Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Five - Cultural Considerations

“And here we go!” I said as I placed down what Awen and I had cooked.

It wasn’t anything too complicated, a big stew, with whatever spices smelled nice, chopped up carrots, parsnips, turnips, radishes, and beets. All root vegetables that apparently grew aplenty in the Sylphfree mountains, judging by the stores we had of those. We also added some lentils to add some thickness to the stew and some mushrooms tossed in as well to make it taste a little meatier.

I wasn’t sure of the taste yet, but my tummy was very insistent that I have a bowlful. Every sniff made it growl and grumble.

We pulled out a few extra chairs from the bedrooms so that there would be room for everyone at the dining room table.

The Beaver Cleaver was flying on a slow, meandering path westward, the wheel and sails locked and the engine shut down for the moment while the wind gently pushed us along. We couldn’t leave the wheel unattended forever, but for one meal? We could manage that.

“That smells fantastic,” Calamity said as he spun his chair around and sat on it backwards. Next to him, the Scallywags, Joe, Sally and Oda, pulled up their own seats. It was nice to see them getting along.

Steve, Gordon and Clive found seats mixed in with the rest of us, and soon enough I was taking people’s bowls and ladling in a healthy portion for everyone. Airshipping was busy, hard work, so the crew needed their bellies full.

Empty tummies lead to empty minds, I always found.

I served myself last, checked the cauldron (which was down to half, so not everyone would get thirds, which was a shame), then passed around some still-fresh bread before I sat down. “Eat up!” I called, even if some of the crew were already digging in.

What followed was a couple of minutes where the only sounds were happy noises and the clink-clink of spoons tapping against bowls. Eventually though, the initial hunger passed and Calamity, who was the first to empty his bowl, pointed across the table with his spoon. “So, is the princess supposed to be here?” he asked.

“Nope,” I said. “She snuck onboard.”

“That’s a gross oversimplification,” Caprica said.

“But it’s right?” I asked, a little confused. I paused to grab another spoonful of potato.

“You know, back in my day we used to just toss stowaways overboard,” Clive said. I looked at him, horrified, and he went on to clarify. “They were harpy, they could glide down safely enough.”

That still seemed a bit extreme, and not terribly nice, even if the stowaway wasn’t supposed to be there. “Well, let’s not throw Caprica overboard,” I said.

“Yes, she might be somewhat useful,” Amaryllis said.

“Somewhat?” Caprica grumbled. “I’ll have you know that I’m more than just somewhat useful, thank you very much.”

“Girls, don’t fight,” I admonished. “Not at the dinner table, please. Or even anywhere else.”

“It wasn’t a fight, Broccoli. Or even an argument. Just stating simple, verifiable facts,” Amaryllis said. She smiled slyly as she took a sip of water.

Caprica glared across at her, then seemingly decided to be the bigger person and also let everyone know that she was being the bigger person by sniffing haughtily and looking away.

“So, is this normal?” Calamity asked.

“Kidnapping noblewomen?” I asked. “I don’t think it’s normal, but it is strange that it’s happened twice.”

“Wait, was Amaryllis the first time?” he asked.

“Oh, awa, that was me,” Awen said. “And it wasn’t so much kidnapping as, um, Broccoli helping me to run away from home.”

“Huh, alright,” Calamity said. “Ny’all are a weird bunch, you know that?”

I laughed, and the mood at the table lightened up a bit, not that it was ever dark to begin with. Though it was getting darker outside. The Beaver’s dining room had a floor-to-ceiling window to one side that gave us a stunning view of the expanse of sky and land below, all of which was turning the burnt-orange of near-night.

Soon enough it was time for dessert, which wasn’t anything too fancy. Sylph chocolate bars, which were more like chocolate bricks that we had to scrape with a knife and which I imagined would break the teeth of anyone that tried to bite it.

Caprica showed us a neat trick with some fire magic that warmed the interior of the bar up and turned it soft enough to be sliced apart with a butter knife.

Once dessert was had and everyone sat back and enjoyed a mugful of warm tea, we discussed night rotations (I volunteered to take the first half of the night’s watch since I was wide awake) and generally planned our flight to the Snowlands.

We were currently so far north that to get to the capital, Stormtower, we would actually need to head south around the Deepcloud mountains, then straight west for a long ways. It was going to take two days, at least, and that was if the wind was with us.

No one here had flown across this part of the world before, but Clive warned that the winds around any mountains could be tricky, so we’d have to watch our heading and maybe fight the wind for a little while.

On the more positive side of things, we had bunkers full of fuel, and more fuel aboard the Redemption if we needed it. Our pantry was full of yummy stuff to eat, and the company was fun to be around.

With food taken care of, I said I’d do the washing up (which was basically just magic practice) and then the crew dispersed. Those on break lingered and those who had to take care of things went off to see to them.

That meant that in the end, I was left mostly alone with Amaryllis and Caprica in the little kitchen space we had. I Cleaned our plates off and secured them in our rattle-resistant plate racks.

“What do you know about the Snowlands?” Caprica asked.

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“Why? Do you intend to lecture us?” Amaryllis asked right back.

