“It is unheard of, Purple. It has never happened before.”
“But —” He seemed to search for words. “What do you call . it when one takes another’s bread?”
“Hunger.”
He was flustered. “Well, what would you do if someone took your carved bone?”
“Without payment? I would go and get it back. He could not disguise it. No bonemonger ever carves exactly like any other. I never carve even two pieces alike — except for loom-teeth, of course.”
“Uncarved bone, then. You have a good store of uncarved bone. What if someone took it?”
“For what? Who could use it? Only another bonemonger. I would know them all, in any region. I would go and get it back.”
This is nonsense. Lant, surely there must be something for thieves to take. Secrets!” Purple cried wildly. “Lesta guards his weaving secrets as a mother her children.”
“But if one took his secrets, Lesta would still have them. He could still make his cloth, though others could also. One cannot theft a secret without leaving it behind. One cannot theft more food than one can eat before it spoils. One cannot theft a house, or anything too heavy to lift. One cannot theft tools; tools belong to a trade; one would have to learn the trade also. One cannot theft a profession, or standing in a community, or a reputation.”
“But —”
“One cannot theft anything easily recognized, unless one can flee faster than men can follow. In fact, the only things one can theft are things that look exactly like a great many other things.” My mind was searching as I talked, and I was beginning to understand Purple’s confusion. “Things that look like other things. Cloth, or spell chips, or grain —”
Purple was horrified. “Why, you’re right!”
“Cloth and spell chips. Yes. Until your coming, one could not theft enough cloth to be worth the effort. So much cloth did not exist. And how could one theft the services of a magician? The idea was nonsense until you arrived, Purple.”
“I’ve invented a new crime,” said Purple dazedly.
“Congratulations,” I said, and left him.
The search for fiberplants and wild housetrees had been extended even into the wilderness hills. Four teams left the village each blue dawn to search for materials, and they often did not return till long after Ouells had winked out in the west.
Too often they came back with their gathering baskets and urns only half full.
The fiberplants were not as big a problem as they might have been. They grew fast and the cropmongers had begun experimenting with planting them for the weavers. Already the new shoots were springing up and it looked like we would have fiberplant all year long.
It was the housetree sap, though, that was really slowing us down. We were running out of trees. Shoogar had consecrated all the trees in the region, except three — and those three were nearly tapped dry. Indeed Purple didn’t want to bleed them any more for fear of killing them. Already they were losing their leaves.
There were wild housetrees of course, but the effort involved in dragging the filled urns back from the wilderness hills was prohibitive. They were great heavy things, and it took eight men to move them. Bellis had made them out of oaken barrels lined with aircloth, then reinforced them again with extra bindings.
He’d made larger ones as well to be used as vats. These had been made out of heavy bricks of reinforced clay. They were beautiful.
But we did not have enough housetree blood to fill them.
Meanwhile the piles of untreated cloth continued to grow. We had only enough sap for the spinning, not enough for the second dipping.
And the boatframe was rapidly taking shape on the peak.
The first boatframe had become much too heavy and had to be scrapped. The boys had taken it apart and thrown out everything heavier than spirit pine. Then they threw out the spirit pine too, leaving only one length of it for the keel.
Instead, they used bundles of bambooze, bound together and made rigid by judicious hardening. Shoogar had helped them on this, although we rarely saw him otherwise. He was too busy with loomblessings and other spells.
The second boatframe was almost entirely bambooze. But, so far, it was only a framework.
The boys abandoned their idea of aircloth-covered balsite. It turned out that the balsite was unnecessary and that they could use the aircloth alone. The hull could be made of many stiffened layers of it stretched tightly over the bambooze frame. Wherever possible, the aircloth would be used instead of lumber. It would be hardened later by the application of many layers of housetree blood to make it watertight.
Once the boys began thinking about it, they came up with many ways to keep the airboat as light as possible. Instead of wooden planks for seats, they used stretched cloth over simple frames, and Purple would sit on those. Instead of planking on the sides of the two cabins — one a storage compartment, the other a sleeping room — they would use air-cloth again.
The boys were ecstatic over their work. It would be watertight; it would be strong. Best of all, it would be so light that Purple could afford to be extravagant with the rest of his weight allowances.
The only part of the boatframe that had to be wood were the deck slats along the floor. The boys had already tied and glued them into the frame; it was a narrow walk running the length of the boat. The rest of the hull was still open to air, but eventually the rigid structure would be covered and firm.
It made me wonder — could aircloth be used in other ways as well?
For instance, could one use it to make a nest? Instead of weaving a home out of fiberplants and stretchvines, one could use aircloth instead. It would be easier and faster and lighter-and it would keep out the rain too.
H’m — perhaps one could stretch large pieces of the cloth across a rigid framework and use it as a rainshelter for the flocks — or to dam a stream. Many thicknesses might be required for the latter, but there was no reason why it shouldn’t work. H’m, we might be able to store large amounts of water in aircloth-lined pools as well It would not drain away. If we put aircloth across the top of the water, not even thirsty Musk-Watz could steal it.
