by Ginn Hale
Master Ignacio had never lashed out at Kiram like this before, despite the fact that Kiram had made far worse mistakes in his classes. In fact during the first weeks the master had ignored Kiram, allowing him to fumble ineptly through his training. But Kiram had not been one of the Hellions then. He suddenly wondered how deeply that must have vexed the war master. A skinny Haldiim mechanist fraternizing with his brutal, muscular favorite students. His great Cadeleonians.
Kiram could hear the voices of men coming closer. The third-year students were gathering for their lessons. Master Ignacio glanced to the doors of the arena. “Haldiim genius or not, I expect you to take my instructions seriously. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir,” Kiram responded.
“Good.” Master Ignacio turned his back on Kiram. “Now get out of my sight.”
Kiram was glad to leave. And he wasn’t surprised to find Nestor waiting for him outside the stables.
“Are you all right? I thought your head was going to come right off.”
“Genimo hits harder,” Kiram said. It wasn’t true but the lie was the only revenge Kiram could take against the war master.
Nestor grinned. “You’ve got balls, Kiram. Really.”
“Thanks.”
Though the rest of Kiram’s afternoon classes were less eventful, a feeling of alienation clung to him. The bruise on his face was slow to darken but it ached. Kiram decided that he would rather not see the other Hellions at dinner and instead retreated to his shed to tinker with his mechanisms and feel more in his element.
Blue light streamed in through the small window in the north wall. The smell of machine oil settled around Kiram and instinctively he felt safer.
He turned a long, threaded bolt between his fingers and wondered just who had first realized that the threaded shaft would offer a stronger anchor than any nail.
Someone who could see a place for innovation, Kiram imagined, as he fed the bolt into place and tightened its nut. Someone who knew that he could make something better than anything that had come before him.
Kiram smirked at the train of his thoughts. He was describing his ideal version of himself, of course. His ancient inventor was probably just a thick-headed bastard who wanted to sink a support without bothering to get up and find a hammer.
Kiram stepped back and studied his boiler. It looked good. Its glossy, black, iron mass filled a third of the cramped shed. The secondary steam chamber had yet to be assembled. The pistons and rods lay on a shelf. The condensation chamber only existed as a heap of iron plates leaning against the wall and a series of measurements in Kiram’s mind.
But it was coming together, slowly taking shape. For a moment Kiram imagined the finished mechanism. All that fire and steam driving pistons with force and precision. It would be beautiful. He could almost hear the roar of the fires inside the big boiler. He gazed up to where the first steam chamber would sit atop the boiler. It would be…
Kiram frowned. It would be too tall for the shed, that’s what it would be.
He would have to remove a huge section of the roof, unless he wanted the pistons smashing through it the first time he tested his mechanism. Doubtless the sight of that would thrill the academy scholars and groundskeepers.
Kiram sighed and sat back on the cool dirt floor. It seemed like nothing would come easily for him here at the Sagrada Academy. Not his classes, not his classmates, and not even the simple, stupid proportions of a damn shed. It was like a curse.
Not a terrible, malevolent curse like the ones that filled so many holy books, but a petty, annoying vexation of a curse. A curse that was like the pain in his jaw and the hunger in his belly, slow growing and persistent.
“Where is Javier with a pie when I need him?” Kiram whispered to himself and then he wished he hadn’t, because he knew where Javier was. He was at the Hellions’ table, laughing and tossing dice in that hearty, arrogant Cadeleonian manner that doubtlessly pleased Master Ignacio.
“Kihvash to Master Ignacio,” Kiram muttered to himself. He returned to working on the valve that would eventually feed cold water into the condensation chamber. It would need to endure intense heat and then sudden influxes of cold. He had used a double casing to insulate the valve in his miniature version but he didn’t know how the material would hold up on a much larger scale.
Kiram heard someone knock lightly at the door but he ignored it. There was a second series of much louder knocks. He thought they might even be kicks.
“I’m busy,” Kiram shouted. “Go away!”
