Mainspring (32 page)
Authors: Jay Lake
The first of the correct people reached the mast where the manta-shaped airship was moored. Startling a pale bird that had been roosting there, they swarmed up the mast much as they had swarmed up the pillar in the central plazaâin groups and ladders and chains, some on the rungs, some on the chain, some grasping the edges of
the stone mast with panicked fingers and preternaturally agile feet.
the stone mast with panicked fingers and preternaturally agile feet.
Hethor stopped and turned to look behind him. Though the reeking breath of shadow had been on his neck a moment before, rivers of blood tugging at his ankles, the dock was clear. It looked peaceful and deserted as it had when they first spied the city from the breakwater by the lighthouse.
“No,” Hethor whispered. “You will not gull me with silence. You will not take me in the back.”
He picked up a dropped spear, the haft of some wood so dark as to be black in the twilight, a bronze point gleaming even now. As the last few of the correct people flowed around him, Hethor swept the spear back and forth, seeking to block whatever followed.
For a moment, despite his instincts, he felt foolish. Then the air seemed to thicken like a soup stock on the boil. He didn't see the shadow monsters, but he
felt
them in the prickle of his hair, in the sickness of his gut. The gears-within-gears sense he had of hearing the universe was whirring loudly now, at a manic pace that threatened to strip the cogs of reality around him.
felt
them in the prickle of his hair, in the sickness of his gut. The gears-within-gears sense he had of hearing the universe was whirring loudly now, at a manic pace that threatened to strip the cogs of reality around him.
Hethor stabbed out, and the bronze tip vanished into thin air. He jerked the spear back with a gout of thick, black blood flowing from an unseen wound. Switching his grip, Hethor swung the spear again, once more striking something. It was like dragging a knife on carpet. Still invisible, the monster was as wide as the docks on which it stood.
He could not fight such a great thing, but he was slowing it. Hethor glanced over his shoulder at the mast. Malgus was rising upward, in a slow, steady parody of his fatal fall, the last of the correct people pushing the body from below. The sight reminded Hethor of so many furry roaches swarming a vast stone rope.
No matter
, he thought. They were up, they were safeâsafe as they could be on the airship.
, he thought. They were up, they were safeâsafe as they could be on the airship.
He turned and stabbed again, the spear striking something so close Hethor could have reached out and touched it without a stretch. Time for him to go. Another hard stroke with the spear, this time leaving it hanging in the invisible monster, and he turned and raced to the mast.
Once his back was turned, the ravening horrors returned to his mind, his ears, the prickling skin on the back of his neck. “You can be killed,” shouted Hethor, “and I left a spear in you to prove it!”
Hand on rung, hand on the next rung. Climbing as he had within the gasbag of
Bassett
, mindful of the fatal dangers and moving as quickly as he could.
Bassett
, mindful of the fatal dangers and moving as quickly as he could.
Something grabbed his leg, a tentacle or claw. Hethor tugged, trapped; then several spears showered past him from above and the grip broke. He sprang up the ladder again until hairy little hands pulled him onto a small platform where ropes led to the airship.
“The great boat of air was empty of persons,” said one of the males. “Quickly, across the vines.”
Though they were a hundred feet above the stone dock, Hethor scrambled along two of the ropes like a monkey in the jungle. His fearful days on
Bassett
were behind him, while the possibility of falling from the lines was the least of his troubles here.
Bassett
were behind him, while the possibility of falling from the lines was the least of his troubles here.
Another set of hands pulled him over the rail. A last few correct people followed Hethor. Lying on the deck, he looked up at Arellya and gasped, “How many?”
“We have lost twenty-one. There are thirty-two left, plus you, me, and the dead navigator.” Though she did not seem angry, as a human would have, there was still a tension in her voice.
“Cast off.”
Realizing he had spoken in English, he said in the language of the correct people, “We must be free of the tree.”
Realizing he had spoken in English, he said in the language of the correct people, “We must be free of the tree.”
“Throw down the vines,” Arellya called out.
The manta-shaped airship bobbed, then began to turn into the wind. Hethor wondered who was at the steering,
then realized the unusual design of the gasbag was like the body of a birdâit would naturally face that way.
then realized the unusual design of the gasbag was like the body of a birdâit would naturally face that way.
