The Dreaming Void

INIGO'S FIRST DREAM

When Edeard woke, his dream was already a confused fading memory. The same thing happened every morning. No matter how hard he tried he could never hold on to the images and sounds afflicting him every night. Akeem said not to worry; that his dreams were made up from the gentle spillage of other sleeping minds around him. Edeard didn't believe the things he dreamed of came from anywhere like their village, the fragments he occasionally did manage to cling to were too strange and fascinating for that.

Cool pre-dawn light was showing up the cracks in the window's wooden shutters. Edeard lay still for a while, cosy under the pile of blankets that covered his cot. It was a big room, with whitewashed plaster walls and bare floorboards. The rafters of the hammer-beam roof above were ancient martoz wood that had blackened and hardened over the decades until they resembled iron. There wasn't much by way of furniture, two thirds of the floor space was completely empty. Edeard had shoved what was left down to the end which had a broad window. At the foot of the cot was a crude chest where he kept his meagre collection of clothes; there was a long a table covered in his enthusiastic sketches of possible genistar animals; several chairs; a dresser with a plain white bowl and pitcher of water. Over in the corner opposite the cot, the fire had burnt out sometime in I lie night, with a few embers left glimmering in the grate. It was difficult to heat such a large volume, especially in winter, and Edeard could see his breath as a fine white mist. Technically, he lived in the apprentice dormitory of Ashwell village's Eggshaper Guild, but he was the only occupant. He'd lived there for the past six years, ever since his parents died when he was eight years old. Master Akeem, the village's sole remaining shaper, had taken him in after the caravan they had joined in order to travel through the hills to the east was attacked by bandits.

Edeard wrapped a blanket round his shoulders and hurried over the cold floor to the small brick-arch fireplace. The embers were still giving off a little heat, warming the clothes he'd left on the back of a chair. He dressed hurriedly, pulling up badly worn leather trousers and tucking an equally worn shirt into the waist before struggling into a thick green sweater. As always the fabric smelled of the stables and their varied occupants, a melange of fur and food and cages; but after six years at the Guild he was so used to it he hardly noticed. He sat back on the cot to pull his boots on; they really were too small for him now. With the last eighteen months seeing more genistars in the stables and Edeard taking on official commission duties, their little branch of the Eggshaper Guild had seen a lot more money coming it. Hardly a fortune, but sufficient to pay for new clothes and boots, it was just that he never had time to visit the cobbler. He winced slightly as he stood up, trying to wriggle his toes which were squashed together. It was no good, he was definitely going to take an hour out of his busy day to visit the cobbler. He grinned. But not today.

Today was when the village's new well was finished. It was a project in which the Eggshaper Guild was playing an unusually large part. Better than that, for him, it was an innovative part. Edeard knew how many doubters there were in the village: basically everybody. But Master Akeem had quietly persuaded the elder council to give his young apprentice a chance. They said yes only because they had nothing to lose.

He made his way downstairs, then hurried across the narrow rear yard to the warmth of the Guild dining hall. Like the dormitory, it was a sharp reminder that the Eggshaper Guild had known better times. A lot better. There were still two rows of long bench tables in the big hall, enough to seat fifty shapers and their guests on feast nights. At the far end the huge fireplace had iron baking ovens built in to the stonework on either side, and the roasting spit was large enough to handle a whole pig. This morning, the fire was just a small blaze tended by a couple of ge-monkeys. Normally, people didn't let the genistars get anywhere near naked flames, they were as skittish as any terrestrial animal, but Edeard's orders were lucid and embedded deeply enough that the ge-monkeys could manage the routine without panicking.

Edeard sat at the table closest to the fire. His mind directed a batch of instructions to the ge-monkeys using simple telepathic longtalk. He used a pidgin version of Querencia's mental language, visualizing the sequence of events he wanted in conjunction with simple command phrases, making sure the emotional content was zero (so many people forgot that, and then couldn't understand why the genistars didn't obey properly). The ge-monkeys started scurrying round; they were big creatures, easily the weight of a full-gown human male, with six long legs along the lower half of their body, and six even longer arms on top, the first two pairs so close together they seemed to be sharing a shoulder joint, while the third pair were set further back along a very flexible spine. Their bodies were covered in a wiry white fur, with patches worn away on joints and palms to reveal a leathery cinder-coloured hide. The head profile was the same as all the genistar variants, a plain globe with a snout very close to a terrestrial dog; the ears were situated on the lower part of the head back towards the stumpy neck, each one sprouting three petals of long creased skin thin enough to be translucent.