“You’re missing dinner.” Javier sounded annoyed.
“I’m not hungry.” As soon as the response was out of his mouth, Kiram realized how childish and petulant he sounded. It was the kind of thing a spoiled six-year-old shouted at his mother when he didn’t receive the gift he wanted for Solstice.
“Well, that’s too bad because I brought you something to eat,” Javier responded. “Now open this damn door.”
Kiram sighed. He could sulk when he was alone but with Javier standing outside, having brought him food, Kiram just felt petty. He got up and unlocked the door.
A halo of gold afternoon light poured in around Javier, accentuating the hard lines of his body and casting his face into shadow. He stepped into the shed and closed the door behind him.
The shed suddenly seemed dark, illuminated by only the dim light that fell through a small northern window and the few yellow shafts that filtered in from between the cracked planks of the walls. Kiram was very aware of how close the confines were. Javier thrust a warm bundle into his hands and turned to study the completed boiler.
“So, this is what you’re always working on, is it?”
“Yes.” Kiram opened his bundle and found, wrapped inside the square of cloth, a stuffed roll and a hot apple pocket.
“Fresh from the kitchen windowsill,” Javier commented.
“Thanks.” Kiram felt a rush of pleasure, knowing that Javier had gone out of his way to bring these things to him, and embarrassment at the same time because he’d just spent the last hour resenting Javier and the rest of the Hellions.
Kiram bit into his stuffed roll. Thick cuts of pork slid into his mouth along with a warm mustard sauce. He hadn’t really realized how hungry he was until he tasted food. He tore into the remainder of the roll.
While Kiram ate, Javier circled slowly around the boiler, studying it. He opened the heavy door where the fire would burn and then peered at the valves that would eventually feed up into the first steam chamber. Kiram watched him move. There was something fascinating about the way the light filtered through his white shirt, exposing the shadows of the body beneath.
Javier turned to the unassembled pieces of the condensation chamber and the cooling valves and Kiram dropped his gaze back down to his own hands. He ate the last of his roll and then wiped the mustard sauce from the corners of his mouth with the cloth Javier had brought him.
“So, what is it?” Javier asked at last.
“A steam engine. At least it will be if I ever get it done.”
“You know that the royal mechanist presented the king with a steam-driven engine five years ago, don’t you?”
“Yes, but mine is an entirely new kind of steam engine. Mine will work, where the royal mechanist’s simply functions.”
“Really?” Javier raised a dark brow.
“Yes, really,” Kiram replied. “The royal mechanist’s steam engine has a boiler and a single steam chamber. When pressure builds from the boiler, it drives steam up into the chamber and that forces the piston up.”
Kiram tapped one of the huge pistons on the shelf beside him. “To drop the piston back down into its starting position, the steam chamber has to be cooled so that the steam condenses and dribbles back down into the boiler. Then the entire process has to start again. The boiler has to build heat back up and warm the steam chamber all over again before the piston can make a second stroke. The process requires an absurd amount of time and fuel.”
> “And your engine is different?” Javier frowned at the boiler. Kiram guessed that Javier couldn’t perceive his innovative design, but it didn’t bother him. Mechanisms weren’t Javier’s strong point.
“Once it’s finished, the engine will have a second steam chamber inside a condensation chamber, which will buffer the boiler and the first steam chamber from cooling, so there won’t be a delay in the drive of the primary piston.” Kiram gazed lovingly at his work. “It’s designed so that a second piston will be driven by the contraction of steam in the condensation chamber.”
Kiram watched Javier mulling all of this over then after a moment he asked, “So what does all of that mean?”
“It means that my steam engine will do twice the work of the royal mechanist’s but only burn half the fuel.”
“But what will this mechanism actually do?”
Kiram suddenly realized what it was that Javier wasn’t asking about the means so much as the end result.
