Foundling by D. M. Cornish

Author:D. M. Cornish
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Self-confidence, Fiction, Foundlings, Boys & Men, Monsters, Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, Boys, Family - Orphans & Foster Homes, Men, Science Fiction, All Ages, Tattooing, Social Issues, Magic, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Social Issues - Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, Orphans & Foster Homes, & Magic, Action & Adventure - General, Action & Adventure, Family, Fantasy fiction, Children's Books, General, Fantasy, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Children's 12-Up - Fiction - General
ISBN: 9780142409138
Publisher: Penguin Group USA
Published: 2007-09-11T07:00:00+00:00

14

AN OLD FRIEND RETURNS

frigate (noun) smallest of the dedicated fighting rams, usually having twenty or twenty-four guns down one broadside (guns-broad). Nimble and fast, they are considered the “eyes of the fleet,” running messages, performing reconnaissance and guarding a fleet’s flanks. There are oversized frigates called heavy-frigates, having up to thirty-two guns on one broadside. These are popular among pirates and privateers.

PASSAGE into the city had been easy. Fouracres had simply grinned at the gate wardens, said some pleasant words, and they had let them by with no more than a nod. Once beyond the gates Rossamünd’s head was swiveling left and right as he sought to see as much of this strange new place as possible. The buildings in High Vesting were generally taller than those in Boschenberg and made of a fine white stone, often with their foundations built of granite. Windows were taller, narrower, their panes rectangular rather than small diamonds. The streets, however, were wider and in better repair than those of Rossamünd’s home city.

Fouracres steered the landaulet nimbly through the throng of other vehicles: wheelbarrows, sedan chairs, carts, wagons, coaches and carriages as fine as Europe’s, and some even finer. The smell of the Grume wafted up every south-facing street, brought upon breezes of frosty air. Europe covered her nose and mouth with a gloved hand.

As they went, Fouracres made arrangements. “Now what is to be yer destination here?”

Europe roused herself and spoke first. “I need to attend the offices of Messrs. Ibdy & Adby on the Pontoon Wigh,” she said.

“Very well,” the postman replied politely. “. . . And, Rossamünd—yer mentioned something about Mister Germanicus at the Harbor Gov—”

“You can leave what he does and where he goes to me, postman!” Europe interrupted with a scowl. “You’re my driver and you drive. He is my factotum, and even if only for now, he attends me! When I decide it is time, his needs shall be met. Till then, serve me!”

Rossamünd blinked.

Fouracres scowled in return. “Last I knew, madam, he and most definitely I worked for the Emperor! So till I make a declaration otherwise, yer can keep yer ‘serve me’s’ to yerself. I’m doing yer a favor, and I’ll see it through, but I ain’t yer servant by any more than common decency allows!”

Europe, her eyes slitted and glaring, looked as if she could say more, much more, but then she sagged and returned to her blank stare at the passing scene. “However you want it . . . Just drive, will you?” was all she said.

The postman drove on while Rossamünd intently studied the right toe of his shoe, not daring to look up.

They came to a great square: an enormous paved area cordoned off from traffic and filled with fountains and commemorative columns. At each corner was a massive statue of the Arius Vigilans—the Vigilant Ram—a heavily horned he-sheep in various poses of stout defiance or regal repose. These were the representative animal of Rossamünd’s people the Hergotts, and seeing them so boldly displayed made him feel proud.

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