Song of the Ice Lord

by J.A. Clement

  ~~~

  In the great city of Laerzinan, there was once a very important old man called Imlan. He was very rich, and prided himself on his great inventiveness. To make sure that he never got complacent, every year he would challenge one craftsman from the city to outdo him in fulfilling three tasks. If the craftsman won, he received a valuable prize of whatever pleased him best – tools, land, horses, money, whatever he requested, and the cleverer his inventions had been, the more he received. If Imlan won, on the other hand, the craftsman would probably still get some sort of gift, but he also had to nail a plaque over his door for a year saying “Bested by Imlan”. In truth, as time passed, it became such a privilege to be invited to participate that this became a badge of honour rather than a mild embarrassment. In the whole forty years of the contest, there had only been two plaques ever made that read “I bested Imlan”, and these were treasured indeed.

  This year was no different. Names were suggested to Imlan, and under the guise of an elderly merchant, his servant Brinam went to visit each shop to gauge the cleverness of the craftsmen. When he had been to all, he returned to the palace, and went to report to Imlan.

  Imlan was in his study, poring over a map of the stars. When Brinam entered, the old man rolled up the scroll carefully and restored it to its tube. He stood stiffly, and walked over to the gracious window that overlooked the city. “So, Brinam, what do you have to tell me?”

  Brinam bowed, and came to stand by his master. “I have been to see the craftsmen, my lord. Would it please you to hear my report?”

  “It would indeed.” Imlan looked out over the city which sprawled across the foothills before him.

  “The first shop I went to was that in the merchant’s quarter. It is a fine house with mosaic floors and a little stream flowing through the gardens. The craftsman made moving ornaments using golden tools with bejewelled handles.”

  “The ornaments?”

  “Pretty but not complex. The man says there is no need to waste his time on the common people but that he has friends in high places who have guaranteed him an invite to this year’s challenge.”

  Imlan snorted. “Ha! And the second?”

  “Tools of brass and a pretty house with three floors and a shady courtyard. He makes interesting devices to amuse ladies, jewellery boxes which play a tune and writing desks with hidden compartments, that sort of thing.”

  “And the third?”

  Brinam did not try to hide his disgust. “The shop right on the market place? As full of flies and children as you might expect. The craftsman, it turns out, is barely a boy. Oh, he is talented enough, but will never make much of himself. His tools are battered old things, and he makes toys for children, and devices to chop food, and a well in the back of his shop with a mechanism to pump up the water without having to haul the buckets. Laudable enough for those who have to haul buckets, I daresay, but not of the sort of calibre to take part in the challenge.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Yes, and he was very dismissive of the whole thing!”

  Looking at Brinam’s outraged face, Imlan laughed. “I begin to understand the reason for your dislike, perhaps. What did he say?”

  Brinam sniffed. “He claims that this sort of challenge is all very well but it does not result in anything useful. He says he is extremely flattered to be amongst those who might be chosen but he does not think for a moment that it was more than a mistake that he was included. And then he turned to a small urchin who was demanding he mend a toy donkey, and I could not get another word of sense out of him.”

  Imlan stifled a smile. “Thank you Brinam. I shall think well upon what you have told me.”

  A day passed, and another, and the city was abuzz with anticipation. Eventually the notices went up in the marketplace, and the two servants who had been stationed there dashed off to advise their masters, while in the little shop, the third craftsman, Ghiblin, paid no attention at all until a small child dashed into his shop.

  “Ghiblin! Ghiblin, you can read, can’t you?”

  “Yes, Samid. Why?” The craftsman looked up from the doll he was mending.

  “Because the notice has gone up in the marketplace and we want to know what’s going on! It was funny, two men came. They had really lovely horses with all jewels on the bridles and they came up to the notice, both acting like they thought they were the King!”

  Ghiblin chuckled. “So what happened next?”

  “They both got all cross and they shouted a lot. Then they went stomping off, you know, like my mama does when she’s cross.”

  Ghiblin stopped what he was doing. “Both of them? Not one of them?”

  Samid thought about it. “No, both of them were cross.”

  Ghiblin frowned and got up, holding his hand out. “Come on then. Let’s have a look.”

  Samid dragged the craftsman through the marketplace, gathering a crowd of well-wishers behind.

  “What does it say, Ghiblin? Did you win?”

  Ghiblin climbed up to read the notice and the crowd fell silent.

  After a moment Samid tugged at his arm. “Well?”

  Ghiblin looked round, stunned. “Well... yes. Well, not won but... I am to compete against Imlan!”

  A roar of approval went up, and there was general cheering. Ghiblin was enveloped in people, and did not see the veiled figure which drew back into the shade of an upstairs room nearby.

  “But my lord, there must be some mistake, surely?” Brinam was horrified at the news.

  “No mistake, Brinam. This city is full of clever artisans and recently some of his works have been brought to my attention. Besides, this lad is well-known among the people for his kindness and good nature. It will be a refreshing change to deal with an honest man.” Imlan looked sideways at his servant. “Humour me, Brinam. I am intrigued. And I don’t like the fact that the others thought I could be bought.”

  “Yes my lord.” Brinam wore a pained expression. “I will ensure he is well washed prior to the audience.”

  The competition started some days later. Ghiblin, who was not as convinced of his good fortune as everyone else was, stood nervously in a little room. He was wearing his best clothes, but even so he was awfully aware of every darn and rip. He did not possess the long gauzy veils and cloaks beloved of the courtiers to keep the dust of the streets off him, so his clothes were covered with a fine film of white dust from the roads.

  Finally Imlan’s man, Brinam put his head round the door with an expression of faint distaste. “Follow me.”

  Ghiblin followed after, reluctantly, into a great room full of immaculately dressed people, veiled in gauze and plastered with jewels. The room was tall and airy, with great coloured gauzes billowing from the columns as breezes drifted through the windows. Ghiblin was acutely aware that in these gorgeous settings he must look like something that had blown in from the street, and all the people drew back to let him through, turning to watch him on his way. He could not even tell whether they were approving or not. Under the veils their features were indistinct, and though they murmured between themselves, there was no overriding tone.

