| Pirate's Swoop Written by Selendile |
| DISCLAIMER: My name is not Tamora Pierce and many of the characters that appear in this story were used without her permission. Tough luck, honey. Author's note: Unfortunately, there are some details here not true to Ms. Pierce's books; they were sacrificed for the better of this story. Also, if you have a suggestion for a better title, include it in your review, as well as any other comments. The shop was tiny; the air, stale. I peered up into the unlit shelves. The books were by the pile; when a shelf was overflowing, a stack was started on the floor. Short heaps were put on the glass counter, but I saw there had been a space cleared for paper work, and for processing purchases. A tarnished, rust-coloured adding machine sat on the ledge behind the counter, an unruly reel of paper sprouting from the top, to drop in curls to the floor. A small bell had been placed next to a mound of leather-bound volumes. I tapped it, and it produced a sharp, perceptible sound: ding. I waited, and there was nothing for a moment. Curious, I leaned over the counter to get a closer look. A hunched, diminutive old man suddenly appeared from the darkness somewhere in the back of the store; I hopped back in surprise. Seeming to notice nothing, he peered up at me through his round, wire-rimmed spectacles. "May I help you?" Despite his apparent age, his voice was clear and authoritative. "I was wondering whether you carried some of the more recent publishings." "We do." "Could I take a look at them?" I moved closer, shifting my bag to a more comfortable position on my shoulder. "Certainly. For which genre are you searching?" "Fantasy. Um, specifically, I'm looking for Tamora Pierce's books - the Immortals?" I looked at him hopefully. "Perhaps a hardcover version?" "Ah," he murmured. "Madam Pierce. It has been a long time since someone has asked of her. Let's see..." He turned around, and disappeared behind a black curtain. Long? I stood for a moment. My hand closed over the few bills in my pocket. He returned shortly thereafter, holding four hardcover books in his long, knobbly hands. Each had a cover of plain colour, and a complementary, cloth-like binding. "Did you want the entire quartet, or one novel?" I coughed. "Um, what would the costs be?" He squinted, thinking for a moment. "Considering the condition, I'd say fifty dollars for the whole lot." He blinked. "Quite reasonable, I should think." My grip tightened. "I only have thirty four." He considered. "Do you have something you could give in exchange? I could accept that, perhaps." My eyes lit up. "Would you like a copy of 'Dragons and Their Particular Habits and Customs' by Charles Redfield?" "Let me see." He turned the book over in his wrinkled, callused hands, and tapping its cover, nodded. "This will do nicely." I was ecstatic. "Thank you!" He shook his head. "Be careful. Don't be lost in the words." I was already making my way towards the door. "Lost?" "Heed my advice. There are dangers in those tales." He said no more, and vanished behind the black curtain. Puzzled, I left the tiny store. -- That night, I sat awake in my bed, running my fingers over the textured cover of the first book of the Immortals quartet. "The Emperor Mage" was my second favourite, where Veralidaine Sarrasri travels to Carthak, a mystical, southern land. I sighed. But, but ... "Wild Magic" was surely my first favourite, where Daine met the black robe mage, Numair Salamin. I envied Daine, who eventually became the lover of Numair, because ... well. I couldn't possibly tell anyone. It was rather silly to be in love a book character, wasn't it, after all? My mind wandered rather naughtily; a slow smile crept onto my face. Oh dear. I shook my head and opened the cover, breathing in the musty smell of the first pale yellow page. I hesitated. These books wouldn't be so old, would they? After all, they were only printed a little over a decade ago or so. Could these have passed through so many hands? After a long intensive reading, I finally groggily looked up at the clock. The bright neon green numbers read: 2:24 a.m. I groaned and stared longingly at the nearly finished book. I gave into the temptation, but it was not very long before I sagged with exhaustion and dropped nose-first into the crack of the open book, sound asleep. A tall, lanky, black-haired man was the last thought on my mind before everything