“For fun!” Purple’s naked face turned pink. He watched a bit longer, then gradually lost interest in the ceremony. It did go on for a very long time. He wandered off morosely.
It was only when Shoogar got to the tree-bleeding that Purple’s attention returned. He was sitting dourly off to one side, lost in thought. Now as Damd the Tree Binder began tapping into the veins of the tree and Shoogar began chanting again, he looked up.
“What are they doing now?”
“Bleeding the tree,” shouted one of the children derisively. What kind of a magician was this, who did not even recognize a simple cultivation ceremony?
We watched patiently as Shoogar blessed the blood of the tree and anointed the tied limbs and roots-to-be. Guided by Damd’s ropes and Shoogar’s chanted instructions, the lowest limbs would become additional sections of trunk. The higher limbs, which had been bent downward and tied together, would grow into a strong circular framework for a nest.
The spell was nearing completion when Purple abruptly stepped into the middle of it. He brushed through the circle of chanting women and ran a finger through the blood of the tree.
The chanting stopped instantly. We stood frozen in shock, wondering why Purple would break a treespell. And Shoogar, furious, reached for a pouch at his waist.
Thoughtfully Purple said, “It may be that we can use this sap.” He turned to Shoogar, his sticky fingers outstretched.
Shoogar was taken aback. He hesitated, he forgot the pouch in his hand, and doubtless he remembered his oath. But his voice was thick with fury as he asked, “Is that why you smashed the delicate web of my magic?”
“Shoogar, you don’t understand.” Purple rubbed the sticky substance between his palms, savoring its feel. “It may be that I can use this substance for the air bags.”
“Housetree blood for a flying machine?
“Certainly,” said Purple, “why not?”
The murmur of voices around him should have told Purple why not. It didn’t, of course. I stepped quickly through the crowd, took Purple by the arm and led him out. He stumbled along with me almost in a daze, he was murmuring excitedly in his own tongue.
Behind his back I signaled Shoogar to start the ceremony again. I moved off to one side with Purple and tried to get some sense out of him.
“It’s like natural rubber, Lant. I’ll have to try it, of course, but it may be just what I need to hold the gas in the bags —”
“Forget it, Purple. You can’t use housetree blood. House-trees are sacred.”
“Sacred be damned. I must have an airtight container. Will you stop jumping around like that?”
“Then stop using those horrendous curses!”
“What curses??” He looked puzzled. “Oh, never mind.” He went back to examining the sap on his hands.
“Can’t you use something else besides housetree blood? Infant blood, for instance — I’m sure we could —”
“No! he gasped “No! Definitely not — no human blood — it wouldn’t work anyway.”
“You said that if your cloth was watertight it would be airtight. What about pottery? Could you hold your light gas in large pottery containers?”
“No, no, they’re too heavy — much too heavy — we’ve got to try the housetree blood. It may be the only way. You see, the cloth we’ve got just isn’t good enough — but if they can weave the finer cloth, and if we can soak it in housetree sap and then dry it, perhaps that might work. We’d have to try different arrangements, of course —”
“But — but —” I sputtered. There had to be a way out of this mess. Purple was desperate to fly; but Shoogar and the villagers would never permit housetree sap to be so defiled. A duel was in the offing, unless —
A weird thought occurred to me. I would have dismissed it instantly, even with my layman’s knowledge of magic. But Purple was so oddly unorthodox.
I said, “There is one chance. Now, don’t laugh, Purple, but could you possibly use the sap of a
“Yes, of course. Why not?”
“Huh?” I was incredulous. “You mean you could??”
“Of course.” There was an odd expression on Purple’s face, a delighted expression. “Sap is sap.”
“Uh, it isn’t, you know —” but he wasn’t listening. He was fidgeting impatiently.
“Lant,” he said. “I will need to experiment. I will need a wild housetree and some pots — and some cloth — and — and —”
“See Wilville and Orbur. They will help you get what you need. You do know how to recognize a wild housetree, don’t you?”
“Of course. The roots and branches won’t be bent.” And off he went.
It was the right answer, of course — but I was still surprised. Purple was so unorthodox.
By the time I had finished the first set of loomteeth, Purple and Shoogar had finished their first set of experiments with wild housetree sap. Purple knew what he wanted to achieve, and Shoogar knew best how to achieve it.
The heated sap could be treated with certain other magician’s chemicals to make a putrid and foul smelling soup. Cloth could be dipped into this soup, and it would form an airtight seal. However, the seal was neither as tight nor as permanent as Purple had wished and so they continued to experiment.
On the day I began carving the third set of loomteeth, Purple announced that he had reached a solution to the problem of weaving a watertight cloth. Instead of dipping the whole cloth into the housetree soup, he would dip the spun threads before they were woven. When the thread dried it was impregnated with the sap and it had a smooth and shiny feel.
Cloth woven from these treated threads could then be treated in a modified housetree-binding solution and dried again. The threads, already soaked with housetree blood, would swell and join and become one solid material, impermeable to air and water.
Purple was delighted. If thread could be woven fine enough, and if my bone loomteeth would work as expected, then surely we could weave a cloth light enough and tight enough for the flying machine.
By the time I had finished the third set of loomteeth, Lesta had already woven several swatches of fine aircloth for Purple. It was smooth and shiny, and the weave was almost invisible to the eye.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Lant?” Purple exclaimed.
I had to admit that it was. Old Lesta beamed with pride.
Purple had been running from person to person, stopping them, and demanding that they feel his cloth. “Why, when the rest of the loomteeth are finished, we will be able to make a cloth of such quality!” He was so overcome with emotion, he could not finish the sentence.
Lesta was only slightly more subdued. “Lant,” he demanded, “I must have more of those loomteeth. I must have as many as you can carve. We are going to weave nothing but aircloth!”
“That will be great!” cried Purple. Thank you — I will be able to use all you can weave!”
Lesta stared at him. “Do you think it’s for you, you fuzzwort? This cloth will be in demand for miles around — we must prepare for that. When the waters go down again and the trade routes are reopened, we will be prosperous indeed!”
“Aaarggh!” said Purple. His face was red and blue and several other colors at once. “Betrayer!” he cried. “You must first weave enough cloth to satisfy my needs and purposes.”
“Nonsense,” muttered Lesta, “we have no agreement.”
“Snakeroot slime we don’t! I was to show you how to weave a finer cloth,” he raged, “and in return, you were to weave enough for my flying machine!”
“Blither-blather,” snarled Lesta, “it’s a magician’s duty to continually improve the way of life of his people. You were merely performing your duties, Purple — and for the first time, too!” he added.
“Wait a minute,” I cried. “Let me settle this.”
They both looked at me.