  Imlan stood at the front of the hall, a tall old man with a white beard, impeccably combed, that reached down his front. “Ghiblin, it is good to meet you. My lords and ladies, I think we can all agree that here we are among friends.” He drew back his veil and held a hand out to Ghiblin, bringing him to the small dais. There was a moment’s startled murmuring. Some of the assembled unveiled, or started to and hesitated uncertainly. Others pointedly did nothing. Ghiblin stood, as awkward as a child, wanting nothing more than to get out of there.

  “You have been chosen to take part in this year’s challenge.” Brinam announced. “You will be assigned a workshop with unlimited materials, and a helper who will ensure you have everything that you need. The tasks will be set by the Lady Palfarran – who, by the way, has not given any indication to Lord Imlan of what they will be.” A titter ran round the room. The Lady
Palfarran was Imlan’s sister, and thoroughly enjoyed trying to catch him out. It was rumoured that both times other men had beaten Imlan, she had matched the prize money Imlan had given them.

  Brinam stepped back, and a veiled lady took the dais. Like her brother, she pulled back her veil to reveal a hidden glimmer of smile in her eyes. “This year there will be three tasks. The first is to build something useful. Gentlemen, we will meet here in two days, when I expect to see your work.”

  Imlan led Ghiblin down through the hall and out into the compound to a generous workshop. “My friend, this room is for your use. I have a similar one at the other end. Briman will act as my assistant. Yours will be Lyria. She helps me in my own workshop sometimes and is talented, but I must warn you that she is very shy. She is terribly scarred from a childhood accident.”

  “Thank you.” Ghiblin was ushered into the workshop where a girl stood, her hair across her face. She kept her gaze firmly on the ground while Imlan introduced her.

  “I will leave you to it, Ghiblin. Lyria will bring anything you need. For these tasks, cost is no object. If you need gold, jewels, scales from a dragon, just ask Lyria and she will arrange to have them brought.”

  “Thank you.” Ghiblin stopped. “Scales from a dragon?”

  Imlan smiled. “Just seeing if you’re listening. Is there anything you want to ask me?”

  “No thank you.”

  “In that case I shall be off to think about the task.” Imlan bowed. “I must warn you, I am determined to disappoint Palferran again this year.”

  “And I to please her, my lord.” Ghiblin watched the older man leave, and turned back to the girl, who stood silent. “Lyria.”

  “Sir.”

  He hesitated. “Lyria... Imlan has told me about your scar.” That brought a quick flash of her eyes, up and down again. “Would it distress you if I ask about it?” There was a silence. “I would not distress you, lady.”

  “What would you like to know?” This time she did look at him, though still sideways through her hair.

  “May I see it?”

  She was still for a long moment, and then she pulled aside her hair and threw her head back defiantly to reveal an ugly, ragged scar which ran from cheekbone to chin.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not now.” She paused. “I fell. It was ripped open. I was lucky not to lose an eye.”

  “I am sorry that it happened,” Ghiblin said slowly, “but I hope you will not take it amiss if I say there is nothing shameful about it. In here there is only the two of us. You don’t have to hide your face unless it makes you feel better.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ghiblin hesitated. “Sorry, was that a bad thing to say?”

  She looked up at him, measuring him up. “I do not think there is one member of the court who would agree with you. Brinam winces every time he sees it. It was kind to say it though. A little soon, perhaps, but it makes it simpler.”

  It felt like a good time to change the subject. “Imlan said you help in his workshop sometimes. What can you do?”

  She tied on a heavy leather apron, and went to the forge. “Let me show you. And then we need to start working on the task. We don’t have much time.” She hesitated for a moment, and then with a shy smile, she took a leather thong out of her pocket and tied her hair back from her face.

  Two days flew. Lyria and Ghiblin spent a few hours discussing their task, which was to build something useful.

  “What is useful?” Lyria asked.

  “Useful things make people’s lives a little easier or a little quicker,” Ghiblin replied thoughtfully.

  “What takes people a lot of time and effort?”

  “Most people have to grow things.” Ghiblin went to the windows. “Food for us or for our animals, or to sell, or even just plants in the garden. They have ploughs and shovels to break up the earth, but planting seed is a slow, back breaking task.”

  “What can be done to aid that?”

  “We can make a thing to fit behind the plough, maybe, that will do the job all in one go.”

  Lyria nodded. “It need to makes holes at regular intervals, maybe something like the spokes of a wheel. Then the ploughman can drop the seeds in.”

  “Or better, we might be able to add a part to drop in a measured amount of seeds into the hole as it goes.”

  “Yes, and if we build in a flattened part that brushes along afterwards, it will brush the earth back into place on the top of it!” Lyria picked up a slate and began to chalk a rough sketch onto it. “Are you thinking of something like this?”

  “No – but I like the wheel part. That would work if we added a hopper here.” Ghiblin picked up the other slate, and the two of them were soon sparking ideas off each other excitedly.

  After a couple of hours, Lyria laid her slate down. “I’ll go and arrange to have wood and metal delivered. This might take a while.”

  “If we can make a working model today, we’ll have tomorrow to refine it.” Ghiblin stretched. “Do you know if my tools are here?”

  “Everything you brought is here. And through the back of the workshop there is a place to sleep. I will arrange to have food brought to us here as well.” She smiled mischievously at him. “For what it’s worth, Ghiblin, Imlan has never made anything like this. It’s quite exciting.”

  “Yes,” Ghiblin mused, watching her as she hurried out to make her arrangements. “Yes, it really is.”

  The two days passed, and Ghiblin and Lyria worked to get their planter finished. Lyria had a fence erected around the front of the workshop so that they could test the planter on a stretch of earth there, and though it took a few goes to get it right, by the evening of the second day it was ready. As they sat finishing the food that had been brought for them, Lyria considered the pale wood.