Could they drift this night, while he and the correct people recovered from their run? Around him the little hairy men couched or sprawled on the deck, most tending wounds, all gasping for air, soaked with sweat.
His sense of fear was gone, too. Hethor pulled himself up to the rail and looked overboard for the city of sorcerers and shadows.
It was below him, drifting toward the stern of the airship. He could clearly see the circled walls, as the streets seemed to be glowing with the same fixed light as the lighthouse had. It was a vast eye scanning the night sky for sin and villainy.
Or stolen airships,
Hethor thought with a bitter smile.
Hethor thought with a bitter smile.
Unblinking, bright, armed with the terror of every childhood shadow, viewed from above, the eye of the city still seemed blind. It was a genius loci, Hethor realized, the power of a place that did not extend beyond its bounds.
He badly wanted to drink some water, and then to sleep deeply, with a need as strong as any he'd ever felt. But this night brought one other duty first.
“I will commend the navigator's soul to God now,” he said to Arellya when he found her on the foredeck. “It is mine to do, but you and any of the correct people are welcome to join me.”
Trembling with fatigue, she nodded. Another of the habits she'd learned from him.
“I ONCE
heard the headman of a boat of the air say that a great village of past times burned,” Hethor said to the assembled correct people. Wrapped in some hastily located silk from belowdecks, Simeon Malgus lay at his feet, three spears beneath him for a pall. Somehow “Rome burned” had sounded better in English.
heard the headman of a boat of the air say that a great village of past times burned,” Hethor said to the assembled correct people. Wrapped in some hastily located silk from belowdecks, Simeon Malgus lay at his feet, three spears beneath him for a pall. Somehow “Rome burned” had sounded better in English.
He went on.
“The past times of my people are full of fire and fear. Villages and villages of villages fought one another, the way monkeys will fight for scraps. This even though my people dwell among riches.
“The navigator was one of my people who heeded the word of more than one headman. Though all of us are free to follow different voices, it is thought poorly done to hear first this one then another by secret ways, pledging loyalty all the while. The navigator did these things.
“He was still a good man.
“The navigator treated me as you might treat a strange animal, or worse. He took my art from me, and destroyed it. He drove me away with shouts and threats, and avoided me thereafter.
“He was still good to me.
“At the last the navigator was set to be my guide against his will. He led me through a valley of danger, drove me over a cliff to fall forever through the sky, lost me and his own way, and came to death finally at my hands in a city of stones and magic.
“He still showed me the way.”
Hethor stopped, bile in his mouth and tears once again stinging his eyes. He wanted to shout, rail against Malgus and the poor judgment of the Jade Abbott in setting the man as Hethor's guide. But was either of them wrong? Was Hethor wrong?
Under the night sky and God's brassy regard, he did not want to utter maledictions against the soul of Simeon Malgus. His words were not lies, his eulogy not a fraud. Just a way of thinking.
“The navigator made my way possible. The navigator brought the Messenger to the correct people, though his methods seem strange to us. The navigator died with the name of God upon his lips.”
A lie
, thought Hethor, but the right lie.
, thought Hethor, but the right lie.
“With the navigator's name on my own lips,
Simeon Malgus
in the tongue that he and I share, I consign him back to God, who first created him.”
Simeon Malgus
in the tongue that he and I share, I consign him back to God, who first created him.”
Hethor nodded, and six correct people stepped forward, took the spear handles, and sent Malgus' body spinning into the blackness. Hethor stepped to the rail to study the starlit waters shimmering far below the airship. Though he watched a long time, and listened carefully, he never saw or heard a splash.
Finally he looked up at the orbital tracks gleaming like brass threads in the night sky. The music of Creation was still loud in his ears, though back to normal from the chattering chaos of the dockside monster.
“Thank you, Simeon Malgus,” Hethor told the stars.
He found a place on the deck to sleep, trusting luck and decent weather to keep the airship in the sky until he woke to consider what to do next. Arellya stayed far away from him that night.
