consuming exotic ingredients besides. And with the competition from all who know the secret, and the many mouths to feed between the steps, the profit is small, barely enough to make the whole effort worthwhile. When considered from the standpoint of outlay and return, the boxes and vaults are far more efficient in producing wealth. It is better to receive tokens already made than to struggle to form more with the painstaking steps of our art.'
'And yet you experiment with the giant apparatus here,' Jemidon said, 'and have taken Augusta's writ to buy all these hoses, saws, and weapons of war.'
'It is a matter of scale, as I have said,' Rosimar repeated. 'Why labor to produce a single disk when hundreds can be made with the same steps? Why gong a petite triangle to fill a small volume with sound when the entire hall can resonate from one hundreds of times as large? Instead of cutting each sheet of steel into strips a careful stroke at a time, we will attempt to cleave many at once by firing the plate at the whirling saws and playing the music at a tempo to keep in step.
'The grinding will be done by the big wheels rather than by hand-held files. And all the rest has been proved. If today the cleaving can be made to proceed in concert with what the ritual demands for perfection, then the entire process will work, without a doubt.'
Jemidon looked down at the whirling row of saw blades and back at the ballista, as the neophytes lined up the sheet of gleaming steel in the carriage that would hurl it forward. 'And yet the scale and weights are normal- sized.'
'They control the timing,' Rosimar explained. 'Now the scale is perfectly balanced with seven weights on either side. When one is removed from the left, the right pan swings to the ground and signals the ritual to start. After the triangle sounds, two are removed from the right, and the scale will move in the opposite direction to pace the next step. Alternately, the balance pans will be unloaded. The rigor of the ritual demands it to be so. And when the last is removed and the scale returns to level, the ballista will be fired. The plate will be ripped into nine strips, each one ready to be stamped with the outline of a row of disks.'
Rosimar looked around the ceremonium and smiled. 'In fact, all is in readiness, and we will soon know the result. You there, Grogan, I want you to remove the weights while I and the other masters attend to the bellows in the antechamber.'
The neophyte sprang to his feet and clutched his hands together. 'Not me, master,' he said. 'The whirling blades and creaking wheels give me a fright. My ears ached last night when the flutes were sounded in the seventh step.'
'Your hand is steady,' Rosimar said. 'It is an opportunity to show what you have learned while all the masters are watching.'
The neophyte extended his hands palms upward. Rosimar scowled at the blur they made with their shaking. 'Crandel, then,' he said. 'You probably can do it as well.'
The second neophyte did not respond. Together, the two of them raced from the hall without looking back.
'A moment.' Rosimar's scowl deepened. 'They are young and the task is unexpected. I will have to go to the head master and get permission to use one of the initiates. And if it is not granted, then we will have to wait until tomorrow.'
'But if the process is proven, can we have new tokens today?' Jemidon asked.
'Within the hour,' Rosimar said. 'We could use the very strips produced by the test.'
'I was a neophyte at the inland guild,' Jemidon said. 'You remember that. I would rather not delay. Tell me what I should do.'
Rosimar looked out through the isinglass to the bay. 'I remember your skill, Jemidon,' he remarked. 'I remember it all too well.'
'I was much younger many years ago,' Jemidon said. 'And here I have no stake in trying to impress a master.' Rosimar looked at the still swinging doors through which the neophytes had run. 'Oh, very well,' he said. 'The task is simple enough. Just remove the weights in the sequence I have indicated. Make each step clean and sure. Watch for my signal. When all else is ready, I will indicate when to begin.'
Without saying more, Rosimar hurried out the doorway. Jemidon watched his departure for a moment and then turned to study the scale more intently. Besides the two pans, each carrying the ornate metal cylinders, he could see an array of springs and switches clustered around the balance arm. From them, ropes, pipes, and pulleys led to other apparatus in the ceremonium. He looked back at Rosimar and saw the magician wave his arm to begin.
A hush fell onto the big hall. All of the other activity had ceased, except for the whirl of the saws. Jemidon was alone to set the ritual into motion. He took a step toward the scale, extending his arm to grab a weight from the top of the stack.
But as he did, without warning, he tripped and stumbled, falling to the ground. Surprised, Jemidon shook his head and looked around for what had gotten in his way, but he saw only smooth planking all about his feet.
Jemidon rose to standing and took a deep breath. Old memories began to stir in their hiding places.
'Away, away!' Rosimar stormed back through the door. 'It is just as I remembered. You never had a talent for magic, Jemidon, even for the simplest of neophyte tasks. It is no wonder that Augusta forsook you for my attentions instead.'
Jemidon looked back at the master. The contempt in Rosimar's face was sharp and clear. 'A moment's spasm,' he shot back. 'And it has passed. I will do as I have said. You need not summon back one of the neophytes too afraid to be less than perfect.'
'I will perform the ritual myself,' Rosimar declared. 'One side, and observe how it is done.'
Jemidon's chest constricted in anger. He whirled from where he stood to face the scale. With a swipe of his hand, he reached for the topmost weight to flick it aside. But as he did, he felt his arm streak off in an uncontrolled arc. His hand crashed into the scale. With a clatter, the weights bounced off onto the floor.
Jemidon lunged for the falling weights, but he managed only to trip over the scale and spin around. His feet tangled in the ropes and levers; with snaps and twangs, they jerked free of their moorings. He heard the giant triangle gong three times and then a sharp crack as the ballista released its charge. The sheet of metal arced across the room, tumbling while it sped, and struck the row of saws broadside rather than on end,
With an ear-piercing shriek, the plate exploded into shrapnel that flew back across the room. One piece bounded beside Jemidon's leg and another grazed his ear, knocking him again to the ground. The bellows started pumping, and the flutes and horns blasted monotones in a giant dissonance.
'A resonance!' Jemidon heard Rosimar's shout mingle with the noise. 'There is a flaw in the ritual-a resonance that feeds on itself. Stop the bellows and saws. Shut it all down!'
But the shrieking grew louder. Isinglass buckled from the ceiling and crashed to the floor. The bounding shrapnel continued to carom off the walls and apparatus. A large chunk hit the nearest flute in midsection, smashing a hole in its side. The hot air blasting forth caught Jemidon in the chest and flung him down just as he started to rise. He struggled to stand, but the pressure forced him backward toward the spinning blades. Disoriented, he turned to the side to move crosswind, bvit Xhet't suddenly frou in place. In the confusion, he heard one of the giant grindstones, freed from its mooring, lumber by to crash into the opposite wall.
Instinctively he fell prone to the dusty floor and held his breath. As the crash of breaking wood and the whiz of hurling projectiles continued unabated, he dug his fingers into the flooring and waited for the tumult to pass. After a long while-how long he could not tell-the instruments, the hurling debris, the runaway equipment all came to rest. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and rose to his feet. He dusted himself off, blinking at what had happened.
The hall was in complete disarray. Two grindstones were tumbled among the wreckage of the musical instruments. One had crashed through to the chamber beyond. The complicated array of ropes and linkages was a tangle of broken beams and knotted loops. It looked like a huge version of Drandor's lattice dashed against a rock. The saws had stopped spinning; one end of the shaft was out of its bushing and leaning against the floor.
'You can tell your mistress that you have performed your mission well.' Rosimar glared at Jemidon from across the room. 'It will not be from this guild that she will get the tokens to save her fair skin.'
Jemidon was stunned. What had caused him to lash out so inaccurately with his arm? And how could such a small error cause all the damage that he saw around him?
'I don't know what spoiled my coordination.' Jemidon shook his head. 'It should have been simple enough to
