Spontoon Island
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Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
17 October, 1936 to 23 October, 1936


Monday October 17th, 1936

Dear Diary: it had to happen. Today we had our first run-in with Father Dominicus' flying school. I was not there, but I heard about it from Jasbir (who is reliable) and Beryl (enough said) who surprisingly had the same story. There was one of those random surges of commercial traffic arriving on the airfield, and with the usual rules trainee aircrew are not allowed up less than half an hour before a scheduled arrival. Some folk say it is to give the airport staff time to scrape a failed trainee off the runway, though happily that has never been put to the test.

Anyway, what with available daylight and bad weather, the number of "slots" between arrivals was fewer than usual, with a worsening weather report promising to ground all afternoon single-seat flights. It was a second-year class who were tasked with getting flight clearance, and not even Red Dorm as I might have expected - it was Florence Farmington and her three admiring room-mates who ran snout to snout with a half-squadron of the "Ave Argentum" as the newcomers are called.

Florence is a Puritan by upbringing, and not one of the "turn the other cheek" types; her ancestry is more the hellfire and steam press Cotton Mather and Worsted Williams line. Still, she did not disgrace Songmark by using our self-defence lessons in ways our Tutors would disapprove. In fact she handed the message to one of her adoring pals and blocked the corridor while the second girl went up the outside of the building to the control tower with the message in her pocket. We got our flight slot, and the others got to explain to Father Dominicus why they had not.

All would be well enough, but it has been declared a matter of Honour and we hear this mostly Latin bunch take such things very seriously. To us it was just an initiative test and they lost fair and square without a blow struck. This should be interesting.

One of the aircraft that did get through the squalls to land had come rather far to turn for home; a Vostok armoured dirigible, one of the "Balalaikas" we found out about last Xmas! We had noticed a small delegation of Rain Island military types at the airstrip; according to Jasbir the airship touched down gently for a second, dropped three of those light tankettes which roared along the runway to pull up in front of the spectators, and the Balalaika took up covering position before peaceably heading over to the mooring masts.

It sounded like quite a demonstration, and I was sorry to miss it. It is an alarming prospect though; a squadron of 12 could show up on a deserted road or beach out of anti-aircraft cannon range, drop off more than 30 of the fast vehicles and then fly them covering support with their rockets or recoilless cannon. Beach and coast defences would be bypassed completely and as the tankettes can leap a 12-foot ditch or a 4-foot wall, they would be rather hard to stop and they carry converted aircraft 20 millimetre cannon or twin machine-guns. It makes one wonder just what really is "Impassable" tank country these days.

(Later) Having telephoned earlier to confirm things, after teatime Molly and I put our oilskins on again and crossed over to Casino Island to see what Madame Maxine has for us. The place was as discreet as ever, with the large high-walled compound having only one visible gate and that guarded by the largest tigress I have seen on these islands.

Madame Maxine was at the gate to greet us personally; she explained that we had done well in terms of disguise skills and appearances, but we needed to develop other talents. She brought us both in and sat us down, and started to chat quite normally.

About five minutes later she stood up and asked us to check our belongings. In the course of the conversation we had lent her our waterproofs, our overnight bags and all our ready cash, without her actually asking for it. These she returned, and with a smile explained just how she had done it.

Dear Diary: I have seen Beryl doing this, but never worked out exactly what she does. Madame Maxine spent the evening showing us how to persuade people to do what we want them to. The first part of it is pure observation, then slowly one moves to mimic them in non-obvious ways. People like people like themselves, is the idea - and once you move "in sync" you can gradually start to "lead" them where you want to.

There were various other customers having fur treatments and such that we were invited to practice on, and for the next three hours learned how to silently persuade folk to do what we want. I never realised the word "because" had such a power; the reason given may be trivial or nonsensical but it makes the request far more powerful.

I can hardly think Lars would have paid for this; it looks far more the sort of thing Mr. Sapohatan would find to make us more useful to him. And I hardly see what our Tutors could object to; it is a very useful skill for an Adventuress to have. Molly was still practicing, muttering "these are not the furs you have been looking for" in a persuasively confident tone when we were on the water-taxi back to Songmark. With her background, being able to fast-talk Police and Customs folk would be an asset if she can get away with it.

