A Dirge for Sabis

by C. J. Cherryh

Now hit the conclusion good and hard.

  "A ship driven by such an engine would be mistress of the seas, fearing no storm nor dead winds, nor pirates.

  "How wealthy would her master be?"

  Entori nodded slowly, a smile spreading widely across his face, as the vision took hold. "Tell me," he murmured, "did Shibari commission the building of such a ship?"

  "No, milord. He considered it too newfangled and undignified." Well, that was half the truth anyway. "Also, he would not spare the time required to build it, preferring to gamble on quick profits with existing ships." That, too, was part of the truth.

  "Shibari was a fool." Entori sat back, folded his hands, and turned his attention back to Zeren. "I agree, Captain, that there are possibilities here. Yes, I'll take in these craftsmen of yours. When we have ships of the sort that will interest the officers of the Imperial Navy, I will certainly inform you."

  Zeren gave him a smile and a slight bow. "I have no doubt that there will be other such profitable developments," he purred. "I'll send the craftsmen and their assistants to you before the day is out."

  "I'll have rooms prepared," Entori murmured, reaching for a stylus and tablet. "Good day, Captain."

  Omis and Sulun suppressed sighs of relief as they turned and followed Zeren out the door. Only when they were out in the corridor did Omis dare to speak.

  "We're out of the cookpot, but maybe into the fire. Sulun, it will take months to build a big steam engine, much less mount it on a ship, test it, get it seaworthy. And there are certain design problems. And when will we have time to work on the bombard?"

  "We'll manage," Sulun promised. "At least now we'll have the tools, and a roof over our heads."

  "I wish," Zeren muttered, "that you'd had a model of the bombard instead. Sabis needs land defense more than fast ships."

  * * *

  The little company arrived, bags and baggage, children and all, shortly after noon. The porter let them in at once, led them down a different set of gloomy corridors and into their new quarters chattering all the way, quite garrulous now that there were none but other Entori house servants to overhear.

  "Well, well, well, so you're the new craftsmen of the house! All of you, then? Hah, I didn't think so. Can't quite see the babies hammering iron, eh?"

  "Give them time," Omis huffed.

  "Oh, yes indeed, yes indeed. Meanwhile, best keep them out of the master's sight, or else put 'em to sweeping floors or some such harmless work, keep 'em looking busy. Master doesn't like to pay for useless mouths. Clever idea, though, claiming four apprentices instead of a wife and three children; he set aside full three rooms for your lot, and as much for goodman Sulun and his. How d'ye like the furnishings, eh?"

  Omis and Vari surveyed the first of the three cubicles, and bit their respective tongues.

  "Not much cabinet space," Vari dared to comment.

  "Eh, well, you can always get more cabinets out of your pay. Don't go borrowing bits of furniture from storage without the mistress's express permission now, tempting as it looks. Always remember Master Entori may run the business, but Mistress Eloti runs the household. 'Tis a fine point in your favor that she likes you."

  "Likes us?" Sulun put in. "I didn't know she'd even seen us."

  "Oh, she did. She has her ways. Heh-heh! Yes. Master wanted to hire you, right enough, but the expense worried him, so he talked to Mistress about it. When he stopped for breath she put in a word. 'Hire them,' she said. 'Good investment,' she said. Then he went back to talking and rattled on for another good half-hour, and finally concluded by saying he'd go ahead and hire you all. Then it was a question of what to pay you."

  "Really?" Sulun said. He hadn't dared bring that up himself; it wasn't seemly for an unemployed craftsman to bargain with a master who was graciously consenting to save him from begging on the street. Zeren hadn't dared to bring up the subject either; it would have seemed out of character, considering his argument for Entori hiring the lot of them in the first place. "And what did they decide?"

  "At first Master rattled on and on about the expense of feeding ten new mouths, plus added costs of lamp oil and laundry soap and all like that, and said you should be grateful enough for that and allowance for materials—"

  Behind them, Arizun snorted, loudly.

  "But then Mistress pointed out that unpaid hirelings tend to steal, and unpaid craftsmen tend to pad their budgets for materials, and that better paid servants tend to keep their mouths shut about their master's business. Master thought about that for a bit, and suggested that two silver pieces a month should buy proper secrecy—"

  This time it was Doshi who did the derisive snorting.

