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For Dennis,
proof that good things can indeed come from F&SF, and to those who share that love
CHARACTERS
REGIAL FAMILY
LORIEN D’REX Rex of Solidar
CHELIA’D’LORIEN Lorien’s wife, sister of High Holder Ryel
CHARYN D’LORIEN Eldest son of Lorien
BHAYRN D’LORIEN Second son of Lorien
ALORYANA D’LORIEN Daughter of Lorien
HIGH HOLDERS
AISHFORD D’ALTE Nordeau
BASALYT D’ALTE Bartolan, High Councilor
CALKORAN D’ALTE Vaestora
CAEMRYN D’ALTE Yapres
DELCOEUR D’ALTE L’Excelsis
FHAEDYRK D’ALTE Dyrkholm, High Councilor
KHUNTHAN D’ALTE Eshtora, High Councilor
LAEVORYN D’ALTE L’Excelsis
MOERYN D’ALTE Khelgror
MEINYT D’ALTE Alkyra
NACRYON D’ALTE Mantes
OLEFSYRT D’ALTE Noira
OSKARYN D’ALTE Cloisonyt, High Councilor
PAELLYT D’ALTE Sommeil
REGIAL D’ALTE Montagne Minor son of Ryentar
RUELYR D’ALTE Ruile
RYEL D’ALTE Head, High Holder’s Council, Rivages
DORYANA D’RYEL Wife of Ryel
SOUVEN D’ALTE Dueraan
STAENDEN D’ALTE Tacqueville
ZAERLYN D’ALTE Rivages, brother of Alyna
IMAGERS
ALASTAR Maitre D’Image
ALYNA Maitre D’Image, wife of Alastar
AKORYT Maitre D’Structure
BELSIOR Maitre D’Structure
GAELLEN Maitre D’Structure, healer
KHAELIS Maitre D’Structure
SHAELYT Maitre D’Structure
TIRANYA Maitre D’Structure
ARTHOS Maitre D’Aspect
CHARLINA Maitre D’Aspect
CLAEYND Maitre D’Aspect
DAVOUR Maitre D’Aspect
DYLERT Maitre D’Aspect
HOWAL Maitre D’Aspect
JAIMS Maitre D’Aspect
KAYLET Maitre D’Aspect, assistant stablemaster
LHENDYR Maitre D’Aspect
LYSTARA Maitre D’Aspect, daughter of Alastar and Alyna
MALYNA Maitre D’Aspect, niece of Alyna
NARRYN Maitre D’Aspect
ORLANA Maitre D’Aspect
PETROS Maitre D’Aspect, stablemaster
THELIA Maitre D’Aspect, Collegium bookkeeper
YULLA Maitre D’Aspect
WARRYK Maitre D’Aspect
ARION Maitre D’Esprit, Maitre of Westisle Collegium
SELIORA Maitre D’Structure, Westisle, wife of Arion
LYNZIA Maitre D’Aspect, Westisle
TAUREK Maitre D’Structure, Estisle
CELIENA Maitre D’Aspect, Estisle
FACTORS
CUIPRYN D’FACTORIUS Brass/copper
DUURMYN D’FACTORIUS Livestock, stockyards
ELTHYRD D’FACTORIUS Timber, lumber, Chief, Factors’ Council, L’Excelsis
ESTAFEN D’FACTORIUS Banque D’Excelsis, ironworks
GOERYND D’FACTORIUS Pumps, plows, implements,
HARLL D’FACTORIUS Brick and stone, Factor’s Council, Montaigne
HISARIO D’FACTORIUS Shipping, Factors’ Council, Liantiago
JHALIOST D’FACTORIUS Salt, coal, Factors’ Council, Khelghor
JHULET D’FACTORIUS Grain and maize
KARL D’FACTORIUS Iron, smelting
KATHILA D’FACTORIA Spices, scents, and oils
MAARTYN D’FACTORIUS Brick and stone
LYTHORYN D’FACTORIUS Mining, custom minting
ROBLEN D’FACTORIUS Woolens and cloth
PAERSYT D’FACTORIUS Custom forging
THALMYN D’FACTORIUS Fishing, Factors’ Council, Tilbora
WALLTYL D’FACTORIUS Coaches, carriages, wagons
WEEZYR D’FACTORIUS Banque D’Aluse
OTHERS
VAELLN D’CORPS Marshal of the Armies
MAUREK D’CORPS Vice Marshal
TYNAN D’NAVIA Sea Marshal
CHAALT D’CORPS Commander, Chief of Staff,
LUERRYN D’CORPS Subcommander
AEVIDYR D’SOLIDAR Minister of Administration
ALUCAR D’SOLIDAR Minister of Finance
SANAFRYT D’SOLIDAR Minister of Justice
