Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles (6 page)

Cheobawn laughed and left her solitary study to join them.

Alain, not content with being the pusher, bent and tinkered with the workings of the legs on another one of the walkers and then jumped in and leaned forward. The walker teetered precariously, then took a few quick steps to compensate for the shift in its center of gravity. Connor whooped in delight and insisted he do the same to his cart. Soon, all five carts were modified. It took a little bit of practice to get the walkers to run without tipping over. In a matter of minutes they taught themselves how to balance over the legs while the cart scrambled to right itself. Soon, all five carts were locked in a pitched battle of Last Man Standing. The other Packs, attracted by the noise, gathered to cheer them on.

Tam, not happy with the linear maneuverability, shifted his weight over one set of legs and twisted his body, forcing the walker to pivot around the weighted set of legs. Wood creaked ominously, but the walker held together as it turned and ran in a new direction. The others soon mimicked him, though their lighter weight made it harder.

Cheobawn grew frustrated and abandoned her walker, leaping across to Tam’s. She clambered up his back and onto his shoulders with a bean pole in hand. The cart teetered precariously. Moving became less of a walk and more like a controlled fall. They were now faster than any other cart on the battlefield. Noting this, Connor tried joining Alain in his walker, but they had a harder time coordinating the twisting turn. Tam crashed into them just as Alain’s cart teetered on one set of legs.

With a loud crack, Alain’s cart collapsed, sending the boys tumbling, the leg mechanism in shambles. Tam’s cart caught its feet in the rubble and teetered. Cheobawn felt Tam falling beneath her and leaped clear, tumbling into a hill of runner beans, their support poles snapping under her weight.

She lay, momentarily stunned, looking up at the sky, making sure she was all in one piece. The sting of half a dozen scratches faded as she began to laugh. She laughed until her sides hurt. By the time she could catch her breath and crawl out from the ruins of the vines and their support poles, she was ready to go at it again. Standing up, she froze.

Finn, the village Master Machinist, stood beside Zeff, both gazing sternly down at her. Zeff’s hounds sat alertly at his heels, their tales thumping madly against the ground. They wanted to play too and kept glancing up at Zeff, waiting for their release signal. It never came. The sun glinted off the oldpa’s silver hair, pulled back as it was in a tight warrior’s knot at the back of his head, making it look like hammered metal. Zeff’s black eyes were just as hard. They glinted ominously at her from under a frowning brow.

“Oops,” she said softly, looking around out of the corner of her eyes for her Pack. The other four stood at attention by the pile of tumbled walkers. Connor sported a bruise high on one cheek that had the promise of a great black eye. Tam was sucking on a split lip. The other Packs had disappeared into the tall crops, wisely choosing to be absent when the punishments were handed out.

“Whose idea was this?” Zeff asked.

Alain looked guilty, but remained silent, waiting for his Alpha to speak.

“Well?” Zeff said.

“I was the one who thought up cart battles,” volunteered
Connor. Cheobawn looked at him, startled that he would throw himself into harm’s way so readily.
 

“What do you mean? That was my idea,” Alain said, offended.

“It was my idea to get in the carts,” Megan interjected bravely.

“It was my idea to fix the carts so we could all play,” Alain claimed hotly, not liking anyone laying claim to his accomplishments no matter what the consequences.

“I was the one who got on Tam’s shoulders, first,” Cheobawn added, “Tam thought up the pivot move. I thought that was quite brilliant.”

“You helped me out. Good thinking,” Tam said, grinning at her. She grinned back.

“Are you done?” asked Zeff coldly. “It seems that you are under the mistaken assumption that walkers grow on trees and can be plucked whenever one is needed.”

Cheobawn looked down at the wooden walkers and pressed her lips together to keep from commenting about lumber and trees.

“I shall inform Phillius of your offense. Take your walkers and follow Finn. You will serve your restricted duty under his supervision for the next week. Move it.” Zeff growled. He looked at them expectantly, waiting for any protest and when there was none, he strode away, his dogs following. The female hound, Lady, paused to lick Cheobawn’s face, perhaps apologizing for her masters sharp words. Cheobawn grinned, letting her fingers trail along the dog’s coat as it jumped away to join its mate at Zeff’s heels.

