Clover Island was caught in a late-winter (or early-spring) shower of weak rain and fickle winds and low, angry clouds; consequently most people on the island were tucked up at home or in one of the pubs or otherwise ‘indoors’. Naturally, Miya was not one of them. She’d wrapped herself in a thick woollen cloak before leaving the house but still the cold winds bothered her, especially on the exposed path leading down to town.
“Miya!” Penny called, leaning out of the door as Miya passed by the stables. “I’ve just put the kettle on, come in and visit!”
“Can’t stop, sorry Penny!” Miya called to her friend. “I’ve got things I have to do!”
“Yeah, SURE you do.”
Miya scowled a little as she walked into town. In fact, spending the morning in the stables chatting with Penny beside her little potbelly stove held quite a lot of appeal, but she really did have things to do, namely—
“Grandad! Grandad, wait up!”
Heartless Jon’s long stride didn’t slow as Miya ran after him, but she caught up to him on the other side of the town square.
“Didn’t you hear me?” she said. “I—”
“I’m leaving, love,” he muttered. “Gotta get away from this place for a while.”
“What? What, NOW?”
“When else? Nah, it’s not yer fault or nothin’,” he said, looking down at Miya’s dismayed face. “Just can’t keep cooped up in a place like this for too long, ye know how it goes.”
Miya considered this, then nodded.
“I guess I do.”
“Ye look like ye’ve got things to be doing—”
“I could never be too busy to see you off,” Miya said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
“Miya love, got something to tell ye: I’m going.”
“Grandad.”
“Arr, ye knows how these things go, just a lot of nuisance, is all.” Jon glanced at his granddaughter, then shrugged one shoulder. “Come along if ye’ve a mind to.”
They walked along in silence for a minute, onto the docks, to stop beside Jon’s brig—it was of an old, odd design, almost small enough to be classified a ‘corvette’, stocky and overbuilt like Highland ships but with a narrow, long bow in the Algernian style. It was completely black, from the freshly painted hull to the dark stained wood of the deck to the huge sails—even its name was in black steel, difficult to read except up close: ‘Starless Sky’.
“Can you really sail this just by yourself?” Miya asked. Her grandfather grinned.
“Legendary pirate, remember? Nah, but truth is I’ve got a couple of lads and lasses coming with me.” He looked at Miya. “Why don’t ye come along too?”
“What? Me?”
“Why not? Ye’re a pirate, ain’t ye?”
Miya gazed at the ship.
“Where are you going?” she asked, quietly.
“Out.”
“Out,” Miya repeated. She bit her lip, then shook her head. “I can’t. I really can’t—I’m grounded, after all.”
“Aye, so yer ma says. Ye’re a good princess for listenin’ to her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Miya asked, her voice sharp.
“Ain’t many a pirate listens to what their ma tells ‘em. Just sayin’.”
Miya huffed. “It’s not just that, anyway. I’ve got to figure out what this ‘Alvin’ is up to, more specifically than ‘no good’.”
“Arr, the little Highland ponce. Ye reckon he’s got somethin’ cooking, do ye?”
“He must. There’s no way the Highland would just decide to be friends with us.”
Heartless Jon shrugged. “Dunno about that. Sure yer ma wouldn’t trust anyone not worth trustin’, though. She’s a sharp woman. Saw clean through me soon as we met, that’s for damned sure.”
“Huh.”
Miya’s grandfather grinned to himself.
“So anyways,” he said. “Ye’re sure ye won’t come along?”
Miya nodded. “Maybe … maybe sometime. Another time.”
Heartless Jon nodded. “Aye, maybe.”
Grandfather and granddaughter stood a moment, both looking out to sea, at the dull, choppy waves and the bright grey sky. After a few seconds, Heartless Jon grinned.
“Ye’ve got to admit, looks bloody beaut, don’t it?”
Miya smiled. “Definitely.” She glanced up at her grandfather. “You ARE coming back, right?”
Jon was silent, still staring out at the ocean.
“Grandad?”
