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

29 September 1023, Bois-de-Bas

Amelia,

I apologize if this letter seems disjointed; I spent half the night thinking about its contents while endeavoring to sleep, and then resumed my tale as soon as I could procure a fresh bottle of ink.

The caravan ascended gently into the air, describing a long curve that brought us up to the level of the island, perhaps a hundred yards away from where the river emerged from between the trees and plummeted down to the lake far below.

Jack touched a control and brought us to a halt just even with the tree tops. Amelie rose and stood by me, one hand on the back of my seat.

“Welcome to L’Isle du Grand-Blaireau,” said Jack. “Beautiful, ain’t it?” He shrugged. “You can’t see the rainbows from here, but if I get too close to the waterfall the spray covers the front window and I can’t see anything. But you know,” he said, gesturing at the view out the window before us, “it’s no hardship.”

Nor was it. I have never seen anything half so lovely, nor a tenth so striking—and that after having spent my life in the close vicinity of John’s many projects.

The island proved to be thickly wooded. “I suppose we rise up over the trees and look for a clearing?”

“Better still,” said Jack, reaching forward. The caravan glided forward, making straight for the point
where the water began its descent. As we drew closer I saw that the trees rose and spread out on either side of the river, making a kind of a tunnel through the woods. We passed into dappled light and the sound of running water.

“Armand was the first to come here,” said Amelie over my shoulder. “It is why he built his first sky-chair. And then Le Maréchal’s cochons came to Bois-de-Bas and he made a place here for our soldiers.”

Jack laughed. “Hiding in plain sight, they were. No one knew about Armand’s sky-chairs, and so it never occurred to the Maréchalists that the men taking their sloops of war and harrying their supply lines might be hiding here.”

“A sloop would be hard to hide, I’d think,” I said.

“Yes, you’d think so, wouldn’t you,” said Jack. “They burned one, if I recall correctly, as a red herring; but as for the other two—” and here he gestured ahead of us with a flourish.

And there, floating above the water were two sloops, shorn of their masts and lashed side-by-side, and joined to the river banks by short bridges of wood.

“Armand and I lived there,” said Amelie, pointing at the sloop on the left. “It was tres difficile, n’est-ce pas? But I am happy to see it again.”

Jack maneuvered the caravan up and past the bridge on the left and then let it gently sink so that the back of the caravan extended just over the bridge itself, and locked the controls.

“And here we are,” he said. “Care to have a recce?”

“Oh, yes,” I said. Amelia led the way to the back of the caravan, opened the door, and lowered the stairs, and we all disembarked. The air was brisk and clear, and smelled strongly of wood and water; I wrapped my coat more securely about me, and breathed deeply.

The bridge led to a path off into the woods on one side, where I saw a variety of huts and small buildings; on the other, it led right into the sloop, where a kind of corridor had been cut through the pair of hulls and out the other side. Leaves crackled under my feet as I followed Jack along and into the corridor, where he opened a door and led us into a pleasantly warm but dim room. Jack quickly lit an oil lamp, and I saw that there was a desk, a workbench, a pot-belly stove from which the warmth radiated, and in the center, looking out of place, a small table and three chairs. Everything was surprisingly tidy.

“This was Armand’s workshop during the war,” said Jack. “He did his forming here, and managed the camp. I came up earlier this morning and cleaned it up so we’d have a place to sit.” He nodded at us, vanished out the door, and returned a few moments later with the lunch basket, which he placed on the workbench. I noted that His peg leg didn’t appear to slow him down at all.

I accepted a plate of bread and cold chicken, and a glass of ale. He and Amelie tucked in, and I said, “Well. I am delighted to see this place, but I am a bit mystified. Surely we didn’t come here just to have a picnic?”

Amelie smiled broadly. “Jack, he means to open an inn.”

“That’s right,” said Jack. “The Two Sloops. Fine dining, guest rooms, and the most beautiful setting in Armorica.”

The situation became clear in a moment. Jack needed help; I needed an occupation. Here we were.

“But you’re a soldier,” I said. “Do you know anything about running an inn?”

“More than you’d think,” he said. He struck a pose, his head turned to one side, nose pointing into the air. “You see before you the much celebrated author of A Gentleman’s Guide to Mont-Havre!”

“The what?” I said, still mystified, and Jack laughed again.

“It’s a book, you see, about the inns and tailors and haberdashers and other notable establishments in the city. Which ones to visit, and which to avoid, don’t you know. I spent several years playing the bluff soldier out on the town, making friends and getting to know people; and what I learned I put in my book. And then,” he sighed dramatically, “I was found out.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Someone learned that I was the author, and spread it about; and that ruined everything. Bluff old Jack, he gets the service he gets, and so he can write about the service others are likely to get. But the author of the Guide, he gets the very best service. Once word was out, I was finished. But, you know, I did learn quite a lot about how best to run an inn.”

“I see,” I said; and I did. “What do you want from me?”

“That’s a good question. It’s early days, and at moment it’s just me; with Armand as a silent partner, for everyone in Bois-de-Bas agrees that the island is his. So there’s money to get started with,; and Armand gets visitors from Mont-Havre several times a week. Naturally, he’ll direct them to stay here. And then, once we’re well established and word gets out, we expect folks to come to Bois-de-Bas just to stay at the famous Two Sloops.”

“Well. I know nothing about running an inn, nor a public house, but I’ve managed as harum-scarum a household as this is likely to be.”

“And you’re good with small tools, Amelie tells me,” he said, laughing loudly at my look of consternation. “Never fear, we shall hire local workmen to make everything here, ah, ship-shape. I should like you to begin by determining what we shall need for the guest rooms. And for our own quarters, as well, for if we have guests then of course we must stay here ourselves.”

I glanced at Amelie, who smiled reassuringly. “I presume there will be proper chaperonage?” Having compromised myself once, I assure you, Amelia, that I have no desire to do so again, even with a man as pleasant seeming as Jack.

Jack’s eyebrows rose, and then his face went blank. “Oh. Oh! Yes, of course. You are quite right.” He shook his head. “Old soldier, you know; I’m more accustomed to finding places to bivouac than quarters for ladies of gentle birth. Early days, yes? You shall arrange that to your satisfaction.” He nodded decisively, like the officer he was.

I nodded in return. “Well, then,” I said. “How many guest rooms shall we have?”

“Let’s go and see what we have to work with, shall we?”

And so we did.

This is not at all how I expected my life to turn, Amelia; but it will fill my time and save me from being tied to my brother’s coat strings; and at least there will be beauty close at hand.

Cathy

Next letter

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Photo by Tadeusz Lakota on Unsplash