The Flying Sorcerers

by David Gerrold

  Behind his back I signaled Shoogar to start the ceremony again. I moved off to one side with Purple and tried to get some sense out of him.

  “It’s like natural rubber, Lant. I’ll have to try it, of course, but it may be just what I need to hold the gas in the bags —”

  “Forget it, Purple. You can’t use housetree blood. House-trees are sacred.”

  “Sacred be damned. I must have an airtight container. Will you stop jumping around like that?”

  “Then stop using those horrendous curses!”

  “What curses??” He looked puzzled. “Oh, never mind.” He went back to examining the sap on his hands.

  “Can’t you use something else besides housetree blood? Infant blood, for instance — I’m sure we could —”

  “No! he gasped “No! Definitely not — no human blood — it wouldn’t work anyway.”

  “You said that if your cloth was watertight it would be airtight. What about pottery? Could you hold your light gas in large pottery containers?”

  “No, no, they’re too heavy — much too heavy — we’ve got to try the housetree blood. It may be the only way. You see, the cloth we’ve got just isn’t good enough — but if they can weave the finer cloth, and if we can soak it in housetree sap and then dry it, perhaps that might work. We’d have to try different arrangements, of course —”

  “But — but —” I sputtered. There had to be a way out of this mess. Purple was desperate to fly; but Shoogar and the villagers would never permit housetree sap to be so defiled. A duel was in the offing, unless —

  A weird thought occurred to me. I would have dismissed it instantly, even with my layman’s knowledge of magic. But Purple was so oddly unorthodox.

  I said, “There is one chance. Now, don’t laugh, Purple, but could you possibly use the sap of a wild housetree in the same spell?”

  “Yes, of course. Why not?”

  “Huh?” I was incredulous. “You mean you could??”

  “Of course.” There was an odd expression on Purple’s face, a delighted expression. “Sap is sap.”

  “Uh, it isn’t, you know —” but he wasn’t listening. He was fidgeting impatiently.

  “Lant,” he said. “I will need to experiment. I will need a wild housetree and some pots — and some cloth — and — and —”

  “See Wilville and Orbur. They will help you get what you need. You do know how to recognize a wild housetree, don’t you?”

  “Of course. The roots and branches won’t be bent.” And off he went.

  It was the right answer, of course — but I was still surprised. Purple was so unorthodox.

  By the time I had finished the first set of loomteeth, Purple and Shoogar had finished their first set of experiments with wild housetree sap. Purple knew what he wanted to achieve, and Shoogar knew best how to achieve it.

  The heated sap could be treated with certain other magician’s chemicals to make a putrid and foul smelling soup. Cloth could be dipped into this soup, and it would form an airtight seal. However, the seal was neither as tight nor as permanent as Purple had wished and so they continued to experiment.

  On the day I began carving the third set of loomteeth, Purple announced that he had reached a solution to the problem of weaving a watertight cloth. Instead of dipping the whole cloth into the housetree soup, he would dip the spun threads before they were woven. When the thread dried it was impregnated with the sap and it had a smooth and shiny feel.

  Cloth woven from these treated threads could then be treated in a modified housetree-binding solution and dried again. The threads, already soaked with housetree blood, would swell and join and become one solid material, impermeable to air and water.

  Purple was delighted. If thread could be woven fine enough, and if my bone loomteeth would work as expected, then surely we could weave a cloth light enough and tight enough for the flying machine.

  By the time I had finished the third set of loomteeth, Lesta had already woven several swatches of fine aircloth for Purple. It was smooth and shiny, and the weave was almost invisible to the eye.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Lant?” Purple exclaimed.

  I had to admit that it was. Old Lesta beamed with pride.

  Purple had been running from person to person, stopping them, and demanding that they feel his cloth. “Why, when the rest of the loomteeth are finished, we will be able to make a cloth of such quality!” He was so overcome with emotion, he could not finish the sentence.

