by J. P. Wagner
Adengler spoke up, then. “It’s good to think that something useful can come of all the present trouble.”
Carrtog found the lady’s point of view very thoughtful, looking as it did beyond the end of the war to positive consequences that might come of it. He had, during the trip from the North, gained a favorable impression of the way Adengler’s mind worked. “Very true,” he told her. “A person might even say that it’s unfortunate that it needs a war to be fought and won to achieve the good results that follow.”
She smiled at him. “Beware, Carrtog! Don’t you realize that, as a young warrior, you’re required to be enamored with the glory of war?”
Carrtog put on a smile, but he could feel that it was a very thin one. “Unfortunately, my most recent experience with war held very little in the way of glory, only a good deal of being hunted like animals. Don’t worry, I will still go to war when and as necessary and fight to the best of my ability. On the other hand, however, I don’t think I’ll ever be in love with war, as some are.”
Something else also occurred to him. His purpose in the garden was not to chat with the ladies, however enjoyable it might be.
“Much as I would like to stray here talking with you ladies, my teacher is going to wonder if I am too much delayed. If I may have your leave, Highness?”
“Of course, Lord Carrtog! I would not wish to be the cause of your receiving a scold from your tutor!” Princess Ellevar ‘s smile suggested that she thought no one would actually scold him, though he himself had less confidence in the matter.
When he returned with the cutting, Master Enemantwin looked at him with raised brows, though he said nothing immediately.
Purposely misunderstanding his tutor’s expression, Carrtog asked, “Is it not enough?”
“Enough? Oh, I suppose it is. It took you long enough to track it down, though. Had the Royal Gardener moved it, then?”
“Oh, that. I chanced on the princess and Lady Adengler walking in the garden. Courtesy required me to stop and talk for a moment.”
The brows rose again, and a slight sardonic smile touched Enemantwin’s lips. “Of course. Young men and young women are all too easily distracted from what is important. Now, as to the plant itself…”
The lesson continued.
Chapter 10
The steam engine was comparatively small, about the height of a man, much of which was taken up by the boiler and the burner. They had begun work at the steam engine shortly after Carrtog had begun his lessons, though much of the work, the production of the boiler, the pistons and the like, had been done by smiths. Gwaitorr and Carrtog had overseen the various stages of the production, so that Carrtog had a fair notion of the very fastidious work that went into producing a piston, for instance.
Servants had already laid and kindled the fire in the boiler some time ago, and by this time the steam was jetting straight out of the exhaust valve. Gwaitorr looked at Carrtog. “As the student, to you goes the honor of starting the engine for the first time, whose building you have overseen.”
Carrtog grasped the handle that would close the valve and send the steam to the pistons, but first checked the steam rising from the exhaust valve. Yes, it seemed to be strong enough. He wondered about the possibility of producing some sort of device to measure the power of the steam, and then thought idly that this was unlikely to be the first start of this machine –– he suspected the smiths would have started it up just to be sure it ran before they let the lords try it. The lords would be embarrassed by a failure, especially if it had been at all public, and the smiths would suffer for it.
He pulled the switch, then grasped the throttle that would allow more steam to come out of the boiler to increase the power of the engine. He opened the throttle three notches, as Gwaitorr had suggested. The rod protruding from the end of the piston moved downward, pushing the crankshaft which turned the large pulley a half-turn; at the end of the stroke, a valve closed off the flow of the steam to that end of the piston, while another valve opened to allow the steam to escape from the side of the piston. Another pair of valves, mounted to work in conjunction with the first two, shifted the flow of steam to the bottom half of the piston, drawing the crankshaft to complete the circle, at which time the valves reversed their flow again.
All this happened, several times, in the time it took to explain it once. The wheel spun faster and faster. Carrtog opened the throttle two more notches, watching the machine carefully, but everything seemed to be running well.
He looked at his tutor, who returned the glance with a bare smile. “Congratulations, Lord Carrtog, it works. Turn the throttle up two more notches, and let us watch it for a while. With machines, and in particular steam engines, one can’t tell until they’ve run for a while at reasonable speed, whether or not they are really functional. Hold your oil-can handy and keep all the moving parts lubricated, being careful not to use too much oil; that is not as dangerous as using too little, but it still has its problems.”
Carrtog nodded and hefted the long-spouted oilcan. He’d heard that some aristocratic mechanics felt plying the oil-can was work for servants, but Gwaitorr was not of that persuasion, and Carrtog himself thought it much better not to trust something so vital to servants. If the machinery failed catastrophically, one might die as a result, and it would be little comfort to know that one’s heirs could blame the servant, who would likely also be dead.
They watched the engine run a little longer. Finally Gwaitorr signaled to Carrtog, and they both moved away from the machine.
“We can talk here without having to shout,” the magician said. “We’ll want to let it run for some time, just to make sure that nothing goes wrong when it warms up a bit. With the sort of heat the boiler puts out, all the metal parts will expand. We’ll have to watch for things like that, or for the boiler getting hot enough to burst. I’d prefer not to be having to remind you every time something needs to be oiled, but on the other hand, I’m not willing to take the risk that you’ll finally notice the necessity before something goes wrong in a fashion involving death or dismemberment. Or both.”
