14th December

Dear Diary: although we arrived back last night, it is only supper-time today that I get a chance to write. The trip was long, very bumpy and chilly – crammed into the dark hold with no view outside, three or four of us were airsick, which did not improve the atmosphere. This scarcely ever happens to a Songmark girl let alone a third-year, but one could hardly have a less comfortable flight. Even military transports have seats, be it the canvas strap type we had on the Handley-Page “Clive” we flew down to the Albanian South Indies. Certainly the Lockheed Lamprey is no luxury airliner, being more like a flying version of one of the cattle-trucks that were pressed into service for troops in the Great War (the aerodynamics at the front are not dissimilar, but then it is no Schneider Trophy racer). Although by all accounts the troops were pleased to get in them, if the train was taking them away from the Front on leave.
 
Most people managed to snatch some sleep, but although we have tried it in worse conditions (the bare windswept beach at the start of our acclimatising comes to mind) it was hardly restful. At least on the way out we were sitting on piles of clean, dry equipment and clothing; on the return everything was sodden wet and muddy. So were we, for that matter.

    It was a very sorry bunch that staggered up the docks on Eastern Island in the dark, soaked to the skin and all shivering with cold. Our leather Sidcot suits had been saturated for days, and not having had a chance to change our clothing in a week we certainly were far from fragrant. The quarter mile or so to our gates has never seemed so far. This time of year few lights are on in the street, and after the last scheduled flights of the evening come in the airport buildings shut down apart from a skeleton crew to handle emergencies.

    For once our Tutors were merciful; we would usually have to clean and list all our equipment and specially issued clothing before handing it back into the Songmark stores; yesterday it seems there was a Songmark first-year dorm in need of punishment duties, to whom we gladly handed everything before staggering in little more than our bare fur towards the showers. The third-year dorm rooms are unheated but after the Aleutians it feels like Summertime to us – and if we did not break our record speed getting into the hot showers, it was only because of our exhaustion!

    Maria is always proud of her looks, and the sight of her fur matted down with mud and grease that had seeped in from the leather Sidcot suit’s waterproofing would have set her off into frenzies if she had the energy left. We were all much the same, and much soap and grooming was needed before we looked anything like our passport photos. Molly grumbled that Madame Maxine’s probably has a casualty ward for this sort of thing. Certainly they have deep baths for a good soak, something that we have dreamed of.
 
    It was officially lights-out time before we had even finished a minimal cleaning, but for a change our Tutors were merciful. We must not expect any more of this; at least not without first paying for it with another similar two weeks of hard living. There was a hot midnight supper of thick soup and buttered toast  waiting for us in the dining hall though only half of us came down, the rest had thrown themselves onto their beds like one sees films of desert travellers throwing themselves into oasis pools. White bread and real butter! None of it went to waste; we were even allowed to leave the dishes on the table for the other years to clean up. Another first, and quite possibly a last. The soup tasted excellent after living substantially on pemmican, especially those vegetable pemmican blocks with the mashed beans congealed in palm oil. Those made our Saint Winifred’s traditional diet (mostly suet) seem decidedly tasty.

    Back to our third-year dorms, which never looked so good to us before! We were shepherded upstairs sometime around one by Miss Devinski, who quite gently carried an unconscious Li Han up to bed like a kitten. The poor girl had passed out with her snout in her soup bowl; fortunately it was empty by then after she stayed awake just long enough for seconds.

    Anyway, I have at least seen some daylight today unlike some people who did not wake up till tea-time when it is getting dark now. A ten tenths cover of heavy cloud easily knocks off an hour of light, and the rain was hammering down all day. It was marvellous to sit indoors relaxing and look at the rain on the window outside, rather than feeling it leaking into one’s fur. The thing about Adventuring is it is such a relief when you stop and rest afterwards. Tomorrow we will be back to our usual hard routine till the end of term, with night guard duties and everything. Mrs. Oelabe is scheduled to give us the once-over first thing tomorrow, like a mechanic going over a fighter after a dogfight. There may not be any bullet holes to patch, but there are the equivalent of plenty of strained bracing wires and control cables.

    Molly took advantage of the free time when other folk were still asleep to stagger out and bring in a supply of Nootnops Blue that she got past the second-years on gate without much trouble. Happily it was Rumiko and Florence Farmington, who would not “turn her over” just for the sake of it.  She has an emergency cache of smuggler’s accessories stashed around Eastern Island such as oil cans with false bottoms and the like: anyone opening the top for a casual inspection will see and scent the machine oil in there. There is about a cupful at the top, the rest of the gallon can being available for “cargo space” as she puts it.

