Geomancer (Well of Echoes) (8 page)

But if he found the least scrap of evidence against Irisis, he would destroy her. Not without regret, but without hesitation.

G
i-Had’s news came as a great relief to Tiaan. She had begun to doubt her own competence, but if hedrons from other manufactories were also failing there must be more to it than bad workmanship. Did the enemy have a way of disabling them from afar, or were they being sabotaged here? How could a crystal be sabotaged yet look unmarked? She had never heard of such a thing, nor had the other artisans. She was not out of trouble yet.

While everyone was at lunch, Tiaan scoured the crafter’s rooms for anything he might have written on the topic. She found nothing, but did not return
The Mancer’s Art
to its hiding place. She was not ready to give it up.

As she locked the door, Irisis appeared. ‘What are you doing?’ she said furiously.

‘I’m trying to find out how a hedron could be sabotaged and leave no trace,’ Tiaan replied, and passed by.

Something woke in the artisan’s eyes. Irisis stared after Tiaan for a very long time.

Tiaan could think of only one approach – to probe deeper into the faulty hedrons, even if she destroyed them in the process. Slipping her pliance over her head, she reached for the first crystal, but stopped. What if the damage spread back? Her throat went tight at the thought of losing her pliance. She dared not risk it. Instead she got out the rough design she had done in the night and set to work.

After three days of dawn-to-midnight toil Tiaan had put together a hedron probe, in two parts. The first was a globe constructed of copper wires following longitudes, latitudes and diagonals, on which were set a number of movable beads, like a model of the moons and planets in their orbits. The beads, each different, were made of carefully layered strips of metal, ceramic and glass. The other part was a helm of enamelled silver and copper lacework in delicate filigrees, designed to fit over her head. A series of springy wires went down through her hair, their flattened ends pressing against the sides and back of her head, unnervingly like a wire spider. At the front, a setting the size of a grape was designed to hold a shaped piece of crystal.

Tiaan opened the two halves of the globe and placed one of the failed hedrons inside. Inserting a piece of crystal into the setting on the helm, she put it on her head. The wires were chilly. Closing her eyes, she slid her hands around the globe and pressed her fingers in through the wires until her fingertips touched the faces of the hedron.

At once she sensed something in its heart – a tiny, shifting aura, all fuzzy and smeared out, like a comet’s tail. Her fingers moved the beads one way and then another. The aura was stronger in some positions, almost non-existent in others. Once or twice it disappeared. She tried rotating various wires, then flipping them north to south. That did not help either. Her apparatus was not powerful enough to read the aura, though while viewing it she had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was looking for her. She opened her door but found the workshop empty.

Tiaan examined the small crystal in the helm. It was not a particularly strong one, just the first she’d picked up. She searched through her offcuts but found nothing better, and the basket of waste crystals was empty.

‘Gol?’ She looked around for the sweeper boy. He did not answer. Tiaan found him sleeping in one of the nooks behind the furnaces, his head pillowed on a burlap sack. These hidey-holes had been the favourite haunt of factory kids since the manufactory had been built. She had used this nook herself once or twice, when she was little.

Tiaan looked down at the sleeping boy. He was an angelic-looking lad – olive skin, a cheerful oval face, red lips and a noble brow capped by black curls.

‘Gol!’ She shook him by the shoulders.

He woke slowly, smiling before he opened his eyes, as if from a pleasant dream. When he saw her standing there, his eyes went wide.

‘Artisan Tiaan!’ He fell out of the niche in a comical attempt to look alert and hardworking. ‘What can I do for you?’

With an effort she kept a straight face. Gol was always willing, but his work never came up to expectation. Slapdash as well as lazy, he did not know the difference between a job well done and an entirely inadequate one. A harder master would have beaten that out of him but Tiaan could not bring herself to do it.

‘Where did you put the waste crystals from my workbench?’

‘Around the back of the manufactory,’ he said brightly. ‘On the ash pile. Would you like me to show you?’

