It does not have a seat of government for anything except its own administration, plus three regional assemblies in semi-devolved areas. Although Muriseayan banks are found all over the Archipelago, and its currency is accepted in most of the biggest islands, it does not control the economy of other islands, nor does it seek to do so. The same is true of language, cultural influence, policy towards the Covenant, and much more. Like most of the islands, Muriseay is run as a benign seignioral feudal state, inward-looking and socially conservative, but with a positive interest in market forces, and the freedom and human rights of the individual.
Although Muriseay has a civilian policier force and coastline guards it has no army, no air force and the only navy is a small fleet of fishery protection vessels. The civilian populace is banned from holding concealable weapons, and strict licensing arrangements cover sport and hunting uses. There are two military airfields, but each of those is used exclusively by one or other of the combatant allied powers. In this, Muriseay is in contrast with the smaller islands, some of which do maintain a standing militia or defence corps. Muriseay is constitutionally neutral even within the Covenant.
Muriseay’s wealth attracts many more immigrants than does any other island – it has full shelterate and havenic laws – so that while being the wealthiest place in the Archipelago, Muriseay also has a higher incidence of poverty than anywhere else. The apartments and houses of the major cities, including Muriseay Town itself, are crowded and in many places in poor physical condition. Some of the streets are all but impassable with traffic, mopeds, roadside enterprises and pedestrians – in other parts, especially in the Colonial Quarter, there are many fine buildings and open squares, and a network of old streets where restaurants, cinemas, houses and small privately owned shops are found. Many of the streets are lined with jacarandas and eucalypts. Air pollution is serious, especially in Muriseay Town. Crime is rife, particularly amongst ethnically varied immigrants. Huge shanty towns surround the outer city. There are numerous deeply entrenched social problems related to overcrowding, drug and alcohol abuse, prostitution, racial prejudice, child neglect and cruelty, homelessness, violent crime, and much more.
However, the most disruptive influence on Muriseayan life is the island’s ambivalent relationship with the combatant powers. Both of these have immense military bases on Muriseay, established illegally and by force and occupied in resistance to all political attempts to have them removed. The large, heavily fortified camps are used for training, planning, interrogation and R&R. Because the camps are situated at opposite ends of the island they rarely come into contact or conflict with each other. Both bases employ local people, so their presence has a positive influence on the economy of the island. As well as having the military camps in place, Muriseay is also an invariable port of call for the many troopships passing through the Midway Sea, heading to or from the battle zones of Sudmaieure. These frequent visits have a disruptive effect on lives in the ports, adding to the social problems already in existence, but also bringing a source of income to many inhabitants.
However, for all the industrial and social complexities Muriseay is one of the most physically beautiful islands of all. The central massif has snow-capped mountains for most of the year, and its deep gorges, rivers, rock-faces and alpine pastures are a source of pleasure for inhabitants and visitors alike. Because of the island’s proximity to the equator, and its adjacency to the strongest tidal flow in the Midway Sea, Muriseay has many beaches that are an irresistible attraction for pleasure-seekers, from quiet beaches suitable for young families, to the famous Wookat Beach, where the extreme sport of rock-surfing is carried out all year round.
Muriseay Town itself is in the south-western corner of the island, situated in a broad bay which is the outlet for two of the island’s largest rivers. It is surrounded by tropical forest, of such complexity and denseness that beyond the limits of urbanization much of it remains unexplored, even in the present day. It is known or thought that the Muriseayan rainforest was the cradle of life for many hundreds of different species now found dispersed throughout the islands. No thryme colonies have ever been found on Muriseay. Parts of the forest are open to visitors in a range of sensitively designed and managed visitor and camping complexes, while the wilder and more remote regions are accessible to hardy bush-walkers. The forest extends over most of the southern half of the island and remains undamaged for most of its extent. There are rumours of ‘lost tribes’ still eking out a primeval existence somewhere in the deepest parts of the forest, but all evidence for this is anecdotal and scientific surveys have so far discovered nothing. The Muriseayan Council has for many years resisted attempts to commercialize the forest or to exploit areas of it for timber.
The forest is ringed, but not traversed, by modern highways and railroads.
Perhaps the greatest influence Muriseay has on the rest of the Archipelago is its heritage of arts. Almost every great composer, artist, writer or actor in the world was either born on Muriseay or studied there at some time, or at least has reflected Muriseayan influence in his or her work. Much of the island’s great wealth has been poured into support of the arts – every Muriseayan city has a major opera house or concert hall, while Muriseay Town has two of each, endlessly in competition with each other. Galleries, theatres, museums, workshops, studios, libraries abound. Large artistic communities continue to thrive in all parts of Muriseay – there is an unusual arrangement in that no recognized artist resident on Muriseay is expected to pay tax, but contributes to the economy on a tithe basis, enriching galleries and public buildings with an ever-expanding variety of books, paintings, sculptures and musical compositions.
Of course, artists being of essence temperamental, there are those who have rebelled against the Muriseayan artistic hegemony, or were never accepted into it.
