wings and laid them in the shadow of the hull. Cupelix fell into a lengthy telepathic commune with his minions, and soon the
Micones were mustered in the valley. They surrounded the obelisk on all sides, an army of mute, clicking creatures, intent on a voice no one heard but them. Without as much as a nod, the three score giant ants turned their backs to the tower and began to plow the soil with their heads. Furrows of dull red sand turned up to the starry sky, and other
Micones pushed the sand into convenient mounds.
Sighter showed off his hasty design for a burning lens, twenty-two feet in diameter and five feet, seven inches thick in the center.
'Do you think it will work?' Kitiara said.
'If the lens can be cast in one piece, the polishing shouldn't take long. There's plenty of sand, after all,' said
Sighter. He rolled up his parchment drawing and tucked it under his arm. Outside, the Micones slaved on, the ground trembling against the force of their unyielding heads.
Chapter 26
To refine the sanb awd eliminate any impurities, the gnomes resorted to washing it. Poor Rainspot was hauled up to the lowest of Cupelix's ledges and instructed to make it rain for several hours. The floor of the obelisk grew quite grimy with wet sand and sodden vegetable muck. The dragon descended from his sanctum with the news that clouds were forming up there, too. A gentle rain was falling
450 feet above Rainspot. Midget streaks of lightning flick ered through the hollow shaft, glancing off the marble like minnows in a racing brook. Far from being annoyed, Cupe lix was delighted with all this. He had read of the mysterious thing called 'weather,' but had never experienced it.
'It doesn't naturally occur indoors,' Sturm said sourly. He was wet to the skin, as the gnomes had appropriated his oil cloth slicker to make buckets for the clean sand.
Micones were fitted with pairs of big buckets, which were draped like saddlebags on each side of their globular thoraxes. They scuttled down to the cavern with their loads, where Sighter, Birdcall, and Flash were preparing the vat in which the sand would be melted. This, like the mold in which the lens would be cast, was simply and roughly made from mud. The disintegrated plant fluff that coated the entire red moon, mixed with dry dirt, made an admirable clay. The gnomes in the cavern slapped together a wide tub of mud, reinforced with just a few laths 'borrowed' from the
Cloudmaster. At about dawn, the vat was ready. With a
Micone as a draft beast, the gnomes shifted the vat into place over one of the volcanic vents. Then they sat back and waited for the clay to harden.
Flash's head popped up through one of the holes in the floor. 'We're ready for the sand!' he cried.
Roperig moved closer to the hole and said, 'What's hold ing you up?'
'Nothing,' said the mud-caked gnome. 'I said, we're ready for the sand.'
'He means, what's holding you up in the hole?' said
Sturm.
'Oh! I'm standing on a Micone.' The giant ant was cling ing upside down under the opening, and Flash was standing on its belly.
The whole crew, save Kitiara and Rainspot, descended to the great cavern. There the train of Micones saddled with hoppers of sand stood in a line, like a cavalry troop on parade. Each time Birdcall poked his head through the toothed passage in the rock and whistled, an ant detached and followed him.
Farther in, past the Micones' birthing chamber, the gnomes labored over the glass vat. Sturm watched as they emptied bucket after bucket into the baked mud bowl, spreading the sand evenly across the bottom and sprinkling in various unnamed powders they'd brought down from the flying ship. The heat in the chamber was terrific. On Cupe lix's orders, the Micones had broken open one of the magma flues, allowing more of the rock to well out of the ground.
The giant creatures seemed unaffected by the heat. The vat was precariously perched above the magma pool on piers of stones. The little men walked nonchalantly along the edge of the fiery pit, hardly noticing painful death could claim them if they slipped. Not for the first time, Sturm felt an admiration for the gnomes. They were foolish and trying at times, but in their element, they were indomitable.
The sand grew hot and steamed. In a process too sudden and subtle to see, the hard grains softened into a smooth mass, first bright orange and then nearly white as the heat rose to its highest level. The glare was too much for the gnomes and Sturm, and they drew back to the cooler end of the chamber.
'How will you get the melted glass up to the lens mold? asked Sturm.
'We shan't,' said Stutts, mopping his florid pink brow.
'We're casting the rough lens down here.'
Even as he said this, Micones laden with fresh mud clicked into the chamber. Birdcall, who seemed to have a particular rapport with the ants, directed them to dump their loads in a natural hollow in the cavern floor. Birdcall and Sighter fell to with trowels, sweeping the crimson mud about in smooth swirls, forming a round bowl.
When the mud was firm, though not entirely dry, Stutts and Sighter conferred. Everyone waited for the word — the gnomes, Sturm, the Micones, even Kitiara and Cupelix in the obelisk above. Stutts tapped his fingers together and talked far too fast for Sturm to follow. Sighter nodded.
Four Micones took up positions around the glass vat.
Birdcall sat astride one ant, warbling and waving his hands to conduct the giants' efforts. The Micones clamped their pincer jaws on the studs the gnomes left poking through the mud walls, and lifted the vat easily off the magma furnace.
Supported by twenty-four individual legs, the vat was maneuvered over the rocky floor to the mold.
'Are you ready?' Stutts called to Birdcall. The whistling gnome gave the high sign and Stutts called out, 'You may pour now!'
Two ants lifted the vat up. White-hot molten glass slipped over the rim of the vat and splashed heavily into the mold.
Torrents of steam billowed out as the water was driven from the still-damp mud.
'Higher!' Stutts cried. 'Tip the end up higher!'
Parts of the vat's outside began to crumble and break off.
The molten mass of glass surged against the weakening walls. Cracks developed in the lip.
'Keep them back!' Sturm admonished Stutts. The gnomes, in their boundless urge to see everything, had crowded close to the lens mold. If the vat broke open, they would all be swamped with melted glass. Stutts pushed his colleagues to a safer distance.
The vat was vertical now, and the last gobs fell into the mold. There was more molten glass than the mold would hold, so it lapped over the edges. As the Micones lowered the vat to horizontal, the cracked sides fell to pieces.
'Phew!' said Stutts. His forehead was raw from constant wiping. 'That was none too soon!'
The mold, being solidly bound by rock, was holding well.
Already the edges of the lens were turning red, cooling from incandescent white. Bubbles popped in the center as steam forced its way out from the mud liner. Sighter frowned at the sight.
'Hadn't planned on that,' he said. 'Bubbles will distort the glass.'
'It doesn't need to be of the first water,' said Stutts.
'How long will it take to cool?' asked Sturm. The shim mering heat from the poured glass was mesmerizing.
'Fully cooled, twelve hours or more,' said Sighter. 'It'll be hard a lot sooner than that, but we can't crack the mold until we're sure the core is cooled.'
