by John Dalmas
"The exception is emotions. Those we can always get."
"Thank you," Brokols said quietly, then walked away and disappeared.
* * *
Reaching the plateau top, Brokols stopped. The sky seemed infinitely deep, its stars myriad and sharp, but though he was aware of them, he found neither awe at the sight nor joy in its beauty. Facing north toward Theedalit, he spoke aloud. "I trusted you people. I trusted you and came to—to love you. I'd never loved my own people, never knew it was possible, and I came to love you. And you fooled me, and used me, maybe laughed at me."
He began to run, ran hard, stumbling occasionally on stones and clumps of grass. He slipped in gleebor shit and fell heavily, jarring himself, got up limping and ran again, though only trotting now, until after a few minutes he flopped down exhausted and rolled over on his back, breathing hard.
So what now, Elver Brokols? he thought wryly. Do you go away somewhere? Find your way north to Djez Gorrbul to throw yourself on the mercy of General Vendel Kryger? Steal a rowboat and cross the ocean to Almeon?
Less than one in a thousand. And the rest were exposed to the few. No, not so, not broadly. Mainly their emotions. He grimaced. He wasn't proud of all his emotions.
What would it be like to have such an ability? To be exposed to everyone's emotions. Undoubtedly it was a matter of getting used to it. And the others were used to them.
And I prefer these people to my own. Even now. The realization didn't surprise him at all. I never did fit in well at home. Kryger knew that. He knew I wasn't a proper Almite. He knew me better than I knew myself.
And Reeno knew him better yet! Much better. Reeno had browsed his thoughts, breathed in his feelings—and had never visibly shown distaste or amusement at them. And Allbarin. Allbarin had manipulated him with questions, picked his brain, harvested his memories, but always with courtesy, somehow with seeming respect.
And Vessto, and Panni. And Panni! Brokols stood up. "Panni!" he called aloud, though not loudly. Somewhere in the darkness a gleebor snorted, startled at his voice. "Panniii!"
Chills flowed over Brokols again, wave after wave, the short hairs on his neck bristling, and he felt his face grinning. "Panni!" He barely breathed it that time.
He stood there until the chills stopped. It seemed to him he could almost see the sage sitting straight-backed in the grass on his hill, his mountain, skinny legs folded under him.
After a few minutes, Elver Brokols started trotting again. Great Liilia had just risen, swollen, lopsided, lighting the plateau. Liilia! Brokols chuckled wryly in his mind. Almost the same name as Lerrlia! He threw the moon a salute as he jogged.
* * *
He returned to the hamlet, rolled out his pallet and lay down. It took him very little time to go to sleep.
Forty
Brokols dreamed richly that night, and awoke to grayness. He went to the window, clutching his blanket around himself not from modesty but chill; he'd lost much of his squeamishness over skin. The fog made it impossible to tell whether it had just gotten daylight or been light for some time, but he assumed the former because no one else seemed to be up.
Wrapped in his blanket, he limped quietly to the door and looked out, his attention still caught by his dreams. It seemed he'd been swimming in the night with Sleekit and a number of other sullsi. A serpent had come and told them mentally that the fleet was about to arrive. Brokols had felt a surge of exultation, not because the invasion was about to happen, but because of something he'd been going to do, he and the sullsi.
Sometime before that he'd dreamed of being with Panni. Panni was going to teach him to be an adept, but said he'd never be able to read minds—that people from Almeon couldn't be taught. He'd teach him to do other things. And somehow Brokols had been down at the shore, trying to catch fish, but he kept getting the line caught on an old sunken log, which turned out to be Sleekit, dead.
He'd awakened at that and gone to the men's privy to relieve himself, then went back to his pallet and dreamed about Sleekit alive. It seemed to him that Sleekit dead and Sleekit live were simply different chapters in the same dream, with Sleekit live the later.
