The ship's captain, doubtless given the task for his loud if unlovely voice, bellowed a short speech to the audience. Sulun heard a dozen references to Master Entori and not one mention of himself or his crew, but only shrugged. It wasn't fame that interested him now. He peered over the railing as best he could, but couldn't see if Zeren was in the crowd.
Entori raised a hand, the sailors responded with another drumroll, and the rest of the crew cast off lines. The steersman took a grip on the tiller as if expecting to wrestle with it. Sulun could hear the gurgling and belching of the engine below; he wished he were close enough to the hatchway to sneak a quick look down into the engine cabin.
A creaking groan came from the paddle wheels, then a slurging of water as the wheels began to move. The crowd on the deck shouted in amazement. Entori for once beamed from ear to ear. It was not a pretty expression.
The wheels turned faster, bringing the paddles up dripping. Water slid under the keel, and the ship shuddered, then slid away from the dock. The steersman, looking martyred, leaned heavily on the sweep. The crowd on the dock howled in shock, wonder, delight; Entori the Miser had at last put on a real show for them, a marvel such as no one had ever seen before, a bit of history to tell their children and neighbors about. They cheered, stamped, applauded, and threw odd items of clothing and food into the air.
"I think our master will be pleased with his reception," said Doshi, wincing a little at the noise.
"Let's hope he's grateful, too," Sulun muttered, keeping a covert eye on Entori. He knew what today's schedule would be: a leisurely sail across the harbor, a brief circle through the calm sea beyond—enough to test the engine's speed and the ship's maneuverability—then back to the dock for a quick examination of the mounts, valves, gears, and bearings before going home to a victory dinner. Somewhere in that period he must catch Entori in a good mood and entice his permission to work fullspeed and fulltime on the Bombard Project.
Meanwhile, seeing that Entori had begun to relax, order wine, and enjoy the voyage, Sulun thought he and Omis should spend some time watching the operation of the engine. He signalled to the blacksmith and made his way unobtrusively down to the engine deck.
The engine's cabin resembled the steamroom at the public baths, making figures indistinct but carrying sound. Two burly sailors were arguing in the fog while Arizun danced around them, ignored by both, insisting that he would dip the water and load the coals, thank you, but they would have to rotate the platform. Another sailor stood by the porthole, dolefully wagging a palm frond fan, trying to drive out some of the steam.
"Who's oiling the gears?" Sulun shouted, cutting off the argument in mid-yell. "And who's watching the axles for vibration? This is supposed to be a test of the engine, and which of you fools is watching the engine?"
The sailors looked guilty. Arizun snickered. Sulun rolled his eyes, flapped his hands in desperation, and got busy with the observations. He made a point of explaining every detail to the sailors at considerable volume, in hope that they'd remember how to do this once the test was over and the ship back to regular work. It occurred to him that he should suggest to the captain that some reliable man be permanently assigned to tend the engine, someone capable of reading the descriptions, understanding the drawings, and making any necessary repairs. He toyed with the idea of a whole guild of ship-engine tenders while he peered at gears, oiled moving parts, and noted water levels.
Soon enough came the captain's bellowed order to reverse course. Sulun pointed imperiously to the two sailors, then to the handles on the platform. "Pull," he commanded. "No, no, you fools! The other way! That's right. Now wait, wait until the axle stops turning. . . . There. Now pull it the rest of the way."
The sailors pulled, the platform turned, the gears engaged with a minimum of protest, and the big axle began turning the other way. Cheers came from above, mixed with wails of complaint from the steersman. The sailors in the engine cabin studied the spinning axle, gears, and the turbine with growing admiration. Arizun smirked as he dumped on more coals. Sulun, noting everyone's sodden clothes and hair, made a quick recommendation for oiling and waxing the decks and bulkheads, and got out of there.
