“There are good pikon deposits in this area. We are extracting it from the soil and trying to find a way to refine it until it’s pure enough to produce a reaction.”
“A waste of time,” Hlawnvert said with casual assurance, dismissing the subject as he turned away to confront Vorndal Sisstt.
“Good foreday, Captain,” Sisstt said. “I’m so glad you have landed safely. I’ve given orders for our ptertha screens to be run out immediately.”
Hlawnvert shook his head. “There’s no need for them. Besides, you have already done the damage.”
“I…” Sisstt’s blue eyes shuttled anxiously. “I don’t understand you, Captain.”
“The stinking fumes and fog you’re spewing into the sky disguised the natural cloud. There are going to be deaths among my crew — and I deem you to be personally responsible.”
“But…” Sisstt glanced in indignation at the receding line of cliffs from which, for a distance of many miles, streamer after streamer of cloud could be seen snaking out towards the sea. “But that kind of cloud is a general feature of this coast. I fail to see how you can blame me for…”
“Silence!” Hlawnvert dropped one hand to his sword, stepped forward and drove the flat of his other hand against Sisstt’s chest, sending the station chief sprawling on his back, legs wide apart. “Are you questioning my competence? Are you saying I was careless?”
“Of course not.” Sisstt scrambled to his feet and brushed sand from his robes. “Forgive me, Captain. Now that you bring the matter to my attention, I can see that the vapour from our pans could be a hazard to airmen in certain circumstances.”
“You should set up warning beacons.”
“I’ll see that it’s done at once,” Sisstt said. “We should have thought of it ourselves long ago.”
Toller could feel a tingling warmth in his face as he viewed the scene. Captain Hlawnvert was a big man, as was normal for one of a military background, but he was also soft and burdened with fat, and even someone of Sisstt’s size could have vanquished him with the aid of speed and hate-hardened muscles. In addition, Hlawnvert had been criminally incompetent in his handling of the airship, a fact he was trying to obscure with his bluster, so going against him could have been justified before a tribunal. But none of that mattered to Sisstt. In keeping with his own nature the station chief was fawning over the hand which abused him. Later he would excuse his cowardice with jokes and try to compensate for it by mistreating his most junior subordinates.
In spite of his curiosity about the reason for Hlawnvert’s visit, Toller felt obliged to move away, to dissociate himself from Sisstt’s abject behaviour. He was on the point of leaving when a crop- haired airman wearing the white insignia of a lieutenant brushed by him and saluted Hlawnvert.
“The crew are ready for your inspection, sir,” he said in a businesslike voice.
Hlawnvert nodded and glanced at the line of yellow-shirted men who were waiting by the ship. “How many took the dust?” “Only two, sir. We were lucky.” “Lucky?”
“What I mean, sir, is that but for your superb airmanship our losses would have been much higher.” HlawnVert nodded again. “Which two are we losing?” “Pouksale and Lague, sir,” the lieutenant said. “But Lague won’t admit it.”
“Was the contact confirmed?”
“I saw it myself, sir. The ptertha got within a single pace of him before it burst. He took the dust.”
“Then why can’t he own up to it like a man?” Hlawnvert said irritably. “A single wheyface like that can unsettle a whole crew.” He scowled in the direction of the waiting men, then turned to Sisstt. “I have a message for you from Lord Glo, but there are certain formalities I must attend to first. You will wait here.”
The colour drained from Sisstt’s face. “Captain, it would be better if I received you in my chambers. Besides, I have urgent…”
“You will wait
In spite of his contempt for Sisstt’s behaviour, Toller began to wish he could intervene in some way to end the little man’s humiliation, but there was a strict protocol governing such matters in Kolcorronian society. To take a man’s side in a confrontation without being invited was to add fresh insult by implying that he was a coward. Going as far as was permissible, Toller stood squarely in Hlawnvert’s way when the captain turned to walk to the ship, but the implicit challenge went unnoticed. Hlawnvert side-stepped him, his face turned towards the sky, where the sun was drawing close to Overland.
“Let’s get this business over and done with before littlenight,” Hlawnvert said to his lieutenant. “We have wasted too much time here already.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant marched ahead of him to the men who were ranked in the lee of the restlessly stirring airship and raised his voice. “Stand forward all airmen who have reason to believe they will soon be unable to discharge their duties.”
After a moment’s hesitation a dark-haired young man took two paces forward. His triangular face was so pale as to be almost luminous, but his posture was erect and he appeared to be well in control of himself. Captain Hlawnvert approached him and placed a hand on each shoulder.
“Airman Pouksale,” he said quietly, “you have taken the dust?”
“I have, sir.” Pouksale’s voice was lifeless, resigned.
“You have served your country bravely and well, and your name will go before the King. Now, do you wish to take the Bright Road or the Dull Road?”
“The Bright Road, sir.”
“Good man. Your pay will be made up to the end of the voyage and will be sent to your next-of-kin. You may retire.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Pouksale saluted and walked around the prow of the airship’s gondola to its far side. He was thus screened from the view of his former crewmates, in accordance with custom, but the executioner who moved to meet him became visible to Toller, Sisstt and many of the pikon workers ranged along the shore. The executioner’s sword was wide and heavy, and its brakka wood blade was pure black, unrelieved by the enamel inlays with which Kolcorronian weapons were normally decorated.
