Extracts from a Diary
by Amelia Bourne-Phipps
-edited by Simon Barber-
2 May, 1937
Sunday May 2nd, 1937 A surprisingly relaxed morning – I had a good night’s sleep, and we were untroubled by the heavy tread of police boots on the stairs at three in the morning come to drag me off and give me the third degree (which surprised Molly, not that she thinks the Spontoon police force are up to much.) Definitely the extra “lie-in” on a Sunday morning is appreciated; more so as we woke up with a leisurely ten minutes before breakfast and saw two of Red Dorm finishing off an late gate-guard shift. It had evidently poured down in the night, too. Of all the things we may miss when we leave here, losing our extra hour of asleep to late gate guard will not be one of them. Or gate guard at all, for that matter. Maria was most sympathetic and pointed out that she only goes to Confession once per “incident” whereas I will be going over things with Mr. Sapohatan and Saimmi, plus possibly our Tutors and Jirry as well. Not that she has been as fanatical at attending Church as she was two years ago – indeed, it has been awhile. After breakfast we all headed out to South Island with fairly high spirits, noting the tourist cruise ship is still at its berth on Casino Island, though it was scheduled to leave last night. I imagine the local authorities are busy investigating for Evidence the effects of its three crew who will not need them any more – if the Police want to find me they are presumably in no hurry as they always know where to look. Indeed, Saimmi seems to know everything that goes on, whether through Mr. Sapohatan or through her own abilities. She was waiting for me and Helen, but especially for me, as she said. Actually I think she takes the time to get to be with her family. Most High Priestesses since the resettling of Spontoon have been twice her age, and as they rarely marry (not that there is any law against it) she is probably rare in having parents and older siblings to keep in touch with. Certainly I recall Huakava said she was the last of her line, and we have heard her predecessor was about as old when taking up the post. We walked out to the shrine at the edge of the jungle, to have space and room to talk. Saimmi had me talk through everything that happened, much as Mr. Sapohatan had done. She took awhile considering everything then nodded – Warrior Priestesses are meant to protect the innocent, and she had no hesitation on approving that. Definitely she approves of my dealing with three “outlanders” sent here to kill a Spontoonie! Though strictly speaking Harold is not a citizen, he has been here so long that everyone thinks of him as one. Except Harold himself who first came here as a staunch subject of Queen Victoria and in the finer ways he still is. I went through one of the purification rituals Saimmi taught us weeks ago, as indeed Warrior Priestesses expect to need them. At least I held up well enough to do what I had to – approaching the start of an Adventuring career would have been a poor time to discover myself caving in with “lack of moral fibre” as so many did in the War. The ritual took over an hour, after which Saimmi carried on our education – our Tutors are not the only ones who have little enough time left to polish our educations. That is another reason I have to get rid of the Allworthy title – if I am stuck looking after the estates, not only will Jirry be minus one bride, but Spontoon will be minus one Warrior Priestess - at least Helen is certain to return to Spontoon with or without me. Saffina is doing well, but if she will stay here or return to Ubangi-Chari is anyone’s guess. She is a Princess there, after all. An excellent luncheon as ever, with Molly and Maria helping Mrs. H with the work. When one thinks of Molly cooking, the image that comes to mind is her spit-roasting something freshly killed on a bayonet over a camp fire. But she likes her food as much as the rest of us, and although I am the only one of my dorm who studied and liked Home Economics at school, we have all put aside any fears of “getting domesticated” in favour of learning to prepare a jolly good meal for ourselves and our friends. We have Mrs. H as a fine example, as even Helen admits there is nothing wrong with her lifestyle. It cleared up considerably after luncheon, and we noticed for the first time that Summer is almost here! Certainly when the sun comes out the weather is warm enough for any tourist to happily sunbathe, though it is still rather unreliable. Molly noted that it would not be fun trotting round the dry sand beaches with our packs of wet sand today – which is a thought we are holding till tomorrow. “The evils of the day are sufficient unto themselves” as the saying goes, or as Helen puts it “don’t borrow trouble.” Certainly the weeds are springing up, and we helped pay for our lunch with an hour of work in the Hoele’toemi garden plot. Working alongside Jirry was definitely a treat, although it would hardly make for dramatic Hollywood style action. He has certainly lost a few pounds, and as we worked he told me about the decidedly hard and risky trip with his Father and various other Spontoonies. They have been picking up supplies, from some surprising places – they called in at Vladivostok and various Vostok ports as well, which is rare for a single cargo ship to do. Generally any vessel whose customs stamp has one destination is not welcome at the other, what with fears of secret agents slipping in with the cargo. Spontoon being as neutral as anywhere in the Pacific, it is rather like an island Switzerland with a lot of trade routed through there that ends up in surprising destinations. Something I did learn that presumably will not be featured in the Daily Elele, is that Jirry delivered components for a certain aircraft that he says I have seen two years before. I can hardly forget the amazingly manoeuvrable biplane fighters I found in the lava tube base on the Northern