  “I know what it needs!” She jumped up and went to rummage in one of the cupboards at the back of the workshop and came back with a brush and two or three jars of bright paint. “Want to help?”

  “I can do straight lines and simple bits,” Ghiblin laughed. “Anything more complex than that, and I probably shouldn’t be involved!”

  She sat cross-legged on the floor of the workshop and began to decorate the hopper, adding a border of tiny scarlet flowers growing from winding vines, and then touched the centre of each flower with gold.

  “It’s beautiful.” Ghiblin looked closely at the pattern she was making. “I’m not sure how many ploughmen paint their tools, but it is beautiful.”

  “Well I am not a ploughman, and I’m very proud of this.” She twinkled up at him. “I wonder what people will make of it?”

  The following morning, waiting on the dais, Ghiblin realised what she had meant as he looked around him. These were rich people – all of them would have cooks and gardeners. He didn’t know whether they had ever seen a plough, much less know what they were for or how much work was involved in planting seed. He wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. He would have liked to have asked Lyria but, face hidden under a plain veil, she had only been persuaded to get up on the dais with great difficulty, and stood awkwardly at the back, partly hidden by the gauzy hangings.

  When the Lady Palfarran appeared, the two men uncovered their inventions. Imlan had a bejewelled golden box with a spout which looked gorgeous against the bare wood of the planter.

  “Would you like to tell us a little about what you have made, my dears?” Lady Palferran looked at the two items with equal bafflement. “Ghiblin, what is this ingenious contraption?”

  “It is for planting seeds, Lady.” Ghiblin pulled the planter on its wheels up and down an area of earth which had been brought into the hall for the purpose, and he demonstrated how the turning of its wheels moved the spokes to make the hole in the earth, and the spokes moved the gear to drop seed into the hole before the flat blade shovelled earth back over the seed again. As he spoke, he could feel the atmosphere change to polite confusion, and he knew that he had invented a thing for hi
s friends, the people at the marketplace, rather than for the jewelled lords who veiled themselves from the dust of the streets.

  He went back to join Lyria to polite applause, and then Imlan stood forward. “My friends, all of you know just how hot it can be in the summer here in Laerzinan. In the heat of the day, what can be more refreshing than a goblet of cool wine?” The audience murmured their agreement. “The only problem is how to keep the wine cool. We have it packed in snow in the cellars, certainly, but when you bring the wineskin out it becomes warm before the second goblet. On the other hand, if your manservant goes into the snowroom every time you want a new glass, the air in the rooms will become warm and the snow will melt.

  “The answer lies before you. This box is just large enough for a wineskin. It has hollow walls which can be filled with water and then taken down in to the snowrooms to freeze solid. When the walls have frozen to ice, the wineskin can be put in the hollow, and provided the lid is kept shut, the wine will remain cold for all the time it takes the ice to melt.” He opened the lid of his container. “This wine, for instance, was put into the box first thing this morning. Palferran, would you care to take some?”

  He gestured to Briman who brought forward a tray with four crystal goblets, which he filled and handed three to Palferran, Lyria and Ghiblin. “Well?”

  Condensation was already forming on the goblet as Palferran drank. “Wonderfully cold, brother.” There was a great round of applause.

  Lyria turned away from the crowd and pulled her veil to one side discreetly to take a sip of the wine. “It is quite useful,” she whispered.

  “Yes, if you can afford to import snow from the mountains.” Ghiblin shrugged. “We don’t have snow in the marketplace. It might keep things a little cooler than normal if you filled it with cold water, though. I’ll think about that. It might stop the milk from going off so quickly in summer.”

  Palferran sipped her wine thoughtfully, and set it down on the tray Brinam held. “Very good, both. I will now give you the second task, and you may think about it and give your assistants a list of materials by the end of the day. Tomorrow you may start work on the task, but the rest of the day is yours.” She paused dramatically. “The second task is to make something that will allow you to get to this hall from the bridge in the shortest possible time. In three days from now, you will be taken to the bridge with your inventions, and the first one to travel back and come into the hall here will win. Good luck.”

  They returned to the workshop. “What do you want to do with your day off?” Lyria asked.

  “I need to get back.” Ghiblin gathered his satchel of tools. He paused. “Would you like to come? Would you be allowed to?”

  “I don’t know...”

  “What am I thinking? I’m sorry, you’ll have your own things to do, of course.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Lyria brought her hand up to her scar. “I don’t really go out. People stare. It makes me feel like the scar is all there is to me.”

  Ghiblin turned to her and looked deep into her eyes. “There is much, much more to you than the scar, Lyria. Will you come? There are some friends who would love to meet you.”

  Lyria dropped her eyes, blushing.

  At the marketplace, Ghiblin was mobbed. “Children! Where are your manners? We have a visitor and you haven’t welcomed her yet.”

  The children drew back. There was a silence. Lyria began to shrink away, but Ghiblin took her hand.

  “Hello lady.”

  Lyria knelt to face the little girl. “Hello.”

  The child pulled Lyria’s veil aside and peeped round it, curious. “What happened to your face?”

  “I hurt it when I was little.”

  The little girl considered this. “My dolly hurt her arm and Ghiblin fixed it. See?” She held a rag doll up to show a line of stitches.

  Lyria took the doll and inspected the repair. “He’s done a good job. I should think that will make it feel all better.”

  Another child had a wooden beast of indeterminate nature. “My horse has got a poorly leg.”

  “May I?” Lyria took the horse. “Ghiblin, this poor horse has got an injury. I think it needs a splint. May I borrow your tools?”

  Laughing, Ghiblin led her to his workshop, with the children trailing after them. After the horse was suitably treated and a few others seen to, the children dissipated.

  Lyria looked round the workshop. “You haven’t got much to work with.”

  “No-one has. But we do what we can, and we work to make it better.”

  “That’s what I heard. There was some talk of a water pump?”

  Ghiblin led her outside to where the children were playing on a swing. “Pumping water can be quite hard work, particularly with pumps like this one which are old and badly-made. See how long it takes you to fill this.”

