With the bulk of the Tierran army gone to Ishalem along with large numbers of camp followers and support workers, the city of Calay seemed empty. Since most seaworthy vessels had been conscripted into the Tierran navy, few ships sailed into the harbor with marketable goods.
The Saedran District remained busy, however. Though the Saedrans were loyal citizens of Tierra, they had never been asked to fight this holy war against the followers of Urec. While Sen Leo na-Hadra was happy to assist the queen in every way possible, he was a scholar, not a warrior. Few of his people were. They were painters, instrument-makers, apothecaries, doctors, architects, and chartsmen. Thinking of his son-in-law Aldo far away aboard the Dyscovera, Sen Leo couldn’t imagine the young man raising a sword in a battlefield charge. Aldo had many talents, but butchery was not among them.
The old scholar went to the na-Curic household for their traditional midweek family dinner. Leo’s wife was already there, having helped to cook the meal while the grandchildren played underfoot. Biento welcomed him into the house, while Aldo’s wife Lanni came forward to hug her father. Lanni’s eyes were bright and eager. “Do you have any news of Aldo? Has there been another rea pigeon?”
“Sorry, nothing for some time.”
“Do you think they’re all right?” Yura na-Curic wiped flour from her cheek. “It’s a mother’s job to worry.”
Aldo’s brother Wen chimed in with a snort of bravado. “Of course they’re all right—they have the best Saedran chartsman in the world.”
Sen Leo put as much reassurance into his voice as he could, not wanting to admit that he was concerned. “Since they have only a limited number of rea pigeons, Aldo wouldn’t waste a bird unless they have adventures worth writing about. They must have quiet sailing for now.”
Lanni rounded up her young children and herded them toward the table. “The message I want to hear is that Aldo has found Terravitae and the Dyscovera is following their Captain’s Compass back home.”
After a satisfying meal, Sen Leo made his way through dark streets to the warehouse that held the sympathetic model of the exploration ship. Because the intricate replica remained intact, Sen Leo had good reason to believe the Dyscovera was undamaged.
Queen Anjine had stationed guards to protect the replica, but with the army gone and the city guard stretched thin, the Saedran model-maker Sen Burian na-Coway spent most of his time there, sleeping nights inside the warehouse so that no one could harm the model.
As Sen Leo approached the building, he heard gruff shouts, followed by a chatter of feral laughter. He hurried around the corner to find burly Sen Burian balling his fists and fending off three teenaged boys who threw debris at him. One soft tomato splashed against the model-maker’s chest, and he roared at them. “Come back here so I can wring your necks—or go far away so I never have to smell you again!”
When the boys saw Sen Leo running toward them, they laughed and darted into the shadowy alleys. The old scholar caught his breath as he stopped at Burian’s side. “What did they do?”
“They made me angry is what they did.” Burian wiped a big hand down his chest, smearing tomato seeds, then wiped the wet hand on his trousers. “Troublemakers and hooligans—they’ve come around here before. I wish they’d been conscripted into the army.”
Sen Leo was worried. “Did they harm the model?”
Burian brushed aside the thought. “No, they aren’t that imaginative.” He pointed to the warehouse’s shuttered windows, which had been bombarded with spoiled fruit and smeared with fish offal. “I’d rather they threw garbage at the Ishalem wall. Damned vandals.”
“Even if they’re not ra’virs, vandals can cause great harm,” Sen Leo said. “Do you know who they are?”
“No, but they’ve been coming around here more often, getting bolder. I suspect their fathers went off to the war and their mothers can’t control them.”
The Saedran scholar pressed his lips together. “I’ll tell Guard-Marshall Vorannen to keep a close watch on this place. If that model is destroyed, the Dyscovera may not survive.”
“Oh, I can handle them for now,” Sen Burian said. “I will sleep with one eye open and a cudgel beside my cot. A good bruise and a cracked rib will teach those boys a lesson.”
The two men entered the warehouse, which was lit by lanterns. Sen Leo looked at the impressive work of the large ship model, marveled at its sturdy hull and masts, the delicate webwork of rigging, the detailed painting. The actual Dyscovera was a wonder, and this replica was an equal achievement of Saedran skill and sympathetic magic.
The sight made him think of Aldo sailing across the unexplored seas, farther than any chartsman had ever gone. “I’ll stay with you here for the rest of the night, Sen Burian—if you’d like the company.”
“That would be good.” The model-maker reached out to shake his hand, then noticed the tomato smear on his palm. “I’d better get cleaned up.”