Geomancer (Well of Echoes) (64 page)

It was not enough. There were simply too few people to do all the work, for a minimum of six were required to swing the clanker out over the cliff, and another four on the rope that would brake its descent. They had to make do with four and two, and add extra pulleys so they could lift the weight at all.

‘Ready?’ called Tuniz.

‘Yes!’ Nish held the braking rope taut. Ky-Ara stood behind him, hanging on listlessly.

‘Lift!’ Her team hauled on their rope.

Nish thought the heavily laden clanker was not going to move at all. The rope went taut and the four strained until their joints cracked. Finally it lifted, ever so slowly.

‘Hold!’ yelled Tuniz. Tying the end of the rope around a rock, she ran to swing the arm out. It did not budge. She threw her weight against it, the arm freed suddenly and the artificer almost went over. The clanker dropped, pulling the team off their feet. The rock tore out of the ground and the machine fell sharply, for Ky-Ara had let go of the braking rope. Nish could not hold the weight. The rope scorched through his hands and he had to let go.

The clanker hit the cliff, rotated and crashed on its other side, buckling the armour plates. Simmo gave a cry of anguish. Nish thought the machine was going to fall all the way, but after a few jerks the counterweight held it.

‘Useless clown!’ Nish roared at Ky-Ara. ‘Why did you let go?’

Ky-Ara just stared vacantly at him.

Now they encountered another problem – the counterweight was heavier than the clanker. That had not mattered on the way up, but they would have to add weight to the machine for it to descend.

‘Perhaps if one of us were to go on the shooter’s seat,’ said Fyn-Mah.

‘No!’ Tuniz said sharply. ‘If it falls we’ve lost another person and we’ll never get it down.’

They manoeuvred a small boulder onto the seat. Nish felt the tug immediately and began to pay the rope out. The clanker went down, swinging in the violent updraft and crashing repeatedly into the cliff. Every blow, every impact that tore free another leaf of its armour, caused Simmo to wail in torment.

‘Slow it down!’ he screamed, in tears.

Nish tried his best but the rope hissed through his fingers, burning welts across his palm. ‘Ky-Ara!’ he screamed. ‘Hold the damn thing! Ky-Ara?’

Ky-Ara had dropped his end and wandered off. Again Nish was forced to let go. The wildly swinging clanker crashed into the ascending boulder. Both stopped, revolving around each other, and a section of armour fell off.

‘I can’t hold the brake rope by myself!’ Nish said furiously. ‘It needs at least three. What’s the matter with you, Ky-Ara?’

The operator gave him a bland stare. Fyn-Mah and Tuniz came running and hauled on the clanker’s rope. Nothing happened. The cables were twisted around the bent struts and protruding leaves of armour. No matter how hard they pulled they could not free them.

‘Someone will have to go down,’ said Rustina.

‘Be a harder job than it looks!’ Tuniz stared at the mess, rubbing a white spot on her nose. ‘Especially in this wind. Any volunteers?’

‘I’ll go,’ said Nish, ‘if no one else can.’ He did not want to, in fact doubted that he could do anything useful, but volunteering was better than being ordered. He had to redeem himself, if that was possible after the last disastrous week.

‘Well,
you
can’t go, Tuniz,’ said Rustina. ‘You’re the senior artificer. But I suppose we can afford to lose
him
.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Simmo, pushing past Nish. ‘It’s my clanker and my right.’ His eyes were fever bright.

‘I don’t know,’ said Rustina. ‘What do you think, querist?’

‘We can’t afford to lose an operator either,’ said Fyn-Mah, ‘though Ky-Ara is getting better. But could he even operate this clanker?’

‘He could, if he put his own controller in place of mine,’ said Simmo, hopping from one foot to the other. He took hold of Fyn-Mah’s arm. ‘Please. This machine is my life. Besides, I may have to operate it to get free. No one else can.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Rustina. ‘You have no further objections, Fyn-Mah?’

‘Get it done!’

Ky-Ara suddenly looked radiant and Nish wondered why. Simmo went down a rope, landing gently on the shooter’s platform. The updraft kept tugging the machine away from the cliff and the weight of the boulder slamming it back.

‘He’d better hurry,’ said Tuniz, ‘or the clanker will be a pile of scrap.’

Simmo wept as he inspected the damage. He tried to untangle the ropes but there was so much weight on them that it proved impossible. He tried to untwist them by rotating the clanker out past the boulder. The pressure of the wind would not allow it.

