanicsPhenomenology of Polymer Solution DynamicsComplete Tables for ‘Phenomenology of Polymer Solution Dynamics’

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1

The weather was absolutely gorgeous. The sky was crystal clear, the Five Day Stars sharply visible at the eastern horizon. I'd caught the fish I needed to keep the cook happy. I could catch a few more for the fishmonger. He pays cash. I don’t need lots of money, but my clothing was frayed and patched before I bought it, and besides it was getting small again.

The first time I took my boat into the Outer Bay, meaning me by myself against the wind, the waves, and the blue sky, I was more than a bit scared. Yes, I did wear a lifejacket. I did have a life line. Northstar is a planked dory with solid deck and flotation compartments, not an overgrown rowboat. It's big enough for the Outer Bay, if you’re careful and the weather isn't too rough. I'm not scared of the Outer Bay any more, not more than a sensible sailor should be. Besides, I've grown a bit since then. Dad always said I would grow up to be my mom's daughter, and she'd been even taller than he was. Than he had been. How tall was she? I only have a little girl's memories. I can remember her calling me Amanda, but never me saying 'Kira' instead of  'Mommy'.

There, across the bay, were the visitors. The fellow handling their main sail might have travelled from another star, but he wasn't that good at tending his sheet. He kept letting his sail luff. Then I got curious. I'd watched him tack. He wasn't close to going into irons, and he was still fewer points from the wind than I'd ever been. The pennon on his mast made that very clear. Blinding hot pink and a lattice of black lines on his pennon was nothing like the Starlanding Island star, the bottom two feet touching a very stylized island, but his pennon still trailed downwind. How did he do it? I knew the answer I'd get from another sailor. That starfarer uses the Starry Wisdom. If you copy his Starry Wisdom ways, you'll be worse off for it.

Starfarer? Like everyone else in town, last week I'd walked the miles up to the landing field to see the starship. I'd never seen one before. Odds are even that I'll ever see another. The Shire Librarian did his duty and talked to the Starfarers. They didn’t want to trade. They only wanted to go sailing.

It took no end of time for them to explain that they went sailing for fun, the way other people read stories or listen through the twilight to a chantey. They went from star to star, so they could say they'd sailed more seas than anyone else. Okay. Some people collect sea shells. They were collecting, well, having done something. I think. At the landing field, I didn't see how they could sail at all, their starship being up on the plateau. Then their…machines…flew their sailboat down to the bay. Now the two of them tacked across the waves.

I carefully did all the things I needed to do to come about, put my tiller over, and made a guess where I might meet them when they came back across the Bay. Northstar wasn't as fast as they were, not by a fair piece, but on their return they would come to me. Of course, they'd be heading down wind, but I'd get a good look at their rigging. Perhaps they would say hello. Perhaps they'd even let me board their yacht. A yacht wasn't their starship 'Sorcerie…ex-Veil Worlds Battlecruiser Glorious Hot Pink'—whatever that meant; it seemed like a long name—but their yacht was still a ship from another world.

I would never have guessed what happened when we closed. I waved. The two of them stood and waved back. No one at their tiller. No one tending the sheets. No one over there thinking, not at all. The wind shifted. Their boom swung. Their yacht heeled, just enough to send one of them into the water. Of course, if he'd been more cautious than standing right against the gunwale, he’d only have fallen onto his deck.

His companion screamed. I knew all the words, but she made no sense. He thrashed, arms pumping desperately, not swimming at all. She finally remembered to put her tiller hard over and drop her sails, something I would have done in half an instant. She had my weather gage. She had at least remembered to turn to windward. Her bare poles would blow her back to him.

By this time I was very close indeed. He paid no attention when I threw him a life ring.

Help! she shouted. Help!  Where's the harbor tractor net? Save him!  Save him! He can't swim!

I had no idea what a tractor net was, had no idea why tangling him in a mesh of ropes would help keep him from drowning, and had no idea how anyone could go sailing, not know how to swim, and not wear a life jacket. Dad had drilled into me how to save a drowning man, starting with the marlinspike tucked into my belt. Yes, marlinspike. To knock him out if he grappled me. Release my life line. Then grab a long line, and another life ring. Lucky I had two. Spill my sails; they'd be enough of a sea anchor to keep Northstar from escaping.

