Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“They couldn’t,” replied the big man with a trace of pride. “All last week I’ve been puttering around with Vlad-Vollingstad, the foundry boss. Ripped out the whole board on the lifeboat, emergency repair supplies, controls—everything. An electrodyne forge isn’t too complicated. With the unlimited heat supply they have, I think I can get one going. I’m afraid they won’t be turning out any suspension housing, but they’ll be able to cut and bend until the lifeboat’s completely reworked. We need a lot less than that for a few big runners. Might even be able to get away with just slicing off a few sections of hull and sharpening them.

“The biggest problem is one for pure sweat. Since we can’t bring the heat to the metal, we’ll have to bring the metal to the heat. That means hauling the whole wreck up into the mountains to the foundry. Surprisingly, the Landgrave didn’t object to the cost of that one, even though it may take every vol on the island. I don’t think he wants all that nice indestructable metal sitting in the harbor where a few imaginative visiting captains could tow it away.”

“They wouldn’t get very far,” said Ethan. “Not pulling that mass across the ice.”

“Probably not,” the big man conceded, “but try and convince the Landgrave of that. So as soon as we can round up the men and animals, that gets first priority after starting the forge.”

Ethan ran a finger over part of the drawing. “You really think this thing will stay upright in a high wind?”

“Not until we try it out in one, we won’t be.” Williams nodded agreement.

“The base weight should keep it steady,” said the schoolmaster. “Also, note the airfoils front and rear. Something McKay did not have to worry about. With so much sail area on a raft that size, I’m more worried about the possibility of her becoming airborne than tipping over. These”—and he tapped the two foils on the sketch—“should eliminate any chance of that.”

Ethan stared at the hybrid of nineteenth-century terran and modern tran technology and shook his head admiringly. “Congratulations, Milliken. It’s quite a project.” He extended a hand and the schoolmaster shook it shyly. “I only hope the damn thing works.”

“What an enterprise!” Eer-Meesach began. “Nothing like it has ere been seen in Sofold or her neighbors. We shall call it ‘Slanderscree’ after the dark flight of dawn-birds which precede the souls of the departed!”

“Encouraging appellation,” commented Ethan drily.

The wizard didn’t understand him. “Bards will sing of its sailing for a hundred times a hundred years. We will be all in song and verse immortalized, sirs. The greatness of our quest shall…” September gave Ethan a gentle nudge.

“I think you’ve heard everything you have to, lad.”

“I think so, too, Skua.”

They excused themselves. Malmeevyn was so engrossed in enumerating the magnificence of his anticipated immortality that he barely noticed them depart.

Out in the cool quiet of the hallway, Ethan couldn’t resist a last question.

“Assuming this monstrosity actually gets built, Skua—”

“It will, lad.”

“Yes, well, I’ll believe it when the first sail fills. And when it isn’t torn to splinters in the first honest breeze. Assuming that—can we make it? Can we get to the settlement? And how long will it take?”

“I’ve got confidence in the boat, lad. Williams may be a bit of a secret romantic, deep down, but the design is sound. We’ve got compasses. Now that we know we’ve got a landmark close by the island, this volcano… what do they call it?”

“The Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns,” reminded Ethan helpfully.

“Yeah… from there it should be easy enough to find the town. Let’s see… given the speed that thing should be able to make, allowing time for the locals to get used to the different rigging, plus the fact that we’ll be moving against the wind at times… I’d guess we should be able to do it inside of a couple of months. Depending on the weather, of course.”

“What do you think of our captain? He didn’t awe me the first time we traveled with him.”

September grinned. “Ta-hoding? Looks and sounds like a fat whiner, doesn’t he? Probably because he is a fat whiner. But he also impressed me as a being who knows his seamanship… icemanship, rather. I’d prefer to have him at the helm and wide awake as opposed to some smooth-talking arrogant braggart who can’t tell a snow squall from a dust cloud. Give me a captain who’s concerned first for his own precious skin above a gallant idiot any time.

“I’m going to be tied up with that forge and shaping the raft runners. Williams will be busy with Eer-Meesach grinding out crude blueprints and plans. But someone has to oversee the actual construction. By the Black Hole in Cygnus, you know who volunteered when he found out about it?”

“Do tell,” said Ethan.

“Old du Kane, that’s who! Actually asked if he could. Said something to the effect that he wasn’t especially adept at decapitating belligerent obstructionists or getting drunk in comradely fashion with the local soldiery, but that he could manage large groups of people and materials. He’s learned enough of the local lingo to get by, so I told him to go ahead.”

Ethan didn’t share the big man’s confidence in the financier. “You think he’ll handle things properly? He’s not the most diplomatic type in the Arm.”

“Don’t confuse performance with personality,” admonished September, scratching at a fur-hidden ear. “I’m not fanatically in love with the old pirate myself, nor any of his ilk. But we’re not in the position of choosing from an unlimited workforce. Besides, I can guess how much credit every day he spends out of contact with his empire is costing him. He’ll get that raft built as fast as possible, all right.”

“I suppose so,” Ethan conceded uncertainly. “I can’t keep from wondering what happened to Walther.”

September grunted at the mention of the vanished kidnapper.

“Probably a frozen smear on the ice by now, what? Or resting comfortably in the belly of a Droom or some other charming member of the local fauna.”

“I suppose so.”

Ethan broke away to make for his own room and a roaring fire.

THE BUILDING OF THE Slanderscree proceeded as rapidly as anyone dared hope, despite Landgrave Torsk Kurdagh-Vlata’s royal howls of agony over the unending list of expenses. His moaning ran the unceasing wind a good vocal second.

September singed an arm when the first jumpspark was fired from the makeshift forge. After an hour’s steady work and cursing, however, the recalcitrant hunk of machinery worked perfectly. Overawed, no doubt, at recognizing an elemental force greater than itself.

With the big man sweating at the foundry, Williams and Eer-Meesach running from mountain to harbor to village with drawings and corrections in the dozens, and du Kane supervising the actual construction, Ethan was left with the thankless job of handling the thousands of minute, attendant details.

He couldn’t believe that building a primitive, crude raft could involve so many little decisions and questions, all made and answered on the spot. Surely an interstellar freighter could be no more complicated.

Brown-green sailcloth was matched to design specifications. Meters of pika-pina cable were measured and trimmed. New crates of fresh-forged bolts and fittings had to be shepherded down to the ice-dock.

Put together with equal parts sweat and invective, the Slanderscree began to take shape.

Something else was taking shape, too, and Ethan liked it a lot less than the a-building raft. This was Elfa’s continuing attempt to become something other than a casual acquaintance.