darkened. -- "...TURN OUT!" I shot up like a bolt. A rumble of stampeding feet thundered above me. "It sounds like they're running a boot camp on the next floor," I muttered. "Crazy college kids!" I yelled, forgetting I was actually a few years younger than they were. The sun was directly in my eyes; I blinked and held up my hand to block it. The sun in my eyes. There was no window on the west wall of my apartment. I breathed in the musty smell of hay, and the fresh stench of manure; a neigh blew into my ear. I moved my hands, brushing against a floor of packed dirt. I really woke up. I had been sleeping in a stable. A stallion tossed its black hair, and whickered loudly. He nudged the left side of my head in friendly welcome. I laughed, and stroked its velvety muzzle. I froze in mid-action and stared wondrously at the beautiful gold horse. "Darkmoon," I whispered. I swallowed. "Oy! Who are you?" A thin, dirty boy stared at me. "Who the Mithros are you?" He spit whenever he said his s's. "I..." What could I say? "Oy, Stefan!" he yelled, startling me. He still stared at me. "There's a girl here, and I don't think she belong 'ere." I heard a thump of boots hit ground. I looked up from my seat on the floor. A stocky man watched me, bits of straw stuck in his hair and a thin stalk in his mouth. He switched it from one side to another, chewing it. "You're Stefan, aren't you?" "Yeah, I be Stefan." He nodded at the boy, who scrambled away, throwing curious glances at me as he ran. "And this is my stable." He squinted. "So I ask the questions. Who are you and what are you doing here?" I could hardly answer; my lips moved, but no sound was made. Again, there wasn't an answer he would accept. Greetings, you're supposed to be the figment of someone's imagination? He shook his head and reached for my wrist. "This won't do. Come wit me. Up and easy." Grunting, he pulled me up. "Her ladyship will deal with you." My throat closed up and I choked. I was going to meet Alanna of Trebond and Olau. -- I was brought into a hall and told to not make a single move. I stood in the middle of the massive room, gazing at the furnishings and the impressive fireplace. I was admiring a nearby tapestry when a drawling voice said, "Are you the little mouse Stefan found?" I turned and my face flamed. A tall, trim man leaned against the doorframe, watching me intently; he was certainly not the Lioness. He was very good-looking, though, under a bushy moustache, his nose was a trifle too large. His teasing eyes twinkled good-naturedly, and he swung an eyeglass at his belt, yet he maintained a serious air of someone powerful and important. "I..." I swallowed. "Where is the Lady?" He raised an eyebrow. "The lady is busy." It would be impossible to feel confident enough to speak with this man if I had such a parched throat. "Would you please give me a glass of water?" He nodded. He called for a servant, who appeared immediately and bobbed a few times while he placed an order. "And bring some fruit and rolls. Our guest looks hungry." The servant took off and returned with incredible speed. George set the platter on the long table, and put himself in a seat. "Sit." I fell into the nearest chair, a good distance from him. He handed me the mug. I drank deeply, savouring the clean coolness that tickled my arid throat. He smiled, as though he had noticed my positioning and understood the reason for it. "Now that we're comfortably settled, allow me to introduce myself. My name is George Cooper, the Baron of Pirate's Swoop. The lady you spoke of was my wife, Alanna." He waved one long-fingered hand generally in the air, indicating the place. He leaned forward, eyes bright. "Your turn." I blushed, caught off-guard by the way he managed to be stern yet charming. "I ... I can't say." "You a spy?" The question was asked flippantly, again catching me by surprise. "No!" He frowned, and bit into an apple. "Then?" "I ... I just can't say." I gulped down the soft roll I was eating and reached for another, feeling hungrier than I had ever been before. "Hmmm." He tipped his chair back. "I was wondering why Stefan had asked that you see me." He gave me a hard look. "Normally, trespasssers like yourself are not of my concern and are disposed of without my discretion. Stefan usually handles it quite nicely." Seeing my uneasiness at that, he laughed. "But you ... you are different. Your dress is foreign. You have an accent