A big mug of tea was placed in front of Edeard, swiftly followed by thick slices of toast, a bowl of fruit and a plate of scrambled eggs. He tucked in heartily enough, already running through the critical part of the day's operation at the bottom of the well. His farsight picked up Akeem when the old man was still in the lodge, the residence for senior shapers annexed to the hall. Edeard could already perceive through a couple of stone walls, sensing physical structures as if they were shadows, while minds buzzed with an iridescent glow. That vision was of a calibre which eluded a lot of adults; it made Akeem inordinately proud of his apprentice's ability, claiming his own training was the true key to developing Edeard's potential.

The old shaper came into the hall to find the ge-monkeys ready with his breakfast. He grunted favourably as he gave Edeard's shoulder a paternal squeeze. 'Did you sense me getting up in my bedroom, boy? he asked, gesturing at his waiting plate of sausage and tomato.

'No sir, Edeard said happily. 'Can't manage to get through four walls yet.

'Won't be long, Akeem said as he lifted up his tea. 'The way you're developing I'll be sleeping outside the village walls by midsummer. Everyone's entitled to some privacy.

'I would never intrude, Edeard protested. He mellowed and grinned sheepishly as he caught the amusement in the old shaper's mind. Master Akeem had passed his hundred and eightieth birthday several years back, so he claimed, though he was always vague about the precise year that happened. Life expectancy on Querencia was supposed to be around two hundred years, though Edeard didn't know of anyone in Ashwell or the surrounding villages who'd actually managed to live that long. However, Akeem's undeniable age had given him a rounded face with at least three chins rolling back into a thick neck, and a lacework of red and purple capillaries decorated the pale skin of his cheeks and nose, producing a terribly wan appearance. A thin stubble left behind after his perfunctory daily shave was now mostly grey, which didn't help the careworn impression everyone received when they saw him for the first time. Once a week the old man used the same razor on what was left of his silver hair.

Despite his declining years, he always insisted on dressing smartly. His personal ge-monkeys were well versed in laundry work. Today his tailored leather trousers were clean, boots polished; a pale yellow shirt washed and pressed. He wore a jacket woven from magenta and jade yarn, with the egg-in-a-twisted-circle crest of the Eggshaper Guild on the lapel. The jacket might not be as impressive as the robes worn by Guild members in Makkathran, but in Ashwell it was a symbol of prestige, earning him respect. None of the other village elders dressed as well.

Edeard sheepishly realized he was fingering his own junior apprentice badge, a simple metal button on his collar; the emblem similar to Akeem's, but with only a quarter circle. Half the time he forgot to pin it on in the morning. After all, nobody showed him any respect, ever. But if all went well today he'd be entitled to a badge with half a circle. Akeem said he could never remember anyone attempting a shaping so sophisticated for their senior apprentice assessment. 'Nervous? the old man asked.

'No, Edeard said immediately. Then he ducked his head. 'They work in the tank, anyway.

'Of course they do. They always do. Our true skill comes in determining what works in real life. From what I've seen, I don't believe there will be a problem. That's not a guarantee, mind. Nothing in life is certain.

'What did you shape for your senior apprentice assessment? Edeard asked.

'Ah, now well, that was a long time ago. Things were different back then, more formal. They always are in the capital. I suspect they haven't changed much.

'Akeem! Edeard pleaded, he loved the old man dearly; but oh how his mind wondered these days.

'Yes yes. As I recall, the assessment required four ge-spiders; functional ones, mind. They had to spin drosilk at the Grand Master's presentation, so everyone wound up shaping at least six or seven to be safe. We also had to shape a wolf, a chimp, and an eagle. Ah, he sighed. 'They were hard days. I remember my Master used to beat me continually. And the larks we used to get up to in the dormitoiy at night.

Edeard was slightly disappointed. 'But I can do ge-spiders and all the rest.

'I know, Akeem said proudly, and patted the boy's hand. 'But we both know how gifted you are. A junior apprentice is normally seventeen before taking the kind of assessment you're getting today, and even then a lot of them fail the first time. This is why I've made your task all the harder. A reshaped form that works is the standard graduation from apprenticehood to practitioner.

'It is?

'Oh yes. Of course I've been dreadfully remiss in the rest of the Guild teachings. It was hard enough to make you sit down long enough to learn your letters. And you're really not old enough to take in the Guild ethics and all that boring old theory, no matter how precise they are when I gift them to you. Though you seem to grasp things at an instinctive level. That's why you're still only going to be an apprentice after this.

Edeard frowned. 'What kind of ethics could be involved in shaping?

'Can't you think?

