Chapter 955: An Unexpected Reunion
Roland caught the look on Thunder’s face and let himself smile.
The explorer had a gift for identifying the essential nature of a problem. By the craft standards of this era — everything made by hand, one piece at a time — any large industrial product would carry an astronomical price, and Thunder had just recalculated what he was actually looking at. But Roland had no intention of billing him by the true cost of materials. That would be businesslike in the wrong way: it would close a relationship that needed to stay open.
The steel production that had made the ship possible was a different story entirely. The converter experiment had worked; the steelmaking facility at North Slope Mountain now ran on its own logic, independent of witch labor. Ironmaking in the Blast Furnace Zone, charcoal from the coker unit, liquid steel, ingot forming — the entire chain had been mechanized. A few workers, auxiliary steam-powered machinery, and grey-white vapor rising from the mountainside in a permanent low haze that people in the city had started calling the grey fog of North Slope. The average daily output these days exceeded what an entire city had once produced in a year.
Most people who observed this did not understand what it represented. That was acceptable. It represented everything.
“We can discuss money later,” Roland said, “and I promise it will be considerably less than you’re calculating. Money isn’t the point. What matters is that unknown seas are worth exploring for reasons that outlast any single treasury — and as King of Graycastle, I want to be part of that.” He kept his tone easy. “Even if I can’t sail the ship myself.”
Thunder’s expression shifted — something past mere courtesy. “I am genuinely impressed by your foresight, Your Majesty. Most men who hold power are drawn toward benefits they can see and count. Spending resources on the intangible is rare even among explorers, and most of them aren’t running a kingdom.” A pause. “The Fjords’ Chamber of Commerce would never authorize this without a projected return.”
You were performing social courtesy when we corresponded earlier, then. Roland noted it without resentment. He had been doing the same thing. “Let’s board the ship. I’ll show you around.”
Thunder’s face answered before he did.
The ship was, to be honest, a composite — Roland had used elements from several historical models because he had no single tradition to draw on. The bow followed an ironclad profile, angled slightly outward, with an embolon below the waterline. The midsection was broadened for stability in heavy seas. The stern was flat like a modern cargo vessel. Total displacement: approximately twenty-five hundred tonnes.
He had considered a bulbous bow and fin stabilizers during the design phase, then discarded both. A bulbous bow required precise calculation against the ship’s speed and hull form; a fin stabilizer required complex mechanical linkage to adjust its angle dynamically. Neither was achievable within the current time constraints and material tolerances. He had let them go cleanly, without regret.
What the ship did have was better than most of what it lacked. The steam turbine Anna had assembled alone was beyond anything Thunder’s people could have built — the sailor-engineers were already circling it with a mixture of reverence and bafflement. The command structure relied on wind-up telephones: separate lines connected the bridge, the engine room, and the watchtower, each unit fitted with a bewitched Mini Dawn battery capable of lasting a full extended voyage. An acoustic tube cut in and out; the telephone cut through the noise of a heavy sea and delivered a clear voice.
“This doesn’t look like a ship.” Thunder stood in the bright, wide tower bridge, turning slowly, taking in the scale. “It looks like a castle that has learned to float.”
“A promising start.” Roland clasped his hands behind his back. “Satisfied with the tour?”
“‘Satisfied.’” Thunder repeated the word as if testing whether it was adequate. “Your Majesty, she exceeds my expectations on every measure. I feel I could hold the Swirling Sea with her.”
“Don’t be too confident yet.” Roland held up a hand. “I’ll be the first to admit I know nothing about shipbuilding. At the moment she’s a very complicated machine, not a proven ship. What I need from you is what she actually does under real conditions — speed, stability, required crew size, food quantities, every variable your sailors can measure. If the trials go well, you’ll be ready to depart for Shadow Sea after the Months of Demons.”
Thunder made a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “Know nothing about shipbuilding. If the old craftsmen at the Fjords heard you say that, I believe several of them would drown themselves out of shame.” He shook his head, still looking around the bridge. “And what would you build if you actually knew something?”
Roland held the suspense a moment. “Come to the feast tonight. You’ll have your answer tomorrow.”
Night came down over Neverwinter, and the castle hall came alive.
