Delrael untied the end of one of the sandbags and let the sand run out.
Bryl leaned over to watch the tan grains pouring down, vanishing in the distance before he could see them hit the water. He thought he could feel the balloon jerk upward again.
"Not so much! Be careful."
Delrael tied the sandbag again.
The afternoon swept on, the sun fell toward the western edge of the map. The towering dead volcano on Rokanun, Mount Antas, jutted up like a festering elbow on the far side of the island. Gulls flew far below them in the still air. Bryl kept an eye out for soaring, fire-breathing, fang-filled, scale-covered ¯
"Look!" Delrael flexed his kennok limb, climbing on the edge of the basket. "I can move it again!" He seemed so relieved he wanted to dance. But the gondola was crowded with a cumbersome metal tank in the corner. The tank contained enough of the mysterious buoyant gas for their return journey.
The half-Sorcerer widened his eyes. "If the magic in your leg works again, the we must have passed the technological fringe ... and the balloon isn't going to fall apart on us!" Bryl wiped his forehead and sat down in relief.
Hours later, Rokanun loomed below and in front of them. The balloon puttered aimlessly in the eddies around the great island. They could not control its course and hung suspended over the first hexes of grass terrain on the shore of Rokanun. With dusk coming on, they began their descent.
Delrael bent to the task of letting the lighter-than-air gas escape from the balloon. He scrambled up the rope mesh around the balloon's body, using his kennok leg with ease. He opened sealed flaps on opposite sides of the fabric, just as Verne had taught him, allowing the gas to escape and keeping them from going into a spin.
The red-and-white balloon sagged inward, settling toward the ground.
Bryl sat in the basket, yelling against the hissing sound and trying to be useful by directing Delrael to adjust the rate of their fall by opening and closing other flaps. Stray winds drove them closer to the shore as they came down.
The basket struck the brown beach grass, knocking Bryl to his knees.
The balloon was still buoyant and bounced upward again in a gust of wind.
Everything seemed-to be moving so slowly. Bryl grabbed the side of the basket and held on until his fingers cramped. Delrael rode on the fabric of the balloon itself, sliding to the ground as the red-striped bag settled like a giant floating blanket. Bryl crawled out from under the cloth, gasping for breath. He stood up and brushed himself off.
The ocean crashed against tall rocks near the shore of a hex of grassland. The winds were gusty, but the air felt warm. All around them, the island of Rokanun was eerie and empty.
"Help me get the balloon over by that big rock where we can hide it.
Sort of. We should be able to move it while there's still some gas in it."
Delrael grabbed a fold of the waterproofed fabric and tugged with both hands, flashing red with the effort. "And then we're going to get a good night's sleep while we still can. "Tomorrow we'll go rescue Tareah."
Early the following day, Mayer led Vailret and Paenar back to the central Sitnaltan square. The fountain sent its feathery jet of water into the air. The water clock filled slowly and regularly, marking the exact hour of the morning.
Mayer had arrived at their doorway at sunrise, just as the city began to stir. Vailret had been sound asleep, comfortable in a real bed for the first time in weeks. Paenar had been sitting and thinking on his cot. He opened the door immediately after Mayer's knock.
"My father has asked that I show you more of our city." Mayer did not seem pleased with the chore. "Though I have my own calculations to continue."
"Are you sure we wish to see more?" Paenar asked.
Mayer raised her eyebrows at him. "Yes, I am sure."
The clanking, industrious sounds of Sitnalta filled the air as the three walked across the hex-cobbled streets. Paenar held onto Vailret's elbow.
"Let me start by showing you something important." Mayer pointed to a low building with a massive, ornate doorway that had artificial columns standing on either side. It looked like an ancient Sorcerer villa. "Inside is the one thing that fills all Sitnaltans with pride."
"What is it? A listing of your father's seventy inventions?" Vailret remarked.
Mayer glared at him.
They entered the small building with lush draperies and ornate furnishings. Propped on a pedestal against the far wall stood a leather-bound book with yellowed pages. Two curved brass pipes protruded from the wall, jetting blue gas flames that cast a glow on the volume.
