Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

25 May 1018
Pomme-de-Bec, Provençe

My dearest cousin Armand,

You have outdone yourself.

As I write these words, Maximilian and I are most comfortably ensconced in L’École du Sorciers’ new Tuppenny Wagons sky-caravan, snug and warm as we listen to the rain on the roof and enjoy our view out over the thatched rooftops of the little village of Pomme-de-Bec.

Pomme-de-Bec is a tiny village, just an inn (the grandiosely named L’Auberge Martel), a few houses, and a cross-roads that by all appearances is not much crossed these days. We asked the innkeeper about the village’s name, “Apple of the Beak”, and he told us a long and involved story about a battle and a falcon that got a crab-apple stuck on its beak. I cannot remember the details, which were accompanied by vigorous handwaving, but it seems that in the end one of the two armies defeated the other.

We nodded and smiled and gratefully escaped with a loaf of bread and a jug of wine.

How is that we are here, in this place, hiding away from the rain?

The caravan arrived in Toulouse three days ago, and we took delivery with great rejoicing. I say it again, Armand, you have outdone yourself. It is everything we asked for and more, everything we need to travel in comfort. I must especially note the lovely quilt we found at the foot of the double bunk, and ask that you pass along our thanks to the responsible party—for I am sure you would not have thought of such a thing yourself. So please convey our thanks to Amelie, and to whomever made the quilt. Elise Frontenac, perhaps?

Yesterday, having made our preparations and packed up our necessities, we directed the caravan through the streets of Toulouse to King Guy’s Fundament, drawing no little attention, I assure you. I am glad you thought to paint the banner of L’École on the side, or it is likely that the attention would have been more troublesome.

Once at King Guy’s statue we identified a ley line leading to the south-east, established its bearing, and with the greatest of ease followed it over the roof tops and out of town.

Our one disappointment is that it is more difficult than we had hoped to detect the ley line while gliding any height above it. Once out of the city it was necessary to cast about a bit to find it again, and we had to descend nearly to the ground to detect it at all. Maximilian suspects that there is something about the caravan’s lifting elements that is hindering his detection spell. But no matter: ley lines are perfectly straight, and once we were established on the correct bearing we had no great difficulty, merely descending every half-an-hour or so to be sure we were still on track.

We spent last night several fathoms above a farmer’s field, and so came to Pomme-de-Bec late this afternoon, where we found a previously undiscovered nodal point just by the crossroads.

Need I say that there was nothing there? No marker, no formed artifact, not even any kind of depression in the ground. We know where the node was by the three ley lines leading away from it, but nothing about the node itself.

Maximilian has just reminded me that the site is adorned by a sign-post and a milestone, and I have just reminded him that the milestone is across the road from the nodal point, and that the sign-post is, quite literally, neither here nor there.

Still, it is a new nodal point to add to our map—which has led Maximilian to remark that one of us will need to learn the art of navigation, so that we can determine our position on the map with greater accuracy. We are neither of us cartographers, relying instead on maps of the districts of Provençe that we acquired before leaving the city; and we are fortunate in this instance that Pomme-de-Bec is close enough to Toulouse that its cross-roads (if not the town’s name) is clearly marked. I am sure that we shall not always be so lucky.

And now I must close, for it is growing late, and Maximilian has challenged me to a hand or two of piquet before we put out the lantern.

Your adventurous and grateful cousin,

Amelia

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Photo by Evi Radauscher on Unsplash