“Can’t say, Miya love,” he said. “Maybe. But then again, maybe not. It’s a big world out there. Sometimes things happen.” He glanced down at her. “Arr, don’t be makin’ that face, it ain’t fair, ye’ll break an old man’s heart.”
“Please come back.”
“Arr … can’t be makin’ promises, not at my age.”
“Please.”
“All right, all right, ye’re a bleedin’ nuisance of a granddaughter, usin’ politeness against an old pirate, ye don’t fight fair. If’n I can I’ll be back, to see ye at least.”
Miya nodded, satisfied. “Okay,” she said. “That’s a promise.”
“Arr, ye know what they say about the worth of a pirate’s promise, don’t ye?”
Miya just smiled. Heartless Jon looked at her a moment, then he grinned and patted her cheek.
“Lot o’ things here I ain’t gonna miss,” he said. “Tell ye what, though, ye ain’t one of ‘em. Take care of yerself, Granddaughter.”
“I will,” said Miya. She hugged her grandfather. “I promise.”
After watching her grandfather’s ship sail away until it was out of sight, Miya made her way into town, feeling a little sad but nonetheless determined—I DO have things to do, she thought. I have necessary investigations to undertake.
Several hours later, despite the worsening weather, Miya was feeling slightly chipper. She’d been visiting various shops around Blackport, asking pertinent questions in a subtle kind of way (for a given value of ‘subtle’), and the answers she’d received so far pointed to a definite pattern—perhaps not a particularly significant one, but a pattern nonetheless.
After leaving Jenny Sparks’ clothes shop, Miya headed for Mr Vassily’s Luthiery and Tailors. Inside it was warm and cosy, the little shop heated by a potbelly stove that sat plumply in a bricked corner. Tucked into the opposite corner was a large table, upon which were spread various clothes and cutting tools, with a large lantern hanging above it. Wooden shelves lined the walls, upon them a variety of lovingly crafted violins, and there was a single, stout mannequin in the centre of the shop, wearing a dark woollen suit. Near the potbelly’s corner were a couple of small, overstuffed couches, and sitting on one of these was the owner of the shop, Mr Vassily. He was a thin, stooped man with a wonderfully kind face, untidy white hair, and beautifully delicate hands. As Miya entered he looked around, then rose with a wide smile.
“Ah,” he said, “my most favourite princess, come to share her time with me.”
“Hi Mr Vassily.”
“Come, sit, warm yourself, you want a violin, a suit?”
“Not today, I’m just visiting.”
“I asked without hope, but still, some tea then? It’s a quiet day, this weather, no one wants music on such a day, and to buy a suit? Just a waste.”
“I already had some tea at Jenny’s, I’m kind of full of tea.”
“You wound me, my most favourite princess, to speak of my competition in such a way, that you would accept her tea and not mine.”
“She’s not really competition, is she? I mean, you make suits, she makes everything else—”
“Ssh, a little competition is healthy, it stirs the blood, it makes for interest, for conflict, don’t say so loud that we’re not in competition, you might start a nasty rumour.” Mr Vassily regarded Miya for a moment, his hooded eyes appraising, then he gave a little smile and turned to wipe a minute amount of dust from one of his violins.
“You said before that it’s quiet, do you mean you haven’t had any customers?” asked Miya, idly running a finger over the fabric of the single suit on display.
“I’ve had just one today, that new face, and what a face! Have you ever seen such a nose? It was all I could do not to embrace the gentleman, to thank him for showing such a wonderful proboscis to an old man. Such a sight I thought I’d never see.”
“Did he buy anything?”
“He showed interest in my violins, clearly demonstrating that he is a man of great intellect and wonderful taste. Unfortunately he cannot play. So who needs to play, is what I said to him, look at the curves, the fine grain of the wood, to play such an instrument is almost a waste. He agreed! But he did not buy. He ordered a suit, however.”
“What?”
“What, am I gone mute all of a sudden? He ordered, I measured, he paid, I build, he collects. That’s the way of business.”
“Hm.”
