hatmaker for the king's wives. And up at the highest level, hidden away at the back but conveniently placed for the evening offerings, there was a prison house. Here hundreds of prisoners were held in stone-lined pits known as tanks. Murderers, petty thieves, and homeless spikers were huddled together indiscriminately, beneath the heavy iron grids, waiting their turns to be sedated and led out to the high temple rock, where each paid for his crime or folly or plain bad luck by being sent tumbling to his death before the indifferent gaze of the people of Radiance.
When Soren Similin left the royal terrace that evening, it was to the tanks that he directed his steps. Beyond the tanks was a bleak stone-walled yard, built as an exercise yard for the prisoners. These lost creatures in their last weeks of life had neither the need nor the desire for exercise; so very little difficulty was made when the king's secretary had asked to be given the use of the yard. This was five months ago. Since then, carpenters and glaziers and metalworkers had transformed the yard into a glass-roofed laboratory, and a team of scientists had built within it a remarkable device, all in complete secrecy.
The only access to the laboratory was through the long room that contained the tanks. This alone made the secret project secure and beyond the reach of idle curiosity. The guards on duty by the tanks knew better than to question the secretary and his team as they came and went. It was the king's business, and in Radiance, the king's word was law.
An iron walkway ran over the top of the grids, raised a few feet above the bars to prevent the prisoners from reaching up at passing ankles. Not that there was any danger. The prisoners had no way of escape and knew they would not be leaving the tanks except to fall to their deaths; so they spent their days in a listless half sleep, all hope lost.
The guards on duty saluted Similin as he hurried by. On the far side of the walkway there was a locked door to which the secretary had a key. Beyond that door was a
second door, which was locked on the inside and had a spy hole in the middle. This door was only ever opened to members of the team.
As Soren Similin entered the laboratory itself, he was accosted by Professor Evor Ortus, a small, bald middle-aged man, whose lined and stubbly face showed that he had allowed himself very little sleep for the past week.
"I've had a new idea!" he cried. "See what you think of this."
The lab was festooned with apparatus. Ranged all round the walls, rack upon rack, were hundreds of short glass tubes, angled to receive the light that streamed by day through the glazed roof From the tubes ran traceries of fine copper pipes that fed into a tall copper cylinder, from which issued jets of steam. This cylinder in turn fed a sequence of ever-smaller glass vessels, the last and smallest of which looked for all the world like a bottle of plain water.
The professor drew Soren Similin past the table to a stand in one corner, where other members of the team were gathered round. There, draped over a clothes hanger, was a strange baggy garment, dripping moisture onto the floor. It was a sleeveless jacket, sewn in sections like a quilt, and each section was sagging under the weight of its contents.
"It came to me in the night," said the professor. "Of course, it's only a demonstration model. The actual jacket would have to be fully waterproof."
Soren Similin studied the dripping garment. He knew at once that it was useless, but he also knew he must tread very carefully. The professor was an outlander like himself, but of far higher status. He had gained great distinction in the academies of Radiance, and was now its most eminent scientist; but he was also a proud man who took offence easily. Professor Ortus believed himself to be not only the leader of the team, but the sole creator of the remarkable device that had taken shape in the former exercise yard. This suited Soren Similin
When Soren Similin left the royal terrace that evening, it was to the tanks that he directed his steps. Beyond the tanks was a bleak stone-walled yard, built as an exercise yard for the prisoners. These lost creatures in their last weeks of life had neither the need nor the desire for exercise; so very little difficulty was made when the king's secretary had asked to be given the use of the yard. This was five months ago. Since then, carpenters and glaziers and metalworkers had transformed the yard into a glass-roofed laboratory, and a team of scientists had built within it a remarkable device, all in complete secrecy.
The only access to the laboratory was through the long room that contained the tanks. This alone made the secret project secure and beyond the reach of idle curiosity. The guards on duty by the tanks knew better than to question the secretary and his team as they came and went. It was the king's business, and in Radiance, the king's word was law.
An iron walkway ran over the top of the grids, raised a few feet above the bars to prevent the prisoners from reaching up at passing ankles. Not that there was any danger. The prisoners had no way of escape and knew they would not be leaving the tanks except to fall to their deaths; so they spent their days in a listless half sleep, all hope lost.
The guards on duty saluted Similin as he hurried by. On the far side of the walkway there was a locked door to which the secretary had a key. Beyond that door was a
second door, which was locked on the inside and had a spy hole in the middle. This door was only ever opened to members of the team.
As Soren Similin entered the laboratory itself, he was accosted by Professor Evor Ortus, a small, bald middle-aged man, whose lined and stubbly face showed that he had allowed himself very little sleep for the past week.
"I've had a new idea!" he cried. "See what you think of this."
The lab was festooned with apparatus. Ranged all round the walls, rack upon rack, were hundreds of short glass tubes, angled to receive the light that streamed by day through the glazed roof From the tubes ran traceries of fine copper pipes that fed into a tall copper cylinder, from which issued jets of steam. This cylinder in turn fed a sequence of ever-smaller glass vessels, the last and smallest of which looked for all the world like a bottle of plain water.
The professor drew Soren Similin past the table to a stand in one corner, where other members of the team were gathered round. There, draped over a clothes hanger, was a strange baggy garment, dripping moisture onto the floor. It was a sleeveless jacket, sewn in sections like a quilt, and each section was sagging under the weight of its contents.
"It came to me in the night," said the professor. "Of course, it's only a demonstration model. The actual jacket would have to be fully waterproof."
Soren Similin studied the dripping garment. He knew at once that it was useless, but he also knew he must tread very carefully. The professor was an outlander like himself, but of far higher status. He had gained great distinction in the academies of Radiance, and was now its most eminent scientist; but he was also a proud man who took offence easily. Professor Ortus believed himself to be not only the leader of the team, but the sole creator of the remarkable device that had taken shape in the former exercise yard. This suited Soren Similin
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