    We have a few days before the end of term and our Tutors are going to be making us suffer. Not that they have said as much, but we can read the signs by now. According to Miss Devinski, the Aleutian trip counts as a holiday in that we did not keep up with our textbooks or our flying skills – that we shall have to make up later. If that is a holiday, I dread to think what the final two terms of hard work are going to be like!

    As far as the holidays are concerned, a lot of us are staying on Spontoon and around the area. Even furs who have made a point of always going home, such as Madeleine X are staying this time. Adele Beasley is surprisingly returning to Krupmark, though not to that job in a casino. She confides in me a lot, having nobody too sympathetic in either her old or her new dorm. What Miss Devinski will say about it I hardly like to think; technically in the holidays we are on our own time but we are expected to keep up our fitness and arrive back healthy and on time. The last time Adele went there she returned having picked up something rather unwelcome; she says she has written back and been praised and rewarded for having pointed out the problem, which should not happen again.

    But then, this IS Adele we are talking about. If there is a refugee on Krupmark carrying the authentic 1918 influenza, one can guarantee he will fall in the water and she will be called on to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She is taking a radio transmitter with her, which is something she has asked approval for at each end. I don’t know if her getting involved with someone “up the hill” on Krupmark is such a good idea, but she is a Songmark third-year student and has survived her last two trips there. I would have thought someone with chronically bad luck should stay clear of that place like someone with poor balance should avoid tightrope walking or skyscraper building. At least, being able to keep in touch as long as she has the transmitter is a good idea, and may be a lifeline.

    A return to poi for the evening meal, although plenty of fish and chilli stew disguised it. It is one thing we hate to admit in public – poi really is rather nourishing, and looking at the Natives brought up on it, it definitely builds physiques. We all retired early, but a return to Nootnops Blue was a more welcome experience than the poi. The second-years will be glad we are back, as by all accounts the weather has been miserable here and they have been learning what the view is like patrolling the fence at three in the morning.
 

15th December

Back to classes! As we found out in Spring, recovering from the militia exercises with minimal sleep takes more than one night’s rest to recover fully from such a major exertion. Alas we have used up that ration of luxury now and the chorus of groans at seven was far louder than the alarm clocks. (Beryl calls this the “Dorm Chorus.”) Another grey and overcast day, but after being up to our tail-roots in snow and slush, one hardly minded.

    Out after breakfast (breadfruit mash, again) in our athletics kit for two hours brisk jog, something else we are told we have to make up. Well, anyone who can jog through muskeg swamp and/or tail-root-deep snow hardly needs extra exercise. True, running does use muscles other activities do not, and we had not sprinted anywhere in awhile. While we slogged along the loose beach sand, on the coast road Miss Wildford paced us on her bicycle, a new Eastern Island built racing model of Vostok magnesium alloy that was made on the dayshift here. Just what that factory makes during night shift is something we are not going to investigate. We would pass on the warning to Crusader Dorm in the first year, but it would probably be counter-productive. They are usually in quite enough trouble without us dropping them reverse psychology hints, and for some reason are convinced we are all villainesses rather than fledgling adventuresses.

    Molly had caught up yesterday with her letters like the rest of us, and as we double-timed it along the beach while our Tutors were out of earshot she panted that Lars is back in town, having been busy in Vostok buying and selling. Considering what he brought over last time he did a major overseas trip, the arrival is unlikely to be logged in the pages of the Birdwatcher, and I expect Molly will probably like whatever he brought.
 
    There is so much to plan for the weekend! For one thing I have dropped a note to Judge Poynter on Meeting Island, who is interested in looking at my case. It is liable to make legal history; people have committed every crime in the book trying to get a Title, but my trying to get rid of the Allworthy association will be a new one. The Judge is of course busy with cases all week, but has kindly assented to see me on Saturday.

    Helen says she ought to come along as a chaperone. I pointed out that by all accounts the Judge is a genial and respectable old gentleman – to which she riposted THAT was what I had thought of Leon Allworthy, and look where that got me. I took her point. Still, I sincerely hope I have learned my lesson there.
 
    Our Tutors are busy writing up our marks for our trip, and indeed we are compiling our own reports. They will go to the Songmark library for posterity, where presumably future generations of Adventuresses will be able to marvel at Madeleine X’s record-breaking moaning and Molly’s impressive feats of racketeering in the face of extreme hardship (If there was a medal for that, Molly deserves one.) I fear Madeleine X and Adele are not getting along at all well after this trip – Adele might have been better off staying in her old dorm with Beryl and Missy K, which was bad enough.