Now, staring out into the fog, Brokols' attention was stuck on what the dream might mean, which was ridiculous because the content of dreams meant nothing. That was well known. It might have grown out of the soreness of his thighs from last night's run, or of sleeping in a strange place.
Reeno got up then, and together they walked to the cistern and washed their faces in the cool water of the overflow pipe. Neither mentioned the evening before. Both made a point of being courteous, and Brokols of being friendly, since he'd been the one who'd walked out on the others. They could hear Trinnia in the kitchen, dumping the stove grates.
Their workday started early and lasted long. By morning's end they'd finished building shelves, workbenches and tables in the work-building. Juliassa had been carrying tiles up a ladder for the roofing crew, which through the afternoon had included Reeno, Brokols, and Frimattos the handyman. (Torissia had helped Trinnia in the kitchen.) By supper, the retiling of roofs was largely finished.
They'd bathed in the inlet again, all of them naked, even Brokols. Everyone except Jonkka, who stood nearby on guard. All of them took the nudity so casually that the Almite found it not really embarrassing after the first minute or so. Although his chest hair drew the attention of the Hrummeans, who had none. He made a point though of not letting his eyes stop on Juliassa except a couple of times when she was in the water almost to her shoulders.
Supper was excellent, with baked fish; perrni, a starchy, somewhat sweet tuber that cooked out pink-colored and mealy-textured; bread; stewed pinkfruit made a bit tart with sourdrupes; and the invariable satta.
Tomorrow morning they'd begin working on the guano, to see if they could extract a substance which, mixed with sulfur and powdered charcoal, would flash when ignited in air. Brokols had little idea of how to go about it, but presumably Amaadio did.
Brokols went to bed early, thoroughly tired.
* * *
He sat up abruptly, sure that something outside had wakened him. Though foggy again, this time it was definitely early, more nearly night than day. He pulled on clothes, including a sweater, and on an impulse buckled on the belt that held the shortsword Reeno had urged on him. Then he went out, looking about and listening. He saw or heard nothing out of the ordinary, and again on impulse walked quietly toward the beach. The fog grew thicker as he neared the water.
Near the bottom of the descending path, he heard something and recognized it immediately: two voices speaking sullsit—Juliassa and a sellsu. At eighty feet he saw them vaguely through the fog, on the beach. She'd dressed against the chill. He stopped, in order not to interrupt, but as the sellsu spoke, Juliassa looked up the path toward Brokols and waved. He started down to them, and a moment later could see a large serpent, presumably K'sthuump, lying barely awash off the beach, with her head up, listening.
By the time he got there, Juliassa and the sellsu were fully caught up in their conversation again. Brokols sat down on a rock to listen and watch, intrigued without understanding a word, simply by the sound. The light grew a little stronger. Finally the sellsu humped his way into the water and disappeared.
K'sthuump spoke. She and Juliassa had half a dozen exchanges; then K'sthuump too disappeared, and Juliassa turned to Brokols. "Good morning," she said.
"Good morning."
Juliassa grinned. "Torissia isn't going to like our being alone together."
"Why? I'd thought that Hrummeans . . . I mean my impression's been that Hrummeans—don't see anything wrong with a couple being alone. Even if they . . ." He stopped. He'd been getting into something he wasn't ready to finish.
She peered at him quizzically. "Even if they what?"
"Even if they—couple." As when he'd talked with Eltrienn, he'd used an Almaeic word which was more clinical than lascivious.
"You mean fuck?"
He felt the
blush, back to his ears, and nodded.
"It's considered poor behavior for girls from noble families, though sometimes they do it. I wouldn't hesitate with you, if my father weren't the amirr. For an amirr's daughter, it would be entirely unacceptable."
"Then you haven't . . .?"
Her smile made his loins stir, and he was glad Reeno wasn't there to read his emotions. Then she sobered. "No. Tirros has been trial enough for my parents."
Having said it, Juliassa seemed less there, her attention elsewhere, and Brokols waited. When she stood up, he saw a shortsword at her side, too.
