The Practice Effect Part 25

"My son, do not blaspheme. Making is as honorable as practicing, for according to the Old Belief, did we not once have the power to make life itself? Before the blecker threw us down to savagery?"

Proll stared at the fire, and finally nodded. "I will try to control my temper, Father."

Still, they all knew Proll had a point. It took time to make things.

And even among the L'Toff it took more time still to practice them.

Time was something Kremer wasn't about to give them.

In all their minds, also, was the dread of how Kremer intended to use his hostage. Would he display Linnora at the battlefield? The effect on the morale of the troops could be devastating if Kremer timed his move right. And Kremer was a past master of timing.

Conversation lapsed. Finally Demsen unrolled the grand map, and he and the Prince examined still more ways to distribute their meager forces against the hordes they expected soon.

Young Gath paid little attention to the talk of strategy. He was not a soldier. But he was an. . . an engineer, Dennis Nuel had taught him that word, and he liked the flavor of it.

Gath felt certain that the key to saving the L'Toff-and eventually rescuing Dennis and Arth and the Princess-lay in perfecting the balloons. So far Gath had been kept busy just supervising the repair of the original and the construction and practice of new models. But that didn't keep him from turning his mind to new design problems.

Such as how to use them in battle! How could one make the balloon go where one wanted it to go and then keep it there? It had been almost impossible to maneuver the first balloon in their escape from Zuslik. Only a small miracle of wind had taken it into the mountains where he and Stivyung wanted to go. From their landing site it had taken days to seek out the fastness of the L'Toff.

Somehow there must be a way, he thought.

Paper was much too valuable for casual doodling. So Gath dipped his finger in the wine and traced out sketches on the beautifully ancient, varnished tabletop.

5 Baron Kremer sat in bed, a pile of reports spread wide on the silky, ancient coverlet. He worked doggedly, reading messages from the other great lords of the west, who were due to arrive soon for a meeting he had called.

Those messages were satisfying to read, for not one of the western barons and counts had demurred.

But the rest of this garbage! There were reams of lists of accounts to be paid for war materiel. There were bills from hundreds of freeborn practicers, requisitioned for the duration, and complaints from the guilds over his demand of even greater subsidies for his campaign against the liberal King.

The pile was daunting. Paperwork was the one thing in this world that Kremer feared.

If anyone noticed that the Baron's lips moved as he read, n.o.body said anything. The three scribes who a.s.sisted him also carefully averted their eyes from the purple welt that discolored their overlord's left temple.

Kremer slammed down a long scroll.

"Words, words, words! Is this what it means to carve out an empire? To conquer, only to wade neck deep into a storm of paper?"

The scribes looked down, knowing their Lord's questions were rhetorical.

"This!" Kremer shook a roll out. It spread like a long, thin flag to float out over the floor. The fine sheet was in itself worth nearly a peasant's yearly income. "The guilds cavil over a pittance! A pittance that will win them security and me a crown! Do they want Hymiel and his rabble to have their way in the east?"

Kremer growled and shoved the stack aside. Reports flew out across the floor. The scribes scuttled to recover them.

Taking a moment's satisfaction, Kremer watched them stack the sheets and rolls. But it was a poor distraction from the nagging little irritations that seemed to abound on the very eve of his triumph!

The guilds were useful, he reminded himself-besides serving as rich allies. For instance, the monopoly of the paper guild kept their product rare and expensive. If the stuff were cheap, the number of reports would probably double, or even triple!

Kremer chafed. He had been told to stay in bed by the palace physician-an old gentleman who had treated him as a child, arid one of the few men alive whom he respected. He had to be healthy in a week's time, when the main campaign against the King was to begin.

Without good cause, he couldn't justify breaking the doctor's advice.

The advance against the L'Toff was a sideshow that his commanders were competent to handle without his presence.

Everything seemed to be going according to plan. Still, he half hoped for an emergency just to have an excuse to get out of here!

Kremer's fist pounded on his thigh. The tension brought back the twinge in his temple. He winced and brought up a hand to touch the spot, gingerly.

Ah, there will be an accounting, he thought. There will be much to pay for this. A certain individual owes much.

From under his pillow he drew out Dennis Nuel's metal knife, now practiced to a razor edge. He contemplated the shiny steel while his scribes waited silently for him to return from wherever he had gone.

