David Brin - The Practice Effect

“Anyway, Wizard,” Hoss’k went on, “no harm was done, I’m sure. When my Lord Baron decides it is time for you to return to your homeland with your property, I’m sure we can return the metal I took and lend you all the help you’ll need in order to practice your little house back to perfection.”

Dennis swore softly in Arabic, the only way he could properly express his opinion of the idea.

Hoss’k seemed to sense some of the message, if not the meaning. His smile narrowed. “And if my Lord decides otherwise, why, then I will lead another expedition to the little house and reclaim all of that wonderful metal for my Lord’s treasury.”

Dennis sat back in stunned silence. If the airlock itself were ever actually moved, let alone dismantled, he would spend the rest of his life here!

Kremer had remained quiet during this exchange. Now he cut in.

“I believe we have strayed from the topic, my good Deacon. You were explaining to us what was so unusual about the tools once owned by our alien wizard. You said that they appear to remain unchanged, no matter how long they are left unpracticed.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Hoss’k bowed. “And there is only one way known to freeze a tool into its practiced form so it will remain in that condition forever, unable to revert to its starter state. In our land this technique is controlled only by the L’Toff.”

Linnora sat rigidly, not looking at Hoss’k or even at Dennis.

“The technique, as we all know, involves a member of the L’Toff race willingly investing a portion of his or her own life-force into the tool in question, spending a part of his or her life-span to make the Pr’fett permanent.”

Kremer spoke pensively. “A great gift, is it not, Wizard? The priests claim that the L’Toff were chosen by the gods…blessed with the talent to be able to make beautiful things beautiful forever.

“But all gifts have a price, do they not, scholar?”

Hoss’k nodded sagely. “Yes, my Lord. The talent has been a mixed blessing to the L’Toff. With their other gifts, it elevated them above other peoples. It also led to many unpleasant episodes of, well, what might be called attempted exploitation by others.”

Dennis blinked. This was all coming too fast, but even without reflection he could imagine how the L’Toff had suffered for their talent.

The Princess looked only at her own hands.

“Of course, the rest of the story is common knowledge,” Hoss’k said, chuckling. “Fleeing the greed of mankind, the L’Toff came to the western mountains, where an ancestor of our King Hymiel ceded them their present territory and made the old dukes of Zuslik their protectors.”

And Baron Kremer’s father deposed the last of the old dukes, Dennis realized.

“We were speaking of the wizard’s property,” Kremer reminded softly but severely.

Hoss’k bowed. “Of course. Now, what can we suppose when we find that the wizard’s property does not decay, does not devolve into crude starters? We are forced to conclude that Dennis Nuel is a member of the aristocracy of his homeland, a homeland in which both metal and life itself are cheap. Furthermore, it seems clear that the equivalent of the L’Toff in his country have been enslaved and put to use freezing Pr’fett within practiced objects so that they remain refined even when left unused for long periods. This exploitation has gone so far as to freezing even Nuel’s clothing. Here in Coylia no one has ever considered squandering the L’Toff talent on clothes—”

“Now just a darned minute,” Dennis cut in. “I think there are a few things that need to be—”

Hoss’k grinned and hurried on, cutting Dennis off. “—We must conclude, at last, that their expertise at different lands of essence—including the enslavement of little animals as integral parts of tools—plus this power over the L’Toff of their own land explains the wizardry of Dennis Nuel’s country.

“He may be an exile or an adventurer. I cannot say which. In either case our guest clearly comes from a most powerful and ruthless warrior race. This being so, he should be treated as a member of the highest caste while he remains here in Coylia.”

Dennis stared at the man, dumbfounded. He wanted to laugh, but it was too preposterous even for that!

He started to speak twice and stopped each time. It occurred to him to wonder if he should interfere at all. His initial impulse to protest might not be the right strategy at all. If Hoss’k’s sophistry led to the granting of high status and respect here, should he even interfere?

While he considered, Princess Linnora abruptly stood up, her face very pale. “My Lord Baron. Gentlemen.” She nodded left and right but did not look at Dennis. “I am fatigued. Will you excuse me?”

Her chair was withdrawn by a servant. She did not meet Dennis’s gaze, though he stood and tried to catch her eye. She bore stoically the Baron’s lips upon her hand, then turned and left, accompanied by two guards.

Dennis’s ears burned. He could well imagine what Linnora thought of him. But all considered, it was probably best that he had remained silent right now, until he had a chance to think about what was to be done. The time for explanations would come later.

He turned to see Kremer smiling at him. The Baron took his seat and sipped from a goblet whose lacquer had, over the years, developed into a magnificent, arsene blue.

“Please sit down, Wizard. Do you smoke? I have pipes that have been used every day for three hundred years. As we relax, I am certain we will find matters of mutual benefit to discuss.”

Dennis said nothing.

Kremer eyed him calculatingly. “And perhaps we can work out something that will benefit the lady as well.”

Dennis frowned. Were his feelings that obvious?

He shrugged and sat down. In his position, he had little choice but to deal.

“It’s a good thing the palace has lots of well-practiced indoor plumbing,” Arth said as he worked to join two ill-fitting pieces of tubing, binding them with wet mud and twine. “I’d hate to have to make our own pipes out of paper or clay and have to practice ’em up ourselves.”

Dennis used a chisel to trim a tight wooden cover to fit over a large earthen vat. Nearby, several kegs of the Baron’s “best” wine awaited another test run. The maze of tubes overhead was a plumber’s nightmare. Even the sloppiest Appalachian moonshiner would have shuddered at the sight. But Dennis figured it would be good enough for a “starter” distillery.

All they had to do was get a few drops of brandy to come out the other end of the condenser. A little final product was all they needed for it to be useful and therefore practicable.

Arth whistled as he worked. He seemed to have forgiven Dennis since being released from the dungeon and assigned work as “wizard’s assistant.” Now wearing comfortably old work clothes and being fed well, the short thief was enthralled by this extended making task, unlike anything he had ever done before.

“Do you think Kremer’s goin’ to be satisfied with this still, Dennizz?”

Dennis shrugged. “In a couple of days we should be producing a concoction that’ll knock the Baron’s fancy, two-hundred-year-old socks off. It ought to make him happy.”

“Well, I still hate his guts, but I’ll admit he pays well.” Arth jingled a small leather purse a quarter filled with slivers of precious copper.

Arth seemed satisfied for now, but Dennis had his private doubts. Making a distillery for Kremer was a stopgap measure at best. He was sure the warlord would only want more from his new wizard. Soon he would lose interest in promises of new luxuries and trade goods and start demanding weapons for his upcoming campaign against the L’Toff and the King.