Viscount Lucina gazed at the Imperial Palace from the grand causeway that led up to the fanciful confectionery creation of soaring towers and turrets, flying buttresses and jutting bartizans, vaulting arches and gilded apses, and slender spires that reached to the sky, topped with globes of solar flame. It was a gargantuan monument to Imperial wealth and power, added to by each and every Emperor, spilling out in all directions, a sprawling complex that took hours to navigate.

What on earth could the Emperor want from him?

[Vanash Ikara, The Imperial Palace, Audience Chamber]

A herald in the imperial colours – gold and rich crimson – bearing a gilded trumpet and burnished cane, called out his name, and the two footmen swung open the grand doors in perfect synchrony.

The audience chamber was vast, and everywhere buttery gold flashed and flared; from the bases and capitals on the columns, to the friezes that wrapped around them, to the gilt paintings and golden thread in the tapestries. The throne was upon a raised dais at the far end of the hall, in front of a phoenix captured in metal, just emerging into flight. Each and every step was lined with royal guards, bulking in scarlet armour. Everything was thrown to almost painful brilliance by the sunshine lancing in through three huge ocularies, the light sent throughout the room by shimmering mirrors.

Another herald announced him. “Viscount Lucina, of the merchant House of Lucina, approach the throne!”

Lucina bridled. This particular herald was new, and with the delicacy of features that belied noble birth – probably some impecunious youth from one of the old families. He was also not likely to last long – the emphasis he put on the word ‘merchant’ would soon garner him powerful enemies among those elevated to the peerage.

Lucina walked up the red carpet and knelt before the throne and the Emperor.

“Rise, Lucina,” commanded the Emperor.

“You summoned me, majesty?”

“Indeed. It has been brought to our attention that we have become rather insular, and it has been quite a while since we had any contact with the other races of men. As such, we have been looking for a suitable candidate to go out into the world and represent our interests. Your name was presented to me three months ago, and we have been watching you and your House ever since, and have arrived at the same conclusion as our advisors. Viscount Lucina, you are to be the Dieman Ambassador Extraordinary that we shall be sending out. You have four days, to set your affairs in order, and you are to report for briefing here before setting off. That will be all, Viscount Lucina. Go with our imperial blessing.”

Lucina bowed and left, his mind awhirl with possibilities and problems.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Vanash Ikara, The Imperial Palace, Subterrane, Secure Briefing Room]

“Do you understand the interests you will protect and the agreements the authority given to you by the imperial throne allows you to make, Viscount Lucina?” The speaker was one of the Dieman administrative corps; his robes bore the markings of a senior diplomatic official in the palace.

“I do.”

“Good, good. Just to recap, then. Your mandate is to encourage friendly relations with any nations that have developed since the last diplomatic mission and to restore relations with any that still survive. You have a free rein over trade agreements – your mercantile background and success has assured His Majesty of your competency there – but we request that you notify the palace before contracting major treaties – declarations of peace, alliances, war, that sort of thing. His Majesty is very interested in anything you find – we will be expecting regular reports. Now, there are a few administrative matters that require your attention before we can send you on your way. All perfectly routine, sir. If you would sign here. And here, and here. Here, here and here, too, sir.”

“What am I signing?”

“Essentially, they add up to your acknowledgement of your duties, responsibilities and privileges, a receipt for the battleships His Majesty has decided will form your convoy, receipts for provisions and those of your retinue, and some authorization forms that will grant you formal authority over such troops as we are sending with you at this time.”

“Troops? Ships? As in, sea ships?”

“Yes, Viscount Lucina. Sea ships. His Majesty is unwilling to provide you with an airship at this present time, and we have a surplus of suitable seagoing vessels in the harbour. As to the troops, well, we simply don’t know what's out there, Viscount Lucina. And we do not send our emissaries out unprotected.”

The clerk pulled out a map from one of the drawers of the desk. It crackled, was brown at the edges and obviously ancient. It was unrolled with care; it seemed to be a map of the world.

“KiiAmat!” exclaimed Lucina. “This map's over eight hundred years old!” The date was written in spidery, ancient script in the upper corner of the musty map.