Finn sucked his teeth and rocked back and forth on his heels as he considered them for a moment, his weathered face inscrutable. The children met his gaze, barely breathing. Between the grizzled hair that stuck up in random ways from the top of his skull, the frayed and grease stained clothes, and the grime indelibly etched into the skin on his hands, Finn appeared slovenly. His exterior belied the sharpness of the wit inside that head. If the rumors among the Pack were true, then age had not slowed Finn down. Woe betide the young Pack that tried to test that.

“Well. Think you’re clever, do you?” he said sourly, “Let’s see how clever. Come along. Bring the carts.”

Finn turned and strode away, not waiting for them.

They looked at each other. Tam raised an eyebrow and shrugged in resignation.

It took a few minutes to get the carts set to rights. Alain’s was ruined. They were forced to dismantle the broken cart using only their fingers and their pocket knives as tools. Setting the legs in the bed of one walker and the legless cart bed in another, they nudged the carts into motion and followed Finn. The Master Machinist had taken the path out of the fields. He strode towards the equipment huts by the North Gate, clearly expecting them to follow.

“This is the worst punishment ever,” moaned Alain. “Stuck inside cleaning mud off the feet of the walkers for a week.”

“Yeah,” growled Connor.

“Did you see me go flying?” Cheobawn asked, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“It was a truly spectacular somersault,” Megan said, laughing.

“Your landing was worthy of legend,” Connor added, giggling.

“I wonder how much trouble we would be in if we did it again?” Cheobawn asked.

“Phew!” Alain said, “Lots and lots.”

“It would be worth it, though,” Tam said.

“Yeah,” the others agreed fervently.

Chapter Five

They did not have to clean walkers as Alain had feared. Instead Finn showed them where all the tools were kept, leading them past the stacks of milled lumber and pre-made walker parts, pointing out the separate bins full of nuts, bolts, cables, guide grommets, and joint sockets. Then he pointed at the broken walker.

“Fix that,” he said. “Then check the other walkers to make sure they are sound. I will be back after lunch to check on you.”

Finn turned and left through the wide bay doors that faced the fields.

“What? Do we not get lunch?” asked Connor indignantly.

“Seems not,” said Tam, pulling the broken leg assembly out of the bed of the walker. “What do you think, Al? Can you fix it?”

“Phtt,” Alain snorted, snapping his fingers.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tam said. “How can we help?”

The boys huddled over the broken walker, consulting in rapt tones about joinings and fasteners and lateral vector forces. Megan, knowing when to stay of clear of the boy’s more expert skills, found a supply of notepads and styluses and sat down to sketch weaving patterns.

Cheobawn stared at her friends. This was all very …  boring.

When Alain pulled out a stylus and started scribbling a formula on a notepad to explain a point about vector stresses, Cheobawn wandered away to explore the shop, peering in bins and cupboards, wondering at all the shapes, bits, and bolts, trying to imagine their use. It always amazed her, the diversity of objects one could make with plasteel, wood, and fabric. One was only limited by the imagination and size of your extruder.

She wondered if she could make a machine that would get her to the Escarpment and back as fast as possible, something like a walking cart, but with longer legs that could somehow negotiate steep inclines and rough trails. Nothing she could think of seemed feasible. If she had wings she could fly there and back again before Mora noticed or the Father’s had time stop her.

With that vague thought in mind, Cheobawn pulled out a handful of thin, flexible plasteel struts and pivot joints and began assembling an array that resembled the skeletal supports of a flying fox’s wing. Megan came over and they talked about the make up of the membranes. Their discussion led to conjectures about the qualities of different fabrics and the possibility of weaving a wing surface out of spider silk. The design turned from daydream to real in their minds. Megan began taking notes on thread counts and loom settings.

Lunch time came and passed. The children were distracted enough not to mind the hollowness in their bellies. But Finn came back, reminding them that breakfast had been hours ago. Unfortunately, he did not return alone. Amabel, Mora’s wife, Second on the High Council, and Master Maker of the Living Thread, was at his side with two of her apprentices in tow both burdened with lunch pails.