"This is the original book, written by the great inventor Maxwell, in which he derived the first set of the Great Rules, the equations dealing with electromagnetism."
She looked at Vailret, expectant, but he did not know what she meant.
Mayer scowled. "It is also Maxwell's treatise and charter for Sitnalta, with his hypothesis that we cast off magic and superstition because these have brought only pain and destruction to Gamearth. The Outsider Scott changed the Rules in this area of the world, allowing human characters access to technological discoveries. Have you never found it unfair that you could not use magic, just because you weren't born a Sorcerer? Magic is for the few -technology is for everyone."
"Technology works only if you live in Sitnalta," Paenar said.
Vailret pursed his lips, embarrassed, and he did not want to answer. He hated to admit Mayer had a point. "Yes, I have thought that was unfair. I'm not a magic user, but I've studied more than most Sorcerers have."
Mayer smiled at him. Vailret couldn't tell if she was condescending or not.
"When we adopted Maxwell's hypothesis, we agreed to focus our efforts on the furtherance of science, the development of technology, and the betterment of the human race. We have chosen to isolate ourselves, to avoid involvement in any wars. Let me tell you a secret ¯ " she lowered her voice.
"We are working to develop a way that we can activate our own Transition!
Mechanically! Without magic."
Her eyes glittered. Vailret thought it was a grand dream for human characters. But none of that would take place if Scartaris destroyed Gamearth.
She reached her thin fingers toward the enshrined volume, but did not touch it. "Every person in our city has an annotated copy of Maxwell's great book. It has been printed time and again, but this is the original manuscript, in the handwriting of Maxwell himself." Mayer's voice was filled with reverence.
Vailret smiled at her, chiding. "So you've given up superstition, eh?
Your attitude toward that old book sure reminds me of religious awe."
Mayer turned red. "You are confusing reverence and deep respect for a silly superstition."
"Is there a difference between unquestioning reverence and silly superstition?" Paenar asked.
"Yes, most certainly!" Mayer snapped. "Come with me."
She hustled them back out into the sunshine. Angry, she continued to talk out of the corner of her mouth.
"We spend our time thinking. Ideas are our greatest product. One of Sitnalta's scholars has suggested a logical reason for the existence of the hexagon-lines on Gamearth ¯ that they are manifestations of an orderly, crystalline structure in the crust of the world, like the equal angles on a gemstone. Just think of it! The intuition and imagination that went into such a hypothesis, and of course it makes sense."
Paenar remained silent, but Vailret nodded to himself. "I never thought about it."
"Well, we did."
She led them into the main room of another building. Dozens of people stood along tables that stretched from one wall to the other. Shoulder to shoulder, the characters picked up dice and rolled them into individual rectangular wooden bins. After each throw, the Sitnaltan made a meticulous notation of the results on a pad beside his or her station and picked up the dice again for another throw. The rumble and clatter of dice hitting dozens of wooden boxes struck Vailret's ears like thunder.
"We
are gathering data," Mayer said, raising her voice. "One day, we will learn the true mysteries of the Rules of Probability. Ah, then the world will be in our grasp!"
Mayer put her hands on her waist, kneading her hip bones with her long fingers. "And would you mind telling me why you must see Professor Verne and Professor Frankenstein? They are very busy you know."
Paenar stood expressionless and immobile. "I prefer to tell them myself."
Mayer appeared frustrated from their reactions and attitudes throughout her tour. "You must show proper respect for them! We have strong evidence to suspect that the two professors are actually being Played ¯ directly by the Outsider Scott. They are important. Important to us and important to the Game.
The professors are not here to answer your every whim ¯ "
"This is important, Mayer," Vailret decided to intervene. She acted frightened when she spoke of Verne and Frankenstein. "I promise." He tried to smile at her. She didn't seem to know how to react.
She turned away and walked off, leaving them to follow.