"We're not too many miles from Sea Cliff here," she said. "Fifteen maybe. And no one knows where Tirros went from there." She patted the sword. "I'm not supposed to slip away from Jonkka like this. He's not going to like it."
Brokols looked questioningly at her. "Surely Tirros wouldn't harm his sister?"
Her laugh was unpleasant. "You don't know what he did, do you?"
"He killed Stilfos."
"More than that. Afterward he came to Sea Cliff by night and robbed my aunt. He knew where she kept her money. Then he tried to rape me, but I jabbed my fingers in his eye and ran away screaming. That brought everyone out, but he got away in the dark. He left his horse, his boots, his belt with sword and purse—everything. Except he did take his pants with him."
Brokols stared, mouth open.
"He'd have killed me, you know. Sometimes I still dream about it, feel myself being smothered by the pillow, and I wake up gasping and sweating. I suppose I will until he's caught and executed."
Her expression was suddenly grim. "Can you use that sword?" she asked.
"Why, yes. Rather well."
"Let's see your drill."
A bit uncomfortable at her new mood, he drew his sword, took a guard position, and went through a rather lengthy practice evolution. His movements were a bit imprecise, from more than a year without practice, but all in all it went rather smoothly. Done, he watched for some sign of approval.
After a moment of consideration, she spoke again. "That wasn't bad. Tirros is no better; probably not as good. And he's a coward; he's unlikely to test you. He wouldn't come within sight of Jonkka; Jonkka would cut him into mincemeat, and he knows it."
Brokols felt aggrieved and a bit jealous at the implied comparison with the guard. "Is Jonkka always with you?" he asked. "Except when you slip away as you did this morning?"
"Not at the palace or at Zeenia's," she answered, "but away like this, yes. And at Zeenia's now, if we were there. I should go back before he wakes up. He'd scold me." Smiling she added, "With him around, Torissia really isn't necessary." She paused. "But first help me take the skiffs out of the water."
They walked over and took the stones out of them, then dragged them up the beach and turned them over. Afterward they started up the path side by side, and her hand found his, holding it. She was longlegged for her height, and not too short to match steps with at a stroll.
"Where does Jonkka sleep?" Brokols asked.
"You know the wagon parked outside our building? The shed Torissia and I sleep in? He sleeps under it! The wagon, I mean. He has some stout threads strung outside our window at night, fastened to a bell beneath the eaves. He doesn't worry about the door because we bolt it from inside. But of course, that doesn't keep me in.
"He brought a little soldier's tent, but he says he won't use it now. He says it invites an attack."
They ran into Jonkka on the path, looking for Juliassa. The guard glowered, more at Juliassa than at Brokols, but all he said was, "Namirrna, I cannot protect you if I don't know where you are."
She nodded. "I know. But Sleekit came in the night. Flopped his way all the way up from the water and called to me. I'm not surprised he didn't waken you," she added archly. "You were sleeping like a rock when I came out."
Jonkka failed to wince.
"He'd been at Sea Cliff looking for me; he'd come all the way down from the Gulf of Storms. Then yesterday a serpent recognized him and told him where I was.
"And if Tirros came after me on the beach, all I'd have to do is run into the inlet. I told Sleekit and K'sthuump about him—Sleekit hated him already—and they'd take care of him. Sleekit definitely would."
As they'd talked, they'd reached the buildings. Now they sat down together on one of the benches left by the previous inhabitants.
"Why was Sleekit looking for you?" Brokols asked.
She shrugged. "I asked him the same question. All he could say was that Hrum—'the Lord of the Sea' they call him—told him to. He says he'll stay around the inlet here until Hrum tells him what to do next."
Hrum! It seemed to Brokols a dodging of responsibility for one's own impulses and fancies, to say they came from some supernatural force or being. Perhaps the water people weren't as intelligent as they were credited with being. But then, the Hrummeans believed in him too; certainly Panni did and presumably Allbarin and Reeno, and Eltrienn.