I was willing to bet that there were a great many uses for the cloth that we had not thought of yet. Perhaps I had been too easy with Lesta. No matter, I could renegotiate the terms of our deal after Purple’s flying machine was finished.
The finished framework looked like the outline of a boat. It was so light that it had to be tied down against the winds of Idiot’s Crag. One man could move it, and two could carry it without difficulty.
The Keel was the single length of spirit pine they had saved. To make it even more effective, they had slung it below the boatframe on several spars of rigid bambooze. Then, to hold the boatframe and keep the keel from snap-ping, they had built a cradle to stand it upright.
Now they were adding rungs to the struts that supported the outriggers. Why rungs? Because, Wilville told me with a happy smile, they would need to be able to crawl from the hull out to the airpushers.
I didn’t ask. In time we would know.
The boys continued to work on the outriggers. Soon they would begin stretching the cloth over the frame. Then the only thing holding up the launching of the airship would be the sewing up of the windbags.
And that was being held up by three things.
We needed more aircloth. For that, we needed both fiberplants and housetree blood.
We needed more housetree blood just to treat the cloth we had already woven.
And thirdly, we needed another way to separate water. Purple’s battery had died.
I found out about the battery when I went to tell him about the housetree blood. Purple was sitting on a log outside his house, turning the flat, bulging case over in his hands. From the way he looked, he might have been holding his own death.
I sat down beside him, without speaking, and waited.
“It’s dead,” he said presently.
I said, “How? Did you starve it
?”
He pointed up. Hovering above his housetree were seven man-sized aircloth bags. They hung upward from ropes. “I have been experimenting, Lant — I grew carried away.” He waved up at the village. “And I did not want your people to fear the airship —”
A group of young boys came running by, each trailing a shiny aircloth bag behind him on a string. The bags were about the size of a man’s head, maybe bigger. “Useless patches of extra cloth,” Purple explained. “Not tight enough for the airboat, but I thought if the children could see — that is, if the adults could see that even children could handle the spell —”
I understood. Purple had seen our terror on the night of the riot. He was trying to lessen that by showing this was a simpler spell than we had thought.
Now, he mourned over his battery and stroked it sadly.
“Is there no way you can make a new one ?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking!” he exclaimed. “My whole civilization is based on the kind of power that was in this battery. I am not a — a — magician of that type, I don’t have that training. I am only a student of how savage men can live together!”
I ignored the insult, for clearly he was upset. I forced him to sit down and would not let him say another word until he had drunk off a bowl of Quaff. His face twisted into extraordinary shapes.
“I’ve been an idiot,” he told me. “For eight months I shaved my face with the electrissy I needed to get home!”
“But what about those airbags?” I pointed at his house-tree.
Those wouldn’t be enough. Besides, by the time we finish the boatframe, those will be empty again. The gas leaks out, Lant. Very slowly, but it still leaks.”
I handed him another bowl of Quaff. “But surely, you can make some kind of power source to separate the water.”
“No. That was it. You don’t have the tools to make the tools to make the tools.”
“Is there nothing else that would activate a flying spell?”
“Hot air. Hot air is lighter than cold air. That’s why smoke rises. The cursed trouble is that hot air gets cold. We’d sink into the sea and stay there; we couldn’t possibly get far enough north in a hot-air windbag.”
I sank down onto the log next to him and poured myself some Quaff. “Surely there must be some way, Purple. It was not so long ago that you thought an airboat was impossible. Is there nothing you can do about your battery? There must have been a first source of electrissy some time. How was it done?”
He looked at me, bleary-eyed. “Oh, no, Lant —” And then his eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute — I did make something in school once! A spinning motor made from paper clips and copper wire and a battery. But —”
“But you don’t have paper clips —” Whatever that was.
“Oh, that’s no problem. The paper clips were only for structure.”
“But your battery is dead —”
“That’s no problem either. In that — spell, I was using the battery to make the spinning section go round.” He grabbed me excitedly — we tumbled backward off the log; he didn’t notice. “It will work just the same the other way! I can reverse the spell and make a spinning section to recharge my battery!”
I grabbed the Quaff bladder before too much spilled. I took a drink. “You mean, you can restore its power?”
“Yes, yes!” He began dancing about, paused, took the bladder from my hands and drank. “I can make as much electrissy as I need. We can even make some for you too, Lant —”
“Uh, no thank you, Purple —”
“But it is great magic! It can help you! You’ll see. And I won’t need to take it all with me — oh, my goodness — we’ll have to turn the spinning section by hand, won’t we? Well, we can use a crank and — gears! Migosh, yes — we can gear it up and —”
Abruptly he stopped. “No, it won’t work.”
“Huh? What’s the matter?”
“Lant, it was so long ago. The thing I built was so small. I’m not sure how to do it any more, and I don’t know if it would make enough electrissy.”
I poured him some more Quaff and sat down on the log again with the bladder. “But you’re going to try it, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he said. “I have to — but I hardly remember —” He sat down on the log next to me. “Making an airship isn’t as easy as I thought.”
