Adrian tchaikovsky sha.., p.1
Adrian Tchaikovsky - Shadows of the Apt Bonus 19, page 1
Cities of Silver
Being an account of Doctor Ludweg Phinagler’s expedition to Lake Limnia, and what he found there, as told by his amanuensis, Fosse.
Suffice to say, we had a good many reasons to leave Collegium just then, and I will not bore you with them, save that the good Doctor had just finished a terrible spat with Master D______ of the Modern History faculty, with all the name-calling and bad reviews that entailed. As Master D______ was a noted member of the Prowess Forum, and last seen stalking the halls of the College, blade in hand, demanding the Doctor’s head, my employer thought it prudent to bring forward a piece of research he had been mulling over for some time. For myself, I confess to certain debts in respect of games of chance that had robbed the Collegiate streets of their customary appeal. I felt myself ready to travel again.
We made Helleron easily enough by airship, there to meet the artificer Jons Collier, whose work would be integral to our study. The Doctor himself swore he had sent messengers ahead whom our own passage had outstripped, and that he would have words with the Guild when we returned to Collegium, but certainly Master Collier was neither expecting nor pleased to see us. He had anticipated his invention being tested in the calm, blue waters of Lake Sideriti, north of Collegium. The prospect of roughing it on the moribund shores of Lake Limnia failed to enthuse him.
If Dr Phinagler, my employer, is good at any one thing, then it is his ability to bring people round to his point of view. By his usual combination of rhetoric, flattery and vague promises in respect of College funds, that I have often thought should be taught as an advanced class, he won Collier over.
A sketch: Jons Collier. He is a Beetle-kinden man of medium height, more slender and well turned-out than most, bespectacled and of a neat and efficient manner, if seeming slightly agitated and/or exasperated at all times. This last may be an effect of his association with my employer.
Transporting Collier, his experiment and ourselves to Lake Limnia was another forbidding hurdle readily overcome. The keen student will appreciate that Limnia is deep within Imperial territories, where travel is closely regulated. However, the Doctor located a Consortium factora – a house of the Empire’s mercantile arm, for the ignorant – and, as per his usual luck, found a factor whose caravan would be making a stop there.
The Doctor spent an evening wining and dining Lieutenant Hermon, the factor involved, and the two of them were soon boon companions, with Hermon promising to take us to Jerez, Limnia’s only town, and the Doctor agreeing to credit Hermon in the eventual paper and generally tell people back at the College how very helpful the Empire was being. It may be that the Doctor might have slightly exaggerated his level of influence within the Assembly.
Master Collier was less delighted, and I suspect he harboured more concerns about Imperial policy than my employer, but he accepted with bad grace that we were hardly likely to get to Limnia any other way.
A sketch: Lieutenant Hermon of the Consortium. He is a stocky Wasp-kinden, both shorter and portlier than most of his kin, but as pasty as they all are. He wears a long coat to travel, dyed a faded black and yellow down the right side. His face is somewhat baggy, with pouchy eyes and a broken-veined nose telling of a rather dissolute lifestyle,
His sergeant, te Sander by name, was a more welcoming sight. A sketch: a strapping, strong-jawed man of my kinden, broad-shouldered and with a ready, pleasant smile., His skin - paler than Lowlander Flies – has many mementos of his military past, and he discussed them in detail with me over the course of several evenings while our respective superiors were sampling the Empire’s brandy.
Hermon’s caravan was comprised of three automotives, plus the fourth that the Doctor had persuaded Jons Collier to hire for our own equipment. Two of the Imperial wagons were stocked with goods Hermon had purchased in Helleron – swords, crossbow bolts and machine parts made more cheaply, and to a more exacting standard, than in the Empire. The third carried a less happy cargo in the form of some three dozen men and women of various kinden, crammed in so that they must mostly stand at all times. The Doctor assured us that these wretches were criminals either exported from Helleron or being repatriated to the Empire after an escape. Master Collier did opine that merely wanting to leave the Empire was probably a criminal offence in and of itself, but not within Lt.
Hermon’s earshot.
In addition to the dozen regular soldiers under Hermon’s command, there were half as many in full-face helms who discouraged any further investigation of the prisoners, and te Sander told me they were Slave Corps – said with a curl of the lip that told me he did not approve either. He pointed out that there were no Fly-kinden in the cage, and said that our own kinden were well provided-for in the Empire, and that I would see for myself should I visit him in Capitas, an offer which he took pains to make as attractive as possible.
Our journey was of several tendays, with Hermon calling at several garrisons along the way. At each he arranged for us to he found bed and board of a uniform and decent quality – such is the difference between travelling with the Empire’s blessing, and without, as any who intend to journey there should note. Had I space I would pen a gazetteer, for the sight of so many disparate cities beneath a single flag would be of interest to many, but alas.
Another time, perhaps.
