H Beam Piper & Michael Kurland, page 6
The first railroad was the Red Lake To Sulfur River; it was seven hundred and twenty kilometers in length, single-track. Its rolling stock consisted of two wood-burning locomotives and about forty cars. There was a daily train in each direction; cannon were fired as they passed signal-points, to warn the oncoming train to back to the nearest switch-out.
There had been no system of historical reckoning on Hetaira until then, and no need for any; but the gang that built the Red Lake To Sulfur River realized that now some method of accounting for the passage of time, both sleeping-period to sleeping-period and season to season, would be needed. And so, with proper pomp and ceremony, when the first train left the steamboat landing at Nardavo's Town for the headwaters of the river, they proclaimed the Year One of the Railroad. [As nearly as can be determined, this corresponded with the year 2264 of the vanished Tullonian Empire, or the year 1522 of The Books of Tisse.]
Standing at the foot of the gangplank with the other passengers who had disembarked at Nardavo's Town, Dwallo Dammando looked around the wharf curiously, examining the piles of cargo waiting to be loaded for the return trip across Red Lake. Bagged grain, and kegs of spirits; bales of furs from the mountains; barrels of refined sulfur; bales of cloth; bar iron and steel; crates of straw-packed glassware. No wonder the wagon-train gangs were cursing the Bollardo Gang and their railroad. The luggage-wagon, drawn by a pair oftoulths , came down the ramp; along with the fifty-odd other passengers, he fell in behind it. The driver was one of the Brancanno Gang, who ran the steamboat, but he couldn't be expected to know the ownership or look after the safety of every box and bag and bed-roll on the wagon. It was a good idea to keep a close watch on your own belongings.
I'm going to the market first, the driver told them. Wagons there for Sweetwater, across the isthmus, and up Crooked River. If you're taking the railroad, leave your things on the wagon; I'll take them to the platform next. Train leaves in about an hour.
The market was an open square, surrounded by buildings of stone and brick and plank. A few were old, most of theni were new, and several were still being built. There were warehouses, and a tavern, and trading markets with open fronts and plank marquees which could be lowered on chains during the rains. Fifteen or twenty big transport wagons, with double-rows of passenger-seats atop their cargo bays, stood in the middle; some seemed to have arrived only recently, for their freight was piled beside them, and the traders were dickering over it. One wagon had attracted a number of dickerers; its load consisted of square wooden boxes, all painted with the glyph of the Sambro Gang, and lettered, in phonetic alphabet, Rifle Number 2, Rifle Number 3, Revolving-chambered Handgun Number 3.
No, we won't take grain, one of the wagon gang was saying, as Dwallo came within hearing. By the time we got to Sweetwater, thetoulths would have the whole load eaten. Besides, one case of cartridges is worth a whole bin-load of grain.
Well, will you take an order on the Yavanno Gang for twenty loads of grain for twenty cases of cartridges? one of the local merchants asked. You can trade that for anything you want, either here at Nardavo's, or at Sweetwater.
Three barrels of brandy for two cases of Rifle Number Three! another merchant shouted. The baggage-wagon rolled past and stopped. Men and women from different transport gangs detached themselves from their wagons and ran over, shouting:
Raldarro Gang for Sweetwater!
Luilloro Gang, up Crooked River; what'll you trade for a ride?
For Sweetwater, Kalvanno Gang. Padded seats and good springs on the wagon! Leaving in an hour! The steamboat passengers who were taking wagons began to pull their bags and bedrolls out of the pile on the wagon. Dwallo, watching the rectangular leather-covered case and the bed-roll with his name painted on them, did not notice the shabby little fellow in thesorth-skin trunks and tattered canvas vest dart away. Suddenly, from the other side of the wagon, a voice shouted:
Drop that bag, you thievingrogel , or I'll drop you with it! As the fellow broke into a run, Dwallo noticed him, and saw that his third piece of luggage, the shoulder-bag that contained his trading items, was in the thief's hand. He grabbed for the heavy revolver at his hip, but before he could draw it, a rifle cracked, and the thief leaped into the air and fell dead. As he went around the tail of the wagon, another man appeared from the far side, a heavy rifle smoking in his hands. They both reached the body at the same time.
A good shot, my friend, Dwallo said. My thanks. He stooped and retrieved the bag. I should have kept hold of this in the first place.
The stranger, a man in whitehoomi -leather trousers and vest, worked the lever on his rifle, picked up the empty cartridge and pocketed it, and smiled. For nothing, your thanks. You would have shot anyone you saw stealing my belongings. Anybody would. See a thief and fail to shoot him, and you only encourage the breed.
Nevertheless, my thanks for it, Dwallo said. And my hand. Dwallo Dammando, he introduced himself.
Koshtro Evarro, the other said. You're going on the railroad? So am I. They fell into step, following the wagon to the railroad platform. An old man who walked with a limp, and a slender, rather tall girl came over while the luggage was being unloaded. Both wore canvas coveralls to keep their fur clean, and carried revolvers on their hips.
It's all right to leave your stuff here, the limping man said. The Bollardo Gang's responsible for it until you leave the train.
