“What about boiling water?” asked Kadran.
“That won’t do any good until the water level’s up near the inlet spout, and that means melting a lot of water.”
“Now what are you going to do?” demanded Kyseen.
“I still have to check the bathhouse,” he answered as he crossed the kitchen and headed back up the steps to the north door. “That might tell me where the freezing’s happening.”
The north archway was cold, as usual, but the bathhouse was tolerable, perhaps because Huldran had a fire going in the stove. Nylan climbed up the brick steps beside the wail-designed for just such a purpose-and checked the water warmer-which was three-quarters full. A thin stream of water trickled into the warmer’s reservoir, but only a thin stream, even with the knife gate wide open.
“How long have you had the fire going?” he asked Huldran.
“Not long, ser. Colder than a winter deer’s rump in here earlier.”
Nylan sighed. “Maybe heating the stove will increase the flow more. If not, we can use the stove to melt snow, and perhaps the heat from that will also keep some water flowing.” He paused. “Once the storm lets up, I’ll check the outfalls.”
“Hope the stove helps, ser,” offered Huldran.
“So do I.”
He shook his head as he passed through the ice-covered cave that the archway between the tower and bathhouse had become. Chronologically, they weren’t quite at midwinter, from what he could figure, and everything was freezing. Maybe more heat would help … and maybe not.
Another blast of cold air shivered through the archway following a long low moan from the gale outside, and a short icicle hanging from the bricks overhead broke looseand shattered across the stone floor, several pieces skidding against the tower door.
The unheated archway was better than an open space between tower and bathhouse, but not much, reflected Nylan, as he opened the tower door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. He stopped shivering when he started down the steps to the almost comfortable lower level of the tower.
On the side of the lower level away from the kitchen-opposite the furnace-Ayrlyn directed a half-dozen marines in their efforts to turn rough wooden slabs and planks into furnishings for the tower-wall partitions, stools, an occasional chair, and several cradles.
Nylan stepped toward the group.
“How is the water going, ser?” asked Siret.
“There’s enough in the bathhouse for some washing, a few quick showers, and maybe more as the stove warms things up,” Nylan said, inhaling the aroma of baking bread that never quite seemed to leave the kitchen area. Did Kadran and Kyseen do all the baking as much to keep warm as to feed the marines?
“What about the cistern?” asked Istril.
“I can’t do much about that now. We’ll see if Kadran can get the water level up. That might help.” He shrugged. “If I can’t fix the water, at least I can do something useful.” Nylan picked up the dovetailed section of the cradle that was beginning to resemble a headboard. Carving and fitting the pieces was slow, even with the glue Relyn had developed from ground deer hooves and boiled hide and who knew what else.
After studying the design he had scratched on the wood, he set the headboard down and took out his knife, borrowing the common whetstone to sharpen it.
“Can I follow the same pattern?” asked Istril, as she stepped up beside him, no longer nearly so slim in the midsection as she had been in the summer and early fall. “For the cradle, not the design.” Then she covered her mouth and smothered a cough.
“Of course,” answered the engineer. “Is there anything I can explain … or help with?”
Istril flushed.
So did Nylan, although he didn’t know why, and he stammered, “With the woodworking. I’m not an expert. That’s Ayrlyn.”
“That cradle looks very good, especially for the tools we have,” commented Ayrlyn.
“I’ve had a lot of time,” said Nylan. “And probably even more to come.”
“He’s safer down here,” whispered Berlis.
Both Siret and Istril turned toward the mouthy guard, and Berlis stammered, “The marshal … she is a little touchy … right now …”
“You’d be touchy, too,” said Saryn, looking up from where she smoothed a curved backpiece for what looked to be a chair. “She has to think of everything and put up with idiots like the great hunter.” Saryn glanced toward the corner where Ellysia quietly worked over another plain cradle. “I’m sorry, Ellysia. I didn’t-”
“No offense taken, ser. He’s a lying cur. I just hope he’s got good genes.” Ellysia showed broad, even teeth, then looked down over her swollen midsection at the sideboards she was painstakingly rounding.
Nylan studied the design again, the sole tree twisting out of the rocky hillside, then let his senses take in the wood before he lifted the knife.
“ … everything he does is beautiful …”
The engineer tried not to flush.
“Not quite everything,” quipped Ayrlyn quietly. “You haven’t seen him ski, obviously.”
Nylan grinned in spite of himself, thinking about the considerable additional practice he would clearly need in that area. Then he slowly drew the knife over the line that represented the right side of the rocky slope, deepening the groove gently … gently.
LIII
AS HE WATCHED Saryn shift her weight on the ungainly skis, Nylan wanted to shake his head, but he had little enough time for that. Just following the former pilot’s tracks was proving hard enough even after his determined efforts over the past eight-days. To navigate and shoot a bow on skis remained an effort, but he wasn’t plunging headfirst into the snow or leaning backward until his skis slid out from under him and left his shoulders and rump buried in the white powder.
With a passing cloud, a shadow fell across the trail, and Nylan’s eyes squinted to adjust to the change in the midday light, but the relative relief of the cloud passed, and the glare returned.
The snow around and across the Roof of the World was more than seven cubits deep, and twice that in drifts. That was deep enough that Nylan could fall into one of those pits and never make his way out, not without turning into a knot and cutting the thongs. There was no way to untie them hanging upside down in a mass of powdered ice or the equivalent. His fingers twitched around his poles as he thought about the knife at his waist.
He blinked as a clot of snow thrown up from Saryn’s skis and carried by a gust of wind splattered above his left eye.
Saryn held up a hand, and Nylan coasted to a stop right behind her, proud that he neither hit her nor fell into the deep snow beside the semitrail that the guards had created through the lower forest.
As he caught his breath on the level stretch before a steep descent through the trees, trying not to breathe too deeply, Nylan put off thinking about the climb back up the ridge that would follow the trip.
“I think there are some deer, and maybe a snow leopard, downhill and to the right. The wind’s coming uphill here, and I might be able to get close enough,” whispered Saryn.
“If I’m not stamping along?”
She nodded.
“Go on. We’re always on the verge of running out of meat.”
“Can you just wait here?” asked Saryn, her voice still low. “With your bow ready?”
“I’ll wait with a bow handy. How much good it will do I’m not sure.” Nylan tried to keep his own voice down.
As the wind whispered through the evergreens, clumps of snow splattered around them, leaving pockmarks scattered on the once-smooth white surface, depressions that the wind seemed to begin to fill immediately with feathery white powder that scudded along the snow.
The engineer glanced back uphill. Already, sections of the packed trail they had followed had begun to disappear beneath the drifting snow. Another shadow darkened the Roof of the World, and he looked up at the white cloud that scudded across the sun.