  Lesta was only slightly more subdued. “Lant,” he demanded, “I must have more of those loomteeth. I must have as many as you can carve. We are going to weave nothing but aircloth!”

  “That will be great!” cried Purple. Thank you — I will be able to use all you can weave!”

  Lesta stared at him. “Do you think it’s for you, you fuzzwort? This cloth will be in demand for miles around — we must prepare for that. When the waters go down again and the trade routes are reopened, we will be prosperous indeed!”

  “Aaarggh!” said Purple. His face was red and blue and several other colors at once. “Betrayer!” he cried. “You must first weave enough cloth to satisfy my needs and purposes.”

  “Nonsense,” muttered Lesta, “we have no agreement.”

  “Snakeroot slime we don’t! I was to show you how to weave a finer cloth,” he raged, “and in return, you were to weave enough for my flying machine!”

  “Blither-blather,” snarled Lesta, “it’s a magician’s duty to continually improve the way of life of his people. You were merely performing your duties, Purple — and for the first time, too!” he added.

  “Wait a minute,” I cried. “Let me settle this.”

  They both looked at me.

  “It is my duty to aid the magicians whenever and wherever possible. This is precisely the type of situation in which I must arbitrate.”

  “Lant is right,” said Purple. “Go ahead, Lant.”

  Lesta glared at me. “Let’s hear what you have to say first,” he grumbled.

  “Go on, Lant.”

  “Well —” I said. “It is quite obvious to me what the situation is here. Purple is the magician, Lesta is the weaver. Purple has shown Lesta how to weave a cloth of a quality so fine that hitherto it has been unknown to men. Purple is now demanding payment for such knowledge, correct?”

  They both nodded.

  “However, Lesta has charged that he owes Purple nothing. Purple was merely performing his sworn duty as village magician to uplift the way of life of all men. Still correct?”

  Again they nodded.

  “Well, it is all quite simple,” I said. “It is obvious; Lesta is right.”

  “Huh?” Purple’s jaw fell open with a snap.

  Lesta beamed. “You are right, Lant. I will abide by your decision.” He threw a mocking glance at Purple.

  “Now wait a minute, Lant —” Purple began.

  “You heard him,” rapped out Lesta. “And you said you were willing to abide by his decision!”

  “No, I didn’t — I said I’d wait to hear what he had to say cried Purple. “Lant, what are you doing?”

  “Wait a minute!” I shouted again, “Wait a minute!”

  Again they looked to me.

  “I have not finished speaking,” I said.

  They quieted.

  “Lesta is right,” I repeated. “He owes Purple nothing. However,” I said slowly, “he does owe me —”

  “Huh?”

  “For the loomteeth,” I said. “You are using my loomteeth. I carved them, they belong to me.”

  “You?” he said. “What would you use them for?”

  I pretended to shrug nonchalantly. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I might rent them out to various weavers; or I might become a weaver myself.”

  “We would smash your looms!” he snarled.

  “And risk the wrath of Shoogar?” I said. “No, you wouldn’t. Instead, you will pay me a fair price for the use of the teeth — as any other weaver would.�
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  “I am not any other weaver!” shouted Lesta. “I pay no price. You should be willing to do this out of sheer graciousness and goodwill for being allowed to settle here in this region.”

  “It is a poor region,” I said. “I do not need it. Come, give me my loomteeth — I must go and talk with Hinc the weaver.”

  “Uh — wait a minute,” said Lesta. “Maybe we can work something out —”

  “I’m sure we can. You will be making profit beyond your wildest dreams. You should not begrudge me a fair price for my labor.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And what is your so-called “fair price?”

  Purple was gaping open-mouthed at this exchange. I said:

  “Enough cloth for Purple to build his flying machine, plus five per cent more for me, for my own uses including trading.”

  “Gack!” said Lesta. I thought he would choke and die right there.