From the kitchen came the sound of stove grates again; it took his attention off the sellsu. A new day was at hand, and there seemed little doubt that within a few more they'd have their first successful batch of gunpowder.
Forty-One
Amaadio was more than an ordinary herbalist. He was a supplier: He produced pharmaceuticals for sale to other herbalists. At Hidden Haven he did his work in a communal summer kitchen with the ends open, large windows in the two walls, a large brick stove and tiered oven. For six days, with their help, he separated guano into its constituents and tested them. Reeno gave Juliassa what Brokols thought of as the worst job. She worked in a shed, breaking up guano, putting it into a leather sack a quart at a time and beating it with a bat, then pulverizing it in a pestle to the consistency of flour.
Amaadio stirred or shook weighed portions of it into water or some other solvent, in a flask or retort or beaker, with or without some further reagent. Some of the solutions and suspensions he boiled. Some he boiled dry. From some, he decanted off the fluid and spread the wet residue to dry. From others he skimmed off a precipitate. And from the solids he obtained, he took portions and dissolved them in presumably some other solvent.
From some of the stinks, Brokols was glad the building was so well ventilated.
Brokols' main job was to pulverize sulfur; crush, grind, and pulverize charcoal; and mix small, carefully weighed amounts of them thoroughly with various powders that Amaadio gave him, then put the mixture in small bowls. Before he mixed anything though, Amaadio examined the constituents, settling for nothing but the finest flour-like texture, and mixing had to be thorough beyond what Brokols considered all reason.
Reeno's job was to weigh guano samples, solvents, and reagents, and keep records of everything. No solid from any of Amaadio's brews escaped labeling and recording. And as Amaadio separated one derivative and subderivative after another, Reeno's lists grew long. Brokols came to realize why the herbalist had brought so many bowls and built so many shelves.
The work was neither hard nor intense, simply unrelenting. Both Brokols and Juliassa prepared the raw materials in quantities well in advance of Amaadio's needs, on the assumption that they'd need more when his tests were done. The first day found one ingredient of guano that flashed nicely when, mixed with sulfur and pulverized charcoal, it was ignited in air. The second day produced another, plus a third derived from the first. The next morning produced a fourth that flashed, derived from the third. By that day's end, Amaadio said he'd gotten all there were to get, but threw none of them away yet.
Brokols had no idea whether any of the derivatives was saltpeter or not, nor of course did Amaadio. If none of them were, hopefully one of them would do as a substitute.
Each evening Juliassa went to the beach and talked with Sleekit and K'sthuump, soon after sunset.
The fourth day they tested each of the candidate ingredients in various proportions with sulfur and charcoal for maximum vehemence of flash, on the assumption that this equated with explosive power. And aga
in threw nothing away. Brokols, remembering his courses in Almaeic history, tried burning them damp; one flashed, the others didn't. From that point they gave their attention to the one that flashed damp, and rightly or wrongly, Brokols named it saltpeter. The fifth day was given to making a quantity of it.
On the sixth afternoon they settled tentatively on a mixture of twelve parts "saltpeter," three parts charcoal, and two of sulfur. The recipe was a grave disappointment to Brokols; he'd hoped that saltpeter would prove to be necessary in only small quantities. This one required that they process guano in quantity, a nuisance. As far as that was concerned, he didn't even know whether large quantities were available.
Among Amaadio's goods was a basket of small ceramic pots with narrow mouths. After supper, while Juliassa went to let the serpents know that the noise was no threat to them, Amaadio filled three of them with powders: one with the mixture that had flashed best, one that contained only two parts saltpeter (a wild hope), and one that contained seven. After sealing them with a fiber wick moistened with lamp oil, they lit them one at a time behind a large rock. The grenade with the low saltpeter mixture didn't even blow the wadding out. The one with the 12:3:2 mixture exploded most violently.