‘I told you to put them in the basket in my storeroom!’ she said sharply. ‘If this happens again, Gol, I’ll send you back to your mother.’ As if she could. The poor woman was a halfwit with seven children, none good for anything but lyrinx fodder.

‘I’m sorry!’ He assumed an expression of profound mortification.

Gol’s emotions tended to the extreme. Tiaan wondered if there was a brain in his head at all. ‘Come on! I’m in a hurry!’

They went past the smithies, where a bevy of half-naked lads wielded long-handled hammers. Eiryn Muss leaned against an anvil, ogling the youths and grinning loutishly. A pair of prentices mocked the halfwit behind his back, slouching about with their tongues out, drooling. Tiaan wondered if men like Muss were required to mate.

As she went past the artificers’ workshops, Nish gave her a smouldering stare. He had been watching her ever since the incident in her workshop. She hurried by, looking straight ahead, and opened the back gate.

The rear of the manufactory was a dismal place. The open drains steamed and reeked, a mixture of foetid human waste, tarry effluent and brimstone that had killed every plant in sight. Furnace ash and slag were piled all around the ravine, the most recent deposits steaming gently in the drizzle. A thousand times as much had clotted in the valley below. The river ran acid for two and a half leagues, a series of poisoned pools, stained iron-red or tarry black, in which nothing lived.

Gol led her through the reeking piles then stopped abruptly. ‘It’s not there!’ He began to bawl.

Tiaan went to the brink of the ravine. Ammonia fumes brought tears to her eyes. Most of the ash mountain, saturated after weeks of rain and sleet, had slumped over the edge. Running down in a thick blurt to the water’s edge, it looked exactly like a cowdung mudslide. There was no chance of recovering the precious offcuts.

Tiaan wiped her dripping nose. ‘Oh, stop whining, Gol! Why can’t you ever do what you’re told.’ The lad wailed loudly. ‘Go! Get on with your work! And if this happens again I
will
have you whipped!’

He ran sobbing up the path. Tiaan leaned against a fragment of wall, all that remained of the monastery that had stood here for a thousand years. Before that, for another thousand, pilgrims had come to worship at the holy well, now buried under piles of slag. Had that been related to the node here?

Returning to the workshop, she checked the benches of the artisans. They had been cleared of their crystal waste as well. There were fresh crystals in the storeroom but she did not want to cut one down. She needed one that was the right size to start with. First thing in the morning she would have to go back down the mine.

‘Morning, Lex, I’m looking for old Joe. Is he still working on the fifth level?’

Lex came out of his cavity. A little globe of a man, he looked like one of those smiling dolls that, after being knocked over, always came upright again.

‘I haven’t seen him, Tiaan,’ he said clearly, evidently having his teeth in today. ‘I don’t think he’s here.’

‘Oh! I hope he’s not sick.’

‘Old Joe? He’s as tough as miner’s underpants. Naw, probably gone down to Tiksi.’

‘I’ll try his cottage, just in case. Thanks, Lex!’

She headed for the village, a third of a league down the mountain. A cluster of fifty or sixty stone cottages had been built in terraces on either side of the path, though Joeyn’s place stood uphill among the trees. An oblong granite structure of two rooms, it had a mossy thatched roof and was surrounded by a fence of woven wattles.

The sun was just coming up as Tiaan pushed open the gate. A path of crushed granite led to a north-facing porch, unfurnished except for a rude chair. A scatter of white daisies grew beside the porch. Clumps of autumn crocuses were in flower here and there. On the other side of the path a vegetable garden contained onions, garlic, leeks and a few red cabbages.

The door was closed. A wisp of smoke came from the chimney. She knocked at the door. No answer. She knocked again and thought she heard a faint reply. Tiaan pushed open the door, afraid something had happened to him.

It was dark inside, the windowless hut lit only by the glow from an open fire. At first her eyes could make out nothing.

