The meeting hall on Starship Hill was a small, temporary thing. It had been good enough to keep the cold out during the winter, but for a conference of more than three people it was a real madhouse. Steel stomped past the Flenser Fragment and collected himself on the loft with the best view of the construction. After a polite moment, Tyrathect entered and climbed to the facing loft.
But all the decorum was an act for the groundlings outside; now Flenser’s soft laughter hissed across the air to him, just loud enough for him to hear. “Dear Steel. Sometimes I wonder if you are truly my student… or perhaps some changeling inserted after my departure. Are you trying to screw us up?”
Steel glared back. He was sure there was no uneasiness in his posture; all that was held within. “Accidents happen. The incompetents will be culled.”
“Quite so. But that appears to be your response to all problems. If you hadn’t been so bent on silencing the digger teams, they might not have rioted… and you would have had one less ‘accident’.”
“The flaw was in their guessing. Such executions are a necessary part of military construction.”
“Oh? You really think I had to kill all those who built the halls under Hidden Island?”
“What? You mean you didn’t? How—?”
The Flenser Fragment smiled the old, fanged smile. “Think on it, Steel. An exercise.”
Steel arranged his notes on the desk and pretended to study them. Then all of him looked back at the other pack. “Tyrathect. I honor you because of the Flenser in you. But remember: You survive on my sufferance. You are not the Flenser-in-Waiting.” The news had come late last fall, just before winter closed the last pass over the Icefangs: The packs bearing the rest of the Master hadn’t made it out of Parliament Bowl. The fullness of Flenser was gone forever. That had been an indescribable relief to Steel, and for a time afterward the Fragment had been quite tractable. “Not one of my lieutenants would blink if I killed all of you—even the Flenser members.” And I’ll do it, if you push me hard enough, I swear I will.
“Of course, dear Steel. You command.”
For an instant the other’s fear showed through. Remember, Steel thought to himself, always remember: This is just a fragment of the Master. Most of it is a little school teacher, not the Great Teacher with a Knife. True, its two Flenser members totally dominated the pack. The spirit of the Master was right here in this room, but gentled. Tyrathect could be managed, and the power of the Master used for Steel’s ends.
“Good,” Steel said smoothly. “As long as you understand this, you can be of great use to the Movement. In particular,” he riffled through the papers, “I want to review the Visitor situation with you.” I want some advice.
“Yes.”
“We’ve convinced ‘Ravna’ that her precious Jefri is in imminent danger. Amdijefri has told her about all the Woodcarver attacks and how we fear an overwhelming assault.”
“And that may really happen.”
“Yes. Woodcarver really is planning an attack, and she has her own source of ‘magical’ help. We have something much better.” He tapped the papers; the advice had been coming down since early winter. He remembered when Amdijefri had brought in the first pages, pages of numerical tables, of directions and diagrams, all drawn in neat but childish style. Steel and the Fragment had spent days trying to understand. Some of the references were obvious. The Visitor’s recipes required silver and gold in quantities that would otherwise finance a war. But what was this “liquid silver'? Tyrathect had recognized it; the Master had used such a thing in his labs in the Republic. Eventually they acquired the amount specified. But many of the ingredients were given only as methods for creating them. Steel remembered the Fragment musing over those, scheming against nature as if it were just another foe. The recipes of mystics were full of “horn of squid” and “frozen moonlight'. The directions from Ravna were sometimes even stranger. There were directions within directions, long detours spent in testing common materials to decide which really fit the greater plan. Building, testing, building. It was like the Master’s own method but without the dead ends.
Some of it made sense early on. They would have the explosives and guns that Woodcarver thought were her secret weapons. But so much was still unintelligible—and it never got easier.
Steel and the Fragment worked through the afternoon, planning how to set up the latest tests, deciding where to search for the new ingredients that Ravna demanded.
