"Hmm-auhm," the Islander-his name was Marzel, a plump little man with a snuff-colored turban-said.
He picked up the model Adrian had had made by standing over a toycrafter. It showed a single upright cylinder, with a piston rod coming out of its top. The rod connected to one end of a beam; the beam was pivoted in the middle, and the other end had a second rod that worked a crank, that in turn moved a wheel with paddles.
"I've seen wheels like this used to move grindstones," Marzel said. "This is the same thing in reverse, isn't it?"
Gray-Eyed Lady, thank You, Adrian thought. Finally, someone who understands what I'm talking about!
"Exactly!" he said aloud. "The steam pushes the piston, the piston pushes the beam up and down, the crank turns that into around and around, and the wheel pushes the ship-one on each side."
"Hmmm-auhm," Marzel mused again. "You know, honored sir, one could use this to move a grindstone, too."
A hecatomb of oxen to you, Lady of Wisdom. Aloud: "Yes, it could-think of it as a way of transforming firewood into work, the way a man or a velipad converts food into work."
Marzel laughed aloud. "Ah, you have a divine wit, honored sir!" He returned to the model. "So, let me see if I have grasped this. The steam goes through these valves here, at each end of the cylinder. As the piston moves, it uncovers these two rows of outlets here at the middle of the cylinder, letting the steam escape."
At Adrian's nod, the artificer turned back to the plans, tracing lines across the reed-paper with a finger and then referring back to the model.
"Honored sir," he said at last, "I love this thing you have designed-so clever, you Emeralds! Yes, I love the thought of making it. But I am not sure that it can be made, in the world of real things. In the. . how do you Emeralds say it? In the world of Pure Forms, yes, this will work as you say. But it has so many valves, so much piping, so many joints, you see. Holding water in such a thing, for say the fountains and curious metal beasts in the Garden of Curiosities in the King's Palace, that is difficult. Holding hot steam. . can fittings be made precisely enough? Even with the finest craftsmen? And these parts will be large."
Adrian nodded in respect for the man's honesty; and his courage, expressing doubts here in the palace rather than telling the royal favorite whatever he wanted to hear.
"I am certain that if any man can do it, Marzel Therdu, you can," he said. "And I am certain that it can be done." He spread his hands and smiled. "And my head answers for it, if it cannot, not yours."
Marzel rose and made the gesture of respect, bowing with palms pressed together. "Perhaps. . Perhaps we would be well advised to try first a model of this thing, this. . hot water mover?"
"Steam engine."
"Steam engine, then. Not a toy model, although that was useful. A working model, enough to drive a small launch, of the type rowed by ten men?"
probability of success of steam ram project has increased to 61 % ±7, Center said. as always, stochastic analysis cannot fully compensate for human variability.
Adrian smiled; if that had been a human voice speaking aloud, and not a supernatural machine whispering at the back of his mind, he'd have sworn there was a rasp of exasperation in it-rather the way one of the professors of Political Theory in the Academy had spoken of the Confederacy of Vanbert's Constitution; it should not work, but it did.
"I think you are right, Marzel," he said. "If you could bring me the costed estimates, in. ."
"Three days time, honored sir."
"Three days, that would be excellent."
They parted with the usual flowery Islander protestations of mutual esteem; this time they were sincere. As the Islander left, Adrian rose to circle the ship model on the table once more. It showed a craft halfway between a galley and a merchant ship, perhaps five times longer than it was wide. The bow ended in a ram shaped like a cold chisel, and there were neither oars nor sail. Instead two great bladed wheels revolved on either side, and the hull was covered over wholly by a turtlelike deck. Octagons covered that in turn like the scales of some great serpent, marking where the hand-hammered iron plates would go. The upper curve was broken by two smokestacks, one to the left and one to the right; between them was a low circular deckhouse, with slits all around for vision.
Esmond rose from the corner where he had been sitting silently. "Brother," he said gently. "Will this really work?"
"I don't know," Adrian said. "I think it will. The gunpowder worked. ."
"Yes." Esmond paused. "I know I haven't been much help to you. . much help since Vanbert," he said hesitantly.
Adrian turned and gripped his shoulders. "Oh, no-just saved my life half a dozen times in the retreat, got us all out alive, got us a ship, rushed around like Wodep would if he had enough sense to listen to the Gray-Eyed. ."
"Brother, I'm worried about you," the taller of the Gellerts said bluntly. "I don't. . I've known you all my life. Yes, you're the smarter of us, and yes, you're a Scholar the Grove could be proud of-but all these, these things you've been coming up with since Father died. ."
"These things are our only chance of revenge on the Confederacy," Adrian said, with a peculiar inward wrench. I cannot tell the truth even to my brother, who is not only the brother of my blood but the brother of my heart, he knew. First, Esmond would simply be horrified that his brother had gone mad. And even if he believed, would he understand? The concepts had been hard enough for Adrian, and he had two disembodied intelligences speaking directly to him.
He thrust aside certain fears that had come to him in the night, now and then. What if I am truly mad? What if these are demons, such as the ancient stories tell of?
Esmond's face hardened. "You're right," he said. "I thank the gods that you've stumbled on these things." A smile. "Forgive my weakness."
"I'd forgive you far more than a concern for me, Esmond."
The cry was a huge shout, like a battle trumpet. Adrian Gellert shot out of the low soft bed as if he had been yanked out with cords, not fully conscious until he realized he was standing barefoot on cold marble with the dagger he kept under the pillow naked in his hand.
Nothing, he thought. Nothing but the night sounds of Chalice, insects, birds, the soft whisper of water in the fountain that plashed in the courtyard below, a watchman calling out as his iron-tipped staff clacked on paving stones.
Then a woman screamed; that was close, just down the corridor. Adrian was out the door of his bedroom in seconds, feet skidding on the slick stones of the floor. One of the Lowissons' guards was there not long after him, likewise in nothing but his drawers, looking foolish with his shaved head showing-no time to don the turban-but a curved sword ready in his hand. Adrian ignored him, plunging into his brother's room. The door rebounded off his shoulder and crashed against the jamb and Adrian's gaze skittered about. The room was dark-even the nightlight in the lamp by the bed had gone out. Then it grew a bright greenish cast, as Center amplified the light that was reaching his retinas. Even then Adrian's skin crawled with the revulsion that brought, but there was no time for anything but business now.
Esmond Gellert was sitting up in bed, his muscular chest heaving and sheening with sweat. His eyes were wide and staring, and cloth ripped in the hand that held a pillow. An Islander woman crouched naked against the far wall, sobbing.