The clerk made a face. “I know, and I’m sorry. That’s when we last opened the borders and sent out merchants and cartographers. Still, I doubt the land has changed that much; it should give your captain a rough idea.”

The man’s finger indicated a large landmass to the north and east, above the Empire island. “We would recommend you attempt to see what became of this place,” he advised. “The nation which last occupied this area tended to be friendly and open to new trading partners.”

Lumen looked up as there came a knock on the door. “Enter,” he called, laying down his pen with a sigh.

A clerk came in bearing a flimsy message. He bowed deeply and announced, “A message has arrived from the Viscount Lucina, majesty.”

The Emperor looked interested. “Read it, please.”

The clerk cleared his throat. “Dear your most gracious majesty, et cetera. Map useless, weather awful. Don’t talk to me about reefs, atolls, sargasso and if you even think about mentioning whirlpools it will go very hard with you. I hate you, sir. Have managed to hit a reasonably clear patch of sea that doesn’t go up and down too much – or indeed, at all – and so have felt well enough (for once) to send you this. Have had no contact with anyone as of yet, unless you count the fish and the birds. Climate is, as advertised, wretched. It’s always cold. Have had to dig out winter clothes – advisory to bear in mind for the next expedition: bring layers. Anticipating your reply of ‘continue on until you hit something substantial/die,’ I demand an airship of cruiser-size or better to meet me just outside the big island on that ludicrously ancient map we have. Send it or else. Your faithful, humble servant, et cetera, Viscount Lucina.”

The Emperor leaned back. “He actually used the words et cetera?”

“Yes, sir.” Lumen chuckled.

“He sounds like he’s having fun, doesn’t he, Erin?”

“He does indeed, sir. Will you send an airship?”

The Emperor flapped a hand. “No, I don’t think so. If he really wanted one, he’d have had a Dancer come and harangue me. Still it is rather worrying he’s not found anyone. I know we’re rather remote on the world stage, but we did have extensive trade with people at one point. Some must still be around, surely?”

“I really couldn’t say, sir.”

The Emperor looked up sharply, having forgotten that the clerk was still in the room. “Leave that with me. You’re dismissed.”

The man bowed and left, and the Emperor picked up the message, seeing the deep fold lines that characterised a paperbird missive. Reading it again, he began a reply.

Sanzin looked up as the paperboy appeared at the door. The poor fellow had to run up all one thousand and eighty-four steps every day to the top of the Letterhead Spire to collect the day's paperbirds, and was looking out of breath despite the training regimen.

"Yes?"

"Message...message from...Viscount Lu...Lucina," he wheezed, handing over what seemed to be a novella, or perhaps the contents pages of a palace Internal Audit report.

Sanzin raised his eyebrows. "Already? Gosh. Hope the Emperor finds it as amusing as the last report. I'll take it to him. You can go. A drink of water would seem to be in order." The boy gratefully left.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Imperial Palace, Emperor's Private Chambers, Study]

Lumen looked at the sombre butler as he placed the large bird on his master's desk. "Rather substantial, isn't it?"

"He obviously had a lot to write home about. I believe the latter part is to go to his better half in Lumina, sir."

"Well, why did he send it here, then? I don't want to read soppy drivel."

"Letterhead is the strongest signal. I think he didn't want it to get lost on the journey, that's all."

Lumen waved a hand irritably. "Well, forward that to Lumina's tower. I don't want to - nor should I - read it." Sanzin bowed and snipped the offending section from the bird, not reducing it notably in size.

The Emperor began to read. About halfway through, he began to make notes. He didn't want to read the epic more than once, and some of the swearwords in the beginning had been jolly inventive.

He sent for Sanzin some time later, and there were a whole flock of birds waiting to be sent. "All these, sir?"

"Yes. Take special care with those to Marquess Luxholme and that chocolate merchant from Tèré. All these people, and their families, are to be placed under Imperial Protection, too. Make it known to the Poisonsong Academy, would you? Oh, and send for the Concerto. They'll be the escort airship."

"Very good, sir. Viscount Lucina will be most pleased."

“All ahead full, course for Vanash Ikara.”

“Course Vanash Ikara, aye sir!”