Back on the main deck, he found reason to be grateful for his steambath. The sun was high, the weather burning hot, and everyone but the sailors was wilting visibly. Entori and his sister sat under a hastily erected awning, sipping cups of chilled wine. The others passed around an ewer of lukewarm beer. Sulun strolled quietly to the railing and watched the captain put the ship through its paces: backing straight, backing and turning, ordering full stop and then forward while timing with a small sandglass how long the changes took. The man seemed to familiarize himself quickly with the uses of the engine. Impressed, Sulun waved him a salute. The captain smiled, nodded acknowledgment, and went back to his tests. Best to talk to him later. Meanwhile, observe Entori and pick a good moment to talk to him.
Yanados stood near, eyes flicking over the working sailors but always coming back to the captain. Sulun edged close to her and quietly told her his idea of specialized engine-tending sailors. She nodded agreement, not taking her eyes off the captain.
"I'll talk to the captain, if you like," she offered. "I know the proper words sailors would use, and he'll listen to me. Best if you deal with our master."
Sulun agreed with the tactic, and eased his way toward Entori, studying his target. The man seemed to be in high good humor, actually smiling for a second or two, no doubt thinking of the profits to be made with such a ship as this. No better time than now. Sulun sidled closer.
"I would say the engine is a success, Master," he began.
"Hmm, yes," Entori agreed, barely glancing at Sulun.
Eloti gave them both an expressionless look, said nothing.
"I have another invention in mind," Sulun plunged, "which may be even more profitable. I could proceed using little more than the supplies we already have, and bring you results within another moon or less."
"Another invention?" Entori peered at him, face falling into that habitual look of suspicion. "What is it?"
Sulun took a deep breath. "A new weapon, one that could utterly rout the Ancar, even regain the lands Sabis has lost. The army would certainly pay well for such a thing, as one may guess. With your permission, Master, I will proceed—"
"Not now." Entori dismissed him with a wave of one hand. "The navy will pay well enough for these ship engines—after I've fitted my own ships with them. You will make more such engines."
"Er, these engines can be readily made, Master—by any good smiths in the city, now that we have the designs. You could hire other smiths to make the engines—far more and faster than my little work gang could do—while I work on the weapon. If you will permit—"
"None of that!" Entori snapped. "I'll not have every rude mechanic in the city knowing the secret of these engines, selling the knowledge to every shipper who asks. No, boy, the secret will remain in my house."
"Certainly, Master," Sulun gulped. "In that event, let us hire more workmen to make the engines—make many of them, and quickly—while I proceed with the weapon, likewise in secret. You'll have two fine devices to sell, and nobody else will—"
"What, more mouths to feed? And at such prices?" Entori purpled. "Your lot is expensive enough."
"But it would take us months to build another engine! The time lost—"
"My next ship sails the day after tomorrow, and will not return to port for two good moons. Take your measurements tomorrow and have the engine ready when she returns. Other than that, I see no call for haste—not enough to require hiring more help."
"The household has lost some servants," Eloti put in, surprising both of them. "For replacements, we could hire skilled mechanics from among these northern refugees. They should come cheaply enough, and grateful for a roof over their heads."
Sulun held his breath, giving Eloti a mute look of gratitude, while Entori thought that over.
"Not now," the miser decided. "Not until my
next cargo comes in. Prices have been terrible lately, and too many of my debtors have fled south. Meanwhile, Sir Philosopher, go measure the next ship and work with what you have." He waved to a passing servant. "Hey boy, more wine. Ah, servants are all whores, whining and conniving to scrape up more pennies . . . Pour carefully, you dolt!"
Eloti gave Sulun a sad, resigned smile, and turned away.
Sulun bowed briefly and wandered back to the railing. Gods, he thought, but this was unbelievable. Greed aside, how could Entori not see the importance of the Ancar invasion? Press gangs snatched levies outside his door, and the man would not risk a few silvers to make weapons. Unbelievable.
And how would he break the news to the others?
Sulun tried, quietly and gently as possible, during the long, leisurely afternoon's voyage. The day was hot but pleasant and the ship performed splendidly, but Sulun's work gang could take no pleasure in it.
"Gods," Omis groaned, "back to sneaking and penny--pinching. How will I ever finish the bombard like this? How can we disguise the work under the old vulture's very nose? Could we move everything but the forge to the river workshop, think you? It would take several wagonloads, and the streets so unsafe . . ."
