Imager’s Battalion

13

By late on Mardi, Quaeryt had trooper patrols riding the streets of Rivecote Sud, with already experienced and effective troopers because, with Skarpa’s approval, he used those companies from Third Regiment who’d served the same function in restoring order to Extela after the eruption-and Rivecote Sud was a far smaller place. Then he, Skarpa, and Meinyt had to obtain what passed for quarters for more than three thousand troopers and their officers, although Skarpa did take over the largest inn for the senior officers and the imager undercaptains.

By Meredi morning, the militia or local reserves that Skarpa’s force had captured were working hard and removing the earthen berms, filling in the staked pits, and burying the handfuls of Bovarians killed the day before.

Quaeryt and Skarpa had ridden out to see the progress of that work under a slightly cooler sun and a silver hazed sky that promised a far hotter afternoon.

“Just four deaths?” asked Quaeryt.

“So far. There might be one or two more from wounds.” Skarpa shook his head. “Pepper. Who would have thought it?”

“I was fortunate.” Quaeryt sensed that the limited number of deaths, given what could have happened, was a relief to Skarpa. It was certainly a relief to him, because, for what he still wanted to do, the more the casualties could be limited to troopers and those seen to rule, the better.

“I’ve heard that from you before, all too many times,” replied Skarpa. “You need another phrase to disguise what you don’t want to explain.”

“How about the fact that it really was chance? I heard someone sneeze … and that led me to think about what caused sneezing.”

“What if no one had sneezed?”

“We might have had more casualties.”

“I’m glad you said might,” replied Skarpa with a jesting tone that suggested he had trouble believing Quaeryt. “Have you seen the cable ferry?”

“Ah … no,” replied Quaeryt. “There was the business of setting up patrols and a few other matters.”

“You should, and I need to see how our few engineers are coming in restoring it to use.”

“When Deucalon reaches Rivecote Nord?”

“When Deucalon and Lord Bhayar reach the other tower. It might be good to have communications, but that will mean I’ll have to leave at least half a company here to keep matters in order-if you think that is sufficient.”

“A full company might be better, but let me think about that.” Quaeryt understood Skarpa’s reluctance to leave too many troopers behind because each garrison left behind reduced the men available for the next battle.

Skarpa turned his mount uphill toward the river and the center of the small town, and Quaeryt followed, still holding full shields.

As they rode down the brick-paved main street, Quaeryt noted that most of the dwellings and virtually all the shops had brick walls and slate roofs. Was that because brick was better in the damp climate … or because there was a brickworks nearby, or both? He also couldn’t help but note that the majority of dwellings and shops, especially the larger dwellings, were set on what amounted to a long rise that ran an angle from the northeast to the southwest. For a moment he wondered why, then nodded. The ground was higher and less likely to be inundated during times of high water, such as floods or the spring runoff.

In less than a half quint, they reined up in the south courtyard that surrounded the ferry tower. After dismounting and tying the mare to one of the hitching rings, Quaeryt followed Skarpa up the outside brick staircase to the second level of the tower, girded on all sides by a railed open balcony. Skarpa walked to the river side of the balcony. “What do you think?”

Rather than answer immediately, Quaeryt studied the tower and its surroundings. The cable ferry was far less elaborate than he had pictured. On the south side of the Aluse River was the stone tower where he stood and from where he could look out across the river, located on a bluff that rose some ten yards above the surface of the water. The top of the tower was about five yards above the base of the paved courtyard, and three above the low stone wall enclosing the courtyard. Two thick braided cables ran from a square timber framework secured in an open gallery facing the river down to the sheltered water downstream of the bluff where a single oblong flatboat was tied up to a dock, beside a large winch powered by an ox-driven capstan. The cut ends of the cable were draped across the flatboat.

From what Quaeryt could determine, the ferry was linked by shorter cables to a set of sliding pulleys that had run on one of the two main cables, with another set of cables linked to the winches on each side of the river. There were two slips below, suggesting two ferryboats were used to cross the sixty yards of water separating the two towers.

Quaeryt looked across the river at the gallery area of the north tower, where he could see three men in blue-gray Bovarian uniforms. While it wouldn’t be difficult to send another boat across the river, although it would have to start much farther upstream and carry light line that could lead to rope and then cable, there wasn’t any point in trying so long as the Bovarians held Rivecote Nord. And that was assuming that there were spare cables available in Rivecote Sud.

“Effective, but less impressive than I’d pictured,” he finally replied to Skarpa’s question.

“Effective is what matters.”

Quaeryt couldn’t disagree with that.

A Telaryn captain, an engineer, hurried toward them, then stopped and inclined his head. “Commander, Subcommander.”

“Have you found the spare cables?” asked Skarpa.

“There are several sets, sir, but…”

“There’s no point in trying to reattach them until we hold both towers? Or is there another problem?”

“Someone smashed the gears in the winch. We haven’t been able to find any spare gears. We can rig a way to use the capstan once we can reattach new cables, but it will be slower.”

“Do that for now,” said Skarpa. “They might have spare gears on the other side.”

Or the Bovarians might end up smashing the winches on both sides. Quaeryt frowned. “Could I take a look at the winch?”

“Yes, sir. Now?”

“Why not?”

“This way, sir.”

Quaeryt followed the engineer down the staircase he’d just climbed, across the courtyard to a small gate, and then down another narrow set of stone steps cut into the bluff leading to the ferry slips. The winch was located on the wide center wharf between the two slips.

There the engineer pointed to the uncovered mechanism. “Looks like they smashed those three gears there. Be a bitch to replace them, even if we can find spares.”

Quaeryt studied the winch’s workings for several moments. “The imagers might be able to help. If you could send someone to summon them … they’re all at the inn-the Grande Sud.”

