The Order War (49 page)

At the sound of the horse entering the yard, Justen set down the model of the balloon and peered through the door, wondering if Ryltar had already sent someone after him. He took a deep breath as he watched Altara swing out of the saddle and tie the bay to the stone hitching post by the stable.

He walked out through the light rain. “Greetings!”

Altara brushed her short hair back and shook the water off her hand. “I can see you’ve been busy. Got anywhere dry? I’m on the way back from the Black Holding…again.”

“Let me just check something.” Justen walked back to the shed and motioned for Altara to enter. “What are you doing here?”

“Seeing what you’re doing.” Altara glanced into the workroom that had been a storage shed. “Also, telling you that you had better do it fairly soon. The so-honorable Counselor Ryltar has begun to tell people that you are mad and that you should be confined. I had to elaborate on your rest cure. And I did point out that the iron deordering you had done, order-mad or not, had saved us nearly a dozen golds since spring. Jenna and Claris were impressed, but Ryltar just frowned and said that it showed how dangerous you are.” The chief engineer laughed, off-key. “Of course, I don’t see how they could hold you unless they shackled you in cold iron. But that isn’t the point.”

“No. It wouldn’t be. I’d have to leave Recluce, which is what he wants.”
Not that I don’t want to anyway—just not until I’m ready
. “Has Gunnar told you what he found out about Ryltar?”

“You look like the demons’ hell. Worse than when you were working night and day in Sarronnyn, and at least as driven.” Altara shook her head. “And, no, Gunnar hasn’t said anything about Ryltar.” She glanced toward the models on the bench. “What are those?”

“Balloons. You put hot air in them and they rise. At least they would if I could get the bags light enough.”

“Why can’t you? But what good are they? You couldn’t steer one anyway, not like a ship.”

“Maybe I could put an engine in it with an air screw like a ship’s screw…but that would be a long time away. I can’t even get these to rise more than a few cubits.”

Altara waited.

“It’s the fabric. Linen’s too…It leaks too much unless I coat it with wax, and it’s too heavy then. Paper’s too weak.” Justen looked at the models on the bench. “I’m trying to get some silksheen from Naclos, but it hasn’t arrived, and it may not.”

Altara frowned. “I think it has. It must have. That was one of the things Jenna mentioned—that you had received a huge shipment of fancy cloth, and Ryltar said that showed how crazy you are. He wanted to know where you got the funds, because the cloth arrived with an invoice declaring it was prepaid.”

“Great. How do I get it without proving that I’ve gone crazy? And why didn’t Hoslid let me know?”

“I think Ryltar prevailed upon him. His
Marshalle—
Hoslid’s—was lost in the Western Ocean with a full cargo, and he borrowed heavily from Ryltar.”

Justen wiped his forehead. “I just love getting such wonderful news. I still don’t know how I can get the cloth if Hoslid thinks he’ll be upsetting the Council by releasing it. Do I go in there and demand it?”

“You could. He’d have to give it to you.”

“And that would give Ryltar more fuel for his rumormongering, you think?”

“Probably.”

“You know what he’s been up to?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Altara grinned wryly. “But if you want to tell me, it can’t be good.”

“We can’t prove it, not with hard evidence, but he’s gotten golds from Candar—a lot—for past services, and he’s accepting smuggled gems from Hamor.”

“Fairhaven, you think? How could he?”

“He’s never felt right to me.” Justen laughed bitterly. “Honest corruption isn’t quite chaotic. It feels different, and…without exile any more…”

“You really think he would have been exiled under the old system?”

“Probably not. Coins find a way around any system. Let’s get you something to eat and drink. Can you stay tonight?” Justen set the models in their brackets and opened the door, looking at the increasingly heavy rain.

“I don’t think I’d better. I can make Fallroth tonight, and that would get me back to Nylan by mid-morning.”

The two engineers hurried across the yard, dodging around the growing puddles and up onto the covered porch, where they scraped their boots and wiped them clean.

“You had an idea about my silksheen cloth?” Justen asked.

“Give me your authorization and I’ll claim that we’re testing the cloth for sails for the merchant fleet. Say that you ordered it because you could get it cheaper.”

“Ryltar will know that’s not true.”

“So? He won’t be able to claim it publicly. Besides, Hoslid couldn’t refuse the Brotherhood, and Ryltar’s at the Black Holding right now. That means four days before he finds out, and maybe another four before he could send any instructions.”

Justen nodded. “Let’s see what we’ve got here for you to eat.”

“Can I come? You put the second seat in.” Elisabet stood beside Justen as he removed one of the wheel blocks from the land engine.

High, thin clouds kept the midsummer day from being too oppressively hot, but Justen felt sweaty all over as he slowly walked around the craft, letting his senses roam over the piping, assemblies, and drive shafts.

