by K. J. Parker
Poldarn breathed in deeply and sighed. Well, he thought, I’ve got an idea now. Of course, there’s no way anybody could actually make it work, but even so it’s better than giving up and running away. Presumably.
(And then he thought: it may be a stupid idea, idiotic and far-fetched, but it’s an idea nobody in this country could ever have come up with, because their minds don’t work that way. They don’t have ideas, because they always know what to do, instinctively, like animals. They can’t think, they can only do things that have been done thousands of times before. And that’s why I’m here. Thank you. It all makes sense now.)
Boarci had waited for him after all. ‘I thought you were going back to the house,’ Poldarn said, as soon as he saw him.
‘Yeah, well.’ Boarci shrugged. ‘I started off with those other idiots, but going all that way with only them to talk to, I couldn’t face it. I’d rather stay up here and get burned to death. It’s quicker than dying of boredom and not nearly as painful.’
Poldarn laughed. ‘You may have a point,’ he said. ‘And I may have an idea.’
He explained what he had in mind as they hurried down the slope, bearing away from the fire-stream as fast as they could go. He was expecting Boarci to tell him he was off his head, but to his surprise Boarci thought about it for a while and then said: ‘It could work, I guess. But there’s a couple of things that need figuring out first. For a start, what’re you going to smash through the crust with? You got any idea how thick it is, or how hard the skin is?’
‘No,’ Poldarn admitted. ‘My guess is, it’s not as thick as a brick wall, but not far short of that.’
Boarci nodded. ‘Well, you’re going to need special tools, then. Big hammers and cold chisels aren’t going to hack it; you’ll need to make up something specially for the job.’
‘All right,’ Poldarn replied. ‘Shouldn’t be impossible. Something like a quarryman’s drill, basically just a long steel bar you bash in with a hammer and then twist.’
‘Fair enough,’ Boarci said. ‘Next, you’ll need to do something about the heat. You’re talking about getting right up to the fire. At that distance it’ll take all the skin off your face in a heartbeat.’
Poldarn frowned. ‘I think I know what we can do about that. What else?’
‘Oh, loads of things. For instance, suppose you do manage to break through the crust, what happens then? All the bloody hot stuff’s going to come spurting out of the breach, and God help the poor bastard who’s standing in the way.’
Poldarn thought about the crow, and the way it had burnt up in the time it took to sneeze. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘but so long as we bear that in mind – We’ll have to go in at an angle, I guess, and hope for the best. I didn’t say it was going to be easy, I said it might be possible, that’s all.’
‘Sure,’ Boarci said. ‘But you’ll need to have answers to all these points before you pitch the idea to that lot down there. They aren’t going to like it one bit, I can tell you that right now.’
Boarci was right about that, too. The two households listened to Poldarn in stunned silence. On their faces he could see the sort of horrified embarrassment that he’d have expected to see if he’d got drunk and made an exhibition of himself – singing vulgar songs, dancing on the table, throwing up on the floor. Their reaction annoyed him so much that he forgot to be daunted by it.
‘All right,’ he said eventually, after the silence had gone on almost as long as his speech. ‘Here’s what I’ll do. If anybody can come up with a better idea before dawn tomorrow, we’ll forget all about my suggestion and go with his idea. What’s more, he can have the farm; I’ll give it to him or stand down or abdicate or whatever you want to call it, and he can be head of household, and I’ll spend the rest of my life mucking out the pigs. Believe me, if someone takes me up on this, I’ll be the happiest man in the valley. You all got that? By dawn tomorrow; otherwise we’ll give my idea a go and see if we can make it work. Good night.’
The silence followed him into the bedroom, where Elja was placidly sewing, turning sheets sides to middle. ‘Did you hear that?’ Poldarn asked as he closed the door.
‘Your speech, you mean? Yes.’
Poldarn lay down on the bed, too tired and fed up to take off his boots. ‘I didn’t mean that, I meant the reception it got from that lot.’
‘But they didn’t say a word.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Oh.’ Elja smiled. ‘I see what you mean. Yes, I heard that. Couldn’t help hearing it. If they’d been any quieter, they’d have been inaudible right down the other end of the valley.’
Poldarn laughed. ‘They’re bastards, the lot of ’em,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have minded if they’d shouted at me or called me a bloody fool. But just sitting there like that, it’s too cruel for words.’ He made an effort, sat up and groped for his bootlaces. ‘Last time I try and do anything for this household.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ Elja said gently. ‘They’re just not used to people like you, that’s all. They don’t know you the way I do.’
‘Oh really.’ He tried to drag off a boot, but his foot was too hot and swollen. ‘Well, no, I suppose they don’t. But that’s not the point.’
‘Idiot.’ She sat on the bed and tugged at the boot, without making any perceptible difference. ‘I don’t think you realise how scared of you they all are.’
That took Poldarn completely by surprise. ‘Scared? Of me? But that’s ridiculous.’