The bloodred battleship turned delicately and began to sail for the Empire of Diem, carefully avoiding sargasso that would otherwise tangle in the screws and rudder and the vast whirlpool that would swallow the Islander ships whole.

After days of sailing across the trackless ocean, the blessed cliffs of the island Empire loomed large, bright white-gold in the tropical sun. The captain smiled as they headed for the channel between cliffs that led to the Lagoon and the glittering Imperial City.

The twin fortresses atop the cliffs that encircled the Siriatic Lagoon began to fire their serried ranks of cannon, the thunderous reports echoing off the sea to welcome the foreigners, as the Islander ships drew closer, escorted by the battleship.

The Islander ships drew closer to the cliffs, and further crimson vessels shot out to form an honour guard about them. As they passed through the Belis Mouth, a rank of trumpeters on the escorts let loose a royal fanfare that echoed off the glassy lake.

Before the fleet towered the Imperial City, built on a gargantuan island but so completely covering it the city seemed to rise out of the glassy Lagoon on its own, a profusion of ornate spires and domes flashing in the sunlight, creamy marble and harsh gold and glittering, insubstantial glass.

Flares sped up from the city and burst into solar light and words. The captain squinted up at them through his glass. “Set course for Demar Marina,” he called.

Shortly, the Oceana drew up to the dock and fired its ropes deep into the quay. The captain started down the gangplank and bowed to the Dieman waiting on the docks amid a bevy of soldiers. “Allow me to present Flank-Admiral Tuirins, of the Kingdom of the Isles,” he said, gesturing at Tuirins.

“Hail to you,” said the gentleman waiting for them. He was young, very young, but he carried with him an air of gravity and authority far beyond his years. A golden tiara adorned his head, and his robes were glowing crimson mood-silks, his flame-red hair intricately braided. He carried a short rod, solid gold by the look of it, with a huge ruby embedded in its tip. Rubies also glowed like fire at his neck and ankles. “I am Prince Noon. Welcome to the Empire of Diem.”

"Thank you, prince Noon." Admiral Tuirins said, giving a slight bow, which was a large statement for an Islander. They'd never been a particularly tamable people, and since the King they'd generally avowed it in any case but to the king himself. Any kind of bow was an acknowledgment of royalty. "It is an honor to visit your marvelous home."

Harms stood by and let Tuirins do most of the talking. Sometimes it was better to be the sidekick, at least until he knew more about the place. Where Tuirins wore his best uniform and medals, Harms had gone for the finest furs, leathers, and linen he could he could purchase. It was something that might impress people here. Unfortunately it was also extremely hot.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, flank-admiral,” Noon murmured. “Come, the Emperor is most anxious to meet you.” And with that, he wheeled and began to stride up a vast, gently upwards-curving causeway, his guards drawn about him.

As they slowly rose away from the docks, the bustle of the true city rose from every direction. They walked through markets where traders with honeyed voices plied their wares – exotic woods and rare spices, chocolate and perfume. Overhead hummed transports, laden with freight, weaving between the towering spires. Every so often there was a brief green belt of silence – trees and flowers and water – before they plunged back into the teeming city. Eventually, they reached a sheer wall of rock, carved into buildings, seemingly impassable. A complex tier of elevators were in constant use, though, ferrying people up and down, and soon they were rising over the lower city to the high plateau of the wealthy and privileged, the palace’s sprawling complex dominating.

“You seem uncomfortable, sir,” remarked the Prince, idly, to Harms, as they rose. “I confess I have a fear of little heights too,” he said, having mistaken the man’s near-heatstroke experience.

"Hrm?" Harm said, having been called out of his musings by the Prince's comment. "Oh, The height would not be so bad. I regret more that I came somewhat unprepared for your climate."

"Climate? I know it's autumn, but it's not that chilly, so-" He paused. "Oh, yes, I remember reading one of Lucina's reports. Your home clime is somewhat colder, isn't it?" Just then, the elaborate elevator grilles slid open and allowed them out into the upper city. "No matter. We shall be at the palace shortly, and I'll have a tailor waiting with some appropriate clothes." Noon stepped out, and gestured to the palanquins that were waiting.

