First Voyage

by David Healey

  "She said I shall live a long life," Lord Parkington replied.

  "Bollocks," Amelia said. "That's what any gypsy would say. Well, go ahead and keep it to yourself then. I shall go next."

  Chloe emptied the bowl for her mother, and then refilled it with fresh water from the pitcher. Alexander had the sense, from seeing how carefully the girl watched her mother go about scrying, that she was learning the art.

  Captain Amelia put her hand into the fresh water.

  The farmer's wife was a long time studying the bowl. She screwed up her face in concentration, then finally sighed. When she spoke it was with a wistful smile on her face.

  "What is it?" Captain Amelia asked impatiently. "Tell me what you see."

  The woman answered in French, and this time Professor Hobhouse translated. "She said you have a hard time with men, and yet you don't realize the one you hold dear is so close. Not here in this room, but close to you in your life in the fleet. You will both come to realize this someday, but it will take time. He is already the love of your life, yet you won't admit it to yourself."

  "What poppycock and balderdash," Amelia said. "The love of my life! Ha! This scrying is an amusement that's all well and good for a farmer's wife to be playing at, but I don't put much stock in it."

  "There's more," Professor Hobhouse said quietly. "She says your gryphon will die saving you, and when you see this happening, you must let her do so, or all will be lost."

  At that, Captain Amelia fell silent and looked deeply troubled. "Not Desdemona?" she finally said. "No, I cannot allow it."

  "I'll go next," Rigley offered, breaking the awkward silence following the scry regarding Desdemona. He put his hand into the bowl.

  The farmer's wife looked just a moment, and laughed. She smiled as she delivered her verdict.

  "You have a happy-go-lucky soul," Lord Parkington interpreted. "She sees no promotion in your future, but what do you care? You love to fly as a bird loves the air. You'll never have a farthing because you spend it all in port. And why not?"

  Rigley laughed. "That's me, all right. I don't like the not having a farthing part, but the rest of it about sums things up. She can tell a thing or two about the future, she can!"

  They had all gone except Alexander. "Your turn," Lord Parkington said. "Go on."

  Alexander felt strangely reluctant to put his hand into the fresh bowl of water. He knew scrying was silly, just a way to pass the time, but all the same there was something ominous about it. He stuck in his hand, then snatched it out again. The water felt cold as if it had been dipped from a wintry stream instead of poured from the pitcher there in the room.

  Pierre's wife looked for a long time. She gripped the sides of the bowl as if forcing herself to stay there, which she had not done before. Then with a cry of dismay she pushed her chair away from the table, snatched up the bowl, and hurled the water into the fire, where it evaporated in a hiss of steam and smoke.

  "Aye, and that can't be good," Rigley said.

  When she spoke, the French woman's voice had changed. Her words sounded low and guttural, not like her own voice at all, but as if some force were speaking through her. Her daughter stared, wide-eyed and frightened. When the woman finished speaking, she refused to come back to the table, but stood by the light of the fire.

  "What is it?" Alexander asked. Pierre's wife wouldn't look at him.

  Lord Parkington hesitated. "Perhaps some things are better left unsaid."

  "Mr. Parkington, if you please, the rest of us have been subjected to these pronouncements of gimcrackery at the hands of this self-appointed seer,” Captain Amelia said. “You can surely tell us what she predicted.”

  Again, Parkington hesitated, but went on when Alexander gave him a nod.

  "She saw storms, and fire, and terrible battles," he said quietly.

  "Hardly much of a prediction considering that there's a war on," Amelia muttered.

  Lord Parkington continued: "She says there is great power in you, Alexander. She says you can summon the Old Power like the gods of Earth, Sea, Wind and Fire. But she fears it may rule you yet and turn you to evil. She does not know for certain." He paused. "She says she does not want you in her house or near her children. She fears for them."

  Alexander swallowed. "Then I shall take my leave. Please thank her, and tell her I shall be sleeping in the barn."