Pouksale knelt submissively. His knees had barely touched the sand before the executioner, acting with merciful swiftness, had dispatched him along the Bright Road. The scene before Toller — all yellows and ochres and hazy shades of blue — now had a focal point of vivid red.
At the sound of the death blow a ripple of unease passed through the line of airmen. Several of them raised their eyes to gaze at Overland and the silent movement of their lips showed they were bidding their dead crewmate’s soul a safe journey to the sister planet. For the most part, however, the men stared unhappily at the ground. They had been recruited from the crowded cities of the empire, where there was considerable scepticism about the Church’s teaching that men’s souls were immortal and alternated endlessly between Land and Overland. For them death meant death — not a pleasant stroll along the mystical High Path linking the two worlds. Toller heard a faint choking sound to his left and turned to see that Sisstt was covering his mouth with both hands. The station chief was trembling and looked as though he could faint at any second.
“If you go down we’ll be branded as old women,” Toller whispered fiercely. “What’s the matter with you?”
“The barbarism.” Sisstt’s words were indistinct. “The terrible barbarism… What hope is there for us?”
“The airman had a free choice — and he behaved well.”
“You’re no better than…” Sisstt stopped speaking as a commotion broke out by the airship. Two airmen had gripped a third by the arms and in spite of his struggles were holding him in front of Hlawnvert. The captive was tall and spindly, with an incongruously round belly.
“…couldn’t have seen me, sir, “he was shouting. “And I was upwind of the ptertha, so the dust couldn’t have come anywhere near me. I swear to you, sir — I haven’t taken the dust.”
Hlawnvert placed his hands on his broad hips and looked up at the sky for a moment, signifying his disbelief, before he spoke. “Airman Lague, the regulations require me to accept your statement. But let me make your position clear. You won’t be offered the Bright Road again. At the very first signs of fever or paralysis you will go over the side. Alive. Your pay for the entire voyage will be withheld and your name will be struck from the royal record. Do you understand these terms?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Lague tried to fall at Hlawnvert’s feet, but the men at his side tugged him upright. “There is nothing to worry about, sir — I haven’t taken the dust.”
At an order from the lieutenant the two men released Lague and he walked slowly back to rejoin the rank. The line of airmen parted to make room for him, leaving a larger gap than was necessary, creating an intangible barrier. Toller guessed that Lague would find little consolation during the next two days, which was the time it took for the first effects of ptertha poison to become apparent.
Captain Hlawnvert saluted his lieutenant, turning the assembly over to him, and walked back up the slope to Sisstt and Toller. Patches of high colour showed above the curls of his beard and the sweat stains upon his jupon had grown larger. He looked up at the high dome of the sky, where the eastern rim of Overland had begun to brighten as the sun moved behind it, and made an impatient gesture as though commanding the sun to disappear more quickly.
“It’s too hot for this kind of vexation,” he growled. “I have a long way to go, and the crew are going to be useless until that coward Lague goes over the side. The service regulations will have to be changed if these new rumours aren’t quashed soon.”
“Ah.…” Sisstt strained upright, fighting to regain his composure. “New rumours, Captain?”
“There’s a story that some line soldiers down in Sorka died after handling ptertha casualties.”
“But pterthacosis isn’t transmissible.”
“I know that,” Hlawnvert said. “Only a spineless cretin would think twice about it, but that’s what we get for aircrew these days. Pouksale was one of my few steady men — and I’ve lost him to that damned fog of yours.”
Toller, who had been watching a burial detail gather up Pouksale’s remains, felt a fresh annoyance at the repetition of the indictment and his chiefs complaisance. “You don’t have to keep on blaming our fog, Captain,” he said, giving Sisstt a significant glance. “Nobody in authority is disputing the facts.”
Hlawnvert rounded on him at once. “What do you mean by that?”
Toller produced a slow, amiable smile. “I mean we all got a clear view of what happened.”
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Toller Maraquine — and I’m not a soldier.”
“You’re not a…” Hlawnvert’s look of anger gave way to one of sly amusement. “What’s this? What have we here?”
Toller remained impassive as the captain’s gaze took in the anomalous aspects of his appearance — the long hair and grey robes of a philosopher combined with the height and blocky musculature of a warrior. His wearing of a sword also set him apart from the rest of his kin. Only the fact that he was free of scars and campaign tattoos distinguished him in physique from a full- blooded member of the military.
He studied Hlawnvert in return, and his antagonism increased as he followed the thought processes so clearly mirrored on the captain’s florid face. Hlawnvert had not been able to disguise his alarm over a possible accusation of negligence, and now he was relieved to find that he was quite secure. A few coarse innuendoes about his challenger’s pedigree were all the defence he needed in the lineage-conscious hierarchy of Kolcorron. His lips twitched as he tried to choose from the wealth of taunts available to him.
Hlawnvert hesitated, as though sensing the danger, and again the interplay of his thoughts was clearly visible. He wanted to humiliate and discredit the upstart of dubious ancestry who had dared impugn him, but not if there was serious risk involved. And calling for assistance would be a step towards turning a triviality into a major incident, one which would highlight the very issue he wanted to obscure. At length, having decided on his tactics, he forced a chuckle.
“If you’re not a soldier you should be careful about wearing that sword,” he said jovially. “You might sit on it and do yourself a mischief.”
Toller refused to make things easy for the captain. “The weapon is no threat to
“I’ll remember your name, Maraquine,” Hlawnvert said in a low voice. At that moment the station’s timekeeper sounded the littlenight horn — tonguing the double note which was used when
