The Flying Sorcerers

by David Gerrold

  This produced a mutter and mumble of voices among the advisors. “Sure, it’s fine stuff, but who needs it if it takes that long to weave —”

  Purple ignored the interruption. “Now, if we bring in all the weavers and all the spinners of the other villages on this island, that multiplies the rate of production by five and cuts the waiting time down to two and a half years.”

  “Oh, fine,” muttered Lesta. “I’m not sure I could survive even one more year of Purple, let alone two and a half.”

  Gortik shushed him. Purple ignored this interruption as well. He said, “Now, let’s consider the problem — it’s not that it takes such a long time to produce a piece of aircloth that is delaying us, not at all — it’s just that we don’t produce enough of it. If we had more looms and more men to operate them, we could produce larger amounts.”

  “Of course,” nodded Lesta; “and if I were a bird, I could fly — and I wouldn’t need aircloth at all. This produced laughter from all the men — and an angry look from both magicians. Shoogar spat in Lesta’s direction — it sizzled when it hit the ground.

  Purple waved his skin at Lesta. “I have figured this out very carefully. Counting all the weavers in all five villages — and counting all the journeymen and all the novices — and even all the apprentices, there are more than enough —”

  “Pfah! Nonsense!”

  “— More than enough,” Purple repeated. “If all of them are weaving.”

  “And who will spin the thread for them if all are weaving? Little creatures will come in at night and do it?”

  Again laughter.

  Purple was one of the most patient men I have ever seen. He cleared his throat and said slowly, “Not at all. First off, I Fm surprised you didn’t ask where they will weave this cloth.”

  “Without the thread it doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Let’s take this one thing at a time. If every man who is a member of the weaver’s caste could become a full-fledged weaver, and if we had enough looms for all of them and each man worked a full day at his loom, we could make as much aircloth as I need within four — huh, let’s see — huh, well before Lant’s wife delivers her child.”

  “A little more than two hands of hands of days,” I said in explanation.

  Lesta was scratching in the dust. “Purple, you’re a fool — that’s 175 looms we’d need. We have but six in this village. Where are we supposed to get the rest? You’d change us from weavers to loom builders — and we’d be building for the next five years.”

  “Wrong,” said Purple. “And you exaggerate besides. First of all, we don’t need I75 looms. We only need 60 —” He waited till the hoots of laughter had died away. “We only need 60, but we will use them continually, all day and all night!”

  There was a murmur of reaction. “Use them continually? Are we to give up sleeping now?”

  “No, no!” cried Purple. He was insistent now. Listen, you only work during blue days, right? When the blue sun sets, you stop. Well why can’t you work just as well during red daylight?”

  Another murmur of reaction. Purple ignored it.

  “Look, the light is just as bright at night as it is during the day. One team of men can work at night, another team of men can work during the day — we’ll call them shifts. That way we only need one third as many looms. Each man still works a full shift, but they don’t all have to work during blue day. Why should the looms stand empty and unused when there is light? One shift will work in the morning, another in the evening, a third during red morning, a fourth until red sunset. Each shift will work nine hours —”

  The noise drowned him out then. “You’d have us violate the weaving spells? Defile the gods?” The weavers were on their feet, waving their fists angrily. “You’d call down the wrath of Elcin on us!”

  “Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Both Gortik and I were calling for order. Purple was saying something, but could not be heard. Finally Shoogar tossed a large fireball calmly into the center of the ring. It sputtered and spat and silenced the weavers.

  Muttering, they shrank away. Their protests sank to a whisper. Gortik said firmly, “We have agreed to listen to Purple’s proposal and discuss it logically. He is a magician — we have all seen a demonstration of his power. Now, if he feels that there is no danger of offending the gods, then obviously he knows what he is talking about”

  “And if there is any doubt, we have Shoogar here for a second opinion,” I added.

  Gortik turned to Shoogar, “Is there any danger?”

  Shoogar shook his head slowly. “Well, I’m not that familiar with weaving spells,” he said. “But what I do know about weaving suggests that the time of day the cloth is woven is unimportant. However, if there is any serious concern, I can construct some modifying spells to alleviate any danger.”

  This seemed to pacify most of the weavers. They sank back to their seats.

  “But still,” said Lesta, “Purple has called for sixty looms —”

  “We do not even need to build that many,” said Purple. “You have six. Each of the other four villages has at least that many. Lant tells me that Hinc and some of the weavers of the Upper Village have already built one of their own. That is thirty-one right there. If all the weavers — all the weavers — were to spend only one hand of days building looms, we’d have our sixty looms before the fourth day.”

  Lesta’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust that figuring, but he wasn’t going to challenge it until he had a chance to check it himself. “And what will we do about loomteeth?” he said.

  They all looked at me.

  I was unprepared for the question. I had not known that it would be asked. I said, “Well, it takes time to carve them — almost four days per full set.”

  “Hah! There — you see!” snapped Lesta. “That means more than 240 days of carving by Lant before there are enough teeth for all of the looms — and what will we do about breakage in the meantime?”

  “You know something, Lesta?” I said. “You’re kind of stupid.”

  He stood up at that, glowering.