Elja let go of the boot and stretched out beside him, hands behind her head. ‘What makes you say that?’ she said. ‘To all intents and purposes you’re a stranger, an unknown quantity, and there aren’t any of those here. Well,’ she amended, ‘there’s tramps and layabouts like your friend Boarci, but we understand them, we know what to expect. You’re completely different, and we can’t even see what you’re thinking. And if that’s not bad enough, you do such weird things, nobody knows what you’re going to get up to next. Not just that, but you go around telling people what they ought to be doing, when it’s not what they know they should be doing; and sometimes, more often than not, you’re right. Most of all, you know about the volcano, it’s like you can see its thoughts. That’s really scary.’ She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘Do you really mean to say you hadn’t realised that?’
Poldarn nodded. ‘Of course not. I mean, most of the time they treat me like I’m a kid or something. That’s when they even acknowledge I exist.’
‘They keep their distance, you mean. Actually, they talk to you far more than they talk to each other, or hadn’t you noticed? That’s another scary thing, you’re always at them, asking questions, like you’re interrogating a prisoner. If you were in their shoes, wouldn’t you be scared?’
Poldarn thought about that. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I might want to smash my face in from time to time, but I wouldn’t be scared. Still, I guess I know me better than they do.’
Elja laughed. ‘Are you sure? It strikes me that you know you less well than anybody. After all, you’ve only known you for a few months. Some of these people have known you forty-odd years, off and on.’
‘True,’ Poldarn replied. ‘But I get the impression I’ve changed a bit since then.’
‘Maybe. How would you know?’
‘I don’t,’ Poldarn admitted. ‘But anyway, that’s not the point. I don’t really give a damn whether they’re scared of me, or they like me or hate me or whatever; not right now, anyway. What’s important right now is doing something about the mountain. Just sitting there as though nothing was wrong – how can they do that?’
Elja smiled at him, quite tenderly. ‘You poor thing,’ she said, ‘you really don’t understand. They’re scared of you, but they’re absolutely terrified of the mountain. It’s far more frightening than the thought of getting killed, or anything like that. They know about death, it happens every day, it’s one of those things you live with your whole life. But the mountain is new. They’ve never eve
n heard of anything like it before, not even in stories. And here you are, telling them they’ve got to go and fight this terrible thing. No wonder they just sat there. There aren’t any words to say what they’re all thinking right now.’
‘Oh,’ Poldarn said. ‘And what about you, then? You seem pretty cool about it all.’
‘Me?’ Elja frowned. ‘I don’t really know, I hadn’t thought about it. For some reason, I’m not frightened at all. I’m not frightened of you, or the mountain.’
‘Good,’ Poldarn said.
‘Not really, no. I ought to be. I don’t understand either of you. I just know that you aren’t going to do me any harm. I know it’s all going to be very bad for a while, and this plan of yours sounds absolutely horrible, but it’s not going to hurt me. Something very bad is going to happen sooner or later, but not this.’
Poldarn leaned forward, not looking at her. ‘You sound very sure about that.’
‘Yes,’ Elja said, ‘I do. It’s not a guess or even a conclusion I’ve reached – I just know it; like you know something you remember, because it’s already happened. Does that make any sense to you?’
‘Oddly enough, it does,’ Poldarn said quietly. ‘It’s how I felt when we were building this house. I knew we’d be able to do it, because I felt I’d done it before – no, that’s not it. I felt like I’d done it already, if you can see the distinction. I’d done it already, so it was already done and so it had to turn out right. The house couldn’t not be built because I’d already built it.’
Elja nodded. ‘You’re weird,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t realised quite how weird you really are.’
‘Oh. So that’s not how you see this, then.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s exactly how I see it,’ she said. ‘I never said I wasn’t weird, did I?’ She pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘Look at it from my point of view. I get this really strange, crazy feeling, it’s so crazy it worries me. And then you say it’s exactly how you felt when you were building the house. Now you are beginning to scare me. I mean, we mustn’t both be crazy. Think of the children.’
Poldarn laughed. ‘I think it’s simpler than that. You love me so much you’re absolutely sure I’ll succeed and the fire-stream will go away. You have faith in me.’
‘Oh, sure.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I worship you like a god, that goes without saying, I’m practically your high priestess. All you’ve got to do is snap your fingers and the fire’ll crawl back into its kennel like a dog that knows it’s been naughty.’ A moth whirred past them and started to circle the pottery lamp beside the bed. ‘Do you really think it could work, this idea of yours?’
‘It could work,’ Poldarn replied, ‘but if you’re asking whether I can make it work, that’s another matter entirely. It could work, but only if we get a whole lot of difficult things right. Maybe we’d have a reasonable chance if we’d done it all before and we knew how to go about it. Getting it to work the first time, when we’re making it up as we go along; that’s a lot to ask, isn’t it? We only get one try, after all.’
Elja yawned. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ she told him, and snuggled down under the blankets. ‘Now shut up and go to sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.’