  Rigley reached over the slapped him on the shoulder. He'd had liberal amounts of the rich red French wine. "I reckon it's the barn for you tonight, Alexander. Ha, ha! Don't you worry, it's a good thing for you that gryphons ain't so particular as these Frenchies here."

  • • •

  Alexander wasn't yet ready for bed. He was exhausted after rising so early and from the long, tense flight into France. At the same time, his heart was still pumping with the excitement of the mission. They were in France! At any moment they might be overrun and captured by French troops swarming out of the darkness, but Alexander found the thought of thumbing his nose at Napoleon to be more thrilling than frightening.

  His nerves singing, he decided to accompany Captain Amelia as she made one last check of the farm before turning in for the night. The darkness was impenetrable beyond the little house, barn, and farmyard. It was raining harder, and they were soon wet through.

  "You did well today, Mr. Hope," the flyer captain said, taking Alexander by surprise. "It's not just anyone who can adapt so well to flying. You show some skill for it. If you should ever decide to switch branches of the service, I should be glad to put in a good word for you."

  "Can that be done?"

  "It is frowned upon, it's true, but you are just beginning your service, so I'm sure an exception would be made."

  "That's very kind of you, but Captain Bellingham sponsored me, and I feel a duty toward him."

  "Captain Bellingham is a good man," Amelia agreed. "I know these last few weeks can't have been easy on you, Mr. Hope. You have been thrust into navy life at a rather late age and I've heard the ensigns' mess isn't always ... civil."

  "If I'd gone away to a boarding school instead of the navy, I likely would have encountered the same situation," Alexander said sourly.

  "I know a bit about what it's like to be an outsider, you know, being that I'm a her in His Majesty's service. Now, considering that it's improper to say such things about the service and that poaching promising young officers for one's own branch is considered bad form, if you repeat anything of this private conversation I shall have my gryphon peck out your heart."

  "Yes, Captain." Alexander was glad the darkness hid his smile, though he thought the flyer commander might be half serious.

  Captain Amelia peered into the wet night. "It would be better to post a watch," she said. "We are in enemy territory, after all. But there are only four of us, and we'll need our sleep—and our strength—to get back to the Resolution."

  "Gryphons have keen ears and a good sense of smell, haven't they? They can alert of us to any trouble," Alexander said as they trudged side by side through the darkness at the edge of the little farm yard. The road was some ways off, screened from the house by an orchard. Fortunately for them, the road was not well traveled.

  "Gryphons are better than guard dogs, to be sure," Amelia replied. "But it's not really the French cavalry I'm thinking of tonight. The rain will keep them from patrolling. I'm more concerned that this Frenchie farmer is going to slip out and give us up."

  "Pierre? I don't think so, Captain. I feel we can trust him."

  Amelia harrumped. "Well, see how you feel when the Napoleonist cavalry shows up. But in any case, I'd say we don't have much choice at the moment. We are certainly not flying out of here tonight, not in this rain. Get some sleep, Mr. Hope. We'll have to hope Pierre doesn't play us all for fools."

  He didn't need to be told twice. Captain Amelia and Professor Hobhouse were to sleep in Pierre's loft, but Alexander and the flyers had been relegated to the barn. But it was dry enough, and he gladly slipped inside, calling o
ut, "It's just me!" as he did so. He really didn't want Rigley skewering him with a pitchfork, thinking he was a cuirassier.

  Exhausted, he made his way to the stall where his lordship was leaning up against Lemondrop, reading by the light of a candle. He mumbled a greeting and sat down on a straw bale to pull off his boots, then began to take off his damp uniform. Alexander was tired of his wet clothes and thought there was just enough warmth in the barn that they had some chance of drying before morning.

  "I’m getting out of these wet things," Alexander said, tugging off his shirt. "Do you have a spare blanket, by any chance? Mine's packed away."

  Parkington nodded and tossed him a blanket. The cool night air felt good on Alexander’s bare, clammy skin. He hung his damp uniform off the sides of the stall.

  “Tell me something, Toby. What did Pierre’s wife say about you tonight?”