  “I have made it possible for you to weave a cloth better than any you have ever woven before!! Do you want to use these loomteeth or not?”

  He eyed the flat bone pieces I held. I could see that he wanted them badly — and he knew that I would not hesitate to deal with some other weaver. Already the word was out about this fine cloth — there was not a weaver in the land who would not jump at the chance to make it.

  “Humph,” he said. “I will offer you half that —”

  “No. It is either all or nothing.”

  “You ask too much! I cannot —”

  I turned and started to walk away. “I think I saw Hinc over by the river —”

  “Wait!” he called. I kept walking. “Wait!” He hurried after me, grabbed at my arm. “All right, Lant, all right. You win, you win. I will weave the cloth for Purple, and five per cent more for you.”

  I stopped walking. “Fine. I will take a guarantee of it.”

  “Huh?” He stared. “Is not my word enough?”

  “No,” I said. “Else we would not have had this argument. I will take a guarantee. Two syllables of your secret name.”

  “Two — two — syllables??” His mouth worked soundlessly. He swallowed hard, “You jest?”

  I started up the hill again.

  Again he caught my arm, “All right, Lant. All right.” He was subdued now, almost chastened. He looked around warily, then whispered into my ear. Two syllables.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I hope you will never betray me. If you do, I will see that those secret syllables are no longer secret. The first person I’ll tell will be Shoogar.”

  “Oh no, Lant, you have nothing to fear.”

  “I am sure of it. Thank you, Lesta, I am glad that we could come to such a pleasant agreement. I will expect the first consignment of cloth within a hand of days.”

  “Yes, Lant; certainly, Lant; anything, Lant-ah —”

  “Yes?”

  “The loomteeth that you’re holding?”

  I looked down. “Oh, yes. You’ll need them, won’t you?” I handed them over.

  Purple came up to me then, “Thank you, Lant.”

  “For what? I was merely doing my duty.”

  “Yes. Well, thank you for doing that. I appreciate it.”

  I shrugged. “It was nothing. I am just as eager to see you leave in that flying machine as you are to do it”

  I think he misunderstood. He said, “Oh, it will be a sight to see, all right.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I can hardly wait.”

  Wilville and Orbur were grumbling.

  “We’ve built four bicycles, Father, since we’ve arrived here — and now we can’t use or trade any of them because of your deal with Gortik.”

  I sighed, “Gortik will tire of his new toy soon enough.

  Besides, you have more than enough to keep you busy with the flying machine.”

  “Hah! grumbled Wilville testily. “Gortik is such a lunk, he cannot even ride the machine. Seven times already Orbur and I have tried to teach him.”

  Orbur shook his head, “He keeps crashing into trees.”

  “He doesn’t steer very well,” explained Wilville.

  “And besides, the flying machine cannot feed us. The bicycles are to trade for food and cloth and tools. Unless we are allowed to ply our trade, we may starve.” Orbur shook his head again and sat down on a rock. “And there will never be any profit in flying.”

  “Well,” I said, “I will see what I can arrange. You build your bicycles — I will figure a way for you to trade them.” I added, “Besides, I do not believe that Gortik’s injunction prohibited you from trading bicycles in your own village, only in his.”

  They looked dubious, but at my insistence they returned to their work. They spent their mornings on the flying machine and their afternoons on their bicycles, although lately they were spending more and more time on the flying machine.

  Purple had decided that they should line the hull with aircloth inside and out — it would make it more watertight. The boys were delighted with this suggestion. They had been having trouble with the balsite wood anyway. It was the lightest wood they had been able to find, but it was hard to work with. They had been using it on a frame of spirit pine, but it was too weak. When they tested it in water, the balsite became waterlogged and soggy. It came off the frame in shreds. The only way to keep the boatframe in one piece was to keep the balsite wood dry — and that was impractical: the machine had to be able to land on water. Purple’s suggestion to use aircloth lining solved that, and the boys went eagerly back to work on the large boatframe. But they needed aircloth — and the production of it was still our biggest problem.