“Girls,” I warned.

“Sorry,” Amaryllis said after a moment. “Do go on.”

Caprica nodded. “What I meant to ask was... well, I know a little about them, but not too much. I’ve met a few Snowlanders, but only rarely, and their nation is far enough away from Sylphfree that we don’t have much business with them. I imagine you might have seen them more often, Amaryllis, seeing as how you’re basically neighbours.”

“There’s a strip of land between the Harpy Mountains and the Snowlands. It ostensibly belongs to the Trenten Flats, even if their claim on the region is... tenuous at best,” Amaryllis said. “In any case, no, I really don’t know much about them. Most of their technology is ahead of ours, and they’re not keen on sharing, but otherwise...” She trailed off. “You could ask Awen about their machinery, she’d know more than I do.”

Awen was off checking on the engine at the moment, so that kind of discussion would have to wait.

“I don’t think a people’s technology is everything there is,” I said. “What’s their culture like? Are they friendly? Shy? Reclusive? I haven’t met anyone from there so I wouldn’t know where to start. What do Snowlanders even look like?”

“Oh,” Caprica said. “Well, I can share a little about their culture, but I think you’re operating under a misunderstanding.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“It’s a fair one to make. Most nations have formed around a dominant core of a certain species, with representatives outside of that species being rare, although hardly unheard of. In Sylphfree we have the molefolk who make up a sizable percentage of the total population, even though they are quite different culturally. I think the Trenten Flats are a little more diverse when it comes to its population. The leadership and majority are both held by cervid, but a number of enclaves and cities exist with other peoples. Calamity’s kin being one large group.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is the Snowlands like that?”

She nodded. “The nation is nearly evenly split between two groups who have coexisted for a very long time.”

“That’s cool!” I said.

“Cool?” Caprica asked.

“It’s a Broccoli-ism,” Amaryllis explained. “It means both interesting, neat, and cold at the same time. I suspect it’s because she comes from a place that’s very cold.”

I blinked. How had my translation magic stuff translated ‘cool’ just then? “Yeah, anyway, tell me more about the Snowlanders. Are the two species similar, or are they super different?”

“It’s less a scenario like the Harpy Mountains with its dozens of clans and old families,” Amaryllis said. “And more something akin to... well, actually I think it’s rather unique. The larger of the two groups--thought not by very much--are called the Cold Mountain Dwarves, and the smaller group is called the Snow Forest Elves.”

I dropped a bowl.

Fortunately, it was a tin bowl (because anything easy to break would be silly on an airship) and all it did was clang onto the floor, then do a warble-wobble until it settled. “Dwarves? Elves?!” I asked.

“Yes?” Caprica said. She was leaning way back, and I realized that maybe I hadn’t been using my indoor voice there.

“Sorry, but... yeah, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Why are you surprised?” Amaryllis asked.

“I just am,” I said. “Are they Tolkien elves?”

“What?” they both asked at the same time.

I shook my head. “Sorry, I mean, tall, pretty, very long-lived? Lithe?”

Amaryllis nodded. “That seems to describe them. Though I don’t know about their lifespans.”

“They’re quite long-lived,” Caprica said. “But there are relatively few of them, overall.”

“Awesome! And are the dwarves small stocky fellows with big beards?”

“So you have heard of them,” Caprica said. “Are there any in your homeland?”

“No, but I wish there were! Oh, now I can’t wait to arrive. Are the elves snooty? Do the dwarves care a bunch about their beards?” I asked. These were, of course, very important questions. When I set out to play fantasy tourist I didn’t expect to actually meet actual elves and dwarves.

“I... don’t know about snooty. They’re certainly a proud and noble race,” Caprica said. “As for the dwarves, yes, they do tend to have beards.”

“This is amazing, I am so excited,” I could barely contain myself.

“We can see that,” Amaryllis replied. I think she was a little teensy bit weirded out, but she didn’t understand, so it wasn’t her fault. “In any case, the Snowlanders are big on respect and decorum. Moreso even than Sylphfree.”

“And at the same time, they’re also exceptionally laid back,” Caprica said. “It’s a challenge to determine when they’ll switch from extremely formal to... nearly vulgar in their informality. It’s not even a question of friendship or power dynamics. I honestly don't know how they choose which set of behaviors is appropriate, or what factors might influence them -- no one knows, in fact, so I’ve always been taught to be formal and polite to a fault around them. Being informal when you should be formal is an insult, the opposite is merely a faux-pas, so that’s the rule when dealing with them.”

“I think I can manage that,” I said. “How do you think they’ll react to our mission? Is it even a mission?”

“Chasing down Vonowl?” Amaryllis said. She avoided calling him a baron, I noticed. “If they know what’s good for them, they’ll surrender him to the Harpy Mountains for justice without too much of a fuss.”

“Or they might not. It’s hard to tell. We might have more luck dealing with an intermediary. There are a number of humans in the Snowlands, especially in their port cities where Endless Swell ships can come in to dock. They might be able to simplify our quest for us.”

“I’m sure things will work out,” I said. “In the meantime, we’re still a couple of days out, aren’t we?”

***