“Understood.” Carrtog also understood that if Gwaitorr felt it necessary to tell him to apply the oilcan, it would result in a very low grade, perhaps even a failure.
“I’d also like you to give some thought to what sort of machine you might consider powering with this engine, and how you would set up the belts and pulleys, and gears, if necessary. I won’t want the answer today, just give it some thought, while still paying attention to the oilcan.” The older magician smiled drily. “I’ll expect some preliminary notions in our next session.”
“Understood.” He stepped forward, lifting the oilcan. Nothing showed signs of immediate need of lubrication, but neither Gwaitorr nor Carrtog saw any sense in waiting until the last moment.
#
The smoke cleared, and the long wooden rod lay before them. It had been pine wood, a yellowish-white color, but now it was a dull purple-gray, a disgusting shade, as far as Carrtog was concerned, but—
“What does it feel like?” Enemantwin demanded.
Carrtog touched it. “It’s still a bit warm.”
“No surprise. The spell used up a fair amount of powder. What else?”
Carrtog had long ago gotten used to Enemantwin’s style, brusque, very seldom admitting satisfaction with anything a student might do or say. He continued, showing no sign of his own annoyance.
“It feels a bit like iron.” He picked it up and attempted to bend it. It was sufficiently thick that, even in its previous form, it had little give to it. Now it had even less, if that were possible. “It seems more rigid than wood.”
He drew his dagger and tapped the rod with the blade. The sound it made was like tapping iron, but subtly different. “It sounds nearly like metal, but not quite, I would venture to suggest that the spell was a success.”
Enemant
win gave him a sour look. For an instant Carrtog thought he might be considering a denial of the spell’s success — he had a tendency to be upset if a student seemed to trespass on what he felt to be the teacher’s prerogative — but he only said, “Fairly successful, I believe.”
He lit a touch of gunpowder, speaking a brief incantation. “Yes, it appears to be a success. The readjustment of the material of the rod is very close to optimum.”
And no matter how near to perfect I come, you would not admit to anything better than ’close to optimum.’
“Now, what are the uses of this material?”
That was a test of Carrtog’s memory. Enemantwin knew quite well what it could be used for and had mentioned those uses several times during the teaching of the spell.
“It can be used for nearly anything where a similar piece of iron would be used.”
“’Nearly anything?’”
Quietly annoyed at himself for careless wording, Carrtog spoke up quickly. “Nearly anything,” he reiterated. “It is more brittle than iron, however, and does not lend itself to working in a smithy. One must take care, as well, for any knots in the original piece of wood will show up as faults in the resulting length of converted wood where it may break more easily. Even without knots, it cannot be bored out for firearms, since any fair charge of powder is likely to burst the barrel.”
Enemantwin frowned, but nodded, grudgingly. “Somewhat better, Lord Carrtog. This field of study, however, requires a fair degree of precision in both execution of the spells and terminology regarding the results. Some fields of magic are more forgiving of laxity, but not this branch.”
“Yes, sir,” Carrtog spoke in agreement, but was quietly thinking how the field of mechanics required a good deal of precision, perhaps more than the modification of plant life, or the modification of plant products.
The tutor glanced at the pendulum clock in the corner. “I believe this day’s lesson is done. Please see to the clearing up of the equipment. Our next lesson will involve the modification of willow-bark tea for more efficacious relief of pain. Please read the appropriate texts in the Royal Library.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The tutor did not expect his student to actually clear up the equipment with his own hands; after all, he was a lord. And though Carrtog himself was not averse to doing the work, he knew it would make the servants unhappy, as if he did not trust them to do the work they were expected to do. Instead, he rang for the servants, and when they appeared, he simply said, “See to this stuff, and clean up the room.”
“Ah — is it safe, Lord? No magic left in it?”
He carefully kept his expression neutral. The servants knew little or nothing of magic, and what they did know, or thought they knew, was scary. “It’s completely safe. You can be sure that if there were any danger in it, I would have warned you of what safeguards to take. The magic that was done took place in a moment, and left no residue, save for the scent of burned gunpowder, and you can be sure that can do you no harm.”
As the servants went to work, Carrtog glanced at the clock himself. With any luck, the princess and Lady Adengler might well be out for their usual walk in the Royal Gardens.
He watched while the servants stowed the equipment, then cleaned the tables and, for good measure, swept the floors. When they were done, they snuffed the candles. At this time of day there was not enough light coming in the room’s eastern windows to do anything that required the use of the eyes.
He dismissed the servants and started out immediately for the Royal Gardens. At first, no one seemed to be there, but the Royal Gardens were extensive, and it would take a bit more time to be sure they were unoccupied.
He strolled up and down the paths, amusing himself by noting various plants and herbs he was now familiar with and listing in his mind their uses.