At one of the doorways, she stopped and lowered her voice. "Since you don't want to go where I wish to take you, I must not be an adequate guide to our city." Mayer looked smug. "I have more important work waiting for me. If you have any trouble finding your way back to your quarters, use one of the speaking tubes and call for help."
She hurried off and turned a corner before Vailret could think of anything to say.
"Typical," Paenar said.
Vailret frowned, puzzled. "I just think she's not used to anyone who isn't amazed by their inventions. I am impressed at the opportunity their technology offers, especially to someone who can't use magic ¯ like me. But she doesn't know how to defend herself against any questions we raise. She's afraid of us."
"Let us hope we can get something better from the professors."
Vailret and Paenar stood baffled at the mad confusion in the workshop of Frankenstein and Verne. Incomplete machines lay in piles of gears and sheet metal, half-assembled or half-dismantled, surrounded by the smell of grease.
Rambling equations had been written all along the walls, extending beyond the blackboard and onto the bricks themselves.
Professor Frankenstein crouched low over a table under the bright light of a gas lantern, dissecting something on a mounting board. At his side lay an immense open book in which he made meticulous notes. From where he stood, Vailret could see intricate and detailed sketches of parts of the body and the brown stains of dried blood on the paper.
Professor Verne sat on a lab stool away from the worktable, puffing on a pipe and gazing off into space. Coils of gray tobacco smoke floated around his beard, giving the inventor a surreal appearance. He twiddled his thumbs and blinked at the two men as they entered. He stood in surprise. "Welcome, travelers! Forgive me ¯ I was deep in thought."
Frankenstein glanced up from his dissection, stared a moment, and turned back to his work.
Verne's eyes sparkled. "Ah, do you bring news of the balloon? So soon?"
Vailret fidgeted. "We came to see you at work."
Verne spread his hands. "Well, as you can see, Victor and I work well together. We were born with complementary skills. We make machines to mimic living things ¯ he deciphers how the living things work, and I invent gadgets to function on the same principles."
He scratched at his beard, then set down his pipe on a slanted work surface. It slid down, and Verne tried to catch it but only ended up with a handful of warm tobacco ash. He stared at the pipe, perplexed, then took great care to balance it properly.
"Victor, remind me to invent a pipe stand."
Frankenstein did not look up from his work. "We already have. It goes before the Council of Patent Givers at the next meeting."
Verne looked pleased. "Do we have any in production yet?"
Frankenstein shook his head. "Low-priority item."
"Too bad." He sighed. "Well, as you see, we have a great many inventions in the mill right now. Some are from Victor and myself brainstorming. Occasionally, though, we cannot take full credit." He looked sheepish.
"I get ideas from dreams, too ¯ someone, perhaps even the Outsider Scott himself, comes to me as I sleep and puts suggestions in my head. I remember him clearly when I wake ¯ he looks very young, brown hair, and freckles, by Maxwell! Whoever heard of an Outsider having freckles!"
Verne shook his head. "Well, he does have good, workable ideas. In fact, the Outsider Scott suggested how we might make the great balloon your friends are riding and how to obtain the lighter-than-air gas to lift it. We take a large battery, you see, and discharge electricity into sea water. The electrical charge breaks down the water into its most primal forms, two kinds of gas, which ¯ "
He blinked his eyes, then chuckled. "My, my, I do go on, don't I?"
Paenar interrupted, as if he could wait no longer. "I wish to give you a challenge, to test your talent."
"Our record of past inventions speaks for itself," Frankenstein said.
"We are not interested in tests."
Verne raised an eyebrow. "One moment, Victor." He turned to face Paenar. "What is it you wish?"
Paenar stood glaring at them with his cavernous eye sockets. "I need you to make me a new pair of eyes."
Frankenstein looked up from his dissection; Verne removed the pipe from his mouth again.
Paenar continued. "When I gazed upon the Spectres, the reality of their existence seared away my eyes. I can do nothing to help save Gamearth if I must be led around by the hand like a child. For the sake of our world's future, you must help me."
