A courtly education marked a person.

Leslie could see it in the Czarina's bearing, with that beam-straight back and chin that never tilted down. He could see it in the way she studied each of them, the captain first, then him. He could see it in the compete absense of any hint she was thinking, her face schooled to a rigid calm that barely gave away the fact that she was breathing.

Leslie could see the long hours and drills that went into forging this Olenican Czarina. An education superior to his own. An education perhaps as intense as whatever strange childhood the captain had.

"Captain Oal, while I can understand your interest in avoiding making me a target, I find my education might be lacking if I didn't join you now," the Czarina said as she crossed the gangplank. "And these two can't be that dangerous, you've left them unshackled and armed."

"Small arms only, ma'am," Captain Oal replied, in that deliberately bland way that suggested the emotions had just been scrubbed out. "They were polite enough to leave their pistols aside."

"Polite, is it?" the Czarina asked.

"Czarina of the house of Olen, you grace us with your company," Leslie cut in, as politely as he could manage. When she turned his way, he set his heels together, and offered a courtly bow as he had been taught. "Please forgive the lack of hospitality, we are far from prepared to receive you."

"Smoothly said, sirrah," the Czarina replied, and she returned the bow with a small one of her own. "Captain Oal, I was under the impression the far skies were the domain of scoundrels and pirates. Yet I find courtly manners and you looking like you were about to send them on their way."

"I was," Captian Oal admitted tersely. "They have a charter to look for this ship, and a valid legal claim to both the cargo and the vessel itself. We had just agreed on a price for salvaging the ship at Ysevar."

"Well, this just keeps defying all expectations," the Czarina said, sounding pleased. "Who's charter, and why does it supersede our claim as the proper authority in Olencian skies?"

"Volante navy. The cargo is theirs."

"Naval cargo in Olencian skies is highly suspect, Captain."

"Agreed. But the cargo isn't a weapon, and its destination is clearly laid out in the logs of the captain of this abandoned vessel. Apparently it's a collection of spyglass lenses, much like the device on the deck, that the Wayfarers wanted to look for something called 'stars'."

Leslie was surprised to see Octavia purse her lips thoughtfully. "The stars. I've heard the legend, much of the Academies of the Olentz think it's just a myth. Though why Volante is indulging this fantasy hunt is something I would very much like to know."

"I take it you don't share the popular opinion about the stars then, madam?" Vincent asked, surprising Leslie with how straightforward his captain was willing to speak.

"No. My aunt in particular feels we ought to put more stock in the Wayfarer's legends," the Czarina began to say, and then stopped. She studied Vincent as if she hadn't seen him before. "You call the scientific consensus of the Olentz 'popular opinion', as if you know better."

"Volante has a different consensus on the subject, and like your aunt, I trust the Wayfarers on matters of the far skies," the captain said. He then took a startlingly bold step forward, and held out his hand. "Vincent Locklear, Captain of the Ravens' Child."

Leslie fully expected her to order Captain Oal to have Vincent shot. Or arrested. Or flogged. The captain's extended hand was a breach in protocol so severe that, had they been in the Olencian court, would have had Leslie shot just for witnessing it.

What Leslie did not expect, was an Olencian Czarina to shake that extended hand. "Octavia du'Olen, one of Emperor Cardin Olen's multitude of progeny. Technically second lieutenant aboard my ship, though the ranking diplomat."

"Czarina?" Captain Oal asked, looking confused and more than a little frightened.

Octavia smiled sweetly, indulgently, as she turned to her ship's captain. "Captain Oal, what you might not know is that among the Wayfarers, is ship captains rank quite a bit higher than among any other people in the sky. It has to do with living on ships, captain is a title that trusts the fate of an entire people to the single set of hands at the wheel."

Another surprise. And more proof that in matters of court, the Czarina's education was more complete than Leslie's own.

"The name the rest of the skies calls the sky-folk, Wayfarers, is the title of the ship's captain," Vincent added. "And is this a concession that we are in the free skies?"

"Yes and no," Octavia said. "Our navigator puts us at less than six hundred miles from Olencia, within the nominal definition of territorial skies. Though beyond the pull of our great isle."

"Your navigator's been into your personal stores of brandy then. As of half an hour ago, we were eight-hundred and fourteen miles from Olencia. Before you came alongside, our drift sunward was six miles an hour relative to your great isle. So that distance will increase to eight-hundred and fifteen in..." the captain pulled out his pocket watch. "Another six minutes."

"You just made that up," Octavia insisted.

Vincent handed her a small book, open-faced. "The math."

Octavia took the book, looked it over, and her eyes widened. "Now you really remind me of my aunt," she said. She folded the book and handed it back to Vincent. "Nominally just beyond. Disputably so, since you're measuring from the middle of Olencia, rather than the closest point."

"As you're supposed to," Vincent countered.

"Only scholars do that," Octavia said with an almost Cheshire-like smile. "Which means, by your own admission, we're close enough that our position is certainly arguable. And in such circumstances, the expedient resolution is the rule of the gun, is it not?"