Borne at a leisurely pace through the wide boulevards, there was more time to relax and enjoy the sights. Up here, life was more sedate, without the frantic buzz of the lower city, and the gardens were both more frequent and more splendid. Eventually, they came to a stop before a low marble wall and a pair of golden gates which swung open ponderously - they were immensely heavy.

The palace sprawled before them - towering complexes of buildings linked in dizzying array, soaring spires, cupolas that glowed like burnished eyes and elaborate gardens in formal profusion. A blinding causeway led to the main building, lined with guards in full crimson armour, their heavy cannons broken over their arms. Each offered a thunderous salute to the Prince as he passed, who acknowledged them with a slight incline of his head.

The doors to the entrance hall were swung open in perfect time.

The palace entrance hall was designed to impress. A vast expanse of buttery marble, pale, blushing yellow, polished to a mirror-shine rolled away to lap at the foot of the gargantuan golden staircase that swept up from the floor, meeting at a grand landing, the seal of the Empire punched into the floor, before splitting in two below an ornamented balcony, rising to the mezzanine gallery which swept about the vast chamber. The banisters were bloodred stone, richly carved with nymphs and forest creatures, the gallery arches hung with gold and crimson drapes.

High overhead, poised delicately between solid earth and painted heaven, the chandelier glittered in space, solar flames burning in its myriad lights and catching in the crystal chains, refracted a million times, sending lambent light down to dust the room and pool on the nymphs holding aloft their crowns of candles, their gold skin, the pinnacle of a metalworker’s art, shimmering with a royal lustre.

Displays of scarlet roses lent their perfume to the still air, the viridian green stark in the decadent world of gold and ruby, spilling down from elaborate stands. Immaculate footmen were ranged about the chamber, a pair by every cherrywood door, white-gloved hands set on the glittering handles, themselves a part of the furniture, staring straight ahead in their formal coats, a deep crimson edged with gold, buttoned tight even in the height of summer.

Prince Noon had a taste for the theatrical, and moved to stand at the landing, looking down on the Islander delegation. "Welcome to the Imperial Palace," he said solemnly. "The Emperor is waiting for you in the throne room." He gestured behind him to a pair of doors. "A herald will announce you. I bid you good day - I have other duties to which I must attend." He offered them a small smile, a slight crack in the imperial mask.

A silent servant led them through a maze of halls and corridors, an opulent warren, before they were left in a small and relatively spartan antechamber. A herald - tall and distinguished, seemingly inflated in much the same manner as a balloon, his buttons straining, gestured for the doors to open.

The throne room rolled off to infinity, extravagantly buttressed and bartizaned with flashing gold, elaborate tiers rising from the floor out of curving staircases, bedecked with curling statuary locked in metal ecstasy and hung with the banners of the Empire, though every second one had been replaced with a replica of the Islander flag.

Crimson legionnaires, their armour unbearably bright in the light that streamed in from six ocularies set into the magnificently-painted ceiling, lined the sides of the room, and in between them the court washed and danced and chattered. Gold and jewels flashed; the ladies wore very little and the men were not much better; diaphanous silk wraps that clung to them as they moved.

“It’s not quite as vapid as it looks,” murmured the herald to the Islanders.

The twin thrones were surprisingly simple, low, curving chairs of gold, padded with rich red satin, but behind them rose a massive sculpture of a phoenix, captured in the very instant of tearing itself free of the rock wall, a huge ruby eye glittering from its proud head.

The emperor was small, as most Diemen were, his robes red and gold, a phoenix mantle. On his head, a crown, fantastically ornamented, shivered and shimmered with solar light. The weight of it must have been unbelievable, but he wore it well, with no sign of its heaviness evident in his eyes or on his face. His hands rested on the arms of his throne, chains glittering from bands of gold about his wrists, and his blonde hair in intricate braids poured over his shoulders.

“Presenting His Excellency the Right Honourable Ambassador William, Flank-Admiral Tuirins, and the Worthy Merchant Harms!” their solemn herald boomed.

“Approach,” commanded the Emperor. His voice was not loud, but nor did it need to be: as if by magic, some unseen hand parting the sea of the court, a wide aisle opened for them towards the thrones.

