it below the boatframe on several spars of rigid bambooze. Then, to hold the boatframe and keep the keel from snap-ping, they had built a cradle to stand it upright.
Now they were adding rungs to the struts that supported the outriggers. Why rungs? Because, Wilville told me with a happy smile, they would need to be able to crawl from the hull out to the
I didn’t ask. In time we would know.
The boys continued to work on the outriggers. Soon they would begin stretching the cloth over the frame. Then the only thing holding up the launching of the airship would be the sewing up of the windbags.
And that was being held up by three things.
We needed more aircloth. For that, we needed both fiberplants and housetree blood.
We needed more housetree blood just to treat the cloth we had already woven.
And thirdly, we needed another way to separate water. Purple’s battery had died.
I found out about the battery when I went to tell him about the housetree blood. Purple was sitting on a log outside his house, turning the flat, bulging case over in his hands. From the way he looked, he might have been holding his own death.
I sat down beside him, without speaking, and waited.
“It’s dead,” he said presently.
I said, “How? Did you starve it?”
He pointed up. Hovering above his housetree were seven man-sized aircloth bags. They hung upward from ropes. “I have been experimenting, Lant — I grew carried away.” He waved up at the village. “And I did not want your people to fear the airship —”
A group of young boys came running by, each trailing a shiny aircloth bag behind him on a string. The bags were about the size of a man’s head, maybe bigger. “Useless patches of extra cloth,” Purple explained. “Not tight enough for the airboat, but I thought if the children could see — that is, if the adults could see that even children could handle the spell —”
I understood. Purple had seen our terror on the night of the riot. He was trying to lessen that by showing this was a simpler spell than we had thought.
Now, he mourned over his battery and stroked it sadly.
“Is there no way you can make a new one ?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking!” he exclaimed. “My whole civilization is based on the kind of power that was in this battery. I am not a — a — magician of that type, I don’t have that training. I am only a student of how savage men can live together!”
I ignored the insult, for clearly he was upset. I forced him to sit down and would not let him say another word until he had drunk off a bowl of Quaff. His face twisted into extraordinary shapes.
“I’ve been an idiot,” he told me. “For eight months I shaved my face with the
“But what about those airbags?” I pointed at his house-tree.
Those wouldn’t be enough. Besides, by the time we finish the boatframe, those will be empty again. The gas leaks out, Lant. Very slowly, but it still leaks.”
I handed him another bowl of Quaff. “But surely, you can make some kind of power source to separate the water.”
“No. That was it. You don’t have the tools to make the tools to make the tools.”
“Is there nothing else that would activate a flying spell?”
“Hot air. Hot air is lighter than cold air. That’s why smoke rises. The cursed trouble is that hot air gets cold. We’d sink into the sea and stay there; we couldn’t possibly get far enough north in a hot-air windbag.”
I sank down onto the log next to him and poured myself some Quaff. “Surely there must be some way, Purple. It was not so long ago that you thought an airboat was impossible. Is there nothing you can do about your battery? There must have been a first source of electrissy some time. How was it done?”
He looked at me, bleary-eyed. “Oh, no, Lant —” And then his eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute — I did make something in school once! A spinning motor made from paper clips and copper wire and a battery. But —”
“But you don’t have paper clips —” Whatever that was.
“Oh, that’s no problem. The paper clips were only for structure.”
“But your battery is dead —”
“That’s no problem either. In that — spell, I was using the battery to make the spinning section go round.” He grabbed me excitedly — we tumbled backward off the log; he didn’t notice. “It will work just the same the other way! I can reverse the spell and make a spinning section to recharge my battery!”
I grabbed the Quaff bladder before too much spilled. I took a drink. “You mean, you can restore its power?”
“Yes, yes!” He began dancing about, paused, took the bladder from my hands and drank. “I can make as much electrissy as I need. We can even make some for you too, Lant —”
“Uh, no thank you, Purple —”
“But it is great magic! It can help you! You’ll see. And I won’t need to take it all with me — oh, my goodness — we’ll have to turn the spinning section by hand, won’t we? Well, we can use a crank and — gears! Migosh, yes — we can gear it up and —”
Abruptly he stopped. “No, it won’t work.”
“Huh? What’s the matter?”
“Lant, it was so long ago. The thing I built was so small. I’m not sure how to do it any more, and I don’t know if it would make enough electrissy.”
I poured him some more Quaff and sat down on the log again with the bladder. “But you’re going to try it, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” he said. “I have to — but I hardly remember —” He sat down on the log next to me. “Making an airship isn’t as easy as I thought.”
I nodded. “It’s been nine hands of days since we started. I thought this would take only a few at most, but it has gone on and on.”
“And on,” he added.
I took another swig. “You know,” I said, “I’ve got some more bad news for you.”
“Oh? What?”
There won’t be any more aircloth. We’ve run out of wild housetrees. The weavers can keep weaving, of course, but unless the threads are dipped, it won’t do you any good.”
“Wonderful,” he said. His tone suggested that he thought it was anything but. “Of course, it hardly matters, if we can’t make more gas.”
I took another drink. So did Purple.
“Of course,” he said, I do have enough aircloth for a small airship — one that would carry me alone —” He trailed off. He hiccuped and said, “If I have to make a hot-air flying spell, I’ll do it. Just so that Shoogar can’t call me a liar. I promised.” He drained his bowl and held it out. I filled it again.
“I’d sell my hope of flying for a quart of good Scotch right now. Well, if we can’t bleed the wild housetrees any more, let’s bleed the tame housetrees!”
“Blessed housetrees,” I corrected him. “Consecrated housetrees. If you try that, they’ll burn you for sure. Tampering with a wife is one thing, but a housetree is quite another.”
“Can’t bleed consecrated housetrees,” said Purple. He was having more trouble than usual talking. “Can’t bleed consecrated housetrees.” His face lit up. “We can deconsecrate them first!”
“Nonsense.”
“Why? Shoogar deconsecrated the other villages’ weaving patterns. Shoogar deconsecrated the womens’ names. Why don’t I get to deconsecrate something?”
He was right. “Why not?” I agreed.
“Because I don’t know a deconsecration spell,” he answered.
“Nobody does,” I said. “There are no spells for de-consecrating housetrees.”
