The Iron Ship by K. M. McKinley Page B

gave off a quick and lively heat more nourishing to him than the sun of his homeland. He relished the smell of her. She had a vigorous scent, and tonight the air buzzed around her intoxicatingly.
    It was his privilege to be allowed so close. He forced his attention from her to the object she was uncovering in the box. The upper third of a sphere made of blacked bronze poked out of the straw. The Twin. Threaded holes waited for bolts to attach a curved rule about its vertical circumference. At about a yard and a half in diameter, it was huge. An incomplete topography was graven into its surface, her supposed map of the second world. Those lines had bought the countess much derision from those she desired as peers. Mansanio’s heart sank to see them so brazenly displayed.
    “You see this?” she said eagerly. “This is the Twin. Other planetary bodies await in the boxes. Once this is assembled...” She looked up into the rafters. She smiled. “We’ll see then, won’t we? We’ll show them, you and I.”
    “Goodlady, you should take your dinner.”
    “Hmmm? Yes, yes. You are quite right.”
    “Goodlady.” Mansanio stood, waiting to accompany her to the dining room.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Goodlady?”
    “Bring it to me here! Can’t you see I’m busy?”
    Mansanio suppressed a sigh. “I will see to it immediately.”
    “Don’t be like that.” Most of her attention was on the boxes. All trace of her anger had gone. She patted Mansanio on the arm. “You are too good to me, Mansanio. A more loyal servant a lady never had. I’m sorry I tease you, it is but in jest.”
    “Of course, goodlady,” he said. He left for the kitchen, his skin tingling where she had touched him.
    The feeling of happiness quite deserted him when he returned from the kitchens bearing his mistress’s dinner. Light blazed from the hall. Laughter echoed from the open windows. The countess had called the men back to help her unpack her precious equipment already.
    His frown deepened at the sight of Bolth, the cook’s lad, carrying a crate clinking with bottles up the steps to the donjon door.
    It was going to be a long night.
     
     
    D AWN WAS APPROACHING . The Twin was setting, the White Moon followed slowly, the Red Moon had already gone.
    The countess was in her observatory. The turret provided only a modest platform for the her equipment. Her telescope and its turntable occupied the most of it, and so the circular walkway around the outer edge was crowded with every other bit of astronomical and astrological paraphernalia that would not fit in the middle (Mansanio could never remember the difference). But with the folding glass doors all around the wooden walls open and the dome cracked wide, the universe was let in, filling the room with endless space. The sea was dark in all directions, the sky blazed with stars. On the horizon, the lights of Karsa City made a poor attempt to outshine them. The chill of early autumn filled the room. Mansanio busied himself tending to the room’s three braziers while the countess disgraced herself, smoking her pipe while entertaining the chief of the draymen. Both were slightly drunk. Learning that Gorwyn actually was lesser nobility did nothing to warm the seneschal to the man.
    “I do not think your guardian likes me much,” said Gorwyn. He lounged on the countess’s couch as if he were the master of the place. Mansanio pretended not to hear the man’s comment, as a good servant should not.
    “Him?” said the countess. “Ha! Old Mother Hen. He is a relic of my past, a man out of my father’s country. I am cruel to him sometimes, but he is honest as the day is long and his devotion is as deep as the seas. You will not say anything against him, do you hear...?” she stuck her head forward questioningly, searching for a name.
    “Tuom, madam. I am sorry, I do not mean to slander your servant.”
    “Sorry, sorry. I am terrible for names,” she waved a hand. “Too much other nonsense