The Grand Design (53 page)

“Tell me more about this thing,” he said. “How does it work?”

“You don’t need to know that,” said Bovadin. “I want you focused on your work.”

Piper scowled, insulted. “I may not be a scientist, but I’m sure I can understand it.”

“I’m sure you can. But I don’t want you understanding it. The little girl pulls the angel down. That starts the device. That’s all you need to know.”

“What are the hoses for?” Piper pressed. “The fuel, right? They keep it cool, don’t they? And the fuel is under pressure, too. That’s why it’s made of metal. And that’s why you’re doing it in the winter.” He smiled at Bovadin. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re smarter than you look, admittedly. But do your job, toymaker. Don’t ask too many questions.”

“I’m only trying to figure this out,” Piper snapped back. “This is my home, my livelihood. I want to know what you’ve brought into it.”

The scientist padded up to Piper and glared at him.
“If we’re going to work together, you’ll have to do what I say. No questions. Understand?”

“No,” said Piper. He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s not my idea of working together. I want details about this thing. I want to know how it works.”

Bovadin laughed. “And what else do you want? I wonder. I see a plan in your eyes, toy man. Do you think you won’t be compensated for your work here? Let me put your mind at ease. Everyone who assists Biagio will be rewarded.”

“What?” spat Piper. The insult was like having cold water tossed in his face. “Do you think that’s why I’m doing this, little man?” He jabbed his finger at Bovadin’s nose. “You are wrong. I don’t care about Biagio or his Black Renaissance. I have bigger reasons for doing this.”

The midget shrugged, unimpressed. “Nevertheless, you will be rewarded.
If
you follow my instructions. I’ve set the timer to start the device an hour after the lever is moved. It’s up to you to do the rest.”

“Don’t worry,” said Piper. “It will be flawless. But what about the girl? She hasn’t come for the dollhouse yet.”

“She will, during the festival for the start of Kren. She’ll see your dollhouses in the window and she’ll ask the bishop to buy her one. Herrith will say yes. You will tell him you will build it.”

Piper nodded. “I understand. Just so she gets here on time.”

“Have faith,” said Bovadin. He turned his back on the toymaker and started out of the workshop. “All is going according to Biagio’s plan. Soon enough you’ll have whatever satisfaction you’re seeking.”

The four men who had come with Bovadin stood at attention when their master entered the storefront. Bovadin shooed them out the door. But before he followed them into the night, he gave Piper a final warning.

“Be swift with your work, toy man. Eestrii isn’t far away.”

“I’ll be ready,” Piper promised.

“I’ll be back before then, to help you get the device into the dollhouse. Don’t try to do it without me.”

“What? You’re not leaving the city?” Piper asked, surprised. Like Biagio, Bovadin was an outcast now.

“I have some friends who will hide me until Eestrii,” said Bovadin. “No one will know I’m in Nar. And you won’t tell anyone, will you, Piper?”

Bovadin didn’t wait for an answer, just shuffled off into the night. Piper watched the strange group pile into the wagon and the wagon disappear into the shadows of High Street. For a long time Piper stood in his doorway, shivering. He didn’t like Bovadin. He didn’t like Biagio, either. But the pair had given him something he hadn’t been able to acquire himself—the chance to strike at the church of Nar. Piper didn’t care about idealogy or revolutions. The man who sat on the Iron Throne was of no interest to him. This crusade he had joined held no rewards for him save vengeance.

R
ichius Vantran stood in the crow’s nest of the
Prince of Liss
, marveling at the view. With his hands wrapped tightly around the rail, he tilted his face into the wind and let the cold sun caress him. A ferocious breeze tore at the rigging and the collar of his thick naval coat, and his hair streamed back, snapping like a flag. Before him stretched the endless ocean, as vast as the sky, and in the distance a pod of whales breached and glistened in the sunlight, sending up watery geysers. Richius watched the spouts fire into the air, and for the first time since leaving Falindar let all the guilt of his actions melt away. Feeling daring, he let go of the railing and raised his hands into the air triumphantly, letting out a gleeful cry.