We arrived back to find the second-years grimly suiting up against the rain, three dorms of them heading out to find an erring first-year who has hopped the fence. It turns out to be Rosa the Bakuninite Anarchist, who one might expect to have problems with official regulations (again, one wonders just WHAT our Tutors are thinking these days.)

Interestingly, we have not had to intervene in more than a couple of Red Dorm fights this term - they seem to be shaping up and pulling together although this might not be good news for the rest of the world. As they went past glowering at us, Tatiana started quoting a Bolshevik slogan that Liberty Morgenstern joined in at the finish - "On the first day of the Revolution the Anarchists must be won over - on the twenty-first they must be liquidated!"

Hardly a wonderful expression of solidarity with one's junior years, I would have thought. But then, I may be biased.


Wednesday October 19th, 1936

Two days of glowering cloud at about a hundred foot have quite closed down the land-plane routes; it is a jolly good thing this is not tourist season. Only the flying-boats are still running anything like schedule; they can fly above the cloud till their directional aerials spot Radio LONO almost beneath them, then cautiously spiral down and taxi a few miles in using the shipping buoys to dodge the coral reefs. With cloud levels hardly as high as half way up LONO hill, it would be a very lucky or foolhardy pilot who risked trying to find our runway. One reads reports of radio based "blind landing" systems, but that assumes all the different national airlines agree on using the same system, want to pay for the equipment and have crew willing to trust their lives and those of their passengers to a delicate box full of short-lived vacuum tubes.

Having most aircraft grounded means our Tutors can tell us to concentrate on maintenance and we can demonstrate to the first-years that we are not exempt from getting engine oil in our fur. Stripping down and rebuilding the JUMO diesel engines of the Junkers 86 was two days of back-breaking work, with a mechanic from Superior Engineering dropping in at the end to check on the quality of our work. Unlike in the comic papers, a Songmark girl does not reassemble an engine and puzzle about where the bits left over came from.

Still, it all goes towards our passes at the end of the course. We have not seen many aircraft diesels (the heavy, slow-turning marine ones are a very different proposition) and there is much to learn.

When we returned, an hour after evening tea Beryl was knocking on our door. She had an unusual proposition for us that had my fur standing on end. Beryl has received a very brief telegram - "SLGM CECILYMORAN BELTANE5" followed by a map reference.

Beryl explained that it was a distress signal from one of her old school chums at Saint T's, the first word being "Send Lawyers Guns and Money" and the last one a personal code authenticating the message. Cecily Moran is from an old and famous family connected with her own for generations, Beryl says, and there is sure to be something in it for us if we can help with a rescue mission.

The first step was to get the charts out - I had half expected the location to be Cranium Island or Krupmark, and I have sworn never to go there again. Actually it is Mildendo, which is more reasonable and I could only come up with fifty reasons rather than a hundred as to why we cannot go there in the middle of term.

Having encountered other girls from Saint T's, I had no illusions that this was any innocent damsel needing rescue from crooks or savages. The last "innocent damsel" we looked for on Mildendo over a year ago was nothing of the sort, and we eventually found her thoroughly enjoying life on The Beach at Krupmark, in the lavender house with her Red Indian friend. If there are any crooks of savages threatening Miss Moran, my bet would be it was because she double-crossed them in a smuggling deal. The chances are about evens that she needs somewhere without an extradition treaty, or she would not have mentioned lawyers.

From what Beryl says, and having worked and lived with her so long, I can see it would take a lot to make a survivor of Saint T's yell for help. This Miss Moran apparently won the first-year prize for bare-knuckle ladies' boxing, going nineteen rounds with the Right Honourable Daisy "Crusher" de Vere. After the first year, Beryl says, things only get tougher.

I was very surprised when Maria announced she was going to ask permission from our Tutors. Her motto is "Fortune favours the brave" but heading downstairs to ask Miss Devinski approval for one of Beryl's suggestions was a fur-raising proposition for anyone. People get medals for less.

