The Practice Effect

by David Brin

  Dennis glanced at Kremer. The Baron listened with hands clasped in front of him. Heavy brows cast his eyes into shadows.

  Linnora’s gaze darted from Hoss’k to Dennis to Kremer with an expression of apparent anxiety. Dennis wondered what was going on. Was it something the fool had just said? He decided to stop this foolishness before it got any more ridiculous. “I don’t think you.…”

  But the scholar wouldn’t be interrupted. “The wizard’s things are positively amazing. Only once before have I encountered their like,” he said. “In our recent expedition into the western mountains north of the lands of the L’Toff, I and my escorts found a tiny house in the wilderness, all made of metal.…”

  Dennis stared at Hoss’k and felt his hands become fists. “You!” He knew, now, that he had seen the deacon one time before, on the tiny screen of the Shara Tech exploration ’bot. It was this fool, dressed in his red formal robes, who had overseen the dismantling of the zievatron!

  “Ah,” the scholar nodded. “I see from your reaction that that little house was yours, Wizard. And that does not surprise me. For I found a little box in the side of the house, which opened under prying. And there I found a storehouse of incredible little tools! I took home a few to examine at my leisure and, while I have not been able to make them do anything discernible, they, like the items in your backpack, have not changed a whit since I acquired them!”

  Hoss’k reached into his voluminous robes and pulled out a handful of small objects.

  “A few of these came from a pair of rather large, ferocious demons we found guarding the little house. But they were no match for the thenners of my Lord’s brave guardsmen.”

  Bits and pieces of shiny electronics spilled from his hand onto the table. Dennis stared at a claw arm from a “ferocious” little Sahara Tech exploration robot, and a broken elevatronics circuit board whose components alone were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars!

  “Of course, we could not stay long enough to pursue a full investigation, you’ll understand. For that was when we encountered the Princess. It took our men two whole days to—ahem—track her from the little metal house to the rock cleft where she had become lost.…”

  “I wasn’t lost! I was hiding from your thrice-cursed northmen!” Linnora bit out.

  “Hmm. Well. She claimed that she had come to the mountain glade because she sensed that something unusual had recently occurred in the area. I felt it wise to invite her to accompany our expedition back to Zuslik … for her own safety, of course.”

  Dennis could barely contain himself. “So you’re the cretin who tore apart the return device,” he growled.

  Hoss’k laughed. “Oh, Wizard, I completed the job of dissection, but our L’Toff Princess had already begun investigating the strange cabin when we arrived.”

  He glanced at her to see if this was true, but Linnora only looked away, fanning herself. At that moment Dennis didn’t feel any favoritism. He gave Linnora some of the hot glare he had offered Hoss’k. Both of them had meddled where they had no business!

  “Anyway, Wizard,” Hoss’k went on, “no harm was done, I’m sure. When my Lord Baron decides it is time for you to return to your homeland with your property, I’m sure we can return the metal I took and lend you all the help you’ll need in order to practice your little house back to perfection.”

  Dennis swore softly in Arabic, the only way he could properly express his opinion of the idea.

  Hoss’k seemed to sense some of the message, if not the meaning. His smile narrowed. “And if my Lord decides otherwise, why, then I will lead another expedition to the little house and reclaim all of that wonderful metal for my Lord’s treasury.”

  Dennis sat back in stunned silence. If the airlock itself were ever actually moved, let alone dismantled, he would spend the rest of his life here!

  Kremer had remained quiet during this exchange. Now he cut in.

  “I believe we have strayed from the topic, my good Deacon. You were explaining to us what was so unusual about the tools once owned by our alien wizard. You said that they appear to remain unchanged, no matter how long they are left unpracticed.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Hoss’k bowed. “And there is only one way known to freeze a tool into its practiced form so it will remain in that condition forever, unable to revert to its starter state. In our land this technique is controlled only by the L’Toff.”

  Linnora sat rigidly, not looking at Hoss’k or even at Dennis.

