Opening Atlantis by Harry Turtledove Page A

Kersauzon’s bellow, made louder by the hands he cupped in front of his mouth. “Is it you, Radcliffe?”
    â€œNo. It’s your mother-in-law, come from Brittany to nag you,” Edward answered.
    â€œAnything but that!” François Kersauzon cried in mock terror. “Come ashore if you care to, and see what you have to nag about.”
    â€œI’ll do that, and gladly, but first let me say my say—the Freetown men are not your friends.”
    Kersauzon clapped a hand over his heart. “I am shocked to hear it,” he said, which made Edward and Henry both chuckle. More seriously, the Breton continued, “And you say you are?”
    â€œAgainst them? Yes, by God!” Edward said. “I told them the same, too.”
    â€œYou had better come ashore, then!” the Breton fishing captain said. Even across a broad gap of ocean, Edward could see how wide his eyes got. “Yes, you had better come ashore, because we have much to talk about.”
    â€œLet’s get our boat in the water,” Edward called to his crew. To his son, he said, “Would you rather come and dicker with me or stay here and do whatever you have to do in case there’s trouble?”
    â€œDo you need me to help put something over on the Bretons?” Henry answered his own question: “No, of course you don’t. You can diddle them slick as grease all by yourself.”
    â€œI thank you for your trust in me,” Edward Radcliffe said dryly.
    He didn’t faze Henry a bit. “Any time,” the younger man replied. “We won’t have trouble at sea from Kersauzon’s people, either. Right now, after what you just said, they’d pick you for Pope if they had the chance. But if the Dovermen decide to raid Cosquer today…I’d better stay here.”
    â€œAll right.” The fishermen Edward chose to row him to Kersauzon’s new village all spoke some Breton, or at least some French. They’d be able to make themselves understood once they made it to dry land—and maybe they would hear something the settlers didn’t want them to.
    Kersauzon waved when he saw the English boat heading toward his. A little to Edward’s surprise, the Breton’s rowers didn’t make a race of it. They went back to shore sedately instead. A couple of the English fishermen sent Edward questioning looks, but he shook his head. Why push things? They’d get there soon enough any which way. And besides…
    â€œWarmer here than it is in New Hastings,” he called to Kersauzon. It was warm enough, in fact, to make the sweat stand out on his face, and unpleasantly sticky, too.
    Unpleasantly for him, at least. François Kersauzon made a joke of it: “You are from the north, so you settle in the north, and you think chilblains are every man’s God-given right—is it not so?”
    â€œWe like the weather we’re used to,” Edward said, and left it at that. The boat’s keel grated on hard sand. He hopped out and helped haul it farther up the beach. Kersauzon and his men were doing the same with theirs. Edward pointed to the land they’d cleared in back of Cosquer. “Are those vines you’ve planted there?” he asked.
    â€œWhat else would they be?” the Breton replied. “Beer is all very well—I have nothing against beer. Who could? But I want wine, too. And I’ll have it…soon. Not yet, mind you, but soon. Maybe we can trade this for that, eh?”
    â€œMaybe we can,” Edward agreed. “My other son—not Henry, who’s with me, but Richard—is starting a new settlement deep in the woods. Before long, we may have more lumber than we can use ourselves. And who knows what else we’ll find once we look around a bit?”
    â€œWho indeed? You’re ahead of us. I think even Freetown”—Kersauzon pronounced the name as if it tasted bad in his mouth—“is a