At that moment Tiaan walked by. Most respected in this manufactory were the artisans. They worked with their hands, but only with precious things: gold and silver, platinum and quicksilver, copper, amber and crystal. They never got dirty doing it and the best were brilliant, lateral-thinking designers. More importantly, artisans worked with their senses. They had special talents, akin to the Secret Art that was the province of mages and mancers.
Nish could never hope to be an artisan; he lacked the vital talent. But prestige was everything to him and he wanted one of them for his woman. There were four artisans here, though only two were available. Of those, Irisis went by the fitters with her nose in the air, for she was of the House of Stirm, a crafter's daughter and a crafter's niece, made for better things than a lowly artificer. Nish hated her for it, but he understood her too. She was much like him.
Tiaan was a different matter. He felt that he might be in love with her. Now he looked up to see Tiaan on her way back. Putting down his wrench, he stared at her. She was above him, and yet beneath, for she came from the breeding factory and did not know her father. To lose a father was commonplace, in these times. Not to know his identity was a major failing in a world obsessed with family and Histories.
Tiaan carried her head high, though not aloof as Irisis did. Tiaan seemed oblivious to her surroundings, as if the only world that mattered was inside her head. The Ice Virgin, some called her, but Nish knew better. He felt he understood her too. She had the reputation as the hardest worker in the manufactory, and the cleverest. She was trying to make up for something. Was it her unfortunate birth? Her lack of a father?
She wore loose trousers and a blouse of grey flax, with old but well-cared-for grey boots. More was not tolerable here, just across from the furnaces. Her breasts bobbed with her light step, a sight that liquefied his middle. Desire made him forget everything.
Do it now! She's a quiet little thing. She will listen and be flattered. He hesitated too long. Without a glance, without even knowing he was there, Tiaan went by. She wore a faint, internal smile. Her glossy black hair bounced against the back of her neck.
Soon she would turn the corner and be gone, down to her own workroom in the cold part of the manufactory. Go on, you fool! Today you have something to offer. Not even the Ice Virgin will refuse you now. She has the breeding factory in her blood and her belly. She's just holding out for the best offer, and no one can best you.
Dropping his tools on the bench, Nish wiped his greasy hands on a rag and ran after her, up the aisle and round the corner to the section where the artisans and all the other clean crafts worked. Inside, the artisans' workshop was sealed off by double doors designed to exclude all dust and dross.
Tiaan was already out of sight. He burst through the doors without putting on a clean overall or taking off his filthy boots. Everyone stared. He did not notice.
'Tiaan!' he cried. 'Artisan Tiaan!'
She was going through the door into her own cubicle, but turned at his wild cry. 'Yes?'
He ran up to her, froze, then forced the words out.
'Tiaan, I admire your work tremendously. I… I think you are the most brilliant woman I've ever met.'
For an instant he saw panic in her eyes. Anger covered it up. 'If you admire it so much,' she said frostily, 'why are you dropping your filth and grease everywhere?'
Recalling the state of his clothes, he flushed. Sheer desperation propelled him on. 'I'm sorry, I'll clean it up.'
'Don't bother. What do you want, artificer?'
'Just to talk to you. You're brilliant, Tiaan.'
'You already said that.'
'Would you… Would…?' He faltered under her astonished stare. Her lips were the reddish-purple colour of pulped blackberries. He wanted to crush his mouth against them.
'What?' she snapped.
'I thought… perhaps dinner… or a walk along the path to the lookout… and then…' He couldn't get it out, with the prentices sniggering and rolling their eyes at each other. Artisan Fistila Tyr, who was heavily pregnant, set to with her grinding wheel to cover it up.
Tiaan turned those unusual eyes on him, scanning Nish from smoky cheeks to grease-stained hands and filthy boots. He felt sure he knew what she was thinking. Not only is he dirty and spotty and inarticulate, but he's a runt!
'Yes?' she said in a low voice that had the prentices bending over their work. Nish recognised the danger, but if he did not speak now he would never be able to.
'We both have our duty to perform. I thought we might share your bed!' he burst out. 'Or mine, if you prefer. I have…'
Her honey skin flushed red-brown. For a full minute she could not meet his eye; then Tiaan drew herself up. 'How dare you!' she hissed. 'How can you imagine that I would give myself to a dirty little artificer, and not a very good one either? The thought makes me sick. Get out!'
Nish flushed beneath the dirt. Across the room, Irisis was watching the show with open mouth. This afternoon he would be the laughing-stock of the manufactory. There was only one way to recover.
'I don't think you realise who my father is, Artisan Tiaan,' he said coldly. 'He is Perquisitor Jal-Nish Hlar, one of the most important people in the land. He is a high inquisitor! He can make you, Tiaan, or he can break you. And my mother is a chief examiner, nearly as important.' Looking over his shoulder, he softened his voice. 'I know you and Irisis are rivals, Tiaan. Think what you can achieve with a perquisitor's patronage. You need never fear her again.'
He gave an uncertain smile, for Nish was new to this game. He'd not tried to use influence before and wasn't quite sure how to go about it, despite having often seen it done in his scribing days. He lacked the authority, and the easy arrogance that told him he deserved whatever he desired.
'What do you say, Tiaan? We can take pleasure from each other and your career will blossom. Do you want to work in this dungheap of a manufactory forever? Come -'
'I would sooner mate with a lyrinx!' she shouted. 'I don't care who your father is. I will never lie with you. Now get your squalid self out of my workroom!'
'Why won't you do your duty, artisan? What are you afraid of?'
Tiaan paled. 'Go away, little man.'
Nish's fury was barely controllable, but he made one last effort. 'If you knew who I really am,' he hissed, 'you would not be so -'
'Get out!' she roared and, seizing a pair of red-hot tongs resting in a brazier, Tiaan brandished them before his face.
Nish broke. Bursting through the double doors, he raced past the infirmary, out through the wall and down towards the furnaces. He could not go back to his own bench, for everyone would see the tears of rage streaming down his face. Creeping around the back of the furnaces, he hauled a recalcitrant sweeper boy out of a warm niche, clipped the lad over the ear for neglecting his work and crept in to lick his wounds. He would ruin Tiaan, somehow. Then he would bed her and cast her off.
Shortly he heard soft footsteps and to his astonishment Irisis appeared. She squatted down before him, offering a snowy handkerchief.
'Artificer Cryl-Nish,' she said softly, winning his undying gratitude for using his name and not the detested nickname. 'Would you like to learn how to pleasure a real woman?'
Nish could have fainted with astonishment. Irisis was not known for her kindness. Surely she was playing a cruel joke. He did not know what to say.
Bending forward, she gave him a savage kiss on the mouth. His body responded instantly. She laughed and took his hand, though she wrapped the handkerchief around it first. 'Come to my room.' Then she wrinkled her pretty nose. 'No, to the bathhouse first, I think. We'll neither of us be missed for an hour or two. Time for a couple of lessons.' Her eyes met his. 'And after that, we'll find plenty to talk about on our pillows.'