Si'Empra's Queen: Songs of Si'Empra, #3

By Miriam Verbeek

"A must-read for both fantasy buff and lovers of women's fiction" - Prairie's Book Review

 

"Brilliant and captivating ... This series has a richness that deepens with each book" - Amazon Customer

 

Get ready to dive back into the richly detailed world of Si'Empra in Si'Empra's Queen, the final instalment of the thrilling urban fantasy trilogy, Songs of Si'Empra. This heart-warming and fast-paced finale explores grief, friendship, sacrifice, and love as Ellen works to solidify the peace she fought so hard for.

 

Fifteen years have passed, and much has changed. Under Ellen's rule, Si'Empra has returned to a peaceful state, and the three societies are working together again in harmony. Of course, there are still a handful of issues to overcome. The Crystalmakers are struggling to adapt to the changing times, and Ellen's failing health means she must find and train another leader to take her place. 

 

Meanwhile, the pirate Ellen once tricked and escaped from is back, and he has a score to settle. While Ellen was distracted, he slowly embedded himself in the Skyseeker' society. His vendetta against Ellen burns hot, and he will stop at nothing to get his revenge. Now, he's finally in the perfect place to exact it.

 

Full of intrigue, action, and unforgettable characters you can't help but love, Si'Empra's Queen is perfect for fans of Lindsay Buroker's Legacy of Magic and Leigh Bardugo's Alex Stern series. Complete the adventure, and click "Add to cart" today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miriam Verbeek
• Release date: Aug 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648595489

Miriam Verbeek

Miriam Verbeek was born to Dutch parents in Bandung, Indonesia in 1954 and migrated to Australia as a child. Throughout a career in academia and management consulting, she advocated for environmental and humanitarian causes. She's a mother, homemaker, nature lover and bushwalker and lives with her partner on the east coast of Australia.

Book preview

Part One

Others

One

Returns

Think she’ll die?

The murmured conversation within became suddenly more distinct with the opening of a window above Pedro’s head. He glanced up and took a step away from the outside wall of the tourist guides’ cabin he had been leaning on.

The Lians will start carrying on again and we’ll be back where we started.

Think so? Nah – it’s better now.

Word is some of the Lians don’t like her – say she’s tough to deal with.

Yeah – that’s just part of the job.

The old hands’re still around. She never got rid of them. Big mistake. They’ll find something to cut her down.

A grunt of laughter. Give over, Pete. She’s been in the job for fifteen years and no one’s going to argue that things’ve got worse. No one’s going ―

A siren sounded and the conversation turned to general banter as the guides readied themselves to receive tourists.

Four men, dressed in the heavy overalls of cargo handlers, pushed a railed walkway over the sheer edge of Si’Em Square and slid it into place on the deck of the large tender that had manoeuvred alongside the docking area. The walkway jerked and bucked as the barge rose, fell and swayed on the turbulent waters. On command, each of the twenty seated passengers rose by turn and, clinging to the rails, made their way to shore. Once on firm ground, several clipboard-holding crew members sorted the passengers into groups, each led by the guides Pedro had overheard speaking. Some passengers would go on a day tour of Si’Em City and Baltha and return to the ship, which would then cruise slowly to the only other island inlet to make another landfall, weather and seas permitting. Other passengers would stay on Si’Empra for a week and, of those, some would continue to explore Si’Em City, Baltha and Sinthen, and some would join various outdoor adventure tours specialising in activities such as climbing, hiking and birding. At the end of the week, the ship would return to pick up all her passengers.

This was the seventh year that Si’Empra had offered organised activities to tourists, and each year the demand grew. The short season and unpredictable weather placed limits on the number of cruise ships able to visit, and the Lianthem placed further restrictions to reduce the impact of so many tourists on the island.

Pedro watched the orderly disembarkation process. The tender offloaded the third set of passengers from the mother ship, which lay a safe distance away from land. The sun shone brightly and the day would have been warm except that the slight breeze held Antarctic ice in the air – enough for the tourists to keep their jackets firmly zipped up. Disembarking all passengers would take several hours, despite the tender hurrying back and forth to take advantage of the relatively calm sea.