OK, have to do this the hard way. I kicked off my sandals, dove, stayed under with life ring bobbing across the waves on its tow, came up behind him, grabbed him by the neck so he couldn't turn around and choke me, took in the life ring, and got it around his head. That was a struggle. He couldn't grab me, not in a choke hold, but he was happy to try. He did remember to grab the ring. I got one swallow of water while he thrashed, and coughed it up before I had us back to the side of my dory. I can swim like a fish, but water doesn't fight back. He did. That’s blind panic. It makes you stupid. He hung on to Northstar’s gunwale for dear life. I swam to the battens and climbed. Yes, I can hoist myself over the edge, but that's a long lift, something I'd only do to show off how strong I am.

His yacht drifted alongside. Machines overhead, machines from his ship, glittered like silver-metal sea eagles. He calmed down, enough hear me. On Nova Capricornis 4, he declaimed, I almost drowned. I completely pass on what ‘now caper corn is for’ means. His companion and I got him into their boat. He flopped on their deck, gasping for breath. I was soaking wet myself. Bright sun or not, the spring breeze was not making me any warmer.

His companion looked at him. She was pretty, in an odd sort of way. They couldn't go sailing very much; she didn’t have the tan or the muscle. "Jim, I've called the Sorcerie; we'll have you in an autodoc in a couple minutes. She had an accent, every sound cut short. Every so often there were funny sounds from her mouth, sounds where there should have been a word. Not strange words. Funny sounds. Chirps. Whistles. Bird calls. Noises a human being can't make. Well, human beings not from starships. Where was the harbor tractor net?" she asked.

The harbor what? I answered politely.

The tractor net. She said those three words very firmly. The harbor computers should have seen Jim was drowning and pulled him out of the water.

I was baffled. Our computer? She sailed for Westport yesterday. I know the Spencerport computer. She teaches business arithmetic at Stone Academy. I'd waved her good-bye.

No. The harbor computers. She was more emphatic.

She's off checking the books of their Readers. She'll be back next week, I said.

Computer. She looked puzzled. A machine who thinks.

Were we speaking the same language? Machines are not 'who', and only people think. It seemed a good idea to change topic. I did pull him out of the water, I said. That saved him. I sneezed.

I didn't know what she'd been expecting to happen, but it hadn’t. You saved Jim, she said. And you need an autodoc, too. Suddenly her boat, followed by my dory, rose skyward and moved, impossibly fast, toward the landing field.

* * * *

And that is all I remember until I awoke. I was in a strange room, dressed in clean clothes, clothes that looked just like my old clothes, except they were my size, and not frayed at all. I had no memory of getting here. I was just…here. I remembered my dory rising into the air, and then my memories stopped. Something must have happened, but I couldn’t remember it.

The light came from sun-bright balls, not like any candle or oil lamp. The wall opposite me was glass, a whole wall of glass pitched away at the top. You could see the reflection from the glass, very faint, and beyond the glass was another room, pitch dark except for this bright blue-green-white thing. The thing's top edge was a circular arc. I stood up and took a few steps. When I walked toward the window, the thing didn't change size. That further room had to be huge.

Oh, good, you're awake. The voice behind me was the woman from the sailboat.

Hello, I managed to answer. She was dressed entirely differently than on the sailboat. She wore violet shoes, a green shirt hanging outside her very baggy bright-blue trousers, the shirtwaist cut in long triangles reaching almost to her knees, gold coat—if you wore a short bathrobe open so it came only to your breasts, but this was cut to be worn that way, that would be it. A rose-red scarf. And something was in her hair, coarse copper-orange strings filled with little lights that winked on and off. After I saw the lights in her hair, I realized the glints in her clothes were more lights, barely bright enough to be seen, each flashing on and off in its own tune. Every bit of the clothing was worked with patterns, so the blue was three different shades of color, and the green and yellow were more. I couldn't imagine how much the seamstresses had been paid to embroider it. More than I made in years. Maybe enough to buy a boat.

I'm Martina Parker, she said. Jim—my other half—is still in the autodoc, having his lungs cleaned. And you're all back together. Isn't she, autodoc?