‘What’s he doing now?’ Nish wondered aloud.

Simmo had gone inside and was sitting in his seat. The clanker’s legs moved back and forth, the front pair scratching against the counterweight.

‘Smart idea,’ said Tuniz, walking backwards along the cliff edge with her rope. ‘He’s trying to spin the counterweight around the clanker. Take hold of the braking ropes, just in case.’

They did so and braced themselves. The clanker’s metal feet screeched on the stone and it rotated the right way, a full turn. ‘Oh, brilliant work!’ exclaimed the querist. ‘Twice more and he’ll have it.’

Simmo tried again. This time it took quite a few attempts but finally the counterweight swung another turn. The legs thrashed, ground against the slowly rotating boulder and caught on something.

‘No! Back off!’ Tuniz yelled. ‘Ky-Ara, you can free it. Pull hard,
that way
!’

‘What’s the matter?’ called Fyn-Mah.

‘The counterweight rope’s caught around one leg. Stop or you’ll break it!’ she roared with all her might. ‘Pull hard, Ky-Ara, that way!’

Simmo did not hear and Ky-Ara just let go of his rope. The legs jerked, the rope snapped and the counterweight dropped out of its rope cage. They watched in horror as the clanker fell, slowly at first, faster as it ripped the twisted ropes apart. The broken end whipped up, lashing about before it went through the pulley.

The clanker rolled over in the air and landed upside down on one of the boulders, splitting open down the middle. Armour and leg parts went flying in all directions. The pair of iron flywheels spun across the snow, out of sight. The smash came echoing up. Silence fell.

Irisis hopped to the edge on her crutches, then shook her head. Nish caught a faint smile on Ky-Ara’s face, but when he checked again the operator had composed himself.

They looked at one another. ‘Simmo’s dead, of course,’ said Fyn-Mah.

‘The impact would have broken every bone in his body,’ Tuniz replied. ‘Now what do we do?’

‘We ski back to the ice houses,’ Fyn-Mah ground out. ‘We put Ky-Ara’s controller into one of the clankers and he brings it back. And this time we work out how to get the damn thing down without breaking it!’ Her voice was as bleak as ice. No doubt she was wondering how to explain yet another disaster on this catastrophically failed hunt.

Nish and Irisis exchanged glances. ‘I’d be keeping a close watch on our operator if I were you,’ she said quietly. ‘Ky-Ara did that deliberately.’

‘Yes,’ said Nish. ‘He knew he’d never be given another clanker.’ That reminded Nish of his own part in the affair. Had he not pressured Ky-Ara, the clanker would not have been lost, nor Tiaan, nor her crystal. And back at the manufactory, at the enquiry into the failed expedition, his, Nish’s, folly would be revealed. What then? He was doomed.

It took two days to get the other clanker down and there were many times when Nish thought it was going to end up in the same condition as Simmo’s. The weather stayed unchanged, bitterly cold with gale-force winds. Nish had frostbite on the tip of his nose, and the querist in her fingertips, by the time they untied the machine at the bottom of the cliff.

They climbed in but it refused to go, for the oil had set hard and in the blizzard that followed they could not even see who they were standing next to. Fortunately there was dry scrub in the ravines cutting into the plateau. They made a fire there, a roaring blaze under an overhang, or they would not have survived.

Irisis had not mentioned the lost crystal again. She was recovering well, hobbling about on her crutches, though she would not walk unaided for at least six weeks. However, she suffered her disability without complaint and was the most cheerful of the crew except for Ky-Ara, who was in ecstasies of bliss at having a clanker again. He had quite recovered, apart from occasional headaches and memory loss. There were times when he had to ask the names of the people around him. He often asked what had happened to Simmo.

Ullii had retreated into herself since the attack. The horrors of the battle at the ice house, or perhaps the flesh-forming, had rewoken some primal fear in her. She spent the days with mask on and earplugs in, and often a black silk bag over her head. Nish did not try to bring her out. He no longer had the strength. He asked her several times a day if she could see Tiaan. The answer was always no.

The greatest worry was Jal-Nish. The perquisitor’s shoulder and chest were already healing but his face had not. The rents were hideous, weeping wounds, so ghastly that no one could bear to look at him, least of all his son. Worse, Jal-Nish had caught a brain fever that made him rant, curse and attack whoever came near. Twice, after taking food to his father, Nish had to have the iron fingers prised from his throat. The perquisitor was surprisingly strong, considering the butchery that had been done on his shoulder.

