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Two mornings later, while enjoying a cup of tea beneath the quarterdeck awning, Captain Lars Fenrir spotted four Brethren, two tall, slender women and two burly, bearded men, emerging from a shaded alley and head for Aswan Trader’s berth. They caught sight of him staring at them, and the larger of the Friars nodded once, indicating he knew they’d been seen. Each carried a thick duffel bag in one hand, and a smaller pack slung over the opposite shoulder. From a distance, they seemed fit, their backs erect and their pace vigorous. The two younger Brethren with the deeper tans were undoubtedly the locally recruited Friar and Sister, while the older pair must be off-worlders.
Not for the first time, Fenrir marveled at the subtle changes wrought upon Theban society by the Brethren from Lyonesse over the last three years. At the advanced yet straightforward knowledge, they unobtrusively spread throughout the republic, allowing its citizens to rediscover industrial techniques just as they rediscovered faith in the Almighty through the works of the Order of the Void.
Part of him admired their oblique approach rather than risk overwhelming the descendants of those who survived the Retribution Fleet’s scouring. But an increasingly larger part wished they would simply get on with things more directly so Thebes could take a gigantic leap forward and claim the rest of Hatshepsut while it built starships of its own.
Some nights, when he lay awake in his bunk, unable to sleep because of the harbor’s stifling heat, he imagined owning a fleet of small, faster-than-light traders crisscrossing the wormhole network. Ships with climate-controlled environments, rather than a primitive barquentine whose only concession to modernity was its auxiliary Stirling engine, a technology the Thebans rediscovered well before the Brethren arrived with their books of knowledge and secretive smiles.
But by this time next year, that same engine would provide electricity to Aswan Trader while she was under sail, and could radio be far behind, perhaps even long-dreamed-of air conditioning? Space, however, would likely remain beyond Fenrir’s reach. Part of him resented the idea he would never enjoy the same experiences as the Brethren because their plan was generational, beyond the lifetimes of those who grew up on Hatshepsut clawing their way out of the pre-industrial mire.
The group stopped at the foot of the gangway, and the big off-world Friar asked, in a deep, well-modulated voice pitched to reach Fenrir’s ears, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”
His respectful tone hinted at a man who, just like Friar Metrobius, had a military or naval past in the Lyonesse Defense Force. Perhaps the Order of the Void chose veterans from among the Brethren for their missions, men and women who knew their way around weapons and small unit tactics. Warrior monastics, perhaps? If so, they would be useful should the increasingly bold and restive Central Passage pirates try again.
“Granted.” Fenrir drained his tea and put the cup on the binnacle before heading toward the entry port to greet his passengers properly.
As the dark-haired, dark-eyed lead Friar came up the gangway, Aswan Trader’s master realized he wasn’t just a big man, but one whose height, square shoulders, and broad, angular face could intimidate anyone bent on mischief. The equally tall but slimmer Sister on his heels moved as if she hid a lean, muscular physique beneath her loose khaki clothes. Her intelligent blue eyes, set in a narrow, sharp-featured face beneath short, bleached blond hair, seemed to miss nothing. The other two were more compact, darker of hair and complexion, but no less fit or alert, though Fenrir recognized fellow Thebans. They carried themselves with a shade more familiarity with their surroundings. He couldn’t have explained it in words, but he just knew.
To his surprise, the leading Sister spoke first, even though the Friar seemingly led the group.
“Thank you for allowing us aboard, Captain. I am Rianne.” She gestured at the man beside her. “This is Horam. And behind us are Lilith and Alcide. We’re the Order’s delegation to Mazaber.”
Fenrir bowed his head.
“Welcome.”
As instructed earlier that morning, Aswan Trader’s purser appeared, and Fenrir gestured toward him.
“This is Uri. He’ll show you to your quarters and give you a rundown on how we do things. We’re casting off lines in sixty minutes so we can take the outgoing tide. If you’ve forgotten anything on shore, best retrieve it now.”
“Thank you, Captain, but we are in every respect ready for sea.”
Sister Rianne’s choice of words both surprised and amused him. She looked like the furthest thing from an old salt, yet she had the lingo down pat.
“In that case, go ahead and settle in. If you’d like to observe our departure, then please join me at the taffrail in an hour but be careful you don’t stumble on my sailors along the way.”
“Captain.” The four Brethren bowed their heads in unison, like a well-trained drill team.
Fenrir watched them take the stairs and vanish into the barquentine’s depths, then retrieved his mug from the binnacle and headed for the galley to drop it off.
Friar Horam found the tiny inboard cabin immediately forward of the saloon a little tight for comfort, but he knew the outboard cabins, though they were equipped with portholes, wouldn’t be any better. In fact, they’d be worse because of the space taken up by the hull’s thick members. He quickly unpacked his duffel bag and stowed the contents in the dresser affixed to one bulkhead and gingerly tried the swinging cot, but its ropes didn’t so much as groan under his weight.