What pulled the Baron back from his feral reverie was an explosion that blew the curtains about like cracking whips. The delicate windows bowed and rattled in their frames as the detonation pealed like thunder.

Kremer threw aside the coverlet, sending the papers flying again.

He strode quickly between the blowing curtains onto the balcony and looked out onto the courtyard. He saw men running toward an area just under the wall out of view. Shouts carried from the site of the commotion.

Kremer grabbed his two-hundred-year-old robe. The senior physician was not present, but his a.s.sistant protested that the Baron was unready, yet, to venture outside.

Being picked up by the shirtfront and thrown halfway across the room changed the fellow's mind. He quickly p.r.o.nounced his Lordship ambulatory and scuttled away.

Kremer hurried downstairs, his bedrobe flapping about his ankles.

Four members of his personal guard, all intensely loyal clansmen from the northern highlands, clicked into step behind him. He strode quickly downstairs and out into the courtyard. There he found the scholar Hoss'k poking through a pile of charred wood splinters and pottery shards.

Kremer caught up short, staring at the wreckage of the distillery Dennis Nuel had built. Steam rose from twisted, blackened tubing.

The deacon stood in the midst, coughing and waving smoke away. The scholar's resplendent red robes were singed and soot-coated.

"What is the meaning of this!" Kremer demanded. At once the soldiers who had been gawking at the wreckage turned and snapped to attention. The slaves who had been in charge of the distillery dropped to their bellies in abas.e.m.e.nt.

Except for three who took no notice of him. One of the latter was clearly dead. The other two cringed not from him, but from their own badly seared hands and arms. Pantrywomen were working to bandage the wounded.

Hoss'k bowed low. "My Lord, I have made a discovery!"

From his appearance, Hoss'k must have been here when the disaster occurred. Knowing Hoss'k, that implied the man had caused all this somehow, by meddling with Dennis Nuel's beverage manufacturing device.

"You have made a catastrophe!" Kremer shouted as he looked about at the ruins. "The one thing I was able to squeeze out of that wizard-before he betrayed my hospitality and made off with a valuable hostage-was this distillery! I had counted on its products to bring me great wealth in trade! And now you, you and your meddling-"

Hoss'k held up his hand placatingly. "My Lord. . . you did instruct me to study the essence of the alien wizard's devices. And as I was stymied by most of his other possessions, I decided to see if I could discover how this one works,"

Kremer regarded him, his expression ominous. Onlookers glanced at each other, making silent wagers over the scholar's expected life- span.

"You'd better have discovered the essence behind the still," Kremer threatened, "before you destroyed it. Much depends on your ability to rebuild it. You might find it hard to practice your fancy clothes without a head on your shoulders."

Hoss'k protested, "I am a member of the clergy!"

At one look from Kremer, Hoss'k ducked down and nodded vigorously. "Oh, be not concerned, my Lord. It will be easy to rebuild the device, my Lord. Indeed, the principle was devilishly clever and simple. You see, this pot here-er, what is left of the pot-contained wine that was made to boil slowly, but the vapors from the boiling were restrained-"

"Spare me the details." Kremer waved the man to be silent. His headache was getting worse. "Consult with the crew. I want to know how long it will take to get it running again!"

Hoss'k bowed and hurriedly turned to talk to the surviving members of the distillery gang.

The Baron stepped over an injured soldier. The palace midwife who had been tending the moaning man's wounds scuttled to get out of his way.

Even as he walked through the ruins, Kremer's mind was turning back to his main preoccupation-how to distribute his forces to recapture the wizard and Princess Linnora, and how simultaneously to begin his campaign against the L'Toff.

The alliance was shaping up well. A squadron of his gliders had gone on tour, impressing the gentry for a hundred miles to the east, north, and south, and cowing the restive peasantry by playing up to the traditional superst.i.tion regarding dragons.

All the great lords would be here shortly for a meeting. Kremer planned an impressive demonstration for them.

Still, the barons would not be enough. He would need mercenaries, too, and it would take more than demonstrations to acquire those!

Money, that was the key! And not this paper trash that kept its value by an artificially maintained scarcity, but real, metal money! With enough money Kremer could buy the services of free companies and bribe every great n.o.ble in the realm! No demonstrations or rumors of magical weapons could match the effect of cool, hard cash!

And now this idiot deacon had destroyed the number one money- maker Kremer had been counting on!

