Iron master, p.29
Iron Master, page 29
The dwelling place Cadillac had taken him to lay outside the Heron Pool compound, some two hundred yards down the road towards Mara-bara. Set amidst shrubs and trees on a well-tended patch of ground, it reminded Steve of the stand-alone unit at the post-house where he had met with Clearwater and the Man in Black.
For some time now, Steve had been wondering if there was a ‘hidden’ Basic vocabulary that held the word-concepts to describe the things he had seen since entering Ne-Issan. Coming, as he did, from the underground world of the Federation where military organisation and terminology shaped the lives and thoughts of everyone from the President-General down, Steve had been unable to give full expression to what he had seen and felt during his travels across the overground.
Even something as simple as the small collapsible huts used by the Plainfolk Mutes had been a new idea to assimilate. The wheelboats had been less of a problem. Although they were totally alien structures, they could be viewed as primitive, sea-borne wagon-trains and thus understood in terms of past experience. But the bewildering variety of Iron Master architecture which was the outward expression of a totally different lifestyle opened up a whole new world. Palaces, houses, pavilions, cottages, shops, markets, towns, villages and hamlets were word-concepts Steve had never encountered before, just as he had once been unaware of the existence of words, states such as ‘love’ and ‘freedom’.
Meeting Clearwater had changed all that, and he was conscious that the memory of her stood between Cadillac and himself at this very moment: invisible yet as tangible and as disturbing as if she had been physically present in the room.
Cadillac slid open a wall panel, revealing a row of shelves. He took out a porcelain bottle of sake and two small bowls bearing the same glazed design. Placing the bowls on the drafting table, he filled them with a professional flourish and motioned Steve to pick one up.
They raised their bowls to each other and touched rims.
‘To old times,’ said Cadillac. His voice and face gave no hint as to whether he viewed them as being good or bad, but he swallowed the contents of the bowl at one gulp – an indication perhaps that he needed something to kill the pain or to give himself an extra boost in order to deal with his unexpected visitor.
Mindful of the tongue-loosening effects of the sake he’d drunk with Noburo, Steve took it nice and slow and concentrated on reading his rival. He hadn’t anticipated meeting Cadillac this early, and in this fashion, and wasn’t quite sure how to play it.
Cadillac refilled his bowl, stoppered the bottle and bolstered himself with another big swallow. ‘So… what brings you here?’
Steve adopted the same low-key approach. ‘Ohh, various things. I brought you a message from Mr Snow.’ He saw Cadillac’s eyes flicker at the mention of his teacher’s name. A guilty conscience, fond memory, a lingering sense of loyalty, it didn’t matter. It was a gap in his defences that could be exploited.
‘He sent you here?’
‘Not exactly. He was worried about you. When he discovered you hadn’t come back on the wheelboat–’
‘You were at the trading post?’
Steve had a simple rule in situations like this. Stick to the truth wherever possible, deflect the awkward questions by appearing dense, save the lies for real emergencies. And if you had to lie, go for the big one – and frame it in a way that would exploit the weakest aspects of the recipient’s character.
‘Yes. That rig you and I built gave up on me. I never made it back to the Federation.’
‘I didn’t think you would – not without a motor.’
‘No. Mr Snow told me you did a first-class job on that.’
‘Yes. Even you would have been impressed.’
‘I am. Anyway – there I was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Got picked up by some redskins. We holed up during the snows, then, sometime during what you call the New Earth, a whole bunch of us were captured by the M’Calls.’
Cadillac reacted with surprise. ‘Mr Snow sold you down the river?’
‘No,’ laughed Steve. ‘I offered to come and find you. He was worried about something you’d seen in the stones and-’
‘I have seen many things in the stones,’ said Cadillac darkly.
Steve ignored the interruption. ‘He asked me to find out if you were okay, and to tell you that time was running out. When he learned you had decided to stay here – apparently of your own free will – it really knocked him sideways.’
