Closed [The Customs Yard]Too Intrinsic for Renown

[Philomena]

The room, she realized with the sudden clarity of things, was not a room at all, but rather the hollow space in the heart of a giant strawberry. This, of course was the only explanation which made sense of the remaining sensations she had trouble incorporating: the pink, venous light, the exceptionally soft, wet carpets, the languorous perfumed air, the queer stickiness all over the bare skin of her belly. Giant Strawberry, clearly. In a slow, dazed way, she considered to herself how it had taken so long to REALIZE something so manifestly obvious, now. Then, she ran a hand through juice-snarled hair and realized - this meant she could simply eat the walls! She did, biting deep into the juicy flesh, and felt a wave f the juice across lips, running down her pale, weak chin, filling her mouth with a hyperbolically oepowering burst of wonderful, wonderful flavor. Then someone’s hand was on the bare sticky skin of her shoulder, and she screamed through a mouthful of strawberry-flesh.

She awoke, then rather suddenly, her mouth parched and sweet with the decay of her night-breath, and just as she descended from the panic of being started from a queer dream, went into the panic of seeing the faint outline of a man in her room, then the panic of realizing she HAD no room, and so could not imagine where she could possibly be. Her hands scrabbled out from her, her braided hair swinging about her - they met the heavy, wheeled trunk, and she sighed, giving just enough of a window for her brain to remind her mind of her location: safe within the four walls of the Hospitality House, not far from Raisa’s home, and under the promise of her safety. It was still dark, but this seemed to be the product of her curtains - they were lovely, luxuriously heavy drapings of cloth, so that she could that despite the swampy dark of the room, the light of a bright morning climbed around the edges of it.

“Who’s ‘ere?” she spoke the words sharply, for her eyes were still adjusting.

“Able Seaman Halliwel Van Der Kruit at yer service, Mussy. I seem to ‘ave startled ye, then,” the voice was rough and salty, an old man’s voice, with the calm of one who knows the long sojourn of many sailings, “Ma’am Allwave-Wright, she said I were to wake you.”

“Raisa?” she was too sleepy to realize the inappropriateness of the diminutive all things considered, despite her eyes now being sufficiently adjusted to see the blue and white of the Guild in the old man’s attire.

“Ma’am… Allwave-Wright, if you please, Mussy.”

“Yes… yes. Ye canny hold it ‘gain me, I’m sorry. She is… waiting for me?”

“No Mussy Lefting, she’s a-bed, still. She said I were to wake you if th’Stonecarver came in, ‘at you might ‘ave a penny's of a talk for ‘im."

“Oh… Oh yes.. yes, thank you, I… I just need—“

“—to be dressing, aye, Mussy Lefting. I’ll ‘ave to make sure he waits, ‘en. Patient chap, usually.”

And he left. Minnie stumbled out of the bed, a bit hazy and her skin rough with saltwater and ship’s-life. She dropped her nightshift, and grunted familiarly as she tugged on the pettys and stays of the blue and white dress, hoping it would blend in just a bit with the Guild crowd. She tugged the gown, and buttoned up as far ash could. The last button was a bridge too far, for she felt a sharp jab of its bone corner into the tender flesh beneath it as she breathed, so undid it, tugging her petty in place beneath - a bit sloppy looking, but not indecent at least. Then she tugged on her boot - a ripping sound ensued, and she gasped, stopping quickly. The little unravelling of the heal seam in it was longer now, and perhaps a LITTLE bit ragged. She stopped, setting the boot to the side, and struggled, realizing she had no other shoes but a pair of wooden garden shoes that she’d brought not considering how dry Abura would be. She finally gave up and tugged the stockings back off, then patted the chests, with concern, checking the lock on the notebooks, and slipping the cord and key around her neck and down her décolletage. Then she opened the door, and shut it quickly behind her.

The sand was hot beneath her feet, but she knew the tricks of that kind of walking - she’d grown up more or less without shoes. The customs yard was easy enough to find, and curiously quiet in the morning sun. She approached an older sailor, who was whittling a bit of whale-tooth in her hands.

“Begging pardon, Goody, I’m… I’m looking for a… an Akvatari stonecarver who’s s’posed to be here, now?"

x

[Liminal]

The sailor looked up at Minnie, and nodded, though he didn't pause in his whittling. "Aye. Trekusether." He inclined his head in the direction of the water. "That's 'im there." There was only one Akvatari in the direction the man had indicated. He was perched at the end of a wharf, and was engaged in eating some kind of kelp. Clearly, he'd just obtained it, for his skin was still wet, and the occasional droplet fell from his shoulder-length hair. He was not facing Philomena, and gave no indication that he had heard the conversation. His skin was a deep, rich brown -- almost a chocolate color -- and the strap that he wore around his upper torso was a subdued turquoise. It was already very warm outside, but he did not seem bothered at all by the heat. As Minnie had noticed, the area of the customs yard and the docks was quiet -- eerily so for someone used to the busyness of the Zeltivan docks. The total contingent of Zeltivan sailors assigned to Abura was only thirty or forty, and given that some of those worked in the warehouses, some in Hospitality House, and some during the evenings, there were only three or four sailors visible now, whittling or quietly sweeping up. The ship Minnie had come in on had already departed, and the wharves now stood empty.

