‘Get to it,’ said Jal-Nish. ‘No – wait. With fifty people on the treadmills there’ll be no room to move. Do something about that too.’
‘What did you have in mind, surr?’
‘Find a way of powering those pumps with the field, and get it made.’
‘I’ll speak to Irisis. She –’
‘Irisis isn’t going to be here,’ he grated. ‘Put a competent artisan onto it, overseer, if you have one. I want it done by the morning.’
‘Impossible, surr.’
‘If it’s not done, you’ll be cleaning out the drains for the rest of your life.’
‘We don’t have the crystal. That’s why –’
‘They’re pumps, not clankers. Surely the scrap crystals will do?’
‘I’ll speak to the artisans.’ Tuniz ran.
The perquisitor’s clanker operator appeared, looking around uneasily.
‘Well?’ barked Jal-Nish. ‘Don’t stand over there, boy.’
The lad crept forward, staring at the floor. ‘The field is unusually weak at the moment, surr. They haven’t seen it this way in the past ten years, which is how long the artisans have been mapping it.’
‘Incompetent fools. They’ll learn to do better when I’m in charge.’
That afternoon, as the shaft was finally pumped dry, one of the clankers hauled down two great curved sheets of iron. They were lowered to the ninth level and manoeuvred into the shaft, where they were fitted together to form a cylinder about two spans across and the same deep. The joins were liberally coated with tar and the two halves tightened with bolts to form a watertight lining. Pumps drew water from the outside. The miners kept sinking the shaft, cutting away the rock beneath the cylinder, while those on top hammered it down and added another section.
The following morning, just before noon, Tuniz and Artisan Oon-Mie brought down a mechanism to drive one of the pumps. It was a strange device of iron pipework topped with a bare controller, no more than a jumble of wires and crystal.
‘What the hell is that?’ snapped Jal-Nish.
Tuniz and the artisan had been up all night and the overseer had had enough. Tuniz stood up to her full height, a head taller than the perquisitor, and bared her filed teeth. ‘Are you questioning my competence, surr?’ she said in a silky-soft voice. ‘You asked for a pump controller and we have given you one.’
For a moment it looked as though Jal-Nish would explode, but he thought better of it. ‘If it works, I’m happy. If it does not …’
They set it up and attached it to one of the pumps. Oon-Mie drew power into the controller and water ebbed from the outlet of the pump.
‘Good,’ said the perquisitor. ‘Take its treadmill away and attend to all the others. By tomorrow.’
The miners worked at an equally furious pace. ‘I don’t like it,’ said Cloor the following day, as a third section was bolted on. The shaft was now five spans deep. ‘The water pressure is too great. If we hit a big fracture, water will burst in underneath and flood the shaft in seconds.’
‘Then put ropes around your miners so you can pull them out,’ said Jal-Nish, who seemed to have a solution for every problem. ‘How the hell did you ever come to be chief miner? Seeker, are you ready?’
Ullii nodded stiffly. They had rigged up a rope chair for her. She climbed into it and two miners lowered her into the pit. She liked the moist, quiet darkness and normally felt at home in the mine, but the further into the pit she went, the more uncomfortable she became. She could sense the water swirling on the other side of the iron. It felt like a malevolent creature waiting to burst in and drown her. Ullii was inclined to personify the forces of the world, and think that they were directed against her.
Then she felt it. There was crystal everywhere, a whole pod or vein not far below her. Good crystals. And among or beneath them was a huge one that felt to be beating like a heart. It was different – a master crystal, the source of the field, perhaps the node itself.
But it was not beating regularly. In her lattice she could see it, fluxing strong to weak, fast to slow to fluttery. It was as if the huge crystal, or the node, was sick. When she’d first sensed it, up on the seventh level, it had filled her with ecstasy. She had spent hours listening to it and feeling it. Now she felt a twisting, aching sorrow and could not tell why. Tears streamed down her face.
‘Take me away!’ she choked.
They pulled her up.
‘What is it, seeker?’ cried Jal-Nish. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Crystal!’
‘What about it? It’s not there? The lyrinx have taken these crystals too?’
‘Crystal is there. Good crystal. Node is sick; dying.’
Jal-Nish spun around so quickly that the mask slipped on his face, though not enough to reveal what lay beneath. ‘The enemy has got to it! That’s why the field is so weak. The worthless scrutator –’
Breaking off, he ran toward the lift, his one arm scything. ‘Keep working,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Don’t stop until you find the first crystal; then call me.’
A pretty young aide burst in through the door of Flydd’s room. ‘Perquisitor’s coming, surr, and he looks mighty angry.’
‘Thank you, Pirse.’ She ducked away. ‘Get out of sight, Irisis.’
Irisis disappeared into the manufactory. The scrutator kept on with his work. Within a minute, Jal-Nish burst into the room. ‘Your incompetence has gone too far this time, scrutator.’
Flydd looked up from over his papers. ‘I would remind you, Perquisitor Hlar, that I am your superior. I’m doing a report on you now.’
‘I’ve already done one on you, surr, and I’m expecting despatches from the Council at any time. You won’t be so smug then.’
‘You realise the penalty for appealing over my head, should your judgment prove to be faulty?’
‘It won’t!’
‘What is the problem?’
‘The problem,’ gritted the perquisitor, ‘is that the node is failing. The field has lost near half its power already.’
‘The field fluctuates,’ replied the scrutator. ‘There’s no evidence –’
‘The seeker thinks differently,’ Jal-Nish said. ‘She says that the node is dying. You allowed the enemy into the mine and they’ve attacked the node. You’ve failed to protect what was most vital of all, scrutator. This will be the end of you and your lying, cheating lover.’
‘We can’t protect what we don’t understand,’ said Flydd. ‘We don’t even know how nodes, and their fields, come about.’
A different aide rapped at the door, an equally pretty young man. ‘Yes?’ said Jal-Nish.
‘A skeet is coming in, surr. From the Council of Scrutators. Shall I bring the message down?’
‘At last!’ crowed the perquisitor. ‘No, I’ll come to the skeet house. We’ll speak again, scrutator!’ There was a savage glint in his bloodshot eye.
When he had gone, the scrutator recalled Pirse. ‘Would you tell Crafter Irisis that I will meet her in the refectory? Be quick.’ Pirse ran off.
Flydd took several articles from the desk and put them in the leather satchel that he carried with him. He went to his trunk, extracting a small book. Finally he opened his door, looked out and went by a roundabout way to the refectory.
Irisis was already waiting, head down, writing on a tablet. He admired her from across the room. She really was a magnificent creature, and a fine artisan too; one of the best. If only she had not lost her talent. Selecting a bowl of tea and some sugared plums – he must look casual – he hobbled across. His bones were troubling him more than usual today. He reflected on the torment that had made them that way.
She smiled as he sat down. It warmed him. If only … Don’t be an old fool! Flydd told himself.
‘Good news or bad?’ said Irisis.
‘The worst. The field is weakening daily and Ullii says the node is sick. Jal-Nish thinks the enemy has got to it, and blames me.’