The cunning man, p.26
The Cunning Man, page 26
“The power streams will be very low,” he said. “I called it a trickle earlier and, if anything, that is an overstatement. The magic will, effectively, constrain itself. If it breaks loose, it will be redirected up and out into the ether. It will not pose a risk to anyone who doesn’t do something like jumping right into the heart of the storm.”
“An interesting concept.” Mistress Irene’s face betrayed no trace of her thoughts. “Yvonne, do you believe it can be made possible?”
“The basic design is workable,” Yvonne said. “I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t build a working model in two to three weeks. There would be hiccups along the way, of course, and we’d learn a great deal even if the first attempt failed. Once it was up and running, we’d discover if the magic flow calculations are accurate or not. It might be put together perfectly, only for us to discover that it doesn’t work as well as we hoped. Or, perhaps, it works too well and the magic surge is much greater than we anticipated.”
“So, there are risks,” Master Dagon said.
“There are always risks,” Caleb said. He held up his hand. Adam winced as he saw the old, faded scars. It was surprising that such a powerful magician hadn’t tried to heal or conceal them. “But we will learn a great deal from the experiment even if it fails.”
“You might also find out what awaits you in the next world,” Master Dagon pointed out, curtly. “The risks could be quite considerable.”
“The levels of magic involved are very low, if the calculations are correct,” Caleb countered. “The risks might be quite small.”
“Even a small magic surge can be dangerous,” Master Dagon said, aiming a sharp look at Adam. “And he really ought to know it by now.”
Mistress Irene cleared her throat. “You want us to agree to the experiment and to pay for the raw materials, correct?”
“The university stands to gain a great deal from the experiment,” Yvonne said, mildly. “And even a complete failure would teach us a great deal.”
“The expense is relatively low,” Caleb agreed. “And if the experiment fails, the windmill can be converted into a regular windmill. We have been working on growing our own food here as the desert recedes. The future farmers will need a windmill, will they not?”
“I do not believe this experiment is remotely a good idea,” Master Dagon said. “What will happen if it fails? What will happen if it succeeds?”
Caleb scowled. “With all due respect, it is just a matter of time until someone else tries it,” he said. “We can do it here, allowing the experimenters to draw on our expertise to make the concept work while avoiding disaster, or wait to see what happens when someone else, someone with unfriendly motives, tries it for himself.”
Mistress Irene nodded. “It is worth the risk,” she said. She looked at Yvonne. “You’ll be in charge of the project. Resources will be made available. Pick a spot somewhere well clear of the town and the foundry, just to be safe. See to it now.”
Yvonne bowed. Somehow, it didn’t seem odd coming from her. “Yes, My Lady.”
She stood and strode out of the room, beckoning for Adam and Arnold to collect the papers and follow her. Adam did as he was told, his thoughts churning. He hadn’t been sure what to expect ... hell, he still wasn’t sure precisely what had happened. Yvonne would have told them what they intended to do first, surely? She wouldn’t have left her peers in the dark ... he shook his head. She certainly wasn’t the sort of person who’d try to steal the credit for the idea. Heart’s Eye worked hard to make sure the original inventors were rewarded for their work.
Enchanter Praxis and Taffy met them in the entrance hall. Adam studied the older man with interest. He was powerfully built, wearing a shirt and trousers rather than a magical robe. If they hadn’t been black, Adam wouldn’t have known Praxis was a magician at all. Taffy looked small beside him. Adam tried not to feel intimidated. He’d met people who were more muscular, but few whose bearing suggested they could shift from being genial to violent at a moment’s notice.
He’s in a relationship with Yvonne, Adam reminded himself. He doesn’t think he’s automatically superior to mundanes.
Arnold grinned. “They said we could build it!”
Taffy grinned back. “I knew they’d say yes.”
Yvonne cleared her throat. “We have to find a spot,” she said, glancing at her partner. “The old Appleby Farm was never touched, was it?”
“It’s still untouched, I think,” Praxis said. “The town’s expansion hasn’t washed over the ruins yet.”
“Then we’ll start there,” Yvonne said, as she led the way outside. “If it is unsuitable, we’ll just have to look somewhere else.”
Adam winced as they stepped into the bright sunlight. He’d never been outside in the middle of the day and ... and it was terrible. The sunlight beat down, his skin prickling uncomfortably even as sweat beaded on his back and dripped down his legs. He raised a hand to cover his eyes, wondering suddenly if he was going to burn. He’d always tanned in summer, back home, but here ...the sunlight felt dangerous, almost deadly. Arnold had told him stories of people wandering into the desert, getting lost and walking in circles until they died. Adam had found it hard to believe, but now ... he swallowed, tasting ashes, as he forced himself to look at the sand dunes. They were an endless rolling sea, utterly unnatural to his eye ... it was suddenly very easy to believe that someone could get lost on the dunes. They looked identical. There were no landmarks, save for the university and the town and once they were out of sight ...