Watching the happy medley of people, Pedro smiled. He rather liked the freshness that the influx of tourists brought. He had no desire to travel beyond the rim of Si’Empra’s coastline, but he liked to hear about far-off places and being exposed to the different ways of thinking that foreigners introduced.

Pedro’s smile broadened when he saw Father Augustine step on to the walkway. The priest was not hard to pick out, dressed as he was in a long brown cassock. He held his head high and was obviously searching Si’Em Square. Pedro raised his arm and waved as he walked forward. The priest waved back, a grin splitting his face.

The two men clasped each other’s hands warmly. My friend, my friend, that has been the longest journey of my life, the priest laughed. I could not contain my impatience to see you again.

And welcome you are, Pedro smiled. Your luggage?

Father Augustine picked up the worn valise he had carried off the ship. This is all I have – and what I have in my bag. He slapped the satchel slung off his shoulder.

Excellent. Should I take you to your room or is there something else you would like to do first?

Oh, my friend! I would love nothing more just now than to reacquaint myself with pendle and berry cake, and to talk with you and ― the priest turned towards the square, his large hand sweeping around to indicate the busy marketplace ― and I want you to tell me about this transformation! This is not the Si’Empra I left fifteen–sixteen years ago!

Indeed. We are more relaxed now. Come. I guessed your answer and I’ve reserved us a table at the tea house.

Your communication with me has done no justice to what I now perceive, Father Augustine accused as they settled into seats. A waiter brought them pendle and cakes, acknowledging Pedro respectfully and giving the priest a welcoming smile before hurrying off to attend to the rapidly increasing number of people waiting to be served. It is like I have stepped into another place altogether! When I left there was an air of trepidation in Si’Empra. Now I see vibrancy and a people who are confident. I am astonished – yes, astonished – by the colour in this market! You have brought the art that adorned the walls of your magnificent city into the very clothes and furniture of this outdoor arena.

Pedro settled back into his seat. He had very much looked forward to the coming of his Spanish friend. He appreciated that Father Augustine had no qualms about showing his surprise and looked forward to the many hours they would spend trading stories about the various events in their lives and philosophising about how those events came about.

Where are the goats? I liked your goats. Now I only see little cars.

Electric carts. Yes. They’ve replaced the goats around Si’Em City and Baltha. We only use goats for carrying our goods in the mountains now.

I liked your goats. But I also like this transformation. Your queen, your Ülrügh, she is responsible for this transformation?

Not her alone. But, certainly, she creates the conditions to make it possible.

It was a sad time, the time that led to this, but all is now healed?

Better. Though not all is healed. There are still some who feel betrayed by the rebellion.

Is that a church steeple I see over there?

Pedro swivelled in his seat to look in the direction the priest pointed, though he knew what he would see. On the other side of Baltha Bridge, at the edge of Baltha township, stood a white, rectangular building with a tall steeple topped by a ball with a cross on top. It is a church, Pedro confirmed. The Church of the Congregation Dedicated to the Memory of the Most Holy Mouth of the Lord.

That is the name of the church?

Indeed. And the name of the congregation who meets there.

Who is the Most Holy Mouth of the Lord – dare I guess that it is the departed former Ülrügh?

Yes. You guess correctly.

Is this congregation made up of those who feel betrayed?

Some of the congregation do. Others – well others are of the group that will always exist: those who believe they should be Ülrügh or, at least, hold more authority than they do.

Father Augustine ducked his head and pursed his lips to sip pendle but his eyes stayed focused on the church, his heavy brows drawn into a frown. And are these people of the church adherents to any world religion?

They use parts of the Bible, mostly the Old Testament, and parts of the Koran in the way that Ülrügh Redel did. They’ve created their own book, which they claim to be the revelations God bequeathed to Ülrügh Redel. They found the revelations in his room after his death.

A confusing jumble?

Pedro did not respond and the priest shot him a sharp glance. But you think that all holy books are confusing jumbles, he said. It is we – we priests – who make sense of teachings that, to a stranger, make no sense.

Pedro’s lips twitched his amusement. They had discussed this point before, and the priest knew his views.