  "But Mistress pointed out that there's many who would pay far better to keep so valuable a secret as that steam powered ship engine, and she argued for a full gold piece per month. Master ranted and raved a bit, then thought it over, and finally agreed on one gold for each master and eight silvers for each apprentice, which isn't too shabby, especially for so . . . ah . . . economical a household as this one."

  Sulun shrugged. No, that wasn't too shabby for this household, and he could make up the differences needed by padding his requests for materials.

  The apprentices were already unloading their personal gear in their assigned cubicles, already arguing over who got which bed, which drawer, which clothespress.

  "Now, the workshops are down this way."

  "This way" led down another corridor, past rooms choked with piles of furniture, parchment, household furnishings, odd tools, clothing, bags of grains, sealed jars of wine, oil and spices, assorted arms and armor, crates and sacks and barrels of unidentifiable goods—loot from unnumbered debt foreclosures. Omis found the sight infinitely depressing, while Sulun took notes.

  Then out into a back courtyard near the wall, a courtyard filled with larger spoils, heavy equipment, bigger tools: and to one side of the tangle sat Omis's forge and anvil, and Sulun's lathe. Omis fell upon the anvil with a cry of joy, and hugged it to his muscular chest. Sulun only frowned.

  "It'll take days of work to make a proper workshop out of all this mess," he pointed out. "Just clearing space. And where can we put all this other junk? And there's no roof. We'll need to set up a canopy—"

  "I'm sure ye've enough apprentices to do it," the porter sniffed. "And there'll be room for storage in the eighth room down the hall, once Master sells that lot—say, another two days."

  Sulun and Omis looked at each other. Plainly they'd be given no help settling in or setting up. On the other hand, they'd be left alone to arrange the workshop as they pleased and, incidentally, to explore the other tools and engines in that pile.

  "Very good." Sulun put on that polite, politic smile that was becoming easier with practice. "We'll set up the rooms tonight and start on this after breakfast tomorrow. How long until dinner?"

  * * *

  Dinner was at sundown, in the chill formal banquet room lit with a few sullen lamps. The half-seen statuary lining the walls seemed alternately to glower or smirk in the uncertain light. At the high table sat Entori, still wearing his fur-collared robe, and his sister Eloti, to his left, wearing another, equally subdued, dark dress. The entertainment consisted of harp-twanging by a skinny youth who, so Vari whispered for her husband to pass on, spent the rest of the day as a sweeper. A scullery maid doubled as server to the high table.

  At the lower table sat Omis and his family, Sulun and his apprentices, the porter, a disturbingly slender cook, another slatternly maid, a sour-faced elderly woman who described herself variously as housekeeper/seamstress/lady's maid, a drowsing ancient dressed in the robes of a third-level mage, and three burly, inexpressive men whose duties were not described but who wore heavy truncheons at their belts. The food was plain, so was the servants' livery, and conversation was subdued.

  Noting all the covert glances his party got from the other servants, Sulun could barely wait for the dinner to end, the master and mistress to depart, and the usual after-dinner s
ervants' gathering to begin. There was much he needed to learn here.

  He noted that the servants were dawdling over their food.

  Dinner seemed interminable, though the master of the house ate fast. Entori gulped at his food like a well-trained but hungry watchdog, with no spattering or notable haste, but with no wasted motion. Mistress Eloti ate with a similar economy, but with less speed. Entori finished well before her, and sat rattling his fingers on his winecup as if debating whether or not to have more wine. Eloti, if anything, slowed down. Entori gave up and had his cup refilled. They finished their last mouthfuls at almost the same moment, and Sulun wondered which of them had timed it that way. Entori stood, obliging the rest of the household (except the harper) to rise too, then swept out the door with his sister on his arm.

  "At last," muttered the serving girl, as the rest of the servants sat down again.

  "Hush," the old housekeeper snapped. "Wait."

  The others gulped their food but kept quiet, watching the door. Sulun's gang traded bewildered glances.

