Mirror Sight
Page 85
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Lhean sharpened his awareness, and when the second tolling came, he heard beneath it the subdued thunder, three separate blasts of it, that broke apart earth and rock, a power like the great magicks of old, which he was too young to have witnessed.
But etherea was gone from here. He climbed out of his crevice and in the night saw nothing amiss, but on the air drifted a hint of burning powder like that which he’d smelled after the firing of the shooting devices. In time, the scent became more pronounced.
He must not slip into his dream-memories again. They’d sustained him for now, but something new was afoot, and he must keep watch.
SILK
“I don’t care if we have to empty all the mills of slaves to find enough labor,” Silk told the construction boss. “I will have the road repaired by this afternoon, at three hour at the latest.”
“B-but—”
“If you cannot see that it is done,” Silk said, leaning down from his saddle and pointing his riding crop at the man, “I shall appoint someone else, and you can join the slave gang in their work.”
“Yes, sir. Three hour.”
Silk nodded, and after a swift bow, the man ran off to make his arrangements. Silk sat erect once again in his saddle. Even now his household slaves were raising a canopy for his comfort while he waited.
Down the slope of the Old City’s mount, the morning light shone on his caravan where it waited at a standstill on the winding road. It consisted of Moody and his assistants from the machine shop, guards, laborers, and a long, specially constructed wagon hauled by a team of mules. It was laden with his precious drill, all covered in canvas. Even so, a steely glow permeated the cloth. Silk wondered if others saw it or if it was just an effect of his own peculiar sight.
He wrenched his stallion around and gazed up the road where a swarm of slaves were already at work repairing the first crater that had been blasted by the opposition. It had been a nasty surprise to find the first one, and even nastier to learn there’d been five others. He’d posted guards up at the drillhouse on the summit, but he hadn’t thought to cover the road. After all, the drillhouse and steam engine would be the more obvious targets, wouldn’t they? But they hadn’t been touched.
The guards had been killed stealthily, with knives driven into their backs. Silk tapped his crop on the toe of his boot. Why hadn’t the insurgents blasted the steam engine or the drillhouse? If they’d really wanted to slow him down, that’s what they should have done. Perhaps they feared his reaction?
It was true that if the steam engine were harmed, he would have butchered every inhabitant of this sorry city if he had to in order to find the culprits. So the opposition had moderated its crime hoping to escape the worst of his wrath. Spineless. A wasted opportunity on their part.
Still, there was some logic in their choice, if their desire was to preserve lives. Yes, undoubtedly some would die as a result of his inquiry into the blasting of his road, but there would be no bloodbath. Not today, anyway. He’d immediately tasked the chief of the Inspector force here in the city with the investigation. Clearly, the perpetrators knew how to use black powder and had some access to it. That gave the Inspectors a starting point.
In contrast, Silk reflected, the emperor would have commanded his troops to haul people out of their houses and stores and slaughter them, heedless of their guilt or innocence, to send a message to his enemies. In theory, it would turn the populace against the opposition for giving the emperor cause to shed the blood of so many. Sometimes such demonstrations worked to bring the insurgents out of hiding, to sacrifice themselves to prevent further killing, but more often than not, Silk thought, it just caused them to go to ground. And for all the emperor’s demonstrations over the decades, there was still an opposition that refused to learn his lessons.
They struck in such a way to expect a more moderate response, Silk thought. So fine, I will give them that. I will take a more surgical route. They will drop their guard, and if we can catch even just one of the scoundrels, we can extract useful information from him. Maybe get him to give up his fellows. Then we exterminate the opposition once and for all.
He absently watched the dim shapes of slaves moving rocks and debris. His horse stamped its hoof as a fly tried to settle on its wither.
If, Silk thought, his approach proved successful and led to the fall of the opposition, it could only bring him closer to the emperor’s inner circle, and immortality.
• • •
An hour later found Silk properly situated in a comfortable reclining armchair beneath a canopy, his feet propped on a cushioned footstool. Even with his dark specs, the light made his head ache. One of his servants refilled his crystal glass with lemonade. Another wielded a large fan to keep him cool and prevent insects from alighting on him. Farther up the slope, slaves toiled to repair the road, their numbers supplemented by workers pulled from one of the Churlyn Mills. He’d no doubt Churlyn himself was furious, but he was barely of Preferred status and had no recourse against the likes of Silk. Churlyn would not make his day’s production quota. Silk shrugged, unconcerned, and sipped his drink.
The fringe of the canopy flapped listlessly in the breeze. There was the clatter of slaves pounding on rocks, the shouts of overseers, and the snorts and neighs of beasts.
Every thirty minutes, one of the Inspectors offered an update on their investigation. Little, of course, had been achieved in so short a time, but the Inspectors were diligently rounding up men in the city known to work with black powder or who otherwise dealt in it, for questioning. As Adherent Minister of the Interior, Silk’s father was in charge of the Inspector force, so it was only natural that the members of the force would defer to the powerful minister’s son. As the current thirty minutes lapsed, an Inspector came forward with a filthy man whose wrists were manacled and attached with chains to an Enforcer. The Enforcer dragged him along until he stumbled to a stop in front of Silk.
