Lizanne left them to it, deciding to check on Makario’s progress with the solargraph. Captain Trumane had ordered a good-sized portion of the Viable’s hold cleared for use as a makeshift workshop. This included a curtained-off section where the musician had some measure of privacy whilst he attempted to decipher the device’s musical mysteries. It sat on the work-bench, its various cogs and wheels gleaming in the lamplight. During the siege of Carvenport they had taken the first steps to unlocking a few of its secrets, such as the fact that it was powered by music, or “kinetic resonance,” as Jermayah termed it. However, to Lizanne it remained as unknowable and frustrating an enigma as when she first set eyes on it in the office of the unfortunate Diran Akiv Kapazin. As yet, despite Makario’s efforts, it had signally failed to reveal any clue as to how it might unlock the secrets in Tinkerer’s head. She had asked Tekela to assist, hoping the girl’s musical insights might yield some progress, as they had in Jermayah’s workshop.
“Wrong,” Tekela said as Makario finished tapping out another tune on the device’s exposed chimes. “I doubt the Artisan would have chosen something so ugly. He had far too much taste for that. Try this.” She went on to sing a short melody in her fine, accomplished voice. She seemed oblivious to Makario’s baleful stare which Lizanne fancied was at least a match for the one her father had directed at Tinkerer. The tune was wordless, formed only of notes into something both pleasing and haunting to the ear. It reminded Lizanne of “The Leaves of Autumn,” the tune that had first caused the solargraph’s gears to turn in Jermayah’s workshop, in feeling rather than composition.
“I don’t recognise it,” Makario grated when Tekela fell silent.
“You wouldn’t,” she replied. “I made it up.”
“If this infernal thing is powered by music, it will be by a composition from the Artisan’s era. May I point out, miss, that only one of us is an expert in musical history.”
Tekela made a face and arched an eyebrow at Lizanne. “He’s just jealous because I have perfect pitch.”
“Perfect pitch is just a trick,” Makario stated, bridling as his face darkened further. “I once saw a monkey with perfect pitch in a circus.”
“Try it,” Lizanne said before Tekela could give voice to a no-doubt-vicious rejoinder. “We’ve tried every other tune the Artisan might have heard in his lifetime and all they do is cause the levers to turn, which describes the orbits of the three moons but fails to convey anything actually meaningful. There is more to this thing than just astronomy. It has another secret to tell and we know the Artisan was scrupulous in guarding his secrets. He may well have used a unique composition, one known only to himself.”
Makario huffed but dutifully raised the silver spoon he had borrowed from the officers’ mess and tapped out the notes of Tekela’s song on the chimes. “See?” he said, moving back as the tune faded. “A fruitless . . .”
He gave a start as a soft click came from the solargraph. It was faint, but definite evidence that somewhere within the complex array of components that formed the device’s innards, something had responded to the tune. Makario immediately repeated the sequence, all animosity replaced by a steady-eyed concentration. This time, however, the solargraph failed to respond.
“The main theme from ‘The Leaves of Autumn,’” he said, reaching for pen and paper and scribbling down a series of musical notes. “What else?”
“‘Dance of the Heavens,’” Tekela said. “The second movement. Also, the choral melody from ‘The Maiden’s Fall.’”
Makario wrote down all the notes from each piece, one beneath the other. “Now your little tune,” he said, setting the notes out at the bottom of the page. He stared at it for a moment then let out a soft laugh. “See it?” he said, holding the paper out to Lizanne. Music had never been her subject and she had only a bored child’s understanding of musical notation so immediately passed the page to Tekela.
“I don’t . . .” she began after scanning the notes, then frowned as comprehension dawned. “A descending scale,” she said. “They all share the same descending scale, but at different tempos.”
Makario nodded and tapped a series of notes onto the chimes. This time the response was much more prolonged and impressive. All three of the solargraph’s levers turned at once, moving with more energy than Lizanne had seen before whilst several of the cogs along its sides spun fast enough to blur. It lasted for no more than three seconds then stopped after which the solargraph emitted a series of notes of its own. It was the same melody Makario had tapped out, but at a much slower tempo, and also followed by several more notes. To Lizanne’s ears the tune possessed much the same melancholy flavour as “The Leaves of Autumn” and the other centuries-old tunes the device had so far responded to. She could also tell it was incomplete, the final note cutting off abruptly as if the solargraph had been silenced in mid-conversation.
“I do believe we might have made some progress,” Makario said. “Perhaps our fellow former inmate can shine some more light on it.”
“Not yet,” Lizanne replied. “I’d rather his energies were concentrated on the new aerostat, for now at least.” She nodded at the solargraph. “Do you think you can get it to play the whole tune?”
“With time and”—he cast a reluctant glance in Tekela’s direction—“some further assistance. Music is a code after all.” He nodded at the page of notes he had scribbled down. “At least now we have the beginnings of a key, and thanks to the additional notes it played, a clue as to where to look next.”
“So what are you calling this one?” Lizanne enquired as Jermayah crouched to undo the ties on a canvas-wrapped item on the deck. “Do you have a new Whisper for me? I must say I miss the old one.”
He gave a soft grunt, shaking his shaggy head as he stepped back to reveal his latest invention. “This one doesn’t whisper. Could call it the Shouter, if you like.”
At first glance it appeared to be a standard-issue Silworth .31 lever-action repeating carbine, albeit modified with a slightly longer barrel and more elaborate fore- and rearsights. The wooden stock had also been augmented with a brass shoulder plate and spring arrangement. However, the strangest modification was that the upper half of the breach mechanism had been replaced by glass instead of the usual iron.
“Something occurred to me during that business in Carvenport,” Jermayah began. “Takes a keen eye and a skilled hand to kill a full-grown drake with a fire-arm. It’s one thing for a Contractor to do it on a hunt through the Interior, different matter in the midst of a battle. The Thumpers and Growlers are fine and good, but you need a whole crew to work them. The mini-Growler I built in Feros could do the job but it eats up a huge amount of ammunition and takes too long to manufacture. If we had a mass-producible small-arm that could do the job with only a few shots, seems to me things might go better for us.”
Lizanne cast a doubtful gaze over the carbine. “This can kill a drake?”
“Surely can, provided you load it with the right ammunition.” He produced a cartridge from his pocket and tossed it to her. It was about a third longer than a standard carbine round with a more pointed bullet featuring a slight indentation at its base.
“This isn’t steel,” she said, touching a finger to the tip of the bullet. Military-grade rounds were usually formed of a lead core surrounded by a hard-steel jacket. Jermayah had apparently crafted something new in this one.