CLOUDS TRAILED
themselves across the sky like regimented sheep marching to some distant war with the wolves. The Equatorial Wall loomed to the north, though it had already sunk noticeably toward the horizon since Hethor's last view of it in the great stone city. The moon's thread shone in the sky with Luna herself pale and blotchy amid the blue of the day. The sea below was patchy in colorâirregular zones of purple, gray, blue, and where they passed closer to shore, the green of an old Mason jar. At this altitude, perhaps a thousand feet, the air was fresh and fine, scented of salt and sunlight.
themselves across the sky like regimented sheep marching to some distant war with the wolves. The Equatorial Wall loomed to the north, though it had already sunk noticeably toward the horizon since Hethor's last view of it in the great stone city. The moon's thread shone in the sky with Luna herself pale and blotchy amid the blue of the day. The sea below was patchy in colorâirregular zones of purple, gray, blue, and where they passed closer to shore, the green of an old Mason jar. At this altitude, perhaps a thousand feet, the air was fresh and fine, scented of salt and sunlight.
All in all, it was a glorious day. Especially since no mute mages or toothy shadows stalked them.
Hethor stood at the stern of the stolen airship. A few of the young male correct people nearby watched him curiously. Since their escape the evening before, the ship had steered itself. As best as he could determine, their course had described a long loop out to sea during the night, and headed back toward shore with the dawn.
Which seemed to make some sense, given his basic understanding of meteorology.
The weather was good, the trim of the ship was stable,
and he was in no hurry to find new ways to drop himself out of the sky. Besides, even if he had known how to control the ship, Hethor had yet to set a course.
and he was in no hurry to find new ways to drop himself out of the sky. Besides, even if he had known how to control the ship, Hethor had yet to set a course.
Dark shapes swirled in the air farther out to sea. Whether they were gulls, albatrosses, or something larger and strange, he had no way to tell. Still, the distant fliers prompted Hethor to think on the archangel Gabriel and Hethor's duties to Heaven.
“I still know nothing of the Key Perilous,” he told his scattered onlookers, “even after all this time and trouble. But the Mainspring I could perhaps find.”
The Earth orbited on brass tracksâa ring gear of planetary dimensions. The planet had an axis of rotation. That meant that there had to be a spring coiled around that axis to drive the rotation. The axis, of course, would meet the surface at the poles.
Hethor knew very little of the pole of Northern Earth, and absolutely nothing of the Southern Pole, except for the presumption that it was icy as well. But he knew perfectly well where it lay. The coastline below him ran roughly southward. If he could find the tiller of this airship and drive it to his whim, he would head south as well, making for the ice that surely lay at the bottom of the world in frigid mirror to the top.
Which meant he had a course to set after all, Key Perilous or no. Perhaps there was another way to fulfill his quest.
With that thought, Hethor began to walk the deck. What was the motive force for this airship? Though the gasbag was shaped like a wing of sorts, there were no spars or sails. Nor did he see engine nacelles such as
Bassett
had employed with her compact yet productive steam power plants. He walked along the starboard rail, noting that the bag was much closer to the deck than
Bassett's
had been. There were struts rising every eight feet or so, multiple connections each lighter than the stout masts of his former ship, each carrying a smaller load.
Bassett
had employed with her compact yet productive steam power plants. He walked along the starboard rail, noting that the bag was much closer to the deck than
Bassett's
had been. There were struts rising every eight feet or so, multiple connections each lighter than the stout masts of his former ship, each carrying a smaller load.
This airship had a clearer deck as well. It was devoid
of the rope lockers, lines, and shrouds that had hung
Bassett
like a wood-bellied fighting ship of Admiral Nelson's fleet. More evidence, Hethor thought, that sails weren't simply stored away.
of the rope lockers, lines, and shrouds that had hung
Bassett
like a wood-bellied fighting ship of Admiral Nelson's fleet. More evidence, Hethor thought, that sails weren't simply stored away.
He reached the bow not much wiser. There he turned to head aftward again along the port side. By this time he trailed a whole parade of idle correct peopleânot jeering as the folk of his native New Haven would have done, nor questioning, just following. They were possessed of a wide-eyed curiosity that opened their small hairy faces so that his entourage resembled a mute choir of unfortunately hirsute children.
At midships, he stopped. There was a grumbling or hissing noise audible there, that he'd missed on his walk forward. Hethor leaned against the rail and stuck his head over the edge. The noise grew neither louder nor softer. He looked up along the strut nearest him and began inspecting closely for access to the gasbag.