He felt bodiless on the crow’s nest, and the wind seemed to bear him up like a feather, until he could no longer feel the platform beneath his feet. He laughed joyously, and for a time forgot about the life and family he had left behind.

“Easy, boy!” Marus called from the deck far below. The first officer, who had coached Richius up the rigging, now stared up at his protégé with mild worry. “Put your hands on the rail, like I told you!”

Richius ignored the Lissen. He closed his eyes and let the sunlight twinkle on his eyelids, imagining himself a bird. Was this what life at sea was like? He wondered
now why he had feared the long journey, and why he had wasted so much of it in his cramped cabin. Nearly two weeks out of Lucel-Lor, the call of the sea had finally seized him.

“Marus, look at me!” he shouted. “I’m the great Commander Prakna!”

“All right, that’s enough!” called Marus.

Richius heard the annoyance in his voice and put his hands back on the rail. Thirty feet down, he knew Marus was scowling at him.

“Don’t worry,” he called. “I’m fine. This is amazing!”

Marus laughed. During the time they had shared a cabin, he had tried repeatedly to get Richius above deck. The crow’s nest, he had assured Richius, would change his opinion about the sea forever. Richius acknowledged his change in attitude by returning the Lissen’s grin. He was very cold but hardly felt it. All he knew was the roar of the wind and the vastness of the world. It had taken him long minutes to climb the rigging and master the sway of the ship, and he had thought more than once about backing down. But the reward of his climb was indisputable now. There was no land anywhere in sight, and no birds to hint at any. They were alone on the earth, in the company of giant whales, and though the Lissen flagship was mighty, she was like a piece of flotsam on the ocean. Her great sails groaned with wind, and her tall, wooden masts swayed, rocking the crow’s nest. Just above Richius’ head, the sea-serpent flag of the Hundred Isles snapped in the wind. The tails of his heavy coat twisted in the breeze, billowing through the railing. Richius drew the garment tighter around his body, checking the brass buttons with his fingers. With his unshaven beard and deep blue coat, he looked almost like one of the crew. He was beginning to feel like a crewman, too, and the sensation heartened him. There was work waiting for him in Liss. He wouldn’t be an outcast.

The
Prince of Liss
pitched starboard as a wave crashed into her side. Richius held fast to the railing and watched the earth tilt sideways. He laughed, loving the ride. It was like breaking a wild mustang. It was like he was home again, in Aramoor, where only small things mattered. He reveled in the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last.

“Richius,” Marus cried. “That’s enough. Come down now!”

Richius waved to the man and started out of the crow’s nest, carefully shimmying down the stout rope ladder. The wind buffeted him, making him hold on tightly and move with sureness. He glanced down at the far below deck. Marus was pantomiming his climb like a worried father.

“I’m all right,” Richius assured him.

A crowd of sailors had gathered around Marus and were cheering Richius down. They laughed and applauded when he finally reached the deck. Marus let loose a relieved sigh and slapped Richius’ shoulder hard.

“Good boy!” he declared heartily. “You’ve lost your virginity!”

The sailors all laughed and assailed Richius with good-natured punches. Tomroy and Pips, the two other officers Richius shared his cabin with, bent in mock bows. They were lieutenants, and younger than Marus. No older than himself, Richius guessed. But they were good company and gracious about sharing their meager living space. Like Marus, they had welcomed him. And, like Marus, they had bombarded him with questions about Nar and Lucel-Lor and his battles against the Empire. Richius had been pleased to regale them. It was the only payment he could offer in return for their hospitality.

“I wish Prakna had seen you,” Tomroy remarked. “He would have been amazed.”

“He would have had a heart-attack and dropped
dead,” countered Pips. “We’re supposed to be taking care of him.”