I can't quite put a finger on. And that device on your wrist is particularly interesting." He nodded towards my wristwatch. "It doesn't seem to be an ornament or any kind of jewellery I've ever encountered." "This?" I lifted my right hand. "It's a wristwatch." "Oh?" "It tells time," I explained, with the strangest sensation. "Made to be worn." "Really." His callused fingers held my hand with surprisingly gentleness as he examined the gadget and I blushed again. He let go. "I had no idea from where you're from, but I have this feeling that you are no threat, and that you're here for a reason. As though the gods meant it. You're not from around here, are you?" he asked. "You're from some place, some place further than I think." Taken back, I answered, "Yes." He sighed suddenly and rubbed his face. "Mithros, I've been a noble far too long ... I'm starting to speak and act like one, and a scholarly at that too, making big speeches and the like. I'm losing my touch." He grinned. "It scares me." I smiled. "Actually, sir," I said, my voice trembling with excitement. "The astonishing calmness with which you are taking this is what scares me." "I don't know, little mouse. I've seen a lot, too much to be upset over anything anymore." He looked at me for a moment, and I thought I would melt. He continued. "When the gods are involved, a man must be cautious. And the gods, I believe, are involved." I blinked, taken back by such a firm religious statement. I had forgotten their belief in gods ... I swallowed. Their accurate belief in gods. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Meanwhile, while they decide what they want to do with you next, I already know for myself." He rose, and stuck his head outside the doors. "Please take our guest to a room; she will be staying for an undeterminable amount of time." He gestured for me to rise. "I'm terribly sorry, but I won't be able to escort you myself; I have some matters to take care of." The baron held out his hand. I hesitated, before accepting it; his grasp was warm and strong. He led me out the door. "Just follow this guard." He turned to the stern-faced man. "Perhaps the one facing the courtyard," George told him. "Make sure she's comfortable; she's very important." He winked at me over his shoulder. I flushed. My cheeks were getting to be very hot. "Yes, sire." ~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~ "Your room, my lady." The guard offered me the open door. "Thank you." I walked uncertainly inside the room. "A servant will come and pick up your chamber pot regularly; another will come and inform you when supper is served. If the lady has nothing more to ask, I beg your leave." Unsure of what to do, I stammered, "Very ... well." He bowed and left. Once he was gone, I relaxed and glanced about. Interested, I inspected surroundings more closely. While rustically simple, the room appeared very comfortable. A bed stood in the centre of the room; a pretty blue and grey comforter was thrown over it. A dresser was put against the wall at my left; I strolled over, examining the things that sat on its surface: a hand mirror, a fresh bar of soap, and a few tall candles in a holder. A large wooden tub with a small clay chamber pot inside, placed at the side of the dresser, reminded me of the modern luxuries of showers and flushing toilets. I sighed wistfully and looked further. A pretty wooden screen nestled in a corner nearby. Three tapestries kept the room somewhat warm; an unlit fireplace, a few metres from the door, heated the chilly nights. Finally, a large window, on the wall opposite the dresser, opened out into the courtyard, just as the baron said. I leaned out on the wooden sill and observed the practise sessions that were being held. I watched in fascination as a group of men, paired off, fought with staffs, while a smaller group practised with swords. Knock. Knock. I turned, staring at the door, wondering whom it could possibly be. "Hello?" The door opened. "Are you the girl the baron told me about?" A woman with a thin grey streak through long, flaming red hair stepped in, dressed in breeches and soft shirt. I recognised her as Kuri Tailor. "My name is Kuri Tailor..." - I suppressed a smile - "...and I came to get you some clothes." She grinned. "George told me you had no belongings 'cept what you wore; you won't be staying with us long with just a shirt and pantalons." She indicated my