The river carried them south for two days.
Mountains retreated only cautiously. First the snow-line lifted, then the peaks softened, the pine giving way to more varied greenery as the valley opened to a wide basin where settlements appeared with increasing frequency on the banks.
The ferry stopped at all of them, and Borodin learned how to judge the pauses by feel as much as sound; the way the engine changed as they slowed, the thud of the gangplank, the shake of cargo shifting. He played cards with Galcyon and some of the others aboard – Xhakaza, El Sayed – and lost more than he won. Valance spent most of the journey at the stern with a book, and he found her company a welcome retreat, both committed to spending long hours in silence.
Jovoudait, where they disembarked, was more polished, leisure-oriented than their point of departure, with a lakefront promenade and cafes with chairs outside even in cool weather. From here, the coach station was their best way to venture onward, and by either differences in organisation or a silent agreement to not cluster, none of the teams embarked on the same coach.
The coaches were low-hover transports, skimming the road surface on a cushion of cheap power – a throwback to the earliest development of this industrial colony, and easier to garage and maintain than flying vehicles. They ran as both oddity and simply because nobody had stopped operating them, slow and steady with the mountain landscape fully behind them on their journey now.
The terrain opened into rolling forest, the road dropping into low, sweeping curves towards lower ground. Borodin and Galcyon changed coaches once at a junction town where the timetable board malfunctioned, only to be joined by Pentecost and Vornar, who had apparently taken the train only partway before expecting to catch a shortcut they could not find. Within minutes, Pentecost had the coach driver in animated conversation about something that made him laugh, and Vornar retreated to a seat where he did not have to talk to a soul, and Borodin again thought of him as a kindred spirit.
In the seat next to Borodin, Galcyon offered him a jellied fruit candy he worried had been in her bag for too long. He took it anyway. Through the windows, the forest thickened and the altitude dropped and the air grew warmer and greener.
On the fourth night, they slept in a guesthouse above a bakery that started work at 0400, and Borodin appreciated the early start more than her. By the fifth morning, the road was on a less steep descent, and the signage began to include Huntsbury.
The town itself sat in a wide forest clearing. Dark timber and pale stone, the buildings were two and three storeys with wooden roofs and painted shutters, the streets between them wide enough for the market stalls that lined the central square. A river ran along the northern edge, some contributory of their ferry route but narrower and slower. The air was thick with the smell of pine resin and baking and the cold mineral smell of the water.
Several other teams were already in evidence – he saw Everard at a corner café, and Xhakaza and Valance emerged from a provisions shop, having apparently somehow overtaken them on a coach. He wondered if they’d pressed on overnight, but if so, it had done them little good.
Kowalski’s message appeared on the PADD as they crossed the square. Welcome to Huntsbury. Proceed to the memorial statue in the town square.
Borodin looked at Galcyon. ‘That can’t be the end, can it?’
Galcyon glanced at the shop. ‘If it is, I don’t know why the others are waiting around.’
The square was two streets over, the statue in the centre – a robed figure on a stone plinth, gesturing toward the forest with one outstretched arm, the stone rough-hewn and worn by a couple of centuries of the elements.
They were not stood before it for more than ten seconds before the PADD lit up again. Proceed to the weavers’ quarter. Find the blue door on Trevaine Street.
‘Right,’ said Galcyon. ‘A few quick challenges before the end.’
‘Right,’ said Borodin, in time to see Rourke and Locke cross the square entirely and head north with some urgency. Locke waved at them, and Galcyon waved back. ‘The commodore looks dedicated.’
Galcyon sighed. ‘Isn’t this supposed to be fun?’
‘It’s supposed to be a competition.’
That killed the conversation, Borodin found as they headed east, the silence between them hanging with that air he knew so well – that he’d been stiffer than he meant, and people took it as sternness, and they didn’t want to argue with him.
They had to ask at the café on the corner for directions – left at the ironmonger, right at the old granary, follow the street until it narrowed. There were several doors of multiple hues of blue, and they stopped for a minute in front of four before the PADD lit up again.
Proceed to the old fulling mill at the forest road west of town.
‘It feels like it’s guessing,’ Galcyon mused, but did not strike up further chatter.
The forest road was a fifteen-minute walk west. The mill was not immediately obvious; the first building they found on the road the remains of something that might have been a mill, largely collapsed. The second was a working operation, which they stood in front of for several minutes of their PADD in silence before a passing local informed them there was an older mill further along the road, now used for storage.
‘I think,’ said Galcyon, ‘these instructions may not be entirely accurate.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ said Borodin. ‘We just need to be precise about the destinations we pick.’
The mill was another ten-minute walk, only for the PADD to then send them back to the town centre, which they by then took in a rather bemused, frustrated silence. Only there did the final set of instructions come.
Proceed on foot to Trevaine Lodge, 3.2 kilometres north-east. Follow the forest trail from the end of Kellaver Road and you have arrived at your checkpoint
He looked up from the PADD to find Galcyon already reading over his shoulder.
‘Double-time?’ he asked, and braced himself for her to give him a look like he was a tiresome meathead.
Instead, she hefted her pack and gave a short nod. ‘This is supposed to be a competition.’ It was gentle, as digs went.
Dusk threatened to gather by now. The trail was marked, at least – posts at intervals through the trees, the forest floor soft with fallen needles and well-trodden undergrowth. The air smelled of earth and pine, and he let Galcyon set the pace of a steady, sustainable jog as the trail climbed before cresting a low rise and beginning its descent. Below the ridge, the trees opened slightly, and through them the last sun was catching the surface of a lake.