  The harper stopped in mid-note and came over to the table, casting a quick look down the corridor as he passed the door. "They're gone," he said, shoving into an empty seat. "Pass the beans."

  "Hell, pass the wine!" rumbled one of the house-guards.

  "Amen," mumbled the house wizard, holding out his cup.

  The serving girl came over, grinning, and the supper promptly became more lively.

  Omis gulped at his refilled cup, and made a face. "Gods! Is this stuff half vinegar, or what?"

  The guardsmen laughed. "Entori buys cheap," one of them chuckled. "But don't worry; we've a way to get at the better stuff, once this is gone."

  "Hush," snapped the housekeeper again, glaring sidelong at the wizard. "No sense encouraging such things."

  "Oh, why not?" Another guardsman laughed. "Let Aobi tell it. Our Terribly Important new friends will find out soon enough, anyway."

  "Important?" Vari puzzled in mid-bite.

  "Of course," sniffed the housekeeper. "The master hired the whole lot of you at once, and at good money too, after talking privately with a commander of the City Guard. That, from a merchant and moneylender who never parts with a copper bit unless he's weighed it first. We can all make good guesses."

  Vari turned a bewildered glance to her husband, who bounced it to Sulun.

  "Engine-makers," the wizard hiccupped. "More damned protection for fires—"

  "As I was saying," Aobi the guardsman resumed, "the Old Man has barrels and barrels of wine in the cellar, but he hardly touches it himself. Always hoping to trade it for something better, he is. Now the stuff he's had there the longest—and I swear, he has a good lot that's been down there more than four years—might rightfully be expected to have turned sour by this time."

  The other servants at the table snickered and grabbed at the wine ewer.

  "Now Gipu here—" Aobi nudged the guard next to him, "can tell you about the empty jars he found in one of the storerooms. Enough to hold a barrel's worth of good wine, eh?" He nudged Gipu again, who chuckled mountainously around a mouthful of stew. "Why let the poor things stand about empty, says I. As for the barrel, we refilled it with good wine vinegar, bought with our own pay. Does the Old Man ever tap that barrel, he'll find the wine's turned too sour to drink. Oh, pity. He'll probably sell the vinegar for a better price than we paid."

  "Meanwhile," Gipu added, "we get to drink better than this swill. Jug empty yet, Loac?"

  The third guard upended the ewer in his cup. "Finished," he announced. "Get the good stuff."

  The maid grabbed the jug and ran off giggling.

  "So," Aobi purred at Omis, leaning closer, "just what is it that makes your lot so valuable to the Old Man, eh?"

  "Ten of you, for such good money," Loac added, favoring Sulun with a thoughtful eye. "A blacksmith, maybe, one could understand. But so many?"

  Sulun glanced around, seeing all the servants' eyes on him and Omis's almost desperate look, and realized how close he was to arousing the enmity of his new household. This miserly household thrived on secrets, and he'd best give these people a convincing one. Simply calling himself a Natural Philosopher wouldn't do.

  "Engines for ships," he offered in a properly conspiratorial tone. "Ships that can sail against the wind, or outrun pirates. We know how to build them."

  The servants traded glances, nodded in understanding, and smiled.

  "If you need any help," Aobi offered, "Just ask."

  "Forges, fires . . . more damned work," mumbled the wizard. "Where's that wine?"

  The maid came back with the ewer full of better-smelling wine, and dumped a generous dollop in Sulun's cup. The other servants promptly clamored for her attention.

  Omis took the opportunity to whisper in Vari's ear. She nodded, got up from the table, and began collecting children. "Time the little ones went to bed," she explained to any who might care to listen, then hustled the children and herself safely out and away.

  Omis stuck out his cup for a refill, and grimly prepared to make a long night of it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Sulun!" a fierce whisper, followed by a heavily shoving hand "Sulun, get up! The sun's high, and we've much to do."

  Sulun opened one eye, closed it again, and groaned.

  "Here, drink the winterleaf tea." Omis's calloused hand shoved a steaming mug close to Sulun's nose. "The wife says it good for wine-head. Drink, and get up."

  Seeing that there was no help for it, Sulun drank the foul--tasting stuff and managed to roll himself upright. Omis held out a plain robe, and after a moment's hesitation Sulun struggled into it. "Gods," he muttered. "Remind me never to drink more than four cups at one sitting again. How did you survive?"