I can confidently say that Jerez, Lake Limnia, is the least welcoming place that I, a seasoned traveller, have ever beheld,
For one thing, it was raining, You may feel it harsh of me to hold that against the place, but believe me when I say that it rained all the time we were there, or at least when not in active deluge the precipitation was just stopping or about to start. Even Dr. Phinagler, Master of the Geography faculty, was unable to explain how this could be so.
The community itself was an extended shanty-town of slumping, ill-constructed shacks, merging without warning with the lake’s reed-stubbled shallows that were cluttered with rafts and house-boats of dubious buoyancy. The one solid building was the Imperial garrison, and this was canted at a slight but noticeable angle because Jerez offered no foundations firmer than semiliquid mud.
Of the locals, who were stretch-limbed, pallid, sharp-featured creatures of a universally sly and sinister demeanour, the less said the better. For the record, they are known as Skater-kinden, and possess an Art to walk on water. Given the quality and quantity of the weather I am mildly surprised that they could not use the same to fly.
I will confess to one of my rare unprofessional moments on seeing this dismal vista, and found myself in my allotted rooms at the garrison feeling despairingly that I should have gone into accountancy as my mother had urged. I considered that – not for the last time – my association with the Doctor would be the death of me, possibly of pneumonia. Thankfully, te Sander came and cheered me up a little by saying that, of all the Empire’s conquests, Jerez was the one that the Emperor would give back if he could. Sensing my delicate state, he was thoughtful enough to console me into the small hours.
Master Collier and my employer had the next of their arguments that morning, albeit in hushed tones so that our hosts did not overhear. It turned out that, whilst in his cups, the good Doctor had set our project before Lt. Hermon, and the lieutenant, similarly merry, had become quite enthused by the idea and pledged the Empire’s assistance. Jons Collier was not keen on any further Imperial involvement, and the two conducted a fiercely whispered ideological debate that Dr. Phinagler won by the simple rhetorical device of pointing out that it was a done deal, and that backing out now would likely see us arrested as spies. Collier –though he made some unfounded predictions about my employer’s likely eventual fate vis a vis digging a hole no Art would suffice to climb out of – accepted this logic. For myself, though I had some sympathy with Master Collier’s stance, I found myself not averse to further Imperial interference – solely, of course, for the added ease and efficiency in respect of our project.
Some days later found us out on the lake on an enormous sort of a raft Hermon had commandeered from the locals. It had a sort of house at one end but, most importantly, a hole in the centre some five yards across. The walkway around it was another four yards wide and more, giving some idea of the scale of the vessel. Needless to say, it was slick with moss and weed, and appeared at all times to be on the cusp of disintegrating into its component parts.
However, it bore the three of us, Hermon, te Sander and a couple of Hermon’s men without complaint, along with its crew of half a dozen locals.
Apparently the raft’s design, so apt for our purpose, was to aid fishing, which I imagine is most of what there is to do in Jerez. The central hole, throwing a pool of sunlight onto the lake below, draws the smaller water-life and concentrates it there, especially with the aid of a little bait thrown on the waters. This was explained to us by the raft’s master, a gangling Skater called Scarvy. He is hardly worth a sketch but: picture a grimy little man, not much past Fly-kinden size, with a long nose, chin and ears, and greasy hair down past his shoulders, then give him longer arms and legs than a tall man would know what to do with.
He wore a padded tunic, stained with fish guts and worse. At first he was resentful about becoming Hermon’s menial, but the Doctor practised upon him as his crew sculled us out onto the lake, and the prospect of what we intended quite hit a chord with the disreputable creature.
Specifically, Scarvy thought we were mad, He took pains to
At this point there was another argument between Master Collier and the Doctor which I recall well enough to set down in fair detail.
“You can’t possibly be considering going ahead with this,” was Collier’s opening foray. “You’ve heard what he said. We’re going to get killed.” He had plainly been affected by Scarvy’s tales.
“What? That there are large animals in the lake?” the Doctor retorted. “That is as expected. It is a large lake. That some are predatory? To be otherwise would be unnatural.
We need a test in the wild, Jons. Little dunks in the pool at Helleron prove nothing save that it is watertight – a prerequisite, I grant you, but no more than that. If your invention is to be the great aid to research that you hope, it must be tested.”
“And the other business? The man’s strange lights and sounds?” enquired Collier.
“Stuff,” declared Doctor Phinagler, with all that esteemed confidence he was noted for. I, however, who knew him better than most, was well aware that he can wheel that confidence out whether it was justified or not. More, I knew full well that the good Doctor’s academic interests do more than flirt with the controversial. He is inveterately one of those men of study who believe that there is a Great Mystery to be uncovered behind each thing we know, always on the trail of some elder secret from the Bad Old Days, lost kinden, cryptic species or some trace of an ancient and unknown civilisation. This was what starts so many of the disagreements he has with his peers.