He heard the voices before he saw the lodge.
The lodge itself was low, built of sturdy timber, set at the lake’s edge, a wide deck facing the water where they learned they were not the first to arrive. A smattering of captains waited, but their eyes were locked on the cluster by the water front, where Jericho and Rourke stood before Kowalski.
Both of them were furious.
‘…complete malfunctioning!’ Rourke snapped. ‘Checkpoints to nowhere!’
‘Updates halfway to a checkpoint!’ Jericho chimed in, and it took Borodin a moment to realise they were both yelling at Kowalski, not each other.
Kowalski had his hands raised, grimacing. ‘Sirs, if we just – can we all take a beat?’
‘A beat?’ scoffed Rourke. ‘You make me march up and down this hill twelve times, and when I get here, all you’ve got is, “yeah, the checkpoint system got caught in a loop?”’
‘Excuses,’ said Jericho, and now he was, Borodin saw, turning on Rourke. ‘We got pitched not even to Huntsbury until we were on a coach to the town two hundred kilometres east – then the PADD updated -’
Borodin and Galcyon padded to the other smattering of officers – Locke, Adenor, Faust, El Sayed – and Galcyon bee-lined for Locke with the knowledge the flotilla’s newest captain and Rourke’s partner would be the easiest to pump for information.
‘Twelve times?’ she echoed.
Locke closed his eyes with a hum of frustration. ‘We got in this morning. The PADD system sent us on a series of wild goose chases.’
‘It sent us here directly,’ mused El Sayed, scratching his beard. ‘Which does not seem…’
‘Consistent?’ said Galcyon.
‘Fair?’ said Borodin.
Galcyon sucked her teeth and looked at the two arguing commodores. ‘They’re taking it well.’
‘Someone ought to stop them tearing more strips off Kowalski,’ said Locke. The three of them looked at El Sayed, the third squadron commander of the flotilla. Who looked at Faust.
Fleet Captain Faust rolled her eyes. ‘You’re grown officers.’
‘Yeah,’ said Locke, ‘but they’re really mad.’
The captain of the flotilla’s flagship cleared her throat and stepped forward. ‘Sirs! Perhaps we can take a breather. We’re all here, at the end of what’s supposed to be a relaxing break for our staff -’
Their PADDs chirped again. Borodin tilted theirs to Galcyon as they squinted in confusion.
Proceed to the town of Amity.
‘What?’ said Borodin.
Locke had to turn his sideways. ‘Proceed to the town square in Huntsbury – but we’re here, we’ve finished -’
Kowalski looked like he was considering throwing himself in the lake, then the door from the lodge onto the deck opened and out stepped Admiral Morgan. He might have looked odd in casual civvies, but there was something about the calm lake and the boat shoes and his polo shirt that managed to, rather than have him appear over-dressed, make a rustic woodland lodge feel more like a country club.
‘Captains! Commodores.’ He brought his hands together, barely raising his voice and still capturing everyone’s attention, a talent of his Borodin found his colleagues often underrated. ‘I’ve just been consulting with Commander Cortez, and we’re sorry to confirm that there has been a system glitch with the team comms and wayfinding.’
‘No kidding,’ muttered Rourke.
‘We are immediately giving all teams directions to report straight here,’ Morgan continued as if Rourke hadn’t spoken, ‘and, ah, I think it is clear that there are questions about the fairness of this leg’s competition. I’ll be sure to have the SCE review their work and be sure it’s fit for purpose before we even think about pressing on.’
It was like the breeze across the lake shifted the tone, taking with it the animosity – and replacing it with the stiff awareness that Morgan had smoothly placed all blame onto the well-liked Kowalski and Cortez.
‘In the meantime,’ said Morgan, raising his hands anew, ‘welcome to Trevaine Lodge! We will be here for at least two nights before proceeding with the next phase of this competition. I hope you have found all of the sights of Colludia engaging, and the challenges forging fresh bonds -’
‘We should change the teams,’ said Jericho, turning to Rourke. ‘Total reset. Start from scratch.’
‘Agreed,’ said Rourke.
‘What an excellent idea,’ said Morgan, beady gaze latching on. ‘I think, perhaps, some arrangements to ensure closer ties where they’re needed? Surely my two senior squadron leaders would benefit from more direct collaboration?’
The arguing restarted. Locke looked like he’d dodged a phaser blast for no longer being on Rourke’s team; El Sayed like he, too, had successfully evaded a difficult fate as the junior squadron leader, content to be in his more belligerent colleagues’ shadow.
Galcyon sighed and turned to Borodin. ‘I guess that’s us done, then.’
He shifted his weight, brow furrowing. ‘This was an effective few days, Elara.’
She gave that faint raise of the eyebrows, the subtlest reaction that he was being so stiff it was found rude. ‘I hope it was fun.’
‘I – yes,’ he stumbled, and put out his hand, feeling even more the fool. ‘It was fun.’
She shook it and headed inside with a speed that made him realise just how rude he’d been, and soon after, the rest of the captains dispersed, spurred on with the promise of comforting forest lodge accommodation and better food than they’d enjoyed for the past five days.
While Teo Borodin leaned against the deck railing overlooking the lake, watched the dying sun shed its last gold into the rippling waters, and wondered when Juliette Yves would arrive.