That is correct, Miss Parker. The voice came from the open air. I didn't see where their doctor was hiding. His voice was a gorgeous baritone. I know some people are shy, but so shy you don't let people see you is a bit much. Otto Doc’s voice was still gorgeous. I have transformed Amanda Kirasdotr to a full state of normal health. All indicators are positive. No more… I am sure the next sounds were all words, but not ones I know, and I aced my final vocabulary tests. …will be needed.

Why, thank you,' I said, Wherever you are." It took me a moment to wonder. How did he know my name?

Autodoc. Dismiss. Private. Martina said that in a very different tone of voice. Otto, wherever he was, never said another word. We're sorry it took so long. The autodoc makes medical decisions here. I spoke to your guardian. He agreed we should take the days needed to care for you. Your ship is protected. Your fish were given to your cook. Arrangements were made to replace the fish you did not catch in your absence. We infer you and your ship should be returned to your harbor, just before first light in good weather. That is in one dekan—sorry, two hours. Was it Martina's accent? Her voice held a trace of exasperation.

Thank you. That's very kind of you. Did you say…days? I knew exactly what she had said.

Oh, yes, not quite three of them. You were asleep. The autodoc was very insistent. But it did everything it should. And it gave you the…. More noises, almost ones a person could speak. I tried to repeat them, pitching the last sounds into a question. Martina paused. She turned her head to the side, her lips moving slightly. It was an invisible conversation, right in front of me, and I heard neither side of it.

Have you learned how to dream? she asked. I nodded. I don't think you learn how to dream. You just do it. But she was the host, so I didn't argue. The…when you go to sleep, take yourself to a classroom. A classroom with the autodoc's voice. It will tell you about being healthy. She spoke every word slowly and carefully. I repeated what she said. It made no sense, but when someone sounds like that, they think it's important, so you should, too, even if you don't know why. And I don’t sleepwalk, so walking to a classroom after I nod off is plain impossible.

But, yes, you were in the autodoc for most of three days. We brought you up to find out how to contact your…your guardian. Three days? Now I found memories from before I woke up, memories I'd lost until this instant. I'd been awake, but I couldn't see anything, I couldn't hear anything, I didn't know what was happening, and I didn't care enough to do anything. I was asked who my parents were, where my guardian was. The questions had somehow gone on forever.

I see. Cook will be really grateful to you, for covering for me not being there to fish. I didn’t understand the part about being made healthy. I’d already been healthy. Time to change the topic of conversation. But…what is that? I pointed at the object in the next room. It really was amazingly strange.

Why, that's Goddard. Go look closer. I walked across the carpet. Even up against the glass, I was no closer to it. I couldn't see anything in the next room other than the patterned circle.

Goddard? Is it a globe? Goddard is the world. Was it worthwhile to ask questions? Whenever I did, the answers left me feeling I knew less and less. And I'm not dumb. No, be honest with yourself, you passed citizen test after citizen test way younger than other girls, you passed your competency test, and you're being allowed to park in the orphanage, study or fish until you're old enough to claim your inheritance, what little there is of it.

Oh, no. Her voice brightened. That's Goddard. Itself. You do know Goddard is a planet, and round. Don’t you?

Sure.

Barlemnon, give Amanda a geo overlay, lowest labeled resolution. She was speaking to someone else.

As is commanded. Another voice in the air. A spiderweb of scarlet lines appeared in front of the globe, outlining the green areas and putting names next to them. It took me two breaths to recognize those names. Those were two dozen continents, a quarter-way around the world—yes, I am my mother's daughter, I do know a world map when I see it, even if it's upside down. And then I understood.

That's a window to outside. We're flying!  We're up here. No one would ever believe me. But Goddard, from high in the air, so high you could see Damien and Relnovo at the same time, was totally beautiful. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, well, except the first fish I caught and gaffed.

Alas, it is night in Spencerport, so I can’t show you your home. But we must descend.

* * * *

I was sitting in my own boat, the stars saying not quite first light, the waves whispering to me that I was in the Outer Bay. My running lights were set, bright enough that I could see sails ready to hoist. I looked at the sky, the Great Belt burning bright across the zenith. I saw no sign of glittering machines, no starship in the sky. Or was there a shadow passing across the river of stars? It passed and vanished in an instant. Once again, I had no memories of how I reached where I was. Martina said ‘descend’, and I was here.