    Between classes, we all took our trip to visit Mrs. Oelabe and be poked and prodded. After all I will be Tailfast in a few days and want to make sure I am at my best for Jirry. All is well, and I am definitely looking forward to it.

    Another thing we have to take turns with is the one bath for nineteen of us. Since that Cranium Island shrew Alpha rebuilt the water heater it does not need a second girl furiously pumping the air compressor – which is a vast improvement. By the time you had a bath and laboured on the pump long enough to fill the tub for a friend, you needed another bath yourself. Still, there is nothing like a soak for tired and strained muscles, and there are a lot of those around here.

    An interesting trip for Maria; Miss Wildford summoned her to her office, being on evening duty tonight, and awhile later we saw Maria heading out of the gate towards Song Sodas. She returned quite late, with a rather thoughtful expression. If she feels like telling us she will; she has quite a lot of secrets, what with her Uncle. Perhaps it is some unfinished business from the Festival of Nations? That is only two weeks ago, but after our trip it already feels like last term. From all accounts she held her own side up in the debate jolly well, and although she gained no points for justifiably dropping Liberty Morgenstern on her head, neither did she lose any. There was no damage done to the stage and Liberty’s head is exceedingly hard, probably all the way through.

    Just over a week till Jirry and me are Tailfast! Helen equally keen for the Solstice to roll around, but she has been continuously Tailfast to Marti all this time, and has got used to it. It will be more of a change for me to be able to brush that comb-patterning into my fur again. After a year and two Tailfasts they can marry by Spontoon custom – in fact on some of the remoter islands without resident Priestesses to preside, the custom is that after two Tailfasts they simply are regarded as wed.

    All being well, this Judge Poynter can think of a way for me to drop the Allworthy connection, and whoever is due to inherit is more than welcome to it. I had a letter this morning with a British stamp on it, postmarked Barrow-in-Furryness, which was from “my” tenants. They begged to know if I was going to come home and put things to rights – and I hardly know what to tell them. If I try and ignore the whole thing I will be by default an absentee landlady, with rents piling up in whatever Allworthy bank accounts are now unfrozen, whether or not I ever spend a penny of them. Not my idea of a good deed. Plus, there is someone out there whose rightful inheritance I am sitting on – again, not a good thing to do.

    Madeleine X overheard me talking it over and was complaining that I was severely letting the side down, for a Euro. Having the good fortune to inherit wealth and title, it was my duty to stop degrading myself with savages and live up to my responsibilities (she said.)  True enough, the idea of Lady Allworthy marrying Jirry Hoele’toemi and moving into the spacious estates of a palm-thatched longhouse does sound a little odd. Which is why I will be keeping the longhouse and dropping the Lady part of it.

    (Later) Just when all our plans were made and polished, something happened to put the tin hat on them. We should be used to this by now. Just before lights-out Maria decided to “spill the beans” on what she had been doing. She has met Saimmi before we managed to, and that Japanese Spontoonie priestess that painted Prudence’s team portrait! It looks like we have a mission to Krupmark far sooner than expected – Maria and Molly are asked to join the team, while we are not. Well! I can’t say I think much of that; Helen and I did not do too badly on Cranium Island and we have been practicing a lot since then. Even Saffina was asked to go; a fine thing to take a second-year on an Adventure and leave two third-years on the shelf. When Maria told us the departure date of 21st December, that rather gave us pause. True enough, we are booked to be on Sacred Island that day. Helen and I had a long debate just before Miss Devinski came round checking on us, and indeed there is much to think about.

    From what Maria tells us, the fragment on Krupmark Island is far nastier than the mostly depleted one that changed Cranium Island into what it now is. This one is “Buried In Earth”, somewhere near the abandoned church, a Spanish mission church built around 1750 and the only trace left of a settlement that went rapidly extinct. Given what it must be sitting on, one doubts the final days of that community were pleasant. Just to really cap it all, we are not the only folk who know where it is. We might have had more time to prepare, but a certain Adventuress has obtained the drained Cranium Island fragment from Professor Schiller and wants to complete the set. If she is acting as an agent for someone with serious money (her usual career) or working on her own, nobody seems to know.