‘If it isn’t Tiaan!’ came a hoarse voice from beside the fire. ‘Come in, my dear.’

Tiaan made out a seated figure at a bench beside the fire. Joeyn started to get up but broke into a coughing fit.

‘Are you all right, Joe?’ She ran to him.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. ‘Miner’s lungs!’ he gasped, clearing his throat and spitting into the fire. ‘It’s always like this in the morning.’

‘I was worried. I thought something must have happened to you.’

‘I’ve made my quota. I didn’t feel like going to work today.’

‘But …’

‘I’m seventy-six, Tiaan. I only keep going because there would be nothing to do if I stopped. But some days I just don’t feel like working.’

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘I’m not an invalid,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a cup of ghill, if you feel like waiting on me. It’s in the jar on the mantel.’

Taking down the jar, she picked out several curling strips of ghi wood and moved the pot over the coals. ‘Strong or weak?’

‘Like tar. Put in about five strips and leave it a good while. Let’s sit on the porch.’

He carried his chair out. Tiaan settled into the other. They watched the mist drifting between the pines. The wind sighed through the wattle fence. Finally Joeyn spoke. ‘It’s always nice to see you, Tiaan, though I’m sure you didn’t come to pass the time of day.’

‘What am I going to do about a partner, Joe?’

Looking her over, he smiled to himself. ‘I don’t see any problem.’

‘I’m afraid …’

‘It’s not such an onerous duty, Tiaan.’

‘I didn’t mean
that
. I’ll get the ghill.’ She rose abruptly, coming back with two wooden mugs. The steam smelt like peppery cinnamon.

While they sipped their ghill, she went over her problem with the crystal.

Joeyn sat ruminating. ‘So, you need me to find you another.’

‘The most powerful one you can. The last wasn’t strong enough.’

‘And I suppose it’s urgent?’

‘Gi-Had threatened to send me to the breeding factory if I didn’t solve the problem by the end of the week.’

‘As if he would! You’re too valuable to him, Tiaan.’

‘Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it?’ Tiaan was not good at reading people and could not separate idle words from serious ones. ‘He’s in trouble because of the failed clankers, and Foreman Gryste is whispering in his ear about me. He doesn’t like me.’

‘Gryste doesn’t like anyone, Tiaan. Especially since …’

‘What?’

Joeyn sniffed his drink. ‘He was passed over for overseer when Gi-Had came back from the war a hero. Then Gryste did his own service, was blamed for a defeat that wasn’t his fault and broken to a common soldier. He’s been at odds with the world ever since. And his habit doesn’t help.’

‘The nigah leaf?’

‘Yes. Makes a man angry. And it’s expensive.’

‘I’m afraid of him. The war is going really badly, Joe. Desperate people do stupid things.’

‘It’s been going badly since I was a boy. You stop believing everything you’re told after a while. I’m so old that I’ve seen the Histories rewritten.’

‘The Histories are truth!’ she cried. More than that, they were the foundation of the world. To challenge them bordered on blasphemy.

‘No doubt of it,’ he replied, ‘but whose?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Not many people do. Hardly anyone lives to my age any more. Have you ever heard of the
Tale of the Mirror
?’

‘Only as a monstrous lie.’

‘It wasn’t when I was a little boy. It was one of the Great Tales, and Llian of Chanthed one of the greatest chroniclers. Now he’s Llian the Liar, the man who debased the Histories. Why?’

‘I supposed someone proved –’

‘The greatest people of the age were there when he told the Great Tale – Nadiril the Librarian, Yggur, Shand, Malien the Aachim. No one said a word against the tale for a hundred and thirty years, then suddenly the Council of Scrutators had it rewritten. Why, Tiaan?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘This war has destroyed everything we once held sacred.’

She squirmed on her chair. ‘I don’t like that kind of talk, Joe.’

He went back to the previous topic. ‘I don’t imagine the breeding factory would suit you very well.’ He gave her a sly grin. ‘Though it is a life of luxury and pleasure …’