Cadillac responded with a non-committal shrug. He poured the rest of the sake down his throat and refilled the bowl.
Steve, who was still only halfway through his first helping, couldn’t understand how the Mute was still on his feet. ‘Hey – don’t you think you ought to go a little easy on that stuff?’
‘Don’t worry, I can handle it. Practice makes perfect, isn’t that what they say? Besides, it’s good for you.’ Cadillac’s voice had thickened noticeably, but his drinking arm and his legs were still steady. He raised his bowl. ‘Drink up. There’s plenty more where this came from. Just one of the many fringe benefits.’
‘What are the others?’
Cadillac swept his free arm round the room as his lips reached out for the rim of the bowl. ‘How many Mutes get to live in a place like this?’
‘Not many, that’s for sure.’
‘I’ve got another room to sleep in, one for eating and entertaining, a kitchen, bathroom, you name it. Plus a couple of guys who cut kindling wood and look after the garden, a cook and what they call a scullery-maid, and four body-slaves who keep house, clean my clothes, serve my meals, make my bed, and lie in it.’
‘Sounds too good to last…’
‘On top of which I’m finally doing something I really enjoy. Something useful, demanding – that really stretches me. Y’know what I mean? And for the first time in my life I’m somebody. Anywhere else in this country, Mutes and Trackers are treated like dirt. But the Heron Pool’s different. The people here respect me.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Steve.
Cadillac sank some more sake. ‘Anyway, my work here’s nowhere near finished yet. But even if it was, why in the name of Columbus should I give all this up in order to play wet-nurse to a bunch of snot-brained louts who smell like they just took a bath in buffalo shit?’
‘Yeah, well, it takes all kinds. When we first met I’d have said pretty much the same about you.’
‘Except I turned out to be smarter than the average Bear.’
‘A whole lot smarter,’ admitted Steve. This guy’s ego was insatiable. Never mind. If praise was what he wanted, that’s what he’d get. By the bucketful. ‘Is that how you think of Mr Snow?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘So what’s going to become of the clan when he dies? You saw his death in the stones, remember? Right where it’s due to happen.’
Cadillac shrugged off the question. ‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.’
‘Well he seems certain enough. He told me he only had a few more months to live.’
‘All the more reason for not going back.’ Cadillac’s drunken defiance crumbled a little. ‘Look, reading the stones is not an exact science. I’m just a new boy. I’m not infallible – any more than he is. Okay, yeah – l did see a lot of blood, sweat and tears in the stone. Death and destruction too. Mr Snow was in there somewhere, but so was the rest of the clan. And you put in an appearance too. But I may have mixed up two separate events – and the timing could be way out. It could be this year, or next – or ten years from now. Not that it makes any difference.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Cadillac drained the bowl. ‘Because that part of my life’s over. And soon there’ll be nothing left to go back to. They’re finished.’ He picked up the bottle and sat down at the low table, plonking the sake down in front of him.
Steve cast his eyes over the sketches and drawings on the drafting table, then lowered himself on to the mat facing the young wordsmith. ‘Who are finished – the M’Calls? The Plainfolk?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Steve pushed his bowl forward for a refill. He didn’t really want any more, but it meant there would be less for Cadillac to pour down his throat. So far, apart from the slurring voice, he was holding up well. But Steve had the feeling that the Mute might go out like a light at any minute. And he didn’t want that to happen just yet. They still had a lot more ground to cover.
Steve raised his second helping to Cadillac’s fourth, took a sip, and let it slide down gently. However well Cadillac thought he was doing, Steve knew he must be feeling threatened by his sudden arrival on the scene. And he knew the next bit would be like walking on thin ice. ‘I’m sorry. I really messed things up for you.’
‘On the contrary. Things couldn’t have turned out better. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.’
