Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (30 page)

Rings of iron attached these sails to the
"mast," the rings evenly spaced along the vertical cloth edge, the
rings penetrating the reinforced edge of the weighty cloth, then
encircling the mast, the material raised to the top of the mast by
a rope stretched over a pulley wheel attached to the mast top. The
bottom edge of the large, fabric triangle was stiffened with a
round, hardwood pole called a "boom," a rope attached to the outer
end of the boom. The arrangement of the rings and pole and rope
meant that, with the sail up, the bottom of the sail could move
back and forth across the deck of the boat. (The other, parallel
boat, had the same sail parts.) With one sailor guiding this
strange catamaran with twin rudders, with other sailors controlling
the boom ropes through pulleys, the sails could be managed.

After the magic boat was built as the Mage
wished -- with many adjustments -- the Mage trained Coluth and two
other seamen (silent Philelph and old Orig) to "sail" in the
harbor, the sails using the evil wind to push and pull the ship
over the water. It was here in the bay that they had learned to
"run before the wind" and to "tack" into the wind. Though they had
made mistakes -- the boom sometimes sweeping the decks to knock a
careless seaman into the water -- they had learned.

All quite strange this "sailing" and, somehow
... wonderful! For his entire life, Coluth had traveled on the sea
by rowing and steering from one, counter-rotating whirl of water on
the sea's face to the next, in this way zig-zagging to the ship's
destination. But to use the wind ......??

This wind-Sorcery was a kind of magic that
defied description. Thinking, Coluth ran his fingers through his
faded hair.

Magic -- but with a commonness about it.

A Sorcery that, if you sailed correctly,
always worked, even without the Mage in attendance.

In the harbor, the boat was ... fast! On the
open sea, the Mage said, the boat would be faster still!

It was in this magic boat that the Mage
would, first outrun the Malachite warships that guarded the harbor,
then sail to the black band where he would defeat the evil
Mage-King, Auro.

For now, Coluth sailed in the harbor with the
sailors he had chosen: Coluth to give the orders, Philelph and
Shiagint the Handsome to control the sails. Orig, too small and
perhaps too old to restrain a sail's force, manned the rudder.

When the Mage had completed his other magical
devices, Coluth and his men would be ready!

* * * * *

Though he had not accompanied the Mage to the
harbor that night, Leet had been the Mage's right hand in
constructing the sky-magic. Standing near the long, wide, work
table at the back of the magic Room, dressed in the pale gold
uniform of a Stil-de-grain Army Head, Leet grimaced. "Right hand"
of the Mage? He could be no one's "right hand."

Since joining Stil-de-grain, Leet had
attended John-Lyon-Pfnaravin -- now also Mage of Stil-de-grain --
at war council meetings as well as in other activities that the
Mage pursued.

Recently, it had been Leet's task to help the
Mage in the Mage's magic room, nothing to be done until carpenters
had built ceiling-to-floor shelves on three walls and a great work
table at the back.

After that, the aged, long-bearded alchemist,
Tschu, had brought jars of granules and of solutions, some
decanters the Mage stored on the newly built shelves, others he
lined up on the back of the table.

The jars, when finally opened, held powders
of yellow, white, and black. (Though some granules the Mage used
later were of red and blue and gold).

The Mage had a large, wood, mortar and pestle
put on the table, the pestle for pulverizing colored earths to fine
powder, mixtures of substances ground together after being wetted
with alcohol.

When dry, the Mage would put small dribbles
of the mixed, gray powder on a smooth, rock slab in the table's
center. After that (though attempting to hide it from Leet) the
Mage would extract a small cylinder from somewhere in his robe.
Hiding the object in his hand, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin would wave the
tube at the prepared powders, causing what the Mage called
"explosions!" Flarings that made loud hissing noises accompanied by
light, heat, and by a noxious fog the Mage called "smoke."
Muttering to himself after each explosion, the Mage would start
again to mix more powders.

When the Mage was satisfied with his many
powdered mixtures, Leet had helped him fill open-topped jars with
these preparations, the ewers packed into a wooden box.
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin then buried the end of a powder-impregnated
cord in each flask, the cords trailing from the jars at different
lengths, all finally twisted together to make a larger rope. This,
the Mage called the "fuse."

