some sort of diplomatic thing going on, important foreign guests. I think the Duke's planning to get married or something. Anyhow, as soon as he realized I was there on your behalf, he dropped everything and saw to it that we got our supplies straightaway. That's a good sign, isn't it?'
Ziani shrugged. 'Business before pleasure,' he replied, 'though from what I've seen of Valens, I don't suppose state receptions are his idea of fun. Maybe he was just glad of an excuse to get away from all the socializing. Look, can we get in out of this bloody rain, please?'
The storms faded away as quickly as they'd come; in the morning it was bright and dry, perfect conditions for open-air iron-working. As well as the things Ziani had asked for in his list, the carts had brought a genuine Mezentine-made reciprocating saw, complete with a drive belt and spare pulleys; Ziani had told the Duke in passing how helpful such a thing would be for cutting the iron bar-stock to length, but he'd never imagined he'd ever see one again. He had no idea where Valens or his agents had contrived to get it from, but that didn't matter. It was like meeting an old friend in the middle of the desert, and he'd had it carried over to one of the wheel towers and connected up to the spindle while the rest of the carts were still being unloaded.
'You're in love,' Carnufex said, as Ziani put in the drive and watched the flywheel spin. Ziani shook his head.
'This is better than love,' he said. 'This is home.'
Carnufex laughed. 'I can't figure you out,' he said. 'Ever since I've known you, all you've done is witter on about how wonderful everything Mezentine is, and how much better they do things there. If I'd been shafted by my country as badly as you have, I'd snarl like a wolf every time somebody mentioned the place. I certainly wouldn't keep telling everybody how splendid it all is. Or is it just the people in charge you don't like?'
Ziani straightened up. The power feed was running perfectly. 'Would you really?' he said. 'Hate your country, I mean, if you had to leave it?'
'Of course not,' Carnufex said. 'But if they tried to put me to death for something I didn't do-'
'Oh, I did it.' Ziani smiled.
'But it was stupid. You made some kind of clockwork doll for your kid.'
'That's right.'
Carnufex thought for a moment. 'Fine,' he said. 'Apparently, you seem to think that making kids toys ought to be a capital offense. I don't quite see how you can believe that, but never mind. If you thought it was wrong, really, really bad, why the hell did you do it?'
Ziani looked at him as though he thought the answer might be hidden somewhere in his face. 'That,' he said, 'is a very good question. Because I thought I could get away with it, I suppose. Why does anybody ever do something wicked?'
'You're strange,' Carnufex said.
'Not in the least,' Ziani replied. 'It's no different from robbing people in the street. You know it's wrong. It's against the law, if you get caught, you'll be punished. You know it's wrong; you wouldn't like it if someone did it to you. But people still do it, because they need money, because they're just lazy and greedy. In my case, I suppose it must have been arrogance.'
'You suppose. You don't know.'
Ziani furrowed his brow. 'No, actually, I don't, now you come to mention it. At least, I haven't thought about it very much since. Maybe I ought to, I don't know.'
Carnufex looked as though he wanted to end the conversation and walk away before he was moved to say something undiplomatic, but after a moment's indecision he took a step closer. 'Maybe you should,' he said. 'It might help you figure out where your loyalties lie, right now.'
'Oh, no question about that,' Ziani said. 'And in case you're having doubts, you might care to consider what I did for the Eremians. If you could've seen what the scorpions I made did to the Mezentines, I don't think you'd be worrying about whose side I'm on.' He shook his head. 'You can love someone and want to hurt them as much as possible,' he said, 'that's perfectly normal behavior.'
'Normal,' Carnufex repeated. 'All right, but that's not what we were talking about. You were saying you did this thing, making the clockwork doll, that you knew was wicked and bad, but you can't remember offhand why you did it. That's…' He shrugged, as if to say there weren't any words for what that was.
'You're right,' Ziani said, 'it's strange. I'll have to think about that. Meanwhile, perhaps we ought to be getting some work done. Have you seen Daurenja this morning?'
'Daurenja.' Carnufex scowled. 'I meant to have a word with you about him. He's been annoying my foremen.'
'Annoying?'
'Wasting their time. Getting under their feet. Asking them all sorts of bloody stupid questions and then insulting them when they say they don't know the answer. Look, I know he reports directly to you, but can't you talk to him? If he carries on like that, someone's going to lose their temper and damage him; presumably he's useful to you, so it'd be as well if you spoke to him about it.'
'He's…' Ziani shrugged. 'Fine, yes, I'll deal with it. Now, I want the long steel sections fetched over here so we can start cutting, and I want the anvils carried over to the small ore furnace, we can use it as a forge without any major modifications. Can you get the ore shed cleared out? I want to set up the small portable forges there for riveting.'
Carnufex had the grace to know when he was beaten. He nodded submissively as Ziani reeled off his list of jobs to be done, and withdrew in good order, leaving his opponent in possession of the field. Nevertheless, it wasn't a victory as far as Ziani was concerned; he'd been forced into a lie, which he resented, especially since it was essentially self-deception.
On the other hand, the mechanical saw made up for a lot. He watched it gliding through six-inch square section bar, smoke curling up out of the cut as one of the men dribbled oil into it, a drop at a time. The sheer joy of seeing something done properly, after so long among the savages…
'Is that what I think it is?' Daurenja, peering over his shoulder; he wanted to shudder and pull away, as though a spider had run across his face. 'Mezentine?'
'I never realized they exported them,' Ziani replied, and there was a hint of doubt in his voice. Surely it was wrong to sell something like this to the barbarians, in case they tried to copy it for themselves. A right-thinking man, a patriot, might feel betrayed. 'Apparently they do. Well, it's the basic model.'
'It'll do,' Daurenja said, with a degree of relish verging on hunger. Stupid, Ziani thought, he's making me feel jealous. 'This ought to save us two days' work, easily.'
'Not far off that.' Ziani looked away. Somehow, Daurenja had spoiled the moment. 'I guess Valens wants this job done quickly. I'll write and thank him tonight, when I've got a moment.'
'Good idea. While you're at it, you could ask if he could send us a trip-hammer.'
The next stage, punching the rivet-holes, was long, tedious and difficult. Each newly cut section had to be heated red in the forge and held over the hardy-hole on the back of the anvil while one of the six blacksmiths hammered a half-inch punch through it. If the hole was an eighth of an inch out of true, the section wouldn't line up with the others and would therefore be useless, and there wasn't exactly a wealth of spare material left over to make replacements from. The work went painfully slowly, even after both Ziani and Daurenja each took an anvil and joined in.
Even so; it was better to be working again. Ziani was shocked by the sense of release he felt as he rested the punch on the mark and swung his hammer. He was at a loss to explain it, but it refused to be denied. It made him think of the frantic pace of work in the weeks before the assault on Civitas Eremiae; how, for a short while, he'd managed to give himself the slip as he plunged into the endless, sprawling, choking detail of building the scorpions. He thought about them, too. If he'd been classified as an artist, like a painter or a sculptor, they would have been acclaimed as his finest creation, the masterpiece he'd achieved at the height of his powers. That would be wrong, of course. Judged objectively, as though by a panel of his fellow engineers, the best thing he'd ever done had been the mechanical toy he'd made for his daughter, a long time ago in a place he was forbidden to go back to.
(What had become of it, he wondered; had it been completely destroyed, smashed up and melted down, the metal once cool buried or sunk to the bottom of the sea; or did it still exist somewhere, locked away in a warehouse, or the cellars under the Guildhall? He could picture it still in his mind's eye; every detail, every brazed joint and polished keyway, every departure from Specification. He grinned; when they came to inspect it, they