Hrrumpf! Father Augustine set down his cup and picked up a small piece of cake between thumb and forefinger, the other three fingers stiffly upright. He held the morsel just before his mouth as if to tease himself with it. We shall discuss this more later. But now. I beg you. Tell me more about your Ülrügh.

What shall I tell you that I have not written in my letters in answer to your innumerable questions? Pedro nodded in the direction of the square. Most Si’Emprans cannot get enough of her. They think she can do no wrong.

But that is not the case with her peers?

Pedro smiled. She is, perhaps, not the most comfortable person to work with.

How so?

Pedro thought a moment. It is hard to read our Ülrügh. At first blush she is all smiles and friendliness, but all the while she is calculating how to bend you to her will.

He sat forward, resting his forearms on the table, cup clasped in both hands halfway to his mouth. I will tell you a story – an example of a way she puts her peers on edge. This happened in the first summer after she had been made Ülrügh, when we’d managed to overcome the most immediate tests of survival. We had few resources and many needs. Si’Em City’s walls were still being repaired, Baltha Bridge had been further damaged by winter, and there were many people who could not yet care for their own needs. There were bands of Redel’s men living in the highlands who made occasional raids on settlements so that most people were too afraid to go out to their summer villages. So, that was the context, and on this occasion the Lianthem had been meeting for some hours, arguing – or maybe I should say discussing – priorities. Lian Grace – you recall that she is the sister of our Chancellor and in exile at the time you were with us?

Father Augustine nodded. He had turned in his seat and was also leaning forward, his whole attention focused on Pedro. You refer to her often as Müther.

Pedro nodded. Lian Grace argued that the people of Sinthen were the most in need of help. Most of the Lianthem disagreed, saying that Sinthen people had always been able to care for themselves and, in any case, resources had already been provided to secure safe passage between Baltha and Sinthen. Lian Grace insisted on calling her son, Richard – at that time he was not yet a member of the Lianthem, which he now is – she insisted on calling him to the meeting to explain the conditions in Sinthen. To cut a long story short, the Lians thought he was exaggerating when he described the poverty in that town. You must understand that few, if any, of the Lians had ever visited Sinthen.

Town of tanneries, right?

Yes. It has a long tradition of making leather and leather goods, and the people there were regarded as second-class citizens by many people who lived in Baltha and Si’Em City.

You know it well, right? You used to live there, right? Taught there, right?

Yes.

And what was the Ülrügh’s contribution to this discussion?

First, you should understand that the Ülrügh rarely verbalises her opinion in discussions among the Lians. Lian Grace and Richard became increasingly agitated with the Lians who didn’t believe them about Sinthen’s poor condition. The Ülrügh just sat quietly listening, her face not showing any emotion, only her eyes moving from speaker to speaker. Then, suddenly, she looks at her watch and turns to me. ‘Pedro,’ she says, ‘I don’t believe that the bus to Sinthen has left yet. Would you be kind enough to ask it to wait for us?’ She stands up and says, ‘I think it might be a good idea if we all go to visit Sinthen to see for ourselves whether Richard and Lian Grace are correct.’ Everyone was so startled they followed her out of the room.

Pedro chuckled.

They paraded – except a few who couldn’t walk that far – across the Baltha Bridge with people staring at them – because they’d never seen the Lianthem marching together in such a manner – and got on to the bus. At the time the bus was very old and decrepit. The road to Sinthen was awful and the bus lurched and bounced along, then it got a flat tyre so the Lianthem stood out in the rain while the tyre was being repaired. When they finally arrived at Sinthen they were very unhappy indeed. The Sinthen people, who were as dismayed as the Lianthem about the unexpected visit, tried their best. They’d had a bit of warning that members of the Lianthem were coming and had made an effort to clean up a meeting place and lay out some food and drink, but it was all poor offerings and obviously the best they could do. The town stank with pollution from the tanneries, and the people stood around in worn clothing, many looking sickly and too thin.

Is this what the Ülrügh expected?

Oh, she knew exactly what she would find.

So, Richard and Lian Grace got what they argued for?

That was not what the Ülrügh intended with the visit. The next time the Lianthem met – that was the next day after everyone had dried out and had a chance to complain about indignities, though that was well out of the Ülrügh’s hearing – she simply said, ‘perhaps we can now have a discussion about Sinthen with a little more information on the table’.

