The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

“It appears they are being worked on.  Are they damaged and being repaired?”

“They were working fine.  But the 'Wizard' wants them modified to boost power output.  Apparently, fifty kilometers an hour is not fast enough.”

Bok wandered over to the work table and pored over the drawings.  “Ailerons.  Hmm.”

“What about the ailerons?”

“On these plans they're called 'ailerons,' but they were called 'elevators' in the document.”

“I don't recall seeing that.”

“Well, I figured it out from the description, sir.  The fins of the ancient airship had bending parts that were called 'elevators,' not 'ailerons.'  So why do you call them 'ailerons?'”

“I based my design of the airship on written descriptions of ancient flying machines that I found in a book that came from the mentors.  The 'bending parts' – as you refer to them – are called 'ailerons,' and they are located on the 'wings,' so to speak.”

Bok pointed to the airship's tail.  “But those are fins.  Wouldn't wings be forward more?”

“Yes, I suppose coming from a fishing village, you would know the difference between fins and wings.  But then . . . now you've got
me
wondering . . . why did the book I read refer to a flying machine as having wings?”

“I don't know, sir.  Can I see the book?”

“Alas, it was destroyed in a fire, along with all my other books, by an ignorant, knowledge-hating monster of a man.”

“That's horrible, sir.  Books are so important.”  Bok tilted his head, a gesture that Archimedes found almost dog-like in its expression of voracious curiosity.  “Maybe the book said a flying machine had wings, because it meant a different kind of flying machine.”

Archimedes stood unmoving.  He was still in Britan, the sun was still shining, the rhythm of the hammers was still the same.  But to Archimedes, it seemed the world had become anew.

“The Wizard,” he said, “once mentioned that there was another kind of flying machine.”

“Could you ask him about it?” 

Archimedes recalled the heated argument one night in the basement workshop of his home in Rome.  “No, that's one thing he won't talk about.  It's been difficult enough getting him to agree to improve this ship's design.  Anyhow, he's on one of his 'itinerant doctor' trips and won't be back for a few days.”

Standing on toes, Bok touched the airship envelope.  “It's so shiny.  It reminds me of the stories of the men who fish the Western Sea, of great serpents who live in the sky and attack ships that sail too far west.  The serpents attack with lightning, the stories say.  Have you heard those stories, sir?”

“The sailors in the South tell the same.  Are you asking whether the 'sky serpents' might be airships?  I have wondered, but it's likely the stories are only tavern tales told by sailors to impress bar maids.  You know how that goes.”

Bok blinked.

Archimedes decided to change the subject.  “Ah, well, what happens beyond the Western Sea is said to be a mystery even to the Wizard.”

Bok returned his attention – and hands – to the skin of the airship.  “My father and I, we made our sails from flax.  This feels lighter and stronger.”

“It's Sarkassian silk, from Sarkassian silk worms.”

“Worms, sir?”

“We have a 'ranch' in back now.  If you'd like to see.”

Bok followed him out the north end of the hangar, where an area of plowed field about a hundred meters on a side had been roped off.  Archimedes pawed through the soil, producing a writhing, snakelike, eyeless creature. 

The scientist explained:  “A ribbon of 'silk' – it's more like a metal foil, isn't it? – comes out the rear.  The teeth in front are about the only thing that can cut through it easily.  These patches on top of the head exude a secretion which can glue the ribbons together to form sheets as large as we wish.”

Bok examined intensely.  After a while, he blurted:  “This creature makes no sense!”

“You mean, it seems a little too useful for something that randomly evolved.”

“Yes sir.  My father would have given anything for sail material like this.”

Would have
, Archimedes noted, as he returned the worm to the soil.     

Bok pointed at the sky.  “A bird, sir.”

“An eponyously-coincidental raven.  What about it?”

“Your other kind of flying machine, sir.  Maybe it flies like a bird.”

Archimedes had shoved away the epiphany he'd felt in the hangar, but now it was back. 
Another kind of flying machine
, he thought. 
To atone for the sins of creating the first one.
 

“Bok,” he said slowly.  “Could you do me a favor?”

Bok nodded vigorously. 

“I would like you to talk to a person.  You don't mind that, do you?”

“No sir.”

“You have to be discreet.  If I were to ask her personally, she might catch on, but coming from you, she might be willing to share.”

“I don't follow, sir.”

“I want you to ask her about what Earth is like.  Then ask about its sky.  Ask her about things there that fly in the sky.  See if you can find out about a flying machine that flies like a bird.”

“I see, sir.  But . . . this person.  She's been to Earth?”

“She's been given visions of Earth.  Anyway, her name is Carrot, and she – “

“
The Lady Carrot!” 
Bok's eyes all but exploded.  “The one who won the Battle of the Dark Forest against the Romans?”

“Not really a battle, more like a skirmish.  And not all by herself.  She had an army.  But yes, that Carrot.” 

“But why would the Lady Carrot talk to me?”

“Because she will be answering the questions that you will be asking her.”

“I hear she is a great warrior, very strong and wise in battle.”

“Whether you wish to challenge her to combat is your own business, but I merely want you to ask her about the flying machines of Earth.  Be casual about it.  Above all, don't tell her that I sent you.”

“I see,” Bok said.  “But sir, I've never talked to a . . . “ he squirmed “. . . girl.”

“The method of vocalization is quite conventional.”  Archimedes nudged Bok southward.  “Off!”

“But where is she?  I don't even know what she looks like – ”

“Ask around.  Report as soon as you can.  I'll be in the office, working.”

By 'working,' Archimedes meant 'at a nap.'  He returned to his office, sat in his chair, fell asleep once more at the first page, and awoke with Bok's return.  The boy had a glum look.