Of the writers, perhaps the must notable and luminous exile was the great Piqayean novelist Chaster Kammeston. He not only never visited Muriseay but actively disdained its influence, would not allow Muriseayan artwork anywhere near his house and never received nor of course ever applied for any Muriseayan grant aid. When awarded the highest literary accolade in the world, the Inclair Laureateship for Literature, Kammeston accepted, but on discovering that the ceremony was traditionally held on Muriseay he belatedly attempted to decline the prize. Such was his standing that the Laureateship Committee decided exceptionally to make the award on the author’s home island. The entire committee plus an attendant horde of publishing and media people travelled at their own great inconvenience to Piqay. Kammeston did then rise magnanimously to the occasion, accepted the Laureateship humbly and thankfully, and made a gracious acceptance speech in which he praised a number of his fellow authors.
The mime artist, Commis, refused for years to take his performance to the island. He never gave any reason. It is thought that his short Muriseayan season of live performances was booked either in error or against his wishes by his agent. The agent died in mysterious circumstances shortly afterwards, and Commis himself was murdered before he could reach Muriseay to fulfil the contract. Because of the unusual nature of his murder, it was cynically rumoured at the time that he had staged or falsified his own death to break the contract, but this is an outrageous suggestion. It remains none the less that his work is unknown on the major island except, ironically, by word of mouth.
Rascar Acizzone, the tactilist master, was a native of Muriseay, but he was sent into permanent exile after a period of imprisonment. Although his work is still officially disapproved, the museums and galleries in Muriseay Town do have examples of his extraordinary paintings in closed case, for examination solely by academics, historians and genuine students.
A similar exception to the rule was the landscape painter and portraitist Dryd Bathurst. He was permanently barred from entering Muriseay after some incident during a visit in his youth. It appears that there was a policier or probation element to this ban, not an artistic one, because his work hangs prominently
in several galleries on the island. And Jordenn Yo, the earthmoving installation artist, tried several times to enter Muriseay but was refused entry every time.
However, these people are the exceptions and the Muriseayan artistic influence remains the most important in the world. Visitors intending to take advantage of this immense heritage should plan an extended stay on the island, or make repeated visits so they might fully appreciate the huge range of material the island has to show.
Currency: all accepted in Muriseay Town; elsewhere the Archipelagian simoleon, Muriseayan thaler and Aubracian talent may be used at commercial rates. Forces’ paper money is also accepted in the port areas of the big coastal cities.
NELQUAY
SLOW TIDE
A small, obscure and largely unvisited island, NELQUAY is situated in the cool northern latitudes, part of the Torqui chain of islands. The economy is agrarian peasant, although a speculative construction project is under way to build a marina, hotel and casino complex.
This controversial and ambitious development attracted scores of migrant workers from neighbouring islands – notably from the adjacent Hetta Group – many of whom remained on Nelquay when the construction work went into abeyance. The financial backers of the project were not known, and the marina became subject to scrutiny by Covenant administrators. It would have involved the building of a new harbour immediately adjacent to one of the military shipping lanes. As that put the island potentially in breach of the Covenant, the entire project has been put on hold until more is known about who is behind the project and what their intentions are.
After the murder of the mime artiste Commis, the search for the killers soon focused on Nelquay. This was because there is a direct ferry route between Nelquay and the town of Omhuuv, where Commis was killed. A group of itinerant workers who were known to have been on Nelquay for the marina construction were seen in the vicinity of the killing at the time. They left Omhuuv just after the murder and there were witness accounts of them boarding the ferry to Nelquay.
Officers of the Policier Seignioral from the Hetta Group visited Nelquay Town and raided the address where these men were known to have been lodging. None of the men was present – to date they remain fugitives – but a great deal of incriminating material was discovered in an outhouse at the back of the property. A lot of construction equipment and materials had been concealed there, and this included a sheet of plate glass, similar, according to policier forensic scientists, to the sheet that was used to murder Commis.
Later some men were arrested in Nelquay, but were released without charge.
A dry, blustering katabatic wind called the SORA, which rises in the cold plateau of the mainland not far to the north of Nelquay, sweeps across the island most nights. Livestock on Nelquay is hardy, the main crops are beets, potatoes, carrots, leeks, swedes.
Kal Kapes visited Nelquay once, seeking imaginative exposure to the colder, more undeveloped and therefore more challenging areas of the Archipelago. He had always responded to the myths of the barren north, the great quest sagas of the seas and the legends of the frozen heights. He stayed for three months but there was no university or library on Nelquay, no one he could talk to, nothing to inspire him but the cold sea, the grey landscape, the seabirds and an almost unvaried diet of boiled mutton. He persevered, but he was alone. One night, close to the harbour in Nelquay Town, he was beaten up and robbed at knife point. He departed the next day.
Currency: Archipelagian simoleon.
ORPHPON
STEEP HILLSIDE
Although there are vineyards on many islands throughout the Archipelago, the island of ORPHPON is the producer of some of the finest wines. Traditionally sold in cask form and never bottled on site, the wines are shipped to specialist distributors where they are repackaged. The white wines called ORSLA, from the hilly districts of Orphpon, are sharp, bright and dry. The AETREV of some of the neighbouring islands are a little sweeter, and vary in colour from a rosy yellow to a greenish gold, and have a bouquet reminiscent of spice and berries. These are the wines most eagerly sought by connoisseurs.