Father Augustine gave a hoot of laughter. So now, I suppose, Lians are nervous about arguing from a position of ignorance?

Pedro set his cup on the table and sat back. Just so. I will take you to Sinthen. It is now a major attraction; its grottos and setting are the rival of Si’Em City. Pedro indicated the tourists still milling about in the square. A majority of these visitors will soon board buses to take them, on a beautifully sealed road, to visit a vibrant little town at the side of an amazing waterfall, overlooking a spectacular gorge.

I hope I am able to meet this Ülrügh of yours.

You will. For the time being, you will, if you agree, stay with Elthán and myself. We live in the part of the Serai in which the Ülrügh also has her room. We have our own apartment but share a large central living space. You will find her charming.

Of course, I agree! I’m most excited to agree! Father Augustine lifted his chin in the direction of the church. But tell me. What does she think of that?

Pedro heaved a deep sigh. A legacy left by her brother that none of us really knows how to deal with. She views it with disquiet but is loath to interfere because world history has taught that if you try to drive a belief system out of a society once it has taken hold, it merely drives it underground and, often, stronger.

Why not try move it towards a faith that is established?

For what purpose?

You still do not believe in a God. Father Augustine grinned as he said this.

Pedro laughed. It is good to have your company again.

In that sudden and spontaneous way that he had of moving, Father Augustine leaned forward and placed his large hand on Pedro’s shoulder. It is good to be here. Most of all, it is good to see that you do not have to guard your tongue as you used to.

Yes. In that way all our lives have changed. I look forward to introducing you to Elthán.

Ah. Elthán. Your Crystalmaker wife. You wrote to me that things are changing rapidly in the underworld. Tell me more.

The change is not rapid but change is occurring.

I have never quite discerned the exact nature of the problems that your wife faces.

Ah. For that tale we will need more than a mere cup of pendle and some sweet cakes. Pedro rose. Come, let me take you to our apartment. Elthán will be there. I regret that I must attend to my duties this afternoon so I have asked our friend Gigi to also meet you. She speaks excellent English which, unfortunately, Elthán does not. You will also meet Greçia, whom Gigi and Elthán care for.

Greçia – she is the Brazilian doctor who lost her mind, if I recall your letters correctly.

Just so. She speaks – when she speaks at all – only in Portuguese now, making it quite hard for most people to understand her.

Father Augustine picked up his valise and followed Pedro out of the eatery. You have not begged an afternoon free from your duties? Is your Ülrügh so possessive of your services?

Pedro frowned, running a hand through the short grey curls of his head. No. She does not seek any possession of me, but she currently lies ill in bed.

Ill! How so? I thought you wrote to me that she had been entirely restored by the Cryptal.

Not entirely and the drug – mylin, we call it – the Cryptals used on her is losing its power.

Then why not give her more of the drug?

Pedro shook his head. We don’t understand mylin. We understand it has a number of forms and they are not necessarily compatible. The type we are most familiar with is that which infuses all the belowground areas. This form is what Crystalmakers need to sustain their health, but it is highly toxic to non-Crystalmakers, especially foreigners. If Skyseekers are exposed as children – as I was – there is a small amount of tolerance, but it always acts as a poison to us.

You mean it doesn’t sustain you like it does the Crystalmakers?

That’s right

And other types of mylin?

The Cryptals also release a form of mylin into Skyseeker living places. It is in doses that we can’t detect but foreigners notice it, describing it as a type of sweetness.

Father Augustine nodded slowly. He stopped at a market stall they were passing, looking over the heads of a group of foreigners standing in front of the stall. Trays of freshly picked berries, each of different kind, shape and size, were artfully arranged on a wide bench. The stall holders were filling bags with berries at the direction of their customers.

Ah! Your berries. Never in the world have I seen such variety or tasted such good berries, said Father Augustine.

They are always a favourite with tourists, agreed Pedro.

Father Augustine turned away from the stall and back to the conversation he had interrupted.

Now you mention it, I know what you refer to – this sweet smell you refer to. Have you thought to test the air?

