Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(58)

"You'll warm up a lot before long," added Berlis.

The silver-haired Siret flushed.

Nylan felt sorry for the pregnant marine and added, "I'm working on the furnace... as soon as we have more bricks." Gingerly, he used his fingers to take several strips of the fried rodent, and two slices of bread. There was no cheese, but there was a grass basket filled with green berries. He tried one, and his mouth puckered.

"Those green berries are real tart, ser," said Berlis, glancing at Siret.

Siret flushed, but said quietly, "It might have been better if that arrow had been centered between both thighs. It would have fit right there."

"Enough," said Ryba, but Siret was already walking past the end of the table with no intention of returning. The marshal turned her eyes to Berlis. "Comments like that could get you killed."

"Yes, ser." Berlis's voice was dull, resigned.

Nylan ate more of the green berries and the fried rodent strips without comment. The bread was good, and he finished both slices down to the crumbs.

"What are you planning today?" Ryba asked.

"I'll try to squeeze in two more blades before I go back to the bathhouse. What about you?"

"Trying to put up a more permanent fence for the sheep. They got into the beans last night."

"I'd rather have mutton anyway," came a low voice from down the table.

"I would, too," admitted Ryba, "but we need both."

Those left at the table laughed, and Ryba took some more rodent strips..So did Nylan. Before he had finished eating, Ryba stood and touched his arm. "I'll see you later."

His mouth full, Nylan nodded.

After he gulped down the rest of his breakfast, he walked out the causeway and down to the "washing area" of the stream. In the shade of the low scrub by the water were a few small ice fragments, which reminded the engineer that the bathhouse would soon become a necessity, not a luxury. He took a deep breath, and then an even deeper one when he splashed the icy water across his face. The sand helped get the grease off his hands, but he wished they had soap, real soap.

"Along with everything else." Nylan snorted and mumbled to himself. He tried to ignore the basic question that the soap raised. How could he or Ryba turn Westwind into an economically functioning community?

Because the south yard had become the meeting place, training yard, and thoroughfare, Nylan carted the laser equipment out to the cleared space beside the bathhouse structure on the north side of the tower.

After he checked the power levels and connected the cables, Nylan looked from the laser powerhead to the endurasteel braces, then at the half-finished north wall of the bathhouse. Huldran was mixing mortar, while Cessya and Weblya were carrying building stones.

He lowered the goggles, pulled on the gauntlets, and flicked the power switches. Huldran had finished mixing the mortar and had begun to set the higher stones in the north wall by the time Nylan had finished the rough shaping of the blade.

He cut off the power, pushed back the goggles, and sat down on the low sills of the unfinished east wall of the bathhouse. Working with the laser was as exhausting as lugging stones. While his mind understood that, it still felt strange. Then again, the whole planet was strange.

After he felt less drained, he stood and walked around the bathhouse and uphill to the spring where he filled the plastic cup that would probably wear out even before he did. He sipped the water, too cold to drink in large swallows, until he had emptied the cup. Then he refilled it and walked back down and checked the firm cells.

"How many more blades will you do, ser?" asked Huldran.

"I don't know. There are enough braces for another dozen, but whether the laser will last that long is another question."

"Do we have enough stone?"

"Probably not. This afternoon, I'll cut some more. We may have to finish this with bricks. I asked Rienadre to create some molds for bigger ones, closer to the size of the stones."

"That's good, but I'd rather have stone."

"So would I, but we're lucky we've gotten this far."

"I'd not call it luck, ser." Huldran flashed a brief smile.

"Perhaps not," said Nylan, thinking of the nine individual cairns overlooking the cliff. He lowered the goggles and triggered the power, beginning the final shaping of the blade.

When he looked up after slipping the blade into the quench trough, Huldran had finished the north wall and was beginning on the east wall. He removed the blade and set it on the wall to finish cooling.

Clang! Clang!

"Bandits!"

A half-dozen horses clattered over the ridge and down toward the tower. The riders had their blades out as they headed for the tower. Behind them, Nylan could see two marines following on foot.

Crack! Crack! The two shots from one of the rifles-presumably from the lookout at the tower's northern window on the upper level-resulted in one horseman dropping a blade and clutching his arm. He swung his mount around and back uphill, but the others galloped toward the tower, directly at Nylan.

The engineer groped for the blade that wasn't at his side. Then, with a deep breath, he flicked the power switches on the firin cells back on, and dropped the goggles over his eyes.

"It ought to work . .." he muttered. As the power came up, he forced himself to concentrate, trying to extend the beam focal point through what he thought of as the local net, creating a needle-edged lightknife.