'No, not really. Genistars are such a boon. They help everyone. Now I'm helping you sculpt, we can produce more standard genera than before, the village will grow strong and rich again.

'Well I suppose as you're due to become a senior apprentice we should start to consider these notions. We'd need more apprentices if that were to truly come about.

'There's Sancia, and little Evox has a powerful longtalk.

'We'll see. Who knows? We might prove a little more acceptable after today. Families are reluctant to offer their children for us to train. And your friend Obron doesn't help matters.

Edeard blushed. Obron was the village's chief bully, a boy a couple of years older than him, who delighted in making Edeard's life a misery outside the walls of the Guild compound. He hadn't realized Akeem had known about that. 'I should sort him out properly.

'The Lady knows you've had enough provocation of late. I'm proud you haven't struck back. Eggshapers are always naturally strong telepaths, but part of that ethics course you're missing is how we shouldn't abuse our advantage.

'I just haven't because… He shrugged.

'It's not right thing to do, and you know that, Akeem concluded. 'You're a good boy, Edeard. The old man looked at him, his thoughts a powerful mixture of pride and sadness.

Proximity to the emotional turmoil made Edeard blink away the water now unexpectedly springing into his eyes. He shook his head, as if to disentangle himself from the old man's mind. 'Did you ever have someone like Obron ragging you when you were an apprentice?

'Let's just say one of the reasons I came to stay in Ashwell was because my interpretation of our Guild ethics differed to the Masters of the Blue Tower. And please remember, although I am your Master and tutor, I also require Guild standards to be fulfilled. If I judge you lacking you will not get your senior apprentice badge today. That includes taking care of your ordinary duties.

Edeard pushed his empty plate away and downed the last of his tea. 'I'd better get to it, then. Master.

'I also fail anyone who shows disrespect.

Edeard pulled a woolly hat on against the chill air, and went out into the Guild compound's main courtyard. It was unusual in that it had nine sides. Seven were made up from stable blocks, then there was a large barn, and the hatchery. None of them were the same size or height. When he first moved in, Edeard had been impressed. The Eggshaper Guild compound was the largest collection of buildings in the village; to someone who'd been brought up in a small cottage with a leaky thatch roof it was a palatial castle. Back then he'd never noticed the deep cloak of kimoss staining every roof a vivid purple; nor how pervasive and tangled the gurkvine was, covering the dark stone walls of the courtyard with its ragged pale-yellow leaves, while its roots wormed their way into the mortar between the blocks, weakening the structure. This morning he just sighed at the sight, wondering if he'd ever get round to directing the ge-monkeys on a clean-up mission. Now would be a good time. The gurkvine leaves had all fallen to gather in the corners of the courtyard in great mouldering piles, while the moss was soaking up the season's moisture, turning into great spongy mats which would be easy to peel off. Like everything else in his life, it would have to wait. If only Akeem could find another apprentice, he thought wistfully. We spend our whole lives running to catch up, just one extra person in the Guild would make so much difference.

It would take a miracle granted by the Lady, he acknowledged grudgingly. The village families were reluctant to allow their children to train at the Eggshaper Guild. They appreciated how dependent they were on genistars, but even so they couldn't afford to lose able hands. The Guild was just like the rest of Ashwell, struggling to keep going.

Edeard hurried across the courtyard to the tanks where his new reshaped cats were kept, silently asking the Lady why he bothered to stay in this backward place on the edge of the wilds. To his right were the largest stables, where the defaults shuffled round their stalls. They were simple beasts, unshaped egg-laying genistars, the same size as terrestrial ponies, with six legs supporting a bulbous body. The six upper limbs were vestigial, producing bumps along the creature's back, while in the female over thirty per cent of the internal organs were ovaries, producing an egg every fifteen days. Males, of which there were three, lumbered round in a big pen at one end, while the females were kept in a row of fifteen separate stalls. For the first time since Akeem had taken him in, the stalls were all occupied; a source of considerable satisfaction to Edeard. Not even a Master as accomplished as Akeem, and despite his age he was a singular talent, could manage fifteen defaults by himself. Shaping an egg took a long time, and Edeard had as many grotesque failures as he had successes. First of all, the timing had to be right. An egg needed to be shaped no earlier than ten hours after fertilization, and no later than twenty-five. How long it took depended on the nature of the genus required.