[Philomena]

Minnie looked down the wharf with the squinting peer that was a relic of her many years of very poor eyesight. Trekusether's back was to her, and that presented something of a conundrum, for she could not fall to her normal crutch of simply trying to use body language. He was not small - somehow, Minnie had pictured a wastrel of a body, the sort of 'artist' image one accompanies in one's head with infrequent meals and smoky garrets, and poor hygiene. This man looked sound.

The night before came to mind, and she found herself looking to see if she recognized the man, wondering if he knew the sculptor who had wept in Raisa's boat after tipping his statue into the water. She looked at his wings, at rest - she had little experience of wings, in the full daylight, and found herself curiously interested in the sheer mechanics of them - how do they attach to the back? Is there a kind of seam? Can one see the back and shoulder muscles running to them?

But, she realized, she was staring, and she blushed, blaming it on her fatigue. She looked about to see if anyone had observed her being so terribly rude, and picked at a bit of tear-crust in the corner of her left eye.

Minnie, you're not here for your own amusement. You've a work to be at. Don't forget Mother Qalaya or Sister Bethany.

She nodded to herself and began down the dock then. Her feet padded, not silently, but with a fair degree of quiet, for this, weathered wood under bare soles, at least felt something like home - or like home a long time ago, for the University, of course, had a place for wearing shoes. Still, it was familiar there - walking along the quays of Zeltiva searching for scraps and fishbones to boil into broth. Or, then, walking back and forth across the planking of her flat above Mrs. Shears, a baby in her arms, humming to him. Or even, though it was all still so new, wandering the planks of the ship that bore her here, those great stout planks, scrubbed with seawater and holystone.

She walked, even when the man turned, to sit herself on the end of the quay, with a polite nod to him, her eyes even meeting his, for a moment, before falling back to her own lap. The movement strained the girdle of her dress enough that she could hear the stitches creaking very softly against her chemise.

"Hullo," she realized after the words came out that she actually had little to no idea how one ought to address and Akvatari politely. She improvised, "Master... Terkistether?"

She said the name already knowing it was wrong, for she'd read the name in her notes, and could see the spelling quite clearly in her head. It was simply that her tongue had been incapable of properly galloping along the unfamiliar syllables. She met the man's eyes timidly, and then returned to her lap.

x

[Liminal]

The Akvatari's back was muscular, and the muscles running up to the wings themselves were clearly visible and highly developed. As for the wings themselves, there was an obvious line between them and the skin of the back. The points of attachment were low enough on the back that they didn't interfere with the leather strap that all Akvatari wore around their chests. He did not turn around until Minnie was almost at the end of the docks. His face was chiseled and angular, but there was a look pitched between curiosity and amusement in his brown eyes. He returned the nod, but did not speak again until Minnie had made her inquiry. "Trekusither, if I'm the one you're seeking." The voice was a rich baritone. "Though it's not for me to say whether I may indeed be a master." Minnie wouldn't recognize him from last night's ceremony, but whether he knew the sculptor or not was of course impossible to say. "It's not often that a landdweller comes looking for me, unless Overseer Allwave wishes my opinion on a piece of stonework. But, unless I read you much amiss, you're not with the Sailors' Guild, m'lady. How may I be of assistance?"

[Philomena]

Minnie nodded, quietly to herself. Amusement - this she can understand. No disdain, or mocking, that's something, at least, simply that she's a bit funny. She reached up subconsciously to push her glasses up her nose, then realized that she didn't have glasses anymore, hadn't had them for more than a year, in fact, and the fact makes her realize how strange it is to be doing the real work of field research again.

Yes, field research. That's all this is. You're trying to act like you're on a quest, Minnie Lefting. This is field research into an interesting topic. You can do that.

She smiles, thinly, and nods again, but this time she nods toward the man, "Nae, na' the guild. I'm on t'other side of the city --" she pauses, "That is... of Zeltiva. I am na' in the guild, the University, 's up the hill, it's... never mind..."

Alright, you're doing field research, but in a city you don't know. Deep breaths.

"I'm... I'm doing some research on the Circumnavigation... of Kenabelle Wright, that is, the Zeltivan sailor..." she caught herself a bit, blushed, "You probably know that... who she is I mean, not that I am... doing... that is, I'm doing that research, an' I ha' learned that you were..."