But etherea was gone from here. He climbed out of his crevice and in the night saw nothing amiss, but on the air drifted a hint of burning powder like that which he’d smelled after the firing of the shooting devices. In time, the scent became more pronounced.
He must not slip into his dream-memories again. They’d sustained him for now, but something new was afoot, and he must keep watch.
SILK
“I don’t care if we have to empty all the mills of slaves to find enough labor,” Silk told the construction boss. “I will have the road repaired by this afternoon, at three hour at the latest.”
“B-but—”
“If you cannot see that it is done,” Silk said, leaning down from his saddle and pointing his riding crop at the man, “I shall appoint someone else, and you can join the slave gang in their work.”
“Yes, sir. Three hour.”
Silk nodded, and after a swift bow, the man ran off to make his arrangements. Silk sat erect once again in his saddle. Even now his household slaves were raising a canopy for his comfort while he waited.
Down the slope of the Old City’s mount, the morning light shone on his caravan where it waited at a standstill on the winding road. It consisted of Moody and his assistants from the machine shop, guards, laborers, and a long, specially constructed wagon hauled by a team of mules. It was laden with his precious drill, all covered in canvas. Even so, a steely glow permeated the cloth. Silk wondered if others saw it or if it was just an effect of his own peculiar sight.
He wrenched his stallion around and gazed up the road where a swarm of slaves were already at work repairing the first crater that had been blasted by the opposition. It had been a nasty surprise to find the first one, and even nastier to learn there’d been five others. He’d posted guards up at the drillhouse on the summit, but he hadn’t thought to cover the road. After all, the drillhouse and steam engine would be the more obvious targets, wouldn’t they? But they hadn’t been touched.
The guards had been killed stealthily, with knives driven into their backs. Silk tapped his crop on the toe of his boot. Why hadn’t the insurgents blasted the steam engine or the drillhouse? If they’d really wanted to slow him down, that’s what they should have done. Perhaps they feared his reaction?
It was true that if the steam engine were harmed, he would have butchered every inhabitant of this sorry city if he had to in order to find the culprits. So the opposition had moderated its crime hoping to escape the worst of his wrath. Spineless. A wasted opportunity on their part.
Still, there was some logic in their choice, if their desire was to preserve lives. Yes, undoubtedly some would die as a result of his inquiry into the blasting of his road, but there would be no bloodbath. Not today, anyway. He’d immediately tasked the chief of the Inspector force here in the city with the investigation. Clearly, the perpetrators knew how to use black powder and had some access to it. That gave the Inspectors a starting point.
In contrast, Silk reflected, the emperor would have commanded his troops to haul people out of their houses and stores and slaughter them, heedless of their guilt or innocence, to send a message to his enemies. In theory, it would turn the populace against the opposition for giving the emperor cause to shed the blood of so many. Sometimes such demonstrations worked to bring the insurgents out of hiding, to sacrifice themselves to prevent further killing, but more often than not, Silk thought, it just caused them to go to ground. And for all the emperor’s demonstrations over the decades, there was still an opposition that refused to learn his lessons.
They struck in such a way to expect a more moderate response, Silk thought. So fine, I will give them that. I will take a more surgical route. They will drop their guard, and if we can catch even just one of the scoundrels, we can extract useful information from him. Maybe get him to give up his fellows. Then we exterminate the opposition once and for all.
He absently watched the dim shapes of slaves moving rocks and debris. His horse stamped its hoof as a fly tried to settle on its wither.
If, Silk thought, his approach proved successful and led to the fall of the opposition, it could only bring him closer to the emperor’s inner circle, and immortality.
• • •
An hour later found Silk properly situated in a comfortable reclining armchair beneath a canopy, his feet propped on a cushioned footstool. Even with his dark specs, the light made his head ache. One of his servants refilled his crystal glass with lemonade. Another wielded a large fan to keep him cool and prevent insects from alighting on him. Farther up the slope, slaves toiled to repair the road, their numbers supplemented by workers pulled from one of the Churlyn Mills. He’d no doubt Churlyn himself was furious, but he was barely of Preferred status and had no recourse against the likes of Silk. Churlyn would not make his day’s production quota. Silk shrugged, unconcerned, and sipped his drink.
The fringe of the canopy flapped listlessly in the breeze. There was the clatter of slaves pounding on rocks, the shouts of overseers, and the snorts and neighs of beasts.
Every thirty minutes, one of the Inspectors offered an update on their investigation. Little, of course, had been achieved in so short a time, but the Inspectors were diligently rounding up men in the city known to work with black powder or who otherwise dealt in it, for questioning. As Adherent Minister of the Interior, Silk’s father was in charge of the Inspector force, so it was only natural that the members of the force would defer to the powerful minister’s son. As the current thirty minutes lapsed, an Inspector came forward with a filthy man whose wrists were manacled and attached with chains to an Enforcer. The Enforcer dragged him along until he stumbled to a stop in front of Silk.