The land engine still looked like a mass of struts and bars assembled around a small firebox, a boiler, and a steam engine, but many of the armor plates that would eventually cover the framework had been forged—some of them almost to parchment thinness. Justen did not intend to put any plating in place until the steam and drive systems worked perfectly, since repairs would require removal of the plating.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m still not sure that things will work right, and I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

“Justen, if nothing bad happened before, how could it happen now?”

“This time, we—”

“We? You mean I can come?”

“No. I meant that…oh, you know what I meant. You’re just trying to take advantage of me when I’m thinking about other things.”

“It’s the only time I can take advantage of you. Besides, Mother said you did a good job.”

“A good job isn’t a safe job.” Justen reflected on his order-tipped arrows—definitely good engineering, but not safe for anyone involved. The same had been true of his efforts with cannon powder. He shook his head, wondering how he always seemed to get involved with destruction. Was it proof of what the ancient had said about too much order being no different from too much chaos?

He took a deep breath and opened the firebox to ease in another shovelful of coal. Above him, the steam valve began to whistle faintly, purging excess air from the system.

“Justen…”

“No. Once I
know
it’s safe, then you can come.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now go back over by the house or into the smithy.”

“All right.” Elisabet walked across the yard and up the steps to the covered porch, brushing away a fly as she walked.

Whhheeee…
Justen closed the steam-relief valve and walked around to the driver’s seat, where he checked the tiller again to ensure that it moved freely and that the front wheels moved with it. Then he eased the throttle open, slowly, testing to see how the simplified direct steam feed worked.

The land engine rumbled forward slowly, the wider wheels offering more stability than those of the first trial an eight-day earlier.

Elisabet watched from the porch as Justen drove past, concentrating on keeping the land engine in the center of the lane.

At the end of the lane, he turned the tiller, steering the craft onto the road and away from Wandernaught itself. He studied the road ahead, but saw no horses or carts, not that he would expect any at midday.

Then he eased open the throttle and watched as the turbine began to whine and the wheels began to turn more quickly. The craft moved from the speed of a walk to a slow run to the quick trot of a horse.

Justen scanned the engine and the steam and water lines; everything remained tight. The road ahead was still clear and flat. He edged the throttle up farther, and the seat began to bounce him with each rough spot in the road.

After throttling back, he looked for a wide place in the road where he could turn. After turning, he opened the throttle again, slowing only when he neared the house.

He crept the land engine up the lane and into the yard, where he began to shut down the steam system.

“You were going so fast!” Elisabet stood less than a cubit from the machine as Justen climbed out and twisted open the steam-spill valve.

“I think it could go faster if I could put some springs under the driver’s seat. It’s hard to control it when you’re being bounced around.”

“Faster? You’d have to gallop to go faster.”

“That’s the idea.”

“It is?”

“You don’t want horses…” Justen broke off. “Never mind.” He studied the return lines and then let his senses drift across the drive-shaft connections; they were hotter than he would have liked. Did he need more grease on them?

“How did it go this time?” Cirlin inspected the land engine from the other side.

“The steam system was perfect. I’m still worried about the power train. It heats up too quickly, even with all the black iron.” Justen pulled at his chin, then wiped his forehead with his forearm.

“Mother! He was traveling almost as fast as a cantering horse.”

Cirlin raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Elisabet nodded.

“Then, dear, I think we should keep that to ourselves. And please don’t tell Silinna. I know what good friends you and she are, but—”

“Oh, she wouldn’t tell.”

“Who told about the time you fell in the applesauce? When you didn’t want Lyndner to know?”

“Mother!”

“Applesauce?” asked Justen innocently. “Lyndner? Is that Shrezsan’s little brother?”

“He’s not exactly little any longer,” commented Cirlin dryly. “But I don’t think we should be gossiping to all Recluce about your land engine.”

“Probably not. I still haven’t worked out the other half of what I need.”

“What is that?” asked Elisabet brightly. “Is it the stuff with the balloons and the lenses?”

“That really shouldn’t go outside the family, either, dear.”

“Oh, that I already knew. I wouldn’t have thought about telling Silinna that. It’s real wizardry, and you don’t tell about that.”

Cirlin and Justen exchanged glances. Cirlin’s lips quirked, and Justen shook his head.

“You’re laughing at me—both of you!”

“No…” choked Justen. “Just at the way you said that. I’m very glad you understand about wizardry. But the land engine’s wizardry, too.”

“If you say so.” Elisabet’s eyes were very round and purposefully innocent.

“Try that look on Lyndner,” suggested Justen.

“Justen! You’re spoiling it.”

“Isn’t that what big brothers are for?”

“Isn’t it about time for you to turn in?” asked Gunnar, leaning back in the kitchen chair.

“I don’t want to go to bed,” insisted Elisabet. Her lower lip trembled. “I’m not some…some child.”

Horas adjusted the lamp, bringing a brighter glow to the kitchen table. “Unlike some of you, I have trouble seeing in
the dark.” He turned to Elisabet. “I understand, Elisabet, but it is later than usual, and you are still a growing young girl.”