Some years ago, a foreign chemist who’d taken it upon herself to test the air said she’d detected unusual pheromones. We think this type of mylin is what binds Skyseekers to Si’Empra.

Ah yes! Your curious trait of not wanting to leave your little island. Have you looked further into the nature of these pheromones?

We are not curious about it. It is what it is.

I see. That in itself is curious. But be that as it may, how does it compare to the mylin in the Cryptal tunnels?

We don’t know.

So, isn’t that something that should pique your curiosity?

Mylin is really the domain of the Crystalmakers and they don’t want it tested.

Why ever not?

Pedro shrugged. It is their world and they must decide how they live in it.

They passed several more stalls, several displaying racks of Cryptal cloth clothing, one selling crystal and another berry bread. Father Augustine stopped to inspect each but it seemed to Pedro that he was not engaged in the task but thinking about something else.

And Pedro was right, because the priest said as if he had not been silent for a while: I see. You make an unusual but admirable statement of respect for another culture. Father Augustine waved his remark aside and plunged in with another question. But what of mylin and your Ülrügh?

In the past – before her encounter with the BlackŌne – the Ülrügh’s reaction to mylin was puzzling. It was different to that experienced by Skyseekers in that she could use it to make herself stronger in the same way Crystalmakers become stronger, but the smell revolted her and she showed no signs of addiction.

Remind me … The BlackŌne?

That’s how we refer to the most mysterious of the Cryptals. There are three types of Cryptals as far as we know: The BlackŌne is perhaps the primary Cryptal. Although his name is acknowledged in both Crystalmaker and Skyseeker languages, no one really knew of Its existence till it appeared to the Ülrügh. The WhiteŌne resides in a place called The Deep. It never moves from that place and, by all accounts, has been there for centuries. Though in truth no one knows whether it is the same beast. The WhiteŌne Sings constantly and binds Cryptal action together with her Song. If you go into the Cryptal tunnels you will hear the constant murmur of Its Song. The other Cryptals don’t get a colour name. They are the ones usually seen. They dig the tunnels, care for the tunnels, gather food Crystalmakers leave for the Cryptals. In the past, when there were earthquakes and when they and Crytalmakers were hunted, they were the ones to rally to protect the belowground. These Cryptals are shades of cream to brown.

Pedro hesitated, thinking whether he should also talk about the RedŌne then decided he should tell his friend/ There is also a RedŌne but very few people know of It. It seems to have a special bond with the Ülrügh. We do not discuss It.

I see. Very interesting. Very interesting. Was she – your Ülrügh – was she exposed to mylin as a child?

Perhaps. She has always wandered the tunnels that seam Si’Em City, but as far as we know she never wandered into the actual Cryptal tunnels – as a child, that is. But then again, all tunnels are really Cryptal tunnels. They are all linked.

What does it mean to be addicted?

Crystalmakers need mylin and die without regular exposure. But if they are overexposed too often, they run the risk of being what they call Overcome. The Overcome basically lose their minds and can only think of more mylin. Elthán was afraid that the Ülrügh – when she showed such unusual tolerance to mylin – might become Overcome.

But that didn’t happen?

Pedro paused. They had arrived at a revolving doorway entrance to Si’Em City. The men joined the short, fast-moving queue and took their turn at stepping inside the cylindrical enclosure that turned them into a spacious vestibule crowded with scores of foreigners excitedly examining the mural-covered walls and ceilings. Father Augustine was also arrested by the sight.

This is breathtaking! he said, his gaze sweeping over the paintings, most of which were renderings of landscapes and animals – some exactly life-like and others entirely abstract.

This room is especially for visitors, Pedro said. The artists have been at pains to give visitors impressions of the best of nature and the people they will encounter on Si’Empra. Come. You’ll have an opportunity to study all this when there are fewer people around. He led the way to the lift and gestured for Father Augustine to precede him within.

I assume the Ülrügh did not become Overcome? said Father Augustine as the lift doors closed.

