Crane shook his head, then smiled at the thought of the Rani’s reward. Turning to his glass, he clapped his hands. “Monitor!”
The floating face appeared.
“Code. Snakeroot. What have you got for me?”
Blood’s fleshy features filled the glass. “Councillor Lemur ought to hear this.”
Blood’s face was replaced by the deceptively cheerful-looking visage of Potto. “You can give me the message.”
“I’d rather—”
Crane smiled at Blood’s reluctance.
“That doesn’t matter. What is it?”
Crane edged nearer the glass.
When Blood had faded and the monitor reappeared to tell him there were no further exchanges of interest, Crane dipped his quill again. “Later. The bird has come back of its own volition. It is said to be in good condition.”
He wiped the quill carefully and returned it to his pen case, blew on the paper, and folded and refolded it until it was scarcely larger than his thumbnail. When he pressed it into Sphigx’s swordless left hand, the hand closed upon it.
Crane smiled, put away his pen case and the remaining paper, and considered the advisability of a long soak in the tub before bed. There was a good light in the bathroom—he had installed it himself—and if he read for an hour, the tightly folded sheet would have taken on the brown hue of the elaborately carved wood before he retired. He always liked seeing that, enjoyed making sure. He was, as he had to be, a very careful man.
“Thanks,” Auk said as he resumed his seat. “I feel better now. Listen, Patera, do you know how to use that thing?”
“The needler?” Silk shrugged. “I fired it, as I told you. Not other than that.”
Auk refilled his goblet. “I meant the azoth. No, naturally you don’t, but I’ll tell you about the needler anyhow.”
He drew his own needler, twice the size of the engraved and gold-plated weapon in Silk’s pocket. “Notice I got the safety on? There’s a lever like this on both sides.”
“Yes,” Silk said. “So it won’t shoot. I know about that.”
“Fine.” Auk pointed with his table knife. “This pin here, sticking out? You call this the status pin. If it’s pushed out like that, you’ve got needles left.”
Silk took Hyacinth’s needler from his pocket again. “You’re right, it’s flush with the side.”
“Now watch. I can empty mine by pulling this loading knob back.”
A silver fountain of needles sprang from the breach of Auk’s needler and scattered over the table. Silk picked one up.
“There’s not much to see,” Auk said. “Just little rods of solid alloy—some kind of stuff that a lodestone pulls a lot better than steel.”
Silk tested the tip with his finger. “I thought they’d be sharper.”
“Huh-uh. They wouldn’t work as good. If a thing as little as that went straight through somebody, it probably wouldn’t do much damage. You want it to slew around so it cuts sidewise. The point’s rounded just a shade to make it feed into the barrel, but not much.”
Silk put down the needle. “What makes the noise?”
“The air.” Auk smiled at Silk’s surprise. “When you were a sprat, didn’t some other sprat ever sling a rock at you and almost hit you? So you heard the rock go past your ear?”
Silk nodded.
“All right, there wasn’t a bang like with a slug gun, was there? It was just a rock, and the other sprat threw it with his sling. What you heard was the rock going through the air, just like you might hear the wind in the chimney. The bigger the rock was, and the faster it was going, the more noise it would make.”
“I see,” Silk murmured, and with the words the entire scene returned, glowing with the vivid colors and hot shame of youth: the whizzing stones, his futile defense and final flight, the blood that had streamed from his face down his best white tunic to dye its embroidered flowers.
“All right, a needle’s just a tiny little thing, but when it’s shot out it goes so fast that the rock might just as well be traveling backwards. So it makes that noise you heard. If it had got slewed around before it hit that jug you shot, it would have screeched like a tomcat.” Auk swept his needles into a pile with his hands. “They drop down inside the handle. See? All right. Right under my finger is a little washer with a hole in the middle and a lot of sparks in it.”
Silk raised his eyebrows, more than ready to grasp at any distraction. “Sparks?”
“Just like you see if you pet a cat in the dark. They got put into the washer when this needler was made, and they chase each other around and around the hole in that washer till you need them. When I close the breech, that’ll stick the first needle into the barrel, see?” Auk flicked on the safety. “If I’d have pulled the trigger, that would tap off some sparks for the coil. And as long as it’s got sparks, that coil works like a big lodestone. It’s up front here looped around the barrel, and it sucks the needle to it real fast. You’d think it would stay right there after it gets there, wouldn’t you?”
Silk nodded again. “Or be drawn back to the coil, if it overshot.”
“Right. Only it don’t happen, because the last spark is through the coil before the needle ever gets there. Are you finished, Patera? I’ve told you just about everything I know.”
“Yes, and the entire meal was delightful. Superb, in fact. I’m extremely grateful to you, Auk. However, I do have one more question before we go, though no doubt it will seem a very silly one to you. Why is your needler so much bigger than this one? What advantages are secured by the increase in size?”
Auk weighed his weapon in his hand before thrusting it away. “Well, Patera, for one thing mine holds a lot more needles. Full up, there’s a hundred and twenty-five. I’d say your little one there most likely only holds fifty or sixty. Mine are longer, too, which is why I can’t give you some of mine to use in yours. Longer needles mean a wider cut when they slew around, and a wider cut takes your cull out of the fight quicker. My barrel’s longer, too, and the needles are a hair thicker. All that gives ’em half a dog’s cheek more speed, so they’ll go in deeper.”
“I understand.” Silk had drawn back the loading knob of Hyacinth’s needler and was peering at the rather simple-looking mechanism revealed by the open breech.
“A needler like yours is all right inside a house or a place like this, but outside you’d better be up close before you pull the trigger. If you’re not, your needle’s going to start slewing around in the air before it ever gets to your cull, and once it starts doing that, don’t even Pas’s sprats—your pardon, Patera—know where it’s going to end up.”
Looking thoughtful, Silk got out one of Blood’s cards. “If you would allow me, Auk. I’m heavily indebted to you.”
“I already paid, Patera.” Auk rose, pushing back his chair until it thumped the wall. “Some other time, maybe.” He grinned. “Now then. You remember I said don’t even the gods know where your needles are going?”
“Of course.” Silk rose as well, finding his ankle less painful than he had anticipated.
“Well, maybe they don’t. But I do, and I’ll tell you soon as we get outside. I know where you and me are going to go, too.”
“I should return to my manteion.” By an effort of will, Silk was able to walk almost normally.
“This won’t take more than a couple hours, and I got two or three surprises I want to show you.”
The first was a litter for one, with a pair of bearers. Silk climbed into it with some trepidation, wondering whether there would be any such conveyance to carry him to the manse when the business of the evening was done. The shade had risen until no sliver of gold remained, and a dulcet breeze whispered soothingly that the dust and heat of vanquished day had been but empty lies. It fanned Silk’s flushed cheeks, and the sensual pleasure it gave him told him he had drunk one goblet of wine too many. Sadly, he resolved to watch himself more strictly in the future.