Jean-Claude shrugged one shoulder. “I would not presume to teach you your job. My question is to His Learnedness. What steps has he taken toward capturing Thornscar, which was the ostensible reason he left us in the first place?”
Kantelvar said, “I have reason to believe that Thornscar survived being stabbed in the arm. He is being pursued quietly, and he should be rounded up within the next few days. We cannot pounce too overtly for fear of alerting Duque Diego that his assassin had been identified, especially as we intend to use Thornscar’s testimony as evidence against Diego later, after Julio is king. This is especially important because you managed to kill the only other known conspirator, this Hugo le Petit. If Diego knew Thornscar was identified, he would certainly cut the man’s throat. He could even use the act to ‘prove’ his loyalty to Príncipe Julio’s faction.”
“Even so, shouldn’t we wait until he is taken before we make landfall?”
Kantelvar’s fist tightened on his spiny-headed staff and his voice did not quite conceal irritation at this question. “No. Even though Thornscar survived, his sorcery was certainly discommoded by the trauma you both inflicted, or so the Glasswalkers tell me. He will not be a threat, but the longer we wait, the more time Diego will have to procure an alternate assassin.”
“If he has not done so already,” Vincent said.
“Do you have any notion of who the next assassin might be?” Jean-Claude asked.
“The most likely suspects are being watched,” Kantelvar said. “If you wish I will prepare a full briefing for you when you arrive.”
Jean-Claude would have liked for such preparation to have already been done, but he allowed that Kantelvar hadn’t had time for it, and having the information right now would not change Jean-Claude’s plans for the cavalcade. Having seen all that he needed of Kantelvar and Vincent’s designs, he excused himself to go to the head but instead made his way to the forecastle, where Isabelle had erected her easel and turned her attention to capturing the Craton Massif in paint.
The continent loomed off the starboard bow, filling up that entire quadrant without itself being fully revealed. The coastal precipice crinkled off to the left and right until it disappeared in the haze. Beyond the headlands, the level of the ground rose gradually, a patchwork of cultivated fields giving way to woodlands, foothills, and finally mountains, before being swallowed up by the distance. Towns and villages dotted the coastline. Jean-Claude could just make out the local temples, their brass-clad domes glittering in the morning light. People and animals were still too distant to perceive and their absence made the land look curiously abandoned and forlorn. Far ahead, at the very edge of vision, lay San Augustus. The sprawling crescent city, curled about its famous deep-sky harbor, was little more than a pale smudge at this distance.
Jean-Claude gripped the rail next to Isabelle and refrained from entreating her not to stand so close to the edge. He needed her attention on other things.
“Jean-Claude,” she said. Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled delightedly. “Have you noticed how the Craton Massif disappears into the distance? We’re higher up than most of the mountains, so we ought to be able to see all the way across the surface of the disk to the far coast, but we can’t.”
“Yes,” said Jean-Claude. “Doesn’t the atmosphere get in the way or something similar? I thought you knew that.” It was unlike her not to know facts of that nature.
“Correct,” she said, “but I was sitting out here watching the stars fade and thinking how odd that was. I mean, how can we see the stars at all when we know they’re much farther away than the other side of the craton? That implies there is more atmosphere between here and the other side of Craton Massif than between here and the stars. In principle, it means that using simple optics I should be able to gauge the upper limits of the sky.”
The ship pitched and Jean-Claude’s stomach heaved rebelliously. Jean-Claude glowered at the distant city. The sails were full, and the ship was pitching, rolling, and bobbing like a drunken dancer, but despite these obvious signs of motion, they seemed no closer to the harbor entrance than they had been this morning. He said, “I would settle for finding a solid place to land. Do you know how long until we make port?”
“Captain Santiago says it depends on the sky.” She leaned forward on the rail, which nearly gave Jean-Claude a heart attack, and said, “The craton is rotating at roughly the same speed we are traveling along its edge, rather like a hand turning a wheel. The whole landmass makes one rotation every ninety-seven days or so. At this point on the edge, that translates into a little less than four knots. We could sail in closer to land and get picked up by the cratonic vortex, which would carry us along in parallel to the coastal rotation, and then we could just sail up the coast, but Santiago says the headlands farther ahead put off a tidal trough. It stretches off the point like a ribbon in the hand of a spinning child. When we hit that trough, we’ll be able to glide down into the city in about an hour.”
Jean-Claude shook his head in fascination. He understood not one word in ten of that aeronautical jibber-jabber, but Isabelle spoke as if she were ready to give lessons on the topic.
He sidled closer to her and whispered, “Fascinating, but remember to guard your philosophical tongue.” Isabelle’s foes would be looking for any excuse to discredit her. They would not hesitate to accuse her of heretical numeracy.
Isabelle winced as if he’d slapped her. “I’m sorry. I know I should be more careful. I’m not any good at this. You’re the only one I can talk to.” She stopped herself short, clearly not finished. Jean-Claude gave her time.
After a long hesitation she asked, “What if Grand Leon calls you away?” she said. “Once I’m in Aragoth. Once I’m married … and then I started thinking, what do you want? You’ve been stuck with me twenty-four years.”
“And proud of every moment.” Alas, it was ever so much easier to befuddle his enemies than comfort his friends. Frequently there was no comfort, only truth. “Time moves on. You sow, you tend, you harvest, and there must be a winter. Grand Leon may call me away, but if you can’t survive without me, then I have truly failed you.”
“I haven’t been doing well so far.”
“That’s not true. You’ve made good moves and you’re very reserved.”
Isabelle huffed a laugh. “Is that what it looks like to you? I’m nothing but terrified most of the time.”
Jean-Claude scratched his mustache and said, “Under the circumstances I would be utterly remiss to advise you to be less careful. Rather I would say, trust yourself more. Your father had a kind of power over you no one in Aragoth ever will. These people need your cooperation and you must demand recompense. They will try to bargain you down. Threats and intimidation are nothing but negotiating tactics. Recognize them as such and make it easier for them to give you what you want than to push you around.”
“You make it sound so simple.”