“She looked at me,” Bok said, “and I got nervous and I didn't know what to say and I told her the truth before I could stop.  I'm sorry, sir, I broke the Espionage Act.”

Archimedes nodded to the person alongside Bok.  “Hello, Carrot.”

Carrot took paper and pencil and rapidly sketched upon the desk, one figure after another.  “This is called an 'air car.'  This is a 'helicopter.'  This is an 'airplane.'  This is an 'ornithopter.'”

“Lady Carrot,” Bok said.  “You're a good artist.”

“Thank you.  Bok, just call me Carrot.”

“I like that last one.  It looks like a bird.”

“It flaps its wings like a bird, too.”

“The linkages would be a nightmare,” Archimedes said, which seemed to make their expressions a little crestfallen.  “The 'airplane' seems the most doable, but how is the vehicle made to rise?”

“Air is pushed over the fixed wings by the propeller in front,” Carrot replied.

“Pah, we'll never build an engine lightweight enough with enough power even if I live to be
two
hundred!” 

“I think then that what you want is called a 'glider.'  I saw different types – ”

Archimedes slowly broke into a smile as she continued sketching.  She may not have known the first thing about crafts of the air, but Bok was right, her artistic ability was impressive.  The details in her drawings were more than enough to gain an idea of how the principles of flight worked.   

She set the pencil down and said firmly, “I've helped as much as I dare.  If
he
finds out – “

“He won't hear it from me,” Archimedes replied.  “Or I'll never hear the end of it from him.”

“What of your transparent spy?  Will he crumble under Matt's interrogation as he did with me?”

“You're a special case.  I don't think Matt will have the same effect on him.”

Bok blushed.  Carrot raised as eyebrow and pressed her lips tightly together as she bowed out.

With Bok's intense watching, Archimedes began making his own sketches, diagrams, and lists.  The scientist-engineer said, “We'll approach the development of the aircraft in cycles of construction and experimentation.  Build and test.  Build and test.  Starting with kites.  Do you know what a kite is?”

Bok shook his head, an admission that Archimedes took as tragically sad for any child. 

“They were popular in Kresidala, where I came from originally.  We'll need twine, and twigs, paper – no, wait.  Let's make this out of Sarkassian silk.”

Bok gathered the materials rapidly, due in part to, as he put it, 'recruiting some of the local boys.'  Thus they had an audience and then free labor as Archimedes showed Bok how to extract the silk ribbons, cut them to length, and glue them into sheets.  Soon, Archimedes had a box kite.  They climbed a hill, and the 'local boys' tagged along and solemnly watched Archimedes spool out the kite and loft it in the breeze upon which it ascended high into the blue vault.  No one was more solemn in his watching than Bok. 

“Can I try, sir?”

Archimedes suppressed a smile and handed over the twine.  “Play her out slowly.  The breeze is fading, you may have to run a bit to gain altitude.”

“Yes sir.” 

Down below, workers at the base occasionally stopped to watch the old man and the children flying a kite.  Archimedes noted the head shakings.  Grown men had once laughed at his 'toy' catapults, too.

With experimental wisdom gained, Archimedes returned to the hut and took measurements off Carrot's drawing and sketched a new kite, one that had wings like a 'glider.'  The 'local boys' lost interest and left.  Bok remained, staring at the drawing as if under a spell.  As as former tutor, Archimedes knew the look, and that only his brightest students were vulnerable to that particular spell, the spell of the greatest magic of all, that of Science. 

Archimedes noticed the sinking sun, and sent Bok to Fish Lake, with instructions to ask Layal to take him in for the night.  Bok departed under protest.

The next morning, Bok was outside the office hut when Archimedes emerged, having slept there the night.  The boy tagged after Archimedes to the meal hut and they ate together, discussing kite designs and flying techniques in low voices.

That afternoon, they flew their first 'glider' kite, which Bok had constructed under guidance from Archimedes.  Confident that Bok had learned the flying skills required, Archimedes filled out work orders, and the next afternoon the parts for the scaled-up version were delivered to the office hut.

Grabbing his walking staff, Archimedes trod the path northward, and Bok dragged the large-wheeled cart after. 

“We're not going to the practice hill,” Bok observed.

“Today we're going to a better hill that's farther away.” 
And out of sight of the base.
 

Bok grunted as he yanked on the cart rope.  “That's a big kite.”

“Yes.  Technically, it's a true glider.”

“It's big enough to carry a person.  At least, a small person.”

“Yes.”

“
I'm
small.”

“Hmm.  You're the first person I've met to boast of that quality.”

Bok shrugged.  “Wasn't boasting.  Just saying.” 

He knows what this is about
, Archimedes thought, and felt shame.   

As they trod on through the glades, Archimedes remembered an ancient myth, of a Lord of Aereoth who had instructed a man to take his child to a mountain top and offer him as human sacrifice. 
'And the Lord blessed him for his obedience.'
  Archimedes had always regarded that story as proof of the barbarism of Religion versus the enlightenment of Science. 
Yet is what I'm doing any different?
  

“Do you think the Lady Carrot likes me?” Bok blurted.

“My boy, I'm afraid you'll have to stand in line behind the Wizard.”

“When we were walking together, she sounded like she was mad at the Wizard.”

“That's not all that unusual.”

“He hasn't really courted her, she said.  He hasn't 'declared his intentions,' she said.  But the people around here think that he owns her, she said.  Lady Carrot said that one woman even told her that she thought the Lady Carrot betrayed the Wizard by dancing with another man.”

“They're very conservative around here, at least while backs are not turned, but in my opinion a dance is just a dance.”