K Parker - Devices and Desires

'You did.'

'I'm sorry.' Now he looked more bewildered than ever. 'Excuse me, but who are you?'

'The Grand Army of Eremia, what's left of it,' Orsea replied. 'So, if you're not a soldier or a spy, and you didn't know about the war, why were you following the army?'

'I reckoned they must have water,' he said. 'Or at least they'd lead me to a river or something. I've only been following them for a day. I tried to steal some food, but the sentries spotted me and I had to run. When I stopped running, I realised I was lost. Then I saw your lot, and thought I'd try my luck. Nothing to lose. It was that or lie down and die somewhere. Just my luck I had to run into a war.'

Brief silence; then Miel said, 'If he's lying, he's very good at it.'

'I'm not, I'm telling the truth.'

'Cocky with it,' Orsea said. 'So, you're an escaped convict. What did you do?'

'It's along story.'

'Indulge me.'

The man looked at him. 'I killed a couple of prison warders,' he said. 'And maybe the secretary of the tribunal, I'm not sure.'

Miel leaned over the man's shoulder. 'Are you sure you wouldn't rather be a spy?' he said. 'I don't know what they tell you about us in the City, but murder's against the law out here, too.'

'Leave him alone, Miel, this is interesting. So,' Orsea went on, 'if you killed a couple of warders, you were in prison already, yes?'

The man nodded. 'I'd just been tried. But I got away and the warders caught me.'

'So you'd done something else before you killed the warders?'

'Yes.' The man hesitated.

'What?'

'It's complicated.'

Orsea raised an eyebrow. Whatever it was, this strange, scruffy man seemed to think it was worse than killing prison officers; he was afraid to say what it was. 'I'm game if you are,' he said.

The man took a deep breath. 'I was charged with mechanical innovation,' he said. 'It's very serious, in the City.'

'Worse than killing people?'

'I suppose so.'

'Were you guilty?'

The man nodded. 'Apparently,' he said.

Miel stood up. 'Now can we hang him?' he said. 'I mean, he's just confessed to murder.'

Orsea frowned. 'You still reckon he's a spy.'

'To be honest, I don't care much.' Miel yawned. 'What it boils down to is we can't very well let him go if he's really a convicted murderer, and I really can't be bothered making the arrangements to send him back. Also, he's seen the Butter Pass, and maybe he's thinking he could do a deal for the information. Either that, or I'm right and he's a spy. No offence, Orsea, but he's running out of play value. Let's pull his neck and get on with what we're supposed to be doing.'

That didn't sound much like Miel, Orsea thought; so this must be a ploy to get the prisoner scared and make him confess. On the other hand, the poor devil was unquestionably a Mezentine; lynching one would probably do wonders for the army's morale. Maybe that was why Miel was making such uncharacteristically brutal noises.

He made up his mind, suddenly, without being aware of having thought it through. If Miel was reminding him of his duty toward the army and the country, fine; he still wasn't prepared to string up someone who looked so unspeakably sad. In spite of the battle and the iron pins from the sky and his own unforgivable mistakes, Orsea still had faith in the world; he believed it might still be possible to make it work, somehow or other. The Mezentine, on the other hand, clearly felt that the world was a cruel, nasty place where bad things always happened. Lynching him would only serve to prove him right, and that would be a betrayal; and if Orsea believed in anything, it was loyalty.

'He's not a spy,' he said. 'And if he's committed crimes in Mezentia, that's really none of our business. I can't go hanging civilians without a trial, in any event. Find him a meal and somewhere to sleep, and in the morning give him three days' rations and a pair of shoes, and let him go. All right?'

'Miel nodded. He didn't seem at all put out about having his advice ignored. 'I'll get the duty officer to see to it,' he said, and went out.

Orsea was about to tell the guards to take the prisoner somewhere else when a thought struck him. He looked at the man and frowned. 'Mind if I ask you a question?'

'Go ahead.'

'In the battle today,' Orsea said, 'we did really badly. Your lot slaughtered us, and we never got close enough to see their faces. One minute we were advancing in good order, and then the sky was full of sharp steel bolts, about so long and so thick, and that was that. I was wondering,' Orsea went on. 'Can you tell me anything about that?'

The man looked at him. 'You mean, what sort of weapon was it?'

Orsea nodded. 'Obviously it must be a deadly secret; at any rate, it was a complete surprise to us. So I imagine you'd get in all sorts of trouble for disclosing restricted information to the enemy. On the other hand.'

The man smiled. 'It's a simple mechanical device. Well,' he added, 'fairly simple. A powerful steel leaf-spring is drawn back by a ratchet. There's a steel cable fastened to the ends of the spring, just like the string of a conventional bow. When the sear is tripped, the force of the spring acting on the cable shoots the bolt up a groove in the bed. It's called a scorpion.'

Orsea raised an eyebrow. 'You know a lot about it.'

'I should do,' the man replied. 'I used to make them.'

There was a long pause. 'Is that right?' Orsea said.

'I was the foreman of the machine shop at the ordnance factory,' the man said. 'I was in charge of production. We've got a building about a hundred yards long by thirty, just for the scorpions. On average we turn out a dozen a day; eighteen if we work three shifts.' He looked Orsea in the eye. 'Are you going to have me killed now?'

'I'm not sure. Do you want me to?'

He smiled again. 'No,' he said. 'But it's not up to me, and if you're looking for someone to blame-'

'Already got someone, thanks,' Orsea said. 'Now, there was no need for you to tell me that, and you don't strike me as the sort who blurts things out without thinking.'

The man nodded. 'Scorpions aren't the only thing we make at the ordnance factory,' he said. 'And besides, from what little I know about the outside world, I get the impression that you're a long way behind us as far as making things is concerned.'

'To put it mildly,' Orsea said. 'As you very well know.'

The man's dirty, battered face was closed, and his eyes were very bright. 'I could teach you,' he said.

'Teach us what?'

'Everything.' His whole body was perfectly still, apart from the slight movements caused by his quick, shallow breathing. 'Everything I know; and that's a lot. Basic metallurgy; foundry and forge work; machining and toolmaking; mass production, interchangeable components, gauges and tolerances. It'd take a long time, you'd be starting from scratch and I'd have to train a lot of people. I don't know how you're fixed for raw materials, iron ore and charcoal and coal. We'd probably have to start off by damming a river, to build a race for a decent-sized waterwheel. You'd be lucky to see so much as a nail or a length of wire for at least five years.' He shrugged. And it'd mean a lot of changes, and maybe you're perfectly happy as you are. After all,' he added, 'I'm hardly the best advertisement for an industrial society.'

Orsea frowned. 'Leave the bad side to me. You carry on telling me about the advantages.'

'You don't need me to do that,' the man replied. 'You know as well as I do. First, you wouldn't depend on us for pretty well every damned thing you use. Second, you could trade. Undercut the Mezentines and take over their markets. That's why our government won't let people like me leave the City. You could transform your whole society. You could be like us.'