  “The technique, as we all know, involves a member of the L’Toff race willingly investing a portion of his or her own life-force into the tool in question, spending a part of his or her life-span to make the Pr’fett permanent.”

  Kremer spoke pensively. “A great gift, is it not, Wizard? The priests claim that the L’Toff were chosen by the gods … blessed with the talent to be able to make beautiful things beautiful forever.

  “But all gifts have a price, do they not, scholar?”

  Hoss’k nodded sagely. “Yes, my Lord. The talent has been a mixed blessing to the L’Toff. With their other gifts, it elevated them above other peoples. It also led to many unpleasant episodes of, well, what might be called attempted exploitation by others.”

  Dennis blinked. This was all coming too fast, but even without reflection he could imagine how the L’Toff had suffered for their talent.

  The Princess looked only at her own hands.

  “Of course, the rest of the story is common knowledge,” Hoss’k said, chuckling. “Fleeing the greed of mankind, the L’Toff came to the western mountains, where an ancestor of our King Hymiel ceded them their present territory and made the old dukes of Zuslik their protectors.”

  And Baron Kremer’s father deposed the last of the old dukes, Dennis realized.

  “We were speaking of the wizard’s property,” Kremer reminded softly but severely.

  Hoss’k bowed. “Of course. Now, what can we suppose when we find that the wizard’s property does not decay, does not devolve into crude starters? We are forced to conclude that Dennis Nuel is a member of the aristocracy of his homeland, a homeland in which both metal and life itself are cheap. Furthermore, it seems clear that the equivalent of the L’Toff in his country have been enslaved and put to use freezing Pr’fett within practiced objects so that they remain refined even when left unused for long periods. This exploitation has gone so far as to freezing even Nuel’s clothing. Here in Coylia no one has ever considered squandering the L’Toff talent on clothes—”

  “Now just a darned minute,” Dennis cut in. “I think there are a few things that need to be—”

  Hoss’k grinned and hurried on, cutting Dennis off. “—We must conclude, at last, that their expertise at different kinds of essence—including the enslavement of little animals as integral parts of tools—plus this power over the L’Toff of their own land explains the wizardry of Dennis Nuel’s country.

  “He may be an exile or an adventurer. I cannot say which. In either case our guest clearly comes from a most powerful and ruthless warrior race. This being so, he should be treated as a member of the highest caste while he remains here in Coylia.”

  Dennis stared at the man, dumbfounded. He wanted to laugh, but it was too preposterous even for that!

  He started to speak twice and stopped each time. It occurred to him to wonder if he should interfere at all. His initial impulse to protest might not be the right strategy at all. If Hoss’k’s sophistry led to the granting of high status and respect here, should he even interfere?

  While he considered, Princess Linnora abruptly stood up, her face very pale. “My Lord Baron. Gentlemen.” She nodded left and right but did not look at Dennis. “I am fatigued. Will you excuse me?”

  Her chair was withdrawn by a servant. She did not meet Dennis’s gaze, though he stood and tried to catch her eye. She bore stoically the Baron’s lips upon her hand, then turned and left, accompanied by two guards.

  Dennis’s ears burned. He could well imagine what Linnora thou
ght of him. But all considered, it was probably best that he had remained silent right now, until he had a chance to think about what was to be done. The time for explanations would come later.

  He turned to see Kremer smiling at him. The Baron took his seat and sipped from a goblet whose lacquer had, over the years, developed into a magnificent, arsene blue.

  “Please sit down, Wizard. Do you smoke? I have pipes that have been used every day for three hundred years. As we relax, I am certain we will find matters of mutual benefit to discuss.”

  Dennis said nothing.

  Kremer eyed him calculatingly. “And perhaps we can work out something that will benefit the lady as well.”

  Dennis frowned. Were his feelings that obvious?

  He shrugged and sat down. In his position, he had little choice but to deal.