There was a little section with separate, laced hems two struts aft of his position.
Hethor removed his belt and shoes. Unlike the access aboard
Bassett
, there was no ladder here. Rather he reached just over his head and unlaced a square of the gasbag material. It was not so different from the gutta-percha coated canvas of
Bassett's
gasbag. Hethor pulled it open to peer inside.
Bassett
, there was no ladder here. Rather he reached just over his head and unlaced a square of the gasbag material. It was not so different from the gutta-percha coated canvas of
Bassett's
gasbag. Hethor pulled it open to peer inside.
Apparently one simply swarmed along within to wherever it was one wanted to go. There was no rope ladder inside, nor any obvious means of access except by exercising the main force of his arms to lever upward. Hethor reached in, steeled himself, and began to pull up, when he suddenly found that he was floating.
Hethor glanced down to see a dozen pairs of hairy hands on his legs and feet, lifting and pushing him in.
“My thanks,” he told the correct people as they strained to loft him to his goal.
Inside, the gasbag stank of gutta-percha, canvas, and mold. The grumbling whisper was louder, almost a
whickering noise. The gasbag was laid out quite differently from
Bassett's.
Lightweight beams crossed the width of the ship, tying the vertical struts together, with more beams rising, like a very large, open-weave basket. Where
Bassett
had great huge cells filling portions of her bag, this airship had many small cells shaped like oversized bolsters set on end.
whickering noise. The gasbag was laid out quite differently from
Bassett's.
Lightweight beams crossed the width of the ship, tying the vertical struts together, with more beams rising, like a very large, open-weave basket. Where
Bassett
had great huge cells filling portions of her bag, this airship had many small cells shaped like oversized bolsters set on end.
A more intelligent design,
Hethor realized. This layout would economize on hydrogen and reduce the risk of fatality or sudden loss of altitude were one of the cells to rupture.
Hethor realized. This layout would economize on hydrogen and reduce the risk of fatality or sudden loss of altitude were one of the cells to rupture.
Picking his way along the narrow ribs and staves in nearly total darkness, Hethor followed his ears. He came to an odd shape as the source of the sounds. Careful exploration by touching revealed it to be a long cylinder wrapped in more of the gasbag's fabric, the concentration point for a maze of flexible pipes he had not noticed in the darkness.
An engine of sorts, Hethor realized, though what it was and how it ran was not readily apparent to him. There was certainly another one balancing it on the starboard side, and perhaps more fore and aft.
He only wished he understood the principles of its operation and function.
“Enough,” he told himself aloud, the soft-walled darkness swallowing his voice in an absolute absence of echoes. “Back to the deck.”
The faint gleam from the open access way guided his return to sunlight without particular mishap.
ARELLYA WAS
on the deck, having appeared from wherever she had hidden herself away the evening before. Hethor didn't know why she was avoiding him. At the sight of her he realized how much he had missed her in their night apart.
on the deck, having appeared from wherever she had hidden herself away the evening before. Hethor didn't know why she was avoiding him. At the sight of her he realized how much he had missed her in their night apart.
In New Haven,
he thought,
she would have been caged
as a monkey.
How was it that he had now come to see her as a woman?
he thought,
she would have been caged
as a monkey.
How was it that he had now come to see her as a woman?
No matter. Somehow, she did stir feelings in him that had been the subject of schoolboy gossip and a few blushing accidentsâDarby the drover with the hearse came to mind. But this was nothing he had before experienced to any full or logical conclusion. Or, perhaps, been permitted to experience.
“Greetings,” he stammered in the tongue of the correct people. Stammering was a human speech problem that they seemed to find tremendously amusing.
“We are in a wondrous place,” she said. “None of my people ever thought to fly. It would be a gift to die here.”
“Of course,” he said. Sometimes it was very hard to see the world she lived in, even though they stood right next to one another. Hethor cleared his throat. At the moment it was more important for her to see his world. “I need to understand what guides this boat of the air, or we may be thinking of the ground all too soon. Would you walk with me?”
She went with him, though today she did not loop her arm in his.
There was a little shack or locker between the waist of the ship and the stern. It was one of the few deck structures. Hethor had passed it on his walk forward without much consideration. Now that he realized in broad daylight how sparsely furnished the deck truly was, he was far more curious to see the locker's contents for himself.
