They are breaking down the front of two of the barns, Mum. They are bringing out the boats.”

“You know they’re boats?” Glinda felt a little cheapened.

“You think you’re the only one pays attention to Rain,” said Murth.

I7.

The vessels roled out on an ancient technology: clean-hewn logs set paralel. At once Glinda saw the serviceability of Mockbeggar in a new light. The appeal to Cherrystone of her country house wasn’t the formal aspect of the great house. A Palantine masterpiece meant nothing to the armed forces. It was the barns. They were tal enough to have served as incubators for these four massive ships. Sequestered, men had worked through the daily downpours and on through the night.

Even more important, the grade from the barnyard to lake would accommodate a launch. A clear access presented itself across the drive, through the wildflower meadow and down the pastures, neatly avoiding the ha-ha and (mercifuly) Virus Skepticle’s bentlebranch foly in honor of freshwater mermaids.

Glinda considered herself in the mirror, then drew a lace shoulderette from the wardrobe and freshened her lashes. A parasol to suggest idle ambling. She wished she had lap dogs so she could seem to be taking them for a walk, but ever since that monstrous Toto had nipped her heel and torn the hem of her favorite pink reception gown she had gone off the cussed creatures.

Puggles was making an effort to concoct some sort of soup. “I weren’t raised to this grade of domestic work, Mum,” he said, wiping his brow and nearly clocking himself through the clumsy application of a meat malet.

“You’re doing admirably. I shal take notes one day. But Puggles, did Miss Murth tel you? The builders have unveiled their constructions.”

“She did.”

“How wil they avoid being attacked? The ships, I mean?”

“Lower your voice, Mum, there’s soldiers everywhere now.” He pounded harder as he spoke, to drown out his whisper. “It’s hard to get word through the cordon of guards, but I have it on pretty solid authority that the farmers and fishermen of the area already have worked out for themselves what was going on here. I think some of the Munchkinlander beached fleet might be readying to venture out again after their nice long rest.” He winked at her. “Suicidal, I know…”

“There’l be cannon on board Cherrystone’s warships, no doubt.”

“Cannons are good for hammering at the stone wals of fortresses, Mum, but they’re less good for swiping at your little lake heron or your quick minnow. If you take my meaning.”

“Wel.” She chose her words carefuly. “If you hear more about the wildlife on the lake this season, do let me know.”

“I’m no longer permitted outside the house, Mum,” he told her. “I’m not likely to hear more.”

She moved on, worried for the local Munchkins. Cherrystone was too smart to display these lummoxy floating wooden castles without being prepared to deal with any attack on them. Stil, Glinda was infected with a sense of excitement as she descended the great stairs. She admired the wel-made thing, whatever it was: a slipcover, a compliment, a man-o’-war.