  “If you must know, Alexander, she said something about me being so full of myself that she was going to need a bigger bowl.”

  “Ha, ha! I guess she’s never tried scrying the future of an English lord before.”

  Alexander wrapped himself in the blanket, grateful for its dry warmth, and settled into the straw well away from the gryphon. To his horror, his lordship lay down next to the beast.

  "Good night," he said.

  "Good night," Alexander answered. He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sleeping naked, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket under a pile of straw while a gryphon snored nearby and enemy cavalry prowled the darkness wouldn't have seemed to be much of a recipe for a good night's sleep, but the next time Alexander opened his eyes it was morning.

  More of the same weather, he saw: gloomy skies, rain, cold. Vive la France, indeed. It seemed to him nothing more than a sodden, chilly country. He burrowed out from under the straw and tugged the blanket around him against the chill. Toby was already awake and sipping coffee laced with cream from a chipped mug.

  Alexander found another battered mug of coffee awaiting him and helped himself. For breakfast, there was a basket of fresh-baked bread and sweet butter. The farmer and his family were being very generous and kind, sharing what little they had. Clearly, Pierre had not slipped away during the night to summon a squadron of cuirassiers, as Captain Amelia had feared.

  "How is Lemondrop this morning?" Alexander asked.

  "Better, but he still needs his rest." The flyer reached out to stroke the wounded gryphon's nose. Lemondrop’s bright yellow eyes fluttered open, then closed again.

  "It looks like we won't be doing any flying today," Alexander said. "Not in this dirty weather."

  "No matter," Parkington said. "We'll take as long as Lemondrop needs. I'm not leaving her behind."

  Alexander didn't want to contradict his friend, but he felt that his lordship might be putting them at great risk—all for the sake of Lemondrop. Captain Amelia had come to rescue Lord Parkington—an earl and cousin of the king, and therefore someone who could become an important pawn or hostage if captured by the Napoleonists. They had not come to rescue a gryphon.

  He peered through a crack in the barn wall at the gray mist and drizzle. It really did look like they would be grounded for at least another day.

  He checked on his clothes, which weren't quite dry. The thought of abandoning the warm blanket to put on his damp trousers was not all that appealing.

  "Are you going to get dressed properly, or are you going to parade about all day like one of those savages from the colonies?"

  Before Alexander could answer, Rigley came around for his breakfast. He looked rumpled and unshaven, with bits of straw sticking in his hair. Rigley slurped his coffee and tore at his bread so ravenously that crumbs scattered everywhere. "I do believe that's the latest I've slept in twenty years of service to His Majesty." He raised his mug. "Maybe the French ain't so bad after all."

  Parkington gave him a sour look. "You won't be saying that if a squadron of cuirassiers shows up."

  Rigley just laughed. "Not much danger of that today unless they come riding in on giant ducks. The Frenchies don't like to get wet any more than we do and that fancy armor they wear gets rusty in the rain. No, it's a good day to rest—and to heal." He nodded at Lemondrop. "We'll get him back in the air yet, my lord, don't you worry."

  They had just finished breakfast when Professor Hobhouse and Captain Amelia arrived, leading an old sheep for the gryphons' breakfast. The captain handed the rope to Rigley, who eyed the sheep with skepticism. "Mostly wool and gristle, is that one."

  "It's not much, but it will have to feed Biscuit and Desdemona. Lemondrop will be better off with a nice grain mash. Pierre only has so many sheep and we can't have him running around buying up his neighbors' sheep with English silver, now can we?"

  "Oh, the gryphons won't complain. They don't much go for coffee and fresh-baked bread, so this old sheep will do them fine."

  Professor Hobhouse had borrowed several ingredients from the farmer's wife to make a poultice for Lemondrop's wound. The gryphon growled a warning as he approached, but Lord Parkington soothed him and together they applied the healing poultice.