“Yes, sir. We can do that.” The engineer captain hurried off.

While Quaeryt waited for the imagers to arrive, he studied the winch in greater detail, slowly imaging away a loose chunk of gearing in one place and then in another, just enough to see if he could do it. Then he concentrated on rebuilding just one gear tooth on a large gear.

It appeared … and it looked solid, but was it? He waited half a quint before he tapped it with a mallet from a tool kit. It sounded solid, but again, the proof would be in the operation.

After that, he walked back and forth along the slips, waiting.

It took almost three quints for the rankers Quaeryt sent out to locate and return with all the imager undercaptains. All of them had puzzled expressions as, one by one, they joined Quaeryt on the wharf. He waited to explain until they were all there before the damaged winch.

“The reason I summoned you is that we have a problem here. The Bovarian troopers, or the cable ferry operators, smashed this winch. You can see the damaged gears there. It would be most helpful to Lord Bhayar and his forces if we could get this winch in working condition again so that once Marshal Deucalon takes Rivecote Nord, we can get the ferry operating as quickly as possible. We need to accomplish two things. First, we need to remove the broken pieces of gears. Then we need to image the gears as if they were new.”

Quaeryt looked over the undercaptains. “Has anyone had any experience imaging parts of things?”

“Ah … I have,” said Baelthm, “but much, much smaller parts, no bigger than a finger.”

“Anyone else?”

No one spoke.

“All right, the first thing we need to do is to image out the broken pieces, one at a time. Threkhyl, you’re first. Do you see that chunk of iron gearing there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like you to remove it, image it away. Just it. Nothing else.”

The ginger-bearded undercaptain concentrated, and in a moment the broken gear section was gone.

“Good. Voltyr, this other piece…”

It took almost a quint and two efforts by each undercaptain to remove the broken metal, and Quaeryt had to give a little hidden assistance to Baelthm.

“Now … the next part is harder. The gears are iron, and we need to replace the broken teeth, and they have to meld with the others…”

Imaging the sections of gears back in place took almost two glasses, and left all the imagers exhausted, because Quaeryt was effectively making them match gears by eye and that required both imaging and un-imaging and smoothing … and doing some of them over two and three times. More than a few times, he ended up doing some of the work, although it appeared that none of the undercaptains noticed.

Finally, Quaeryt motioned to the engineer captain, who had been watching from a distance. The captain walked swiftly toward him, then halted a yard away.

“Captain, while it appears as though we may have fixed this winch, I honestly cannot tell if the repairs the imagers have made will stand the strain of operation. Can you turn it without any load just to see if the gears mesh properly? And do so very slowly?”

“We can, sir.”

Once again, Quaeryt waited, as did the imagers.

Everything about war is a flurry of action, then a lot of waiting, or slow traveling, followed by action, and more waiting. At least, that was the impression he’d gotten in the Tilboran Revolt, and the war against Bovaria looked to be following the same pattern.

Finally, a crew of rankers appeared and took the capstan bars, rather than the ox, which also appeared to be missing, but then the engineers might have removed the animal to work on the equipment.

“Forward, slowly…” called the captain. “So far … so good.”

“A little faster, now…”

After a time the engineer called out, “Stop … that will do.” He turned to Quaeryt. “It seems to work. Thank you, sir … imagers.”

“This isn’t something we normally do,” Quaeryt said. “We just hope the repairs will hold.”

“Well … you cleaned out all the smashed pieces, and that alone was a help.”

Quaeryt turned to the undercaptains. “Thank you. Now, you can return to the inn, or you can walk through the town, but you need to do so in pairs. We’ll meet at the inn a quint before mess … dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

Desyrk and Baelthm were the first to leave, followed by Akoryt and Threkhyl. Voltyr and Shaelyt remained, then eased toward Quaeryt as he headed to the stone steps up to the tower.

“Sir…?” offered Voltyr.

“Yes…?”

“The winch … how did you know…?”

“All that iron,” added Shaelyt.

Quaeryt smiled. “I didn’t, not for certain, but there are winches and capstans on every merchant ship, and I spent six years at sea. This wasn’t that different. It’s a bit heavier and simpler, that’s all.”

“Sir … it seemed like-”

“It was a great deal of work for all of you, but the engineers appreciate it, and so do I, a great deal, and I think it probably improved all of your imaging skills and controls. Don’t you?” Quaeryt smiled warmly.

Voltyr looked to Shaelyt.

The Pharsi nodded, then smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll see you both later at the inn.”

“Yes, sir.”

The pair nodded respectfully, then stepped back and turned.

Quaeryt knew very well what that had all been about, but he hadn’t even wanted to let them ask the question, especially not in public and with the engineer not all that far away. He stood for a moment, watching as the two undercaptains walked off the wharf toward the main street, talking quietly. Then he turned and headed for the stone steps.

Skarpa, surprisingly, was waiting when Quaeryt returned to the tower courtyard, breathing heavily from the climb back up the steep steps from the ferry slips.

“Did you repair that winch?”

“It’s no longer jammed. Whether the repairs the imagers made will hold under strain, I can’t tell. Neither can the engineers.” Quaeryt paused, then added, “We did manage to image out all the broken pieces.”

“By the time this war is over, you and those imagers will be worth a regiment.”

Quaeryt hoped so … if he were ever to make the position of scholars and imagers more secure, but he only said, “I’m trying to get them to do what they can and to improve their abilities as much as possible.” And before long, when they’re better imagers, I’ll have to decide whether to teach them about shields … or whom to teach and how.

“That’s becoming clear. I’ll see you later,” said Skarpa, mounting and then riding out of the courtyard.

Quaeryt mounted. He needed to ride through the town and see how orderly things were, and how the patrols were working out.