  I stood also. “If we can bring in extra weavers and loom builders, then we can certainly bring in extra bonecarvers —”

  “But there are no other bonecarvers on the island, you fungus-head!”

  “Then I will train some! Any apprentice who can learn weaving can certainly learn bonecarving.”

  “I wouldn’t let even let my worst apprentice be so degraded!” Lesta snapped. He sat down, smiling grimly, arms folded across his chest.

  “Then what will you do for aircloth?” I asked.

  His smirk faded.

  Purple said quickly, “If you lend Lant ten boys, two from each village, the loomteeth will be finished ten times as fast.”

  “Er —” I said. Purple looked at me. “What will I use for bone?” Across the clearing, Lesta snorted. “As big as a runforit skeleton is,” I said. “I have only enough for twenty or so looms.”

  “Why do you have to use runforit bone?” asked Purple.

  “I don’t — but it’s the hardest available.”

  “Do you have to use the hardest?”

  “Well, no — but the teeth will wear down or break faster. Wet bone is not as strong as dry.”

  “But it would work?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “It would work. You will just have to replace them more often.”

  “How often?” asked Lesta.

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance yet to see how fast they wear.”

  “Well, give me an idea — how long would a set of wet bone loomteeth last?”

  “I can’t even give you an idea. It’s a totally new situation for me. I’ll guess four hands of days, maybe more, maybe less — how’s that?”

  Lesta curled his upper lip in disgust. Obviously he didn’t think it was good enough. But Purple said, “That’s fine, Lant, that’s fine.” He looked at his skin of figuring. “Even three hands of days per set would be fi
ne.”

  “Good,” I said. Already I was eager to start training apprentices.

  Then I guess that settles everything, doesn’t it?” asked Gortik.

  “No,” said a voice. Lesta’s.

  We all looked at him.

  There’s still one question that hasn’t been answered — where will the thread come from?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Purple. “The thread. I should think the answer would be obvious to you by now.”

  It wasn’t. We all shook our heads.

  “There is a large untapped source of labor already right here in our midst,” said Purple.

  We looked around at each other curiously. What was he talking about?

  “I’m referring, of course, to the women.”

  “The women!”

  It was a shout in unison from more than a hundred horrified throats.

  All was uproar. Men were standing, shaking their fists, cursing and spitting. Not even a half dozen fireballs from Shoogar could quiet them. It wasn’t until Shoogar threatened to call down Elcin himself that the noise began to subside.

  “Let me explain! Let me explain!” Purple was saying. Before anyone else could interrupt, he went on, “Listen, there is nothing sacred about spinning — even old Lesta admits it. The only reason you use boy apprentices to do it is that there is not weaving for them to do. Well, now that there is weaving for them to do, they don’t have to spin any more. The success of this whole plan depends on using the women for spinning — and your apprentice weavers can move up to being novices. Your novices can be promoted to journeymen. Your journeymen will all become team leaders.”

  At this there was a great shout of joy from the assembled tradesmen. At least one part of Purple’s plan was going to be popular.

  “But women?” declared Lesta. “Women? A woman is so dumb she cannot chew sweetdrops and walk through the forest at the same time.”

  “Nonsense,” said another man, “you are still living in the days of your cubhood, Lesta. We are intelligent men — and intelligent men realize that women are more than dumb beasts of burden. They would have to be — they birthed us, did they not?”

  This was greeted with a chorus of agreement from some of the other young men around the circle.

  “Hah!” snorted Lesta. “Cubs still whining for the nipples.”

  He was hooted at. The man who had spoken, a man of the Lower Village unknown to me, continued, “These are modern times, Lesta. We know more now than when you were young. We no longer treat our women as poorly as our ancestors did because we are beginning to understand them — and because of it, we are getting better usage out of them. Harder work, Lesta!

  “When was the last time you saw a whipherder and his flock of poor women, eh? Women are more than beasts of burden or dumb animals — and they should not be treated as such. Women are domestic creatures capable of many simple tasks. Why, I’ll bet that there is not a man here who does not let his wives do his foodgathering for him — and I know some who don’t even bother to hobble or chain their wives any more.”

  “Fools,” snapped the old weaver. “Fools and foolishness. You will be sorry.”

  A few of the other older men cheered, but not many.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, stepping into the center. They all looked at me. “I would like to suggest something. There is not one of us here who is not eager to see the aircloth woven — am I not right?”

  There were nods of assent.

  “Purple has shown us that it is possible — that it may be possible — for us to weave more cloth in one season than has ever been dreamed of — and all of it aircloth! We have accepted most of his other suggestions with a minimum of fuss and debate — he has shown us that his ideas are practical. Unorthodox, but practical. Purple’s speedy departure depends upon all of our co-operation.”

  “What is it you are proposing?” someone called.

  “That we give Purple a chance to prove himself. There is only one way to find out if the idea is practical. I have two wives. I will allow one of them to be taught the skill of spinning. If she can handle it, that will teach us that it is a practical thing. If she cannot, then it is a foolish idea.”

  “Lant speaks sense,” cried the man who had refuted Lesta earlier. “I will lend two of my wives to the experiment.”