Amabel was a clever woman. At first glance she seemed as soft as butter, her dark blond hair pulled back in a loose braid that draped down her back, a pale blue ribbon woven through it, her full figure disguised under layers of an unbelted underdress and jumper, all in shades of muted blues as if she thought she could hide the steel in her soul with soft cloth and pastels. Even the extra bit of fat on her pink cheeks hid the set of her hard jaw and camouflaged the intensity of the brain behind those cold blue eyes. But Amabel was no nursery Mother like Brigit. Cheobawn suspected Amabel purposefully used this disguise to trick the young and unsuspecting into trusting her.

The boys leaped to their feet to bow deeply. Megan rose more sedately, nodding respectfully towards her truemother. Amabel ignored her daughter, her attention only for Cheobawn. Too late, Cheobawn realized she had been caught out in the open with nothing and no one to hide behind. She froze, thinking invisible thoughts.

“Greetings, Mother,” the other children said as one, their faces and voices well-schooled in polite behavior, the boys taking extreme efforts to sound bright and obedient. It was always best to stay on the good side of Mora’s Second. Amabel wielded most of the power of a First Mother without any of the constraints of politics, diplomacy, or mercy, making her a formidable force in the day to day lives of the villagers. No one wanted to be on her bad side.

The children saw the lunch pails but they were careful not to show interest. Amabel could easily refuse them a noon meal if she thought they needed to learn a lesson. The apprentices dropped the lunch pails on the nearest workbench before crossing the room to the boys. One of them collared Tam and pulled him over to the bay doors to inspect his split lip in the brighter light. The other pulled a thermopack out of the satchel she had slung over one shoulder. The healer’s apprentice ran her fingers along the thermopack’s spine to break the cell walls and mix the chemicals inside. Frost collected on its outer skin as she applied it to Connor’s swollen eye.

Cheobawn, her stomach growling, eyed the pails. They had only brought four. Cheobawn opened her mouth to point out the mistake, when Amabel pointed a finger at her.

“Come along, little miss,” she said in a tone that forbade argument. Without a backward glance to see if she was being obeyed, Amabel turned, retracing her path out of the maintenance shed. Cheobawn looked wildly around, hoping to find someplace to hide. Tam’s dark eyes did not miss her look of panic. He pulled his chin out of the healer’s hand and flicked a fingersign at her.
Quiet, Stay,
it said.
 

“Where are you taking her?” Tam asked loudly. Amabel stopped and turned. She stared at him, a feline smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I do not see how that is any of your business,” she said coldly.

“Cheobawn is my Packmate. I am her Alpha. It is my right to ask after her disposition.”

Amabel snorted, annoyance warring with amusement. “Tsk. Little leopard cub, all snarly, with your milk teeth and your little growls. Be careful where you point your claws when there are bigger claws in the room.”

“There are rules that even the High Council must follow,” Tam said stubbornly. He was not going to back down. Amabel glared at him but he did not flinch from the Mother’s gaze. ”Pack dynamics is one of those rules,” Tam insisted.

“Yes, but this little chit is not yet eight. You have no claim on her. If you insist on knowing, Mora wants her cuts seen to with more than spit and elbow grease. I prefer not to practice healing in the dust and wood chips, if you don’t mind. Come along Cheobawn. Finn, I will return her when I feel she is fit.”

With that, the older woman turned and strode away, her skirts snapping around her in their vain attempt to keep up. Cheobawn had no choice but to follow.

Do not worry,
she signed at Tam, whose face was dark with suppressed anger.
I will be alright.
Cheobawn hoped that her face expressed more confidence than she felt.
 

Chapter Six

The fountain in the middle of the central plaza also happened to be the radius point of the great circle defined by the dome over their heads. At the northernmost point of the plaza’s circle stood the temple. The village infirmary lay just to the east of that, its placement a mirror of the Common Rooms on the opposite side, where the communal meals were served. Four great promenades radiated out from the center, marking the four compass points. The North Promenade led directly from the North Gate, through the village, under the arched courtyard of the temple spire, and into the plaza. Every village shared this architecture, if they shared nothing else. This ensured that the largest and most frequented public spaces were convenient to everyone who lived there.