Tyrathect leaned back, hissing a wondering sigh. “Stage built upon stage. And soon we’ll have our own radios. Old Woodcarver won’t have a chance… You are right, Steel. With this you can rule the world. Imagine knowing instantly what is happening in the Republic’s Capital and being able to coordinate armies around that knowledge. The Movement will be the Mind of God.” That was an old slogan, and now it could be true. “I salute you, Steel. You have a grasp worthy of the Movement.” Was there the Teacher’s contempt in his smile? “Radio and guns can give us the world. But clearly these are crumbs from the Visitors’ table. When do they arrive?”
“Between one hundred and one hundred twenty days from now; Ravna has revised her estimate again. Apparently even the Two-Legs have problems flying between the stars.”
“So we have that long to enjoy the Movement’s triumph. And then we are nothing, less than savages. It might have been safer to forego the gifts, and persuade the Visitors that there is nothing here worth rescuing.”
Steel looked out through the window slits that cut horizontally between timbers. He could see part of the starship compound, and the castle foundations, and beyond that the islands of the fjord country. He was suddenly more confident, more at peace, than he’d been in a long time. It felt right to reveal his dream. “You really don’t see it, do you Tyrathect? I wonder if the whole Master would understand, or whether I have exceeded him, too. In the beginning, we had no choice. The Starship was automatically sending some sort of signal to Ravna. We could have destroyed it; maybe Ravna would have lost interest… And maybe not, in which case we would be taken like a fish gilled from a stream. Perhaps I took the greater risk, but if I win, the prize will be far more than you imagine.” The Fragment was watching him, heads cocked. “I’ve studied these humans, Jefri and—through my spies—the one down at Woodcarvers. Their race may be older than ours, and the tricks they’ve learned make them seem all- powerful. But the race is flawed. As singletons, they work with handicaps we can scarcely imagine. If I can use those weaknesses…
“You know the average Tines cares for its pups. We’ve manipulated parental sentiments often enough. Imagine how it must be for the humans. To them, a single pup is also an entire child. Think of the leverage that gives us.”
“You’re seriously betting everything on this? Ravna isn’t even Jefri’s parent.”
Steel made an irritated gesture. “You haven’t seen all of Amdi’s translations.” Innocent Amdi, the perfect spy. “But you’re right, saving the one child is not the main reason for this Visit. I’ve tried to find out their real motive. There are one hundred fifty-one children in some kind of deathly stupor, all stacked up in coffins within the ship. The Visitors are desperate to save the children, but there’s something else they want. They never quite talk about it… I think it’s in the machinery of the ship itself.”
“For all we know the children are a brood force, part of an invasion.”
That was an old fear and—after watching Amdijefri—Steel saw no chance of it. There could be other traps but, “If the Visitors are lying to us, then there is really nothing we can do to win. We’ll be hunted animals; maybe generations from now we’ll learn their tricks, but it will be the end of us. On the other hand, we have good reason to believe that the Two-Legs are weak, and whatever their goals, they do not involve us directly. You were there the day of the landing, much closer than I. You saw how easy it was to ambush them, even though their ship is impregnable and their single weapon a match for a small army. It is obvious that they do not consider us a threat. No matter how powerful their tools, their real fears are elsewhere. And in that Starship, we have something they need.
“Look at the foundations of our new castle, Tyrathect. I’ve told Amdijefri that it is to protect the Starship against Woodcarver. It will do that—later in the Summer when I shatter Woodcarver upon its ramparts. But see the foundations of the curtain around the Starship. By the time our Visitors arrive, the ship will be envaulted. I’ve done some quiet tests on its hull. It can be breached; a few dozen tons of stone falling on it would quite nicely crush it. But Ravna is not to worry; this is all for the protection of her prize. And there will be an open courtyard nearby, surrounded by strangely high walls. I’ve asked Jefri to get Ravna’s help on this. The courtyard will be just large enough to enclose Ravna’s ship, protecting it too.
“There are many details still to be settled. We must make the tools Ravna describes. We must arrange the demise of Woodcarver, well before the Visitors arrive. I need your help in all those things, and I expect to receive it.