‘I wasn’t talking about picking my brains. You’re welcome to whatever’s in there. I meant Clearwater.’ Steve paused, hoping for some reaction. Cadillac’s face gave nothing away. He tried again. ‘I feel bad about what happened. You saved my life, offered me your friendship and… I betrayed you. It wasn’t a deliberate act, but – ’ He gave a helpless shrug. ‘That’s why I had to cut and run. There was no way I could hide my feelings for her, and… I was too ashamed by what I’d done to face you and Mr Snow.’
‘It was meant to be. It was the Will of Talisman. He who seeks to be a true warrior must find the inner strength to accept these things.’
‘All the same, it must have hurt.’
‘For a while,’ said Cadillac. ‘But now I don’t feel a thing.’
Yes, it shows…
Steve watched Cadillac knock back some more sake. ‘Is that why she’s no longer with you?’
‘No. The Iron Masters separated us soon after we arrived.’
‘Doesn’t that bother you?’
‘Why should it? I’m not in any danger, and as long as she can call on the power of Talisman neither is she.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘Yes. She was handed over to your present employer.’ Cadillac saw Steve’s reaction and smiled. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? All three of us together again. So close – and yet so far.’ He topped up his bowl of sake, but this time he spilt some on the table. ‘One might almost think it was meant to be.’
‘Yeah,’ said Steve. ‘Amazing…’ He got up and wandered over to the drafting board and took a closer look at what Cadillac was working on. Everything had been painstakingly drawn out by hand with the aid of straight-sided wooden shapes.
In the Federation, drawings like this were stored in COLUMBUS. The central computer that served the Federation had a vast library of drawings for every part of every machine that had ever been built. People with access to the right level could call up stored images and incorporate them in new designs right there on the screen, then transfer the information into fully automated machine tools that would make all the bits and pieces.
The sheets of paper Steve was looking at contained several rough sketches showing proposed modifications to a design for a small, lightweight steam engine. This had been drawn life-size on a larger sheet beneath, in three elevations, plus a cutaway showing internal detail. It was an ingenious design, but required a great deal of precision engineering, and it would take forever to get into even limited production.
That was the real problem. Time was the critical factor. They couldn’t afford to wait around while the Iron Masters upped the level of their machine-tool technology. There were too many hands stirring the conspiratorial pot. The longer they were here, the more chance there was of something going wrong. With Jodi’s help, and maybe Kelso’s, he had to get Cadillac and Clearwater on that boat to Bu-faro. And to reach the Hudson in one swift bound, the propulsion problem had to be solved quickly and simply using existing techniques. Steve, basking in the glow of the sake, felt he knew the answer.
‘This is a nice idea, but it’s going to take too long to put together.’
‘I know. I’ve got to come up with something soon, otherwise the Japs may start to lose interest.’
‘Mind if I make a suggestion?’
‘I doubt if I’m going to be able to stop you.’
‘Y’know what you need?’
‘Yes, another bottle of sake.’ Cadillac hurled the empty one through the open screens into the garden.
Steve took another bottle from the wall cupboard and brought it over to the table. He refilled Cadillac’s bowl, then sat down and topped up his own. ‘What you need is an assistant. Someone to toss ideas around with. Someone reliable who can also take care of the nitty-gritty while you work on the big concepts.’
‘Just who do you have in mind?’
Steve responded with a modest shrug. ‘Why look any further? I know as much as you do. We managed to build Bluebird using little more than hope and fresh air. With a set-up like this, if we put our heads together we could really go places.’ He raised his bowl. ‘You’d get all the credit, of course. What d’you say?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Cadillac. He managed to pour half of his fifth helping of sake into his gullet, then spilled the rest down his shirt front as his coordination went. An instant later, his forehead hit the edge of the table with a dull thud.
It was evidently a sound that his female staff knew well – and had been waiting for. A wall screen slid open and four small dinks, dressed in colourful ankle-length wraps, padded in on white-stockinged feet. They bowed respectfully to Steve, then took hold of Cadillac’s arms and legs and hauled his senseless body out of the room.
