by Garon Whited
“Now, if you’re going to get all high-handed and such about slaves,” he went on, waving a drumstick at me for emphasis, “we can stop right here.”
“I’m not,” I told him. “I just won’t have anything to do with supporting or encouraging it. I’m against it, root and branch. But it’s your city, your laws. It may affect some of our trade, but I’m sure we both have laws that are problematic.”
He nodded. “Very wise. Very tolerant. I like that. Leave a man alone to run his own affairs. Good.”
“That still doesn’t get us over the trade hurdle,” I pointed out.
“No, but your appetite might.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I notice that you haven’t touched a thing since you got back from your visit to the privy. If legend speaks aright, you’ve changed a bit. Yes?”
“Well, yes,” I admitted.
“I’d like to see.”
“See?”
“You don’t look changed,” he clarified. “Show me something. Anything. Something to show what you are.”
“Oh. Okay.” I beckoned over a servant, who looked more than a little worried. I picked up a metal goblet and poured the wine back into a pitcher, then, holding the goblet by the bowl, slowly crushed it in one hand. I set it down on the table.
“How’s that?”
“Fantastic!” Banler declared. “What else do we have that he can crush?” he asked. “Somebody bring me a piece of armor!”
“Wait,” I said, and picked up the crushed goblet. I started tearing bits of it off, like picking apart a piece of modeling clay. “How’s that?” I asked, still tossing little chunks on to the table. Banler whooped with all the delight of a child.
“Father,” Danler said, reproachfully. “We have other concerns?” His eyes never left my hands, though. Sharp kid.
“Oh, all right,” Banler grumbled. To me, he said, “How about we send you our criminals? Anyone up for the headsman can get shipped over to you. You can do with them as you like after that—let ’em go, keep ’em, kill ’em, or eat ’em. It’ll get them out of my domain and give you someone to lunch on.”
“It’s a thought,” I agreed. The idea did have some merit. Then again, when was the last time I was hungry? Night-hungry, that is? When I woke up? How long does a herd of dazhu last, anyway? Then again, what else have I eaten? There was Tamara, sort of, and how many people whose time had come? And Sparky….
Well, now; that’s food for thought, certainly. Possibly food in other ways, too.
“My only concerns,” I continued, “are that, first, it won’t be enough for the quantities of steel you’re talking about. And, second, while I trust you implicitly, some of your magistrates or other ministers of justice might see the potential profits in falsely accusing and convicting the innocent. And, since I can see the guilt or innocence in someone’s soul, an official who is only mildly corrupt might make that sort of deal—thinking that I might let an innocent man go.”
“Grmph,” Banler replied, sourly. “If you’re going to insist that no one can abuse the deal, this is going to be hard.”
“You know,” Danler interjected, “that we’ve had some problems recently?”
“Yes, Melvin mentioned a few. Wexbry is having troubles with… Tirondael?” I asked. He nodded and I continued. “Some border war spilled over into raids in Baret lands, right?”
“Exactly. I don’t think we have the money for the steel. So… can we borrow it?” Danler asked. His father had that strange frown of approval fathers can get. The one where they don’t like the idea, but they’re proud of the kid that came up with it.
“The steel? Or the money?” I asked.
“Either.”
“I think that’s a bad idea. You’ll wind up in debt to me, and I have a reputation as a blood-drinking, soul-devouring fiend of darkness. You don’t want that. So, how about I help you out with that ship-channel so you can charge people to navigate the river? Then you can use that money to pay for weapons and armor.”
“I like this plan,” Banler said.
The Caladar river flows south, close to the western foot of the Eastrange, fed by mountain streams. On the coast, in Baret, it normally flows through a heavy grating in the outer wall of the city of Baret, right through the city proper in a stone tunnel—where, incidentally, most of the city’s waste goes—and out the other end of the tunnel, built well out from the shore. It works because they constantly drag a chain through it to move the sludge and silt along, and because they have a good current where the river dumps into the sea. Otherwise, they’d have one hell of a clogged-up sewer that empties onto a beach of waste and rot.
The problem with navigating the Caladar, then, is that ships don’t sail up the river-pipe. A rowboat? No problem; even at high tide, there’s plenty of room. During the spring rains and the winter thaw, though, the Caladar would flood Baret if it weren’t for the pipe. The current wouldn’t let you drag a toy boat up the pipe then.
The trick, obviously, was to build a second channel for the river, one ships could sail along.
Originally, I was thinking of one next to the pipe, but, after looking the place over again, I agreed with the Prince. It was going to be much too expensive to relocate residences and businesses. So I took a look at the outer wall.
If we put a moat in front of it—a wide, deep moat—that connected the Caladar river north of Baret to the sea, and installed some gates at both ends… Baret could control the gates, and thus control access to the river, rather than acting like a barrier. The gates would have to be canal gates, not just big gratings, though. While gratings would work, a ship with a ram could force its way through. A canal gate, closed at the northern end, the water intake end, would cause the water level to drop as it drained into the sea, preventing anyone from sailing up the canal at all, much less to the canal gate.