The wines from the southern coast of Orphpon are a coarser red, generally deemed undrinkable at the table, and are shipped to blenderies on the northern mainland where they are mixed with other table wines, or used as the basis for fortified aperitifs.
Olives are grown in the same region. On several of Orphpon’s neighbouring islands the income from olive cultivation exceeds that of the vineyards.
Many people move to the Orphpon group of islands because of the presumed congeniality of the ambience, the warm summers and what is thought to be the spirit of good neighbourliness amongst the islanders. Much of this would appear to be true. However, there are strict shelterate laws and unadvertised visa restrictions.
Only by travelling in person to Orphpon will you discover that your stay is to be restricted to fifteen days, even should you have a firm booking at a local hotel or other resort, and that you will not be allowed to return for another two years. Outsiders and casual visitors rarely understand the reasons for these strict rules and every year there are attempts to breach or ignore them. Such visitors will then discover how strictly enforced are the laws. The prison regime in Orphpon Town is downright unpleasant and rigidly enforced (we write with some experience), and the authorities routinely maintain several empty cells throughout the holiday season in readiness for would-be visa deniers.
However, most of the cells in the prison do command an attractive view across the harbour and adjacent islands.
Unusually for the Archipelago, Orphpon is not a feudal state with a bill of rights for the freedom of the individual, but is a family-run fiefdom.
The family has extensive business interests throughout the Archipelago. The current Monseignior owns a vast fleet of luxury yachts, and a controlling interest in two of the largest inter-island ferry services. The family owns a large arms manufacturing company in the state of Glaund, and much of the gambling organization that runs through the Archipelago is owned and run by the Monseignior’s extended family.
The artist, Dryd Bathurst, visited Orphpon when still a young man. He began a series of sketches for later development as oil paintings, but was forced to leave when his visa expired. There is something of an unsolved mystery about this, as his visa would not have been on a different basis than anyone else’s, yet he is known to have remained on Orphpon for nearly a year. When he finally completed his celebrated Orphpon Sequence, some three years later, the paintings were recognized as modern masterpieces and they now hang in the Museum d’Artistes in Derril City.
It has recently been discovered that Bathurst had been allowed to stay in the Monseignior’s Winter Residence on Orphpon, because even at his comparatively young age at the time his fame was widespread and his artistic reputation secure. It was while he was in the Residence that he drafted his sketches for the paintings that later made up the Sequence.
It is also known that Bathurst at least visited the prison in the town. The Bathurst Archive maintains that he went as a celebrated visitor who had been invited to inspect the facilities, but during our own brief internment we discovered from other inmates that there is one particular cell that for many years has been known as the Bath-House.
The identity of the tantalizingly unclad young model depicted in the two most admired Orphpon Sequence paintings is officially unknown. The Archive maintains that she was an imaginary muse for the great artist. However, one of the Monseignior’s young nieces is known to have been staying at the Residence at approximately the same time, and after Bathurst left the island she was never heard from again.
Currency: Ganntenian credit, Archipelagian simoleon, also barter on a scale fixed by the Orphpon Seigniory.
PIQAY (1)
FOLLOWED PATH
PIQAY is the island of traces. A small and pretty wine-growing island, famous for its elevated views of the surrounding sea and other islands close by, Piqay is renowned throughout the Archipelago as t
he place no one can or will leave. In practical terms this is untrue, because there are no prohibitions on travel, and like most islands Piqay has a busy port constantly trading. Ferries depart every day for the adjacent islands. None the less there is a tradition amongst Piqayeans for staying. They are rarely encountered anywhere outside their own island.
In the minds of the superstitious, Piqay is a place of unrested spirits, of unquiet souls, caught languishing between the here and now and the great hereafter. They are the traces of life. In the minds of the rational, Piqay is a place of unresolved hopes, of unfinished work, of unbroken attention. They are the traces of the living. Both irrational and rational are trapped by their condition.
Wider understanding of this phenomenon came from the work of the Inclair Laureate for Literature, CHASTER KAMMESTON. His early novels, all set on Piqay, were at first misunderstood and neglected, because of what was taken to be the psychologically implausible behaviour of his characters.
Kammeston’s second novel, Terminality, is a perfect example. Terminality takes the form of a murder mystery. In fact, it is not a mystery at all, since the identities of both the murderer and the victim are made known to the reader from the start. And it is not entirely a murder, either. Ambiguity rests both in the victim, who seems to have a split personality, and in the murder itself, which is set up so that it might have been accidental. Equally, it might have been deliberate. The theatrical setting, where appearances deliberately deceive, adds to the feeling of uncertainty. After the death occurs, the killer appears to be incapable of leaving the scene of the crime. His escape is made possible and eventually achieved with the help of others, but although believing himself innocent of a deliberate killing he refuses to flee. He remains on the island until the Piqayean policier seignioral arrest him.