I had the uncomfortable suspicion that the sort of tall tale Scarvy was mouthing had been the lure that had brought the Doctor to Lake Limnia in the first place.
This is probably the time to explain just what project my employer had devised with Jons Collier. I shall describe for you Collier’s device, as Hermon’s men drew the tarpaulin off it. That should satisfy both narrative and academic requirements.
It was a sphere, with circular windows of thick glass set into each quarter and an opening underneath. The construction was brass and bronze-shod steel, and all treated and caulked against the water. From its top, like the leaves of a radish, sprouted a bundle of ribbed leather rubes about a strong cable.
“Well I’m not going down in it,” I recall Collier insisting.
“Of course you’re not. I need you up here to manage the pump and winch,” came the Doctor’s reply, for this was the balance of the device – a strong engine to control the sphere’s ascent and descent, and a set of mechanical lungs to freshen the air within.
Collier looked caught between relief and offence that he had already been written out of testing his own invention. Relief won out. “Why then I salute your courage, but, Founder’s Mark, I don’t give much for your chances.”
Doctor Phinagler waved his concerns away with a gesture suggesting that he would still magnanimously share credit with Collier despite his naysaying. “Fosse, if you’re ready?”
I suspect my demeanour verged upon the unprofessional again, for just a moment. I certainly went so far as to ask, “Must I, Doctor?”
“You are my amanuensis, are you not? Well then, I may wish to dictate something.”
Te Sander started forwards, and I truly believe that he would have tried to intervene on my behalf. It was to save him from his superior’s displeasure – not to mention the withering force of the Doctor’s scathing oratory – that I stepped forward to take my place.
Besides, I have always prided myself on my professionalism.
And Dr. Phinagler himself? Was he not daunted, you ask? I assure you that, whilst he remains a man of more many and varied flaws than I can, in all conscience, expose, cowardice is not one of them. Indeed, his blind faith in his own correctness is something often remarked about him by his peers.
“Just a brief test dive, I think, to start with,” he informed Collier. “Haul us up after ten minutes or so, eh?”
I will confess to mouthing the word ‘five;’ rather urgently at Master Collier, in a moment of weakness, but one problem with being Fly-kinden is that one is seldom on eye level with most people.
Conditions were cramped inside the sphere, and although Collier had included a ring of seats inside the circumference, the curve of the walls forced us both into a forward lean at all times. The Doctor kept shifting his place, seeking elusive comfort, even as Collier and Hermon started to hoist, and, as he is not a small man, the sphere swayed alarmingly as they manhandled it over the fishing hole. We had gained ingress via the opening in the sphere’s underside, and soon the view through this changed from wildly-swinging deck to the dark water beneath.
I suggested that this aperture should perhaps be sealed before we progressed, but on enquiry of Jons Collier, it transpired that it was intended to remain open.
“The air within will keep the water out,” Collier’s distant voice assured us,.
The Doctor seemed reassured by this. For myself, I had a number of tremulous and unscientific thoughts, and it was all I could do to stop my wings manifesting themselves – our kinden’s natural reaction to peril.
The sphere began to descend. I could feel the faint breeze of the air pump and hear the grinding of the winch. The water crowded at the hole below us, lapping in an exploratory manner about the aperture’s inner edge.
To my amazement – also my relief – whilst the waster on the outside of the sphere swiftly occluded the round windows, the level beneath us climbed only so high as to make the Doctor draw up his feet to avoid wetting his sandals.
The light swiftly dimmed, leaving us in muddy gloom – the shadow of the raft combining with Limnia’s natural murkiness to throw us into eclipse. Undaunted, the Doctor opened a panel in the sphere’s upper reaches, letting in a cold, greenish light. The Doctor explained that any flame-based illumination would compete with us for the same goodness in the air that we ourselves would need to live, and so Collier had harvested the organs of fireflies I order to gift us with light.
Through all this, we were still descending, but soon we came to a halt, suspended in the dark. The view out of the windows was not an inspiring one, being just the dour water with flecks of organic matter catching in our light. When we were stationary, though, the luminescence attracted a scattering of fish and other small water creatures to gawp in on us, and I was uncomfortably aware that it might just as easily call up the sort of predatory giants that Scarvy had referred to.
Even as I thought this, the Doctor was directing my attention to beneath our feet. I had briefly forgotten that we had an additional unglazed window there by default.
“Look at that beauty,” the Doctor said, and I looked.
It was hard to make out – a shadow passing deep beneath us, not picked out by our light so much as silhouetted there: the long teardrop shape of a water scorpion gliding through the water, hooked arms held close to the beaked head, and its long stalked tail behind. How large, I could not say, but greater than our little sphere of a certainty. You must bear in mind that Lake Limnia is truly huge – one can see water to the horizon from any bank. It is like a little freshwater ocean.