Fortunately for me, dawn was approaching and I was way out on the water, so I started setting lines. My bait? Somehow, it was still fresh. Even my sandwiches were fresh. But when I tasted one, I realized the crust was a bit firmer, the butter was a bit sweeter, the onion was not as tart, and the cheese? The cheese was really good, but something I had never tasted. Martina had packed breakfast for me. Not only had I ridden on a starship, but I was eating food from another star. I was really hungry, but still made myself taste every bite. Someday I'd be able to tell my children about the sandwiches from across the heavens.

Even more fortunately for me, though I didn't think that way at first, this was one of those mornings when you were awake but the fish were still in bed. I baited and set my lines, brought up the small jib and began slow sweeps across the bay, the lines staying as still as if they were on dry land. Not a single fish nibbled. I wanted to tell people what I'd seen, but I couldn't. I had a job to do first.

Before I got myself into trouble, I remembered stories we'd read in school. The man who made a bird machine. He jumped off a cliff and broke his neck. The shipwright who built the largest three-master ever, in fact a five-master, not from the Hundred Thousand Books. It broke in two in the first storm. The second man who built a bird machine. He actually flew, a bit. His neighbors shunned him ever after. The nail that stands up needs to be hammered down.

I'd seen some incredible things, but perhaps I shouldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. In particular, telling people I wanted to build not a bird machine, but a space machine, so I could once again see the blue-green sphere that is Goddard from high above, sounded like a really bad idea, an idea that sounded worse and worse as the sun rose. Doing it might be wonderful, but telling people you wanted to do it would be a bad idea. I needed to be careful.

What should I say? Dad warned me about fibbing. It's so hard to keep your lies straight. It's really easy to tell the truth and stay with it. What happened. I saved the guy. I was asleep. I saw one room, a room like the parlor in a fancy mansion, the sort of mansion we had before mom and then dad…those are old memories, and I will let them go. Outside the room? It was really dark. Darker than dark. Yes, they did wake me up once or twice. But I was still almost asleep, and don't remember it clearly. That happens to people who bump their heads hard, so no one can say I should remember better. The starship people wanted my dad's name. I think. And the woman thanked me for saving her husband’s life. That was just good manners.

Martina Parker said their Doctor, Otto, fixed me up. I never met him. Which way was I sick? She didn't say what was wrong. All I remember was swallowing some water, and a bit went down the wrong hatch. She was trying really hard to pay me back for saving her husband’s life. Yes, they did something odd, taking me like that, but they didn’t hurt me, and they were Starfarers, people who didn’t know our ways and followed the Starry Wisdom. I slept through almost all of it. OK. I had my story, every bit of it true, in mind. I also knew that I'd actually flown on a starship, and almost every moment of it I had been asleep. That was really annoying. Someplace Martina must have had the book How to Build a Starship and I didn't get to read it.

* * * *

Closer to noon than I liked, I'd caught the fish I was going to catch, and headed back to port. Cook would doubtless grumble, though I'd caught enough fish for her. The fishmonger would not complain, not with the number of lionfish I'd be selling him. A shame Cook didn't like lionfish, but, hey, I need the money.

Moor at my buoy. Move the fish to the baskets and shift them to the skiff. That step is always a royal pain. I could dock my sailboat where I have docking rights, but if the wind shifted I'd be pinned there. Thank you, I am not strong enough to pole Northstar into a strong breeze, not for any distance. I did once bring Northstar in from the Inner Bay on sweeps, in a dead calm, and only hoped I'd die, but with sweeps you can stop rowing. Poling into the wind doesn't let you quit. In a dire emergency, I can kedge Northstar off from a dock, but kedging is easier when you’re three strong men and two boats.

I checked my wallet. Surely the Outlanders hadn't taken my money? I found a wad of standards , way more than when I set sail, and three receipts from the fishmonger. The Outlanders had made up to him, too, and done quite well for me. We were not quite at half-month day, so my final-month money still had its full last-fraction value. The day after tomorrow, it would lose half of the last bit of what it was worth, but not yet. Money takes a lot of months to lose its value, but in the end it does, almost.