  “I will lend one of mine,” cried another. And immediately the air was full of pledges of women — each young tradesman was eager to outdo the rest by showing how smart his wife or wives were.

  Purple beamed in delight at this development He was going from man to man, grasping their hands and thanking them.

  Old Lesta raised his hand. The noise quieted somewhat. “And what will you impetuous young fools do when you are struck by Elcin’s wrath, eh?”

  “We have nothing to fear from Elcin,” mumbled someone, but not too loudly.

  I said, “If we see that the women are desecrating the cloth, we will have them killed. Surely that would satisfy any offended god — but it is worth the experiment.”

  There was a general chorus of agreement.

  As it died away, Shoogar stepped into the center of the clearing. “You are arguing about nothing,” he said. “It is a simple matter to work up a spell that will allow a woman to work without offending the Gods. Women are so stupid that they cannot help but offend the Gods, so we have an all-purpose spell which excuses them because they are ignorant. They cannot help being what they are, or doing what they do. Thus, once a woman has been sanctified, she can literally do no wrong. We do not need to worry at all about the Gods. The only question is whether or not the women are smart enough to spin — and we will soon find that out.

  “There is no point in discussing this matter any further,” he said, “until we know one way or the other. I call for the adjournment.”

  He was right, of course. On both counts. We cheered his speech and broke up the meeting.

  The experiment to see if the women could spin was held the following blue dawn.

  Seventeen had been pledged. Fourteen showed up, being herded along by their suddenly nervous and uneasy husbands. In the cold light of morning, suddenly it no longer seemed like such a good idea.

  I too was beginning to regret my offer. I could not offer my fist wife for the test because she was on the verge of childbirth. That left only my number two wife, the thin hardworking one with the lightcolored fur. I did not like the idea of losing her to Purple’s experiment, but I had no choice. I was honor-bound.

  I could understand why the other men were grumbling. With only one wife foodgathering, meals would be skimpy and uneven — for me the problem would be even more severe. It is bad luck to beat a woman with child.

  Ah, well, if worse came to worse, I could always go down to the bachelor’s compound and be served by the unclaimed women. An unappetizing prospect at best, but at least my stomach would be full.

  We waited nervously on the hillside, milling about and saying little. The mood of the women ranged from fearful to delighted. All of them were obviously excited or upset at the prospect of a new kind of task. Few of them understood what would be required of them, but any change in their condition, they could only assume, must be for the better.

  When Purple arrived, he was flanked by Lesta and several of his weavers. These were the men who would actually teach the spinning. Already several novices were beginning to assemble the spinning devices.

  They began by demonstrating what spinning was all about. “You will be making thread — do you understand? Thread — it is very important — we will weave cloth out of it.”

  The women nodded their heads, dumbly, mutely.

  “I will show you how it is done,” said Lesta. He sat down on a little stool before the spinning device and began to spin, carefully explaining each step of what he was doing. Lesta was a good teacher. As I watched I felt that even I might learn the craft.

  But the women — they missed the point entirely. “Look!” they murmured. “He sits! He sits! He works
and sits at the same time!”

  My wife tugged at my arm, “My husband, my husband, will I be able to sit too?”

  “Hush, wife, hush — pay attention.”

  All the wives were murmuring now, pointing and whispering excitedly among themselves. “He sits! He sits while he works!”

  At last, old Lesta could stand it no longer. He stopped spinning and leapt from his stool. “Yes, dammit, I sit! And you stupid creatures will sit too, if you can learn how!”

  Immediately they were quiet.

  Lesta surveyed the group, “Now, who wants to try it first?”

  “Me! Me!” All of them pressed forward eagerly. “Me first, me!” Each wanted to see what it was like to sit and work at the same time.

  Lesta chose one and sat her down on the stool. She giggled hysterically. He put the tools in her hand, and the pieces of combed fiberplant and bade her do as she had seen.

  And, Lo! She spun!

  She spun the fibers into thread!

  The weavers gasped in horror — it was possible! The husbands gasped in shock — could a woman possibly be this smart? I gasped — just because I had never seen such a thing. The women gasped — she sits while she works, she sits!

  And Purple? Purple was bouncing with delight. “It works.” he shouted, “it works — she works, she works!”

  And all the while, the woman continued to spin.

  Of course, her thread was uneven and unusable — she was inexperienced and did not fully understand what she was doing. But it was obvious, even here, that it was possible for a woman to spin.

  Purple could build his flying machine.

  With experience and training — and careful supervision — all of these women might soon be spinning thread as fine as the best of them.

  In fact, as the day progressed, it soon became obvious that a woman was a better spinner than an apprentice boy. An apprentice is smart — he knows that he will soon be a weaver — his heart is not in the spinning. His mind wanders and he pays little attention to it because it is such a mechanical and boring task. Boys will be boys.

  On the other hand, to a woman, spinning is an enormously complex task. They must use both hands and one foot simultaneously in three separate and co-ordinated tasks. It requires all their concentration — it is a challenge. And if they fail, they know they will be beaten. Because a woman must continually pay attention to what she is doing, she is always watching the thread, always careful.