    If Kansas Smith gets hold of this artefact and knows what to do with it, this would be rather bad news for the world. I recall hearing that Cranium Island shrew Alpha Rote explaining that according to some of her neighbours’ theories the original Spontoonies were testing a doomsday weapon – an idea that she deeply respected. As she said, having built such a thing the temptation to test it would be hard to resist for long, even if this is not the sort they have in the pulp comics with a big inviting red button. Mind you, Cranium Island is what some folk have called “Insanity friendly” and not prejudiced towards clear and stable thinking.  Considering what happened centuries ago at the Great Ritual, we can hardly risk anyone getting their paws on the other fragments, especially if they only have a rough idea what they do and are tempted to experiment. Being Tailfast will just have to wait for me, Helen and the Hoele’toemi brothers.

    There are all sorts of stories one hears about Kansas Smith and not all of them can be true. Some I think she had spread herself; by all accounts she believes in advertising boosting trade, and treasure-hunters have no Union rules. But a lot of the stories are rather disturbing ones that I doubt she would really have wanted getting out. That young pig called Half Ration who travels with her – I have seen the thing that travels along with him, and definitely do not like it. One of the stories say that Half Ration was just a hired Native porter on one of the treasure-seeking trips, who fell through thin ice and was rescued apparently too late. We have done a lot of first-aid and life-saving, and know that people who look definitely drowned might still be revived with strenuous measures. In his case, although he was brought back to life the story says that something else came back with him. I can believe that one.

       
16th December

Last day of term! It has been hectic; re-familiarising ourselves with flying, air navigation and such as if we would have forgotten it in a fortnight. In the Aleutians one can imagine managing to launch aircraft without a runway; all you might need is a turntable with sturdy clamps. Most days one could just turn it into the wind, run up the engine before releasing the clamps and climb straight off, there being enough headwind for takeoff speed. Landing could be tricky. Most things in the Aleutians are, except perishing of exposure.

    It seems very odd this term, having just got back to Songmark and leaving again so soon. All four of us are staying on the island – we have only two holidays left together as students, and even before Maria’s news we were determined to make the most of it. As to tracking down the fragments, Maria has been busy indeed; before Eva told us Professor Schiller had sold the Cranium Island piece she had an official invite arranged for us to visit New South Thule and (unofficially) look for it. That will have to wait till Easter now, if we get there at all. Anyway, we hear that Professor Schiller is back on Spontoon, hopefully not to try for the Krupmark artefact. It is her disturbing knowing we are not the only Euros with an interest in such artefacts; for centuries they were safe while they were dismissed as “Native Superstition.” What depopulated the Spontoon group was no superstition. Professor Schiller is investigating exactly how such things work, and despite being fairly neutral as to the Spontoonies, there are cases where ignorance is bliss. If he was still ignorant of a lot of things around here we would be happier.

    Maria says there are extensive archives in Rome under the Vatican full of fascinating things learned or concealed in its early years. One needs to speak Latin, and indeed some of these archives are never likely to see the light of day. I doubt Beryl’s story of there being a first draft of the Bible (before they took all the jokes out at the Council of Niceae in the 5th Century) but if such a thing existed, that is where it would be. Not in the possession of a friend of a friend of our tricky mouse, who could be persuaded to part with it for a suitable sum. She never will give a straight answer, and claims to have been brought up attending a low-Church Non-Confirmist Chapel.

    I had to write putting off Judge Poynter again; it is a shame but there is nothing else for it. The tenants of the Allworthy Estates will be waiting for my reply, but until I have sorted things out with the Judge there is nothing I can really tell them. Perhaps the rightful heir somewhere will get an unexpected piece of good news for Christmas – though since the Great War people have become cautious about “it’ll all be over by Christmas.” New Year may have to do.

    End of term at Songmark is like a stirred ant-heap, with sixty girls suddenly signed off by the Tutors and hurrying in all directions. No group meal at Bow Thai this term, though many of us are heading over to Casino Island. The second and third-years who have flights home tonight have learned to send their baggage ahead of them, to have it passed through Customs while they are looking eagerly at the clock in their last air navigation class. Five o’clock and there is a rush for the gate (though this time of year there is only one scheduled service heading to Hawaii in the evening, and one heading down to the French Sandwich Islands.)

    Although many folk departing tonight were heading over to Mahanish’s at the airport for a celebratory meal before their flights and the last Nootnops Blue they will get till they return here, in the circumstances all four of us and Saffina packed our overnight bags and by quarter past six were on a water-taxi heading over to South Island. Mrs. Hoele’toemi is a better cook by many a nautical mile than Songmark has.
 