By the time she had been gone five minutes I was rather worried, and was wondering how many languages Miss Devinski had to say "NO" in to persuade Maria. It was fifteen minutes later that Maria returned, looking rather chastened but defiant. My jaw dropped in amazement when she said we had been cleared to take the Sea Osprey, on condition we had a plan within twenty-four hours that passed our tutors' approval.

Of course, there was one glaring fact about using the Sea Osprey. It only seats four with full fuel tanks, and assuming we pick up Miss Moran on Mildendo, that means only three of us can go. One of them will have to be Beryl.

Bed-time, to sleep and no doubt to dream logistic nightmares!


Thursday, October 20th

The weather has cleared completely, and in the morning we were back in the familiar cockpits of the Tiger Moths for aerobatic practice. The first-years were looking on enviously; this is listed in the Songmark prospectus and every new arrival imagines doing it in their first term. I know I did. It is hard to award exact marks, but our Tutors are hawk-eyed for even the smallest flaw and almost compete with each other as to how many style points they can knock off us all. Adele Beasley won with an absolutely polished performance; you would think her aircraft was running on rails with the smoothness of that performance.

After tea and finishing our class work (we are not excused prep) we sat down in one of the classes with maps and slide-rules to work out a flight plan. That was the easy bit; it is a three hundred mile round trip but with the Sea Osprey and the prevailing winds that is little more than an hour to fly out there and an hour and a quarter back. The real unknowns start when we land, and have to find this Cecily Moran. Knowing if she is beinng hunted by gangsters or the Police would be useful. Only Helen and I have been to Mildendo, so that rather puts our names forward to escort Beryl on the trip; I am not exactly looking forward to it.

Helen did quietly ask me what we were really expected to achieve. I could imagine the most favourable headlines "Songmark girls in rescue mission against the odds" with us coming home covered in glory and not something smellier. True, a third-year girl is expected to be able to do this sort of thing, and if we pull it off it should reflect well on Songmark. I have few illusions that any graduate of Saint T's is going to be a deserving rescuee, and only hope we do not get her back to Spontoon just for Interpol to snatch her with an extradition warrant. Still, nobody has managed to grab Molly that way although the G-men have been bending every rule they can to get at her; it is written in very small print in the Songmark acceptance papers that we are honorary Citizens here until we graduate and our native lands have no legal claim on us.

With Miss Devinski's approval we signed out equipment and rations for a week; one never knows just how long such things will take, and we drew up alternative routes for various situations. As our Tutors have frequently drummed into us, "If you haven't got a Plan B, you haven't got a plan." In our case, when we explain to them our Plans up to Z they suddenly come up with a believable catastrophe that none of ours covers.

It is a hopeful sign that Molly has not tried to have us haul the T-Gew and sixty rounds along. We are allowed our pistols, and have all our licenses up-to-date so we can stroll through Customs without a qualm. Molly is not even taking along her family souvenir; last week she recovered her Thompson from Customs after nearly two years! It is a good thing they did not charge her shelf rental; that would have been definitely adding insult to injury.

The flight to Mildendo should be about as straightforward as these things get; due North, straight at the Pole Star if our compasses all give up the ghost and the radio catches that annoying complaint the books are calling Transceiver Ire. What happens when we get there - well, it will be up to Helen and me. Having Beryl along should prove interesting; she is extremely competent at thinking on her paws, and has wits you could trim fur with.
 

Friday October 21st, 1936

Just when we had everything worked out, everything came radically unstuck! Instead of Molly and Maria waving us good luck at the docks, we waved them off with Beryl in the back seat - three furs who have never been to Mildendo Island before, definitely being thrown in at the deep end. I just hope Maria can keep Molly from doing something too insane.

The reason was both simple and mysterious, and caught us all by surprise. When we came in from swimming practice there was a note to me from Saimmi of all people (the first time she has ever actually written to us) requesting me, Helen and Saffina to join her on South Island this weekend. There has never been anything before that could not wait till Sunday.

