The balding man continued as if no one else had spoken. “It’s all very well saying the Eagle can be repaired, but more than half the vessels that reached this land need beaching and cleaning now. A goodly number of ropes and sails are in need of repair and materials are severely limited. I hate to think what state the timbers are going to be in by next spring.”

“Finding suitable woods for the shipwrights was one of the reasons for D’Alsennin’s expedition up the river, Master Suttler.” Messire Den Rannion’s tone was relaxed but Temar caught a calculating light in his eye.

“Indeed,” Temar nodded firmly. “We found some excellent stands of mature timber, didn’t we, Master Grethist?”

“We’ll start felling once the growing season ends and the undergrowth dies back,” the sailor confirmed. “I’ve already set those that can be spared from the mines to digging out a dock so we can get a keel laid and work started over the winter.”

“You see, Master Suttler, we’ll have new boats busy along the coasts and up the rivers long before the present fleet are spent.” Den Rannion nodded his discreet approval to Temar. “The larger ships are still in good repair, in any case.”

“We’ll only need ocean ships if we have something worthwhile to send them home with.” A ruddy-faced individual had been following the exchange with an impatient expression. “So, Esquire, what are these mines like? If we’re to get anymore interest in this venture, it’s vital that we prove it’s not simply a singularly ill-timed drain on the Empire’s resources.”

“We have found significant outcroppings of copper in the tributary valleys leading down to the main river, Master Daryn,” stated Temar confidently. “Some of the men with Gidestan experience made a short trip into the plateau and think there is an excellent chance of tin as well.”

“Useful but not exactly news to set all Toremal talking.” The man frowned a little and looked thoughtfully into his wine cup.

“Come on, Sawney, it’s early days yet,” Messire Den Rannion encouraged Master Daryn with a familiar slap on the shoulder. “Who knows what Temar and his men will find over the next hill come the spring.”

“How soon will we know the quality of this ore?” asked Master Daryn.

“The initial assays were promising.” Temar hesitated a little. “I’m afraid it’s not a craft I know much about, but the miners were looking very pleased.” He wondered if he should show these men what he had secure in his shirt pocket but decided against it; Guinalle should see it first.

“So we’ll be able to send ingots home in the spring?” demanded Daryn. “Something to encourage a second fleet, more settlers?”

“I’m sure of it,” Temar stated confidently. “You’ll have excellent news to convey.”

“You wait and see.” Messire Den Rannion smiled broadly. “It’s just as we told you; we will supply the craftsmen at home with all the materials they can desire while as our settlements here spread. Those same goods will find an eager market among our people. Our fellows at home will soon need spend no more effort struggling to sell to rebellious Caladhrians and the like.”

“It might not be gold and silver but the Empire could be grateful soon enough for copper and tin,” Master Suttler observed dourly. “Things were going from bad to worse in Gidesta before we left, weren’t they? His Imperial Uselessness could have been driven back clear over the Dalas by now.”

“Has that lass of Den Fellaemion’s had any information for you recently?” Sawney Daryn turned to Den Rannion. “It’s all very well having Artificers along but I can’t say I’ve noticed her putting herself about much.”

“Demoiselle For Priminale has been busy looking for plants and herbs to replenish the stores and find alternatives for medicaments.” Temar realized he had spoken a little too quickly and certainly too forcefully.

Messire Den Rannion moved smoothly to gloss over the awkward moment. “You know my wife’s sister, Avila? She brought their grandmother’s old still room manuals with her and the women have been trying to remedy their new situation on the far side of the ocean from their favorite apothecary!”

“Trust the ladies to see to their own comforts first!” Master Suttler lifted his beak of a nose above a mocking smile.

Temar laughed with the rest but remembered what Guinalle had told him. He wondered what these men would think if they found themselves lacking soaps for their linen, out of mugwort to dissuade the lice and moth from their gowns, with no bay leaves to keep the weevils out of the flour. He caught Messire Den Rannion’s elbow as Master Dessmar began interrogating Grethist about the precise nature of sailing conditions up river.

“Is Guinalle here?” he asked, hoping he didn’t look too eager.

“I believe so.” Den Rannion looked speculatively at Temar. “Avila told me your expedition met up with one of their foraging trips in Aft-Summer. She was concerned that they had delayed you unnecessarily when you escorted them back to their vessels.”

Temar turned his head to look around the throng, hoping no blush would betray him. “I was not going to risk having to answer to Den Fellaemion for the loss of his favorite niece.”

“Quite so.” Messire Den Rannion inclined his head. “I believe she was with my wife when I last saw her.”

“I’ll go and pay my respects then.” Temar was surprised to see a grin on Messire Den Rannion’s face. “Go on, my boy. Oh, and tell my wife I think it might be a good idea for her to spend some time with Mistress Daryn, would you?”

Temar nodded and walked quickly across the garden toward the new stone hall that was rising from a framework of scaffolding poles.

“Esquire D’Alsennin, isn’t it? Fair festival to you!” A delicate hand on his arm forced Temar to halt and he turned to find a vaguely familiar and undeniably pretty face smiling at him. Golden hair was coiled high above old jewelry decorating rather more shoulder and bosom than he was used to seeing a Tormalin lady display.

“Drianon’s blessings.” Temar bowed low, desperately trying to remember the woman’s name. He rose with a relieved smile. “Mairenne, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, and I shall call you Temar, shall I?” Unmistakable flirtation lit periwinkle eyes set above a pert nose and full, reddened lips. This was one lady who was not running short of cosmetics, Temar noted.

“Temar, there you are.” Vahil appeared at his shoulder. “My mother wishes to speak to you. Excuse us, Mistress Suttler.” He caught Temar’s elbow and wheeled him around with a perfunctory bow of farewell.

Temar shook Vahil’s arm off, more amused than irritated. “How does old Suttler get to put his knife away in a casket like that?”

“Mairenne gave him the key in return for several steps up the ladder.” Vahil strode purposefully in the direction of the hall. “She was on the Reedsong, the two-master that wrecked on the sandbars, and her husband was drowned. He was a tanner, from D’Istrac lands, I believe, but Mairenne keeps very quiet about her origins now she’s a merchant’s wife. Stay away from her, Temar, she’s on the look-out for a gently born prospect in case something carries off old Suttler over the winter.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t take her if I found her naked in my bed,” laughed Temar. “I know trouble when I see it. Anyway, you’re not the only one who’s a reformed character.”

“Glad to hear it.” A smile softened Vahil’s words. “Things are rather different from home, with everyone living in each other’s pockets like this.”

They reached the steps of the hall and went in, Temar blinking a little as smoke in the air made his eyes smart.

“Obviously this central hearth is only temporary, the chimneys will be built next.” Maitresse Den Rannion was showing a gaggle of avid visitors around the skeleton of her new domain. “The mason is confident they can continue working well into Aft-Autumn; the climate here is so clement, compared to home.”