Harms, being the merchant he was, momentarily forgot the unpleasant heat as his mind went about calculating the monetary value of everything he saw in the palace. The sum was astronomical; and then some. The image of a never-ending stream of gold flowing down from above presented itself in his mind. The King's foreign policy crystallized in his vision: Have a hand in every transaction between the empire and the rest of the world.

Tuirins was different. Whether he gave the exotic displays around him more then a passing appreciation for their beauty was hard to tell. He was much more concerned with the people, and seemed to watch them with the most observant of eyes. He lead Harms forward towards the emperor with the steady step of a military man. The martial traditions of the Islands could be noted in the way he ignored the crowd and heat and extravagance as he approached the emperor.

"I am honored to meet you, your Excellency." He said, bowing.

[On the sea, heading west-ward, sector I-5]

On-board the Wyvern, the spotters on the bow of the ship spotted an island [whatever that one is in sector K-4], and alerted their captain, Captain Rillick. "Turn port side for that island!" The captain bellowed, and the slaves below deck responded with the rudder, easing the ship into a wide-turn toward the island. As the ship came nearer, it bellowed a horn in hopes of anyone to signal them. Best to present yourself openly than to appear suddenly and be attacked-upon.

"As we are honoured by your visit to our humble island. Rise, flank-admiral, let me see you." The Emperor nodded as the man straightened up from his bow. "Welcome to the Empire. I hope your stay with us will be profitable - both for you and your merchants and for us. I have heard many good things from the Viscount Lucina about you and yours - I am quite sure I shall not be disappointed. You have flourished in the centuries of our exile, it seems."

((Any Dieman patrols or something of the sorts that the Wyvern might encounter?))

[Dieman Empire, Plague Isle, Sector K4]

The kilometre cordon ships were on constant patrol. It was something of an unnecessary precaution - every Dieman ship gave it a wide berth as a matter of course, but in accordance with ancient edicts the Navy still maintained its patrols and all the brilliant warnings about the Red Death which still lurked on the island.

"Ship, sir!" called a lookout, suddenly, startling the captain. "Ship, two points north!"

"What the...all right, alert the rest of the cordon and the Admiralty! Fire warning flares - do not approach further. Divert your course or be destroyed." The sleek crimson cruiser left its position and bore down on the vessel.

((Just for reference, it's an ironclad frigate.))

As the ships were spotted and the flares sent, a giant white flag was raised to signal friendly intentions and parley.

[DNS Dira]

"White flag!" reported the lookout. The captain gripped the rails as the cruiser tore across the intervening sea.

"Hold your position!" he roared, his voice sorcerously augmented, one that was probably heard in Vanash Ikara.

The cruiser drew alongside the ironclad frigate. "This is Captain Richard Luxholme of the DNS Dira. Why have you tried to land on the Plague Isle?"

"We have come in search of more peoples for diplomatic and trade relations. I am Captain Rillick of the ZS Wyvern. This is the first piece of land we have seen since we departed east and slightly north of here."

Captain Luxholme frowned. "You cannot dock here. Proceed west, following the cliffs, until you reach two further islands. You will be escorted from there."

"Thank you, Captain." Rillick replied, sweeping in a bow with his hat before ordering the ship to cruising speed, following the directions given.

The Dira's captain watched the ship suspiciously until it was out of sight, sending a paperbird to alert the Admiralty.

---------------------------------

[Dieman Empire, Sector K2]

Two Dieman cruisers shot out from naval bases on Luxian's Hook towards the approaching Wyvern. "This is the Dieman Navy!" they boomed. "You are the Wyvern? We are to escort you to the city of Burinberg! Please follow us. Acknowledge by speech or flare signal!"

A flare was shot from the frigate as it slowed down a bit but continued on.

The twin cruisers accelerated and took up escort positions beside the frigate, guiding her under the watchful guns of the Mouth fortresses and giving the vast Imperial City in the centre of the Lagoon a wide berth, though the shipping in the Lagoon was very heavy. On the far side of the vast bay rose a mass of towers and domes - the Golden Crescent, topped by the dreaming spires of Burinberg University. The twin ships indicated a long dock which extended far into the sea for the frigate to dock at, and stood jealous guard.

