He shivered, clinging there to the gantry-top, because it was a whole new war that was being waged. He felt as though he was watching the years blister and shred, the world reborn in fire into some unimaginable future age. The age of the artificer.
And it was terrible, but it was beautiful. Seeing those drops of flame at such a distance, with no screams, no sight of charred bodies, it was beautiful.
‘The airships are a refinement, of course,’ Drephos remarked, scholarly. ‘The incendiaries are an entirely new plan. I intended to improve on the taking of Maynes, which dragged out over months even after the walls had fallen. Tark will not stand a tenday.’
‘Your incendiaries…’ Totho stammered. ‘How…?’
‘You tell me, Totho. Let this be a test of your skill. What difficulties do I face?’
‘They cannot be accurate from such a height,’ Totho almost protested.
‘Difficulty the first,’ agreed Drephos. ‘And a lesser artificer might have persuaded General Alder that accuracy was not necessary.’ Another brilliant drop flared and fell. ‘And yet it is, and they are accurate. So how have I done it, Totho?’
‘You could… assuming a low wind, such as today… you could fix the propellers into the wind, hold the ship as steady as you can…’ Even as he spoke Totho realized that something in him had responded to the bombing in a way he did not like, something that could consider wholesale destruction as no more than a problem set by a College master.
‘Go on,’ Drephos murmured and, despite himself, Totho did.
‘Then you could attach a telescope – I have seen men use telescopes on the best crossbows, tech-bows and magnetic – to allow them to strike a target at the weapon’s utmost range. Something similar… with calibrations perhaps, linked to an altimeter?’
‘Oh very good.’ The metal grasp on Totho’s shoulder tightened in an almost paternal squeeze. ‘And close enough to how I did it. The calibration required an enormous amount of calculation to get right, what with there being no real opportunity to test it, but my airship captains inform me that they work very well indeed. So, next problem?’
Totho glanced at Kaszaat. She was not looking at Tark, just staring at the rail she held on to. Another flash of fire caught his gaze, and he felt suddenly ill imagining those people he had seen, spoken to, trying to find shelter from such a barrage. The Ants built their houses in stone but still there seemed a great deal on fire down there.
And his traitor mouth continued. ‘You would want to control the timing of the missiles’ ignition, if you could. A higher ignition would disperse the flame and impact over a greater area; a lower impact would cause more focused damage.’ Delivered as though this were some piece of theory for discussion by the class.
‘I knew I had read you well. That’s excellent thinking, Totho. So solve for me problem the second.’
It isn’t as though I’m helping him. He must already have solved it. ‘I suppose you could have… clockwork fuses or timers?’
‘Such as those you were intending to destroy my airships with? And what further problem would you encounter with that?’
Totho still watched, and by some chance three of the airships loosed their charges, that flared into being within seconds of one another before bursting across the city. ‘Cost,’ he suggested, and Drephos crowed.
‘So few artificers even consider it, but we will still have to drop so many incendiaries before Tark is ours. Something cheaper?’
Totho racked his brains, considering all the mechanisms and devices he had learned of. After a moment, Drephos laughed again.
‘No matter. You’ve come far enough to repay my foresight in saving you. You must learn to think simply, where simply will suffice. Tell him then, Kaszaat.’
‘Simple cord,’ said the Bee-kinden woman. ‘Cord of differing lengths-’
‘And when it reaches its length, it pulls out a trigger, and ignites the incendiary!’ Totho saw clearly, and for a moment was so in love with the elegance of the idea that he did not see a city burning at all, simply a demonstration of artifice and skill. ‘That’s brilliant-’ And he stopped, abruptly shamefaced.
Drephos had not noticed the catch in his voice, but merely watched the airships as they began to make their slow way back to the Wasp camp. ‘They will be nearly out of incendiaries now,’ the master artificer said. ‘And my range-finders do not work well in the dark. I have yet to devise a machine that can see in the dark as well as I can. Do you see my point, though, Totho?’
‘Your…?’
‘That this is the proper place for you. Here, where the metal meets. You must have guessed the great secret of our artificer’s craft, since it comes to all the best minds eventually. War, Totho. Think how many inventions and advances come from war. Not just weapons but in all branches of our science. It is war that is the catalyst, that inspires us and whips us on. Artifice feeds off war, Totho. You must see that. And war feeds off artifice, so that each clings to the other, like a great tree growing ever higher and higher. They are the left and right hand of mankind, so as to allow him to climb to the future. War is the future, Totho. War to hone our skills, and our skills to make war.’
‘There must be more than that…’ Totho started. ‘At some point war would have to end because the weapons would become… so terrible that if anyone used them… everyone would die.’
Drephos’s laugh came again, no less gaily than before. ‘Do you think so? I disagree. There is no weapon so terrible that mankind will not put it to use. On that day that you describe, the end to war would only come after the end of everything else.’
‘And that is what you are working towards?’ Totho said.
‘Look down there, boy!’ Drephos’s mismatched hands encompassed not only the camp but the fitfully burning city. ‘What of that would you save? Take away my machines and they would be at each other’s throats with swords and knives instead. Then take away their steel and they would pick up rocks and clubs. There is no saving them: they are merely the fuel for war’s engines. Only we, Totho – we are the point, the reason. We, because, alone amongst this destruction, we create, and we create so that they may destroy, so that we may create anew.’
‘I cannot join you,’ Totho whispered, but something had swelled in his heart, that stopped the words ever being properly heard: something that beat along with Drephos’s words, and the pitiless, sterile glory that he spoke of.
‘Only think,’ Drephos said softly. ‘Only think, and watch, and learn. Is it so terrible to be a master of the world – to control, rather than be lost to the current? Come, I will teach you some more that you never learned at the College. I like you, Totho. I see a keen mind, an artificer’s mind. That is the most valuable thing in the world, and I would not see it wasted.’
Drephos descended the gantry awkwardly, dark wings flickering once or twice to keep his balance, and once a hiss of pain as his injured leg locked briefly. Kaszaat had simply floated down on her own, leaving Totho to make the downwards journey rung over rung, wondering if Drephos was humouring him by doing the same, and deciding not.
‘The general and his clowns are done for the day,’ Drephos observed, making off into the camp with his uneven stride. ‘In truth, they are done for the war. All the planning is now here, in my mind. They merely stand slack-jawed and wait for me to hand the city over to them. But I will show you how they play with the toys I have given them. Here!’ His gauntleted hand picked out a large tent ahead of them, near the centre of the sprawling camp. The three of them ducked inside, finding the officers’ map table and a crudely sketched ground-plan of Tark.