"It cannot be done," Frankenstein answered. "The eye is a most complex organ, directly connected to the brain. Creating a mechanical pair of eyes is not possible."
"I thought you would say so," Paenar said bitterly. "But the truth is, I have already had a pair of artificial eyes. The Spectres made them for me."
Vailret handed him the leather pouch and he strode forward to the table, careful not to stumble on the clutter on the floor. With a sound like rolling dice, Paenar emptied a handful of glittering lenses onto the wooden surface.
"Made from these. They were arranged in a staff and activated by magic.
I was able to see perfectly. Can your technology do this for me, or is simple magic superior?"
Verne pursed his lips, but Frankenstein shook his head. "We lack the time to finish the dozens of inventions we have already designed. We have many more we'd like to work on, ideas to explore. These mechanical eyes would benefit no one but yourself for now. Sitnalta has little demand for them. We must set priorities."
The blind man stood stiffly. Vailret said what he knew was on Paenar's mind. "We have our bargaining chip ¯ and it's rightly yours. Use it."
The blind man relaxed and spoke to a point in space somewhere between Verne and Frankenstein. "When the Spectres came to Gamearth from the Outside, they traveled in a gigantic ship constructed from their own imaginations.
Vailret has also seen the great ship and can vouch for the truth of my statements.
"Their ship is still there. And I know where it is." He paused to let them think of the implications. Both professors showed expressions of captivated interest.
"The ship does not still function as it once did ¯ but imagine what you could learn just from the structure of such a vessel? You could determine how to build your own model and perhaps rescue the people of Sitnalta. When Gamearth is finally erased, you can gather all the people together in your ship and whisk them off into reality.
"Surely that is worth the price of one man's eyes?"
Frankenstein and Verne stared at each other for a long moment with a glitter of fascination in their eyes. Without speaking, Professor Verne relit his pipe and took a long puff, lost in thought. Frankenstein flipped the pages of his huge volume of notes, scanning through the diagrams and observations, looking for any work concerning eyes. Both inventors wore feverish smiles.
Vailret did not have to ask their ans
wer.
At dawn, Delrael and Bryl left their sheltered spot in the rocks near the shore and stepped back out into the raw wind. They heard only the background noises of rushing waves and whispering beach grass. Delrael could feel a tension in the air, a subdued fear that kept everything quiet. The sounds of a few gulls only added to his sense of eerie loneliness, the solitude ¯ he knew that he and Bryl were probably the only two characters on the entire island, except for Sardun's daughter.
They set off across the first hexagon of grassy terrain. According to their map, the island's northern shore was bounded by a row of grassland hexes and then forest, except for the cluster of mountain terrain surrounding the towering volcano on the eastern end of the island.
Pushing themselves, they were able to traverse three full hexagons of grassland by nightfall, when the Rules forced them to stop at the black hex-line. On the other side they saw forbidding mountain terrain, jagged and inhospitable. The next day they would climb the side of the volcano, looking for some way inside to the grotto of Tryos the dragon.
The grass was soft and the night warm, but Delrael had trouble sleeping. He could see the looming dark blot of the dead volcano against the skyline, obliterating the scattered stars. He watched the night and the tattered aurora, wondering if the stars were really out there, or if it was just a screen to keep all the characters from seeing the Outside.
Bryl had kept himself uneasily silent for most of the day. Now, he heard the old half-sorcerer tossing on the ground and guessed that Bryl slept as little as he did. All night long Delrael felt the eyes of the dragon hanging over him, waiting for them to draw closer.
The next morning they picked their way among the rock jungle of the volcano's slope. Monolithic blocks of sharp lava lay scattered like enormous betting chips along the zigzagging path. The rock was gray and lifeless, free even of lichen stains.
At last, Delrael looked up into the bright daylight and saw the sheared-off top of the cone drooping at its lip. He stopped and wiped sweat off his forehead. Despite the protection it gave, his leather armor made him feel hot and stiff. He waited for Bryl to catch his breath.
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