There was a lady, and several other Diemen, waiting on the quay for the Wyvern to dock, resplendent in crimson robes and golden headdresses.

The frigate steamed its way in a much slower, careful and respectful manner before coming to a stop by the door, lines thrown over. A gangplank was lowered and off came Captain Rillick with a rifle strapped over his shoulder and three marine guardsmen, each one carrying a rifle and a separate saber. A fifth gentleman was with him, a scribe, jotting down details of the city.

"Hello there. I am Captain Rillick." The captain introduced himself as he and the other four elves made their way off the gangplank.

[Vanash Ikam, K2; Emperor's Court]

"My king must receive the credit for our current prosperity. He brought an end to the strife that plagued our Islands and gave us peace, which has proven far more valuable. It is a lesson we take pains to remember in our dealings with other peoples." Tuirins replied graciously.

[Vanash Ikara, Imperial Palace]

The Emperor smiled. “Indeed. We have found peace far more rewarding than war, and it is good to know others in the world share our thought – and passion for trade, judging by your merchant fleet. They will be welcomed – if not with open arms then at least with open pockets. I am sure this is simply the beginning of a long and most profitable relationship – for both of us. Now, I know it was a long trip, and doubtless you will wish to rest. We shall see you at the evening banquet flank-admiral, sir merchant, Ambassador.” The Emperor inclined his head in regal dismissal, and a Dieman wearing the livery of the palace appeared at the side of the Islander party.

“This way, sirs.” The servant led them through a maze of passages and halls. “The Palace is a little overwhelming, no?” he asked quietly. “But then, the pastime of bad Emperors has long been expanding it, so it’s only to be expected.”

He smiled faintly. “There are maps in most of the main areas in case you get lost, and even in the most remote areas there’s usually someone you can ask. We do employ over three thousand people, after all. Ah, here are your temporary staterooms. They are yours for as long as you need them.” So saying, the servant set his hands on the double doors and opened them, leading the Islanders into a large and lavishly-appointed suite of rooms. “If you need any help, there is a speaking tube and a servants’ bell by the door. The gong for dinner can be quite easily heard all over the palace, so I doubt you will have problems on that score, and there is a map of most of the palace on the table in your reception room. Will you require anything else, gentlemen?”

------------------------------

[Golden Crescent, Burinberg City, Docks]

“Good afternoon to you, captain. Lieutenant Adalia, at your service. We are to escort you to the Dean. Please, follow us, if you will.”

Adalia and her guards escorted the small contingent through Burinberg. It had grown up around the university – everywhere there were students, a maze of eclectic shops and restaurants, the entire city was geared to the university which rose high and golden over the lot.

The actual university was separated from the rest of the city by a high wall – the better to keep the precious education in – but the gates were wide open and looked as though they were never shut. Even so, there were guards at them, looking ceremonial. Emerging from the gatehouse, the university rolled on ahead of them, a vast expanse of lawn and gardens with tall, graceful buildings rising in the distance. Soon, though, the escorts had peeled away and the Captain and his entourage were being entertained in the Dean’s study, an airy room high in a tower, lined with rare books and artefacts.

It was also, to a non-Dieman, stiflingly hot, the glass dome overhead magnifying the sun.

The Dieman behind the desk looked up as the Captain entered. “Good day to you, sir. Captain Rillick, am I correct? I am Magister Magistrix Varana of Burinberg University. Most people call me the Dean. So, might I ask where you are from and what the Empire can do for you?”

Each of the elves seemed a bit clammy due to the heat that they weren't used too. But they, being militant, showed no sign of weakness in their steadfast marching.

"We are from Zerb'on colony east of here, and have come here to meet new peoples and open more trade. Might I ask what the Empire has available for export?" Captain Rillick responded.

"We have gold," said the Dean simply. "Glass, bright marble, granite, some obsidian, oil, silver, gems, jewellery and mood-silks, spices, hardwoods, chocolate, a vast amount of industrial production power...we have many things. What do you produce, sir, and what do you need? Care for a cigar, by the way? Or a drink?" He proffered both.