His legs ached. He somehow managed to walk anyway, following Yvonne and Praxis as they made their way down the road until they reached a crossroad. The first road was a stony track, barely meriting the title; the second was little more than a line in the sand, barely visible even in the bright sunlight. He felt almost as if he were on a beach, his feet scraping against the sand, but ... it felt eerie, almost alien. It made him wish, for the first time, that he’d had a chance to see more of the world. He could have been a sailor on a clipper if he’d wished.
You wouldn’t have found it easy, he reminded himself. And you would have had to be part of the crew.
The heat, somehow, rose even higher as they made their way down the nearly invisible road. It seemed to fade into nothingness ... he looked back and realised, to his horror, that the university was lost in the haze. They hadn’t gone that far, had they? Panic yammered at the back of his mind, even though the rest of the group was clearly in view. The environment just felt wrong. He wondered, idly, how Arnold and Taffy coped. Perhaps it was different for them. They hadn’t grown up on an island city.
He put the thought out of his mind as the farm came into view. He’d expected somewhere green, bustling with life, but instead the farm was a ruin. A handful of buildings, most of them little more than crumbled walls and scattered stones. The farmhouse was the only one that was anywhere close to intact and even it had holes in the roof. He glanced around as they walked closer, unsure where the fields were ... it took him longer than it should have done to realise they were buried under the sand. The farm had died a long time ago. Even if the original owners returned, there’d be no hope of recovering anything, let alone resurrecting the farm. He couldn’t see even a hint of water in the vicinity.
Taffy let out an odd little sob. Arnold put his arm around her. Adam felt a twinge of ... something. Taffy had grown up on a farm. She hadn’t hated being a farmgirl, she’d said; she hadn’t fled the life so much as she’d fled an abusive father and an unwanted husband. It had to hurt to see a farm in such a state ... Adam knew how he’d feel, if he saw a ruined apothecary or a destroyed town. He wouldn’t like it at all.
“We might be able to rejuvenate the farm,” Adam said. “If we added water ...”
“The damage is too great,” Taffy told him. He pretended not to see the tears in her eyes as she looked around. “The sand has killed the soil. It’ll need to be cleared before we can grow anything and, this close to the desert, it would be pretty much impossible to keep the farm alive without constant support. They say they want to grow crops here, but it will be a long time before they can do it properly.”
Arnold frowned. “They have been trying to grow crops in greenhouses,” he said. “It works.”
“On a small scale,” Taffy said. “The cost is just too high for a regular farmer.”
Adam stood beside them and watched as Yvonne and Praxis swept through the ruined farm, chattering in hushed voices as they took measurements, tested the ground and wrote extensive notes. He found it hard to believe the buildings could be fixed in a hurry, or swept aside to make room for the new windmill. And yet ... he felt his scalp itch as the sun grew even hotter. They’d have to erect some kind of shelter if craftsmen were going to be working in the open. Or do the work at night.
“It should suffice,” Yvonne said. “We’ll go to the foundry and collect our tools, then come back and start digging samples to be sure. The ground is sandy, but solid below the sand.”
“Great,” Arnold said. “After that, do you want to go to town? There’s a speech from a ...”
“I have to go back to the university, before it gets too dark,” Yvonne said. “I have to organise a team of proper surveyors before we get too invested in this site. I’ve done the basics” - she held up her notebook - “but we need to be sure. But you three can go if you wish. You can tell us all about it later.”
Arnold nodded, then winked at Adam as they started to walk to the foundry. “After the speech, we’ll go eat dinner somewhere nice,” he said. “My treat. And we can plan our next move.”
“Thanks,” Adam said. He considered asking if Lilith could come, then changed his mind. She hadn’t been comfortable last time, even before she’d kissed him and then turned him into something ... he still didn’t know what. “It will be my pleasure.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“If we wish to see true justice, we must address the thorny issue of land reform,” the speaker said. “Those of us who work the land are bound to it, chained by the laws of nature and the aristocracy alike, yet we have no share in the fruits of our labour. We do not own the land, even though we are the ones who work it; we have no say in how the land is farmed, even though we are unable to leave. Those of us who do are branded runaways and chased until we are either run to earth and killed or make our escape at the cost of never being able to return to our families. I ask you ... is that just?”
Adam shook his head. He’d never considered land reform before, but ... he’d grown up in a city. Their home had been small, yet ... their mother had an unquestionable right to her property. It wasn’t so easy, if you had to rent accommodation, but at least you could look for a better bargain elsewhere. The aristocrats who owned the farms outside the city had their population in a trap, legally bound to the land. There was no way they could withdraw their labour, let alone move to farms that treated them better. And the only way to solve the problem was to split up the big estates and share them out amongst the workers.
“The toffs tell us that they own the land, that they have the right to do what they like with their property,” the speaker said. “And they see us as property! Is that right?”
“NO,” the crowd screamed. “NO!”
“There are moderates who believe we can compromise,” the speaker continued. He said compromise as though it was a dirty word, the kind of word Adam’s mother would wash his mouth out with soap for daring to use. “They believe we can come to terms with the aristocratic landlords. But how can we come to terms with people who see us as lower than their pet horses? They are unwilling even to give us a reasonable share in what we produce! Why should we even try to compromise? They certainly will not compromise with us!”