He saw nobody familiar at all, though he did see a few couples, young lords and ladies, always accompanied by some older lady for the sake of appearances.
However, as he came around a corner planted with a certain foreign tree that, if not carefully watched, would reseed itself anywhere its seeds might drift to, or anywhere it might put up suckers, he stopped suddenly. “Yakor! What, have you suddenly taken up an interest in herbalism?”
Yakor gave a crooked little smile. “No, I’ve just heard some news I think you should be aware of, and I was led to understand that occasionally you found the company in the Royal Gardens to be enjoyable.”
Carrtog was pleased to note that he did not redden so fiercely any longer at Yakor’s digs regarding Lady Adengler. He grinned. “Company? What company? Your own? Yakor, I think you suffer from an inflated sense of your own worth. Of course, that is easily understood; after all you are in the service of the justly famed Lord Carrtog, the hero who has caught the attention of the king himself.”
Yakor frowned. “Be careful of jests like that, boy! If the wrong person were to overhear it, they might twist your words around to make a snare you’d be hard pressed to escape from.”
Carrtog, alerted by the sudden use of the word ‘boy,’ gave Yakor a searching glance.
“What is it?”
Yakor shook his head. “Not here. Let’s go out to the Keg.”
Carrtog maintained his patience, knowing that it would do no good to ask for even the slightest of hints when Yakor was in this sort of mood. Even arrival at the doors of the Overflowing Keg was not sufficient; Yakor was quiet until they had found themselves a table that was not within easy eavesdropping range of anyone else, with a pitcher of ale and two mugs on the table to keep anyone from coming near even to fill their cups.
“Now, then, what is the problem that requires such cautiously private discussion?”
“This sounds so much like a romantic ballad from years and years ago. I can’t say how much truth there is in the story, but it seems that one of the young men of the King’s Gentlemen who had suffered a broken leg, among other injuries, was left with a family that included a young daughter. After the king left, when the rebels were hunting down the wounded survivors, this daughter, at risk of her life, spirited this soldier away to go into hiding with an elderly uncle and aunt. Other versions of the story say that it was a grandfather and grandmother, but whatever the relation, the young man was saved, and he and the girl later on made their way down south to take refuge with some distant relation of his.”
“You’re concerned there may be specific mention of the king rushing off and abandoning them?”
“Precisely, though nothing as yet it seems. Luckily, the soldier is not named, nor is his family. That means two things, first that the king cannot hunt him down and kill him and his family, and second, that the king can merely say that this is all unsubstantiated rumor and need not be believed. On the other hand if news does get out about what happened in the North… What if people come to you to ask if it’s true that the king abandoned wounded men in Tenerack?”
“But should the king have stayed with his wounded men to let the rebels take him as well?”
Yakor nodded sharply. “You can see that, I can see that, perhaps most of the population of Cragmor can see that. But if the story is passed, concentrating on the king’s urgent desire to escape, I doubt His Majesty is going to pay much attention to your justifying what is described as a cowardly act. I’m afraid he’ll be more likely to expect you to add the tale about his putting me in your place in a fit of pique because he thought you weren’t being sufficiently polite to him.”
That would be grave indeed. Carrtog felt his brow furrow as he considered the possible implications. As challenging as it was to have the king meddling in his life, Carrtog much preferred that to the black moods the king had suffered on the run south. And if the king were to take an active dislike to his newest noble, that noble might not have time to flee.
Yakor sipped his ale. “You’ve done well so far, enjoying the king’s favo
r and looking like just the man who would never admit to knowing anything unfavorable about His Majesty. But you know very well how the king can change his mind over the slightest bit of evidence; even trying to calm his mind over the situation might just have the opposite effect.”
“Do you have any suggestions as to what I should do?”
Yakor scowled. “Nothing terribly useful, save to suggest that you never engage in passing rumors, and especially not rumors about the king. I’d suggest you even be cautious about passing favorable stories of the king. It’s just possible that whoever tells tales to him might be good enough to let him know that you don’t gossip yourself.”
“On the other hand, I may do all of that and still discover that not only does His Majesty no longer consider me a favorite, but that he has suddenly brought charges of sedition against me. What sort of plan do you suggest we make to deal with a change of the king’s mind?”
At this point Yakor frowned. “That’s just the problem; could you invision the king’s reaction to something like quietly accumulating a bit of money just in case of emergencies?”
Carrtog nodded. “Sure evidence that I’m planning to kick over the soup-pot and run.”
“Unfortunately, yes. On the other hand, it’d be pure foolishness not to start putting by a little bit here and there, always trying not to make it obvious that you’re doing so.”
Carrtog gave a crooked little smile. “Make some careful little plans while seeming not to be making plans? That should be easy for a man of my great skills.”
Yakor returned the smile. “Just be sure your great skills don’t end us up with our heads on pikes over the front gate.”
Chapter 11
The king had sent a servant to summon Carrtog to his presence. Given his talk with Yakor just the evening before last, Carrtog had a little concern that the king was about to change his mind in some way.