The gears, the hated gears . . . Sulun dourly polished another of the little iron monsters, reflecting that he was beginning to hate the very thought of steam engines and ships. Bits and parts of another engine nearly completed, Entori nagging him to hurry, the bombard waiting like a treasure that could be touched only in few, precious, stolen moments: half a moon like this. And the news from the north no better. All Sabis might fall before they managed to finish the bombard. Damn Entori, damn his engines, damn these interminable gears!
Seeing no further burrs or irregularities, Sulun dropped the hated gear in a box with its companions and glanced automatically at the sunlight above the roof. Good gods, nearly dinnertime. The others had gone inside, leaving him here with his wretched little task, and he couldn't blame them. He rubbed his eyes, back, fingers, and stalked off to his minuscule room. Just enough time to wash his hands and face for dinner, no time or reason to change his clothes; let the old vulture see that he'd worked like a galley slave all day. He washed fast, towelled off faster, and stalked toward the dining hall still damp.
It was the silence he noticed first: the servants eating so very quietly, heads down, trying not to be noticed. Scarcely a head lifted as he shuffled into his place on the bench at the servants' table.
But one of the heads raised was Arizun's. "Keep your head down," he whispered fiercely in Sulun's ear. "Look who's visiting Master at the upper table."
Sulun duly hunched over his plate and glanced sidewise at the Master's table—from which, he now noticed, came sounds of unusually lively conversation.
There sat Entori and his sister, as always: Eloti looking politely attentive, Entori for once animated and almost jovial. Facing them, backs to the servants' table, sat two newcomers. Guests, Sulun realized, probably business acquaintances, hardly friends, knowing Entori. Reason enough for the servants not to want attention drawn to themselves. But why was Arizun so agitated? And why was Vari shooting frightened looks at him across the bread dish? In fact, why was everyone in his work gang looking so frightened? He studied the two newcomers more closely.
Both men were fat and well-dressed, though the leftmost was decked with more jewelry and embroidery—clearly the master. He was, at the moment, almost demanding of Entori, "But gods curse it, man, I'm offering you twenty percent of my cargoes for a full year! I'm not asking for the secret of their manufacture, only for the engines themselves. Just two good engines, fit for hundred-tonners, in exchange for twenty per hundred: Where will you find a better bargain?"
Aha, Entori's little show on the docks with the Yanira had borne fruit, and doubtless he was haggling over the price.
Sure enough, Entori replied, "I don't expect a better bargain. It's quite an excellent bargain. It's also quite impossible. The engine is a most complex and delicate bit of work; it takes time to make one, time to mount it properly. That first one took my craftsmen two moons to build, and the second will hardly take less. As soon as my own ships are fitted, of course, I'll be free to discuss fitting others', but you must understand the delay—"
"But then, within two moons you'll have a second ship fitted out. Surely then you could set your men to making one engine—just one—for a single ship of mine. Afterward they could make another for you, then another for me."
"The time involved . . ."
Gods, he's bartering off our services! If Entori yielded, sent the whole pack of them to some other house to make an engine elsewhere, they'd never be able to slip away to the riverside laboratorium and finish the bombard. Sulun found himself praying that Entori's miserliness would endure through dinner.
"It might be possible," he heard Eloti say, "to measure the gentleman's ship, build the engine here, then send it to him when finished."
There was a moments silence as both men considered that, followed by more haggling over time, prices, who would pay for what.
Sulun wilted with relief. Bless Eloti's cleverness, they wouldn't have to leave the house and work for some unknown master.
Yanados, seeing his expression, nudged him with an elbow. "We're not safe yet, Sulun. Look who else is at the table."
Puzzled, Sulun peered around his shoulder at the other guest, who had said nothing audible so far. The man was fat, sleek-looking, in elegantly cut brown robes with subdued but rich embroidery, and when he turned to reach for the bowl of cut fruit, showing his profile—
Oh gods, it's Mygenos!
Sulun ducked his head down fast, praying to every god he could remember that everyone else in his work gang kept their faces averted too. His hands shook as he reached for the sour wine.
"Right," whispered Yanados. "We've all been keeping our heads down, and don't think the other servants haven't noticed. We'll have to explain later."
"Has he recognized—"
"Not yet, I don't think. None of us."
"If he sees Ziya . . ."
"She saw him first, ducked behind Vari. Gods, if only we could get out of here . . ."
Sulun ran a long look down the table. Vari sat with her back to Entori's guest, Ziya and Tamiri huddled beside her. Ziya—thank gods they'd thought to chop her hair all those moons ago—looked very much like a small boy, a very silent and pale little boy. Omis—Deese be blessed, hadn't come to dinner in his working clothes—was hunched down so far that his beard was almost dragging in his soup. Doshi, who normally drank very little, kept his face hidden behind his winecup, though Sulun guessed it was long empty. Arizun, taking no chances, had both his back turned and his face bowed over his plate. Yanados, now that there was no more need to speak with Sulun, cleverly made a play of trying to steal kisses from the scullery maid; the maid, smiling cynically, played along.
Their gambits appeared to work. Mygenos hadn't bothered to look over his shoulder at the servants, or hadn't seen more than drab clothes and bowed backs. Gods, if they could only get out of here, quickly and quietly . . .
But it was the custom in Entori House that the servants didn't leave the room until the Master either ordered them out or left himself. Entori had never bothered to dismiss the servants from dinner, and showed no sign of doing so now. Neither did he seem inclined to depart, clearly enjoying the game at the high table.
The game, and the dinner, dragged on for ages. The food at the servants' table disappeared, the housekeeper frowned, the maids scowled, the porter muttered, the skinny harper/sweeper mumbled weak curses in his cup, and Sulun's gang kept silent and sweated. The house mage finally snapped at one of the maids to bring more wine, and the woman thankfully hopped up from her place to comply. Sulun toyed with the thoughts on sending the children away, one by one, supposedly on errands to the kitchen, possibly carrying empty dishes away.
He froze as he heard Mygenos's voice, raised for the first time that evening.
"Bear in mind, my Lord, the difficulty of supplying magical protection for a device of whose construction we know nothing." The man's voice was more unctuous than ever. Out of all Shibari's doomed house, he'd clearly done the best for himself. "Surely such costs must be considered when estimating the price."
There was another brief silence, then more haggling. Sulun felt sweat crawling down his back, even as he realized that both Mygenos and his new master were clearly hoping to get more than just a ship engine or two; they hoped to learn the design and construction of the device, in hopes of manufacturing their own—and that fact was not lost upon Entori.
"The engines made in this house are competently protected by our own wizard, I assure you," Entori said. "Elizan, come here."