“I reckon so, sis, but I can’t prove it. And it might not have been them, someone else could have got to them or switched the rods. Who knows? Either way, they are worthless as a supplier to me.”
“You will be suing them?”
“I am suing them. But that does not provide me with a replacement supplier. And I was thinking on that, and it so happens I have a Tyn in my employ, by the name of Gelven. He told me to come to the Mothrocksey Tyn, as their realm is that of iron.”
“In conjunction with water, yes,” said Katriona.
“He said something about that.”
“The fortunes of this mill are built on both,” she said. “Oh do sit still, Trassan! You are an inveterate fiddler. You will break it.”
“Sorry.” Trassan put down the model. “Well then. I have designs, as you will have read,” he said bitterly, “that utilise a new form of glimmer rod, one that incorporates iron. It boils water. Your little goblins should be fucking perfect.”
“You want me to manufacture it for you,” she said. She raised her eyebrows. “Well.”
“Are you sure we should not include Demion in this conversation? Shouldn’t he be involved from the start? This is important to me. And it will be a big contract. It would be better if I discussed it with him first-hand.”
“Men of business will not deal with a woman of business. That is why my husband’s name stands prominent over all things. However, dear brother, if you wish to buy our services, it is with me you must negotiate. Not him.”
She wondered, was this what her father had felt like? This small avalanche of triumphs as he exercised his power. It was a fine feeling.
“Wait...” Trassan looked about dumbfounded. “This is your office sis? You run the company?”
“It was the office of Demion’s father’s chief-of-staff. I have taken it for my own use.”
“Now that is something! Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it! You always were the smartest. Who’d have thought it would be old Demion who was smart enough to see it, and let you have your head.”
“He is not letting me have my head, brother,” she said levelly.
“Right. You’re not going to take old Morthrock’s room? Or Demion’s’?”
“Demion’s office remains his, when he chooses to come to the mill. I admit that is not often, but still. And to take old Morthrock’s place?” she shuddered. “Ghoulish, and presumptuous. But I reiterate, it is me you must deal with. I am in charge.”
Trassan watched her carefully. “Be careful, dear sister, that your new power does not go to your head.”
“Now we have got that out of the way, let us talk more freely. The inquiry into whether you should be granted a Licence Undefined has not yet concluded.”
“This is true.”
“This accident will not help your cause.”
“Of course not!” He swiped at Katriona’s paper. “It’s all in there.”
“Are you going to the Sotherwinter whether you get it or not?”
Trassan looked shifty. “If I can’t trust you, who can I trust? Yes, I am going to the Southern Ocean. That is the primary purpose of the Prince Alfra. It is the only vessel that could possibly make the voyage.”
“The other ships of iron all sank.”
“The riverboats of the Olb work perfectly.”
“The ocean is not a river. You are taking a grave risk.”
Trassan sighed. “I am, but not how you think. This ship will function. Besides, I do not have time. Persin will get there before me if I am not quick. I can brook no more delay.”
“Do you really believe this city still exists?”
“Vand had a seeing. That was in the paper too, back when we were flavour of the month.”
“Seeings are unreliable.”
“Our magister is reliable.”
“I am sure he is. Still, brother—”
“My captain,” said Trassan, his voice rising in volume and pitch as he interrupted his sister. “He knows someone who has seen it. A long time ago, and at distance, but this sailor has seen it, and it still stands. Naturally, this was all dismissed as the ravings of a lunatic. The poor fellow had been adrift for quite some time, but we know better. The problem is, that it will not be long before everyone else knows. Time is running out.”
“I see. That’s all very exciting, Trassan, if it is true. But you have been explicitly told not to go there. The paper says there are calls for you to stop.”
“I have not been told to stop.” Trassan leaned back. “In any case, the creation of fuel is preparation. And if you choose to manufacture rods to my design, and test them in an engine similar to the one we will use aboard the Prince Alfra, then what concern is that of mine? My partners are under no such ban.”
