"Sir? Sir?" the boatman asked.
I did not answer.
I had arrived on the continent in spring and had made landfall on the Aquamarine Spire. Had ridden the drake tram; had walked the narrow roads and had seen all the other marvels of Aspyra. Had even attended the Seventh for a spell. But never, not at home, not in my wanderings through the city, nor during my travels along the old trade roads and up the Tang, had I seen anything like the giant insects yoked in front of his boat.
"Sir?" he lowered his voice. "You are Master Mehym, are you not?"
"Yes, I apologise - I was just... ." I pointed at them.
"Birchpeepers," he nodded, "won't find them anywhere, but on the Noon Lakes."
"They're marvellous. Can I touch them?"
"Sure."
I walked the rickety boards of the jetty and leaned tiptoed over the swampy water. Gently, I touched the closer one's chatoyant wing and its chitinous body. It chirped - happily, I thought. "Marvellous, simply marvellous."
"What brings you here, then?" he asked as he led me to my cabin.
"The continent?"
"Nah. We get all sorts here. The festival."
"Business."
"That so?"
"Well, the wine is supposed to be the best there is... ."
"Indeed 'tis."
"So I figured, I'd buy a barrel or two and sell them up north."
"Wasted on 'em barbarians if you ask me," he said.
I laughed.
"What?"
"Well... ."
"Oh." He smiled knowingly and patted my back. "I reckon we all seem more alike to you than not."
"Well... ."
He laughed. "You Islanders are a cultured people, it is known, but, you oughta at least make sure you taste 'em proper before you buy. It'd be a shame elsewise. And unbecoming."
"I will."
"Watcher be praised."
The cabin was small, but clean. By the odds and ends I found on the shelving, the tightly bundled clothes and the strange, tentacled statuette, I guessed that the boatman used it himself, whenever it was not rented out.
Around midday, however, the heat inside became overwhelming. We had left the tree-shadowed banks of the Tang behind and out on the lake the sun burned down without mercy. On deck, a moderate breeze blew and the half tent hung from the cabin across the stern provided some cover.
There, lazing on her back, I found the other passenger. I offered a polite nod, but she was fast asleep. Quietly, I too leaned my back against the darkened wood and -though I had planned to continue drafting my notes- found myself lost in the sights.
Myriads of iridescent fishes flittered in the clear waters. And across the shearstone-green lake, on the distant shores and on the isles the wirries were toiling in the padpad fields. And beside me, across the deck, the boreal woman was snoring.
Even deep in dreams, she occasionally grabbed for the oversized battleaxe by her side. A bundle of likely armour sat nearby and she wore the marks of her possible equipment on her skin. Uneven tan and light bruises which criss-crossed all over her arms and shins. . She shifted and turned on the stuffy fur coat she used as a mattress. The topmost buttons of her off-white blouse were undone. I could follow along the coppery braids from her head, down along the blue lines and runes of her tattoos. I followed them along her sizeable bust and almost to her nipples. Again she shifted, insensate to the blade hilt now pressed against her side. Her ass, however, did look fetching in the tight, brown soft-leather pantaloons.
Despite lacking her bedding, I must have fallen asleep. For I awoke, shivering and alone, in the evening twilight. I could hear their voices, rough and dwarf-accented, from the bow. And after rubbing the stiffness from my limbs, I joined them.
"Sir," he bowed. The woman arched her brow. I nodded.
"I've prepared your diner. It's in your cabin."
"Thanks."
We fell silent.
"My cabin?"
"Sir."
The dried fish and padpad flat-cakes made for a surprisingly decent meal.
*
The bell rang out and I almost hit my head against the cabin's low ceiling.
"Comin' up on the Eye," the boatman called out.
I quickly threw on my clothes and, munching on leftover cakes, joined them by yoking and rudder.
Warrior and boatman were looking out over the waters. On the Eye, beyond the bathing families, the locals had raised tents and placed long rows of heavy wooden benches. Bright garlands of flowers and multicoloured fabric hung from massive carved poles. The masses were teeming between them.
"Lawbringer's mercy." I had not expected this many. "There must be thousands."
"First time?" For the first time the woman addressed me directly.
I nodded and the red-head smiled. She wore a legionnaire's knapsack, stuffed to the brim with clothes and armour, and little else. With her skin darkened by rich oil, feet clad in sandals and in the tailored leather-straps girded to her loins, she almost looked the proper athlete, a thrower - or maybe a runner. Only her linen chest-binding was a nod to continental mores.
I had not planned to follow her, but as soon as we debarked on the island I was pushed and pulled around by waves of revellers, while she easily parted the drunken masses. I was shoved past tightly packed benches and only in passing did I smell the zesty wine. Pressed into the openings by the poles, I caught glimpses of the masterful cuttings. Of krakens, beavers and foxes. Then I stumbled onwards, until I found myself in her wake and could walk straight again .
The crowds thinned as we neared the island's wooded centre. Rather than impenetrable thicket I found countless small paths and other warriors. Like my red-headed guide, they carried more weapons than armour. And like her, they all were drawn towards the woodland.
I paused at the treeline, but after looking back at the sweaty hordes, I entered. Amidst the green, past pines and warders, I espied her head and followed along the overgrown path.
In a small glade stood a smaller tent. Fringed blankets instead of massive benches covered the leafy ground. The warrior had already claimed one for herself. From inside the tent, a small, straw-blonde woman hurried to her. I lingered at the edge, as the red-head passed her a few coins and was promptly served wine in a pewter cup.
