Poem: "Conquests and Competitions"
This poem came out of the February 5, 2013 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from wyld_dandelyon and ravan. It has been selected in an audience poll as the free epic for the August 6, 2013 Poetry Fishbowl reaching the $200 goal. This poem belongs to the series The Steamsmith.
Conquests and Competitions
Maryam Smith was sitting in the lounge
of the Steamsmith Guild
when Old Henry finally succeeded
in blowing a square smoke ring.
He hastened to write down the settings
on his pipe that had produced it.
"I say, old chap," she said,
"that is rather spectacular!"
Old Henry was quite handy at
learning new ways to do things, though
hardly anyone believed it at his age.
"Yes, I do believe that constitutes a win for me,"
Old Henry said. "I've been in a competition
with a friend on the mainland for,
oh, a decade or so now.
He owes me a case of champagne."
"What was the competition?"
Maryam asked, curious as a cat.
"We wanted to see who could first
find a use for something new in alchemy --
soap bubbles for him, smoke for me."
"What were you trying to do with the smoke,
aside from turning it square?" she asked.
"Well, it's a dynamic illustration of
advanced alchemical mathematics.
It's meant to be the beginning
of a ... sort of cube of cubes, you see,"
Old Henry said.
Maryam did not see.
She had no idea he was going on about,
but she felt confident that he would
figure it out sooner or later
and show them all.
"I don't see much use in that,"
said William Percy.
"It won me a case of champagne,"
Old Henry pointed out,
jabbing at the young man with his pipestem.
"He's got you there,"
George Cavendish said
as he smirked at his friend.
"I'd like to see you do better,"
Percy muttered.
"Capital idea, lads!" Old Henry crowed.
"We should launch a new competition
to celebrate the conquest of the old."
"But Percy and I have different specialties,"
Cavendish pointed out. "Pick mine, and I'd win.
Pick his, and he'd win. That's no competition."
Old Henry turned his sly gaze on Maryam.
"You and Percy aren't the only young bucks
with special interests in alchemy," he said.
Cavendish snorted. "I'd still win," he said,
"not that I'll be playing against that."
"I'd still bet on you," Percy added.
"That's easy money, it is!"
"What makes you so sure?"
Maryam said, piqued as much
by the thought of competition
as by their crass manner.
"I'll not insult my station
by playing the likes of you,
as if you were a proper gentleman,"
Cavendish said. "Blood will tell --
and you don't have what it takes
to be a real alchemist."
Maryam skinned her lips away from her teeth
in something that might have been mistaken for a smile.
"Then as I am a woman, half African, and baseborn
you should have no trouble defeating me," she said evenly,
"if you are man enough to stake your reputation on it.
Should you win, I'll admit you have a point in your politics --
and should I win, you'll concede the same to mine."
Cavendish fumed, then, twisting
the silver-and-onyx buck's head ring
that adorned his finger.
She had him dead to rights
and the whole room knew it.
He ignored her as much as he might,
addressing Old Henry instead,
"What competition do you propose?"
"As you both work with phos lanterns --
I've seen you playing about with new variations --
let's see who can make the smallest
by, say, Whitsuntide," Old Henry proposed.
It was just after the Easter holiday, which gave them
about four weeks until Whitsuntide.
Cavendish perked up then,
intrigued in spite of himself.
Maryam, too, turned to the chase
with a right good will.
"Now shake on it like gentlemen,
and we have ourselves a competition,"
Old Henry instructed.
Cavendish grimaced, reaching out gingerly
to clasp Maryam's hand and let go as quick as possible.
"I am honoured by your courtesy," she said smoothly.
Cavendish made yet another face.
So far, he was the most entertaining part of this game.
Maryam could hardly wait to get home to her lab.