King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 by Christopher Stasheff Page B

sourly and tossed his shot glass into the recycler. “Well, enough loafing.” He stood up, strode over to the wall, and began to loosen the clamps that held Fess’s basketball brain. “What happens after that cold current hits the shoreline, Fess?”
    “It would probably be warmed by contact with the tropical mainland just south of the cliffs, Rod. Then it would be forced out to sea by the mass of the con-tinent.”
    Rod nodded. “From the mainland’s position and contour, that means the cur-rent would be sent northeast—back toward Gramarye.”
    “Quite possibly, Rod—but you should not hypothesize without sufficient data.”
    “All right.” Rod tucked the silver basketball under his arm. “Anything you say, Fess. Besides, it’s time for lunch.”
    “You know robots do not eat, Rod.”
    “That’s funny, I thought you might be in the mood for a few bytes…”

    The sentry at the door to the solar stepped in and announced, “The Lord High Warlock, Majesties.”
    Rod pushed past him and stopped, taking in the tall, saturnine man with the lantern jaw who stood facing Catharine and Tuan. His face was tanned and leathery. He wore a short brocaded coat, fur-trimmed, over doublet and hose, and clenched a round hat in his hands. Then Rod remembered his manners and turned to bow.
    “Your Majesties! I’ve been doing a little research.”
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    “I trust our new source will aid it, Lord Warlock.” Catharine nodded toward the stranger. “May I present Master Hugh Meridian, captain of a merchant ship.”
    “Merchant ship?” Rod turned to the seaman, startled. “I didn’t know we had any.”
    “In truth, we do, milord.” The shipmaster gave him a frosty bow. “ ‘Tis quicker, and less costly, to ship goods along the coastline than to haul them over the highways.”
    “Of course; it would be. I should’ve thought of it. But how did you learn that we needed seafaring advice, Master Meridian?”
    “We sent word quickly to the fisherfolk at Loguire’s estates, and those in Ro-manov. Each claimed they did know there were currents sweeping past the shore, farther out than they generally sailed,” Tuan answered. “Yet all claimed further that they knew naught more.”
    “Of course; they couldn’t know where the currents went.” Rod frowned. “They never go out farther than they can come back, all in one day. But they did know about you, Captain?”
    The captain nodded. “Ever and anon, the lords hire out their fisherfolk to be my crews, milord. They know of me, aye.”
    “And you know where the currents go.” Rod started to look for a chair, then remembered it was bad form to sit in Their Majesties’ presence. Brom could; but Brom was special. “At least you know where they go, around the Isle of Gramarye.”
    “I do, milord—though it might be better to say I know where the currents do not go.”
    “Really? There’re currents all around the island?”
    “Not quite; the western coast is bare of them.”
    “Odd.” Rod frowned. “Can you show me on a map?”
    “Map?” Captain Meridian looked lost for a second; then he fumbled a small book out of his belt-pouch.
    “Aye, I can show where I ha’ writ about it in my rud-der; yet is’t not easier to hear it?”
    “No, no! I want you to show me, on…” Rod let his voice trail off, remember-ing that medieval people didn’t have maps as he knew them; the idea of graph-ing out the outlines of a coast was foreign to them. Maps had had to wait for the Renaissance, with its concept of continuous, uniform space. Rod turned to the door, stuck his head out, and advised the sentry, “Parchment and pen, soldier—and quickly.” He turned back into the room. “We’ll have one in a minute, Majes-ties. Master Meridian, imagine yourself being a bird, flying over the Isle of Gramarye, looking down on its coasts.”
    Meridian smiled. “ ‘Tis a pleasant enough conceit,