  Lyria took the pail from its hook on the wall and setting it under the pump, began to work the handle. A thin gush of water came out at every stroke of the handle. It was taking a long time and she tried to pull harder, but the handle was very stiff. When the bucket was about half full, she wiped the sweat from her face. “I give up! Filling it would take forever.”

  “Few people who use this are strong and young as we are. They find it even more difficult than we would. The only ones with boundless energy are the children, but they do not have the strength to pull the handle. And so we made the swing. Tell me what you see.”

  Lyria looked quizzical. She walked over to the swing, where the children were playing. “Very well. The swing hangs from a pole, not a rope. It extends up above the crossbar. This extension from the top, it goes... oh I see! It propels the wheel, and the wheel turns the rope, and the rope...” She followed it along. “The rope ends on another wheel?”

  “We don’t want water pumping all day every day. Give me a moment, boys!” Ghiblin swung a bar out from the wheel on the wall. As the boys playing on the swing dragged it to a halt, he hooked the bar over the pump handle. “Off you go, then, high as you like!”

  As the boys swung, the wheels turned and the pump handle went up and down, apparently effortlessly. Lyria watched, nodding appreciatively as the trickle of water became a stream, and the bucket filled quickly.

  “That’ll do, thank you!” The boys halted again, and Ghiblin unhooked the handle. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “No point in wasting the water. Mother Pottel can always use another bucketful.” They walked along the street to a poor, rundown house. “Mother, how are you for water today?”

  A wizened old woman sat in the shaded room. She beamed toothlessly. Lyria stared at her wrinkled face. She had never seen anyone who looked this ancient before. Ghiblin chatted with the old woman and introduced Lyria, who stood shyly. She could not understand the old lady’s mumbling and though she had bunched her veil on the side of her face, it felt as if it was falling back to show the scar, but it seemed a bit pointed to cover herself now, so she tried to ignore it.

  The old lady sniggered wickedly as she chattered and Ghiblin pretended to be outraged. “Mother Pottel, you are a wicked old woman! It is just as well my friend can’t hear your disgraceful words!” He turned to Lyria. “She says you are a fine strong young woman, and if you can cook I should not let you out of my sight. But it’s better than that, Mother.” He dropped his voice to a fake whisper, winking at Lyria as he did so. “I don’t know if she can cook, but she’s as resourceful an artisan as I’ve ever met!”

  The old lady cackled and made a further comment. Ghiblin held up both hands in surrender. “That, Mother, is a comment no man should have to translate for a lady! I shall certainly not tell her that, and besides, it’s plenty big enough for the job, thank you!” He kissed the old woman on both cheeks and stood to leave. “I’m going to be working on the competition for a few days, and I might not be around much, but if you need anything, I’ve asked the children to keep an eye out for you.”

  The old lady reached
her hands out to Lyria, who also knelt down and received a kiss on either cheek. She looked into that wrinkled face very seriously. “It was lovely to make your acquaintance, Mother Pottel, and just as soon as we’ve finished with the challenge, I shall be back to find out just what it was that Ghiblin does not want me to hear.”

  The old woman was much amused, and cupped Lyria’s face with an approving hand. Then Lyria rose and followed Ghiblin out of the house.

  “I hope you don’t mind what she said. She’s like a grandmother to me, but I swear she’s been trying to find me a wife since I could barely walk. She won’t be persuaded that I don’t go round measuring women up for marriage potential, so sometimes it’s easier to just agree with her. It didn’t cause offence, did it?”

  “Offence?” Lyria shook her head. “You have to understand, Ghiblin, my father has spent many years trying to marry me off to all sorts of people, but without fail, when they see my scar they break the engagement. I’m worthless as a wife, but at least I am aware of how hideous I look...”

  Ghiblin stopped in his tracks, and taking her hand, turned her to him. “Who told you that? You are far from hideous.”

  “They don’t have to. It’s perfectly obvious from the way they can’t even look at me when I take my veil off. They want wives who are pretty and decorative, and I am not that.”

  “If they do not wait to look past the scar, they do not deserve a wife like you, Lyria. If they want a decorative, chattering fool let them get a parrot. When I look at you I do not even see the scar any more. It is there, but it is just part of you, a part of someone creative and clever and witty. Your husband will not be a lord and master. He will be your equal, your friend. He will challenge you and you will challenge him. You could fly to the stars if you wanted, and if you find someone worthy of coming with you, he will be a lucky man indeed!” Ghiblin traced a finger along her cheek, running it gently along the track of her scar. “So do not let me hear you claim to be hideous again, my friend, for it is not so, and do not call yourself worthless. Neither of those things are true.” He suddenly realised he was staring into her eyes, and turned to walk on so that she should not see how he blushed.

  “Thank you.” Lyria glanced sideways at him. There was something of a silence. “So, how do we get from the bridge to the hall in the shortest time? Do you want to go by water or on land?”

  It was an abrupt change of subject but not an unwelcome one.

  “Let’s go and look at the bridge. We can walk the course, and see what the path is like.”

  At the bridge, they leaned on the parapet and looked over into the water. Below, the river ran wild and deep. In the middle was a deep channel where the surface was fast-flowing. A boat was moored here, and a handful of villagers were in the water around it, floating downstream and then disappearing under the surface, appearing for breath, and swimming back up to the boat, nets in hand.

  “What are they putting in the boat?” Lyria leaned on the parapet, trying to see over.

  “They are netting arrowfish.”

  “Arrowfish? I love them.”

  Ghiblin laughed. “Yes, they are tasty, but difficult to come by. Sometimes they sell us some but it is a hard, exhausting task and they can get a much better price from people like your master Imlan and his friends. Come, they are bringing the boat in.”

  At the river’s edge, the fishers exchanged banter with Lyria and Ghiblin, who they obviously knew well. They gave them one of the little slender arrowfish apiece. Ghiblin would not take more, knowing they could get far more money elsewhere. He cleaned them on the riverbank with his knife and threaded a piece of vine through the gills, and they walked back along the river’s edge to Imlan’s hall, discussing the challenge as they went.