Edeard had often spent half the night sitting in a stall's deep-cushioned shaper chair with his mind focused on the egg. Eggshaping, as Akeem had so often described it, was like sculpting intangible clay with invisible hands. The ability was a gentle combination of farsight and telekinesis. His mind could see inside the egg, and only those who could do that with perfect clarity could become shapers. Not that he liked to boast, but Edeard's mental vision was the most acute in the village. What he saw within the shell was like a small exemplar of a default genistar made out of grey shadow substance. His telekinesis would reach out and begin to shape it into the form he wanted — but slowly, so frustratingly slowly. There were limits. He couldn't give a genistar anything extra: seven arms, two heads… What the process did was activate the nascent structures inherent within the default physiology. He could also define size, though that was partially determined by what type of genus he was shaping. Then there were sub-families within each standard genus, chimps as well as monkeys, a multitude of horse types — big, small, powerful, fast, slow. A long list which had to be memorized perfectly. Shaping was inordinately difficult, requiring immense concentration. A shaper had to have a lot more than eldritch vision and manipulation; he or she had to have the feel of what they were doing, to know instinctively if what they were doing was right, to see potential with the embryonic genistar. In the smaller creatures there would be no room for reproductive organs, so they had to be disengaged, other organs too had to be selected where appropriate. But which ones? Small wonder even a Grand Master produced a large percentage of invalid eggs.

Edeard walked past the default stables, his farsight flashing through the building, checking that the ge-monkeys were getting on with their jobs of mucking out and feeding. Several were becoming negligent and disorderly, so he refreshed their instructions with a quick longtalk message. A slightly deeper scan with his farsight showed him the state of the gestating eggs inside the defaults. Of the eleven that had been shaped, three were showingsigns that indicated problems were developing. He gave a resigned sigh. Two of them were his.

After the defaults came the horse stables. There were nine foals currently accommodated, seven of which were growing up into the large sturdy brutes which would pull ploughs and carts out on the surrounding farms. Most of the commissions placed on Ashwell's Eggshaper Guild were for genistars which could be used in agriculture. The custom of domestic ge-monkeys and chimps was in decline, which Edeard knew was just because people didn't take the time to learn how to instruct them properly. Not that they were going to come here and take lessons from a fourteen-year-old boy. It annoyed him immensely; he was certain the village economy could be improved fourfold at least if they just listened to him.

'Patience, Akeem always counselled, when he raged against the short-sighted fools who made up their neighbours. 'Often to do what's right you first have to do what's wrong. There will come a time when your words will be heeded.

Edeard didn't know when that would be. Even if today was successful he didn't expect a rush of people to congratulate him and seek out his advice. He was sure he was destined to forever remain the freaky boy who lived alone with batty old Akeem. A well matched pair, everyone said when they thought he couldn't farsight them.

The monkey and chimp pen was on the other side of the horses. It only had a couple of infant monkeys inside, curled up in their nest. The rest were all out and about, performing their duties around the Guild compound. They didn't have any commissions for ge-monkeys on their books; even the smithy who worked five didn't want any extras. Perhaps I should bring people round the Guild buildings-, Edeard thought, show them what the ge-monkeys can do if they're ordered correctly. Or Akeem could show them, at least. Just something that would break the cycle, make people more adventurous. The freaky boy's daydream.

After the monkey pen came the kennels. Ge-dogs remained in high demand, especially the kind used for herding cattle and sheep. Eight pups were nursing from the two milk-bitches which he'd shaped himself. They allowed the defaults to go straight back to egg production without an extended nursing period. It had taken twelve invalid eggs before he'd succeeded in shaping the first. The innovation was one he'd introduced after reading about the milk-bitch in an ancient Guild text, now he was keen to try and extend it across all the genistar types. Akeem had been supportive when the first had hatched, impressed as much by Edeard's tenacity as his shaping skill.

The compound's main gateway was wedged in between the dog kennels and the wolf kennels. There were six of the fierce creatures maturing. Always useful outside the village walls, the wolves were deployed as guards for Ashwell and all its outlying farmhouses; they were also taken on hunts through the forests, helping to clear out Querencia's native predators as well as the occasional bandit group. Edeard stopped and looked in. The ge-wolves were lean creatures with dark-grey fur that blended in with most landscapes, their long snouts equipped with sharp fangs which could bite clean through a medium-sized branch, let alone a limb of meat and bone. The large pups mewled excitedly as he hung over the door and patted at them. His hand was licked by hot serpentine tongues. Two of them had a pair of arms, another of his innovations. Ge wanted to see if they could carry knives or clubs. Something else he'd found in an old text. Another idea the villagers had shaken their heads in despair at.