When all was ready, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had
said that Leet should stay in the palace, watching the down-light
sky from a harbor-facing window. "I don't want to risk any more of
my people than I have to," the Mage had explained.

Leet was left behind, of course, because he
was old. Old and crippled.

Leet did see the Mage's magic from a high,
palace window facing the harbor, however, the Mage using the powder
mixtures to turn the night to colored fire!

Though Leet had thought the mixing task was
finished with the fire-coloring of the sky, the Mage, with Leet's
continued help, had mixed even more dusts. This time, a great, gray
pile of finely ground granules.

Meanwhile, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had been
working with leather-aproned blacksmiths who, following the Mage's
instructions, had forged a hollow, thick iron cask.

First ordering the inside of the container to
be polished smooth, the Mage had craftsmen mount the barrel on a
wheeled platform, the iron drum slanted up at a steep angle. Using
ropes to haul the whole thing up the stairs, ten men had dragged
the device to the magic Room, the Mage himself inspecting the
smooth cask before ordering a small hole to be drilled through the
topside of the iron drum, near the back.

At the same time, the Mage had also caused to
be crafted a number of hollow, iron balls, the balls carefully made
to fit into the iron cask, each ball with a small fuse hole in it.
After that, the Mage made more "fuse" cord.

"This will eventually go into the fuse hole,"
the Mage said, in one of the rare moments that he talked while
working. "For now, I'm going to put in a metal screw. With a cover
fastened over the barrel, the cannon will be made watertight for
the voyage. When I'm within striking distance of the black Mage,
I'll twist out the back screw, slip in the fuse, light it, and
goodbye Mage-King!"

After this puzzling explanation, Leet had
done his one-handed best to help the Mage funnel the gray powder
through fuse holes in each of the round, iron balls -- a
torturously slow process. Screws then sealed each hole in each
metal ball.

Leet did not understand precisely what the
Mage was doing, of course, nor had Leet accompanied the Mage on the
Mage's trip to a remote part of the island to "practice with the
cannon." But Leet was happy to attend John-Lyon-Pfnaravin in any
capacity. Old and crippled as Leet was, it was an honor to serve
the double Mage, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin!

This down-light, Leet had come to the empty
magic room in hopes of finding John-Lyon-Pfnaravin there, to ask
what else Leet might do now that the making of the "cannon" was
finished. It was Leet's hope that his service would have proved so
valuable that the Mage would take Leet to the dark band where an
old solider could die honorably, fighting evil. At Leet's age and
state of health, though, he knew that being allowed to accompany
the Mage into a place of danger was more than he had a right to
hope!

* * * * *

Alternating his standard stretching exercises
with pacing his small room -- narrow bed along the window wall,
bureau by the door, washroom to the left -- wishing he could slip
past the door guards and be about his business of searching the
palace, Golden remembered the first time he had seen John-Lyon.
(This was before Golden had discovered that John-Lyon was the Mage,
Pfnaravin.) It was in the dungeon in this very palace. Yarro's
dungeon.

Since their escape from that foul hole,
Golden had other opportunities to see the Mage's power. He had
witnessed John-Lyon-Pfnaravin dominate the mob in Bice. He had seen
the Mage have rods placed on the roof's of Xanthin houses to save
the houses from the evil Auro's magic sky bolts.

More recently, Golden had witnessed the
sky-magic of the colored lights that the Mage had used to
demonstrate his power.

Truly, it would be correct to say that
Golden, rightful King of Malachite, had known the Mage longer than
all others. (Except for the girl, Platinia, the girl having some
incomprehensible fascination for the Mage.) Yet Golden had never
known the Mage's mind.

Recently, Golden had been helping
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin with a special project.

Pigs.

Yes, pigs.

At the time, Golden knew the bitter
disappointment of ill use!

