The Iron Ship (38 page)

The door opened and Tyn Gelven came within, chased by a blast of noise. He carried a tea tray with a teapot, two cups of normal dimensions and a tiny one the size of an acorn for Issy. “Good day master, Miss Issy.” He said.

“You don’t have to carry that yourself,” said Trassan. “We’ve people to do that, you know.”

Tyn Gelven smiled shyly. He was taller than the Tyn of the Mothrocksey, two-thirds human height. His skin was paler, but just as wrinkled. He had a long bulbous nose, pointed ears and a shock of brown hair that was coarse and dry as every other Greater Tyn Trassan had seen. “I’m begging your pardon, Master Trassan, but there’s no need for them to be carrying it. I was coming up here, let them be getting on with something else.”

One of the so-called free Tyn, unaffiliated to any of their many tribes, Gelven wore an iron collar nevertheless. A bright red neckerchief covered it. He wore a waistcoat of worsted wool over a shirt of dark blue.

“You’re too good a man, Tyn Gelven,” said Trassan. He took the tray from his foreman and set it on a pile of plans on the long table in the centre of his room.

“I’m begging your pardon master, but I be a Tyn.”

“I know what I’m saying,” said Trassan.

Gelven poured. He dribbled a tiny amount into the little cup and passed it through the bars of the house. “Miss Issy.”

The lesser Tyn took it from her larger cousin with a bob of her head, and noisily slurped at it.

“Is everything ready?” asked Trassan. He paced the room in agitation.

“You look out of that window, master, and you’ll be seeing that it is so. The central part of the deck is completed for the presentation, the paddlewheel housings have been finished. The stairs are up and being decorated. All is in order.”

Trassan glanced through his grimy windows. The
Prince Alfra
was indeed nearing completion. The hull was whole. Only to the fore, in a section that ended a little short of the prow, was the deck planking missing. The rooms beneath that part were open to the air, metal and wooden boxes where glimlight joining torches sparked. The superstructure amidships had been sketched out in girders and plate. Mast housings waited open-mouth for their masts. The funnels, three in all, were in place.

He could not quite believe it. It was nearly done. The
Prince Alfra
still looked rough around the edges, and somewhat naked without the network of ropes, blocks, spars and masts that would take his shrouds and sheets, but he was nearly
finished.

“The high-ups and brass knobs of your folk will get a very good idea of what you’re building here, you’ll see,” said Tyn Gelven.

“And the testing?”

“You were there!” said Gelven. “You are excessively worrying, master.”

“I know I was there,” said Trassan. He had been until well into the morning. “What does the iron say?”

Gelven spread the fingers of his large hands wide. “Flawless, Master. Absolutely flawless.”

Trassan drummed his fingers impatiently. “The temperature is still not all that I was hoping. The boilers were built correctly.”

“They were. I went to the liberty of having Goodman Banruthen himself come over from his factory to inspect them in situ. He is well satisfied with their performance.”

“He would be, his reputation rests on it.”

“He is a good and honourable man, master. He was thorough.”

“I am sure he was. But I am not satisfied with the pressure fluctuation. I think Banruthen has muffed up a seal there.” Trassan ran his hand through his hair. “Vand should have given me an extra couple of days. I am sure Banruthen’s men could have had all this ironed out.”

“It is possibly the formulation of the rods, Mester Kressind.”

“I calculated it perfectly, I’m sure,” said Trassan.

“Then the fault lies in their manufacture, or in their fuelling. A binding of iron and magic, this is not men’s work. Each to his own place. Each to his own power. The Mothrocksey Tyn are the masters of iron-in-water, it is to them you should go.”

“My brother-in-law’s people?”

“They would call themselves their own people, but yes. They.”

“Maybe he can help then.”

“Perhaps he could, sir. We can leave that for another day. Everything is working well.”

“Yes. Yes, perhaps we better had.”

Ollens, another of Trassan’s foremen, knocked on the door.

“Hey, Trassan,” he said. He had little time for social convention. Trassan liked him for it.

“Morning Ollens, how go the preparations?”

“Pretty well. Goodman Hannever says you are asking the impossible but that he will get it done.”