Out of the whole courtyard, he liked the aviary best. A squat circular cote with arched openings twenty feet above the ground, just below the eves. There was a single doorway at the base. Inside, the open space was criss-crossed by broad martoz beams. Over the years the wood had been heavily scarred by talons, so much so that the original square cut was now rounded out on top. There was only a single ge-eagle left, as big as Edeard's torso. The bird had a double wing arrangement, with two limbs supporting the large front wing and giving it remarkable flexibility, while the rear wing was a simple triangle for stability. It gold and emerald feathers cloaked a streamlined body, with a long slender jaw where the teeth had merged into a single serrated edge very similar to a beak.

Trisegment eyes blinked down at Edeard as he smiled up. He so envied the ge-eagle, how it could soar free and clear of the village with all its earthbound drudgeiy and irrelevance. It had an unusually strong telepathic ability, allowing Edeard to experience wings spread wide and the wind slipping past. Often, whole afternoons would pass with an enthralled Edeard twinned with the ge-eagle's mind as it swooped and glided over the forests and valleys outside, providing an intoxicating taste of the freedom that existed beyond the village.

It rustled its wings, enthused by Edeard's appearance and the prospect of flight. Not yet, Edeard had to tell it reluctantly. Its beak was shaken in disgust and the eyes shut, returning it to an aloof posture.

The hatchery came between the aviary and the cattery. It was a low circular building, like a half-size aviary. Its broad iron-bound wooden door was closed and bolted. The one place in the compound that ge-monkeys weren't permitted to go. Edeard had the task of keeping it clean and tidy. A sheltered stone shelf to the right of the door had nine thick candles alight, traditionally one for each egg inside. He swept his farsight across them all, happy to confirm the embryos were growing satisfactorily. After they'd been laid, the eggs took about ten days to hatch, cosseted in cradles that in winter months were warmed by slow-smouldering charcoal in a massive iron stove. He'd need to rake out the ashes and add some more lumps before midday. One of the eggs was due to hatch tomorrow, he judged, another horse.

Finally, he went into the cattery, the smallest of the buildings walling the courtyard. Standard genistar cats were small semi-aquatic creatures, with dark oily fur and broad webbed feet, devoid of upper limbs. Guild convention had them as one of the seven standard genera, though nobody outside the capital Makkathran ever found much use for them. It was the gondoliers who kept a couple on each boat, using them to keep the city's canals clean of weed and rodents.

The cattery was a rectangular room taken up by big knee-high stone tables. Light came in through windows set into the roof. As a testament to how prolific the kimoss had become, Edeard now always supplemented his ordinary sight with farsight as he shuffled along the narrow aisles between the tables. From inside, the windows had been reduced to narrow slits that provided a meagre amethyst radiance.

Glass tanks sat along the tables. They were ancient, basins the size of bulky coffins, dating back to when the whole compound had been built. Half of them had cracked sides, and dried and dead algae stained the glass, while the bottoms were filled with gravel and desiccated flakes of mud. Edeard had refurbished five to hold his reshaped cats, with another three modified to act as crude reservoirs. The pipes he used to test their ability were strewn across the floor in a tangled mess. All five reshaped cats lay on the gravel bed of the tanks, with just a few inches of water rippling sluggishly round them. They resembled fat lozenges of glistening ebony flesh, half the size of a human. There were no limbs of any kind, just a row of six circular gills along their flanks dangling loose tubes of thick skin. The head was so small it looked completely undeveloped to the point of being misshapen; there were no eyes or ears. It was all Edeard's farsight could do to detect any sparkle of thought at all within the tiny brain.

He grinned down cheerily at the unmoving lumps, searching through them for any sign of malady. When he was satisfied their health was as good as possible, he stood perfectly still, taking calm measured breaths they way Akeem had taught him, and focused his telekinesis on the first cat, the third hand as most villagers called it. He could feel the black flesh within his incorporeal grip, and lifted it off the bed of mucky gravel.

Half an hour later, when Barakka the village cartwright drove his wagon into the courtyard he found Edeard and Akeem standing beside five tarpaulins with the reshaped cats lying onthem. He wrinkled his face up in disgust at the bizarre creatures, and shot the old Guild Master a questioning look.

Are you sure about this? he asked as he swung himself off the bench. The cartwright was a squat man, made even broader by eight decades of hard physical labour. He had a thick, unruly ginger beard that served to make his grey eyes seem even more sunken. His hand scratched at his buried chin as he surveyed the ge-cats, doubt swirling openly in his mind, free for Edeard to see. Barakka didn't care much for the feelings of young apprentices.

'If they work they will bring a large benefit to Ashwell, Akeem said smoothly. 'Surely it's worth a try?