"I don't see that we have any other choice," Sulun commiserated. "The tools, and supplies . . . We'll need to go all together, or perhaps if we can get word to Zeren he can arrange to have patrols passing in the right places and times. Ah, but how would we get messages to him? Arizun alone wouldn't be safe . . . gods, I can't think. We need Yanados's wit. Where is she?"
But Yanados was nowhere to be found, either on the top deck or below with the engine. A discreet search of what areas Sulun and Omis could reach turned up no sign of Yanados—nor, Omis noticed first, the captain either. The two craftsmen considered those facts, looked at each other, and quietly went back to their places on deck.
Yanados eventually reappeared, looking every so faintly smug, just as the ship was turning back for the harbor. The others said nothing, only looked at her, and she returned them a cool stare. Omis shook his head and gazed out toward the approaching port, where the low sunlight danced on the sea. The ship's bell rang twice, passing messages to the crew, and its sweet tone was echoed by the harbor bell announcing the time.
Omis jumped as if he'd been stabbed. "Bells," he whispered. "Gods, I'm a fool. Bells!"
Before Sulun could ask what he meant by that, the blacksmith ran over to the ship's bell and peered up its interior. Next he grabbed the startled signalman and threw questions at him. Was this bell made in the city? Who made it? Where was his shop? The sailor told all he knew, made a quick excuse, and fled. Omis shook his head and went stomping back to the rail.
"Bells," he kept muttering, much to Sulun's and Vari's alarm. "Heavy brass, maybe heavy enough. Lower heat, easy to cast, but how? Sand molds? Where can I learn? Brass! Gods, I'm an idiot."
"Shush," Sulun whispered. "I think the old vulture's looking."
"But how thick, to contain the pressure?" Omis mumbled.
Entori glanced his way, frowning.
"Quiet, Omis!" Vari elbowed him. "Wait 'til we get home."
Omis snorted, but shut up. Entori looked away. The ship chuffed back to its dock, belching coal smoke and steam from its aft sideports, to the welcoming cheers of the remaining audience at the waterside.
* * *
"We can do it in one trip," Omis insisted as they sneaked the mule cart out the rear gate. "Just go one street over, let me out at the brassworker's, then come get me on the way home. I'll be perfectly safe, I swear!"
"Very well, very well," Sulun capitulated, closing the gate behind them. "Once again, tell me why it must be brass."
"Because I can't get sufficient heat to melt iron, of course!" Omis snorted. "Make iron flow like water? Cast it like brass? Hah, as easily catch the unicorn. Come climb on the cart, and let's make haste."
"But the force of the explosion—"
"Brass can hold it, be she cast thick enough. I tell you—"
"Get up!" Doshi cut their argument short with a slap of reins on the mules' rumps. The laden cart rolled into the street, armed apprentices watching for danger fore and aft.
"Then what shall we do with all that iron we struggled so to get?" Sulun grumbled, struggling for a comfortable position among the bundles.
"Sell it back for better money now that it's been hammered once. Ah, gods, the time wasted! But we should keep some of it for gears and mounts and axles, damn the old vulture. Hmm, also I could hammer some of it into globes to be flung from the bombard. I've long suspected that those canisters were a problem—"
"Crowds ahead!" Arizun warned. "Great gods, I think they're running to a riot. Let's take the next street over."
"Aye, let's," said Yanados, "but I don't think it's a riot. That lot looks more to be running from a press gang."
Doshi had already turned the mules; now he slapped them into a respectably fast trot, hoping that the sounds of the running mob would cover the noise of the cart's wheels.
"It's a god's sign," Omis observed. "This way leads closer to the brassmakers' street."
* * *
The street leading to the workshop was mostly empty—only a few streetside peddlers and a parked covered wagon about—and Sulun's party took little time opening the heavy front door. Arizun noted that at least one attempt had been made to force the latch, but Omis's sturdy iron lock had held well. They brought the cart through the narrow archway and on into the back courtyard, where they set about unloading gear. Arizun went off to lock the door again behind them, and Sulun made a point of listing all the portable goods.