“I see.”
“Will you do it?
Katriona rearranged the items on her desk, moving the model well out of Trassan’s reach before she answered him. “I will consider it. First of all, how are you going to pay for all this?”
“You will not stand me the favour? This could make us all wealthy beyond the dreams of the Old Maceriyans!”
“I cannot afford to perform charitable duty for anyone, let alone family. We have a liquidity problem ourselves. I need money now. Your venture is in some trouble. If I am seen to back a project already under scrutiny then it will make my own investors nervous. Especially with these revelations so kindly provided to the broadsheets by Holdean. I cannot commit to an expensive and dangerous process on the promise of wealth unheard of dreamed up by a mad sailor, and an Ishmalan at that.”
The mill’s whistles blew, signalling a change of shift. The endless rumble of engines quieted. Doors opened outside, disgorging the workforce. The hubbub of voices penetrated the windows.
“Have you thought of asking father?” she asked. “You were always his favourite.”
Trassan grimaced. “That’s not true. He tests me heavily.”
“That is because you are his favourite. There is no rancour to what I say, brother. I love you dearly. I simply state the truth. He has you in mind for an heir.”
“He would never lend me a penny.”
“You do not deny it?” she pressed.
“‘A man has to make his own way in this life. When I’m dead, you might have my wealth my boy. Not before!’” He mimicked him perfectly. “Now imagine what he might say if he learned the money was passing to you to spend playing industrialist, instead of sitting at home like a good wife.”
“I am not playing, Trassan. I am in deadly earnest.”
“I don’t doubt it, but he would not see it that way, and he’d be furious with both of us.”
“More importantly, he would recall the loan.” Katriona bit her lip. “Is there no more money to be had from Vand?”
“He is trying to keep his distance,” said Trassan. “He is due to make an announcement soon on his work in Maceriya. He poses as an investor and advisor. He won’t back the whole project. He is wealthy, but his purse is not bottomless. And he and I have our own disputes.”
“Go on.”
“He is fond of appropriating my ideas as his own.”
Katriona tapped the desk with her outstretched fingers. “A fine mess. How much do you need?”
“To finish? That depends on how much you need. But I’d say three hundred thousand thalers. Then there are legal costs, for the inquiry and the ongoing case against Kollis and Son. I should imagine I’ll get that back, but it might take years.”
“More promises. Castles are not built on promises, Trassan, they need firmer foundations. We do have other family. Have you tried Aunt Cassonaepia?”
“That old troll? No, I hadn’t thought to. Do you really think I should?”
“She’s rich,” said Katriona.
“Uncle Arvell is rich. It is his money, the trouble is getting it out of him while she stands watch. She’s got her claws into every inch of the poor man.”
�
��I can never truly believe he and father are cousins. Such difference in character. He is weak.”
“I’ll never get a penny out of them,” said Trassan.
“Don’t ask her, get it from Arvell.
“That, sister, contradicts what you have just said.”
“It does not. Uncle Arvell has one area in his life where he still exerts some will. He will do anything for cousin Ilona. And if you get cousin Ilona to back you, then you will have the way to Uncle Arvell’s backing.”
Trassan grinned. “You are far too sneaky, sis.”
“You are not aware of the half of my cunning,” she said archly. “So, assuming you can secure monies from our uncle, then Mothrocksey will do your work. Shall we say one hundred thousand?”
Trassan’s mouth hung open. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly. You know it is a fair price.”
“It’s daylight robbery.”
“Manufacturing an experimental, and provenly dangerous, new technology, testing it, shipping it to your shipyard unseen, and keeping it out of the papers? You are asking a lot. It is a good price. I will require the first quarter as a downpayment, the rest over the following sixteen months.”
“Twenty months.”
“Very well, seeing as you are family. But I want guarantees it will be paid in full whether you return or not.” She stood and extended her hand. Trassan took it reluctantly.