  "There's more of me to saturate than there is of you. Try eating more. Hmm, do you want breakfast?"

  "No!" Sulun pulled on the robe, hauled himself to his feet, and stumbled to the pitcher and washbasin in the corner. "Gods, gods . . . was it worth all that wine? I can't remember."

  "Oh yes." Omis sat down on the bed Sulun had just quitted. "We learned a great deal indeed. First, the master leaves all the running of the household to his sister, who manages surprisingly well, but is something of a mystery to everyone. Second, the Old Man resents the noble families terribly; it appears that they don't accept him socially, though they're friendly enough with men not nearly so wealthy. The servants think it's because he's such a mean and miserly sort that he can't possibly amuse them; he thinks it's because he's descended from one of the old Sukkti houses, if you please."

  "Sukkti?" Sulun puzzled as he dried his face on a threadbare cloth. "I didn't think there were any of the old race left. How many centuries has it been since the conquest?"

  "Six at least. Who cares? One doesn't have to be pure Sukkti to have a bit of the old blood, as surely half of Sabis must. I'm just telling you what the servants say the Old Man believes." Omis cracked his knuckles noisily. "But to get on, Entori is the sort who nurses a grudge. He intends to buy that power which he can't win with his personal charm, and for that he needs money—always more money."

  "That, we knew," Sulun grumbled, reaching for his comb.

  "It doesn't end there. The Old Man cares not overmuch how he makes his money or who he deals with to get it." Omis leaned forward, making the bed webbing creak. "Nor does he care how his servants are treated, so long as the money comes in. Consider, friend Sulun, that galley slaves on his ships tend to die off at a higher rate than usual."

  "The steam engine . . ." Sulun frowned, yanking the comb through his woolly tangle of hair.

  "Yes, the steam engine for ships. It gets more interesting still. Entori's business has suffered from the loss of the northern trade as well as from the piracy out at sea. Many of his creditors have gone down, leaving him with cartloads of goods that he has trouble selling. He hopes to make up for this by—listen well—supplying the army and navy. You see where this leads?"

  Sulun put the comb down
and looked about for his sandals. "Does Zeren know this?"

  "If he didn't before, he does now." Omis sat back with a satisfied grin. "I sent Arizun scampering off to him with a message, just after the morning report."

  "Morning what?" Sulun asked, fumbling his way into his -sandals.

  "Another little custom of the household. Every morning—early, mind you—all the servants are required to show up in the master's office and give brief, concise reports about their work and the condition of the supplies. All the rest of us went this morning, and we had difficulty enough explaining why you weren't present. You'll have to be there tomorrow, and with something to report."

  "Report?" Sulun forced his aching brain into action. "By tomorrow morning? We'll be lucky if we have half the shop set up by then. What, in the name of all the gods together, are we expected to report?"

  "We'll have to think of something." Omis pulled himself off the bed and offered a hand to Sulun. "Shall we begin?"

  * * *

  Two hours further into the morning, the task seemed just as formidable, even with the help of all four apprentices and two of the interested house-guards. The storerooms and back courtyard of Entori's house contained an incredible amount of hoarded junk.

  There were also a few unsuspected treasures.

  "Sulfur," Yanados whispered in Sulun's ear while the guards were busy on the far side of the courtyard. "This room, here—Arizun made the map—by the back wall there are five big grainbags full of sulfur. The dust is so thick on them, I'll wager Entori hasn't seen or thought about them in ten years."

  "I'll go see them at lunchtime," Sulun whispered back. "Don't let anyone see that map." Gods, the Bombard Project! He'd almost forgotten it.

  Yanados nodded, rolled the parchment quickly, and scurried off. Sulun caught Teigi—no, think of her always as Ziya—watching him, and quickly touched a warning finger to his lips. Ziya looked at her feet, frowned, and trudged off after Yanados.

  Then Omis came rolling up, looking harried but somewhat pleased. "I've found most of the tools," he reported, "plus some oddments I never used before. Given a half-noon's time, I think we really can assemble a workable shop."