“Anything you want it to.” Kiram grinned. This was where he excelled and he rarely had any opportunity to flaunt it. “The miniature engine I built for my father powers our private mill. But an engine this big could pump water out of a deep mine or grind grain for a whole town. It could pound redbark or pulp linen. It could power almost anything. Riverships, siege engines, forge bellows, smithy hammers…It could do anything.”
“Anything but ride a horse, I would suppose.” Javier leaned back against the shelf next to Kiram. “Were you planning on staying out here all night?”
“No, I just didn’t feel like eating at the Hellions’ table.” Kiram wiped a smear of oil off one of his wrenches. He’d almost managed to forget about his humiliation in riding class. “I suppose Nestor told everyone about what happened with Master Ignacio.”
“No, he didn’t say anything, but every other second-year student in the dining hall was jabbering about it.”
“They ought to mind their own business.”
“If people did that then I wouldn’t need to keep my hands to myself, would I?” Javier pushed a curl of Kiram’s hair back from his face. Kiram flushed and he could tell from Javier’s smile that this was the response Javier had wanted. “They were saying Master Ignacio laid you out flat.”
“I never hit the ground.” Kiram wasn’t sure why it mattered but it did.
Javier caught his arm and gently led him toward the window. He frowned as he studied the left side of Kiram’s cheek and jaw.
“Looks like it hurt some,” Javier said.
“Yeah, some.” Kiram didn’t want to complain about an injury to Javier. “I didn’t make a scene on purpose. I just…I don’t know, did something that made Firaj think I wanted him to perform this strange backwards prance.”
“Motesdo steps,” Javier supplied. “Not too many horses know them.”
“Well, Firaj does. And he was pretty proud of it too, but then the next thing I knew Master Ignacio was furious with me. When I tried to explain that I hadn’t done it on purpose he hit me.”
“That’s not like Master Ignacio,” Javier said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not like him to lose control in front of an entire class.” Javier seemed to disregard the challenge in Kiram’s tone. “What else did he say?”
“I don’t know,” Kiram replied. He pulled out of Javier’s grip and returned to the shelf to put his wrench away. “He just ranted about how his teachings were the ways of the greatest Cadeleonian men and that he didn’t care if I was a Haldiim genius, I still had to respect him.”
Kiram glanced back to Javier. He seemed to be assessing Kiram.
“How bad is your riding?” Javier asked at last.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Aside from the fact that the whole matter took place during a riding class, and was provoked by your riding? Oh nothing. I’m just making conversation.” Javier shook his head at Kiram. “I think Master Ignacio must be really agitated about you riding in the tournament race. I can’t see any other reason that he’d lash out like that.”
“Not just because he’s a jackass, perhaps?” Kiram suggested.
“He’s never struck a student out of sheer rage before.”
“Maybe that’s because he’s never had a Haldiim student before.” Kiram gave Javier a challenging look. Javier didn’t reply and Kiram could see that the thought troubled him. Master Ignacio was important to Javier, as few other people were. Suddenly Kiram did not want to tear down Javier’s hero.
“I’m a terrible rider,” Kiram admitted. “I’m easily the worst in the entire class. If Firaj weren’t such a well-trained horse I would probably have already been trampled.”
“It’s not the horses, is it? Do they frighten you?”
“It’s not fear, just inexperience. I’d never ridden a horse before I got to the academy.”
“Never?” Javier looked genuinely startled at this revelation.
“No, never.”
Javier was quiet for a few minutes, simply staring at the shafts of light that cut across the floor of the shed.
“We’re going to have to do something about that,” Javier said at last. Then he straightened and started for the door.
“Wait, Javier?” Kiram called to him and he turned back.
“What is it?”
“I…I was wondering if you’d be back up in the room before the last bell?” Kiram hoped that the pleading feeling in him didn’t carry through to his words. Javier bowed his head, so that his dark hair hid his eyes.
“No, I’ll stay away. You don’t have to hide down here in this shed.” He turned back and opened the door. Kiram had enough time to tell him that he didn’t want him to stay away, to tell Javier that he’d missed his company and even his arrogant humor.