jeans. "Yes," I said, red-faced. "No matter; we'll get you dressed well before lunch. Come with me." She led me out into the hall and closed the door behind us. She began walking. "Tell me your name, lass." I realised I had never told George my name. "My name is Cate. Cate Papathanksis." "What an unusual name," she commented and grinned. "Then again, so be Kuri Tailor, I suppose. Where're you from?" I looked ahead. "I ... I can't really say." I wasn't sure if where I came from even existed in this world. Likely not. "I don't think you'd recognise it." "George told me you came here under special circumstances," she said suddenly, glancing at me. "He was oddly secretive about it," she added curiously. I evaded the question in her words, pretending I had not noticed. "Truthfully, I think the baron understands the situation a lot better than I do." "Yes ... George is a smart man. Common-born, but still as sharp as any schooled noble," she said. I smiled ruefully, thinking of him and his winks. "Probably smarter." We turned a corner. "While we can fit you out with some of your own clothes later, this is very short notice, even for Kuri Tailor, so we're going to borrow some from Daine Sarrasri. I think she's about your size." Sarrasri? I gulped. Kuri knocked on an open door. "Daine?" she called, looking into a room. A girl emerged from a second room. Her tousled curls were thick and brown; her smoky blue-grey eyes shone merrily. "Kuri! What brings you here?" "Kuri's here?" a male voice said sleepily. My chest grew tight, as a tall, lanky man came out, yawning and scratching his long black hair and long nose. "Numair's taking a nap," Daine explained. "I was taking a nap," the mage corrected. "Who's this?" Having been staring at the floor, I looked up. Air was a luxury as the pair stared at me. Daine smiled helpfully; the mage frowned, but remained silent. Kuri said cheerfully, "This is our newest guest at Pirate's Swoop, Cate. Cate, this is Daine, and this fine man here is Numair Salamin, our own mage-in-residence ... and a particularly good one at that." She gave him a wink. Plenty of winkers lived here. Numair broke from his frown, a smile lighting his face. "Hello, Cate." He offered a large hand. "Hello," I whispered. "Daine," Kuri said, "Cate arrived with none of her own things, and we came to borrow a dress or two to last her until we can get some for herself. I'm sorry, but could you spare some basics, say, breeches, shirt and the like? I know it's a lot, but we'll be outfitting Cate with her own things later." "Of course." As Daine and Kuri rummaged and discussed in the other room, I was left with Numair Salamin. He sat in a chair nearby. "So, Cate, are you here for a length?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the table, staring at me intently. I settled into the chair across from him, carefully avoiding his watch. "Um, I'm ... I'm not very sure. You might have to ask ... the baron." "Oh." The silence stretched for a short while as we listened to the sounds from outside and from the other room - the clanging of swords, rustling of cloth, neighing of horses, the cheery laughter of men. "Cate ..." "Yes?" "Do you mind if I ask you something ... beyond names and homelands?" After a moment, I answered, "I don't mind." He sighed. "Look at me, Cate." Terrified at disobeying the powerful mage, I slowly circled to look into the man's eyes. Dark, deep, sensitive ... but strong. Powerful. Oh, so very powerful. I swallowed hard. He searched my eyes for a breathless moment. As he sought, I let my own eyes run over his attractive face, accented by a long nose, down his neck, and shyly linger on his rising and falling chest, hindered only by the open-collared cotton shirt he wore. I suppressed a half-smile. He disturbed my thoughts suddenly, saying very quietly, curiously echoing the baron's words, "You're not from around here, are you?" He took a breath as though this were very important. "I can't say exactly where, but somewhere far away, farther than any ship or horse can take you." I stared, unable to say anything. I debated with myself whether he meant what I thought he meant, when Kuri and Daine appeared. "Well," Kuri said, a bundle in her arms, "Cate and I must be off now. We're grateful for your help, Daine." "You're welcome. It was nice meeting you, Cate." I rose from my seat, staring at Numair, who did nothing but look up at me silently. With that silence, he