The Iron Ship (42 page)

“More promises. Castles are not built on promises, Trassan, they need firmer foundations. We do have other family. Have you tried Aunt Cassonaepia?”

“That old troll? No, I hadn’t thought to. Do you really think I should?”

“She’s rich,” said Katriona.

“Uncle Arvell is rich. It is
his
money, the trouble is getting it out of him while she stands watch. She’s got her claws into every inch of the poor man.”

“I can never truly believe he and father are cousins. Such difference in character. He is weak.”

“I’ll never get a penny out of them,” said Trassan.

“Don’t ask her, get it from Arvell.

“That, sister, contradicts what you have just said.”

“It does not. Uncle Arvell has one area in his life where he still exerts some will. He will do anything for cousin Ilona. And if you get cousin Ilona to back you, then you will have the way to Uncle Arvell’s backing.”

Trassan grinned. “You are far too sneaky, sis.”

“You are not aware of the half of my cunning,” she said archly. “So, assuming you can secure monies from our uncle, then Mothrocksey will do your work. Shall we say one hundred thousand?”

Trassan’s mouth hung open. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly. You know it is a fair price.”

“It’s daylight robbery.”

“Manufacturing an experimental, and provenly dangerous, new technology, testing it, shipping it to your shipyard unseen, and keeping it out of the papers? You are asking a lot. It is a good price. I will require the first quarter as a downpayment, the rest over the following sixteen months.”

“Twenty months.”

“Very well, seeing as you are family. But I want guarantees it will be paid in full whether you return or not.” She stood and extended her hand. Trassan took it reluctantly.

“That is cold, sister.”

“You have your adventure, brother. I have my own affairs to think of.”

Trassan pulled a face. “Very well. A deal. I only do not argue further as I know you far too well,” he said. “You know, at your wedding, father told me that your marriage to Demion was the foundation of a great alliance. I imagine this is not what he had in mind.”

“Certainly not. But he was right. We shall both of us see this through and emerge stronger because we have worked together.”

“And triumph. Such is the Kressind way,” said Trassan.

“Gods’ blessing to that. Now,” she said, “I would tell you to visit my accountants in order to secure a draft contract, but I am afraid I was forced to terminate their employment. The new staff begins next Twinday. I am sure you can wait until then for the paperwork.”

“Really, I can’t.”

“We will start immediately, don’t fret brother. If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to be getting on with.”

She looked meaningfully at the piles of paper on her desk.

Trassan sighed. “Me too. See you next Twinday then.”

“Indeed. And Trassan?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck with the inquiry.”

A
FTER THREE MONTHS
as the head of the Mothrocksey mill, Katriona’s office fit her better. A space can be worn in like good clothes, shaping itself to the moods and character of the occupant. So it was with her. She sat behind her desk and no longer felt an imposter. She had changed her manner of clothing, adopting simpler skirts of broader cut with only one petticoat beneath. Her blouses remained stark white, but she had taken to wearing sleeve protectors and a foundryman’s apron, while her outer clothes she had made in duller colours that did not show the mill’s dirt. She was no longer discomfited by the looks of the male employees of the Morthrocksey Mill, and if they persisted in mocking her, sometimes crudely, behind her back, they also performed whatever task she ordered with more or less complete obedience.

Katriona felt in charge, and was given respect. But her authority, so newly won, was undergoing its first great challenge.

In front of her desk stood Tyn Lydar and two of her deputies. All had their hats off, Lydar and a second female exposing the colourful scarves they wore about their hair. They stared at her with their large brown eyes.

“What do you mean, you will not do it?”

Tyn Lydar was abashed, but insistent. “It is dangerous work, Mistress Kat. The binding of glimmer, iron and silver and magic. Your brother has learned this to his cost. This is of the old ways. He should not take this road.”

“That is exactly why he came to us. You are the masters of watered iron among your kind.”

“We are, we are. But we do not sell our gifts lightly. The greater gifts cost more in Tyn magic and in Tyn blood than we receive from your kindnesses, begging your pardon, Goodlady Kat. Those are not coins to be spent.”

“Surely, this work is covered by the agreement your kind made with Lord Morthrock?”

