She hadn’t, and said so.
“I talked to Stepanek. The real danger in the Baltic when you’re at sea are Big Mouths. They’ve found torn-up boats with the crews missing. They just climb on board and eat everyone. It’s bad enough that there’s a permanent bounty on them, payable with jawbones brought into any Baltic League–controlled port.”
She shrugged. “It looked like one big creature to me, not a school, but then I only saw it for a second. Doesn’t seem to matter now that we’ve made it.”
The harbor side of Kokkola was festooned with the flags of all the freeholds, attending or otherwise. It was quite a display. Duvalier didn’t recognize a third of the flags.
Some men in an inflatable motorboat roared out to them and threw a line. Their little boat then gently pulled and nudged the Windkraft up against the quay.
A greeter, a milk-skinned woman in a powder blue suit with a yellow scarf, met them wharfside, calling first in Swedish—for the name of the ship and the language, according to the answer provided by Von Krebs.
“Windkraft. English,” returned Von Krebs.
“Thank you,” the woman answered. “What area do you represent, and how many are you?”
“Five total, from the United Free Republics and the Kentucky Alliance. Two voting delegates. The rest are attending.”
“Welcome to Finland and the Baltic League, allies,” she said, showing a brilliant and presumably genuine smile. The Windkraft bumped up against the wharf, and some dockhands in what looked like brand-new clothes tied her up and secured the gangplank.
Duvalier had a moment’s disquiet at the newness of everyone’s apparel. That was the sort of thing that could mean a trap. Or it could just mean the Finns were putting on a show to impress their international guests.
They had to say their good-byes and thank-yous to the crew of the Windkraft.
“What will you do now?” Valentine asked Stepanek and Von Krebs.
“We will return you at the end of July, when the conference is over,” Stepanek said. “I am not sure of the exact route yet, but I know it is to the north, across the Gulf of Bothnia. I believe they mean to take advantage of the summer and keep you far from any Kurian areas for the journey home.”
Valentine nodded. “During the conference, what will you be doing?”
Stepanek shrugged. “Rest. Enjoy the summer weather. I will take a little trip to Helsinki. It is too bad you have these meetings. You could see the private collection.”
“What about you, Krebs?” Valentine asked.
“Von Krebs. The Windkraft will go for a refit. I know some people a little way south on the coast, among the islands. They are wanderers like myself, refugees given the house by the Finns with the understanding that they would restore it. A very beautiful spot. I will have a holiday. Meetings do not interest me. Perhaps do some kayaking if the weather remains favorable. Finnish summers, spirits, and saunas are not to be missed.”
“I’m jealous,” Duvalier said.
“You may perhaps wish to spend a weekend? It is a large home, at least by Finnish standards. I do not think my hosts will mind.”
“Will you be attending any of the sessions?” she asked Von Krebs.
“Ha! No, not my sort of thing at all. I do understand there will be some fine dinners and parties at night. You may expect me at some of them. If you wish to visit, or explore this forest coast in the Windkraft once the maintenance is done, simply leave me a message at the conference center.”
That let Von Krebs out as the agent, then, unless he intended to chitchat his way to information about what had transpired that day.
“Aren’t you part of the Refugee Network?” Valentine asked Von Krebs.
“Yes, I have certain connections that let me smuggle more-prominent individuals out of central Europe. But even so, I am a small fish. They do not need me to do much more than ensure that attendees such as yourself arrive and depart in safety. I would rather enjoy the summer weather outside, you see. And the social atmosphere. This is a very ‘big deal’ as you Americans say for this coast. Influential people will be coming from Helsinki, Oslo, Stockholm, St. Petersburg, even Copenhagen, though the Kurians control that even more than they do Oslo or Stockholm.”
She didn’t much like Von Krebs, but he’d improved, like Pistols, over the days they’d been together. She might take him up on it at that. Save her from having to watch Valentine snuffle around his Polish sailor’s well-muscled crotch like a hound on a hot scent.
At the bottom of the gangplank they were directed to the Ostrobothnian Center. A rattly old blue and white school bus waited for them, or they could walk a few kilometers, following a simple map provided by the woman at the quayside. There were also a few “city bikes,” in the same blue and white, available for borrowing.
They decided to walk to the hotel together. Ahn-Kha carried far more than his fair share, and stayed at the back of the line, with Valentine falling in at the front. Maybe she wasn’t the only one put off
by the fresh paint on everything and the new clothes on everyone.
It was a tidy little city and Duvalier found herself admiring the well-organized Finns. They had many of the same difficulties as the Canadians in Halifax, but you wouldn’t know that the town had burst its seams thanks to a flow of refugees. Maybe the town fathers or whoever was running the joint ordered the residents to haul in the laundry and tie up the dogs.