CHAPTER 11

WOMBE, DREVLIN LOW REALM

“SHUT IT OFF!” BANE BLURTED. “THE WHOLE MACHINE!”

“It’s been seven cycles now,” said Limbeck. “Look out there. You can see it. Dark, silent. Nothing moves. Nothing works. We have no light, no heat.” The dwarf heaved a frustrated sigh. “We never knew, until now, how much the Kicksey-winsey did for us. Our fault, of course, because no dwarf ever wondered why it did anything at all.

“Now that the pumps have quit, many of the tunnels far below the surface are filling up with water. My people had homes down there. They’ve been forced to leave or drown. What dwellings we had were already overcrowded.

“There were special caves in Herot where we grew our food. Glimmerglamps that shone like the sun gave us light for our crops. But when the Kicksey-winsey shut down, the glimmerglamps went out and now the light’s gone. The crops are starting to wilt and will soon die.

“But aside from all of that,” said Limbeck, rubbing his temples, “my people are terrified. They weren’t afraid when the elves attacked them. But now they’re scared silly. It’s the quiet, you see.” He gazed about, blinking his eyes. “They can’t stand the quiet.”

Of course, it’s more than that, thought Haplo, and Limbeck knows it. For centuries, the lives of the dwarves had revolved around their great and beloved machine. They served it faithfully, devotedly, never bothering to ask how or why. Now the master’s heart has stopped beating and the servants have no idea what to do with themselves.

“What do you mean, High Froman, when you say ‘the elves shut it down’? How?” Bane wondered.

“I don’t know!” Limbeck shrugged helplessly.

“But you’re sure it was the elves?” Bane persisted.

“Pardon me, Your Highness, but what difference does it make?” the dwarf asked bitterly.

“It could make a big difference,” said Bane. “If the elves shut down the Kicksey-winsey, it could be because they’ve discovered how to start it up.”

Limbeck’s expression darkened. He rumbled at his spectacles, ended up with one side dangling from one ear at a crazed angle. “That would mean they would control our lives! This is intolerable! We must fight now!”

Bane was watching Haplo from out of the corners of the blue eyes, a faint smile on the sweetly curved lips. The boy was pleased with himself, knew he was one up on the Patryn in whatever game they were playing.

“Keep calm,” Haplo cautioned the dwarf. “Let’s think about this a minute.”

If what Bane said was right, and Haplo was forced to admit that the kid made sense, then the elves had very probably learned how to operate the Kicksey-winsey, something no one else had been able to do since the Sartan mysteriously abandoned their great machine centuries ago. And if the elves knew how to work it, then they knew how to control it, control its actions, control the alignment of the floating isles, control the water, control the world.

Whoever rules the machine, rules the water. And whoever rules the water, rules those who must drink it or perish.

Xar’s words. Xar expected to come to Arianus a savior, bringing order to a world in chaos. Xar did not expect to arrive and find a world choked into submission by the iron fist of the Tribus elves, who would not easily loosen their grasp.

But I’m as bad as Limbeck, Haplo told himself. Getting worked up over what might be nothing. The first thing I have to do is discover the truth. It’s possible the damn machine simply broke; although the Kicksey-winsey was, as he knew from Limbeck’s past explanations, quite capable of repairing itself and had done so all these many years.

But there is one other possibility. And if I’m right and that’s the real reason, then the elves must be as puzzled and worried over the shutdown of the Kicksey-winsey as the dwarves.

He turned to Limbeck, “I take it you move about Outside only during the times when it’s storming, use the storm for cover?”

Limbeck nodded. He’d finally managed to adjust his spectacles. “And it won’t last much longer,” he said.

“We have to find out the truth about the machine. You don’t want to commit your people to a bloody war that may be all for nothing. I need to get inside the Factree. Can you manage it?”

Bane nodded eagerly. “That’s where the central control must be located.”

Limbeck frowned. “But there’s nothing in the Factree, now. There hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Not in the Factree. Underneath it,” Haplo amended. “When the Sartan—the Mangers, as you call them—lived on Drevlin, they built a system of underground rooms and tunnels that were hidden away, protected by their magic, so that no one could ever find them. The controls for the Kicksey-winsey aren’t anywhere on Drevlin’s surface, are they?” He glanced at Bane.

The child shook his head. “It wouldn’t make sense for the Sartan to put them out in the open. They would want to protect them, keep them safe. Of course, the controls could be located anywhere on Drevlin, but it’s logical to assume that they’d be in the Factree, which is where the Kicksey-winsey was born—so to speak. What is it?”

Limbeck was looking extremely excited. “You’re right! There are secret tunnels down there! Tunnels protected by magic! Jarre saw them. That… that other man who was with you. His Highness’s servant. The one who kept falling over his own feet—”

“Alfred,” said Haplo with a quiet smile.

“Yes, Alfred! He took Jarre down there! But”—Limbeck looked gloomy again—”she said all she saw were dead people.”

So that’s where I was! Haplo said to himself. And he didn’t particularly relish the thought of going back.

During a journey through Death’s Gate, on their way to Abarrach, Alfred and Haplo fell into each other’s consciousness, lived each other’s most vivid and painful memory. Fire Sea. vol. 3 of The Death Gate Cycle.

“There’s more down there than that,” he said, hoping he spoke the truth. “You see, I—”

“Froman! High Froman!” Shouts, accompanied by a bark, came from the front of the ship. “The storm’s ending!”

“We have to go.” Limbeck stood up. “Do you want to come with us? It won’t be safe here on this ship, once the elves see it. Though they’ll probably destroy it. Either that, or their wizards will try to take it—”

“Don’t worry,” Haplo said, grinning. “I have magical powers myself, remember? No one will get near this ship if I don’t want them to. We’ll come with you. I need to talk to Jarre.”

