Marlowe entered the meeting house to see Athis, Sir Hyphen-Dash and Captain Stone engaged in a three-way staring contest, which seemed to tax even the latter’s divisible attention. 

Finally Stone spoke, “I don’t believe it! You mean to tell me all of Drake’s tales are true?”

“Sir Francis was here,” Athis said, “Making promises of peace ~ and quiet for all.”

“And then he showed up?” Stone asked, nodding toward the still staring Hyphen-Dash.

Athis nodded eloquently, “One hopes arrival ~ will before the winter storms ~ precede departure.”

Stone, who had a hold full of provisions, from plows to cows, replied simply, “I have my orders.”

Marlowe sensed the tension and stepped in to the fray, saying, “Perhaps a feast of welcome and thanksgiving is in order before any rash decisions are taken?”

Grace arrived at the meeting house just as the gathering was breaking up. Yee-ha was summoned by a gesture from Athis, and he bowed apologetically to Grace and departed. The two cats, who had left Skeezicks the raccoon on the beach making retirement plans, found a quiet place to watch the comings and goings.

Captain Stone was striding off toward the beach with his men, leaving Donald Vagoe to unsteadily attend Lady Belinda, who was again remonstrating with a downtrodden Christopher Marlowe. Grace moved to join her sisters but was quickly caught up by the village women, who chivied the younger folk to help out with preparations for the feast.

The day devolved into a swirl of frantic activity, setting out long tables in the meeting house and sending the hunters out for an extra deer. Grace offered to help carry things up from the shore, where her awkward strength would be most useful, so she was the first of her sisters to find out what a cow really looked like.

With each load that came ashore more sailors arrived, until only a handful were left with the ship. The others were kept under the variously directed eyes of Captain Stone. The marine Major watched the red-coats, knowing how prone they were to dying in the place of some more significant character.

Despite these watchful eyes a few sailors took time from their busy day to pay Grace their respects, which became all the more respectful when they realized this wee chit of a girl was hauling heavier loads than they were along the path up to the village.

“That’s the lot, then,” Captain Stone said to Sir Hyphen-Dash as the afternoon shaded into dusk.

“Not a moment too soon! Spaniards lurking! Lurking I say! We must put it all within the stockade!”

Stone looked at the few paltry stretches of raised posts that constituted the “stockade” and replied, “They seem to be well protected already.”

“Humph! Of course they are! Best offense is a good pretense, I always say!”

Grace wandered away from the bustle and bickering toward the beach, and then along the widening stretch of sand. The long northern dusk was rising and a few stars could be seen over the mountains in the East. Turning the look back she could see smoke rising from the village cook-fires, and she shivered in the cool air, but she heard a kind of cough behind her and spun around to see Rothgar the sea-bear looking at her curiously.

“Hello,” she said, not questioning this time.

“Hello, Sassafras,” Rothgar said.

“Sassafras?” Grace asked.

“Or Saxifrage. Your name. Your true name,” Rothgar told her with a nod. “Stonebreaker.”

“What are you?” was all that Grace could think to reply, “And why does your nonsense always seem so… well, so sensible?”

While Grace was wandering perplexedly back toward the village her fey friend she called Yee-Ha was being scolded by his father, Dagan.

“Ea,” he said, pronouncing the name properly, “do not speak! ~ It is not seemly to ask ~ nor right to answer!”

“I just want to know ~ why hu’run are free to talk ~ however they please.”

“They are not like us.”

“I have noticed this father.”

“Now be a good boy ~ obedient to our laws ~ troublesome no more.”

“I can only try,” he said sullenly, annoyed with his father for finishing the cycle rather than passing it back to him. He was satisfied to hear the awkward response to his hanging opening: “Do or do not! There is no ~ Uh… no try… um… err…”

“But darling!” said Cat to Daphne the ship’s cat as she turned up her nose at the dead mouse he brought her. The woodpile rustled beneath them.

“But darling!” said Lady Belinda as Marlowe turned away from her up-turned face, which was waiting to be kissed. The village bustled around them.

“I am not the man you once knew,” Marlowe said.

“I am not the cat you once knew,” said Daphne.

“Then who ARE you?”

“Just a stranger in a strange land, curious and seeking new experiences.”

“But I am a new experience!”
                        ”Nonsense, I know you of old.”                        ”Adiós”

Grace looked around and saw the disordered heap of provisions piled in the center of the meeting house. Someone had clearly decided the cow should be invited to the feast, although as a guest rather than the main course.

“How does it feel to be a cow?” she asked, and was silently grateful when the only answer was a sloppy lick on the side of her head, imperfectly dodged. She untied the halter-rope and led the now docile bovine out into the open air. There was a half-finished hut that would do nicely for a barn.

Half an hour later she had most of the rest of the pile squared away in various buildings left empty by virtue of lack of anything to put in them. Poor harvest. Poor salmon run. Lots of clams, though.

She saw the land-sick sailor staggering toward the beach. He was muttering to himself, and she slipped close behind him and heard, “Dose, trays, cue at row, sinko, says…” She wondered if it was some new kind of poetry.