  Captain Amelia looked around the barn and put her hands on her hips. "Right. We'll spend the day in two-hour watches along the road. It's not likely that the enemy will have patrols out, but the Napoleonists have their spies and lookouts, as do we. It's possible that we were seen flying into France and that someone may be searching for us, no matter the weather." She glared at Alexander. "And for Jupiter’s sake, Mr. Hope, put on some clothes!"

  • • •

  Alexander had the first watch and spent the morning hidden at the base of a huge tree near a bend in the road, where he could see in both directions for a long way.

  At first, the swish of wind in the branches and the dripping rain sounded to him like the clatter and jangle of an approaching enemy patrol. Each swirl of mist threatened to reveal a cuirassier. But none appeared, and he might have fallen asleep if he hadn't been so damp and uncomfortable, even wrapped in a heavy oilcloth that still smelled of salt air from the Resolution.

  He returned to the barn shivering and wet to find Lord Parkington sitting against Lemondrop, gently stroking the gryphon's head. The great beast raised his head weakly to look at Alexander. The yellow eyes looked dull with pain. Alexander was shocked to see that the flyer's own eyes were red and puffy, as if he had been crying.

  Parkington swiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

  "You must think me a fool," he muttered. "Sniveling over a gryphon."

  "Not in the least," Alexander replied. "In fact, there were times when I wondered if you had a heart at all, or if you were carved out of marble like a statue come to life."

  "What a horrible thing to say, Alexander!"

  "It's just that you're so sure of yourself," Alexander said. "You are so utterly confident. I suppose it's because you are an earl, and you know it. I admire that. Most of the time, I just feel like a boy who's been given a uniform and told to play at being a navy ensign without any real instructions. Only if I mess up, somebody might be killed."

  "You're doing fine, Alexander. You are one of the bravest people I know, man or boy, officer or sailor—and you don't seem to know it so your head isn't big like it would be with some. You're brave without the bravado. And you have gifts."

  Alexander held up his hands and inspected them. "Gifts? Ha! What good are they when I don't even understand how to use them?"

  "Give it time, Alexander."

  Alexander stood up and pulled a corner of the blanket covering Lemondrop over the other boy's shoulders. "I'll take your watch," he said. "You stay here with Lemondrop."

  He grabbed a slice of leftover bread from the basket and his dripping oilcloth, then started toward the door.

  "Alexander," Parkington said. "I forgot to add something to your list of talents. You are a good friend."

  • • •

  By late afternoon, the rain had let up. Pi
erre's daughters, Celeste and Chloe, had been cooped up inside the farmhouse doing endless chores assigned by their mother. They were eager to escape, even if it meant nothing more exciting than running an errand. They met Alexander as he was coming off his watch.

  He was wet, tired and hungry—come to think of it, he was always hungry these days—but glad to accept their invitation to come along. Celeste was just a child, but Chloe was close to his own age. She had pretty brown eyes and smiled and laughed a lot. He felt shy and clumsy around her, but Chloe's presence was almost enough to make Alexander forget they were deep in France and in desperate straits.

  Alexander spoke only a smattering of French and the girls had only a few words of English, but he understood Chloe's smile and "come with me" wave well enough. He pieced together that they were going to bring their father an afternoon snack at his mill. The girls’ mother might be wary of Alexander after what she had seen while scrying, but she must not have warned away her daughters.

  In halting English, Chloe explained that it was hard for a farmer who had no sons—or many children, for that matter—to work the farm. So he had built a small mill on the stream that ran through their farm. He ground corn and wheat for their neighbors and made enough to support the family.

  They followed a well-worn and very muddy path through the wet fields to the mill. It was a one-story wooden building with a thatched roof built beside a stream about twenty feet across. Beside it churned a waterwheel about ten feet high and two feet wide. Chloe explained that the stream normally flowed slowly, but with the rain the water had risen, and so Pierre thought to make good use of the extra power. As they approached, Celeste ran close to the edge of the swollen stream and Chloe gave her a sharp warning. "Non!"

  Inside the mill, Pierre was busy moving sacks of grain. Alexander was surprised to see Rigley helping him.