It had been a length of time since the Mage
had said, "I've got to go to the dark band and take on this evil
Mage-King directly. That being the case, I'd better find a way to
protect myself from his lightning." Golden, for his part, had said
nothing. Had not even asked a question about what
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin might mean. Golden had seen others try to
converse with the Mage when the Mage's talk was gibberish. To do
this only made the Mage angry. "And it seems to me," the Mage
continued, musing more to himself than to Golden, as was the Mage's
custom, "that if being in a steel-bodied automobile gives a person
perfect protection from lightning, I ought to be able to fashion
some kind of metal car ...."

Without finishing that thought (whatever it
might mean) the Mage had stopped suddenly. "In fact, I've never
read anything about lightning hitting knights in armor. Some
important medieval battles were fought during thunderstorms, too.
As superstitious as medieval men were, if lightning had struck some
soldier dead, this 'act of God' would surely have been
recorded."

It was that strange talk from the Mage that
had been the start of what Golden hoped would be an important task
the Mage would assign him. Others close to the Mage did vital
labors. Coluth had been involved in the planning of a magic ship, a
misshapen, bisected boat with tall poles of cloth stuck into it, a
boat that, even without oars, moved mysteriously over the water of
Xanthin Bay. With his own eyes, Golden had seen the twin-boat move
-- unaided by either currents or by oars!

John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had used the enemy
solder, Leet, in the making of a miraculous machine of iron which,
it was rumored, the Mage would use to destroy the dark,
Mage-King.

These were noteworthy tasks -- working on the
magically driven boat and on the wonder of destruction.

But ... back to Golden's work with pigs.

First, Golden was sent to order the palace
blacksmith to make a quantity of long, thin, iron strips that the
Mage called "wire." Why? So the Mage could have them woven into a
metal, pig-sized cage. In fact, the Mage instructed the palace
blacksmith -- the thick-muscled man fully as puzzled as Golden --
to make twenty of those cages, a squealing hog to be shut into
each!

After the pigs had been latched into the
cages, the cages lined with what John-Lyon called "insulation,"
Golden had been sent as leader of several pony carts to transfer
the caged pigs to the streets of Xanthin.

Spacing out the swine cages along the refuse
ditches at the center of the major streets leading to the harbor
had proved to be a dangerous and lonely task. Dangerous, because of
the possibility of dark-Mage sky bolts. Lonely, because the people
of Xanthin hid in their shops and houses, rarely venturing into
byways the evil Mage might strike with lightning. In the whole of
his pig task, Golden had seen but three people in the street,
people whose ragged tunics marked them to be of the lowest class,
one man so drunk he was impervious to the danger of the falling
bolts.

Golden himself -- to say nothing of the pony
drivers who continually looked skyward in fear of sudden death --
was glad when his pig task was complete. Glad to have escaped the
lightning-cursed streets of Xanthin!

After that, Golden (still under orders from
the Mage) had dispatched a well-paid town crier in yet another
cart, a graybeard who drove wildly through the streets, pausing now
and again to shout at the people huddled behind the safety of their
Mage-protected buildings, promising a king's reward to any townsman
bringing news of bolt-strikes on the pigs.

Days had passed, the Mage working with Leet,
both shut up in the Mage's magic Room, the Mage rarely leaving that
room of secrets except to hold council meetings and to go outside
at midday to inspect the sky.

Weeks followed in which -- far from Golden's
dangerous task being over -- it was Golden's duty to risk his life
daily to bring food to the porkers. For the Mage loved these
stinking swine like he was their father, wanting nothing but to see
them healthy and as happy as hogs could be!

All this until a lightning bolt had hit one
of the caged pigs, a fact reported to Golden at the palace by a
townsman made brave enough -- by the promise of reward -- to
venture through the streets to Yarro's palace.

Golden, having the Mage's permission to enter
the magic Room at any time with news of a bolt-strike on a pig,
had, in turn, revealed the event to John-Lyon-Pfnaravin.

Hearing the tidings that a pig cage had been
struck, the Mage was excited. Stopping his mysterious work in that
room of smells, ordering Leet to guard what looked like a pile of
fine, gray sand on the out-sized workbench, the Mage called for his
Mage-cart, a door guard dispatched to convey the Mage's command to
the stables.