“Aye,” Marus added with a grin. “Prakna would have been angry. Ah, but it did the boy good, I can tell.” The sailor reached out and pinched Richius’ cheek. “Look at that face. Nice and ruddy, like the rest of us!”

More laughter from the crew. Richius smoothed down his wind-blown coat, then buried his hands in his pockets to warm them. The coat had been one of Marus’ own, a necessity in so cold a climate. Though they were heading south, winter was still very real in Liss.

“That was wonderful,” Richius said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I could see for miles! It was like being in a Naren tower, only better. No smoke, no buildings blocking the view. Lord, it was like I was a gull.”

“Yes,” said Marus dryly. “I thought for a moment you might indeed take flight. Don’t ever take your hands off the railing again, Richius. That was very stupid.”

“Leave the man alone,” Tomroy said. “It was his first time. I think he did well. Maybe we’ll make you a lookout, Richius. What do you say?”

“I say no,” replied Richius. “Too damn cold.”

“But you won’t hide in the cabin anymore, will you?” asked Pips.

“The sea’s part of you more than it is me,” Richius observed. “But yes, it was great.”

The officers all gave each other “I told you so” looks, proud that they had gotten Richius into the masts. It was true what Richius said—the sea really was part of them. He was learning that quickly. The sea was as much a part of a Lissen as tall pine trees or horses were to a man from Aramoor. They respected the sea and in return the sea respected them, and in some odd way they had a magic over the ocean, could almost bend it to their will. They were a strange and
fierce race, and their mettle made him yearn to see their homeland.

“I want to go below, warm up a bit,” Richius told them. There was a chorus of groans, to which he quickly replied, “Stop now, just stop. I want to get something warm to drink. Anyone coming?”

“Aye, boy, I’ll come with you,” said Marus. “Let these other rats get back to work. Tomroy, check the stunsails. The third looks loose to me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tomroy, returning to protocol. He and the others dispersed to their stations with practiced speed. Marus put an arm around Richius and steered him to a gangway.

“Let’s get to the galley before your nose starts leaking icicles,” he said, taking the lead.

Richius followed him through the gangway and below deck, then down one more level until they reached the deck where the galley was situated in the rear of the ship. It was dark and narrow in the hall, and the walls wailed with the blows of the waves. The oiled wood glowed in the meager light from the thin, vertical portholes. Richius wobbled as he moved, still too green to walk with confidence. He had already banged his head a dozen times, and the welts were starting to show. When they reached the galley, he grabbed hold of the round doorway and pulled himself inside.

The galley was empty, a blessing since the room was so small. Spartan benches lined the walls, their wood worn smooth by a thousand backsides, and long, flat tables filled most of the space, their tops stained and pitted. In the corner of the galley was a small work area, dominated by an iron stove lined with rocks and a few battered pots and pans. Some copper tableware sat in a crate beside the stove, the only utensils available to the crew. There was, however, a kettle of steaming liquid bolted to the stove. The lid of the kettle was held securely by wire fasteners, and holes had been drilled into it to let the steam escape. Anyone with an
appetite could come down and take a dip of the soup. It was the only food the crew could eat as much as they cared to, for it wasn’t rationed like the bread and meat. Bowen, the ship’s cook, always kept a kettle of it at the ready. It was thin and mostly flavorless, but the smell of it enticed Richius across the room anyway. He rattled through the tableware for two bowls and spoons while Marus undid the kettle’s lid and with the community dipper drew out two hot bowls-full. After gingerly replacing the lid, the two men slid onto a bench and savored their meal. Richius rubbed his hands together over the steam. The smell of the soup and the warmth of the coal stove immediately drained the chill from his body. Marus, however, made no pretense at patience. He dug his spoon into the soup, fished out the biggest hunk of potato, and jammed it into his mouth.

“You did a good job topside,” he said as he slurped. “I’m proud of you. We’ll make a sailor of you yet, Richius.”