  The sun was falling, and when they got back to the workshop, they roasted the arrowfish over the fire and ate them with the rice and vegetables which were brought from the kitchens. They sat in the cool evening freshness of the gardens, drinking chilled wine which had just been brought from the snow cellars.

  “It is nearly time to take in the list of materials we need,” Ghiblin mused, “and I still do not know how best to answer the challenge. Should we be trying to move fast on water or on land?”

  Lyria ate the last scraps of arrowfish off the bones and picked up the skeleton to throw it onto the fire, but as her fingers closed on it, she stopped, struck by a thought. “To move fast on water, we would need some kind of boat. That is not new. To move fast on land, we would need horses or something with wheels like a chariot. That is not new either. Why not go in the water? That would be a bit different.”

  “Underwater?”

  “Yes.” She was still looking at the fish skeleton and its tail, now slightly frazzled from the fire. “The river flows down from the bridge to the hall so the current would be with us. Do you swim?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t swim at all well.”

  “Then I shall do it.” She held up the fish bones. “What do you think?”

  Ghiblin nodded thoughtfully. “Ah. I see.” He stretched and stood, reaching out to help Lyria to her feet. “Bring your wine. We might be here for a while.”

  The next two days were complicated, for they were making something that they had never tried before. They worked late into the night, and Ghiblin fell asleep at the table. He woke to find the blanket from his bed draped over him, and Lyria appeared with breakfast shortly after. They constructed a thing like a fish’s tail, a closely-fitting silk sleeve that pulled over her legs and fastened at waist and knee, with fins made of slender metal rods and more greased silk. It was strong and light, and when Lyria slipped off to the baths to slosh it around in the water, she reported that it appeared to work well, but she had not been able to put it on to test it because people had been waiting to use the room.

  The third day dawned and the day of the contest.

  Ghiblin did a final check on the tail, and wrapped it up ready to go. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Yes. A bit nervous, but ready.” Lyria passed him a bundle. “Please don’t forget this. It is my formal cloak and veil. They have agreed that I may do this challenge, provided that Briman may do Imlan’s challenge, but the challenge does not finish till we both get into the hall. I will swim in my shift but I cannot appear in the hall that way, so I am depending on you to meet me at the waterside with it.”

  Ghiblin unwrapped them. He laid the veil on the cloak and rearranged them both into a long roll which he looped over his shoulder and knotted at his waist. “There! I can’t forget it now.”

  They left the workshop and made their way to the bridge. Imlan and Briman waited there with a covered wagon, which they eyed each with interest. Lady Palferran was chatting to a friend, so Lyria took the opportunity to slide on the silken sheath over her shift and lace it up at her waist. Sitting on the parapet, she unhooked the fastenings of her overdress and shook her skirts out to cover the tail.

  Ghiblin sat next to her. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

  “Don’t worry. I grew up swimming in a river very much like this.”

  Lady Palferran walked to the middle of the bridge, near where Lyria sat. “Good day, everyone. I trust you are all ready and prepared for this challenge?” Ghiblin stood, and Imlan bowed. “In that case, on the count of three, you may start. Three... two.. one... GO!”

  Imlan strode down the bridge, Briman running ahead to pull the cover off their invention. It revealed a strange little chariot with a complicated mechanism of wheels under where the rider should stand.

  Lyria slid off her overdress and passed it to Ghiblin, which got a shocked gasp from Lady Palferran. Imlan glanced back and froze as she flicked her tail over the parapet.

  “What are you doing, child?” Lady Palferran started forward.

  “Going for a swim. See you at the hall – don’t forget my cloak, Ghiblin!” And with a cheeky smile, Lyria leaned forward as if to touch her toes and dropped into the river with barely a splash.
r />   Ghiblin and Palferran dashed to the parapet to see her surface, wave, and then power off downstream, lithe as a fish.

  Imlan stood staring, but Briman mounted onto the little chariot and strapping his feet in place, he pushed down on one pedal and then another. The chariot began to move, at first slowly but gradually faster and faster. The little horse on the front had wheels on the end of its legs, and the whole thing, while magnificent, looked very heavy.

  “Come!” Palferran hurried down to the bridge where a carriage awaited. “We must get to the hall!”

  The carriage went so fast that they were jolted nearly off the seats.

  “I will get off at the edge of the river,” Ghiblin announced.

  “I too. I wish to see both of our assistants arriving.” Imlan dismounted the carriage stiffly and followed Ghiblin down to the water while Palferran went onto the hall where the rest were waiting. “That is a most ingenious invention, my lad.”

  “I must be honest – it was Lyria’s idea in the first place. Your assistant is a diamond beyond compare, sir.” Ghiblin scanned the river anxiously. “Look! There she is!”

  A glimmer of movement heralded Lyria, and there was no sign as yet of Briman. Lyria was obviously tiring, but the current was giving her speed and the extra power of the tail was carrying her along faster than Ghiblin had seen anyone swim before. “Here, Lyria, just a little way further!”

  Imlan grabbed onto his arm, watching her intently. Ghiblin spared a glance for the track along the river. Briman was just coming into view. He had picked up speed in the chariot, but the bumpy track was making it progress difficult.

  Lyria swam to the shallow water and sat up, breathing heavily. Ghiblin waded in and pulled her out to the side, water streaming from the pair of them.

  “Briman?” she gasped, fumbling with the laces that held the tail in place.

  “There.”

  “Hands are too cold! Help me with the laces.”

  Imlan was half-running between them at the riverside and the higher part of the bank where Briman had just taken a tumble into the undergrowth. Imlan ran over to help his assistant right the chariot.

  “The laces won’t budge. What shall we do?”

  “Can’t win until I get into the hall.” Lyria was getting her breath back. “Can you carry me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hurry! Pass me my cloak. Briman is nearly ready to go again!”

  Ghiblin unknotted the cloak and threw it over her shoulders.

  “My veil!” The veil had fluttered into the river, unnoticed. Ghiblin started to wade in after it, but the current was carrying it away.