“I’d whip him,” said Issy. “He says that too much.”

“Hyperbole is not a whipping offence,” said Trassan.

“A pity,” said Issy.

Ollens made an apologetic moue. “Goodfellow Trassan, there is but one thing...”

“Yes?”

“Well, Engineer Vand is here already.”

“Ah.”

“Yep, yep. He’s waiting down by the temporary steps.”

“What kind of mood is he in?”

“Well, you know,
that
kind of mood.”

“Marvellous.” Trassan picked up his hat and squared it on his head. “Gelven, Ollens, I will see you both at the demonstration. Best leave Engineer Vand to me.”

He departed.

“Do you like my new house, Tyn Gelven?” asked Issy.

The greater Tyn looked to the lesser. “It is a wondrous dwelling, Miss Issy.” He touched the covering of his own iron collar. “But a cage is a cage no matter how pretty it be.”

A
RKADIAN
V
AND PACED
back and forth before the base of the wooden steps Trassan had had built up the side of the
Prince Alfra
. They switched back and forth three times alongside the paddlewheel housing, affording his visitors a view of the most impressive part of the vessel initially and then, when they emerged at the top, a vista of the entire ship.

Tables either side of the steps were being laid out with wine flutes. Hammering and shouting came from inside their hoardings where men tacked up swags of bright cloth in Karsa’s national colours—red, yellow, and blue. The ship’s belly stretched deep into the dry dock, resting on massive wooden chocks. The line of the quay came to around where the waterline would ultimately be. Close to completion, the
Prince Alfra
seemed even bigger, invested with the precursor to mechanical life, a readiness to emerge roaring steam at an amazed world. The wheelhousing was a vast semicircle, the paddlewheel inside so large each sighting of it amazed Trassan. He had never got over the wonder of seeing something conceived of in his mind and laid down on paper in miniature brought to life. One might suppose a grandiosity to come over a man upon creating such a monumental structure. Perhaps some did experience it that way. Trassan felt a certain humility, for he was dwarfed by his creation. What a difference a pair of months made! Now, nearly finished, nearly finished. Such a wonder.

It was a feeling he hoped he would never lose.

He wondered if Vand still felt it. He thought not. The elder engineer was agitated, so much so his irritation calmed Trassan’s own jitters. He did not have Veridy with him. Trassan’s mood sank further. It was to be one of those meetings.

“You better not fuck this up, Trassan,” said Vand. “There’s a lot riding on today. I don’t want those fuckers going away with the wrong impression of my ship. We need their money.”

“If it is so important, why don’t you do it?” said Trassan, annoyed at Vand’s appropriation of the ship.

“Don’t come fresh with me, young man,” said Vand, stamping his cane onto the cobbles. The ferrule spat sparks.

“What’s all this?” he waved his cane at the wheel housing, the designs for which had been sketched out in chalk on the deep green basecoat. Gold lines would frame the teardrop perforations of the semicircular plate that covered the top half of the wheel arch. “It looks scruffy.”

“Painters will work through the presentation. I want to give an impression of industry, without troubling the delicate sensibilities of our guests with the clash of hammers, heat, engine noise and so forth. Although there will be a little discreet riveting. There is a deal of theatre involved here.”

“That is one of the reasons you are doing this.” Vand calmed a little. “I do not relish this sort of work, but you have a gift for it. This tedious business is a necessary evil, for with no money there is no steel.”

“Of course master,” he said.

“Goodfellow Landsman is coming.”

“Tallyvan Landsman, the coal man?”

“Aye, the coal man, the Black Lord. He is bound to be trouble. Watch him. Answer his questions carefully. If he comes out of this looking better than we do it will only throw fuel onto his ridiculous fires. Coal! To generate steam. He’ll set us back a century. But he is a wealthy man. He is confident, and dangerous.”

“Don’t worry.”

“There are bound to be some of Persin’s men here.”

“I vetted the guest list with great care, master,” said Trassan.

“It doesn’t matter. Every man has his price. Persin has the backing of the Maceriyan government and their treasury to spend from. He can therefore set his prices quite high. There are not many with the spine to resist such inducements, and the likes of Landsman would dearly like to see me fail. So much the better for them if my failure comes with a little extra payment. Trust no one! If only our own rulers were quite so forward sighted, eh Trassan?”