held me. "Yes," I murmured. "It was a pleasure meeting you as well ... a pleasure." "See you at lunch," Kuri shouted. As Kuri chattered, I was lost in my own thoughts. I had only been here for less than a few hours, and already my head was spinning with what had happened that morning. I forced myself away from the hot emotions that swirled inside me and focused. Somehow, I was transported from the city apartment where I lived alone, and dropped here in Pirate's Swoop in the country of Tortall, both formerly fictional geographical locations. Then I was greeted by both the baron George Cooper and Kuri Tailor, both formerly fictional book characters. Following that, I was introduced to Numair Salamin and borrowed clothes from Daine Sarrasri, two other formerly fictional book characters. "Zounds," I muttered. "What was that?" Kuri said absent-mindedly, breaking from her one-sided conversation. "Nothing," I answered promptly. "As I was saying, I think this blue silk will look absolutely ravishing on you; Daine had a very good eye when she bought ... ah!" she exclaimed, opening the door to my room. "Here we are!" Once inside, she drew the drapes, and said, "Well, no use putting on that pretty blue dress before dinner." She smiled. "We women here at Pirate's Swoop are accustomed to being 'on call' much of the day; thus, we prefer men's clothing for its durability and mobility. You don't mind, do you?" "No, not at all, I suppose." "Good. Now, just change behind that screen and I'll help fix any details later." In the shadows of the screen, I removed my khakis and shirt, staring incredulously at the pair of breeches and loose, collared shirt. This was real. I was real. They were real. These damn breeches were real. I pulled them on quickly, and jerked the shirt over my head, lacing closed the collar. Stepping out, I kept my eyes lowered in shy embarrassment. "I'm not really quite used to this, you know." "No girl is. After all, not every girl fights alongside men." Kuri gave me a quick smile and began adjusting the clothes. I started to open my mouth to say that that wasn't quite what I meant, but I decided instead to shut it. After a tug on breeches and a shoulder, Kuri was satisfied. "It's a better fit than I thought. You're a little small for your age." "I'm twenty one." "Well, I suppose Daine's a little small too then. She's nineteen." She picked up the boots and stockings. "Try these on. I'll daresay they will be a fine fit as well." They were. ~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~ A loud bell chimed. I jumped. Kuri laughed. "I never tire of seeing how newcomers do that. That's the noon bell. Come, we're both starving." Kuri spoke as we negotiated a few twisting corridors and emerged in the centre courtyard. We crossed it and walked the length of the castle together. "The barracks are very close to the swoop. We need people in a wink here at times," Kuri went on, grimacing. "Hopefully not in the near future. "There'll be quite a bit of people tonight at Pirate's Swoop. Rider trainees have been here for a while, before they leave in three days. You see," Kuri explained, "the Riders were formed as a sort of patrol group that also enforces the law. The army was far too large and slow and crime doesn't wait. So, Queen Thayet organised the Queen's Riders as an answer, or somewhat of an answer. It doesn't solve our problems, but it's an improvement." "Ah." I nodded, pretending to have known this for the very first time. Kuri smiled. "A few years ago, the Rider trainees first used Pirate's Swoop as the summer training camp." Her face darkened and her smile faded, as if she recalling unpleasant memories. I blinked, remembering that was the year when Carthak had launched a siege on Pirate's Swoop. No wonder. "This year, they've returned," she finished unceremoniously and motioned for me to hurry. Shouts and sounds of clattering dishes grew louder as we approached the barracks. Kuri grinned as she went through the held doors. "Now, would you like to sit with us, Numair, George and so forth" - she gestured towards the front of the crowded mess hall - "or mingle with the trainees? A lot of them are your age or so." "Them." I wasn't sure I wanted to face Numair or even the baron then. "All right. Grab a tray at the end of that line and get some food. I'll see you later." With a short wave, she strolled off. Hands trembling at my side, I picked up a tray