Well, we are not going to turn down Saimmi, whatever happens. I showed Miss Devinski the note, which somehow did not surprise her - she nodded and remarked that plans change, and sometimes we have to get by without the most qualified people just when we come to rely on them. It seemed a strange sort of thing to say. I wonder what she means. She noted that our anti-hypnosis training would have to wait till next week, though she feels we are in urgent need of it.

Handing over the mission to Molly and Maria felt rather strange, and as we watched them fade into the Autumn skies Helen and I looked at each other. Helen confessed she had been thinking that inside a year they will probably be doing that permanently.

(Later) Our week's Songmark work has all been done, our Tutors approval gained and we are heading out after supper to South Island, and meeting Saffina over there (her class has been practicing landing improvised vessels through coral reef and heavy surf.) We shall see what this is all about!


Sunday October 23rd, 1936 (back-dating)

It has been quite a weekend. On Friday we arrived at the Hoele'toemi compound just as it was getting dark, to find Saffina there with the rest of the family, except Saimmi. Mrs. H looked rather sombre, which is rare for her. I asked if Saimmi was all right, at which she smiled briefly and told us we would see for ourselves tomorrow. She did volunteer the fact that in some ways Saimmi is leaving the family - which I thought was impossible. Even when folk get married they retain their clan identity on Spontoon, and I had never heard of Saimmi planning to wed.

Despite us only having a weekend, Mrs H asked if we would oil our fur and remove every other item, except in Helen's case her Tailfast necklace which is perfectly acceptable. I very happily complied, and over the next hour we were oiled and fur-combed into markings as accurate as we have ever worn. Mrs. H did not tell us why, and even the usually very chatty Moeli was not talking.

I was just finishing off my tail-fur when the comb brushed on that hidden bead that was put there last time on Krupmark. It was quite a dilemma. Nobody but me on South Island knows I wear it, but Mrs H did make very clear that we had to take ALL items off except Spontoonie ones, and I doubt Krupmark counts. Saffina even took out her earrings, which are of Ubangi-Shari make and decidedly not "Euro" except as the very strange Spontoon use of the word has it.

After a few minutes, I decided it should not be beyond my engineering skills to replace one fine gold wire, and picked up the claw-trimmers. I was congratulating myself on having done the right thing and heading out for supper when I realised I had put the trimmers away without using them. Very odd. I ended up asking Saffina to do it, which she did without comment, though she looked at the totally plain golden bead most curiously as if there was something she could see written on it.

An early night followed, as we were advised that we were going to be up very early. It was still totally dark when Moeli shook us awake; the Hoele'toemi household has no alarm clock but she whispered that everyone was almost ready to go.

The last time we left here in pitch darkness before dawn it was to the Summer solstice on Sacred Island - and although Saturday is no special date in the calendar it was there we went again. Being October, at least we had rather more sleep first. Most of the inhabitants of Haio Beach were there, including some very ancient furs who had to be almost carried along to the Eastern coast but proved to remember very well how to paddle a canoe as we headed out across unseasonably calm waters.

Sacred Island was a dark shadow against the first glow of dawn as we landed there, past the deep rock-cut harbour that leads out to the abyssal waters beyond the reefs. Moeli excused herself when we were approaching the surf line and slipped overboard as lithe as an eel; I was not too surprised to see other heads break the surface heading in from the open ocean. Whatever this was, the Natives of No Island were certainly coming to watch. Very odd - we were on South Island this date last year, and there was nothing particular going on that we were told about.

We made the canoes fast to the shore, except for some of the lighter ones without outriggers that were used as bath-chairs by half a dozen each of the aquatic folk. It was an almost silent occasion and very dark under the trees; for some reason there were no torches lit as I lent a paw carrying the laden canoe up the long avenue of ancient Tikis that led up to the hilltop.

Dear Diary. I had thought of all sorts of possibilities but never expected this. On the high carved block under the starlight there were two figures awaiting us. One was Huakava, the black pantheress wearing her full painted and combed markings as High Priestess of the Spontoon Islands, lying on the stones apparently asleep. Beside her stood Saimmi, clad in only her fur. In fact she was absolutely bare, shockingly so - bare of all fur combings, even her family markings.

