Given his own gang's agreed tactics, Sulun didn't know whether to hope the guards would stay closeted with Entori for a brief while or a long one. Meanwhile, he pored through his notes one more time.
The guards' interview proved to be a short one, and they came out together looking bored. A good sign, Sulun dared hope. The door remained shut for a few moments more; then the small bell sounded from beyond it, summoning the next in line. Sulun drew a deep breath, pushed on the heavy door, and entered.
Entori sat at his littered table, just as Sulun had seen him first, save that he wore a different dark, heavy robe. He raised his eyes from his pen and freshly marked ledger to acknowledge his latest servant and demanded, simply: "Well?"
Sulun bowed formally, lifted the first of his tablets, and began. "Tools for workshop: nearly assembled save for forge-bellows, estimated at five coppers; double-span tongs, estimated seven coppers; twenty-weight of brazing flux, eight coppers two irons . . ." Sulun carefully made his voice a soothing drone, the reading of the list reminiscent of a prayer-chant.
Entori began fidgeting with his pen, but his eyelids refused to droop.
No, best not to ask for too much new iron today.
Sulun switched to the second tablet. "Now, concerning the first try at a full-sized engine, a small cargo vessel should be used. No sense buying more brass than we need before we've determined the proper ratios and balances . . ."
"I can obtain the loan of a fifty-tonner," Entori cut in.
"Hmmm, so . . . It will not be necessary to take the ship out of service at once, not until we have the engine ready for testing. We need only measure and chart the ship before then, which may be done in a few days. We shall need carpenters to assemble the paddle wheels also. I have here the design, with tentative measurements that can be revised after we've inspected the ship." Sulun handed over another tablet. "We assume that building the engine shall require some five tons of brass, at—"
"Five tons?" Entori sat up, jowls darkening.
"Er, one tenth the weight of the ship, we presume." Sulun managed to keep his voice calm, philosophical, unruffled, despite the sweat gathering on his back. "Sure no more than that, possibly less, but we must be sure—"
"Five tons!" Glowering, Entori pulled a short whip up from his lap.
"Master," Sulun bowed low, shivering. "This engine uses forces of great power, and we must take great care to contain them. Better to make the parts too strong than too weak, lest they break—disastrously."
"But five tons?" Entori fingered the thongs of the whip.
"In the event that lesser weight is required, the excess brass will, of course, be applied to the building of the next engine. If Master has any brass already in store, naturally that could be used first."
"Not five tons."
A muffled sneeze sounded nearby.
Entori gave Sulun a sudden, hard look. The two of them were quite alone in the room, and neither of them had sneezed.
"Damned sneaking servants!" Entori sputtered, clambering to his feet. He came fast around the table, giving Sulun barely time to jump out of his way, ran to the door, and threw it wide.
No one stood there but Omis and the rest of the line, looking puzzled, a respectable ten paces away. Entori glared at them. "The lout must sneeze as loud as an elephant," he muttered, settling into his heavy chair.
Sulun said nothing, but thought much. Omis, he knew, did not sneeze as loud as an elephant. Neither had the sneeze come from beyond the door. He could have sworn the sound came from somewhere toward the left wall, where nothing stood but stacks of parchment-laden shelving.
"Enough of this," Entori grumbled, reaching for his pen. "Just leave me your lists there, and get on with work."
Sulun bowed again, set his pile on the least littered corner of the table, and bowed his way out, closing the door behind him.
Omis tossed him an enquiring look as he passed, but all Sulun could give him was a shrug. He paced carefully down the corridor, trying to measure the walls. There had to be a room on the other side of Entori's study, but who would be in there at this time of day? And why? And why so close to the wall that a sneeze might be heard right through it?
An intriguing mystery, that sneeze. What a pity he had really no time to solve it.
Omis with his mercifully short list of requirements, had better luck with the Old Man; Entori curtly gave him leave to use the canvas in stores to make his workshop pavilion, as well as all the charcoal he could find.
The little company was just putting up the canvas when Arizun came scampering up with a short note from Zeren. Sulun read it quickly, stuck it in his robe without comment, and went on with the business at hand.
At lunch hour he warned the others to keep to the courtyard, retraced his way through the house, and headed out the front door. The ancient porter demanded to know why he was leaving, where he was going, for how long, and had the Master been informed? Sulun restrained his annoyance, remembering that the porter really bore him no ill-will and was most probably just following the Old Man's orders.
"I'm off to the coppersmiths' street," Sulun replied pleasantly, "to consult with some smiths there about present prices and qualities of brass. I'll return at the end of the lunch hour, and you can inform the Mistress for me."
"Oh, the Mistress?" the porter cackled. "Aye, I'll tell her and none other, right enough. Heh-heh!"
Sulun shook his head and walked out the door. The whole house appeared to run on petty intrigue. Where did the Mistress fit in?
He did not, of course, go to the market. A few minutes' walk brought him to Zeren's house, where the housekeeper let him in and took him at once to the small dining room. A small meal waited there, and so did Zeren, who had already started on the white wine. He had loosened his working armor, dumped his swordbelt unceremoniously on the floor, and looked distinctly morose.
"Welcome, friend philosopher," he greeted Sulun with a raised cup. "Come, honor my humble table, and we'll trade sad stories. How are you and yours faring in House Entori?"
"Gods!" Sulun dropped into the empty chair and reached for the wine. "It's unbelievable." He gulped down half the cup before he caught himself.
Zeren laughed coldly. "You knew the man was a miser when you went to him. I told you I could do no better for you."
"I know, and rest assured I'm utterly grateful." Sulun set down his cup and dug into the dish of olives. "What I didn't know, couldn't have expected, was how terribly the man's stinginess warps the character of his entire household. One simply can't live there without resorting to theft and intrigue. Oh, let me tell you—"
"In detail," Zeren murmured, pouring himself another cup.
Sulun told, in detail, at length, until the food was gone. Zeren listened quietly, eyes wandering to distances again, until his guest ran out of words.
"So," he said finally, "how long, think you, before you can finish the Bombard Project?"
Sulun stared at him for a moment. "I haven't even mentioned it to him yet. Good gods all, I daren't suggest a new project before the Old Man's seen some profit from this one, and the gods alone know when that will be. Perhaps if you come visit him with more suggestions he'll show interest, but otherwise—"
Zeren heaved a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his boots. "My dearest philosopher friend, I greatly doubt that I could play the same trick twice with Entori the Miser. Quite right, he'll make no new speculation until he's seen profit from this one. Give him his wretched engine soon, I pray you. Soon."
Sulun ran his fingers through his hair. "But there's so much I don't know. I'm only guessing at the proper size for a ship's engine. I've some idea how to keep the steam flow steady, but how can the engine be started and stopped on command? Or reversed? How much fuel will it need? How long to heat enough water? How should it be attached to the ship? How to keep the fire pot from scorching the deck? I should experiment with the model first. . . . Oh, it may take years to learn everything!"