Гарри Тертлдав - The First Heroes

Caring for nothing but its song, the phoenix soars higher and higher. Perhaps all would yet be well. Willing it to be so, I said, "Of course, master."

Safely secluded in our craft, Master Chu and I spent happy months compounding bronze alloys and casting test bells. The molten metal was poured into pottery molds so large they had to be made in sections, an exacting and difficult business. The largest bell would be chest-high. No one had ever attempted so large an instrument before. We practiced on the smaller ones, slowly perfecting the placement of the mei, the bronze bumps on the outside of the bell. Even such tiny details affected the tone.

The day we unmolded the first bell was like a birthday. Master Chu lowered the hot pottery mold into a sandbox and levered the halves apart with a stick. It was the tiniest bell, no larger than my hand, and the hot curve of metal rolled out of the dull mold glowing like a chestnut newly hulled. "Hot, hot!" my master exclaimed, patting it with his leather-gauntleted fingertips. He eased the tip of the stick into the xuan, the loop the bell would hang by. When he raised it from the surface of the sand the bell hung at a bit less than the ideal thirty-degree angle, counterbalanced by its heavy yong. "We can adjust that," he panted. "File the yong down a bit. Now, Li, strike!"

I had a tiny wooden mallet ready. The markings made the sui position perfectly easy to find on the flatter front surface of the curve. I have not the touch of a trained musician, but I knew how to tap the place. The sweet high note hung in the air and then faded. It's important that there be no prolonged echo that would interfere with the main melody. Then I struck the gu position. "Hah!"

"A perfect harmonic!" Master Chu grinned so widely the sweat dripped down into his open month.

The glorious pure sound made my vision blur, hope and joy bubbling up inside my chest. Perhaps the music of bells really did have some unknown power, unless it was only the heat radiating from the new metal to blame. I grinned too. "And it only took three months!"

"The next bells will be faster. Not easier, but faster. We can set the slaves to polishing this one and engraving Lady Yang's prayer inside."

There is no madness like love, and surely the love of one's craft is the maddest of them all. Master Chu would not have selected me as his Assistant if I did not also have something of the phoenix in me. Not a thought did I put into larger issues that year. To make the bells was enough; what others would do with them was unimportant.

Compounding this were the usual maddening delays and setbacks. The larger bells cracked or did not ring truly, and had to be cast and recast several times. Right up to the last moment we were adjusting tone by grinding metal from the insides. The Lord Yang had had three special wagons made with racks running down the middle, pegs for the different mallets, and space for the musicians to stand. When all the bells were hung in place and the wagons lined up, it looked very fine indeed.

The Director of the lord's orchestra came to the foundry to accept delivery. When I saw him in his full battle armor and helmet, it washed over me like cold water, what we had done. The phoenix fell to the ground with a thump. Impossible to tell myself that we were merely the ornamental button on Lord Yang's cap. My master was dashing from rack to rack, advising the players. So I was able to remark to the Director, "You are marching with the army, I see. Do you know, have these bells formed a vital part of our lord's battle tactics?"

"They are absolutely essential," the Director said cheerfully. "I've had the players perfecting their repertoire, practicing on clay dummy bells. On the way we shall do 'Carp and Bamboo' and 'Hands Like Lilies,' all the good old walking tunes. Then as they march to the actual battle we will play 'Spears of Gold' and my own special composition for the occasion, which our lord has graciously permitted me to title 'Thunder Dragon Yang' ..."

More proof that love of one's work is madness! I could see that it would be the same whomever I queried. The generals would chatter of battle diagrams, the horsemen would drone on about saddlery, the sutlers would talk about supply trains until listeners wept with boredom. Every tile in the pattern believed passionately that it was paramount. There was no discreet way to find out whether our bells really were supposed to be magic. Suppose the Lord Yang truly was relying upon it? As well lean upon a sewing needle, as my master said. I could see it now, the crushing defeat, the carnage of the battlefield, Lord Tso marching upon our town, the sack and pillage. As his Assistant it would be my duty to defend Master Chu to the death. Perhaps we could escape before the victors put the city to the torch. Our tools could be loaded into a wagon . . .

It haunted me so much, I derived no pleasure from watching the army march away the next day. Everyone in town turned out to watch and cheer. Incense burners made the air blue with sweet smoke. Scarlet banners fluttered from spear points, and Lord Yang rode on a white stallion with slaves holding a green silk canopy over his head. "Magnificent!" my master yelled in my ear over the tumult. "Even that old war-horse 'Hands Like Lilies' sounds grand when played over a hundred and sixty tones."

"Will a hundred and sixty tones make Lord Tso's soldiers fall down and bleed?" "There's always a sadness when a big project is finished," my master assured me. "Fear not—it passes off entirely when the next job turns up." "My next job might be fleeing with you into the mountains. Could we perhaps buy a couple of mules, just in case?" "Don't be silly, lad. Look, there's the palanquin with the Lady. Those gilded poles and rings must have cost a fortune." "Is she pregnant?" I demanded gloomily. But with the flowing robes that princesses wore it was impossible to say.

With the passage of the ladies the most interesting part of the parade was over. "Look here, Li." My master patted me on the shoulder as we turned away. "You'll fret yourself into a fever. The odds are quite good. Either our lord wins the battle, or not. And either the babe will be a girl, or a boy. Fifty-fifty in both cases, and we can't affect the outcome either way."

"There's something wrong with your calculation," I grumbled, but couldn't put my finger on it.

As summer slid into autumn I became more and more uneasy. The war might be won or lost already, with no way to tell from this distance. The first word we got might be Lord Tso's regiments at the gate with fire and sword. I spent my own small savings on a good mule and its trappings, and packed food and clothing for us both, ready to be snatched up at a moment's notice. And I sorted all the tools in the forge into a pile to take, and those that could be left. "Perhaps you should marry," my master suggested mildly. "It's not healthy to bear the troubles of all the world on your back. A wife would help you sleep better."

"I don't want to sleep better. I want to keep an eye open for trouble."

"Always, you expect the worst!" Master Chu looked out over the silent workshop. "Another job, that's what we need. Perhaps you're right, and we should move on purely for professional reasons. Lord Yang probably has all the bells he will want for some time."

"Lord Yang has troubles enough on his hands—"

But he waved me to silence. "Listen. Do you hear?"

The sound suddenly resounded clearly in the empty room, the clamor of many voices and shouting. "News must have arrived! Quick, let's go to the marketplace and find out."

Forgetting the autumn chill we dashed bareheaded into the courtyard. But beyond the house gate horses milled, and armed men. Armored fists were raised to hammer for entry. "Oh gods, I knew it," I groaned. "All is lost. The town is being sacked. We're about to die. Run, master, run!"