Stones of Light had replaced candles entirely — their glow was steadier, softer, and required no tending. The long wooden table was gone; in its place stood a round one draped in white cloth. A champagne tower had replaced the old wine glasses. Violins threaded through the air from the corner where the band had set up. Since the treasury had filled, the city had shed the last of its frontier austerity: banquets now carried something of the old King’s City grandeur, attended by Neverwinter’s prominent figures and their counterparts from the alliance cities. The Witch Union occupied their customary places, invited as they always were.
“The man beside His Majesty is an explorer from your home?” Lorgar cut a glance at Thunder with open curiosity, tail moving idly, and turned to Lightning. “Aren’t you going to speak to him?”
“His name is Sander Flyingbird.” Lightning shrugged and held out a piece of grilled mushroom for the pigeon hovering at her shoulder; Maggie took it with a pleased sound. “I’ve never heard of him. That means he’s not significant. At the Fjords, anyone who’s done two long voyages without drowning starts calling himself an explorer.” She paused. “Where’s Mystery Moon? She said she wanted to have a contest with the Exploration Group.”
“A guest that the chief receives personally is rarely ordinary,” Lorgar said — with the private note of someone applying a lesson to herself as much as to Lightning. “He might have news about your father.”
“Coo!” Maggie chimed in. “Couldn’t hurt to ask, coo!”
Lightning twitched her lips. “Fine. Since you both insist, I’ll go say hello.”
She crossed the hall and approached the explorer, and immediately revised her opinion — downward. Sander Flyingbird appeared to be around thirty. He wore an eye mask embroidered with a fresh rose. More than half of his face was obscured by a tattoo of rose twigs and leaves. The fashion sense was objectively poor.
His conversational choices were not better. He was in the middle of describing an expedition to Searing Flame Islands in a manner that suggested he had personally discovered fire. Searing Flame Islands was a place of genuine danger — lava vents constantly active, steam columns that could block visibility and scald crew members — but generations of explorers had mapped it fully. Following the established route at the right season was the standard practice. Lightning had visited the main island, Flaming Mountain, before she was ten years old, sailing with her father.
She had almost decided to leave when Margaret’s hand found hers from one side.
“Perfect timing, little one.” The female merchant smiled with the particular warmth she used when she was about to ask Lightning to do something. “Let me introduce you. Mr. Sander — this is Lightning. She is also from the Fjords, one of your father’s greatest admirers, and currently a member of the Neverwinter Exploration Group.”
“Ah — so you’re Sir Thunder’s daughter!” Sander’s voice went bright with genuine pleasure. “Ms. Margaret mentioned you. I’ve been hoping to meet you. You look quite like him, you know.”
You’re lying. Father always said I look like my mother. No one has ever compared us. Lightning managed a polite expression. “Thank you. Do you have any news of him?”
“Rumors only, I’m afraid.” Sander’s tone became more serious. “Some say he’s stranded on an unmapped island. Others say he’s back in the Fjords — that something happened after the shipwreck, and he’s keeping a low profile while recruiting for his next voyage. There are other theories.” His expression made clear what he thought of those theories. “I personally incline toward the second. The waters where the storm took him have reefs enough for a skilled man to work with, and a number of his crew survived. Sir Thunder is equal to worse than that.”
That matched Lightning’s own assessment almost exactly. She revised her opinion of the man — slightly upward.
She didn’t spend much time worrying about whether her father was looking for her or not. As long as she kept to her path, they would eventually meet. Exploration was like that.
“By the way — which island did you discover?”
A flicker of something slightly pained crossed Sander’s face. “Well — I can’t misrepresent myself to His Majesty, so I’ll be honest. I became an explorer largely because your father’s discovery of Shadow Islands inspired me. I set out with the intention of supplying a transfer island, but a Sea Monster attacked my fleet midway and drove us off course. We found an island that wasn’t on any chart.” He paused. “I know that isn’t a classic explorer’s story.”
As I thought. One of the lucky ones — not trained, just fortunate.
“That’s the nature of exploration,” Lightning said with careful evenness. “You can plan everything correctly and still find something new. Or plan nothing and stumble into it.” She offered a small nod. “I’ll leave you with His Majesty. Excuse me.”
She turned toward Roland to offer a curtsy and caught the expression on his face — distant, almost vacant, as if his attention had slipped somewhere else entirely.
“Your Majesty.” She dipped her head. “Excuse me.”
“Ah—” He came back, blinking. “Yes, off you go.”
He’s been doing that. She filed it away without worrying over it; Nightingale was watching him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t her concern.
What was her concern was that Mystery Moon had still not appeared, and the first contest of the Exploration Group needed to begin.