Free A Dangerous Climate by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

horses the color of buttercups--they leaned into their collars and sweated as they went. In the river beyond, a dredging barge was aswarm with activity, while half a dozen boats tacked inexpertly across the water. The Dutch bell in the fortress' church chimed two.
     
Some ten minutes later, Adolphus reined in the matched grays and called down to Saint-Germain, "I don't think we can go any farther, Hercegek."
     
"Then I'll walk the rest of the way," said Saint-Germain, opening the carriage door and letting down the steps; he descended with care. "Wait here. I shouldn't be long." He blinked in the pale sunlight and shaded his eyes with his hand as he picked his way out toward the wooden walkway that led out along the levee.
     
"Ah!" shouted the supervisor of the huge treadmill as he caught sight of Saint-Germain. "Hercegek! A pleasure to see you up and well."
     
"Thank you, Mikhail Valentinovich," said Saint-Germain to the man who had been Vladimir Pavlovich Timchenkov's assistant and who had now taken his place. "It is good to be out." He pointed to the treadmill with his cane. "How is it running? Are you having any trouble with it?"
     
"One of the gears was damaged, but it's been replaced." Mikhail Valentinovich Tverin rubbed at his chin; he was a bit nonplussed to see the Hercegek so soon after his attack, but did his best to appear composed, offering a full report. "All four hoses are functioning well now that the filters you made are in place, and they no longer clog twice a day; the pumping is proceeding well. As you can see, we havefive men on the treadmill, and we alternate them every two hours or so, as you recommended. No man has to do more than four shifts on the treadmill in any day. They don't collapse as often that way."
     
"A sensible change in methods, then," said Saint-Germain, watching as the men in the huge open wheel kept up their steady pacing. From a short distance away came the steady sound of axes and saws as logs were made into more planks to extend the wooden walkway beyond the treadmill. "Any other trouble?"
     
"You mean with gangs?" Tverin asked, a bit too quickly.
     
"If there has been more trouble with them, yes, otherwise, no. What other trouble do you have?" Saint-Germain asked urbanely.
     
"We're plagued with flying insects and with lice, but that's the way of summer," said Tverin, waving aside these nuisances with a chuckle. "Last week, we were given bad meat and half the men were sick for a day. No better and no worse than any other work-gang. You can see that Feodor Lavrentovich has his men making preparations for sinking piles. By the end of summer, we should have a dozen houses here."
     
Feodor Lavrentovich Odevsky lifted his head, batted away at the midges that teemed up from the marsh, and inclined his head. "God is good!" he shouted as a kind of welcome before using his heavy walking-stick to drub the shoulders of a man who was teetering with fatigue. "You! Keep working!"
     
"Leave him be," said Saint-Germain, leaving his dry place on the wooden walkway, and wading out into the mire; soft mud rose up over his shoes, darkening his leg-hose and bandages. "I think he may be ill."
     
"If he isn't, he will be," vowed Odevsky ominously.
     
"No, Feodor Lavrentovich. Let me look at him." He went squishily up to the laborer, a scrawny man no more than twenty-five but with the look of twice as many years. His skin was red, but it was not entirely from sunburn. "This man has a fever," Saint-Germain said.
     
Those around the stricken worker drew back; most crossed themselves, a few looked frightened.
     
"May lizards consume his entrails!" Odevsky burst out, raising his stick again as if to add more blows to the ones he had given already.
     
Saint-Germain stepped between Odevsky and the worker. "This man must go back to his tent. He needs fresh water and willow-bark tea."
     
"Oh?" Odevsky demanded, forgetting that he was addressing a nobleman. "And what example does that set the rest?