coast of Main Island! It is still embarrassing that I helped blow the base’s cover. I doubt they have another like it on Spontoon, and if they do, Euro governments knowing such places are built here will make them less secure as now everyone knows what to look for. Something one still reads in the Elele is the occasional fur loosely attached to some Embassy being found washed up evidently having gone cliff-scrambling or swimming without a guide. The Althing shake their heads sadly and officially remind outlander furs to always hire a qualified guide when exploring away from the tourist areas, and the Embassies just have to grit their collective teeth and wire home for a new “trade attaché” or whatever the official title may be for their agents. It was rather a wrench to drag ourselves away, more so for me. I found my gaze dwelling on the raised area where there is room for another longhouse to be built. I have no ambition to be Lady of the Manor in Barrow-in-Furriness (the Lake District is the coldest and wettest part of the North of England, which is saying a lot) and responsible for the upkeep of some leaky manor-house that has probably not had a penny spent on it in my lifetime – when I could have a clean new thatched longhouse and agreeable company here. My ears went right down and I had a cold sensation in the pit of my stomach imagining in ten years time Helen standing here pointing out to her striped cubs the bare patch where my longhouse was meant to be. If I was the kind to worry about such things I would think that what Liberty Morgenstern calls the “Aristo-Plutocratic Conspiracy” had arranged everything behind my back. But I suppose that is just how Society keeps things moving smoothly – having found me as an acceptable Lady Allworthy everyone was keen to make my way easy. There is even a clause, I am told, where the title passes to “any and all acknowledged children” with absolutely no caveats about pedigree or anything! I have no idea whether it is unique or not, but it is dramatically unusual and shows just how much folk want me back in England. Had things turned out otherwise after Macao I might have been thrown out of Songmark with a very non-pedigree mixed kitten from Mr. M’wede – but even that would not disqualify me or the child from the title, whatever people at home might think privately. As for “all acknowledged children” three years ago I would hardly have thought any could be unacknowledged – but one hears things about life far out on the Colonial frontier with girls of family as good as mine living out on farms and plantations with only natives around for hundreds of miles. It is rather unfair that none of their children get any sort of pedigree and are never sent back to Europe, but that is just the way Society works. No doubt it is a comfort to the colonial authorities that they will not be beating a flighty retreat back Home (and indeed, since the Great War there is about a ten percent shortfall of males in Europe – and not all the “surplus” girls would enjoy an evening here at the Double Lotus). I think folk at home might have heard about Jirry, and wanted to be sure I could have no reason to be disqualified from a post they really want to be filled. They must want me very badly indeed. Then, Barrow-in-Furryness is what they call a strategic place, with shipyards that are booming again as the order books for naval vessels fill up, and like any garden it needs looking after to grow. When we got back to the water-taxi slip we could see the big cruise ship heading out, delayed by less than a day and doubtless eager to get back on schedule once the Spontoon police had finished cross-examining the surviving crew. That is presumably that side of the investigation finished – as they say in the newspapers when they run detective serials, watch this space! I imagine any Siamese girls are being quizzed fairly carefully about their whereabouts. Hopefully Malou was with Nikki that afternoon for an alibi. A frighteningly incongruous sight was awaiting us when we got back to Eastern Island, and yet most furs would have seen nothing strange. There was a pretty, demure and elegantly dressed young lady being helped out of a water taxi by a well-dressed and most handsome gent of almost her own rodent species. They could have posed for the front cover of Harpers’ Magazine if they had a travel and tourism edition. As long as nobody recognises Beryl Parkesson and Piet van Hoogstraaten and knows the facts about that pair, the illusion would be complete. We have heard that Piet is always in top training, being captain of the local “Screaming Sculls” rowing team and probably high on the list of athletes to send representing Spontoon if anyone has started thinking about the next Olympics in Japan in 3 years time. Assuming nobody has “bumped him off” in the meantime as Molly puts it. Such an assassin would probably not live long with Beryl after him, assuming Beryl had not arranged it herself. Or even so – Molly has said that a professional assassin’s life is not a secure career, with employers keen to tidy up loose ends especially before payday. Beryl really does look elegant in her summer dress, though certainly she can afford Rachorska designs. It is just how she got the money that makes one’s fur rise – at least “huntresses” such as Nuala Rachorska and Gilda are honest workers and law-abiding (plus tax-paying) Citizens here. Back to Songmark, and more “cramming” for our exams! Although it was hard work of its kind, the Master’s Sailing Certificate was quite fun as it involves lots of fresh air and minutes at a time where one only needs to hold a course. There was plenty of textbook work to be sure, but it is made easier by having to instantly apply it – whenever I sail into an unfamiliar harbour, knowing which buoy marks the safe channel will be a definite comfort. And as to comfort – a ship’s berth may be basic but compared with the Songmark beds a hammock is luxury too! next |