"It is," Vincent admitted. Leslie recalled the rule of the gun, it had come up several times during their years in the navy. In an arguable issue, like the precise location of a ship in a dispute, the argument was given to whichever side had more cannon.

Leslie grinned. A lot like a good boxing match, there was a complicated fight happening in front of him. In this diplomatic arena, they were in the Czarina's arena, and her education was almost perfectly suited for this contest. A perfect opponent to reveal just how far the hidden skies of the captain's knowledge reached.

It also helped that the Czarina didn't know the stakes these games were being played for.

"Then under Olencian skies, salvage is a matter for the navy, and I have no claim on the Matilda," Vincent said, conceding the issue with a shrug meant for the Olencian captain. "Seems you're a richer man, Captain Oal."

"Suspect we're both poorer, Captain Locklear," Captain Oal smiled rather ruefully. "I think I'll be getting your share now, at most."

"That settles that. And you'll return the cargo, of course," Octavia added.

"Of course I won't," Vincent interjected. "The cargo is marked navy property, under a diplomatic mission, and I have a legal charter to retrieve it. At most, the navy would be expected to pay storage fees, and be recompensed by the Empire for any damage to the property."

"Olencia wouldn't be liable for damages," Octavia disagreed.

While Leslie wasn't fully able to appreciate the contest, he could read enough to know the Czarina misstepped. "Not at all true, considering the Matilda was harried and abandoned because of piracy in Olencian skies. Which, by the rule of the gun, is where we are. This wouldn't be an obligation for the Merchant Marine, but because this is a naval contract, you have an obligation to provide, within Olencian skies, the protection the Volante Navy would normally have offered someone working for them."

"Now that's not," Octavia began, but stopped as she weighed his claims against what she knew. "That would only be true if this ship were harassed in Olencian skies. Your nominal drift is towards Olencia, which does suggest you came from the free skies."

"Which would, since salvage efforts had already begun, entitle me to not only the cargo by salvage rights, but a portion of the ship's ransom. Preferably the price agreed to between captains."

"Oh you are good, Captain Locklear," the Czarina said. She spoke with gentle laugh in her voice that made Leslie distinctly nervous.

Vincent seemed to agree. "Mister Madrigan, I reckon this won't end favourably," he said, still facing the Czarina, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for the next round in their bout.

"You seem to be doing rather well, captain," Leslie remarked, but he turned his body just a little, as he reached a hand into his pocket.

"An odd thing to say when you've done so well," the Czarina said.

"I sense a storm coming," Vincent replied with a shrug. "I'd offer you and Captain Oal tea, but not even the Wayfarers have figured out how to boil water in free-float. Nevertheless, an offer of a tour still stands, and a chance to inspect the cargo. I can even show you my ship's registration charter with the Volante Merchant Marine, since I believe your next move is to tell me that I may not have salvage rights in Olencian skies. The Wayfarers, after all, are not signatories to the Blue Accord."

As Vincent talked, Leslie pulled a small mirror out of his pocket, and angled it so that the reflection of the sun shone across the bridge. He did that once, twice, three times, before the ship let out a small huff of steam.

The Blue Accord was perhaps the single widest-reaching treaty ever signed. Every one of the great isles had signed it, a feat that had largely made the skies as free as they now are. The accords set principles on issues like the dispute the Olencian Czarina and his captain were now having.

"Oh this is delightful, Captain Locklear," Octavia laughed, clapping her hands and spinning in place, somehow managing to keep her boots clinging to the deck as she did it. "If I needed any proof at all you weren't one of those bandits based in Drummond's Spite, this conversation alone would be enough. I daresay I could get you a diplomatic post, if you were so inclined."

"Alas. I'm rather invested in my current fortune," Vincent replied with a small bow.

"I can see that." The Czarina took a long, pointed look over her shoulder, towards the Ravens' Child. The difficult part of this battle, was that though only Vincent knew the stakes, the Czarina was the one with a wider variety of options to draw from. "A metal ship. A recent battle of cannon that you either avoided or participated in, a Calmoori gentleman following a remarkably well-educated former Volantian naval officer. You are entirely too much of an investment to simply be bandits or opportunistic scavengers.  This is a mystery that deserves to be investigated."

"You're welcome to join us at the Roost," Vincent said, but his smile had lost much of its warmth.

"I rather think your person, ship, and crew, should join us in Ardene. If you surrender willingly, I can house you in one of the vista towers, with a view of the unending rain from Chrevanne Peak. It's a limited time offer, Captain, and after that you're less my guest and more my prisoner."

Leslie held his breath, and raised his hands in the air as the Olencian marines shifted into a less relaxed stance. But the Captain turned his head to the Olencian warship, frowned, and shook his head. "There's no way in the black skies that I'm riding on that ship."

"Oh, it's really not that bad, Captain. And I do have a decent wine collection," the Czarina said. "Though it will be a less comfortable voyage if I have to have you in irons."

"That would be the least of my concerns," Vincent said, and Leslie could see his captain was struggling to keep a straight face. "You see, your ship's on fire."