Free Ghosts of Engines Past by Sean McMullen Page A

enemy, even if your enemy is in another world.”
    “Tordral of—Tordral, what is the whole of your name?”
    “Tordral is all of it, sir. I have a past that is best left unspoken.”
    “As you will. Would you walk with me back to Keswick? It is past dawn, so my half-light vigil is over. Squire! Pack.”
     

The Armourer
     
    Tordral was aware that Sir Gerald was not an ally as yet. Gerald was a warrior, and warriors were well known for being suspicious when faced with novel weapons. He had to be won over slowly, there was no advantage in pressing the matter too hard.
    “Your mode of clothing intrigues me,” said Gerald as they walked. “Why wear a helmet and chainmail, even when at leisure?”
    “It hides my form. I have been twisted by our common enemy.”
    Gerald smiled. Tordral feigned not to notice.
    “Ah, then be called my friend. May I ask of your boat?”
    He feigns quick friendship, to render me eager and careless, thought Tordral. Now is the moment for extreme care.
    “My boat has no secrets, it merely combines all four elements: air, water, fire and earth. It is a living creature, but without life.”
    “Impossible!”
    “By being impossible, it can cross between worlds. Rules do not constrain it, Sir Gerald, neither rules of natural philosophy, nor philosophy unnatural.”
    “Could you make it large enough to carry warriors?”
    “No.”
    Gerald gasped with surprise Anyone wishing to part him from his gold would definitely have claimed it possible.
    “But surely your toy is reality made small?”
    Tordral knew that this was an another awkward moment. Understanding the boat's principle required intelligence, and intelligence was not high on the list of requirements for knighthood. Still, Gerald came from a family that valued scholarship, so there was hope.
    “There is an effect called diminishment of scale, Sir Gerald. To be impelled by a jet of steam, even a small barge would need a sufflator of truly vast size. Try to build a sufflator bigger than a common barrel, and it will burst.”
    “Why is that?”
    “I cannot say. Perhaps the nature of steel itself, perhaps the ability of blacksmiths to render steel hard. A barge impelled by the biggest workable sufflator would not outpace a duck in no great hurry. The slightest breeze or current would drive it back.”
    “But you clearly want my patronage. What do you propose?”
    “A bombard, Sir Gerald. A bombard that can shoot an iron ball using air, water, fire and earth.”
    Gerald shook his head and gave a little snort of disappointment.
    “I have tried shooting a gonne across the river at half-light, just as I have tried shooting arrows. The shots merely hit the far bank. They stayed in this world.”
    “As they would.”
    “Well then, Master Tordral, what is a gonne but a bombard made small?”
    “Gonnes and bombards propel metal balls by black powder. That is merely earth driven by air and fire, but I can build a steam bombard to shoot balls of iron between worlds. Steam, which is water, rendered into air by fire burning wood.”
    “All four elements. Could you really do it?”
    “You have seen what I can do.”
    “And your fee?”
    “None.”
    “No fee?”
    “Our common enemy has twisted me, Sir Gerald, I want only vengeance. Just provide metals, timbers, and such other materials as I need. Beyond that, the upkeep of twenty men and women for three months, and one breech-loading bombard, made of bronze, with a bore large enough to admit a mailed fist without contact.”
    “An odd list. Costly, but not unreasonably so.”
    “The weapon exists only in my head, so it must be lured out with gold and toil,” said Tordral, aware that the knight's trust still had to be lured out as well.
    They reached a small tower on the edge of Keswick. Gerald took out a brass key and opened a gate in a high wall. Behind the wall was a beautiful but unkempt garden, with bowers and stone seats half-smothered in bushes and vines.
    “I must go my way,”