Satisfied, he then pulled a large bore needler from his backpack and checked it meticulously to be ready in case of danger. Congruent with Horam’s status as a servant of the Almighty, his needler’s magazines were filled with non-lethal ammunition, though Horam knew he could kill if there was no other choice.
Though Rianne led their small team, Horam handled its physical security. He visited the other three cabins set aside for the Brethren, in turn, inspecting them and making sure his colleagues checked their personal weapons. No sooner did he finish that the trill of a whistle, followed by the sound of stomping feet on the deck, reached his ears. They were preparing to cast off.
Conscious they might be in the way, but curious nonetheless, Horam, followed by the others, cautiously climbed the aft steps. He poked his head above the coaming just in time to see the main deck awning flutter down as smoke came out of the Stirling engine’s stack, sitting halfway between the main and mizzen masts.
“Come on up, my friends. There’s plenty of room on the quarterdeck.”
They emerged one by one and joined Fenrir aft of the mizzenmast. The latter, eyes on his men as they prepared the sails, asked, “First time in a sea-going vessel?”
“Yes, Captain,” Rianne replied on the group’s behalf, “though we’ve sailed between the islands on water taxis.”
“While spreading the word of the Almighty, modern medicine and knowledge lost to us, no doubt.” He glanced at her over his shoulder.
Rianne inclined her head.
“Indeed. We don’t just work in Thebes, and soon, I expect we’ll set up small priories on the republic’s other main islands.”
“I suppose you’re finding new recruits every day?”
“The lure of learning what their ancestors once knew is powerful. Mind you, we’re also training people who won’t take vows, such as teachers, engineers, and technicians.”
Fenrir chuckled.
“The Thebes University must be overjoyed at a competitor teaching for free.”
An amused smile lit up Rianne’s face.
“We’re working closely with the University, Captain. It is fast becoming a force multiplier in disseminating knowledge.”
“I look forward to a bit of new technology, something that will make a sailor’s life safer and more comfortable. Perhaps ships that don’t need sails and can travel in any direction, regardless of current and wind.”
“It’s in the research and development pipeline now, Captain, along with radio and mobile power generation beyond what Stirling engines can offer. But remember, your fellow Thebans working on such things using the information we gave them can only do so much at any given time. I believe you have fire hoses on board?”
“Yes. Hand-pumped, to wash the decks, clear the bilges, and, the Almighty forbid, if needed, fight fires.”
“Then imagine the researchers, designers, and engineers drinking from such a hose when it’s at maximum output.”
Fenrir nodded wisely.
“Point taken.”
He turned his attention on the ship again, eyes missing nothing as his first mate made one last round before declaring them ready. The latter finally approached Fenrir.
“Engine is warmed up and ready, sir, lines but one fore and one aft hauled in and dock personnel standing by to cast us off.”
Fenrir nodded by way of acknowledgment and walked over to the binnacle where a quartermaster stood by the wheel, eyes on the simple control panel with its engine levers. Aswan Trader’s master studied the various dials and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, raised his right fist above his head.
“Cast off forward and aft.”
Moments later, lines snaked aboard, and at a muttered instruction, the quartermaster pulled on one of the levers. The Brethren felt a thud run through the ship as the propeller shaft gearbox engaged. Moments later, they could see the pier slip away as the barquentine backed into the harbor, clearing the port proper.
At Fenrir’s further order, the quartermaster released the first lever, and Aswan Trader quickly lost way as he grasped the wheel and turned the rudder to port. The barquentine pivoted neatly until she faced the open sea, all backward motion gone. Another lever and another thud, and the ship began moving forward, aimed at the passage between Thebes and Raqote, the republic’s next largest island, still under engine power.
Soon, the Brethren saw whitecaps dance over the deep blue waters as they came out from under Thebes’ lee. A few orders, another rush, and the foremast sails dropped from their spars. Sailors on deck tightened the sheets, and, at Fenrir’s command, the quartermaster disengaged the engine. Then, fore-and-aft rigged sails bloomed on the main and mizzen mast, and the barquentine picked up speed, her prow cutting through the wavelets with authority.
Friar Horam felt a smile split his face at the sensation of racing before the wind, one unlike any other he’d experienced in his long career. Aswan Trader might move at an infinitesimal fraction of even a starship’s lowest sublight speed, but it felt as if she was outracing the elements under a deep blue sky dotted by small, white puffs of cloud.
Some days, his choice to become a Friar of the Void instead of continuing as a Marine noncom in the fabled 21st Pathfinder Regiment seemed inspired, but none more so than at this very moment.