He pinched out the flame of the lamp and lay still in the dark. Somewhere in the room the moth was fluttering round, trying to find out where the flame had gone. Stupid creature, Poldarn thought, I’ve probably saved its life and it doesn’t even realise, let alone feel grateful to me for the exercise of my divine clemency. I’m glad I’m not a god; it must be soul-destroying, putting up with that sort of thing.
Next morning, early, he went to the forge. Asburn was already there, and a good fire was blazing in the duck’s nest.
‘These drills,’ Asburn said. ‘What did you have in mind?’
Poldarn couldn’t remember having mentioned the drills to anybody except Boarci but he guessed that Boarci had told Asburn about them. ‘Something like this,’ he said, chalking a sketch on the face of the anvil. ‘What do you think?’
Asburn nodded. ‘Oughtn’t to be a problem,’ he said. ‘Only, they’ve got to be drawn hard. Have we got anything long enough?’
Poldarn shook his head. ‘I was thinking, make the shafts out of iron and weld a steel tip on.’
‘That ought to do it,’ Asburn said. ‘In that case, we can draw down those old mill shafts.’
Poldarn stifled a groan, because that would mean several hours of swinging the big hammer, and he felt stiff and raw after his adventures on the mountain. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Good idea.’
‘I’ll strike, then,’ Asburn said, much to Poldarn’s surprise. He’d assumed that he’d be striking, while Asburn did the skilled work. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind.’
In spite of Poldarn’s reservations, the drills more or less shaped themselves. First they drew down the shafts, reducing them in diameter by a third. Then they forged flats into the round bars, forming them into hexagons; Poldarn wasn’t quite sure why this was necessary, but he knew it was the right thing to do – neither of them suggested it, they just did it as soon as they’d finished drawing down. In order to get the iron to work, they took a ferocious heat, almost white, and Poldarn’s skin ached where the flare of the fire-stream had burned it. Next he cut lap scarfs into the tip of each drill with the hot sett, dressing them out clean with the hot and cold files, and smothered the scarfs with flux to keep the scale out while they were welding. As soon as the flux powder touched the hot metal it melted into a glowing yellow liquid, more or less the same in colour and texture as the bed of the fire-stream. They put the drill bodies in the edge of the fire so they’d hold their heat until they were needed, and jumped up some flogged-out old rasps to form the cutting tips. When these were ready they went into the fire until they were yellow, whereupon Poldarn fitted them into the scarfs in the shafts and peened them round to keep them in place as he brought the piece up to a full welding heat, turning them widdershins in the fire to keep the heat even. He raked the fire deep for this part of the process, which meant the metal was buried under burning coals and he had to rely on hearing the fizz as the surface started to burn in order to judge when it was ready to weld. He couldn’t have been far out, because when he pulled the first drill out it was snowing fat white sparks. Asburn turned the shaft slowly, while Poldarn patted it smartly and evenly with a two-pound ball-peen. He could feel the iron and steel fuse together under the hammer, a curious scrunching sensation, like treading on a deep drift of virgin snow.
As soon as they’d finished one drill they started on the next, and by the time they’d hardened and tempered the blades and ground them to a cutting edge it was mid-afternoon. Poldarn left Asburn to finish up, and made a round of the other preparations. There weren’t going to be nearly as many buckets as he’d have liked, but fortuitously there were plenty of skins, since nobody had got around to tanning the hides from last winter’s slaughter. He found more than enough hammers, chisels, crowbars and axes in store, along with a reasonable quantity of rope, though not as much as he’d have liked. By the time everything had been stowed on the wagons, there was only just enough space left for the drills. Anything else – and he was bound to have forgotten something – they’d have to do without.
‘That’s the lot, then,’ he announced, with rather more confidence than he actually felt. ‘We’d better all get a good night’s sleep,’ he added, ‘I want to get started first thing in the morning.’
Easier said than done. Poldarn lay awake most of the night, trying to visualise the job that lay before them, but the picture evaded him like an unreliable memory. When at last he slipped into a restless doze, the mountain was still there in his dreams – his mountain or another one very like it, only taller and steeper, coughing up fire like a dying man bringing up blood. The most vivid image in his dreams was the hot spring he’d seen so many years ago, with
Halder beside him, except that now it was gushing fire instead of water. Somehow that seemed quite natural, as if his previous recollection of the scene had been at fault, and he’d only just corrected the mistake.
The fire-stream had put on a disconcerting turn of speed while Poldarn had been away. Its pronounced snout of rocks, shale and other debris now stood on a small plateau above a steep drop, with very little in the way of obstacles between it and the long, even slope that led directly to the mouth of the Haldersness valley. Once it made it over the edge, Poldarn couldn’t see any force on earth stopping it. To make matters worse, the fissure in the side of the mountain was perceptibly wider, allowing a stronger flow. If this scheme didn’t work there wouldn’t be time to go home and think of something else. Whether he liked it or not, he was committed to his chosen course of action. This struck him as an unfortunate state of affairs, since the more he thought about it, the more fatuous it seemed.
‘I’m sure I’ve forgotten something,’ he complained, as they came over the hog’s back.