Saffina gave a gasp, staring at Huakava and then she bowed her head respectfully. As the other Priestesses came out of the shadows carrying flowers to lay on her I realised the ancient feline was not sleeping. Saimmi stood silent, till the high Priestess was covered except for her head with the jungle blooms.

There as the dawn light grew I watched as Saimmi became the High Priestess - she is very young for the job, but Moeli whispered that Huakava had chosen her. I understood why Mrs H had been rather distant; she no longer has Saimmi as a daughter in the same way, as Saimmi now belongs to all of Spontoon. The finale came when the sun just cleared the ocean and the treetops were pulled back to let the light flood into the clearing while one of the Wild Priests spoke the words and Saimmi gave the responses that bound her to the Islands.

For a minute Saimmi stood on the stone that carried Huakava's body, facing in turns North, South, East and West, her arms held out as if to embrace the islands as the early sunshine fell on her. Somehow it looked as if she was enfolded in the dawn light. Then the trees were released to cover the hilltop once more, and the other priestesses came forward to pay their respects.

The Natives of No Island were carried down the hill back to the sea in the canoes, and I expected to be joining the general departure. But Saimmi beckoned Helen, Saffina and me to stay, after the last of the regular priestesses had carried Huakava's body off on a bier into the deep jungle. I did not see where the Wild Priest went to.

Saimmi seemed somehow very different, although a tourist would probably not spot any real difference in the fur markings. Some of them are personal markings anyway - but seeing Saimmi without her family patterns was somewhat disturbing. She invited us to sit, and explained that Huakava had left some suggestions regarding us, that she has agreed with.

Oh my. We have heard often enough about how Spontoon's customs are a mix of the various Polynesian cultures along with aspects borrowed from elsewhere as it seemed appropriate. Rather like a nation at war freely using all the previously Patented designs and techniques if it needed them to get its aircraft and ships up to standard, in fact. She has mentioned before that centuries ago there were styles and specific types of Priestess that no longer exist in these islands. She very simply asked us if we wished to train towards being Warrior Priestesses, defenders of the islands in ways that the Naval Syndicate and even Mr. Sapohatan cannot manage.

This is not something one goes away and thinks about, carefully weighing up the advantages and disadvantages as if it was a business deal. All three of us agreed on the spot. I took a deep breath and told myself my chances of seeing Barsetshire again were suddenly much slimmer - having seen the ritual that bound Saimmi to the islands here, she can now hardly leave the area again while she is High Priestess.

Saimmi sat with the three of us for half an hour and explained matters - her first act in her new role, which must be quite an honour for us. Training as Warrior Priestesses is not the same as for regular ones. I remember back on Cranium Island she had told us that drawing blood would disturb her focus for a long time, but presumably it would not affect what she has in mind for us. I suppose it is like my Father described in the last year of the War, with storm-troopers trained from scratch for that particular job missing out a lot of the broader aspects of regular peacetime soldiering (they were terrors when it came to clearing a trench but made a very poor show on the parade ground. Then again, being smart on parade was not the idea in 1918).

She tells us there are another three Native trainees who might join us, but they are much younger and still years away from our level. Saffina in particular is already experienced in similar things back in Africa.

Well! Saimmi gave us a lot to think about and we paddled back to South Island in silence with the remaining Hoele'toemi family. Huakava was High Priestess in fairly peaceful times (though she was here for the Gunboat Wars) and has chosen a much younger and stronger successor whose first act is to start recruiting the equivalent of war emergency troops. It may be a coincidence that Father Dominicus has arrived on the islands, Jesuits being what Maria has called "The shock troops of the counter-reformation." The difference is, as far as we know there ARE no Warrior Priestesses around to study from, at least in the Spontoonie tradition, and exactly how one goes about it Saimmi confesses she is less than sure of. Apparently much knowledge was lost in the Event that took place five centuries ago, and in the awful casualty rate amongst Priestesses who made the islands safe again to inhabit a century ago.