The elf shook his head. "I am fine, thank you. We produce lots of weapony; breach-loading cannons, semi-automatic rifles, aircraft, and several other things to boost our military strength, but wouldn't quite be safe for state security if I told you of them." The Captain answered. "We as a nation and people have little use for exotic luxuries."

"Ah. We do have airships and solar cannons, various alloy armours and so forth, but they're mostly the purview of the military, and it is not the Emperor's foreign policy at the moment to trade such things with unknowns. It is a pity you do not like luxuries."

"We are merely colonies in this region, mostly just military personnel and their families." The captain responded. "But possibly these resources we might like to trade in. You said you have oil did you not?

"Indeed so. Large amounts. You would be interested in that sort of thing?"

[Vanash Ikara, Imperial Palace]

"There is the issue of the merchant fleet that traveled with us. I'm sure their leader would like to begin as soon as possible." Harms said. "I know only a preliminary trade agreement has been reached; but the issue needs to be settled. Could you assist him in setting up his trade good, or inform him if he needs to wait?"

"Better yet, bring him here if you would." Tuirins said. "I need to have a word with him."

The servant bowed. "I shall see to it directly," he promised, and left.

--------------------------------

[Vanash Ikara, Demar Marina]

The line of imperial guards at the head of the marina parted for the servant. "Ahoy the Islander ships!" he called. "May I speak to the leader of this merchant fleet? His presence has been requested at the Palace."

[Vanash Ikara, Demar Marina]

"I wasn't expecting you for another day." A man called over the side of the ship. He had had the foresight to dress in white linen rather then the usual heavy furs. It made quite an odd contrast between his dark hair and rough beard. "I'll be right down."

The servant waited while the man came down. He gave a short half-bow. "Sanzin," he said. "Butler to the Imperial Household. Your flank-admiral, Tuirins, has requested your presence. Your meeting with the Imperial Trade Commission is tomorrow, as you surmised." He cast a quick, approving glance over the man's clothes. At least someone had dressed properly. "This way, sir, we have a palanquin readied."

((If you don't want to ask Sanzin anything, just assume they all go on to the palace and Tuirins' rooms.))

[University of/at Burinberg]

"Yes, we have found it works well as an alternative fuel over wood." Captain Rillick answered to the Dean.

"Well, we have plenty in the southern deserts and a little way offshore. Might I ask what you use for money? We'd need to set up some form of exchange rate before this goes any further." With a small snap of his wrist the Dean conjured a ball of solar flame and spoke into it briefly. Scant minutes later the doors opened and a solemn Dieman walked in. "You sent for me, sir?"

"This is Verdis, our treasurer from the Imperial Bank. Verdis, Captain Rillick of Zerb'ron. I want you to take a look at their money - if they have any on them, of course."

The captain nodded and drew out a few coins from his belt-purse. He had about five coins much similar to weight and size of a golden dollar, but made of all silver, as well as one coin which seemed as if two half-dollars laid down side-by-side, and then put together with parallel tangent lines, making one solid coin of sorts. It was about 1/4 of an inch thick, and solid gold.

"About how would you value these compared to your own?" He asked the treasurer.

The treasurer brought out several sets of calipers and other calibration instruments and carefully measured the coins. He compared them to a run of imperials, frowning slightly.

"The silver coin is lighter than the royal," he noted. "And the double coin is somewhat similar to two old royals. I can't say for the gold content without a Pyx trial, but from the lustre they seem to be similar to imperials. Milling is a little crude, seems to be worn down quite a bit - the striking is a little off, too. I would say for your double-royal that a two to one would be fair, and as for the silver coin...say two to one again."

"You may keep those for whatever instrumentation and tests you wish to put them through. And in our system, ten of our silver coins are equal to one of the gold doubloons." Rillick said to the treasure before turning back to the Dean. "How much for say, a moderately sized barrel of oil?"

"Verdis," said the Dean, gesturing for him to continue.

"The standard barrel is forty gallons, sir. I'd suggest you talk to one of the oil corporations - perhaps Naviri - down at the Imperial Stock Exchange - but the crude base at the close of trading for afternoon tea today was fifteen imperials a barrel. I'm afraid prices are rising somewhat as winter draws near. Of course, discounts would be available if we drove a pipeline out to your country and you bought in bulk."