But he said nothing, because it was the only wise thing to do, for both their sakes.
He watched as Javier stepped outside and the door fell closed behind him.
Chapter Fifteen
When Javier shook him awake early the next morning, Kiram wasn’t ready to greet the day. His eyes clenched closed. He rolled over and Javier jabbed him in the back.
“Up,” Javier said firmly. “Get up.”
“No,” Kiram moaned. “First bell hasn’t rung yet.”
“We aren’t going to lounge around waiting for the bells. You have a riding lesson. So get up.” Javier’s hand slipped under Kiram’s blankets. His fingers caressed Kiram’s shoulder and then closed around Kiram’s nipple. The sensation was delicious at first but then Javier pinched him harder. Kiram jerked upright and shoved Javier back.
“Fine, damn it!” Kiram was so groggy he almost fell out of the bed. “I’m getting up. Damn you, you—I can’t even think of a Cadeleonian obscenity that’s filthy enough for you, right now.”
“Khivash?” Javier suggested.
Kiram pulled his eyes all the way open and regarded Javier. Not only did he look annoyingly refreshed and well dressed but now he was speaking Haldiim. It hadn’t been just a dream the previous night.
“Where did you learn that word?” Kiram demanded.
“I must have picked it up somewhere or other.” He offered Kiram a smug little smile.
“It was in Calixto’s diary, wasn’t it?” Kiram slowly staggered up out of the bed. Faint predawn light filtered in through the windows.
“His friend Yassin was the last Haldiim anywhere near this area for centuries, I’m sure.” Kiram scrubbed at his eyes trying to get the sleep out of them.
“You’re correct in your first deduction but wrong in your second.” Javier tossed Kiram his riding clothes. They hadn’t been washed yet and the pungent odors of sweat, horses, and saddle leather wafted up.
“Wait a moment,” Kiram said as Javier’s comment slowly sank in. “There are other Haldiim here?” Kiram wondered if they would sell him some adhil bread or spiced lamb. It would almost be worth putting on these rank clothes and enduring a morning ride, if he could eat l
amb ground with cinnamon served with thick yogurt.
“A troupe of Haldiim performers travel this far north for the autumn tournament. They tell fortunes, sell charms, and pretty much steal anything they can get their hands on. They’re none too friendly, nor too clean, either. I doubt they’d know what to do with a nice boy like you.”
“Do they keep crows?” Kiram asked.
Javier nodded.
“They sound like Irabiim, not Haldiim.” Kiram wasn’t surprised that Javier didn’t seem to recognize the name. Few Cadeleonians understood that the descendants of Jhahiim were not one group but more than a dozen separate tribes. Generally, Cadeleonians referred to them all as Haldiim, a practice that infuriated Kiram’s mother.
“The Irabiim tribe broke off from the Haldiim a long time ago,” Kiram told Javier. “They’re much more nomadic than we are. A lot of them are thieves and worse. My grandmother used to say that the Irabiim bring trouble to a town and leave the Haldiim to settle it.”
“She might have had something there. Last year there was a huge fight between several of them and some of our grooms over a missing horse.”
Suddenly Kiram thought of the dead groom and Fedeles’ comment about Haldiim murderers. He doubted that Fedeles knew the difference between Haldiim and Irabiim either.
Kiram asked, “Was Victaro Irdad involved in this fight?”
“Who told you about Victaro?”
“I saw his grave. Fedeles told me Haldiim murdered him. Do you think he could have meant the Irabiim?”
“I doubt it. Victaro was killed during the spring break. The Irabiim—am I saying that correctly?” Kiram nodded and Javier continued, “The Irabiim had been gone since autumn. They would have been several counties away.”
Kiram frowned in disappointment at the loss of a neat solution.
“You probably shouldn’t tell anyone else about what Fedeles said,” Javier told him.
“Why not?” Kiram stripped off his nightshirt and tossed it back onto the bed. He didn’t miss the way Javier gazed at his naked body.