I nodded. “It’s been nine hands of days since we started. I thought this would take only a few at most, but it has gone on and on.”
“And on,” he added.
I took another swig. “You know,” I said, “I’ve got some more bad news for you.”
“Oh? What?”
There won’t be any more aircloth. We’ve run out of wild housetrees. The weavers can keep weaving, of course, but unless the threads are dipped, it won’t do you any good.”
“Wonderful,” he said. His tone suggested that he thought it was anything but. “Of course, it hardly matters, if we can’t make more gas.”
I took another drink. So did Purple.
“Of course,” he said, I do have enough aircloth for a small airship — one that would carry me alone —” He trailed off. He hiccuped and said, “If I have to make a hot-air flying spell, I’ll do it. Just so that Shoogar can’t call me a liar. I promised.” He drained his bowl and held it out. I filled it again.
“I’d sell my hope of flying for a quart of good Scotch right now. Well, if we can’t bleed the wild housetrees any more, let’s bleed the tame housetrees!”
“Blessed housetrees,” I corrected him. “Consecrated housetrees. If you try that, they’ll burn you for sure. Tampering with a wife is one thing, but a housetree is quite another.”
“Can’t bleed consecrated housetrees,” said Purple. He was having more trouble than usual talking. “Can’t bleed consecrated housetrees.” His face lit up. “We can deconsecrate them first!”
“Nonsense.”
“Why? Shoogar deconsecrated the other villages’ weaving patterns. Shoogar deconsecrated the womens’ names. Why don’t I get to deconsecrate something?”
He was right. “Why not?” I agreed.
“Because I don’t know a deconsecration spell,” he answered.
“Nobody does,” I said. “There are no spells for de-consecrating housetrees.”
“Nobody’s ever needed one. I’ll make one up. Am I not a magician?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“Best magician in this whole spiral arm, and two more besides.” He was trailing off into gibberish. What he needed was another bowl of Quaff. Me too.
We trudged up to the Upper Village, and climbed into my nest. I dug out a fresh bladder.
Purple took the first swig. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his bowl, so he drank it straight from the bladder.
“How are you going to deconsecrate the trees?” I asked.
Purple lowered the skin from his mouth. He gave me a dignified look of reproach and staggered to his feet, “Let’s go look at one and see.”
Somewhat unsteadily, he lowered himself from my nest and together we tottered through the village to one of the largest housetrees — that of Hinc the Lesser. Purple took another swill of the Quaff and surveyed it thoughtfully. “To which God is this tree consecrated?” he asked.
“Um, this is the tree of Hinc the Lesser. I believe that it is consecrated to Poup, the God of Fertility. Hinc has fourteen children — all but one of them girls.”
“H’m,” said Purple, “I would need to deconsecrate it with potions of sterility then, wouldn’t I? H’m, Quaff being alcohol is a cleansing medicine. Yes, Quaff can be used to make things sterile. Quaff should be used in the deconsecration spell. And let me see, we should use the petals of the prickly plant which blooms only once in fifty seasons, and …” He mumbled on and on like this. I took another drink of the Quaff and followed him back to his nest.
He disappeared up into it, still mumbling. A hail of objects, vials, potions and other magical devices began fallin
g out of the nestdoor. “Junk!” Purple bellowed. “It was all Dorthi’s junk. I had to learn the names of each and every — Damn, I’m out of prickly plant petals. Can I substitute?”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Do you want to wait fifty family-making years?”
“No.”
“I don’t either. I’ll substitute.”
After a bit he dropped out of the nest himself, landing unsteadily on top of the by now large pile of spellcasting items. He started gathering them into a large pack. “It’s obvious to me, Lant, that we need to research this a little further. Let’s return to the village and look at the trees again.
Again we surveyed Hinc’s tree. The sun was red in the west. We had perhaps an hour before blue dawn. “Is this a I nighttime or a daytime spell ?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s make it a dawn spell, a five o’clock in the morning spell.” He took another drink of Quaff. The bladder was badly deflated by now.
He hiccuped and pulled out a clay mixing bowl. He began mixing a potion, changed his mind abruptly and discarded it. He started another, but poured that one out too — it sizzled on top of the first. Finally he started mixing powders and things in his pottery bowl.
Pottery. I wondered if I should be insulted.
Purple sniffed his mixture and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh! Almost — almost. This should do it, Lant. All it needs is —” Abruptly he straightened and announced, “I have an urge.” He lifted his robe and looked around for a bush to step behind. There were none. He looked at the bowl before him, shrugged, “Why not?”
There was a hot spattering into the bowl.
“Purple!” I cried, “That is sheer genius — defiled water will make the spell twice as powerful — defiled magician’s water! Yes, yes.”
He lowered his robe modestly, “It was nothing, Lant. It comes naturally.” He reached for the Quaff, explaining, “I may need more later.” He drank, then returned the bladder to me.
The Flying Sorcerers Page 22