'Whatever you say, Barakka conceded. He gave Edeard a sly grin. 'Are you aiming to be our Mayor, boy? If this works you'll get my blessing. I've been washing in horse muck these last three months. Course, old Geepalt will have his nose right out of joint.

Geepalt, the village carpenter, was in charge of the existing well's pump, and by rights should have built a new pump for the freshly dug well. He was chief naysayer on allowing Edeard to try his innovation — it didn't help that Obron was his apprentice.

'There are worse things in life than an annoyed Geepalt, Akeem said. 'Besides, when this works he'll have more time for profitable commissions.

Barakka laughed. 'You old rogue! It is your tongue not your mind which shapes words against their true meaning.

Akeem gave a small, pleased bow. 'Thank you. Shall we begin loading?

'If Melzar's team is ready, Barakka said.

Edeard's farsight flashed out, surveying the new well, with the crowd gathering around it. 'They are. Wedard has called the ge-monkey digging team out.

Barakka gave him a calculating stare. The new well was being dug on the other side of the village from the Eggshaper Guild compound. His own farsight couldn't reach that far. 'Very well, we'll put them on the wagon. Can you manage a third of the weight, boy?

Edeard was very pleased that he managed to stop any irony from showing amid his surface thoughts. 'I think so, sir. He caught Akeem's small private smile; the Master's mind remained calm and demure.

Barakka gave the reshaped cats another doubting look, and scratched his beard once more. 'All right then. On my call. Three. Two. One.

Edeard exerted his third hand, careful not to boost more than he was supposed to. With the three of them lifting, the reshaped cat rose smoothly into the air and floated into the back of the open wagon.

'They're not small, are they? Barakka said. His smile was somewhat forced. 'Good job you're helping, Akeem.

Edeard didn't know if he should protest or laugh.

'We all play our part, Akeem said. He was giving Edeard a warning stare.

'Second one, then, Barakka said.

Ten minutes later they were rolling through the village, Barakka and Akeem sitting on the wagon's bench, while Edeard made do with the rear, one arm resting protectively over a cat. Ashwell was a clutter of buildings in the lee of a modest stone cliff that had sheered out of the side of a gentle slope. Almost impossible to climb, the cliff formed a good defence, with a semicircular walled rampart of earth and stone completing their protection from any malign forces that might ride in from the wild lands to the north-east. Most of the buildings were simple stone cottages with thatch roofs and slatted shutters. Some larger buildings had windows with glass panes that been brought in from the western towns. Only the broad main street running parallel to the cliff was cobbled, the lanes running off it were little more than muddy ruts worn down to the stone by wheels and feet. Although the Eggshaper compound was the biggest collection of buildings, the tallest was the church of the Empyrean Lady, with its conical spire rising out of the north side of the low dome. Once upon a time the stone church had been a uniform white, but many seasons of neglect had seen the lightest sectionsmoulder down to a drab grey, with kimoss pullulating in the slim gaps between the big blocks.

The road down to the village gate branched off midway along main street. Edeard looked along it, seeing the short brick-lined tunnel which cut through the sloping rampart; at the far end the massive doors were open to the outside world. On the top of the wall, twin watchtowers stood on either side of the door, with big iron bells on top. They would be rung by the guards at any sign of trouble approaching. Edeard had never heard them. Some of the older villagers claimed to remember their sound when bandit gangs had been spotted crossing the farmlands bordering the village.

As Edeard looked at the top of the rampart wall with its uneven line and many different materials he wondered how hard it actually would be to overcome their fortifications. There were places where crumbling gaps had been plugged by thick timbers, which themselves were now rotting beneath swathes of kimoss; and even if every man and woman in the village carried arms they couldn't stretch along more than a third of the length. In reality, then, their safety depended on the illusion of strength.

A sharp prick of pain on his left shin made him wince. It was a telekinetic pinch, which he warded off with a strong shield over his flesh. Obron and two of his cronies were flanking the wagon, mingling with the other villagers who were heading up to the new well. There was a sense of carnival in the air as the wagon made its slow procession through Ashwell, with people abandoning their normal work to tag along and see the innovation.

Now Edeard had been jerked away from his mild daydreaming he picked up on the bustle of amusement and interest filling the aether through the village. Very few people were expecting his reshaped cats to work, but they were looking forward to witnessing the failure. Typical, he thought. This village always expects the worst. It's exactly the attitude that's responsible for our decline; not everything can be blamed on bad weather, poor crops, and more bandits.

'Hey, Egg-boy, Obron jeered. 'What are those abortions? And where are your pump genistars? He laughed derisively, a cackling that was quickly duplicated by his friends.