  4

  “It’s a good thing the palace has lots of well-practiced indoor plumbing,” Arth said as he worked to join two ill-fitting pieces of tubing, binding them with wet mud and twine. “I’d hate to have to make our own pipes out of paper or clay and have to practice ’em up ourselves.”

  Dennis used a chisel to trim a tight wooden cover to fit over a large earthen vat. Nearby, several kegs of the Baron’s “best” wine awaited another test run. The maze of tubes overhead was a plumber’s nightmare. Even the sloppiest Appalachian moonshiner would have shuddered at the sight. But Dennis figured it would be good enough for a “starter” distillery.

  All they had to do was get a few drops of brandy to come out the other end of the condenser. A little final product was all they needed for it to be useful and therefore practicable.

  Arth whistled as he worked. He seemed to have forgiven Dennis since being released from the dungeon and assigned work as “wizard’s assistant.” Now wearing comfortably old work clothes and being fed well, the short thief was enthralled by this extended making task, unlike anything he had ever done before.

  “Do you think Kremer’s goin’ to be satisfied with this still, Dennizz?”

  Dennis shrugged. “In a couple of days we should be producing a concoction that’ll knock the Baron’s fancy, two-hundred-year-old socks off. It ought to make him happy.”

  “Well, I still hate his guts, but I’ll admit he pays well.” Arth jingled a small leather purse a quarter filled with slivers of precious copper.

  Arth seemed satisfied for now, but Dennis had his private doubts. Making a distillery for Kremer was a stopgap measure at best. He was sure the warlord would only want more from his new wizard. Soon he would lose interest in promises of new luxuries and trade goods and start demanding weapons for his upcoming campaign against the L’Toff and the King.

  Dennis and Arth had been at this task almost a week. Here and now, few spent much more than a day making anything. Kremer was already showing signs of impatience.

  What would he do when the distillery was operational? Show the Baron how to forge iron? Teach his artisans the principle of the wheel? Dennis had hoped to keep one or two of those “essences” in reserve, just in case Kremer decided to renege on his promise. The warlord had vowed eventually to heap wealth on Dennis and provide him with all the resources he’d need to repair his “metal house” and go home. But he might change his mind.

  Dennis was still ambivalent. Kremer was clearly a ruthless S.O.B. But he was competent and not particularly venal. From Dennis’s readings of Earth’s history, a lot of men who were revered in legends weren’t exactly pleasant people in real life. Although Kremer certainly was a tyrant, Dennis wondered if he was particularly terrible as founders of dynasties went.

  Perhaps the best thing to do would be to become the fellow’s Merlin. Dennis could probably make Kremer’s victories overwhelming—and therefore relatively bloodless—and in so doing become a power at his side.

  Certainly that would win him a freer hand, perhaps even to repair the zievatron and return home again.

  It did sound like the right plan.

  Then why did it feel so unpalatable?

  He could think of at least one person who wouldn’t agree with his decision. The few times he had seen Princess Linnora since the banquet they had been at least two parapets apart, she escorted by her guards and he by his. She had nodded to him coolly and swept away with a swirl of skirts even as he smiled and tried to catch her eye.

  Dennis could see now how Hoss’k’s logic at the banquet would sound compelling to someone raised in this world. The misunderstanding irked him all the more because it was so unfair.

  But there was nothing he could do. Kremer was keeping her in Dennis’s sight but out of earshot. And he couldn’t insult the Baron in her presence—spoiling all of his plans—just to regain favor in her eyes, could he? That would be shortsighted.

  It was perplexing.

  He and Arth built their still in a broad court not far from the enclosed jailyard they had escaped from only weeks before. Except for their small corner, the broad field was taken up by drilling grounds for the Baron’s troops. Near the outer wall of sharpened logs, sergeants marched militia from the town and neighboring hamlets—practicing both the ragged weapons and their equally motley bearers.

  Nearer the castle, regulars in bright uniforms used their battle-axes and halberds to slice at chunks of meat hanging from tall gibbets. The gleaming blades sheared through meat and bone alike. The chops were collected in tubs and carted off by drudges to the palace kitchens.