"Ah, Mister Carrin is it?" Tuirins said as the merchant walked through the door. "Thank you sir, this will only take a moment." He said to the butler before shutting the door.

"Yes, and you're Admiral Tuirins." Carrin said, perfectly aware of the situation.

"You are correct. I called you up to make sure you understand the situation."

"I already know what you're going to say." Carrin grumbled, arms crossed. "I forced your hand by sailing before an official agreement was made, and so you're going to sock me with a few fees, a threat or two and tell me to keep my head down and be happy I'm not under arrest."

"That was certainly an option we considered." Tuirins admitted. "However the king has also realized that his merchants are intelligent enough to look after themselves. We don't intend to punish you for leaving ahead of time; at least, not with anything more then a small charge for the escort. What I do want is your cooperation."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Carrin asked.

"Simple. Inform us on what's going on outside the palace, and cooperate with me and Mr. Harms while we negotiate a trade agreement."

"And in exchange you'll forget all about the trouble I caused."

"Precisely."

Carrin considered for a few moments, long after he had made up his mind. The benefits were obvious, and it was in every merchant's interest to support trade. Besides, the Kingdom was the one that looked after its merchants. If he didn't help them, someone with different ideas would try to muscle in. "Alright."

"Good. I won't keep you longer today. Good luck on your expedition." Tuirins replied as Carrin opened the door and left.

"A pipeline would be grand." The captain spoke. "I don't suppose we might also request any geologists of sorts to find if we have oil in our lands?"

"I'm certain the Geological Institute here would be most happy to do so for you. It'd give the students some advanced fieldwork, too. There'd be a small fee, of course - transport, use of raw materials and so on, but really quite negligible. Do you have any large construction companies in your country, sir, perhaps with relevant experience? I'm given to understand it would amortize costs of building a pipeline. There are also various refined products based on oil - industrial lubricants and fuels and suchlike - which I'm sure the corporations would be happy to supply you with if you expressed an interest."

"We have our corp of engineers which can build almost anything you give them, if physically possible. " Rillick answered with a hapless shrug.

"Excellent. Well, what I would suggest is that you take a flight down to Gagarin in the south tomorrow, and then meet with a Naviri representative there. Gagarin's the oil capital - anyone can point you in the direction of Naviri. They have the best people for that sort of job, and can tell you if it's possible. Would you care to stay here for the night? We have an abundance of rooms, and we're near the airfield."

"That would be nice, thank you." Captain Rillick responded. "Will these four be able to accompany as well? And in their own rooms, as well."

"I should think so. There are still a few more weeks before most of the students and staff return from their summer holidays. We have plenty of room." He clapped his hands and a silent orderly appeared.

"She'll show you to your rooms," the Dean said happily. "Oh, dinner is at seven in the Grand Hall if you wish to attend, or the kitchens will bring something up for you if you ask."

"This way, sirs," said the orderly, gesturing.

"Thank you for your generosity." Captain Rillick and the four elves spoke to the Dean before turning to the orderly and following her.

"Not at all. Always good to meet new trading partners. Where there's trade, there's knowledge, and knowledge is what we stand for."

The orderly led them through airy passages and across hidden courtyards, a maze of passages testifying to the age of the University. "Here you are," she said quietly, indicating a corridor with five doors on it and handing them a bunch of keys. "I leave it up to you who has what room. The dinner gong rings at six-thirty, and the Grand Hall is five passages over and four down. You can't miss it. And if you wish a meal brought to you, it's extension six-oh-nine for the kitchens. The speaking tube is on the right as you go in." She curtseyed and left.

They all spoke their thanks and split the keys, heading for their rooms.

1. Forums are not to be used to post stories.
2. All discussions, language and content, must be suitable for teens.
3. The owner/moderator(s) of this forum is solely responsible for content posted within this area.
4. All forum abuse must be reported to the moderator(s).

1. Forum admin/moderator
2. Fanatic (on site for more than 2 years)
3. Fan (on site for more than a year)
4. Regular (on site for more than 6 months)
5. Camper (on site for more than a month)
6. Apprentice (on site for more than a week)
7. Newbie (on site for less than a week)