'These are— Edeard began crossly. He stopped at their laughter rose, wishing the wagon could travel a lot faster. There were smiles on the faces of the adults walking alongside as they witnessed typical apprentice rivalry — remembering what it had been like when they were young. Obron's thoughts were vivid and mocking. Edeard managed to keep his own temper. Revenge would come as soon as the cats were in place. There would be respect for the Eggshaper Guild, with a corresponding loss of status for the carpenters.

He was still clinging smugly to that knowledge when the wagon rolled up beside the new well. It was four months ago when the village's old well had partially collapsed. Rubble and silt had been sucked up into the pump, a large contraption assembled by the Carpentry Guild, with big cogwheels and leather bladders that were compressed and expanded by three ge-horses harnessed to a broad axle wheel. They walked round and round in a circle all day long, producing gulps of water that slopped out of the pipe into a reservoir trough for everyone to use. As no one had noticed the sludge at first, the ge-horses just kept on walking until the pump started to creak and shudder. It had been badly damaged.

Once the extent of the damage to the well had been assessed, the elder council had decreed a new well should be dug. This time, it was at the top of the village, close to the cliff where the water percolating down from the slopes above should be plentiful enough. There were also ideas that a simple network of pipes could carry fresh water into each house. That would have required an even larger pump to be built. At which point Akeem had brought his apprentice's idea to the council.

The crowd which had gathered round the head of the new well was good natured enough when the wagon stopped. Melzar, who listed Water Master among many other village titles, was standing beside the open hole, talking to Wedard, the stonemason who had overseen the team of ge-monkeys that performed the actual digging. They both gave the reshaped cats an intrigued look. Edeard wasn't really aware of them, he could hear a lot of sniggering. It mostly came from the gang of apprentices centred around Obron. His cheeks flushed red as he struggled to hold the anger from showing in his surface thoughts.

'Have faith in yourself, someone whispered into his mind, a skilfully directed longtalk voice directed at him alone. The sentiment was threaded with a rosy glow of approval.

He looked round to see Salrana smiling warmly at him. She was only twelve, dressed in the blue and white robe of a Lady's novice. A sweet, good-natured child she had never wanted to do anything other than join the Church. The Lady's Mother of Ashwell, Lorellan, had been happy to start her instructions. Attendance was never high in the village church apart from the usual festival services. Like Edeard, Salrana never quite fitted into the mainstream of village life. It made them feel kindred. She was like a younger sister. He grinned back at her as he clambered down off the wagon. Lorellan, who was standing protectively to one side of her, gave him a bland smile.

Melzar came over to the back of the wagon. 'This should be interesting.

'Why, thank you, Akeem said. The cold air was turning the blood vessels on his nose and cheeks an even darker shade than normal.

Melzar inclined his head surreptitiously towards the surrounding crowd. Edeard didn't turn round, his farsight revealed Geepalt standing in the front row, feet apart and arms folded, a glower on his thin features. Contempt scudded across his surface thoughts, plain for everyone to sense. Edeard was adept enough to detect the currents of concern underneath.

'What's the water like? Barakka asked.

'Cold, but very clear, Melzar said contentedly. 'Digging the well this close to the cliff is a boon. There is a lot of water filtering through the rock from above us, and it's wonderfully pure. No need to boil it before we make beer, eh? Got to be good news.

Edeard shuffled closer to the hole, half expecting Obron's third hand to shove at him. His feet squelched on the semi-frozen mud around the flagstones, and he peered over the rim. Wedard had done a good job of lining the circular shaft, the stones were perfectly cut, and fixed better than a lot of cottage walls. This well wouldn't crumble and collapse like the last one. Darkness lurked ten feet below the rim like an impenetrable mist. His farsight probed down, reaching the water over thirty feet below ground level.

'Are you ready? Melzar asked. The voice was sympathetic. Without the Water Master's support, the council would never have allowed Edeard to try the cats.

'Yes, sir.

Edeard, Akeem, Melzar, Barakka, and Wedard extended their third hands to lift the first cat off the wagon. Everyone in the crowd used their farsight to follow it into the gloomy shaft. Just as it reached the water, Edeard tensed. Suppose it sinks?

'And release, Akeem said so smoothly and confidently that Edeard had no alternative but to let go. The cat bobbed about, completely unperturbed. Edeard realized he'd been holding his breath, anxiety scribbled right across his mind for everyone to sense, especially Obron. His relief was equally discernible to the villagers.