  Lyria made her decision swiftly. “Leave it – there’s no time!” She slid her arms around his neck and he lifted her to him, tail and all, and began to stagger to the hall.

  Lyria, looking over his shoulder at Briman and his chariot, began to laugh. “You should see their faces!”

  “Make me laugh and I’ll drop you!” Ghiblin gasped, attempting to break into a run. “How near?”

  “He’s up again, and Imlan’s on the platform as well. They can go twice as fast that way.”

  The chariot caught up very quickly and Ghiblin was only partway along the corridor to the hall when he heard footsteps behind him. He dashed through the open doors and up to the dais, Palferran and the crowd shrieking encouragement. Then, just as Imlan hurried in, Ghiblin skidded and fell in a heap on the dais with Lyria on top of him, and they went into fits of giggles, as did Palferran.

  Imlan and Briman stalked up the hall with haughty disdain, though this was partly spoiled when Briman slipped very dramatically in the water that had dripped off Lyria’s tail.

  Lyria rolled off Ghiblin and sat up, flailing her tail in the air. “I think we’re going to have to take a knife to the laces. I can’t get out of it!”

  “My dears, you did wonderfully!” Palferran nodded at Lyria, approving. “Your invention helped you leave the bridge quickly and get here speedily, and between the two of you you achieved victory by a comfortable margin. Well done! As for you, Imlan, your invention was clever but it just didn’t seem to cope with the terrain very well. A valiant attempt though.” She smiled at him with all the smugness of an older sibling who did not intend to let him forget this any time soon. “So, shall we talk about the next task? The third task I give you is to be achieved tomorrow, at midday again, when you will present us with a thing no-one has ever seen before.”

  “A thing no-one has ever seen before?” Imlan stuttered.

  “Including you yourselves. And if you can do that I will acknowledge you a genius, little brother!”

  “But that’s impossible!” Briman wrung his hands, still dismayed at their current failure.

  “Is it?” She smiled beatifically.

  Imlan held his hands up. “Let us not be too hasty, Briman. We will go away and think about this. My sister is very pleased to have found an impossible task for us, but I am loath to give it up without at least considering the prospect first. So let me just check, Palferran, by tomorrow we have to have found a thing never before seen by human eye –”

  “By any eye at all.”

  “What? Very well, by any eye at all, and we have to bring it here without looking at it ourselves, and show it to you. By lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “Yes, my dear, that is precisely what I mean. Good luck to you both, and we will see what you can come up with by tomorrow.”

  Ghiblin and Lyria watched the people filter out of the hall. Many averted their eyes from Lyria’s face.

  One woman hurried over. “Cover yourself, girl!” She thrust a veil at Lyria. “Imlan has worked to make this a place of beauty and harmony. That ruin you call a face is neither beautiful nor harmonious. You do not belong here. Go back to your marketplace and take your ugliness with you!” Lyria turned her face away in mortification but Ghiblin rolled to his feet and stepped right up to the woman.

  “My lady, if this is a place for harmony, there is no room for such a hornet as you in it. If you are too impoverished of mind to know that there are more kinds of beauty than yours, then age must be your own lasting nightmare, the more so as it will inevitably mark you.” He bowed. “I wish you joy of your prejudices, Madam, for you need the veil more than Lyria does.”

  The lady inhaled sharply. “Lyria?”

  “Yes. And if you will excuse me, I think Imlan wishes to speak to us.” Ghiblin fixed her with a stony glare and, apparently discomfited, she hurried away.

  Lyria exhaled. “Thank you. I did tell you that most of the court would be like that.”

  “If that is the case then she is right. You do not belong here: you are far too good for them.”

  Imlan was frowning as he came across. He cast a glance at the departing woman and at Lyria, who dropped her eyes, but he did not mention it. “That was a cunning invention, and worked well. Nicely done, both of you.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  Imlan hesitated. “Lyria, it is good to see you unveiled for once, as well.”

  Lyria glanced after the woman. “Not everyone is of that opinion... Perhaps we should have gone back for the veil, but then you would have won.”

  “No, you made the right choice, and I am glad of it.” Imlan smiled at her fondly. “Sometimes a veil is a shield from the outside world, but if you are not careful it can become the line at which your sense of security ends. It is better sometimes to go into the world, and discover that though it can be a harsh place, it is not always as unforgiving as you think. Isn’t that right, Ghiblin?”

  “Yes sir!”

  Lyria dropped her eyes but did not say anything. There was a clang from outside, and Imlan winced. “I think Briman is determined to kill my chariot. I should probably have it put away. Good luck with the challenge.”

  “And to you, sir.”

  As Imlan walked away, Lyria fiddled with the laces of her fishtail. Ghiblin took out his belt knife and began to work on them, very aware of the closeness of h
is body to hers. “They’re very nice to you here.” It was small talk really, but as he said it, he realised it was true. Surprisingly nice. “Wait a minute – let me see your hands.”

  She held out her hands and he turned them palm-up and looked closely at the fingers. “They’re too wrinkled in the wet to be sure, but... You are no house-maid.”

  That surprised a giggle out of her. “I am not a house-maid, no.”

  “But you work in Imlan’s workshop sometimes.”

  “When he lets me, yes.”

  “And you live in the house.”

  “Yes.”

  Ghiblin dropped her hands suddenly and looked at her profile. “You’re...”

  “His daughter. From his second wife.”

  Ghiblin’s mouth dropped open. He was horror-struck. “Oh dear. And I took you to the marketplace! I’m so sorry if I was over-familiar, Lady, but I thought you were just like me – a servant or an artisan or ... Well, I didn’t think really. Oh dear, and I had you jump in a river!”

  “Shut up, will you, and help me out of this tail? I’m getting chilly, and we have another task to get on with.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  “And, Ghiblin?”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  She glared at him. “If you call me Lady once more, I will push you into the river myself.”