“Nine hundred years have gone since King Brannon, seven hundred since Master Demion’s forefather came to us as lord and master,” said Tyn Lydar. “My people, in terrible times, made dealings that we have all regretted. But this industry you ask for was not among them. We will not do it.”

Katriona stared at her in displeasure. She laid her hands flat upon the desk, as if she expected to be punished by her schoolmistress. “You are insistent?”

“You can threaten us if you will, but there is no geas upon us to perform this duty,” said Lydar’s male deputy, Tyn Lorl. “You have no power to make us.”

“Have I not?”

“No, mistress,” said the other female. Katriona did not know her name. She had a good idea of who the people were who worked in her factories. Fewer in number than the humans, the amount of Tyn remained the same, but the individuals seemed to change, which was impossible.

“Tyn Elly,” offered the second Tyn. She smiled kindly, her thick skin crinkling around her eyes. Elly was as old and wrinkled as Tyn Lydar.

“Then let us negotiate,” said Katriona.

The Tyn looked at each other.

“Your meaning, Kat?” said Tyn Lydar.

“You know what I mean, Tyn Lydar! You have lived among my kind for too long to profess ignorance of commerce. There must be something you want. Everyone wants something. What I mean is, what payment will you take for the work? You have the ability, and I have the means to pay you. Let us look at this outside of your binding. What do you need? That is my question. Or do you need it in plainer language than even that?”

The Tyn spoke to one another in their own language. Hesitantly at first, then with increasing animation. Kat listened, fascinated. She had never heard so much of their tongue. The Tyn workers on the factory floor used it, but switched always to Karsan when they caught sight of any non-Tyn. She had heard a few phrases several times, a handful of words discernible against the racket of the machines. Their meaning remained mysterious.

In the quiet of her office, she heard it clearly. A bubbling noise, a stream in its bed, interspersed with stony clacks like pebbles knocking one another underwater. Their mouths moved oddly, lips far more mobile than when they spoke Karsarin; pursing far out from their teeth and drawing back, corners stretching for their ears.

They stopped. Katriona regretted the cessation of the sound. There was a mesmeric quality to it, redolent of pleasant summer days in quiet meadows.

“We might do this, Mistress Kat,” said Tyn Lydar cautiously.

“You might?”

All three of them nodded solemnly.

“But first we must show you something,” said Tyn Lorl.

“What would that be?” She looked from one Tyn to the other. Such was their size that many other humans regarded them only as children, others were terrified of them, believing every scrap of folklore about them to be true. She saw them neither as bogies or children. They were more than both, less than either. Karsa had more settled Tyn than any other of the lands. How had she not noticed these peculiarities of theirs before?

Inattention, she thought. The inattention of the rich.

“We wish to show you where we live,” said Tyn Lydar.

Katriona made a sharp high noise of surprise. “Live? If that is all it will take to convince you to do this work, then I will gladly oblige.”

“Then we shall go now,” said Tyn Lydar.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Tyn Town

T
YN
L
YDAR LED
Katriona through the mill. They crossed over the Morthrocksey’s stone cut and headed around the back of the foundries. Their furnaces were cold, and snow wafted softly around them. The other two Tyn peeled away without a word, going back to their jobs. Katriona was left alone with Tyn Lydar.

They turned onto a narrow street around the back of the trio of warehouses. The complex wall came into view at the end of the street, pierced by the railway gate. They passed through the warehouses to the rail yard. There were three platforms. At one a steam engine huffed to itself as the trucks it pulled were unloaded. Piles of iron ore, glimmer sand and coal lined the far side of the tracks in timber stalls.

Tyn Lydar watched the train mournfully, and began to speak. “I remember when there were nothing but meadows here. You could see all the way to the cliff tops, and on stormy days when the Great Tide was high, you could hear the surf pound upon the stone. Up yonder where the cloth mills are there were moors, with thick brown heather and purple flowers and birds that sprang shrieking up, up, up when you came near them. Woods and meadows around the waters of the land. The sea seemed not so far away then, now it is a lifetime’s walk. There is only brick, and smoke, and kado, kado, kado, everywhere. This was an island in the river, before your kind straightened the waters and imprisoned them in a jacket of stone. Now what is it? This place. Time was long and the days the same, then your kind came, and everything changed in a blink of an eye. You kado brought your dead with you. We were forced to deal with King Brannon. What else could we do? Fade away or take the iron, that was our choice. We chose iron. We chose form. We chose slavery over dissipation.”