No. The BlackŌne’s mylin is a different mylin – healing rather than poisoning. Pedro swiped a card in front of a button with the sign Serai on it and the lift began to move. But it also seems to be antagonistic to the usual mylin of the Cryptals. The merest whiff of normal mylin now causes our Ülrügh to become – how shall I describe it? It has happened only once and then she became crazed. Frightening for us. We had already instigated measures for people to wash and redress themselves if they have been in Cryptal tunnels. Those measures have been redoubled since that incident. It took her many days to recover from that exposure to mylin. And she did not entirely recover. Her womanly problems have reasserted themselves and each month she is more debilitated, spending some days confined to her room.

So maybe she is in danger of becoming – becoming this Overcome thing?

Maybe.

What does your Ülrügh think?

She will not tell us what she thinks.

But surely she must have some thoughts on the matter.

Pedro shook his head slightly. The lift came to a stop and the doors opened with a soft sigh. If you ever want to see Elthán exploding with exasperation, talk to her about our granddaughter’s refusal to engage in matters that touch upon her health or mental state.

Do you know why no discussion?

I think it’s how she’s learnt to cope with the pulls and pushes of her life.

Norm tucker guided the tender into Si’Em Inlet and manoeuvred it to lay alongside the dock. Before him on the padded seats were twenty passengers rugged up in thick coats and life jackets: seven men, five women and eight children between the ages of six and fifteen. They had screamed and laughed and chattered among themselves as the craft tossed and slammed over the ocean on the twenty-five-minute journey from cruise ship to shore. This was Norm’s last of ten similar transfers. His other passengers, a mixture of nationalities but predominantly Japanese, were waiting for him in the square’s tea house, huddled out of the cold and wind.

As soon as the tender and a walkway pushed to it from the shore were secured, he helped his charges ashore to where crew and tour guides waited. A crane lifted the tender out of the water and dock hands secured it in the boatshed.

His immediate responsibilities completed, Norm stood on Si’Em Square and scanned his surroundings. It had been fifteen years since he last stood on this spot: fifteen hard years in which he had lost his boat, his wealth, his friends and, for seven drug-and-alcohol-fogged years, his mind. Three years ago, he had woken in a gutter, stinking of urine and sweat and clutching his one precious possession, and he had seen, in his mind’s eye, the image of the woman who had brought him to this state. He had tipped up the empty bottle of cheap gin in a symbolic act of pouring out the liquid and sworn that he would wreak his revenge on her. He would destroy what she valued. In three years, he worked his way up from menial labour wharf jobs to deck hand and to trusted crew. He had eschewed alcohol and quarrels and chartered a life course for Si’Empra as surely as he had once chartered courses for his beloved ketch, Westrunner.

Now, at last, he had achieved the first part of his mission. How the rest would play out he was not sure, but he would grasp opportunities as they came.

Would you like to come this way? The polite voice sounded at his shoulder.

Norm turned to the smiling young man. You would have been a boy hardly out of nappies when I saved your country, mate, he wanted to say. But he held his tongue and nodded. Thanks mate.

Norm followed the man to the tea house, nodding approvingly at what he saw. It was clear things had greatly improved in Si’Empra. The place looked clean and well-maintained. Even in the blustery cold of this late afternoon, the square looked more alive with enterprise than it had on the finest days of the previous Ülrügh’s rule.

I’ll bring you down somehow, Princess. I will. You’ll lose everything, just like I did. Purpose burned in Norm Tucker.

As he stepped into the tea house, the passengers he had ferried to Si’Empra burst into applause. He flashed a grin. He’d found the money to have his broken teeth fixed up in Thailand before he came and could now smile with greater confidence. He bowed deeply, and the passengers laughed and clapped some more. He’d been the epitome of a gentleman throughout the voyage on the over-luxurious cruise ship, pandering to everyone’s simpering requirements for servitude and acknowledgment. They trusted him with their lives, and the captain of the ship trusted him with their lives. Oh, he’d had a lot of practice giving people what they wanted, and he planned to use that to his advantage.

An attractive young woman with wavy blonde hair approached him. Her beautifully cut outfit of harem pants, loose blouse with overlapping bodice and wide colourful scarf around her waist was vaguely reminiscent of what the Princess was wearing when he last saw her. Thank you for bringing the passengers safely to our shores, she said in good English touched by the characteristic Si’Empran musical intonation.

No worries, love, he said.

The woman glanced at her clipboard. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your room in the guest quarters.