"Uh, my Lord?"

Kremer turned. "Yes, scholar?"

Hoss'k bowed once more as he caught up with the Baron. Hoss'k's black hair was coated with soot.

"My Lord, I did not intend, in experimenting with the still, to destroy it. . . . I-"

"How long will it take?" Kremer growled.

"Only a few days to begin getting small quant.i.ties-"

"I don't care about the making! How long will it take until the new still is practiced to the level of performance the old one had reached this morning?"

Hoss'k looked very pale under his sooty coating. "Ten- twenty-"

His voice squeaked.

"Days?" Kremer winced as the twinge returned. He clutched his head, unable to speak. But he glared at Hoss'k, and it seemed that only his unspeakable headache was extending the deacon's life.

Just then a runner hurried through the palace gateway. The boy spotted the Baron, ran over, and saluted snappily.

"My Lord, the Lord Hern sends his compliments and says to tell you that the sniffers have found the fugitives' scent!"

Kremer's hands clasped each other. "Where are they?"

"In the southwest pa.s.s, my Lord. Runners have been sent to all the camps in the foothills with the alert!"

"Excellent! We shall send cavalry, too. Go and order the commander of First Spears to gather his troopers. I will be there shortly."

The boy saluted again and sped off.

Kremer turned back to Hoss'k, who was clearly making his peace with his G.o.ds.

"Scholar?" he said quietly.

"Y-y-yes, my Lord?"

"I need money, scholar."

Hoss'k gulped and nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

Kremer smiled narrowly. "Can you suggest a place where I can get a lot of money in a very short time?"

Hoss'k blinked, then nodded again. "The metal house in the forest?"

Kremer grinned in spite of the ache in his head. "Correct."

Hoss'k had suggested, earlier, that the metal house might have some intrinsic value far beyond its huge content in metal. The foreign wizard had been very clear in insisting that it be left alone if he was to do any work for Kremer.

But Dennis Nuel had betrayed him, and Hoss'k no longer had much to say around here.

"You leave with a fast troop of cavalry at once," he told the portly churchman. "I want all that metal back here in five days."

One more time, Hoss'k merely swallowed and nodded.

6 A day and a half after setting off from the Sigels' farm, Dennis had almost begun to hope they might make it through the cordon undetected.

All through that first night on the road, the small party of fugitives had pa.s.sed the flickering light of encampments in the hills- detachments of Baron Kremer's gathering western army. Arth and Dennis helped the little donkey pull, while Linnora did her part by concentrating, practicing the cart to be silent.

Once they stole nervously past a roadblock. The militiamen on duty were snoring, but in Dennis's imagination the cart was barely quieter than a banshee until they pa.s.sed beyond the next fringe of forest.

Come morning they were high in the pa.s.s. They had left behind the main units of the army poised to invade the lands of the L'Toff. There were probably only a few squads of pickets between them and the open country.

But to proceed during daylight would be madness. Dennis pulled his little group off into the thickets beside the mountain highway, and they rested through the day, alternately sleeping, talking quietly, and sampling from the picnic basket Mrs. Sigel had prepared for them.

Dennis amused Linnora by showing her some tricks on his wrist- comp. He explained that there were no living creatures inside, and demonstrated some of the wonders of numbers. Linnora caught on very quickly.

They must have been more tired than Dennis thought, for when he finally awakened, it was dark again. Two of Tatir's small moons were already high, making the forestscape eerily and dangerously bright.

He roused Arth and Linnora, who sat up quickly and stared in surprise at the darkness. They arose and loaded the little wagon once again. Dennis insisted that Linnora continue to ride in the cart.

Although her feet were better, the Princess clearly wasn't ready yet to walk very far.

The shadowy hillsides hulked around them as they set out. They pushed on silently.

Dennis recalled the last time he had been through this pa.s.s, three months ago. Back then he hadn't any idea what lay ahead. He had imagined the river valley filled with amazing alien creatures and still more amazing technology.

The truth had turned out to be even more bizarre than anything he had imagined. Even now, from time to time he felt a faint recurrence of that sense of unreality, as if it were hard really to believe that this amazing world could exist.

He thought about the probability calculations he had set up back in Zuslik. With his wrist-comp he just might be able to work out the odds of such a strange place as Tatir-and its even stranger Practice Effect-coming into being.