“Yes master.”

“One day perhaps you’ll have a Persin of your own. Then you will know you count for something.” Vand bared his teeth. Perhaps he meant to grin, but the effect was altogether more savage. “The tests?”

“Performed satisfactorily. I have some concern with overpressurisation.”

“You will be able to effect a proper demonstration of the technology? It is vital, Trassan! Without the Licence Undefined, we are at the mercy of our own ingenuity. Persin will welcome Karsan gold as eagerly as we would. To all but the most patriotic, only the surety of a high return is of any consequence.”

“It is an issue with uneven power output from the rods. For this demonstration I will keep the engines only to seventy parts in the hundred pressurised, well within parameters of safety. I have designed the engines with multiple failsafes. All will be well.”

Vand nodded. “Good, good. We are to keep my involvement in this to a minimum. I am your backer and your advisor, the architect of the ship but happy to see his protégé step out on his own. If anyone infers any dryness in the financial wells, so to speak, then well...”

“Yes, master.”

Vand slammed his cane down again. “You have done a good job of my ship, Trassan. Keep it up.”

Vand stalked away. From the set of his shoulders it was obvious he did not want Trassan to follow him.

My ship
, thought Trassan.
Mine. And one day, when your daughter is safely mine also, I will make sure everybody knows it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Accident at the Iron Ship

T
HE GREAT AND
good of Karsa began to arrive an hour later. Trassan greeted them all personally. Servants wearing the livery of House Kressind served refreshments. Trassan had invited his father. He dreaded his arrival and wished for it in equal measure, although it was unlikely that he would come. As it turned out, he did not. Since his affliction he had rarely left Kressind Manse.

There were fifty or so of Karsa’s wealthiest citizens, old and new money alike, and interested family members. Prince Alfra sent Baronet Gosarmand and Goodman Joefee of the Royal Works as a tacit show of support. Trassan took them all from stem to stern, pointing out those parts that had been completed, and those that had not. He understood firsthand now why Vand did not wish to speak to all these people, but as he described the finished ship his enthusiasm steadied his nerves, and he managed to be charming.

He took the group belowdecks after forty minutes. They visited one of the larger cabins, specifically outfitted to look as they all would when finished for the expedition. Trassan had Ollens keep a sharp eye out that no one used the garderobe. The plumbing was not yet connected.

He span it out as long as he dared before they descended ringing iron steps to the engine room. “The hull is double-skinned,” he explained. “Better to survive impacts. Iron offers virtual impregnability against the predations of anguillons and sea-draco, while the lack of floatstone’s characteristic chambered structure ensures it will be nigh on impossible for the unghosted dead to make their way aboard. That, and the inimical nature of iron to their being, provides us with a certain guarantee against them.”

“You will have Tyn aboard? What about them?”

“The Tyn can tolerate iron for prolonged periods, indefinitely if the amount is small. They wear their collars from cradle to grave, after all. But of course you are correct. A section of the hold has been outfitted with wooden apartments for those who join us, in order to isolate them from the metal for at least a part of the time. I have recruited exclusively from the coastal clans, those unbound to place. My own Tyn assures me the riverine clans would quickly sicken.”

Nods and muttered exchanges conveyed to Trassan that he was convincing them.

They passed into a passage lined with pipes. “These provide a heating system for the vessel, carrying hot water from the engines all over the ship for the benefit of men and Tyn. Without them, we might quickly freeze.” He laughed gaily, as if the conditions of the Sotherwinter were a minor consideration.

“And can you wash, goodfellow?” asked a lady. A niece, he thought, of the Earl of Rocastorn.

“Indeed!” said Trassan. He smiled widely for her, as she was quite arresting. “Imagine being cooped up aboard a vessel like this with none of the finer things! Hot water we cannot draw directly from these pipes, because of glimmer contamination. But these pipes run through tanks, warming them for our convenience.”

“How ingenious!” said the woman.

“Mere common sense, goodlady,” Trassan said modestly.