“I am a young woman, and I shouldn’t have to be packed off to bed like a little girl.”

Gunnar’s eyes closed. Justen frowned, but said nothing.

“It is late, dear,” added Cirlin.

“I’m not tired…” insisted Elisabet, trying to stifle a yawn. “…really…not…”

Justen forced his expression into one of concern and stood. “You’re sleepy. I can tell that. I’ll walk down the hall with you.” He offered his arm to his sister.

“All right. I don’t know why I’m so…sleepy…” Elisabet trudged beside her brother.

Once they were around the corner and almost to her room, Justen lifted the healing sleep-daze that Gunnar had dropped on Elisabet.

“That…Oh…” hissed Elisabet, struggling against Justen’s grip on her arm.

Justen put his finger to her mouth. “I know you’re tired,” he said loudly. Then he added quietly, “If you want to listen on the breeze, fine. Just keep it to yourself, and talk to me before you talk to anyone else. Especially to Silinna or Lyndner.”

“But, Justen…All right…”

Justen put his hand over her mouth.

“You’ll feel better in the morning,” he added loudly, removing his hand.

Elisabet winked and lay down on her bed, offering a loud and counterfeit yawn, her eyes bright in the darkness. She blew Justen a kiss.

Justen walked quietly back to the kitchen, ignoring Gunnar’s frown. “She’ll stay in bed. But I really don’t like that, Gunnar. It’s a form of force.”

“She would have argued all night.”

Justen shrugged. “We did.”

“All right.”

“What did you want to talk about?” asked Cirlin. “That you didn’t want her to hear?”

Gunnar took a sip of redberry and cleared his throat.
“Ryltar already wants to send the marines after Justen, according to Altara. Jenna—she’s the youngest Counselor—is holding him off, but he’s working on old Claris. How soon before you can get your stuff together?” Gunnar turned to his brother.

“I need more time. I still haven’t got that fabric from Naclos. Altara thought she could break it loose from Hoslid without letting Ryltar know, but I’ll need time to get it stitched together. The land engine’s ready except for the plating, and I’ve got a little oil stove that I can use for the balloon. And the lenses…grinding the fire-eyes takes a while. It’s slow.” Justen shrugged. “They should work, but I really don’t know if they will. It’s all theory.”

“You’ve proved rather adept at converting theory to practice.” Cirlin laughed softly.

“What else?” asked Gunnar.

“I need you, and we need a good marine to handle weapons. I think I know who, but you should talk to him.” Justen stood and walked to the cooler, extracting the pitcher of ale. He filled his mug.

“Who’s that? And why me?”

“Martan. He’s the one whose squad still uses the old armory.” Justen took a sip from the almost overflowing mug before continuing. “Because you work in Nylan with Turmin a lot. If I go to Nylan, Ryltar will have three people following me.” The engineer slipped back into his chair and set the mug on the table in front of him. He reached toward one of the two remaining slices of berry bread, then thought better of it and put his arms on the table.

“Why would you trust Martan?”

“He’s already asked to go, and he feels ordered and sound, and he’s Hyntal’s cousin. And we need a ship.”

“You’re crazy! You think Hyntal would act as a transport for your crazy adventure?”

“Why not?” Justen smiled and sipped from the mug. “If he’s going to patrol the Gulf, why couldn’t he drop us off?”

“The Council wouldn’t let him,” Gunnar pointed out.

“That assumes they would know. Why would they have to know?” asked Justen.

The other three looked at him.

“Look,” he explained. “The
Llyse
comes into port and picks up some odd equipment from the engineers and steams off. That happens sometimes anyway. Who would think about telling the Council?”

Cirlin shook her head. “What about later?”

“If we don’t spell it out, Hyntal can honestly claim that he thought we were representing the Brotherhood.”

“That’s not exactly honest.”

“No, it’s not. But I haven’t figured out any truthful way to lie. So I’d rather not make any statements one way or the other. Just tell Hyntal we have some equipment that needs to be transported to Candar—some special equipment designed by one of the more inventive engineers. That much is true.”

“Sometimes the most obvious is the best.” Horas grinned.

Justen looked at Gunnar. “You need to find out when Martan’s squad is scheduled for duty on the
Llyse
. He’ll know. Any time more than four eight-days from now ought to work…I hope.” He swallowed the rest of the ale in a single gulp.

“What about us? How can we help?” asked Cirlin.

“I’ll need at least a hundred stone of coal, in small chunks, and a lot of preserved supplies. Then I’ll need two copper poles, each about three cubits long. That’s in case the fire-eyes don’t work.”

Gunnar swallowed. “That’s dangerous, Justen.”

“Let’s hope the fire-eyes work, then,” the younger brother answered with a brief smile. “And I’ll need to forge probably a gross of the order-tipped arrows.” A sharp jolt passed through his skull at the thought of the arrows, and he wondered if he could ever think of them without pain.