  Even the pair of guards assigned to watch Dennis and Arth kept busy. They took turns striking each other lightly with dull blades, working on their armor.

  Overhead, the Baron’s aerial patrol went through their maneuvers. Dennis watched them dive and swoop around each other, as facile as the sprightliest gliders of Earth, staying aloft for hours at a time in the day thermals near the castle. They practiced throwing clusters of small, deadly darts at ground targets in midflight.

  No one else on Coylia had anything like these gliders. The innovation was said to have come one day when the observation kite the Baron himself had been riding was cut loose in an assassination attempt. Practiced to perfection as a kite, the untethered airfoil instantly went into a spinning fall.

  But instead of plumeting to his death, Kremer had been caught in a powerful winter updraft. Showing unusual imagination, the Baron had recognized almost instantly that something new was involved. He concentrated desperately on practicing the unwieldly glider, rather than resigning himself to certain death, and the amazing happened. To the awe of all those watching, he and the kite had shimmered for a few moments in the sparkling nimbus of a felthesh trance. The fabric contraption changed before everyone’s eyes into something which flew!

  In the end, Kremer merely broke his leg, but he had discovered a new principle in the process.

  Seventeen killed and maimed “volunteers” later, he had his corps of one-, two-, and even four-man gliders. They were getting better day by day. And although Kremer never again was able to produce another felthesh, his reputation was made throughout Coylia.

  Dennis watched the gliders thoughtfully. The hangar shed was guarded, and the launching tower as well. But their greatest protection was the fact that Castle Zuslik contained the planet’s only supply of trained pilots. Even if some other lord managed to steal a glider, he wouldn’t be able to practice it in time to prevent it from decaying back to a pile of sticks and string and hides.

  But unbeknownst to Baron Kremer, there was one more potential pilot on Tatir.

  No. Dennis shook his head. You’ve chosen a plan. Stick with it.

  Arth approached, holding up a piece of condenser. “Say, Dennzz, where does this thing you called a … a gizmo … fit? Does it go into the thingumbob? Or the doohickey?” Arth pronounced each name as he had memorized it.

  Dennis returned to the task of fostering an industrial revolution.

  5

  “Master, you must get dressed for the party now.”

  Dennis looked up from a sheaf of notes covered with the arcane not
ations of anomaly mathematics.

  “Oh, is it time already, Dvarah?”

  The servant girl smiled and gestured over to the ancient bed by the wall. Dennis saw that she had laid out a formal dinner suit. It had fancy sleeves and a wide, puffy collar.

  The girl curtsied. “Yes, my Lord. And tonight you will dress in a manner befitting your station. These garments are over two hundred years old. And the practicer we found for you has been wearing them nonstop for over a week. They have just been laundered and are ready for you now.”

  Dennis looked at the suit and frowned. It wasn’t just that the clothes were frilly and decadent for his tastes. After all, he was the foreigner here and should adapt to local fashions.

  But he didn’t like to think that some poor citizen of Zuslik had been shanghaied into durance style—just to practice these clothes for him.

  Dvarah had been assigned to Dennis after the dinner meeting with the Baron. The pretty, petite brunette brought him his meals and tended his sumptuous new quarters.

  She coughed demurely. “Master, you really mustn’t keep my Lord Baron waiting.”

  Dennis cast a brief, wistful glance back at the papers on his desk. It had been fun, almost relaxing, to play with the symbols and numbers, trying to figure out how the Practice Effect came to be. While lost in the equations, Dennis could almost forget where he was, and pretend he was, once again, a comfortable terrestrial scientist with nothing at all to fear.

  Kremer had actually been quite generous, by his own lights. He had, for instance, given Dennis all the paper he wanted for his studies. But he had stopped at letting Dennis have any of his Earthly equipment.

  There was no use complaining. Dennis had to win the warlord’s trust. Without the wrist comp, for instance, all these calculations were inevitably futile. Eventually, he was sure, Kremer would let him have his gear.