John Johnsson was at his rental booth. For once he did not have a customer, though from the fullness of his cashbox and the emptiness in his shed he'd been doing hand-over-hand business before I arrived. He actually stood up when I reached the counter. He never stands, except to fetch something from his shelves. Amanda! You're back! he called. Wasn't sure you would be. What happened? Where did they take you?

You saw them take me away? I asked. We'd been well out in the Outer Bay.

Oh, no. But the star people told the Headmaster and the Librarian and Mistress Wandasdotr (that was Cook, and Sweetie hates her proper name) and Harold Dracosson (our fishmonger) so by now everyone from Southport to Eastport must have heard. They took you up in their starship. I did not quite roll my eyes. So what happened?

I saved one of them from drowning, I said. He didn't know how to swim and didn’t have a life jacket. I swallowed a bit of water getting a life ring around him. They put me to sleep. For—was I really gone three days?—I was sound asleep except once. I described the strange room, John's ears almost twitching as he heard the details. Rather, his ears twitched as he heard me say that I remembered almost nothing. "What did they say?"

John's version of the story told me nothing I didn’t know. It did make me out to be a hero, not someone who'd done what any sailor should. It also didn’t say anything wildly wrong, something that might make trouble for me. The starfarers might have had a sailboat, but they didn’t seem to know what it was to stand between sky and sea, matching your wits against wind and wave. But I have fish waiting for me, I said.

He touched hand to forehead. That tale is pay enough. For today. Tomorrow, you pay full rate. ‘Tomorrow’ was in his mock growl. I giggled, thanked him, and took a rental barrow. When I returned it, there’d be a lionfish in it.

My good luck, most people don't know me. I got the fishmonger's fish up to him, no one wanting me to stop and talk. He paid standard rate. He always pays standard rate, not a standard more or less. He did ask if the starship people had hurt me, and I promised him they hadn’t. In fact, I’d been asleep almost the whole time.

Finally, my second trip from the harbor, I brought the schools' fish to Cook, returned the barrow to John Johnsson, and stopped at the family fishing cottage. Family? A family of one. Me, myself, and I. Cottage? A big storeroom, a small bed and cooking room not that I cooked for myself, and true drains well outside. A few months ago I'd faced down my memories and started putting the cottage into order, washing the windows, oiling the shutter hinges, paying more than I want to remember to have a chimney sweep clean and reline the chimney, paying almost as much to have water and drains unsealed, and starting a serious cleaning program.

I have to credit the Harbormaster for that. I told him I wanted to start fixing the place up, so I'd have someplace to go when I got out of school, and he'd walked through and told me what to do. No. He'd told me what needed doing. I figured out the rest. I'd even sold most of dad's old clothes, now that I could face touching them, and had the bed linens and towels washed. The important part was I had someplace I could clean up after being out on the water, without the other girls teasing that my hands were dirty. Most of them, their family paid well to attend Stone Academy, because they were going to be marrying well. They walked in from home most days. The richest families boarded their daughters between weekends, so they’d study all evening under the thumb of a Reader. The few of us who were orphans, especially the three who were wards of the town, were a step down the pecking order. Dad had left some money for me, enough to pay tuition, food, a bedroom small for the cabin on a fishing junque, and bath rights. The bedroom meant I didn’t need to walk to the cottage after dark, when I was done studying. My fishing paid everything else.

The Library clock said I had to move quickly, but properly washed and dressed I reached the Academy before Cook would get upset about me eating late. I had the sense to know 'better not at all than really late', but I was hungry enough not to want to face 'not at all'. I sat at my usual table with the orphans and the several friends who took studying seriously. We weren't going to read all the Hundred Thousand Books, but we weren't going to stop with one, either. The starfarers had sent word to the Headmaster that I’d be back today, enough that people weren’t surprised when I walked in.

I'd finished my soup and salad before Melanie popped the question. So what happened? I raised an eyebrow. On the starship. Was it like a romance novel? Melanie was enough older than me that she thinks about romance novels absolutely all day. In particular, she thinks about romance novels that happen to her, complete with young men at her beck and call. I shook my head and repeated what happened. I was going to get really bored telling the same story again and again. It was a very short story, actually. I was almost all the way through before I noticed that the room was dead silent. Everyone, even Cook and the Headmaster, was listening.