Once I explained the basic idea, Banler agreed that it was worth a look and handed me over to Velina, his wizard, before retiring for the night. Danler also wished me a good evening and went on his way; he struck me as a very mature and dignified kid.
Velina, face like a mask, sat at a worktable with me and tried not to show she was scared.
“I’m not going to eat you,” I assured her. “That’s not my job.”
“You’ll forgive me, Your Majesty, if I don’t feel much better.”
“Sure. But my job is to take the dying, or those who long for death, not to indiscriminately kill anything that crosses my path. So, relax.”
She tried. She didn’t really succeed, but she tried.
We went over some of the requirements of the project—increasing the depth of the foundations for the wall, for instance. We decided that was problematic; we would have to build a ditch, really, and place it far enough out from the city wall to avoid collapsing them from the moisture. The canal gates weren’t so much of a problem, though; lots of craftsmen in Baret worked with ships and other watertight forms of wood. All I had to do was draw some of the staircase-lock canal gates I remembered from history class.
I was lucky; they were neatly filed away in my headspace, just waiting for my search-engine spell to find them.
Velina was a quick study, as I suspected; you don’t make Court Wizard by being stupid. She went over the plans with me and made plans to carry them out. As we worked on it, she really did loosen up and stop worrying about me. At least I had the good sense not to congratulate her and make her self-conscious about it.
Along about midnight, brainstormed and planned out, she sat up straighter, arched to crack her back, and looked at me. I could tell she suddenly remembered what I was.
“You forgot I was a blood-drinking fiend, didn’t you?” I guessed. She nodded. “Don’t worry about it. You can curl up into a terrified ball and whimper into your pillow when I’m not around. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” she agreed, but didn’t seem too worried.
“Anything else we need to go over?”
“
I’m told there’s a road?”
“Not yet. There’s a trail that mountain goats and lunatics can go over. The road is inching its way along. It’ll still be a while.”
“Then, how did you get here?” she asked, curious.
“I’m a lunatic. Well, a little crazy. And I have a magic horse.”
“Ah? Oh. All right, I guess. I was supposed to ask about military aid, too.”
“Anyone attacking?”
“Not just at the moment, no.”
“Good,” I told her. “I see our military aid in two main ways, once we get the road through. First, if you wind up besieged or blockaded or something similar, we can come in from the outside and help with that. Second, if you have an active state of war with someone, we can negotiate for troops and other aid to make it a decisive victory, or, at least, help prevent an overwhelming defeat. We can probably get paid battlefield spoils. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll relay that to the Prince.”
“Fair enough. What else?”
“Nothing for the Prince,” she said, “but, if you will permit me, Your Majesty?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Why are you willing to help us? We aren’t your subjects.”
“True. But you’re my allies, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ask the Prince in the morning,” I suggested, “when discussing military matters. Meanwhile, I’m going to hit the trail. I’m working on a magic mirror for you, but it’s not ready. Still, if you try to reach me in Mochara, aim for the Temple of Flame; my daughter is the priestess. You can probably—what?” I broke off. Velina was pressing a handkerchief to her face and making snorting noises.
“Nothing,” she said, behind the cloth. “Nothing, Your Majesty. No, n-n-nothing.”
I eyed her with deep suspicion. Her life-lights told me she found something immensely funny.
“Right. Well, you know how to reach me.”
I took my leave and went down to the stables. People bowed respectfully; apparently, rumor had made the rounds. We didn’t even have trouble getting out through the harbor gate. They just opened up when we approached and slammed the doors behind us.
“That could have gone better,” I noted. “It wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t all good, either.” I patted Bronze’s neck as we trotted toward the Eastrange. “How was your visit to Baret?”
She tossed her head and whinnied with a metallic, ringing sound. She gleamed nicely in the moonlight. She obviously enjoyed her stay. Very hospitable people, she felt.
“Oh? Then next time, you do the talking.”
Snort.
Tuesday, June 8th
By and large, the last two weeks have gone well. For one thing we have another canal boat—what I’d call a real canal boat—and another under construction.
Amber and I interviewed a number of fine, upstanding citizens for a position as governor of Mochara. Two of them were already planning to move to the mountain. The other one had no interest in the job. Amber’s just stuck with it for now.
Baret, Mochara, and Karvalen now each have a mirror dedicated to the other two. I considered, briefly, just having Karvalen be the communications center, but that would involve relaying messages, and if we wound up with a lot of message traffic, that could be a problem.
Although… if we had hinges on the mirrors, could we just swing them to face each other like forwarding a telephone call? I may have to experiment with that.
I’ve fixed the problems of connecting mirrors through the scryshield; it just took a strong, direct link between them. That method won’t work for a normal scrying spell, but with fixed points to act as anchors, we’re in business. The enchantment makes the mirrors totally useless for scrying anywhere else, but I’m okay with that; they work perfectly for their purpose.
Our furniture is also much improved, by which I mean that we have furniture. Real furniture.
And the undercity has lights!