“That is cold, sister.”
“You have your adventure, brother. I have my own affairs to think of.”
Trassan pulled a face. “Very well. A deal. I only do not argue further as I know you far too well,” he said. “You know, at your wedding, father told me that your marriage to Demion was the foundation of a great alliance. I imagine this is not what he had in mind.”
“Certainly not. But he was right. We shall both of us see this through and emerge stronger because we have worked together.”
“And triumph. Such is the Kressind way,” said Trassan.
“Gods’ blessing to that. Now,” she said, “I would tell you to visit my accountants in order to secure a draft contract, but I am afraid I was forced to terminate their employment. The new staff begins next Twinday. I am sure you can wait until then for the paperwork.”
“Really, I can’t.”
“We will start immediately, don’t fret brother. If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to be getting on with.”
She looked meaningfully at the piles of paper on her desk.
Trassan sighed. “Me too. See you next Twinday then.”
“Indeed. And Trassan?”
“Yes?”
“Good luck with the inquiry.”
AFTER THREE MONTHS as the head of the Mothrocksey mill, Katriona’s office fit her better. A space can be worn in like good clothes, shaping itself to the moods and character of the occupant. So it was with her. She sat behind her desk and no longer felt an imposter. She had changed her manner of clothing, adopting simpler skirts of broader cut with only one petticoat beneath. Her blouses remained stark white, but she had taken to wearing sleeve protectors and a foundryman’s apron, while her outer clothes she had made in duller colours that did not show the mill’s dirt. She was no longer discomfited by the looks of the male employees of the Morthrocksey Mill, and if they persisted in mocking her, sometimes crudely, behind her back, they also performed whatever task she ordered with more or less complete obedience.
Katriona felt in charge, and was given respect. But her authority, so newly won, was undergoing its first great challenge.
In front of her desk stood Tyn Lydar and two of her deputies. All had their hats off, Lydar and a second female exposing the colourful scarves they wore about their hair. They stared at her with their large brown eyes.
“What do you mean, you will not do it?”
Tyn Lydar was abashed, but insistent. “It is dangerous work, Mistress Kat. The binding of glimmer, iron and silver and magic. Your brother has learned this to his cost. This is of the old ways. He should not take this road.”
“That is exactly why he came to us. You are the masters of watered iron among your kind.”
“We are, we are. But we do not sell our gifts lightly. The greater gifts cost more in Tyn magic and in Tyn blood than we receive from your kindnesses, begging your pardon, Goodlady Kat. Those are not coins to be spent.”
“Surely, this work is covered by the agreement your kind made with Lord Morthrock?”
“Nine hundred years have gone since King Brannon, seven hundred since Master Demion’s forefather came to us as lord and master,” said Tyn Lydar. “My people, in terrible times, made dealings that we have all regretted. But this industry you ask for was not among them. We will not do it.”
Katriona stared at her in displeasure. She laid her hands flat upon the desk, as if she expected to be punished by her schoolmistress. “You are insistent?”
“You can threaten us if you will, but there is no geas upon us to perform this duty,” said Lydar’s male deputy, Tyn Lorl. “You have no power to make us.”
“Have I not?”
“No, mistress,” said the other female. Katriona did not know her name. She had a good idea of who the people were who worked in her factories. Fewer in number than the humans, the amount of Tyn remained the same, but the individuals seemed to change, which was impossible.
“Tyn Elly,” offered the second Tyn. She smiled kindly, her thick skin crinkling around her eyes. Elly was as old and wrinkled as Tyn Lydar.
“Then let us negotiate,” said Katriona.
The Tyn looked at each other.
“Your meaning, Kat?” said Tyn Lydar.
“You know what I mean, Tyn Lydar! You have lived among my kind for too long to profess ignorance of commerce. There must be something you want. Everyone wants something. What I mean is, what payment will you take for the work? You have the ability, and I have the means to pay you. Let us look at this outside of your binding. What do you need? That is my question. Or do you need it in plainer language than even that?”