  “There is not enough thread,” Lesta grumbled. “We have not the men to spin, and not enough to weave!”

  “I don’t understand —” Purple was saying when I arrived on the scene. “You have enough spinners for all your other types of weaving — why not for aircloth?”

  “Because aircloth isn’t just woven! The thread has to be spun fine and dipped, then it has to be dried. That requires three times as many men working on spinning. Then after the cloth is woven, it has to be dipped again. That’s a whole new step! Where am I to get the men for such work? It takes almost twice as long to weave a patch of aircloth as it does to weave anything else — and that patch is only one fourth the size of what we could be weaving because you want it compacted!”

  “It would not be aircloth if it weren’t compacted,” said Purple.

  “Fine,” said Lesta. “You want aircloth, you’ll get aircloth. It’ll take only eight hundred years.”

  “Nonsense,” said Purple, “there must be a way to —”

  “Not if you want it the way you want it —” Lesta was adamant. “It takes nearly a hand of days to spin enough thread for a single patch of the stuff.”

  “Well, then bring in more spinners —”

  “And where am I to get them? I cannot ask my weavers to accept such a demotion, and there are not enough boys in either of our villages to take on as apprentices.”

  “Why not hire spinners from the other villages on this island?”

  “What? — and let them have the secret of aircloth too?”

  “They would not have to know about the final step of the dipping of the cloth,” I offered.

  “Hm. You are right there — but they will never do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “What would their weavers do for thread?”

  “Hire their weavers to help spin.”

  “And how will we feed them? We are but a poor village.”

  We thought about it. During the time of ungrowing, most food came from the swollen oceans. If Ang, who had turned to seafarming, had enough nets at his command, he was likely to catch enough sea leeches and crawlers to feed the army of weavers Purple was trying to assemble. Of course, Ang would need some help, but we could bring in some extra seafarmers as well.

  We discussed it that evening at a special joint meeting of Our two Guilds of Advisors. We met in a clearing in the Lower Village. There were almost a ha
nd of hands of tradesmen in evidence, and more were arriving all the time.

  Almost everyone who spoke, began with: “We cannot do it —”

  Ang, for instance: “We cannot do it — I have not enough nets.”

  “Weave some more.”

  “I cannot do it — it will take too long to weave enough nets to feed that many people.”

  “Perhaps Lesta’s weavers can help.”

  “Nonsense, we cannot — my men do not know how to weave nets.”

  “It’s a form of weaving, isn’t it?”

  “Of course, but —”

  “Then they can learn. Ang, will you teach them?”

  “Yes, but —”

  There are no buts about it If we spend the next hand of days just weaving nets for Ang, by the time the new weavers arrive we should be able to feed them regularly. By that time we will have enough aircloth thread on hand to demonstrate the proper weaving techniques to them.”

  “We cannot do it —” That was Lesta again.

  “Why not?”

  “I have been figuring. We have enough fiberplants and fibertrees. We will have more than enough thread. As long as there are wild housetrees, we will have the sap — we do not have to worry about these things. But we still do not have enough spinners in proportion to the weavers. Our problem “ now is that we are not producing enough aircloth thread to keep our own weavers busy — if we bring in new weavers and spinners, we will only be multiplying our own problem by five. We will have five times as many weavers sitting around idle waiting for thread. We cannot do it.”

  “Nonsense,” said Purple. “The problem is that we have not enough people spinning, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?” retorted Lesta. “Isn’t that enough? If we can’t find enough people in our own village to make a significant difference, do you think we will be able to find them in another?”

  “I have been doing some figuring too,” said Purple. He held up a skin which looked suspiciously like a blue-drawing. I However, he did not attempt to explain it, he merely waved it conspicuously about. “Now, using our present number of weavers and looms, at the rate of one patch of aircloth produced per hand of days, it will take almost 12 years to make enough for my needs.”