Some warrior…
Steve poured the contents of his bowl back into the bottle, shouldered his sack of mail, and hit the road. It had been a strange encounter, like talking to a slightly warped mirror-image of himself. But provided Cadillac hadn’t forgotten everything when he woke up, Brickman, S.R. might be in with a chance. With plenty of soft-soap and hard work he would soon make himself a key member of the team.
As he passed the gates of the compound he wondered what was going through Jodi Kazan’s mind. She had promised to say nothing to Kelso about the real reason why he was here, and Steve was 99 per cent sure he could rely on her. He felt he’d touched a responsive chord when he’d told her that deep down she was still a True Blue. Kelso remained to be won over, but that was not impossible. He just had to be fed the right story. All Steve needed now was the blessing of the Man in Black and the precious bundle of pink leaves.
And Clearwater. He needed to see her too. His first run from his new base had taken him along the shore of the lake with the island on which she was held. At the ronin’s camp he had made a rash promise to pay her a visit and, despite her pleas to him not to risk his life on such a foolhardy venture, it was a promise he intended to keep. On becoming a roadrunner he’d discovered that it was possible to ‘go over the wall’ during off-duty hours, but so far he’d been denied the opportunity. Since he had arrived on the scene, the pattern of deliveries had obliged him to spend his nights in other, more distant post-houses – putting her beyond reach.
The act of running swept away the stupefying effects of the sake. Steve felt a sense of elation as he kicked into top gear. Yeah… All in all, not a bad day’s work.
*
A few days later, Steve found himself heading south again, along the western shore of Two Island Lake. In pre-Holocaust times, it had been known as Sudbury Reservoir. The lake, some three and a half miles long and a mile and half across at its widest point, lay on a north-south axis. Its meandering coastline was shaped like a floppy, high-heeled boot, like the toe of Italy, but nipped in tight at the ankle. Clearwater was housed on the larger island which lay in the crumpled leg of the boot, close to the eastern side where a small jetty had been built. The second island lay just above the slim ankle, where the opposing shores swung inwards to within some three hundred yards of each other.
Steve cursed his luck at being so close and yet so far. He had no qualms about swimming across from the west bank, but it was crazy to attempt it in broad daylight. There was also his present job to consider. If he lost that through being late with his deliveries and wound up shovelling shit he might ruin his chances of getting into the Heron Pool. He let off a string of breathy obscenities and ran on down the trail that led to Wunasaka, the first of several mail-drops he would make on the way to Nyo-poro.
Near the ankle of the lake, the trail swung away from the shore and climbed through a stand of tall pines. The morning sun cast slanting shafts of light and shadow across his path, turning the red grass into pools of fire. Motes of dust and pollen, caught in the golden beams, drifted aimlessly through the air like newborn fireflies mesmerised by the beauty of the world around them.
This was one of the riches of the overground; the play of light and shadow, varying in colour and intensity through the day, the month, the year. In the Federation, there was an artificial twilight but there were no shadows, no cool dark corners, nowhere to hide. The illumination, which shone down from all sides, was cunningly balanced to match the essential components of sunlight but it could never replace the real thing, just as – despite the genius of the First Family – the man-made rock-roofed underground world with its gleaming marbled piazzas and cool landscaped deeps could never compete with the vastness and splendour of the overground, its beckoning blue-hazed horizons and ever-changing cloud-filled skies.
Steve’s thoughts were jolted back to the present by the sight of an approaching rider decked out in red and black armour and with two tall narrow banners fixed to his back. A samurai – and from the look of him, no ordinary one at that.
Stepping off the trail, Steve went down on his knees, then bent forward, forearms on the ground, palms together, nose pressed between his thumbs. As someone ranked below the bottom strata of Iron Master society, he was required to stay there, eyes averted, until the samurai went past, then count very slowly to ten before getting up. To his surprise, the hoofbeats stopped before the rider reached him.