About four feet high, with a base three feet square and an angled top, the locker seemed to be an affair of folding panels or shutters. Hethor was at a loss as to how to open them. Obviously, if one knew the secret, they would flex in some well-crafted fashion. He had the clear image of a square-petaled wooden flower in mind.
The mechanism, however, was not apparent.
Hethor tapped and pushed at the shutters, or panels, or
whatever they were, for a while. Nothing came free. His frustration began to mount even as the correct people chattered quietly amongst themselves. Hethor wondered where the axes were aboard this vessel.
whatever they were, for a while. Nothing came free. His frustration began to mount even as the correct people chattered quietly amongst themselves. Hethor wondered where the axes were aboard this vessel.
As he grunted and chuffed in his frustration, Arellya finally tugged Hethor's elbow. “Salwoo is a monkey-puzzler. Permit him to try this little hut of the boat.”
Hethor stepped away with a wordless nod. One of the correct people males scrambled over to the shuttered affair, began running his hands over it, barely touching the surface but never quite losing contact either. He circled as Hethor and the others watched, one or both hands always on the wood. After perhaps ten minutes of this, a time that was almost as frustrating to Hethor as his own lack of success, Salwoo pressed on two shutters at once, one on each side. He then jumped back as a clever series of springs and hinges flipped and folded the panels into a small box below a shelf. It looked like nothing so much as a podium or lectern.
Hethor was impressed. He bowed to Salwoo. “My thanks.”
The correct people all laughed at this, then with much chattering and waving of hands urged Hethor to the newly revealed station.
There was a dome or hemisphere set there, brass, with the shapes of land and sea etched on to it. A demiglobe. A bright gleam winked near the base of the domeâtheir current position?
Impressive as the folding box was, it was basically a cabinetmaker's trick. The brasswork map was something else entirely. Hethor could not conceive of how it had been crafted or made to work.
Still, the airship
had
come from a city of sorcerers and witches.
had
come from a city of sorcerers and witches.
A stick stood up from the lectern, perhaps a foot high. Several levers were set along the shaft. He tugged lightly on the stick.
The airship shuddered.
Hethor let go quickly, and the airship resumed its stable flight.
So this is where the mysterious engines are controlled from.
Presumably along with altitude, trim, and rudder. It even had its own map of the Southern Earth. He turned to Arellya. “I must work with this a while, which may cause the boat to spin or rock. Please, there is no cause for alarm among the correct people.”
Presumably along with altitude, trim, and rudder. It even had its own map of the Southern Earth. He turned to Arellya. “I must work with this a while, which may cause the boat to spin or rock. Please, there is no cause for alarm among the correct people.”
“Shall we stay away from the edges, then?”
A very practical question. He should have thought of it. “Yes, that would be well. Perhaps some below the floor, if there is any ease to be taken there. The rest may shelter in the middle up here.”
She herded her fighters into two groups, and dispatched them to their places of relative safety. Hethor noted that Salwoo stayed above, to watch the experiments with pointed interest and a certain pride of ownership.
Fair enough,
he thought. His own efforts would take longer, though.
he thought. His own efforts would take longer, though.
HE KNEW
little enough about the principles of flight. Even so, this airship was built to be operated by any man fresh off the docks. Over the course of several hours of cautious experimentation, Hethor found that not only could he direct the airship, but it followed a course once he had set it.
little enough about the principles of flight. Even so, this airship was built to be operated by any man fresh off the docks. Over the course of several hours of cautious experimentation, Hethor found that not only could he direct the airship, but it followed a course once he had set it.
The vessel was a marvel of engineering. He could not imagine any British or New England engineer even conceiving of this sort of self-operated machine, let alone dedicating such a great resource of intellectual and mechanical design to the use of casual passersby.
Gabriel's hand was once again visible to Hethor.
Though still lacking the skill to land the airship, he could certainly direct it. Hethor set it on a southward course and stepped to the stern rail. He wasn't prepared to
leave the command lectern completely abandoned, though perforce he must trust the unknown engineers who had made this thing.
leave the command lectern completely abandoned, though perforce he must trust the unknown engineers who had made this thing.
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