Afternoon went very quickly. I'd done my citizen books and tests, last year. Now I was reading from the Hundred Thousand Books, the books on ships and sailing. Reading, of course, means that I sat for an hour or two at a stretch, read, and the Senior Reader quizzed me. Half The Two-Masted Fishing Ship waited unread, but I found myself looking back once and again to earlier pages. Was I getting absent-minded? Had I forgotten things while I was asleep? Or was I seeing things I had missed? Finally, exasperated, I turned to Ludwig Pavelson. He'd been the school Senior Reader for years and years.

There he was, grading student examinations, and at the end of class he'd quiz each of us on what we'd read, and have no trouble telling who was reading, and who was slacking off. No matter what we read, he could tell. He couldn't possibly have read everything, could he? I don't slack off, okay, not counting the day I fell down a flight of stairs. I waved, pointed at his private office, and let him lead us behind closed doors for a private chat.

Sometimes it takes a while to see what is in front of you, was his advice. Perhaps you're tired from your adventure. Perhaps, perhaps two-masters are similar enough to your ship that you were reading things not there into the words, and now you're thinking more clearly. Except your answers today are better than your answers last week. Try reading the book again from the beginning. Savor its thoughts. That's what I did.

I usually spent early evenings in the school library. It has better windows than my room, some catching the setting sun, not to mention that I didn't have to pay for a lamp when it got dark. I was paying for school, and was going to extract as much from it as I could. A Junior Reader always watched, fetched books from the locked shelves, recorded who had what, and made sure we returned books before we left. The library was open until nine in the evening, and I was in bed and asleep a few minutes later. Fishing at dawn demands rising barely at first light.

The second day after I returned, Clorinda Clorindasdotr was waiting for me in the library. Whispering in the library was allowed, if it wasn't too crowded, but she gestured me outside. She lived with her family, but when your Da owns the grain mill and has his fingers in all sorts of businesses, your family can afford to rent you a study in the school, someplace you work after dinner with no one bothering you. That's where we went.

Her study was big. She had a real desk, several comfortable chairs, a couch that doubled as a bed, and a good carpet on the floor. That was mostly from her family's money. Most Junior Readers had simpler furnishings. Of course, most Junior Readers went home after dinner, and during the week Clorinda stayed overnight. Her Da was rich because he worked hard, and she was brought up to do the same. After the usual niceties, Clorinda got to the point.

We need to talk, she said. I was worried about you, and realized you don't have anyone to talk to.

I'm fine. I answered. But that's very kind of you.

Starfarers sometimes do terrible things to people, she said. I must have looked baffled. The sort of thing that happens in romance novels, except not asking you first.

The sort…? Oh!  That sort of thing. I'm not marriage age yet, not for a fair number of years, not that Clorinda was either, but I know the things can happen to young women. No. I'm not bruised. I'm not sore, or aching, or anything. I'm just the same as I was before. Besides, they told me, the one guy on their ship was—I think they meant 'confined to bed'—while I was there. I slept through the whole thing, almost, and I feel fine.

Thank goodness, Clorinda said. But I had to ask, so you had someone to speak to. She had that one right. I ate with the other orphans, and couple of the really smart kids, not that I'm a dummy myself, but we weren't close, not where I'd talk if something like that happened to me. Besides, I was the oldest orphan, so I had no one older to talk to.

There's something else, she said. Headmaster is asking around. He wants to know if they gave you any … ideas. Strange ideas. Ideas not in the Hundred Thousand Books. He doesn't like that.

Headmaster asking around was not good. Headmaster wanted everything in its place. One of his regular morals lessons was 'when you see a nail standing up high, the plank under it is loose: Knock the nail down hard.'  Steel nails are very rare and extremely expensive, everyone sensible using pegs and wood glue, but the meaning of the moral was still clear. The Headmaster would not like what had happened to me, no matter it was not my fault, not that it was more than taking a trip and being asleep for half a week. He had a bunch of ways to make life miserable for me. Extra chores. Demerits. Extra quizzes. More demerits.