"Travelling clothes, dried rations for two days, our books and tools . . . Damn, it's both too little and too much," he announced. "Too little to supply us for long, too much to carry in one cartload."
"A bigger cart?" Doshi suggested.
"Where? How do we buy one?"
"Sell Omis's extra iron," said Yanados.
"Hmm, that reminds me. Do we all have hatchets, long knives, bows, and sufficient arrows?"
"Also fishhooks and lines, pins, thread, and needles," Vari put in. "And medicines."
Sulun shrugged and made more notes on his waxboard.
Arizun came trotting back into the courtyard, looking a bit pale. "Pardon me, friends," he announced, sounding unusually subdued, "but we have a visitor."
Everyone jumped, and turned to look. Arizun bowed low, with as much of a flourish as he could manage.
Through the archway, dressed in a quietly tasteful gown and carrying a small sunshade, strolled Eloti.
"Greetings again, Craftmaster Sulun," she said. "So pleased to find your true workplace at last."
Sulun couldn't think of anything to say, so he bowed low. Eloti smiled politely, and stood waiting.
Ziya broke the awkward silence, toddling forward and making a more elaborate bow. "Good Mistress Eloti," she said, formal as any high-city hostess, "if you would be so kind as to join us for luncheon, we should be delighted to explain everything to your satisfaction."
Eloti raised an eyebrow in respectful surprise.
Sulun, snapped out of his confusion, breathed a quick prayer of thanks to all available gods and snapped orders to the gawking apprentices: fetch table and couches or chairs, get wine and proper food and some good tableware, suitable for a gentlewoman. The others scrambled to obey. Eloti sat down on the nearest bench, fanned herself languidly with a palm-frond fan, and waited to see what would happen. She seemed intrigued, if not downright amused.
The best that Sulun's crowd could produce was a small table (covered with a clean cloak), two chairs (of which Eloti got the better and Sulun the second), some good wine in a plain jug, some coarse but fresh bread, and a bit of cheese, all served in hastily cleaned mortars and mixing bowls. Ziya did the serving, offering the plates and cups in the best high-house style, with all the proper phrases. The other apprentices watched in fascination for a few minutes, then took themselves elsewhere. Ziya pou
red out the wine, bowed formally again, then excused herself and hurried after the others.
Sulun took the opportunity to marshal his store of facts and arguments, and incidentally raise his estimate of Ziya's intelligence. He wondered how often the child had observed her mother performing just such duties for Shibari's creditors.
"I regret that the surroundings are less than elegant," Sulun began cautiously, "but we find this location to be useful, quiet, and inexpensive."
"I'm pleased to see you practicing good economy with my funds," Eloti replied, sipping the wine. She raised an eyebrow again in approval of the vintage. "I have also noted the common absence of my mule cart. Might I ask just what tools and other goods you have been transporting?"
Accounting time, Sulun realized. It would not be wise to mislead the lady. "Tools for working on our new project in secret," he admitted. "Everything except Omis's forge."
"Also, I've noticed considerable food, clothing, and household items. Were you expecting to withstand a siege here?"
"It's possible," Sulun hedged.
Eloti tapped a fingernail on her mortar cup. "Is that the only reason?"
"No," Sulun admitted. "If this project fails and the city falls, we hope to escape."
"All of you?" Eloti glanced around at the building that concealed the rest of Sulun's crew. "Your friend the blacksmith, his wife and children also?"
"Yes." Sulun couldn't begin to explain that all of them had become a sort of household, a family, in their own right. "We'll leave no one behind."
"Indeed?" Eloti took another sip of wine. "I find your loyalty strange, but commendable." Her eyes narrowed, skewering Sulun over the edge of her cup. "Could your . . . coterie possibly be expanded to include a patron?"
Sulun gulped. "Do you mean that Entori knows—plans to escape with us?"
"Not my brother. I have tried, many times, to discuss departing Sabis with him. He will not hear of it." Eloti set her cup neatly, precisely, back on the table, and clasped her hands under her chin like any merchant about to do business. "So, I wish to employ you and your students to undertake this new weapon project under my auspices. Is that formal enough?"
A Dirge for Sabis Page 12