  The following morning dawned bright and clear. Ghiblin watched the sun rise from the window of his workshop. He had been racking his brains all night for the answer to Lady Palferran’s question but he could not for the life of him work out how to find a thing without seeing it, and take it to her, still without seeing it. And even if that were possible, how could he possibly be sure that no-one and no thing had ever seen it before? It seemed that this time the Lady Palferran had outfoxed both of them.

  Lyria appeared, again with breakfast. Ghiblin opened his mouth and she interrupted. “Don’t say it!”

  “Don’t say what?”

  She fixed him with a sardonic eye. “You were about to comment that it wasn’t right for a Lady like Imlan’s daughter to be serving a toymaker from the marketplace, or something along those lines, weren’t you?” Ghiblin shut his mouth again, and she continued. “Don’t! Don’t be like the rest of them. These veiled, beautiful fools in my father’s court who cannot bear to look at my face but still know what I should do to be a dutiful daughter. Don’t bring that here. Here is the only place where I am not Imlan’s ugly daughter. Here I am Lyria. Besides, I am bringing my own breakfast. Whether you choose to partake or not is entirely up to you.”

  There was a silence while Ghiblin waited to see if she had finished. Then he shot her a mischievous look. “Actually what I was going to say was ‘Good morning’. But breakfast is very welcome. And after this task is finished, I will make you lunch myself if you should wish. But now, if you are ready for breakfast, let us banish Imlan’s daughter and recall Lyria, for I need her help in today’s task.”

  Lyria laughed. “Eat your breakfast, man.” They took the tray of food and sat on the veranda in the cool of the early morning. “So, have you thought of an answer for my aunt?”

  “No. I can’t think what to do. Have you any ideas?”

  “Not anything useful. The only thing I could think of was something that develops, hidden, that we know is there but has not been seen yet.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure.” Lyria frowned. “I was talking to one of my friends who married a couple of years back. She’s heavily pregnant. She put my hand on her belly. I felt the child moving there, and it suddenly occurred to me – no-one had ever seen that child. We didn’t even know if it was male or female, but we certainly knew it was there.”

  “A baby?” Ghiblin said, dubious.

  “It wouldn’t be practical. But things that have grown inside something else have never been seen. I was thinking that a hatching egg was the answer but I have been to check the nesting places and it’s no good. None of the hens are sitting, and there are no chickens due.”

  “It’s a good idea, though. There must be some other thing that is hidden.” Ghiblin cut an orange into quarters moodily. “What could there be that has...?” He fell silent, staring.

  Following his gaze, Lyria saw the answer in front of her, and finished triumphantly, “Has never been uncovered before!”

  At midday, the great hall began to fill with the flutter of gauze veils and glint of gems. Lady Palferran waited impatiently on the dais, chattering to her companion. Palferran’s was the only uncovered face to be seen in the hall. Ghiblin and Lyria waited nervously in the little room.

  “Do you think your father will have thought of anything?” Ghiblin asked, to break the tension.

  “I don’t know. I saw Briman riding out to the hills last night and I haven’t seen him return yet.” Lyria pulled aside the gauzy material of her veil irritably. “I wish he’d hurry up. It’s too stuffy to be standing around in a cloak and veil for ages.”

  Ghiblin considered her. “So who are you today? Imlan’s daughter or Lyria the artisan?”

  She glared at him. “I always wear a veil in public. You saw why.”

  “Yes I did. Are you going to let that stupid woman tell you what to do? She didn’t even know who you were. Until she spoke to you, did it worry you that you were not wearing your veil?

  “No. But we were so busy trying to get here in time that I forgot.”

  “Precisely. People will stare, both of us know that, but what matters is whether or not you care what they think. You are not some stupid, pretty thing to be admired and ignored. You are Lyria. You are a talented artisan. There is only one of you, and that scar is your mark. Let people see it, Lyria, so that then when they see a scarred face they will whisper ‘perhaps that is Lyria. I wonder what marvels she is making now...’” He ran a finger along her scar again, and this time it was a caress. “There is no-one like you in the whole world, Lyria. Be proud of what you are, for you are more precious than gold or jewels.”

  Lyria’s eyes, those sparkling brown eyes, rose up to meet his, and for a moment the world disappeared from around them.

  Then the door opened and Imlan walked in. “Children, are you ready?”

  “Yes sir.” Ghiblin cleared his throat, abashed.

  “Then let us go in.”

  Lyria paused as Imlan held the door for her. “Wait.” She struggled to untie her veil and cloak, and threw them down on a bench. “That’s better. It’s too hot for all those layers, and besides... I think it is time that I took responsibility for who I want to be. Hiding from the world has done me no good at all.” She marched out defiantly.

  Ghiblin watched her go, pride overflowing his heart. “She is an amazing young lady, sir. She will come to see how beautiful she really is, with time.”

  Imlan, tears in his eyes, patted the younger man on the shoulder. “Come on, lad. We had better not keep her waiting.” The crowd muttered and stirred, staring, as the craftsmen followed her into the hall and up to the dais, where Palferran stood.

  “You did bring the orange, didn’t you?” Lyria muttered. Ghiblin patted his pocket and nodded.

  “Gentlemen – and of course lady,” Palferran began. “Your challenge was to bring us something that has never been seen before, neither by man nor beast. What have you to tell me?”

  Imlan glared at her. “Given time, I could have answered your challenge in several ways. If it had been earlier in the year I would have hatched out a chicken in front of you, but there are none due to hatch at the moment.”

  Lyria nudged Ghiblin in the ribs, and he remembered that she had thought of that as well.

  “If I had had a little more time, I should have sent Briman up into the mountains. There is a cave in which there are hollow rocks, which I could have cracked open in front of you, to show you the crystal lining, but the cave is three days’ ride from here and the hollow rocks are difficult to find. So no, I have nothing with which to answer your challenge, si
ster, but I wish to make it clear that this is due to your unreasonable time-limit rather than because there is no answer to your challenge.”

  Palferran assumed a shocked face. “You cannot answer my challenge, brother? You? Can it be that a mere woman has outsmarted the mighty Imlan?”