She paused, sighed, gave up on intelligent speech, and instead reached into her satchel, where she had the key-box given to her by Charm Wright. She held it tentatively, delicately, for she held it to be precious but was unused to handling art, after all.

"This box... you... your relative made it, I thought, maybe... you might recognize his work?"
x

[Liminal]

Trekusither simply looked puzzled as Minnie stammered and hesitated through her speech. However, when she produced the box, he immediately took it from her, handling it with care. He ran his fingers over the artful carving on the box's top, tracing the outline of the woman. Then he opened the box, staring for a long time at the inside of the lid. He closed it again, and held it up to the sunlight, though it was hard to say what, exactly, he was looking for. He touched each of the corners in turn, then handed the box back to Minnie. "It's genuine," he said as he did so. "I've seen enough of Imtapptendosin's work to recognize the craftsmanship, and his style was unique enough that it's almost impossible to forge well. Most of his work that survived the workshop fire in 470 is in private collections, and it rarely comes up for sale. Especially if this one is somehow connected to Kenabelle Wright -- which, unfortunately, I can't confirm or deny, based just on looking at the piece -- it's worth a pretty miza, though I can't tell you how much exactly. Nothing comparable has been sold in Abura in some thirty years." He stopped there, seemingly working under the assumption that Minnie's goals in talking to him were to verify the item's provenance and assess its value. "I studied at the University for a year, two decades ago," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I didn't see this piece though -- I would have remembered that. Perhaps it wasn't on display at the time."

[Philomena]

Minnie listened to the description with some confusion, and shook her head, softly, taking a deep breath.

"It is... not the value I am concerned about. Or... not that sort. That's the strange part, I suppose - it's never been displayed. Ms Wright kept it secret, using it as a box. For keys. Then... when she left, she gave the box to her sister, Charm Wright, who kept it secret... secret, too."

She closed her eyes to try to concentrate and took another deep breath.

"I... I am grasping at straws, a little bit, but when I consider things, it does not seem to fit as a casual object. Why take such a beautiful work of art, and use it for such a banal purpose? Kena Wright knew what beauty was, she would not have used it simply as a matter of convenience - and for all its beauty, there are more appropriate, less finely worked objects for storing keys. If the keys are precious - and... I think they are - then this box does not even have a lock. All of this suggests to me, the box... well, it must have had particular significance to her, or have been made to purpose. Or had some other fact or circumstance that I do not understand. I don't... well, I'm not much for puzzles, and I would not want to endanger such a beautiful object, but I dunny THINK it has a false bottom, or... I don't know, compartments or secret messages as one hears in stories, I suppose. But I suppose I could be wrong.

And then, the Circumnavigation lists the maker as a fellow she had simply met before a few times. But that does na' seem to fit either - a casual acquaintance, recognized her by naught but the sound of her voice? A casual acquaintance had given - for it was a gift - something so valuable to her? I dunny mean to doubt the gracious generosity of your people, but if he gave her something so dear, it seems there must ha' been a reason. And if she kept it secret, and di' not let others see something so lovely, there must ha' been a reason, too."

She nodded her head decisively and opened her eyes again at this. The reasoning, as sound as she can manage, gave her enough confidence to look the man in the face, "I dunny know. IF there is something in the box itself you can tell me, or about the master's work in general. Or if he left... some records? Even banal things, receipts, or billing and receiving, or what not, or design sketches. Or, if you know... well, its probably too much to hope, but someone who might' ha' been on close terms with him, who migh' know something about his relationships."

She looks away again, "I know that's a bit vague. As I said, I'm grasping at straws, a bit."
x

[Liminal]