It wasn't long before all five cats were floating on the water. Melzar himself lowered the thick rubber hose, unwinding it slowly from the cylinder it was spooled round. The end was remarkably complicated, branching many times as if it had sprouted roots. Edeard lay flat on the flagstones around the rim, heedless of the freezing mud soaking into his sweater. Warm air gusted up from the shaft to tickle his face. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to concentrate solely on his third hand as it connected the hose ends to the cat gills. Simple muscle lips closed round the rubber tubes on his command, forming a tight seal. A standard genistar cat had three big floatation bladders, giving them complete control over their own buoyancy as they swam, allowing them to float peacefully or dive down several yards. It was these bladders which Edeard had shaped the new cats around, expanding them to occupy eighty per cent of the total body volume, surrounding them with muscle so that they were crude pumps, like a heart for water. His longtalk ordered them to start the muscle squeeze sequence, building up an elementary rhythm.

Everyone fell silent as he stood up. Eyes and farsight were focused on the giant stone trough which had been set up next to the well. The hose end curved over it. For an achingly long minute nothing happened, then it emitted a gurgling sound. Droplets of water spat out, prelude to a foaming torrent that poured into the trough. It began to fill up remarkably quickly.

Edeard remembered the flow of water from the old well pump: this had several times the pressure. Melzar dipped a cup into the water and tasted it. 'Fresh and pure, he announced in a loud voice. 'And better than that: abundant. He stood in front of Edeard, and started clapping, his eyes ranging round the crowd, encouraging. Others joined in. Soon Edeard was at the centre of a storm of applause. His cheeks were burning again, but this time he didn't care. Akeem's arm went round his shoulder, mind aglow with pride. Even Geepalt was acknowledging the success, albeit grudgingly. Of Obron and his cronies there was no sign.

There was the tidying up, of course. Sacs of the oily vegetable mush which the cats digested were filled and positioned beside the well; valves adjusted so they dripped a steady supply down slender tubes. Edeard connected the far end of each tube to the mouth of a cat, instructing them to suckle slowly. Wedard and his apprentices fastened the hose to the side of the well. The ground was cleared. Finally, the huge stone capping slab was moved over the shaft, sealing the cats into their agreeable new milieu. By that time apprentices and household ge-monkeys were already queuing at the trough with large pitchers.

'You have a rare talent, my boy, Melzar said as he watched the water lapping close to the top of the trough 'I see we're going to have to dig a drain to cope with the overspill. Then no doubt the Council will soon be demanding that mad pipe scheme to supply the houses. Quite a revolution, you've started. Akeem, I'd be honoured if you and your apprentice would join us for our evening meal'

'I will be happy to liberate some of the wine you hold prisoner, Akeem said. 'I've heard there are whole dungeons full under your Guild hall.

'Ha! Melzar turned to Edeard. 'Do you like wine, my boy?

Edeard realized that the question was actually genuine, for once he wasn't simply being humoured. 'I'm not sure, sir.

'Best find out, then.

The crowd had departed, creating a rare atmosphere of satisfaction pervading the village. It was a good way to start the new spring season, ran the feeling, a good omen that times were getting better. Edeard stayed close to the trough as the apprentices filled their pitchers. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but they seemed to be treating him with a tad more approbation than before. Several even congratulated him.

'Haunting the site of your victory?

It was Salrana. He grinned at her. 'Actually, just making sure the cats don't keel over from exhaustion, or the hoses don't tear free. Stuff like that. There's a lot that can go wrong yet.

'Poor, Edeard, always the pessimist.

'Not today. Today was…

'Glorious.

He eyed the low clouds that were blocking the sun from view. 'Helpful. For me and the village.

'I'm really pleased for you, she exclaimed. 'It takes so much courage to stand up for your own convictions, especially in a place like this. Melzar was right; this is a revolution.

'You were eavesdropping! What would the Lady say?

'She would say, Well done, young man. This will make everyone's life a little better. Ashwell has one less thing less to worry about, now. The people need that. Life is so hard, here. From small foundations of hope, empires can be built.

'That has to be a quote, he teased.

'If you attended church, you'd know.

'I'm sorry. I don't get much time.

'The Lady knows and understands.

'You're such a good person, Salrana. One day you'll be the Pythia.

'And you'll be Mayor of Makkathran. What a grand time we'll have together, making all of Querencia a happy place.

'No more bandits. No more drudgery — especially not for apprentices.

'Or novices.

'They'll talk about our reign until the Skylords return to carry us all into the heart.

'Oh look, she squealed and pointed excitedly at the trough. 'It's overflowing! You've given us too much water, Edeard.

He watched as the water began to spill over the lip of the trough. Within seconds it had become a small stream frothing across the mud towards their feet. They both ran aside, laughing.