Haplo sent Bane off to gather up his bundle of clothes and, most important, the diagram the child had made of the Kicksey-winsey. Haplo buckled on a rune-inscribed sword, thrust a similarly inscribed dagger inside the top of his boot.

He looked down at his hands, the blue tattoos vivid on his skin. Last time he’d come to Arianus, he had concealed the tattoos—and the fact mat he was a Patryn—beneath bandages. No need to conceal his true identity now. The time for that was past.

He joined Limbeck and the other dwarves near the ship’s hatch.

The storm still raged as fiercely as ever, as far as Haplo could determine, though he thought it barely possible that the hurricane had dwindled to a torrential downpour. Giant hailstones continued pounding the ship’s hull and the lightning blasted three holes in the coralite during the brief time Haplo stood and watched. He could use his magic to instantly transport himself and Bane, but in order for the magic to work, he had to be able to visualize exactly where it was he wanted to go, and the only place on Drevlin he could clearly remember was the Factree.

He had a sudden vision of appearing in a circle of blue flame smack in the middle of the elven army.

He studied, as best he could through the rain-smeared window, the contraptions the dwarves used to travel through the storm.

“What are those things?”

“Carts from the Kicksey-winsey,” said Limbeck. He took off his spectacles, smiled a vague smile reminiscent of the old Limbeck, “My idea. You probably don’t remember, but we carried you in one when you were hurt, the time the dig claws brought us up. Now we’ve turned the carts upside down and put the wheels on the top instead of the bottom and covered them over with coralite. You’ll fit inside one, Haplo,” he added reassuringly, “though it will be tight and not too comfortable. I’ll go with Lof. You can have mine—”

“I wasn’t worried about the fit,” interrupted Haplo grimly. “I was thinking about the lightning.” His magic would protect him, but not Bane or the dwarves. “One bolt hits that metal and—”

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” said Limbeck, his chest swelling with pride. He gestured with the spectacles. “Note the metal rods on top of each cart. If lightning strikes, the rods carry the charge down the side of the cart, through the wheels and into the ground. I call them ‘lectricity rods.’ “

“They work?”

“Well,” Limbeck conceded reluctantly, “they’ve never really been tested. But the theory is sound. Someday,” he added, hopeful, “we’ll get struck and then I’ll see.”

The other dwarves looked extremely alarmed at this prospect. Apparently they didn’t share Limbeck’s enthusiasm for science. Neither did Haplo. He would take Bane along in his cart, use his magic to cast a shell over the two of them that would keep them both from harm.

Haplo opened the hatch. Rain blew inside. The wind howled, thunder set the ground vibrating beneath their feet. Bane, now able to view the full fury of the storm, was pale and wide-eyed. Limbeck and the dwarves dashed out. Bane hung back in the open hatchway.

“I’m not afraid,” he said, though his lips quivered. “My father could make the lightning stop.”

“Yeah, well, Daddy’s not here. And I’m not sure even Sinistrad would have had much control over this storm.”

Haplo caught hold of the boy around the waist, lifted him bodily, and ran to the first cart, the dog bounding along behind.

Limbeck and his fellow warriors had already reached theirs. The dwarves lifted the contraptions, scooted underneath them with remarkable speed. The carts dropped down on top of them, hiding the dwarves from view, protecting them from the fierce storm.

The sigla on Haplo’s skin glowed bright blue, formed a protective shield around him that kept the rain and hail from hitting him. Wherever the Patryn’s arm or other part of his body contacted Bane, the boy, too, was protected, but Haplo couldn’t hold him close and still get him inside the cart.

Haplo fumbled at the contraption in the darkness. The sides of the cart were slippery, he couldn’t get his fingers beneath the metal edge. Lightning lit the sky, a hailstone struck Bane on the cheek. The boy clapped his hand over the bleeding cut, but didn’t cry out. The dog barked back at the thunder, as if it were a living threat the animal could chase away.

Finally, Haplo managed to raise the cart high enough to thrust Bane inside. The dog slithered in with the boy.

“Stay put!” Haplo ordered, and ran back to his ship.

The dwarves were already trundling over the ground, heading toward safety. Haplo marked the direction they were taking, turned back to his business. Swiftly, he traced a sigil on the ship’s outer hull. It flared blue, other sigla caught the magical fire. Blue and red light spread in patterns over the ship’s hull. Haplo stood in the driving rain, watched carefully to make certain the magic covered the ship completely. A soft blue light gleamed from it. Nodding in satisfaction, certain now that no one—elf, human, or dwarf—could harm his vessel, Haplo turned and ran back to the cart.

Lifting it up, he crawled inside. Bane was huddled in the center, his arms around the dog.

“Go on, get out,” Haplo told the animal, who vanished.

Bane looked around in astonishment, forgot his fear. “What happened to the dog?” he cried shrilly.

“Shut up,” Haplo grunted. Hunched almost double, he planted his back against the top of the cart. “Get underneath me,” he told Bane.

The child wriggled his way awkwardly under Haplo’s outspread arms.

“When I crawl, you crawl.”

Moving clumsily, with many halts and starts, falling over each other, they lumbered along. A hole cut into the side of the cart allowed Haplo to see where they were going, and it was a lot farther off than he’d imagined. The coralite, where it was hard, was slick from the water; in other places they sank elbow deep in mud, floundered through puddles.

Rain beat down, hailstones clattered on top of the metal cart, making a deafening racket. Outside, he could hear the dog bark back at the thunder.

” ‘Lectricity rods,” muttered Haplo.