  “You never were a mere woman, Palferran, as you know quite well.” Imlan turned away irritably, but Ghiblin saw the twinkle in his eye.

  Palferran turned to Ghiblin. “Well, my dear, if you have not managed to think of something I shall have won outright! What is your answer to my challenge?”

  Ghiblin cleared his throat nervously. “It was a very difficult challenge. We thought long and hard, and we came up with some of the same answers as Imlan did, but we did have an idea. I don’t know if it’s exactly what you meant, but it was all we could think of.”

  “Well?” Palferran and Imlan came closer as Ghiblin took the orange out of one pocket and a knife out of the other. When he saw them, Imlan began to laugh.

  Palferran ignored him. “My dear boy, I have seen an orange before.”

  Ghiblin cut the orange in half and looked at the pattern of segments. He pried loose one of the pips and Lyria held her hand out to catch it.

  “And I’ve seen orange pips before!”

  “But not this one.” Lyria told her. “No-one has seen this one at all, because it grew inside the orange, and it has been hidden inside the orange right up until this very moment. Here is the answer to your challenge, unless you disagree?”

  Imlan was still chortling. “I wish you could see your expression, Palferran! If anything, you were expecting something strange and exotic, and here is a perfectly common orange pip! I wish I had thought of that. But I think it is clear who has won our little challenge, don’t you think? My friends, let us hear your appreciation for our young artisans, who have brought a level of thought to the competition which it does not commonly possess.”

  The hall erupted with cheers and applause, but after a few moments Imlan held up a hand to quiet them.

  “Ghiblin, as the winner you may have any prize you choose. Jewels, gold, horses, land, whatever you wish. Name your prize.”

  Ghiblin took a deep breath, and another. Lyria laid a hand on his arm, encouraging him.

  “Sir, there is one thing that I would have above all else, but I do not think it is yours to give me.”

  Imlan cocked an eyebrow. “Name it, boy, and if it is in my power, you shall have it.”

  Ghiblin hesitated; then he muttered in the old man’s ear.

  “Truly, that is a precious prize, but one I think you would treat with the proper care. Ask, boy.”

  Ghiblin knelt down in front of Lyria, right there before everyone in the hall. “Lyria, you are worth more to me than rubies or gold or – well, anything else in the whole world. I know we have only worked together for a few days but it has been the happiest work I have ever done. I do not ask for an answer now, for there is much for you to think about, but if you think that you could consider marrying me, it would be the highest honour of my life.”

  Lyria stared at him, apparently aghast.

  He started to stand. “I am sorry. I presume too much –”

  She pressed down on his shoulder so he could not. “Ask me again. Ask me now.”

  He looked into those beautiful brown eyes, and he began to smile. “Lyria of Laerzinan, you are the best artisan I have ever met. I could spend all day working with you and laughing with you, and I have wanted nothing so much as to kiss you ever since I first met you. Will you marry me?”

  “Despite this?” She put a hand to her scar.

  “That is your mark. It is a part of you and I love it – and you – with all my heart.”

  Tears came into her eyes. “Then yes, I will marry you, Ghiblin, and we will live in the marketplace and make toys for the children and tools for the adults.”

  Palferran wiped her eyes and sniffed audibly. Lyria and Ghiblin laughed, and suddenly the hall was awash with cheers and whooping and enthusiasm of the most undignified kind, and people were unveiling and coming to clap them on the back and offer congratulations. It was an overwhelming few moments, and Ghiblin kept a tight hold of Lyria’s hand in the sea of gauze and perfume and jewels that swamped them. Eventually the tide of well-wishers abated, and Lyria and Ghiblin were at last able to take a breath.

  Lyria glanced round at the people drinking wine and chattering around the hall. “Come on!” The pair of them darted through the crowd and out into the garden, making their way back to the relative calm of the workshop, where Lyria closed the door and set her back to it. “Phew! I thought they were going to tear us to bits for a moment there! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  Ghiblin laughed. There was a brief silence, and he went and poured two goblets of wine. Lyria opened the windows and came to sit with him in the shade of the veranda.

  She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “You could have had anything you wanted.”

  He glanced at her. “I got precisely what I wanted – but are you sure?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I can’t offer you anything more than you have seen, Lyria. A dusty old house in a poor part of town – you deserve so much better. Won’t you miss all this? The silks, the jewels?”

  Lyria cocked an eyebrow. “Which you have seen me wear...?”

  “I’ve seen you in silk!”

  “The fish tail doesn’t count!” Lyria nudged him with an elbow.

  Ghiblin laughed. “There isn’t anyone there to wait on us though. Washing, cleaning, mending, cooking – everything. There isn’t anyone to do it but me, and if you marry me, you too. Are you sure that that’s what you want?”

  “We will do the tasks together. It will be half the work that way.”

  “Genuinely, Lyria, you are content?”

  Blushing, she came close and lay a hand on his chest, looking into his eyes in a way that made his heart melt. “Genuinely, I am more than content.”

  He kissed her, and again the world stood still.

  They married, of course, and all the city rejoiced on their wedding day. Ghiblin put up his plaque above the door of the little workshop and on that first morning, was flabbergasted when he opened the shutters to find a crowd waiting outside the shop. News of his success had travelled far and wide, and now everyone wanted to buy something from the craftsman who had bested Imlan. After a year of hard work, they were prospering nicely, but the workshop could not fit in all the customers who came or the artisans who they were employing. Palferran, by way of anniversary present, gifted the couple with a larger premises on the outside of the city, and a beautiful house to go with it, in which they could now entertain Imlan and Palferran and their usual retinue. In time, the names of Lyria and Ghiblin became a byword for excellence across the land, and when they became old and retired to a pleasant place near the coast, they were followed by many artisans and poets and dancers, who flocked to the court which did not judge them on who or what they were, but on what they were capable of achieving. And so excellence flourished, and knowledge that otherwise would have remained in darkness was brought into the world. And that, my friends, is the tale of the Lyrian Court.”