The Tyn spoke to one another in their own language. Hesitantly at first, then with increasing animation. Kat listened, fascinated. She had never heard so much of their tongue. The Tyn workers on the factory floor used it, but switched always to Karsan when they caught sight of any non-Tyn. She had heard a few phrases several times, a handful of words discernible against the racket of the machines. Their meaning remained mysterious.
In the quiet of her office, she heard it clearly. A bubbling noise, a stream in its bed, interspersed with stony clacks like pebbles knocking one another underwater. Their mouths moved oddly, lips far more mobile than when they spoke Karsarin; pursing far out from their teeth and drawing back, corners stretching for their ears.
They stopped. Katriona regretted the cessation of the sound. There was a mesmeric quality to it, redolent of pleasant summer days in quiet meadows.
“We might do this, Mistress Kat,” said Tyn Lydar cautiously.
“You might?”
All three of them nodded solemnly.
“But first we must show you something,” said Tyn Lorl.
“What would that be?” She looked from one Tyn to the other. Such was their size that many other humans regarded them only as children, others were terrified of them, believing every scrap of folklore about them to be true. She saw them neither as bogies or children. They were more than both, less than either. Karsa had more settled Tyn than any other of the lands. How had she not noticed these peculiarities of theirs before?
Inattention, she thought. The inattention of the rich.
“We wish to show you where we live,” said Tyn Lydar.
Katriona made a sharp high noise of surprise. “Live? If that is all it will take to convince you to do this work, then I will gladly oblige.”
“Then we shall go now,” said Tyn Lydar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Tyn Town
TYN LYDAR LED Katriona through the mill. They crossed over the Morthrock
sey’s stone cut and headed around the back of the foundries. Their furnaces were cold, and snow wafted softly around them. The other two Tyn peeled away without a word, going back to their jobs. Katriona was left alone with Tyn Lydar.
They turned onto a narrow street around the back of the trio of warehouses. The complex wall came into view at the end of the street, pierced by the railway gate. They passed through the warehouses to the rail yard. There were three platforms. At one a steam engine huffed to itself as the trucks it pulled were unloaded. Piles of iron ore, glimmer sand and coal lined the far side of the tracks in timber stalls.
Tyn Lydar watched the train mournfully, and began to speak. “I remember when there were nothing but meadows here. You could see all the way to the cliff tops, and on stormy days when the Great Tide was high, you could hear the surf pound upon the stone. Up yonder where the cloth mills are there were moors, with thick brown heather and purple flowers and birds that sprang shrieking up, up, up when you came near them. Woods and meadows around the waters of the land. The sea seemed not so far away then, now it is a lifetime’s walk. There is only brick, and smoke, and kado, kado, kado, everywhere. This was an island in the river, before your kind straightened the waters and imprisoned them in a jacket of stone. Now what is it? This place. Time was long and the days the same, then your kind came, and everything changed in a blink of an eye. You kado brought your dead with you. We were forced to deal with King Brannon. What else could we do? Fade away or take the iron, that was our choice. We chose iron. We chose form. We chose slavery over dissipation.”
They approached a square, windowless building of grey brick. There were no chimneys on it, although like all the mill buildings the many-ridged rooftop was inset with windows on the straighter side of each peak to let light in. This part of the complex seemed ill-kempt. Shattered bits of ore and stone pierced by struggling weeds made the ground uneven. Piles of rubbish, edges fluttering in the breeze, collected themselves into corners. There was a trio of abandoned static engines of an older type, their skeletons bright with rust, gaping holes where useful parts had been scavenged. A second, later sort was by them, this covered over with a massive oilcloth. Perhaps someone had intended to salvage it, or install it elsewhere. Whatever their plans had been, they had been unfulfilled. The oil cloth was torn, the warp and weft visible in the rips where it had rotted through. All over it was greened with the life of small things.
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