They approached a square, windowless building of grey brick. There were no chimneys on it, although like all the mill buildings the many-ridged rooftop was inset with windows on the straighter side of each peak to let light in. This part of the complex seemed ill-kempt. Shattered bits of ore and stone pierced by struggling weeds made the ground uneven. Piles of rubbish, edges fluttering in the breeze, collected themselves into corners. There was a trio of abandoned static engines of an older type, their skeletons bright with rust, gaping holes where useful parts had been scavenged. A second, later sort was by them, this covered over with a massive oilcloth. Perhaps someone had intended to salvage it, or install it elsewhere. Whatever their plans had been, they had been unfulfilled. The oil cloth was torn, the warp and weft visible in the rips where it had rotted through. All over it was greened with the life of small things.

“In summer time thick with grass and flowers, in winter it flooded with silver water. Fish slept there, and Tyn danced on the ice. Now look, river tamed, marshes drained and filled with broken bones of the Earth. Kat will look and Kat will see. We live among your filth.” She made an odd mumbling hum in her throat. “This is our home, this building,” she admonished Katriona. She had never asked where the Tyn had lived.

A door, bright paint peeling from it, swung open. It was the only opening in the outside of the building Katriona could see. Tyn Lydar led her into a corridor once painted eggshell blue, but now faded and spotted with damp. The floor was wet. Another door opened at the far end. Kat stepped through.

The inside of the building was hollow. A courtyard, lit dimly by the day shining through dirty glass. The walls were full of cell-like accommodation, each one looking out over the courtyard inside. Tyn leaned on railings around the edge, puffing pipes, or simply staring. A few mumbled to themselves, or ground their teeth. Half of them left their positions when they saw Katriona, headed into their quarters, shutting doors quietly behind them.

“They are not happy to see kado here,” said Tyn Lydar. “They think I wrong to show you.”

Katriona covered her mouth with her hand. Filling most of the courtyard was a stone, tall and proud, a finger of rock that went halfway up to the roof. Its base was at least five yards around. Symbols that were so old and worn they looked grown rather than carved covered its surface.

“This is the home of the Morthrocksey Tyn,” said Tyn Lydar. “Our home in freedom for long centuries, our prison for these last nine.”

“What... what is that?”

“Our heart stone.”

“Do all Tyn clans have such?”

“All have hearts,” said Tyn Lydar. “Not all have stones.”

“I did not know it was here.”

“No one remembers. We show few. We remove the memory from those who see. Some cannot see it, even if we show. This sight is not for everyone.” Tyn Lydar took Katriona’s hand and pulled her gently into the square. There were few Tyn in the square; most were working, of course. There was a small, dead tree on the other side of the rock, with smooth skin that appeared to lack bark. It had few leaves, all curled and brown and at the top of the crown. Now she came closer, the symbols in the stone had a faint glow to them, a residue of glimmer.

“Is the tree dead?” she asked.

“Yes. And no,” said Tyn Lydar. “Is the stone dead? Are you alive? It is there. We are here. Such things as dead or alive do not matter to Tyn like they matter to kado. When your people came to the Earth, we retreated to the islands. But after the bad times you spread. You are vigorous, and bear many young. In time you came here too, our last place. Now it is yours too. This stone and this tree is not for you, it is for us, one of the last of all things that is ours and not yours, nor will it be so. It is a great thing I do by allowing you to see it at all. The men who built this place around the stone forgot. No living kado has seen it for a long time.”

“So why are you showing me this?”

“You say it is time to make a new bargain,” said Tyn Lydar. “This is not a good place. We want our soil, we want our sun, we want our water back. We cannot leave this place. Even before Brannan. Morthrocksey Tyn are Morthrocksey, and Morthrocksey is the Tyn. We are not fools, it can never be as it was. But it can be better. Better for us. If you give us these things, then we will work harder for you. You have a good heart. I can see it.” She reached up her wrinkled hand and rested it lightly below Katriona’s breast.