I’m very pleased with Thomen and his guild. They worked like beavers to cover the outside of the courtyard wall, the mountain face that makes the inner wall, a number of rooftops—huge areas exposed to sunlight that people don’t generally go. It all goes into one room, one spell in the mountain that collects all the light. Other spells pipe it to the corridors. They’ve done tons of work, and I’m very proud of them.
This gives us a central exchange for light. I’ve placed a couple of the more standard magic-to-light converters in the system so they spread illumination around even at night. Even on cloudy, dark nights, there’s enough light for humans to avoid running into walls and each other.
As a note, the mountain doesn’t seem to mind spells. Enchantments, however, are another story. It doesn’t like enchantments. They feel strange—the closest analog I can think of is a constant, intense itching. I’m not sure why spells don’t bother it, though. I think it has something to do with the interconnection of self-sustaining magical forces interfering with the mountain’s life force.
Is that why nobody puts permanent enchantments on people? I wonder.
We now have rods of light in the ceilings, held in half-circle recesses. The mountain has even plated the curved sections with something shiny—I think it’s chrome—to spread the light. It’s bright during the day, dim at night, and we can dial it all up or down by manipulating light spells in the main interchange junction. I plan to put a feedback system in where a spell monitors the brightness in an area and prevents the light-rod it controls from being too bright.
The only concern I have is that I don’t feel comfortable in the hallways during sunrise or sunset. It’s not direct sunlight, and it’s heavily filtered and altered, but when I tried standing in the hall during a sunset, it stung. I didn’t like it and went back into my chambers before it got worse. I don’t think it would actually kill me to endure it, but it definitely isn’t a pleasant experience.
On the other hand, armor is good for blocking sunlight. The light only stung my face and hands—I wasn’t wearing gauntlets; I usually don’t—so I may have to wear the stuff more often when I’m out and about, just in case.
Still, the lights are pretty bright most of the time, and the sunlight gives even the widest corridor a very homey, cozy sort of feel. Individual rooms still need their own lights, but most people in Karvalen know at least one light spell, so that’s not such a problem.
The undercity is a much more inviting place.
Speaking of being inviting…
I’ve had quarters attached to mine for Tianna—and for Amber, if she ever visits. A smaller pivot-door leads from my receiving room to hers. She’s delighted with her rooms; Amber lets her come visit once a week. It seems the local version of Tuesday isn’t all that sacred, or is just a good day to show Father that he’s accepted as a Grandpa. Still, Tianna is delighted and Amber seems to appreciate having a grandfather for Tianna. I think it’s good.
Amber still hasn’t come to visit, though.
We have doorbells! Pull-ropes go through the walls and ring actual bells.
All sorts of little things go with the big things. It’s the little things that make it livable, really.
What else? The main gates are complete, along with their winches and locking bolts. The road through the Eastrange is finished, and we’re starting to get a little traffic on it. It’s still widening in spots, especially the bridges, but it’s serviceable. The traffic is mainly immigrants, people who don’t want to be part of the warfare in Rethven. It seems the fighting in the northerly regions is spreading southward surprisingly quickly; people who originally went south to avoid it are now finding it on their doorsteps again.
Baret has started digging its new canal from the Caladar river to the sea. After some consideration, we’ve decided that a simple ditch won’t do. Instead, they’re putting in a stone-lined channel. Good masons in Baret; they understand this sort of thing.
Locally, we’ve built some water-screws and, with some advice fr
om professional farmers, I’ve installed a couple along the canals bordering our current fields, along with canvas sails and wooden gears to let the wind pump the water. We’ll see how that works for the season, then rearrange as necessary for the next.
Paper. We make paper. I insisted, and I got it. A memory of something I read, a little trial and error, and we produce a very nice, if somewhat slightly brownish, paper. We have more than one water wheel, which is important; pulping paper almost requires one.
Kavel and Galar are very pleased with their new water-powered hammers, too. A little gearing, a camshaft, and they have a thing that will pound metal like an ogre. Apparently, that’s important. I kind of understand why, but I’m not going looking for that knowledge; it’s enough that I have people who know their business. Kavel is also very happy to have something that can pound his new alloys—and oh, is he ever happy at some of the things his metals can do! He’s already discovered some very nice recipes for extremely hard cutting tools and others for amazingly high-temperature applications.
Things that haven’t gone so well, though…
It took me a while, but I think I’m calmed down enough from the assault on Bronze—and on me, and on the mountain—that I can have a rational, diplomatic, tactful discussion with Keria. With that in mind, I’ve tried to reach Keria, but my message spells are blocked. I’m not dumb enough to actually go there and ask to see her; if she’s really that upset with me, I have no urge to face her on her home ground.
It bothers me that I don’t know for sure, though. We really need to talk, I think. It’s just a question of how to arrange it. I’m not turning loose any of the people she sent—they went in, they didn’t come out, and that’s all anyone will ever know. I don’t want her to have an explanation. I want to keep her worried that I’m much more dangerous in general rather than simply hiding in a magic mountain.
But who else can I send? If I ask for a volunteer, I’ll get dozens, but they’re all people I’d prefer came back. The fact she won’t take my calls implies she doesn’t want to talk, so a messenger might vanish.