Adam listened as the speaker’s voice rose, telling the audience that peasants were already taking the matter into their own hands. Entire swathes of the countryside were becoming ungovernable. Manors were being burnt to the ground, their occupants brutally murdered if they were stupid enough to hang around once the mobs came calling. Adam wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Mobs were dangerous. He’d seen mobs tearing people apart for the mere suspicion they were somehow linked to Vesperian, or King Randor, or whoever the mob took it into its head to hate. Mobs had no sense of restraint. And yet, how would he feel if he grew up a serf, in a world where he was nothing more than property? He was an apprentice, a servant to his master, but he wasn’t property. What if he was?
“They say there’s going to be a revolution in Alluvia,” Arnold said, quietly. “And we will be there.”
“We?” Adam frowned. “The Levellers?”
“Oh, yes,” Arnold said. “And we’ll take the rights they refuse to grant us.”
He led the way out of the park as the speaker stepped down. Adam and Taffy followed, pushing their way through the crowd. The Levellers had organised an entire series of speeches, making sure everyone had a chance to hear their words. Adam wondered, as the crowd parted to let them go, just where it would end. Everyone had their own ideas about how to reform society and no one seemed to want to listen to anyone else’s idea.
“I never realised land reform was a problem,” Adam said, quietly. “It isn’t an issue back home.”
“No one ever does,” Taffy said. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. “People will ignore problems as long as they’re problems that happen to other people, right up until the problems bite them on the rear. And then they scream.”
“Like magical brats,” Arnold said. “Their parents don’t realise their behaviour is a problem until their brats get a taste of their own medicine.”
Adam winced. “Is it really that bad, out there?”
“Yes.” Taffy scowled. “My father was a freeholder. He had a patch of land that was supposed to be his. So what? He was still forced to work for the local toff, giving his labour for free while his own land went unfarmed. And he was one of the lucky ones. The farmers, the ones who grow the food, are constantly on the verge of starving ... and do you know why? The toffs take everything, so we grow as little as possible ...”
“You should turn that into a speech,” Arnold said. “You sound more convincing than men who’ve never picked up a spade in their entire lives.”
Taffy flushed. “I’ll be fighting for women’s rights first.”
Adam nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. It wasn’t easy, even in Beneficence, for a woman to make her own way in the world. He dreaded to think what it must be like in the countryside. Taffy had been lucky to escape and make it to the university. Her peers had no choice but to submit to male authority. They moved from their fathers to their husbands and ... he felt sick. If he’d been in that situation, what would he do? What could he do? It wasn’t as if anyone would come to his defence and, if they did, he still wouldn’t be in control of his own life. He’d be dependent on others until he died.
“Good idea,” Arnold said, as he pushed the door open. “It might attract more women to join the cause.”
Taffy snickered. “Did you hear of Brenna the Birch?”
“No.” Adam scanned the pub, spotting an empty table. It was surprisingly quiet, even though it was early evening. A handful of apprentices sat around a table, drinking heavily, but otherwise the pub was nearly deserted. He hoped that didn’t mean the beer was bad and the food inedible. “What about her?”
Arnold had another question. “Don’t you mean bitch?”
“No.” Taffy smirked as they took their seats and waved to the waitress. “Brenna had an abusive husband, in Alluvia. Every time he had a bad day, he came home and took it out on his wife. She tried to run away once, which ended with her being marched back to her husband. Again. There was no way she could leave him permanently, not until she died. It was hopeless. Right?”
“Right ...” Adam had no idea where the story was going. “So, what happened?”
“In Alluvia, women are property,” Taffy explained. “They can’t do anything without their husband’s permission and there’s a lot of things they can’t do at all. Legally, Brenna’s husband was responsible for everything she did. Everything. So Brenna joined the Levellers and started distributing their broadsheets in the richest parts of town. She got caught - of course - but it was her husband who was charged with sedition. It was her husband who got his head chopped off. Brenna herself was whipped, but ... what was a whipping to her? She was free of him for life!”
Adam had to laugh. “There was something like it in Beneficence,” he said. “A husband has to pay his wife’s bills, so naturally she drove them as high as they could go. It was quite an interesting court case.”
Taffy smiled back. “What happened?”
“I think they changed the law,” Adam said. He couldn’t recall the details. There’d been several different versions of the story, each with a different ending. “But my mother never had any trouble handling her own money.”
The waitress arrived, holding the menu. Adam glanced at the prices and frowned. They were relatively low, something that puzzled him. The pub should have been heaving with customers ... he shrugged and ordered something simple, so simple even the most inexperienced cook couldn’t mess it up. Arnold and Taffy didn’t seem to have any doubts. Adam guessed they’d eaten at the pub before. They did seem to spend a lot of time together.
“We need to think of something for our next trick,” Arnold said, as the waitress retreated. “Can you brew a potion gas that turns magicians into frogs?”
Adam considered it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s very difficult to brew a potion that would transfigure someone, then the magic would have to remain intact even as the potion became a gas. It simply wouldn’t be concentrated enough to work ... I think. I’m not sure I could even reach the first step, not without help.”
“I’m sure Lilith would agree to help.” Arnold leered cheerfully at him. “Just tell her you’re going to be the one who drinks it.”