Irisis was his main target. Sometimes Jal-Nish cursed her for hours without stopping, in a gurgling, pus-sodden voice. He blamed her for seducing his idiot son, for what she had done to Tiaan, but most of all for saving his life instead of letting him die.

Irisis seemed unaffected by the abuse. She took her turn changing his dressings until the day the weather turned and they were about to head for home. She limped up, carrying a mug of hot broth for Jal-Nish. He threw it in her face, knocked her off her crutches, and was about to grind his boot into her throat when Nish and Ky-Ara dragged him off.

‘Slutting bitch!’ Jal-Nish screamed. ‘You’re a liar and a fraud, Irisis. I’ll see you in the breeding factory when I get back. You’ll never be an artisan again.

He ranted and cursed, and kept it up for an hour until Ky-Ara, the only one able to get on with him, took him tea doped with nigah syrup. After that they kept him sedated twenty-four hours a day and his good arm was bound to his side.

Three weeks had passed since the battle at the ice houses, before they came in sight of the manufactory, and such labouring days they were in the bitterness of the mountain winter that many times Nish thought they would not get back at all. No one travelled up here at this time of year. Had the clanker not been so well built they would all have perished.

Finally they found their way back over the mountain through which the mine tunnels were delved and looked down to see the grey bulk of the manufactory on the other side of the valley. They had been gone for more than a month.

Irisis levered herself out of the back of the clanker. As Nish handed her the crutches there were tears in his eyes. Everyone stared down at the manufactory. The only one not glad to see it was Ky-Ara. He looked agitated, and though it was as cold as ever he was sweating and casting anxious glances at the querist.

‘Should not the furnace chimneys be smoking?’ Fyn-Mah said, coming up between them.

‘They must have gotten slack while the overseer’s been away,’ Nish replied lightly.

Fyn-Mah held a spyglass to her left eye. It moved slowly across the landscape, then the hand holding it fell to her side. ‘There’s not a chimney smoking anywhere. Not at the manufactory, the galleys, the laundries or dormitories, or even down at the mining village.’ Her voice cracked. Nish caught her eye and her self-control failed. ‘The lyrinx have come!’ Fyn-Mah looked as if she was going to cry. ‘All those children.’

‘Damned hypocrite!’ Irisis muttered.

‘Dangerous ground, artisan,’ said Fyn-Mah glacially.

Irisis yawned in her face. She did not seem to worry. ‘What do you care for the children? I don’t see any evidence of you doing your duty.’

Fyn-Mah crushed one fist into another, then pulled the tall woman to one side.

‘How dare you lecture me on duty, after the crimes you’ve committed?’

‘There is no bigger crime than preventing conception.’ Irisis quoted one of the many regulations that governed their lives.

Fyn-Mah went so cold that Nish, watching from some distance away, could scarcely bear to look.

‘I’m barren!’ she hissed. ‘I’ve been to eleven healers and none can do anything.’ She pressed her palms against her eyes. ‘All I ever wanted was children, and to be mocked by you … you …’ To Nish’s horror, she burst into tears.

Irisis was struck dumb. It was all perfectly clear now: the iron self-control, the impression that she was keeping the whole world at bay. And yet, she recalled, when the manufactory was attacked that first time, the querist’s first thought had been for the children.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Irisis.

Fyn-Mah did not react.

‘I am truly sorry,’ Irisis repeated. ‘How you must despise a cheat and liar like me.’

‘I don’t despise you,’ said Fyn-Mah. ‘I pity you, for you have everything and yet it’s worth nothing.’

Irisis might have done a lot of things, but in one of those rare impulses that turned everything upside down, she threw her arms around the querist and would not let go. After a while the smaller woman stopped struggling and buried her face in the artisan’s coat.

‘We’d better go carefully,’ said Rustina, ‘and be prepared for anything.’

They gathered stones for the catapult, storing them in the metal basket on top. Tuniz sat in the shooter’s seat. Nish climbed up beside her, armed with a spear and his short sword. They went down at normal pace, since the clatter of the clanker could not be disguised, rattled across the frozen stream and up the hillside towards the manufactory, skirting around the forest to meet the road higher up. They would not have much chance in the open, but none at all in a forest ambush.