He followed, looking the Si’Emprans he passed in the face. No one seemed to recognise him. The years had changed him; his face was more seamed, his hair had a bit of grey in it and it was thinner than he would have liked. If people didn’t recognise him, then, surely, they must remember his name. He had given Si’Emprans the means to free themselves from their former brutal regime. He had trained them how to fight and had led them to victory. He found it inconceivable that his name would not be part of the history of Si’Empra. But neither the woman leading him into Si’Em City nor any of the guides he’d briefly met seemed to have heard of him.

Has she wiped me out of history?

Norm Tucker listened with half attention to his guide’s polite prattle about where he would find the various facilities that he was welcome to use, when and where the evening meal would be served and how the arrangements for the next morning would be explained at breakfast because they would be highly weather dependent.

Love, he said. I’m a bit pooped – you know, tired. Do you think it’d be okay if you got a meal sent up to my room?

Of course. I’ll see to it immediately.

Once alone, Norm sat on the edge of his bed and thought hard. I think I’ll just stay incognito for a bit and suss things out.

His room was comfortable enough, better than the cabin he shared with other men on the ship: a good solid bed with a firm mattress, a small table and chair, a television, a small but adequate bathroom, pretty pictures on the walls. No window but plenty of air. He showered and changed, then sat to eat the meal brought to his room. He picked up a fork to begin, but then set it back down and reached into the pouch attached to his belt. He drew out the virigin of the small mountain bird that the Princess had given him as payment for landing supplies sixteen years ago. He had borrowed heavily to obtain and transport those supplies, using Westrunner as collateral. The virigin was meant to cover the cost, but when he met with his creditors, he had been appalled by the thought that their rough hands would handle such a delicate treasure. So, he had borrowed more, paying off one debt with another and then another, and never making enough to free himself.

Norm recalled how she had looked at him when she’d handed over the virigin. He was sure she’d known the thing would destroy him. He was as sure of it as he was of sitting on this chair in this room at this time. She had known that he would find it impossible to give it up! Right from the beginning he’d sensed that she looked down on him, just the same as so many others who had dismissed him throughout his ragged, abused childhood. She was like others of her type: they used you to get what they want and at the same time planned to bring you down.

Like they somehow feel insulted that I did them a favour and they’ve got to punish me for it, he told the mountain bird, gently stroking the tiny head with the ball of his thumb and marvelling at its perfection, as he did every time he stroked that tiny head, feeling the tiny undulations of individual feathers. She punished me by giving you to me, you know.

Softly, Norm Tucker whistled a complex series of five notes on an escalating scale. The bird vibrated in his hands, then echoed the notes and re-echoed them with more enthusiasm. Its song was so pure, so free from burred edges that it clutched at Norm’s heart. He had heard the notes a million times and still they reminded him of those few times in his life when he had felt loved and been treated with tenderness. His favourite memory was sitting with his mother on the trash they called their lounge. They were watching television together. She’d wrapped her arm around him and drawn him to herself. Hey Normie, she’d said. You’re God’s gift to me. I love you heaps. She’d kissed the top of his head and he’d snuggled into her.

Norm whistled the notes again so that the virigin would drive away the memories of what his father had done to his mother, and of how people had a way of beating him down each time he thought he had outrun the abuse.

Well, he’d had enough of taking it on the chin and climbing out of the dung heap people threw him into. He’d teach her what it was like to lose what you cared for – he’d bring the Princess down. Somehow…

Cold, she had been, with those purple eyes of hers that drilled into him like some demon’s curse. There hadn’t been any thank you. Oh no! She’d said, There are matters that Si’Empra needs to attend to without your further involvement, Mr Tucker. I believe that your ketch is ready to pick you up. I wish you well.

She’d turned away. He’d said, You owe me, Princess.

That had stopped her but she hadn’t bothered facing him, just said: For what do I owe you?

For the guns and stuff for starters.

And what do I owe beyond starters?

For getting you out of a mess.

Send me your bank account details and an itemised bill. I’ll see the money’s deposited.

She’d dismissed him just like that.

I want cash! he’d demanded.

He’d put together the itemised bill and she’d got those two pricks, Marthin and Richard – who