my-'
Kestrel squeezed Astron's arm tighter and the demon stopped. He nodded and slowly started to move in the direction Kestrel had indicated. Kestrel whirled to catch up with Celibor and Phoebe as they walked to the hut. The alchemist had his arm around her waist while he pointed out other aspects of his foundry. Curse it, Kestrel thought. She permitted it just as he had instructed her to.
Kestrel watched Phoebe try to shield from her eyes the afternoon sun streaking into the hut through a low window. He shifted uncomfortably on his stool, kicked at cracked and discarded parchments that cluttered the floor, and looked out the doorway into the foundry yard. He saw Astron with some sort of sextant sighting the top of the huge lead spheres and then the pylons at their side. Throughout the yard the bustle of the activity continued as if the border blockade did not exist. The bellows whooshed. A blistering heat radiated from the openings of the anthanar.
Kestrel frowned at the lengthening shadows. Despite Celibor's other interests, his first concern turned out to be for his profits. For most of the day they had argued, and no agreement was yet in sight. Soon the sun would be setting, and they would have to come back the next day, something that Kestrel definitely did not want to do. He would have to play through the last part of his plan, whether the alchemist gave him an opening or not.
'But do you not see?' Celibor waved his hands around the confines of his hut. 'This is no palace with rich furnishings paid for by the profits of my trade. Iliac across the way has seen to that with his low prices and inferior products. I need the coin to pay the workers as the effort is done. I cannot afford to await until the order is complete no matter how alluring is the bounty I would receive.'
The alchemist looked at Phoebe slyly. 'Besides, I cannot really believe that a few moments aloft is the primary reason you are so anxious to do business with me. Why the concern, my lady, about pretending you are a bird?'
Kestrel became immediately alert. Celibor's statement was what he had been waiting for. 'You drive a hard bargain.' He laughed. 'And this day grows long.' He looked at Phoebe. 'With your permission, my lady,' he said.
Phoebe nodded slightly. Kestrel watched Celibor lean forward from where he sat.
'There is the matter of the new mine,' Kestrel continued smoothly. 'One not in the mountains of Procolon to the north, but in the very hills of Ethidor itself.'
'There are no such mines,' Celibor scoffed. 'Our own hills have been scoured many times over.'
'But not from a height, not from a vantage point no other has taken.' Kestrel lowered his voice to a whisper. 'And not with a sketch of what to look for drawn by a sorcerer while under a far-seeking trance.' Kestrel pulled a tightly rolled parchment from his belt and waved it quickly in front of Celibor's face.
The alchemist reached for it but Kestrel pulled it away with a nod. 'You understand how critical it is that word of this reach no one else. Your craft can ill-afford a repetition of what has caused the impulse to the north to occur.'
Kestrel waited for Celibor to withdraw his hand and then continued. 'Of course, our original plan was to find the location and then keep it from all, offering our ores to the highest bidder.' His smile broadened. 'But you deal with such skill that a direct share might be more in order. Enough perhaps so that you see the raising of the balloon as much in your interest as in ours.'
Celibor glanced at Phoebe and then back to Kestrel. 'How do I know that these are not more words, perhaps as empty as the rest?'
'You do not.' Kestrel shrugged and rose. 'There is a risk here that must be taken-a single balloon ride for half share in what may be the only source of ore while the blockade continues. Perhaps those across the street would indeed be more receptive.'
'No, wait,' Celibor said. 'In good faith, I have made investments as well. Come outside and see what I have instructed the workmen to do while we talked. If we can agree on a fair price, then even today the deed can be done.'
Kestrel looked over to Phoebe and she tilted her head slightly a second time. He shrugged and turns his palms upward to Celibor. 'Evidently, she likes you,' he said. 'A few hours more she has graciously granted.'
Celibor grunted and scurried past where they sat into the afternoon sun. He squinted his eyes against the harshness and motioned for them to follow over into the testing area.
Kestrel and Phoebe left the hut with regal slowness and stepped out into the daylight. They walked past the cooling lead ingots, lattices, and polyhedra and through the shadows cast by the great spheres and pylons. Astron looked up from what he was studying and motioned but Kestrel waved him away. The hook was nearly set and he could not afford to be distracted.
Kestrel noted the contents of other huts as he passed. One on the left was piled high with cured animal hides and beyond it were seamstresses lashing them together into a growing pile of balloons not yet used. On the right, knot makers tied lengths of braided hair into canopies that would fit over the balloons when they were inflated and tether them to the ground.
When they caught up with Celibor, he was pointing at a long row of bottles all connected to a hose of some rubbery fiber. Like a giant centipede the construction wandered through the open area where the tests were performed.
'More than one bottle will be needed to remove enough air so that the three of you can be borne aloft,' Celibor said. 'My craftsmen have labored long and hard to connect all of these bottles in parallel so that the evacuation can quickly be done.'
Kestrel looked down the snaking line. 'Then we are almost ready,' he said. 'Why haggle over details when we can be at the task right away.'
'It is not quite as you make it seem,' Celibor said. 'Two more bottles must be connected to the chain. That is no easy matter if one wishes not to lose all the vacuum in the process. Then we have to bind a valve to the balloon itself, one that will not leak once it has been removed of its air.' Celibor waved to one of the leather spheres resting on the ground. It was partially inflated and tugging slightly against the beginning of a breeze. 'And the heating arrangement I have not yet contemplated. Much air will be extracted for this ride, not just a little amount. Heating what remains to regain the original volume is an intriguing challenge all in itself.'
Kestrel studied Celibor's expression, trying to judge the truthfulness of his words. He resisted the impulse to grab the end of the hose nearest him and hurry the process along. Then suddenly as he wrestled with what to say next, there was a loud pounding on the metal doors that led to the street.
'Open the gates,' a voice sounded over the fence. 'In the name of the wizards of the Brythian hills. You house the ones we seek.'
Celibor glanced at his gateman in annoyance and then back in the direction of his hut toward a pile of shields and swords. Kestrel spun around to look at Astron and saw the demon pointing frantically into the air. Though it was not yet dusk, a swarm of lights could be seen dancing along the fence line in a confusing buzz. The demon had been right; the wizards had caught up with them and far sooner than Kestrel would have thought. Now there was no time left for subtle maneuvers. Every second would count.
'Defend your property rights,' Kestrel shouted at the puzzled alchemist. 'A direct attack from your rivals across the way. They strike in desperation to prevent the ascent of the countess into the air.'
Celibor continued to hesitate and Kestrel turned his attention away. He had to get the foundry workers to act. 'You, and you with the sextant,' he directed. 'Back to the weapons store and arm yourself against the entry. Delay them as long as you can.' He waved at the apparatus directly in front of where he and Phoebe stood. 'Never mind the last two bottles. Quickly affix the valve.' He looked at the blank stares of the workmen and tried not to think how much more must be done.
With a sudden crash, the doors sprang inward and a squad of men-at-arms burst into the foundry yard. Behind perhaps twelve warriors, each clad in mail, came a quartet of wizards, shaking their fists and urging those in front forward.
'Benthon and Maspanar,' Phoebe said, 'and others of my council. What you said was true. They pursue me with great vigor.'
'To the weapons.' Celibor evidently shook off his indecision when he saw the men-at-arms. He picked up the hems of his master's robe and ran for his hut. 'The visitors speak truly. Iliac seeks to get my share of the mine for himself.'