“I agree, ‘hm’, would that I could do this for the love my customers give me, but love won’t fill my stomach or keep my stove lit. Maybe it makes an empty stomach and a cold stove more bearable, but still, ‘hm’.”
“Hm,” Miya repeated. She looked at Mr Vassily oddly, then said, “you’re from Spirea, right?”
“Spirea, yes, a long time ago.”
“What’s it like?”
“Beautiful and desolate, proud and weak, blessed and damned.”
“So is it a good place or a bad place?”
“It’s a place, is all, just a place like everywhere else.”
“Why did you leave, then?”
“Why does anyone do anything?”
“You must have had a reason.”
“I had many reasons, most I forget now. Time passes, things change, what you thought was important becomes like, what can I say, rubbish, something you throw away, you look at it one day, you say, pah, I have no need for this, into the street with it. In Spirea we threw things we didn’t want into the street, maybe someone else likes it, who can tell.”
“Do you miss it?”
Mr Vassily looked at Miya, his kind face weary.
“Sure,” he said.
“But you don’t want to go back?”
“Too old. Too tired. Who can be bothered doing such a big thing when even reaching to the high shelves is a daily pain?”
“I, um, I heard—I don’t know if this is true or not, I kind of thought it sounded unbelievable when I heard it, but apparently Spirea invaded Al-Rhal.”
Mr Vassily shrugged.
“You don’t … what do you think about that?” Miya asked.
“Another thing happened in the world. Maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s good, maybe it doesn’t make so much difference. Al-Rhal, I had a friend from there, a long time ago, I think it’s not such a bad place. But then how can I judge from the friendship of one man? Maybe he’s the only good man in Al-Rhal, maybe he left because to stay would be like death for him, his goodness is so punished—you know the bad punish the good, you see this?”
“I … I don’t know, maybe,” said Miya.
“Your eyes say you have, I don’t doubt eyes, eyes are what you should put your trust in. Mine, they’re not so good. Too old, I’ve seen too much with them, they’re filled up. You, you have good eyes, I think. They’ve seen but they haven’t filled. Maybe you see better than me. What do you think about Spirea?”
“I’m not sure, I don’t really know much about it. Um, is it really true that everyone wears silk there? Like, EVERYONE?”
Mr Vassily looked at Miya a moment.
“I’m not an untruthful man,” he said. “So hear me when I say this: EVERYONE wears silk in Spirea.”
“Wow. Um, anyway, I’d better get going, I’ve actually got quite a lot of stuff to do today.”
“So soon? Ah, the youth, the rush of them, as soon as you say hello they say goodbye, but go, go, leave an old man to his empty store.”
“See you later, Mr Vassily!”
“Later, then, always later, you ever think there might not be a later? Of course not, you’re young, you’re happy. Goodbye for now.”
Miya left Mr Vassily’s shop and walked further down the street, thinking hard, not even noticing the weak rain. It seemed that Alvin had ordered or bought from every shop in town—every shop she’d visited so far, anyway.
“Trying to buy popularity,” Miya muttered. “Typical.”
She was just about to go into the grocer when she spotted her father running up the street.
“Dad! You’re back! How was misty ol’ Nau Island?”
“Miya. Thank goodness.”
“What? What is it?”
Tomas pulled Miya into cover, under the awning of a shop. The drizzling rain had matted his hair to his head, which always made him look older. Miya looked up at him, worried.
“It’s bad news, Coconut,” said Tomas. “It’s Badger Pete. The … a group of northern islanders who went to check on him didn’t return—”
“He got away?”
Tomas shook his head. “When they didn’t come back, another group went to check. They found the bodies of the last group, as well as the body of Badger Pete. He hanged himself.”
Miya stared at her father. “He … he’s dead?”
Tomas nodded. Miya took a shallow, shuddering breath as she looked at the ground, at the rain as it splashed on the street.
“Grace,” she said, her voice low. She looked back up at her father. “What about Grace?”
Tomas stared at his daughter, worry clear on his face.
“She wasn’t there, Miya,” he said. “She’s escaped.”
Next:
4
Portrait’s Edge