The girl took their destinations and chalked them on the luggage, then she led the passengers over to a table and sat down.
Four primetoulth-hides for the trip to Nandrovvo's for the two of us? a man asked. When the girl agreed, he showed her a warehouse receipt, and wrote out an order on a local brokerage and storage gang. Another passenger produced a jug of brandy; the girl uncorked it, smelled it, and accepted it for passage. Dwallo pulled a book out of his shoulder-bag and handed it to her.
How about this, for a trip to Vallado's Village? he asked.
Oh, that's too much, she protested, we're not robbers! Then she looked at the title-page. I thought I recognized your name when I saw it on your things. You can ride with us for nothing; we're all proud of the book your gang printed about our railroad.
No, take the book, Dwallo insisted. I don't think you have it; we just printed it. She looked at it again. The New Steam Engine Which Re-condenses Water More Efficiently, Designed by Johas Mandorgo at Needle Rock Rendezvous, as Described by the Designer, she read. No, I've never heard of it. Thank you, Dwallo.
And here; here's a list of the new books our gang has printed this past season, Dwallo added. Take it and show it to your gang. Maybe you'll want to order some of them.
I'm sure we would. How long are you staying at
Vallado? We'll have a list of what we want ready for you when you pass through here again. With his new-found friend Koshtro, Dwallo examined the train which was waiting at the platform. Although he had made the cuts of the drawings to illustrate the book his gang had published, Dwallo had never seen the actual locomotive and cars before. The locomotive was like a miniature steamboat engine, with a brick furnace and a sheet-iron boiler, mounted on a wheeled platform of iron-plated timbers, with the stack and the two cylinders in front. Behind it was the fuel wagon, which could hold either wood or coal, and the freight wagons, and the two passenger wagons at the rear. The wheels had wide flanged iron tires; the track was built of squared timbers, faced with angle-iron on the inside. While Dwallo was examining the train, the little cannon on the platform boomed. He and Koshto hastened to get seats in one of the passenger wagons.
I'm from the Sky Lake country, Koshto told him. I have the book your gang printed about the railroad. My gang and a couple of other farming gangs are teaming together to build a railroad of our own. We have a wonderful country for grain, but we've no place to trade it close enough for the wagon-trains. We make a little whiskey, but we can only trade so much of that; they raise sugar-roots on one side of us, and make rum, and they make fruit-brandy on the other side of us. So we decided to build a railroad, and I was sent up here to study this one.
I've been here at Nardavo's three days, he continued. I don't like this town. That fellow who tried to steal your bag was the fifth thief I've seen shot in these three days. The first one I've shot myself, but stillI've also seen maybe a dozen brawls, three or four of them serious enough to kill a person or two. There are too many gangs in this town, and none of them willing to see to it that things are kept peaceful. I'm going to recommend that the gangs in our railroad, when we get it built, see to keeping order in our railhead town. Any other gangs who want to come in can do so like trading-gangs in a craftsmen's village, on the understanding that they're guests, and have to behave themselves. The locomotive made a series of whooshing sounds, and then the train gave a couple of jerks, a jolt or two, and started creeping forward. I noticed that there was a big crowd in town, seemed to be just standing around fingering their rifles and waiting for something to happen, Dwallo said as the train picked up speed.
Oh, that. That's on account of the Thurkkas, Koshtro told him. You've heard about that? Dwallo shook his head. Savages from over on the other side of the Rim Country, Koshtro went on to enlighten him. There's been bad times over there-drought, cattle-plagues, gang-wars-and thousands of those people have migrated. They went through the Rim Country and onto the plains on this side. The ranching gangs wouldn't let them settle there; pushed them on, and they've come on into the Central Mountain country. About a thousand of them came down Crooked River; the gangs upstream didn't try to stop them, so they're camped below the lowest village on Crooked
River, and starting to move into the isthmus. The gangs up Sulfur River are determined not to let them through; all the gangs have sent people to ride patrol and stop them. Koshtro was riding to the end of the line, to get a look at the Bollardo Gang's repair shops. Dwallo bid him goodbye at Vallado's Village and got off. The Vallado Gang lived in a number of big barn-like houses against the side of the mountain; their furnaces and forge and rolling-mill were a kilometer up the river; there was a trestle-bridge carrying a track to and from the ore-pits. The furnace-stacks were blazing, and a couple of heavy drop-hammers boomed intermittently. A half-grown youngster helped him up the path to the houses with his box and bedroll.
A girl met him on the wide veranda as he climbed the front steps. He introduced himself and asked if Kursallo Vallado were about.
He's up at the works, she said. He'll be coming down in a few hours. I'm Sharra; Kursallo's mother and mine are sisters. He's told us about you, from the time you were at Mirror Lake Rendezvous with him. And we have a lot of books your gang printed.
She and the youngster helped him in with his things. She showed him the room where he could sleep, and the bath, where fifteen or twenty of the gang, who had just come from the furnaces, were washing the soot out of each other's fur with a fresh-smelling soap. He ate with this group, and later Sharra and several others showed him around the living quarters and the works, and the mines across the river.