LYTARRL D’ANOMEN Chorister, Anomen D’Excelsis, brother of Elthyrd
SAERLET D’ANOMEN Chorister, Anomen D’Rex
PRELUDE
At a quint before eighth glass, a chill early autumn wind blew through the covered courtyard. Two men stood at one end, one young and wearing a tailored greenish gray woolen jacket and matching trousers with black boots, the other gray-haired and wearing the black and green uniform of the chateau guards.
The younger man looked disgustedly at the man-shaped targets ten yards away, then turned. “Half the time, the Namer-damned pistol doesn’t fire straight!” Charyn glared at Guard Captain Churwyl. “If I’m more than five paces away, it’s unreliable. I’ve even brought a carpenter’s vise out here and tried it.”
“Lord Charyn, that’s why I suggested…”
“I don’t want to use a blade. If I’m ever attacked, it will be at close quarters, and I likely won’t be anywhere near a sabre or any sort of blade. I need a weapon that fits inside a jacket and that can fire several shots.”
The guard captain was silent.
“Isn’t there anyone in L’Excelsis who can craft an accurate pistol?”
“You’ve tried all of those who now make pistols.”
“Who now make them? Is there someone else who did or could?”
“It’s said … only said … that Factor Paersyt used to make the best pistols.”
“Used to? Is he dead?”
“No, sir. He doesn’t do that now.”
“How will that help?”
“It’s the best answer I can offer, sir. You’ve tried pistols from every factor in L’Excelsis who makes them. You’ve found none of them satisfactory.”
“Then we’ll go to see Factorius Paersyt. Now.”
“Now, sir? The factor may not—”
“Now! I’ll meet you outside the stables in half a quint. We’ll worry about what he may or may not wish later.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charyn ignored the Guard Captain’s thinly veiled consternation and walked swiftly back to the chateau. Less than a third of a quint later, he was striding into the stable yard, wearing a riding jacket of the same greenish gray as his trousers. His riding gloves were gray, and he wore a gray visor cap without insignia.
Churwyl was wai
ting, with two mounts and two chateau guards.
“Where is Paersyt’s factorage?” asked Charyn.
“On the West River Road, north of the barge piers, sir.”
“Thank you.” Charyn mounted the chestnut stallion.
Once the four riders were on the ring road that circled the Chateau D’Rex, heading south toward the Avenue D’Commercia, Charyn turned to Churwyl, who rode on his left. “What else do you know about Factorius Paersyt?”
“He is said to forge devices for all manner of other factors.”
“A toolmaker of sorts, then?”
“More than that, it is said, but I do not know more than I have told you.”
“Why do you know about him?”
“Upon occasion, those in the chateau have had need of his services. He created the locks for the strongrooms when the old ones failed. I also believe he created the framework in the kitchen that allows the roasting of many fowl at once.”
“That seems rather a descent from making pistols.”
Churwyl did not reply as Charyn turned the stallion onto the Avenue D’Commercia.
“Don’t you think so, Churwyl?” pressed Charyn.