Ideas? Strange ideas? I answered. No. Well, it seems I really can sleep for three days running. And that's what I did. Sleep. Not listen to Outlander ideas. Sleep. I think my answer satisfied her. There really was not more to say about it. I did leave out the funny way Martina spoke. She made sounds a person can't, except I've heard the town bird-calling champion, and I would have bet a person couldn't make noises like he did, either. We spent a while talking about Martina's clothing, and how expensive it was. I left out the blinking lights—I said they were gleams from gems or mirrors, when they were really little pieces of cold flame. We agreed: We both wanted to be rich enough to buy clothing like that.

Chapter 2

Late in the day. The fifth, second- highest floor of the Library Tower was in shadow, with plain white curtains embroidered with the library seal, a black circle and eight outstretched black rays, drawn over every window.

The Shire Librarian stood behind a dark-finished oak desk. He was not tall, but he stood as straight as his tower. A lifetime of shifting books had given him the strength of many artisans. He picked up a small hammer and struck the gong before him. It rang until he clasped the copper plate between two fingers.

We are gathered by the Bell, his audience intoned. Stone School Headmaster Mordred Lanceson, Shipwright Christopher Markofferson, Ropeweaver Johanna Barbarasdotr, and Associate Librarians Jennifersdotr and Maisdotr had completed this rite many times before.

The Bell calls us all, he answered. The Initiates of the Bell are assembled. Brothers and sisters, let us be seated. He and his audience moved to the circle of comfortable chairs. The Starfarer is our concern. Sister Jennifersdotr, you track her reading, here and at Stone School. Are there issues?

She has not asked about the five forbidden substances, Annike Jennifersdotr answered. I finally set out the display vial of the rock that burns. She was curious. After all, it is pretty, but when I gave its name and said ‘you sprinkle it on hydrangeas’, her answer was ‘I’m a lousy gardener, but thanks for showing me something I’ve never heard of’.

She must be watched, the Shire Librarian said. "Most carefully. She may bear corrupt thinking.’

She may bear the taint of the stars, Lanceson said grimly. May she be discouraged?

The Voice of the Bell, Book 100005, is clear. She may be reduced in status. Until she gives proof she bears the taint, no direct action against her is allowed, the Librarian answered. Lanceson frowned, asking himself how status reduction might take place.

We have other matters, the Shire Librarian continued. With respect to the annual book shipment, Sister Maisdotr may report…

* * * *

The next few days were very quiet. I had an east-facing bedroom, cool in the evening, and bright in the morning so first light woke me. I'd very quietly pull on my clothes, pad down to the kitchen—on bare feet so I didn’t wake anyone—drink a mug of cold tea, grab a half loaf of bread—Cook did not complain I that I buttered the loaf, nor that I took a little cheese—an apple or two, and slip out the back door, making sure it latched after me. Then I'd put on my sandals for a brisk walk down to the harbor. By the time I'd reached the water I'd eaten, checked my cottage, and was ready to go fishing.

The weather remained fair. We don't often get a lot of rain in mid-Spring, and that usually in the evening. Cook understands I'll go out in rain, but at some point as winds rise my boat, planked and sealed deck or not, really isn't safe for one person in the Outer Bay. Mind you, I have gone fishing in a stiff wind, wearing life jacket and safety line, hoisting only the storm jib. I learned that the fish aren't catching in bad weather. After that, when it was stormy I paid my keep by cleaning around the Academy. Okay, by cleaning, and on other days by giving Cook more fish than I'd promised. I preferred to go fishing.

Rereading The Two-Masted Fishing Ship was rewarding. Perhaps I took it a bit more seriously. Perhaps I read a bit more carefully. Perhaps I did not want to read it a third time. No matter which, I learned a lot more from the book.

Finally there came the day that I was summoned to the Headmaster's Office. Waiting with him were the Shire Librarian and the Harbormaster. The Harbormaster? What did he want? I was a sailor. My dues were paid.

You'd have had to be deaf not to notice tension between the Librarian and the Harbormaster. The Librarian asked question after question about the star people. I went over everything that had happened to me, my true if incomplete story. Every so often, he'd veer off topic, asking about me, not the starfarers. The Harbormaster would raise a finger, and the Librarian would withdraw his question. Apparently while I was asleep the starfarers had asked me more questions than I remembered, because the Librarian told me my answers. The questions were nothing personal, just the starfarers trying to understand who I was, and who could permit my medical treatment.

Finally the Librarian ran out