My gang needs a new printing-machine, Dwallo told his friend Kursallo, as they and a dozen others sat on the west veranda, out of the glare of the sun. We decided to contract your gang to make it because we like your work on heavy machinery, and because we could get it quicker and safer from you over the railroad. This will be a big machine; it's to be run by steam instead of by hand.
I never heard of a printing-machine run by steam, one of the older Vallados said. Something that's just been invented?
Yes, we invented it ourselves. You see, the paper-making gang we trade with has invented a way of making paper in long rolls instead of sheets. They can make, in one strip, enough paper to reach from here to the railroad station, Dwallo said.
There were exclamations of surprise, but not of incredulity. If Dwallo had said that somebody could make a strip of paper long enough to reach to Shining Sister, it would have been accepted. People simply did not make statements that were contrary to fact.
One of the younger men nodded thoughtfully. So, if you have a long strip of paper, on a roll, you'd run it between two rollers with the type on them. How wide is this roll of paper?
About two arms-widths, Dwallo said, holding his arms wide apart. The young man nodded again. Yes, he said. For that you'd need steam-power. It would take the strength of fiftytoulths , at least. What sort of steam-engine are you going to use? We have a nice design that might be appropriate. Do you want us to build one for you?
No. We have a used engine from a steamboat that wrecked itself below Klamdammo's Landing. The Kwissato Gang salvaged it for us. Very clever job, too. We're doing a book about their methods. But we will need the printing machine built entirely. He picked up a leather tube he had brought out onto the veranda with him; pulling off the cap, he withdrew a roll of thin paper. Here are the plans for it. They were passed from hand to hand, among much murmuring and continuous appreciative exclamations.
This is good designing, Dwallo, Kursallo approved. With a machine like this, you could print more books in one waking-period than you could make by hand in a sun-trip!
We anticipate a problem in keeping up with the job of binding all the books we expect to print with this new machine, Dwallo said. But that's the sort of problem we like.
There's only one thing, Dwallo, one of the older women said. I don't know whether we can make this printing machine or not. Not that we lack the skill-I'll take a bath in the blood of whoever claims that! But we lack the time and the hands. It's getting harder every year to work the ore pits, and if we put enough of our people to mining, we don't have enough to work the furnaces. And about a third of our gang are carrying rifles on the isthmus, riding patrol against the Thurkkas.
And then the Bollardos are going to build another line, from Red Lake to Sweetwater, another said.
They're going to need facing for seventy-five thousand lances of track, and two new engines, and a lot of wagons. They want to do that in three years, too-
Dwallo took back his plans and spread them out in front of him. I'm sorry to hear all of this, he said.
We've really planned on having this new printing-machine, and I would be happier with your gang doing it. Now let me see; we can use timber for some of this, and we have a few of our own good blacksmiths who can forge most of the smaller parts. I'll go over these plans again and cut the work for you down to what we just cannot do ourselves. Incidentally, I have some new books in that leather box. Why don't you look through it while I make some preliminary notes.
As soon as the box was opened, Kursallo snatched a copy of the steam-engine book, leafing through it very rapidly. I want one of these,-Dwallo! he exclaimed.
Oh, here's something I want! Sharra cried, taking another book. I never imagined there was such a book!
Dwallo glanced up to look at the cover:A History of the Different Attempts to Scale the Peak of Skystabber , he read. Yes, that was printed only three sun-trips ago. Are you interested in mountain climbing?
In climbing Skystabber, yes. The highest place in the world, right under Shining Sister. She looked up at the pale silver globe in the sky, and then to the distant horizon. You can see Skystabber from here-there, in the notch at the head of the valley. Some day I'm going to climb it. During the next two waking periods, Dwallo made other trips around the Vallado Gang's ore-pits, smelters, and steel-works. The ore-pits, worked continuously for centuries, had gone deep into the mountains; they were becoming progressively harder to mine. The Vallados were working hard, by any standard acceptable to any craftsmen's gang-at least a quarter of the time-sleep periods included. And of the two-hundred-odd members of the gang, at least seventy were out riding patrol on the isthmus against the Thurkka menace.
The second train in from Red Lake after Dwallo's arrival brought news of fighting. The Thurkkas had made a mass drive toward a thinly-guarded stretch of open country on the left of Crooked River. Only the arrival of a large party from Nardavo's Town, with the cannon from the railroad station, had stopped them; and at that one band of several hundred had broken through and were camped on a rocky hill inside the isthmus.
There was a mass-meeting of the Vallados to decide whether they should send reinforcements, and whom they could spare. As he listened to the arguments, an idea suddenly struck Dwallo.
Will you let an outsider offer a word? he asked. Then, instead of trying to wipe these Thurkkas out, why don't you bring a couple of hundred of them here, and put them to work in your ore-pits? Feed them, and let them earn their food by digging ore for you. They were probably hard workers until the drought forced them out of their homes.
You mean take these savages into our gang? somebody shouted in horror.
Certainly not! Let them form a gang of their own to work for you. Trade them for their work under a definite contract. Furnish them tools, and give them so much in trade for every cartload of ore they dig. And you could let them do shovel-work around the furnaces, too. That way your own gang would be free to do the real work at the mill and the forges.