and joined the queue of rambling youths. "Be you new? I haven't seen the likes of you around here before." The voice, at my left, spoke with an accent. I selected a roll from a steaming pan. "Not exactly. I'm not a trainee, just a guest of the baron's." I looked up and my knees buckled. A tall, lean young man eyed me. His long, butterscotch locks were tied back, and his black eyes twinkled good-naturedly. He offered a hand, which I took. "My name is Blayne, Blayne Shortshanks. What's yours?" I stared. "Blayne, stop teasing. It's mean." I turned. A younger girl, at my right, shook her head. "You're such a terrible tease, really you are." "Oh, Nik, you're a real spoilsport. I was just playing." Nik, a girl with green eyes and reddish-brown hair pulled back in a braid, pursed her lips. She leaned over and said sternly, "Don't listen to him; he never utters a serious word." "I do." He winked at me, juggling three soft rolls in the air as I watched, fascinated. "My folk are fishers, but I've made it known to them," he said dramatically, "that my true calling lies in the life of an entertainer. I juggle and I act." "His parents sent him here to be put right," she whispered. Blayne grinned. "They did. They think the military life will set me straight. They will be as mad as griffins when they see I've changed not a bit." There was silence for a minute, as we were served the hot dishes. As we searched for seats, Blayne remarked, "Well, stranger, you haven't yet answered my question." "Pardon?" "What's your name, blue eyes?" I flushed. "Cate. Papathanksis." Nik piped in, "I'm Nikkla Troksra, from the North." "Never heard that one before." He furrowed his brow. "What part of the country are you from, Cate?" "I'm not from Tortall. I'm from a place farther from here. It's" - I tried to figure out where it would be in a world like this "- further than Carthak, that's all I can say. You wouldn't know the name," I said quickly, as we sat. He whistled, impressed. "That's far. I've never been anywhere beyond my town till I joined the Riders." Nik nodded as she forked some pie. "Me neither. It must've been a difficult journey here." I considered. "Not really." "Well," Blayne said between mouthfuls, "you're lucky you're not us. After a journey from farther than Carthak, for Mithros' sake, you wouldn't be in the shape we need to be in, the way we work." He groaned loudly, and tilting back his chair, stretched his rather extensive limbs smacking some heads in the process. He grinned as protests were made. "Sarge runs us hard and long, like a horse. He means to find us one morning chewing hay." Nik giggled. "It's for our good." "Good, pah!" Blayne shook his head. "That Sarge, I swear-" A voice boomed from the doors of the hall, close to where we were eating. "QUESTIONING YOUR SENIORS AGAIN, ZEISE? PERHAPS SOMETHING YOU'D LIKE TO SHARE WITH THE REST OF US?" A hand, large than even Master Numair's, came down on the table, rattling our dishes and cups. Everyone jumped; the hall was dead silent, but the air tingled with anticipation. "WELL, trainee?" At normal speaking volume, the voice was still deep, and resounding. Blayne looked pale. "No, sir." "That's better." The giant man, skin dark as bark, paused expectantly, and the hall instantaneously filled with sound again, bowls clattering, forks scraping. Satisfied, he looked down at me. "Who is this little bird?" Nik spoke up. "Sarge, this is Cate. She's a guest of the baron's." He smiled, teeth brilliant against his face. "Ah, you're Cate. Pleased to finally meet you." "You, as well, sir." I gripped the edge of my seat with white knuckles. Although he was kind, his size was still terrifyingly imposing. "Don't let a sheep like this" - he tapped the shoulder of Blayne, who smiled weakly - "bother you, my dear," he advised. "If he does, let me know. I'll cut him down to size. He has some to spare." Blayne gulped. Despite my fear, I spoke up, "Thank you for the generous offer, sir, but I think I can shear my own sheep." I grinned, feeling bolder. "I like that in a girl." He winked. "Have a good meal." He left to join the table in Kuri's corner. Nik whispered, "He sure put Blayne in his place." "Hardly," the juggler snapped and without anything much more to say, grumbled under his breath as he sawed his meat and shoved it in his mouth. She giggled and I couldn't help but smile. ~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~??~~ |