Back to Haio beach, to celebrate! That is, Mrs H has now gone through the ritual mourning of her clan having lost Saimmi as a daughter, and of course she is extremely proud of her "promotion". Hugging Helen and me, she joked that there is now more space in the family longhouse that needs filling.

Moeli and half a dozen cousins from the various islands were there, even including Namoeta from Orpington. We took the chance to refresh ourselves on details of the Orpington Island dances, and picked up some very handy style tips that will go towards our challenge against the S.I.T.H.S. In fact, Helen and I demonstrated what we had worked out so far, which proved to be quite a crowd-puller. Everyone who watched promised not to leak the secrets to our rivals; folk take their hula dances very seriously around here and fair play is certainly encouraged amongst the teams.

It seems that Namoeta is more than we thought; she is progressing in the chicken-spirit cult, and we received her blessing for the planned dance. Orpington Island definitely lives in the shadow of its more famous neighbour, having no bright lights and tourist attractions, and even a lack of really postcard-worthy scenery. No shortage of avians, though. Namoeta comes over here to shop and meet her (many) relatives about once a season and attend worship; certainly the whole Hoele'toemi clan seem to be well connected with the local religions.

Sunday was rather more of a relaxing day, with Saimmi appearing before lunch and instructing us. I took the chance to ask if we could bring Eva along, as she is very interested in local traditions and religions, of which her Uncle seems to have told her a lot.

Saimmi sat thinking for awhile. She agreed - but we are not to show Eva any of the shrines, and in fact next weekend we are to meet on the little island off the delta coming from Sacred Lake, bringing Eva if she is interested. We have been there briefly on Songmark trips, but hardly explored it in detail. Saimmi had more to say; that as Euros go, Eva's folk are the only ones working in the "Warrior Priest" direction, having developed something that is not quite a new Church but something rather deeper and more primal. She added that very few Euros know what they are really aiming for; it is not something you can show on a map, unlike in the Great War. I remember what those three wolves Gunter, Udo and Uwë were like on Cranium Island - and how Saimmi had said they were "Knights of the Great Worm" who are "forged like steel is forged." They could certainly do some surprising things. Possibly a Warrior Priest(ess) is like that, though if so I expect we will be approaching it from quite a different direction.

So: we are to make sure we find out from Eva more than she discovers about us, and hopefully get a few tips as to just what her folk are developing. Whatever it is, a Spontoonie version is bound to be rather different!

On our return we spotted the Sea Osprey back at its moorings with three or four folk working on it; Madeleine X's dorm rather than Molly and Maria. Helen shouted over to ask if there were any bullet holes in it, but Susan de Ruiz claims there are none and she is a very thorough worker. Very encouraging for any trip with both Molly and Beryl on board. We hurried into Songmark to look for our friends, who were being "de-briefed" by our Tutors when we arrived.

An hour or so later our fur was de-oiled and our markings removed (including the new one marking us as being in sacred training, which is similar to a Priestess symbol) just in time for Molly, Maria and Beryl to reappear. They had a rough but successful trip and retrieved Cecily Moran, who is currently staying in rented rooms at Mahanish's while the local police ask her various questions. It is as I thought; Cecily had fallen out with some business partners, and though the local police could not prove anything against her, she could not have gone to them for assistance even had she been inclined to.

So much for rescuing graduates of Saint T's! The trip proved worthwhile; Molly says Cecily more than paid for the costs and risks in negotiable currency, and the experience was useful. Adventuresses can only learn so much from classes and exercises; what they need is small to medium-sized genuine Adventures to practice with. Beryl has the bonus of having saved a family friend, though she admits she was more interested in the money.

Maria promises she will be writing up their trip in detail, firstly for our Tutors (who expect it) and for her Reporting course. I certainly look forward to it. Maria has always kept a comprehensive diary of her own, though not reading Italian I am not sure just what is in it. As it is not in code I doubt it is anything she is too worried about Mr. Sapohatan reading; whatever she sends off to her Uncle lives securely under her horns until she gets her code pad out. She has lots of little pads covered with random numbers and after she uses one, burns it. Very odd.



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