   Thinking of excellent chefs, we hear from the second-years that on Casino Island the Ave Argentum has a fully trained Spanish chef now, a refugee from Barcelona where a Worker’s Anarchist Militia has taken over the top hotel he worked in. They have red meat and red wine on their menu, and no Poi. Their prospectus promises good accommodation, and respectable conditions for the “respectable” senoritas and similar. True, nobody has taken any photographs for next year’s Songmark prospectus of Molly squatting by a jungle fire eating Maconochie out of a hacked-open tin with a saw-backed bayonet for cutlery; it might be a little off-putting. Songmark is a “Boarding school for Young Ladies”, not trainee trench raiders. On paper, anyway.

    Saffina has been telling us that though the Ave Argentum are not saying anything directly against Songmark, they do not at all mind others doing so. That is, there is a lot of “comparisons” being made about the kind of students we take relative to them. Having Molly, Beryl, Red Dorm and the like onboard does not make for a popularity contest with some people. It would be very tempting to ask Beryl for ideas about taking the wind out of their sails, but she is likely enough to do it anyway, and I will sleep better for knowing nothing about it. What our Tutors do, if they decide to do anything, should be worth watching – like a volcano, from a safe distance. New South Thule sounds good.

    Saffina has also obtained a copy of their course guide and prospectus, and they put very different emphasis on Adventuring styles. They seem to be emphasising running a team by being a leader of hired helps, not the Songmark style at all. More Kansas Smith, I would say. “Selection and use of Henchmen” is one of the skills not listed in the Songmark class list, though to be honest that is not quite what the Ave Argentum call it either.

    It is excellent to be back on Haio Beach after so long. All the family was there – happily including Jirry and his father, in fact everyone except Saimmi who is a rare visitor these days. But she did arrive after Supper, and we immediately tackled her about Helen and me not being invited on the Krupmark trip. She looked a little sour that we had found out about it – and warned us it was not a trip anyone should look forward to, plus we are due to be Tailfast to her brothers and she refused to spoil that for us.

    I did point out that there is little point in our training to be Warrior Priestesses if we get left behind like surplus baggage; Helen added that Marti can certainly wait another six months if he thinks her worth waiting for. Plus, if the worst comes to the worst and all the fragments are reunited, Spontoon might not be a calm and pleasant place to relax and enjoy our Tailfast rings if we get them. Besides, we are not going to let Molly and Maria run off into danger without us, especially as it is the sort of danger we are training to tackle and they are not.

    Saimmi conceded the point, though she was obviously not happy about it. She is not going herself, being High Priestess and unable to leave the islands. I think that is part of what made her so worried; this is the first time I know of she has had to sit back and send others into danger. She is responsible for us since Huakava died, and must be contemplating the possibility of none of us coming back alive. Keeping at least Helen and me in reserve would make sense from one point of view. But sending us as the best team gives everyone else a better chance of making it back. It is like Miss Wildford told us about the dilemma of choosing equipment to go Adventuring; in the swashbuckling adventure films the hero heads out with the irreplaceable family sword and the utterly loyal horse he raised from a foal. That might give him the best chance of success – and yet choosing a plain military blade and an anonymous remount is less heartbreaking when circumstances force you to abandon the hardware or ride the horse to death. In accounts of real adventure rather than romances this sometimes happens.

    Saimmi may be our good friend and future sister-in-law, but she has to put all that aside when Duty is involved. She warned us to look after her Priestess Oharu, and basically not to come back without her, ever. Well, it is not the first time we have been bodyguards, and indeed Songmark qualifies us for that job as does our Warrior Priestess training on another level. Saimmi is certainly giving her job her all. Letting us all go out together is definitely putting a lot of the eggs into one basket, even if it makes the basket sturdier. As Helen quoted from her countryfur Mr. Lincoln, to be a good general one must love and cherish the army, but be prepared to send it to its destruction to win the war. This is one conflict we have to win, cost what it may.

    We are to head out for final training to Main Island, to study with the (ex) Japanese priestess Oharu Wei, whom we have met. She is the one who turned the site of the former Chapel of the Sacred Heart into a Spontoonie sacred site, guarded by the most vigorous bamboo grove on record. Definitely we have a lot to learn! Happily she had no objection to the neighbouring Pie-shop of the Sacred Steak and Kidney, which is alive and well and now has a handy source of bamboo shoots for any herbivore customers.

    Having volunteered our services (well, insisted) the die was cast. However, we had at least one evening free while Saimmi went off to make her new arrangements. It is an awfully long time since I spent any time with Jirry – but we did our very best to make up for lost time, as did Helen and Marti. The Hoele’toemi family only have one Guest longhouse, and in better weather one or the other pair would head out with a hammock or Pandanus palm mat. But the hut is big enough for four, at a squeeze.
 

next