Trekusither listened without interrupting until Minnie was quite finished. His dark brown eyes were focused intently on her -- it was an active, not passive, sort of listening. "As I said, most of his papers and other effects from before 470 were lost in the fire, and he did little carving and less writing after that, focusing more on his not-inconsiderable skills as a violinist. However..." He fluttered his wings, and rose off the dock. "Come with me, University Professor with no name." There was a quirk of a smile on his face as he said that -- clearly, he wasn't holding Minnie's lack of a proper introduction against her. The Akvatari flitted away from the docks, past the warehouses, and some fifty yards into the sand, away from the footpaths that marked the limit of the Zeltivan influence in the city. He moved slowly, knowing that even though he wasn't going far, he would be much faster than a single human on foot. The temperature was already heating up, but the sea breeze was something of a moderating factor on this day. One of Abura's curious spires had its base there -- this one made of some sort of pale rose rock that was beautifully weathered. Trekusither flew a quarter of the way around, to a place where dozens upon dozens of stone figures, some fully finished, and some still in progress, rested on the sand outside the spire. Making sure that Minnie was still following, he flew into an opening in the spire. The opening was perhaps three feet off the ground, low enough the Minnie ought to be able to clamber inside. The interior of the room was lit by a pale blue glow, the source of which was not obvious.The ceiling was some fifty feet overhead, a fact that was unsurprising, but perhaps disconcerting. There was a chair -- a chair designed for a human, perhaps for when Teresa visited him -- and he offered it to Minnie. "Fortunately, because my work is in stone, I've chosen a ground-level home," he said with a smile. Then, he fluttered over to a bookcase that went halfway to the ceiling, pondered for a moment, and retrieved a small leatherbound volume from the highest shelf but one. He returned to Minnie and placed the book in her hands. The cover was unmarked, and it looked to be several decades old at least from the wear on the edges. "When Imtapptendosin died, I was nine years old," he said quietly. "He used to take me flying sometimes when I was a small child, and I enjoyed listening to his stories of the sea. When he passed, he left me a few things, including this. I've looked through it, and most of what caught my eye -- the reason I assume he gave it to me -- is the fifteen elaborate drawings of fish on the first pages. The rest seems largely to be accounts and random diary entries from 443 to 459, much of it written in highly abbreviated form. I don't know if what is there will be of any use to you, but you're welcome to take a look."

[Philomena]

Minnie, no athlete and not particularly tall, squirmed a bit to pull herself over the ‘stoop’, as it were, of the home. Hauling her satchel behind her, she landed on the floor inside. She took a look around her - the high ceiling made the walls feel narrow to her, in spite of the fair size of the chamber - and flexed her toes into the floor, firm beneath her and with the fine soft dust of chiseled stone. She moved to the chair at his offer, making a stumbling little curtsy, then sitting in the chair.

She listened to man’s description of the book with an absent, scholar’s interest. His memories of the man might be interesting an illuminatory note on the character who figured importantly in the ending stage of the journey. For not the first time, she wondered if the wood-carver had been one of the Akvatari who sailed the last leg of that voyage. Leadership seemed to be more an abstract concept among the Akvatari, than otherwise, so to say he was any sort of officer on the ship seemed unlikely, but respect was an important aspect of the books she had seen on Akvatari culture, so some sort of advisory role seemed entirely possible, or if her hypothesis was correct, even simply as a comfort to Kenabelle, who would have been smarting still from the—

Wait.

“443? To… 459?”

443, only a few years before the decision to fund the circumnavigation, only a handful more before Kenabelle’s Sunberthian voyage, and then her command of the Abura route, where she would have met… and then it would cover all the time of the Abura route, the news of the circumnavigation, the arrival of Kenabelle in Abura, everything afterward!

And 459. The year that Kenabelle Wright disappeared.

“Journal… entries?”

Her voice was weak, a little dumbstruck, and her eyes looked at the book with obvious hunger, as her shaking hands reached into the satchel, to quickly switch into a pair of clean white reader’s gloves. She spoke while she did so, and her voice grew more and more passionate as she went, quivering not with the excitement of a child being given a much desired present, but with an acolyte discovering the relics of a saint. Or, an artist being struck by inspiration.

“Sir… oh… oh, I would be so very… Philomena, Philomena Lefting, Dr. Philomena Lefting, of the Uni— or, not na’ more, they won’t have… those are all the years! The years of her coming here, the years of the circumnavigation, the… has anyone ever seen these? How could I have missed them! I… I ha'… I ha' a book, I can transcribe them, I promise you I will be most careful, if you would let me see them, I can do it here, I can, I have a cloth, I can lay both out and do it, i dunny even need leave! It will be entirely safe - safe! This should be in an archive, this book! I —“

She stopped, breathed deep, pushed a finger hard into the flesh of the opposite wrist, compressing the cord of muscle and sending a hot twinge of pain up her arm. She focused hard on it, stilling herself, pulling her breath back inside her body, willing her fingers to stillness. Then, she tried again, slowly, carefully.

“I’m Doctor Philomena Lefting. I ha’ been studying the Circumnavigation since I were a slip of a girl. I would be most honored if I could spend some time with this book. I canny tell you what it would mean to me."

x

[Liminal]

"Aye, 443 to 459," Trekusither said. Then he said nothing else as Minnie's enthusiasm washed over him like an especially large wave. It wasn't until she was quite finished with her second attempt that he spoke again. "Well, as I said, it's not easy to read. A lot of it's in a sort of shorthand, and although parts of it make sense to me, there are other parts I can't make heads or tails of. But you're welcome to try." He placed the book in Minnie's hands. "I'd prefer not to let it out of this room, if that's all right -- the drawings mean a great deal to me, even if the bulk of the book doesn't, and they're all the art of my grandfather's that I own. But you're welcome to do whatever it is you need to do here. I have precious memories of my time at the University, brief as it was, and knowledge, after all, wants to be free."