“I believe more people need special locks and other items on a day-to-day basis than pistols, sir.”
“He must be quite clever if he can give up pistol making and do better.” Charyn knew what he’d paid for the pistols with which he was displeased. He also wondered if he’d embarked on a fool’s errand just out of anger and frustration. But just what was he supposed to do? His father didn’t like him hovering around and asking too many questions. His father’s ministers were afraid to tell him anything without his father’s approval. His father had expressed displeasure when he’d mentioned talking to any of the Army High Command officers, and he’d read most of the readable and applicable books in the chateau library, and a good portion of the archives. And he had to admit it irked him that Churwyl could apparently aim either a rifle or a pistol at anything at any distance and seemingly hit whatever it was with no discernible difficulty.
“I suppose he must be, sir.”
Despite the heavy riding jacket and the leather riding gloves, Charyn was definitely feeling chilled when he guided his mount onto the West River Road and headed south, not that he should have been surprised, given the steamy trails created by his mount’s breathing.
“That’s it up ahead, sir. The brown stone building on the left, with the one pier out into the river and the smoke from the chimney.”
At first, Charyn found himself looking at the barge piers, farther south, which protruded from the river walls, and seemed anchored to them, but then he shifted his glance to the factorage, although he could barely see the smoke rising from the main factorage chimney, especially since the faint grayish haze was immediately blown toward the river once it was a yard or so above the top of the chimney. He rode almost to the door, dismounted, and then handed the stallion’s reins to the nearest guard. Churwyl hurriedly dismounted and followed the heir.
Charyn knocked on the solid and aged oak door. No one answered. So he took the big brass knocker and slammed it as hard as he could against the knocker plate—twice … and then a third time. He stood back and waited, his breath steaming in the cold air. He was about to hammer the knocker a third time when the door opened.
A wiry gray-haired man, wearing stained brown leathers, looked at Charyn, then to the guard captain. “Given the insignia and the number of chateau guards … and your age … you must be Lord Charyn. Now that you’ve interrupted everything, you might as well come in. You, too, Guard Captain, but for your own safety, please don’t touch anything.”
Charyn had to admire the factor for his immediate understanding of the situation, and his calmness. “Thank you.”
Churwyl stepped forward. “If you don’t mind, Factorius?”
“Perfectly all right, Guard Captain.” Paersyt stepped back, leaving the door open.
Churwyl stepped through the doorway and into the factorage, surveying the interior, then gestured.
Charyn followed, closing the door behind himself. The factorage was larger than it had appeared on the outside, and there were several forges spaced against the side wall, all in what amounted to a huge stone-floored hearth. One had an enormous bellows attached to it, although that forge fire appeared to be cold. Another was clearly hot, and boiling something, because Charyn could see wisps of steam.
“If I might ask why you are here, Lord Charyn?” The factor’s voice remained calm.
“I heard that you forged the best pistols in Solidar.”
“That is kind of you to say, but I don’t manufacture pistols anymore, and I don’t intend to again. Doing so was a mistake.”
“Might I ask why?”
“It’s time-consuming. You don’t get paid what that work is worth, and the better it is, the more likely someone is going to get killed. It also ended up taking far more time than I’d ever intended.” Paersyt smiled politely. “There are several factors who produce excellent pistols. What’s wrong with their work?”
“None of them are accurate.”
The balding factor laughed. “Lord Charyn, with your resources, if you can’t find a pistol that is accurate, the problem is most likely with you and not the pistol. Most likely you’re pulling the trigger and not squeezing it. Or you may not see as well at a distance.”
“Then you won’t make me a pistol?”
“So that you can get as upset with me as with the others?” Paersyt shook his head. “Whether I agree to make a pistol for you or not, you won’t be satisfied, and I’d rather work on more productive efforts.”
For a moment, Charyn was taken aback, but he had to admit that the factor was likely right about making Charyn dissatisfied. Even so, it took an effort for him not to lash out. Instead, he forced himself to nod. “What might those be?”
“I make the parts for mining engines.”
“Mining engines?” Charyn hadn’t the faintest idea what an engine was, let alone a mining engine.
“They power the pumps that lift the water out of the mines.” The factor shook his head. “Come. I’ll show you a drawing of one.”
“You don’t have one here?” asked Charyn as he followed the factor to the drawing board set before the window, but slanted so that whoever drew had his back to the light.
“They’re rather large. I’m working on a way to make them smaller. You can see here a drawing of the pump and the engine.”
Charyn looked at the drawing, but it didn’t make much sense to him. “That’s … different from making pistols.”
“In some ways. I’ve always worked to fine tolerances.” The factor pointed to the midsized forge. Set over the white-hot coals was a sealed kettle of some sort. From the top of the kettle a metal tube ran to a cylinder, hung by a thin rod from an iron pot holder. Thin streams of steam issued from the sides of the cylinder as it rotated.
Charyn studied the cylinder and realized that the rod was not turning with the cylinder. He also could not see any steam escaping from the cylinder except from the small conical nozzles at each side. He looked to Paersyt. “The steam makes it turn, doesn’t it?”
“That’s the whole point.”
“Just to turn a cylinder?”
“No. Others figured that out some time ago. I’m using that cylinder to test the seals. Too much steam escapes in the present mining engines.” The factor pointed to a small assembly sitting on a smooth and spotless workbench. “Look at the second model here. The steam pushes this piston back and forth, and the rod attached to the piston turns the crankshaft that turns the wheel. It could turn something else, anything from a large turning bench or to power a loom, in place of a waterwheel.”
“The waterwheels do fine, and the water is free. Wood, charcoal, coal … they all cost money.”
“There are many places where the land is too flat for that. Also a larger version could do other things.”
“Such as?”
“Gelhorn uses a treadmill with an ox to operate a ferry. The treadmill turns a shaft attached to a paddlewheel. A larger version of this could do the same thing.”
“If you could even afford to build one,” Charyn pointed out. “If an ox works, why build this … steampusher?”
“Oxen get tired. You have to feed them. You could also use the engine—I prefer to call it an engine—to move a flatboat upstream, or make it go faster downstream.”
“How much faster?” asked Charyn, intrigued.
1
“Good morning, sir,” offered the duty guard to Charyn as the heir approached the door to the rex’s official study.
“Good morning, Maertyl.” With a smile, Charyn held up a hand. “Not until the glass chimes.”
Maertyl raised his eyebrows.
“He doesn’t like it if I’m early.” Or late. As soon as the first chime of eight sounded, Charyn nodded.
Maertyl turned and rapped on the door. “Lord Charyn, sir.”
Lorien’s response to the guard was inaudible to Charyn, but Charyn had no doubt it was short and perfunctory.
“Thank you,” murmured Charyn as he opened the study door and stepped inside. He closed it quickly and walked toward his father.
“Waiting until the last moment, again, I see,” growled Lorien.
“You did say, ‘as the chimes strike,’ sir.” Charyn smiled pleasantly as he took the middle chair of the three facing the goldenwood desk.
The rex’s study was dark and gloomy, with the only real light coming from the two oil lamps in the bronze sconces on the wall behind the goldenwood desk. The light did not carry except faintly to the large oblong conference table at the west end of the study, where, occasionally, the rex met with either the High Council or the Factors’ Council of Solidar, if not, occasionally, both of the councils. The wind continued its low moan outside the chateau. From where he sat behind the desk, Lorien lifted the sealed envelope that rested on the desk, likely delivered earlier that morning by a guard or a courier. “This just came. It can wait … for a bit.” He set the envelope down. “I received the accounts on your Chaeryll lands. Minister Alucar says that over the past three years, you’ve done well in managing it. He doesn’t know how.”
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