56. Defenders of the First Age
The note that Laria handed me had been written on a piece of parchment in Forden’s neat, spiky handwriting, and delivered to the Farrow Ridges by ratbird, the parchment folded and rolled and inserted into a small ironwood capsule attached to its leg.It had arrived at the hive-house while I was at the council meeting.
Dear Hedgethorn - Forgive me, old friend, for only now sending word, but our expedition has not been without its dangers and setbacks, of which I will not trouble you now. Suffice it to say, we are alive and about to embark on the most perilous part of the enterprise. Sky willing, we shall return with precious stormphrax, that our beloved Farrow Lake might prosper. Your friend, Forden Drew
‘What do you think could have happened?’ said Laria, her eyes wide with concern.
I shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
I wrote a short reply, telling Forden that I was relieved to hear he was well, and wishing him a safe and speedy return. Then I inserted it into the little capsule and sent the ratbird off to return to the Wind Zephyr. There was nothing more I could do.
The following morning, I was awakened by a strange sound - a whirring and clacking - which I tracked down to the covered shack at the side of the hive-house. There, her body swathed in steam, I saw Laria standing at the phrax-powered loom I’d constructed, her hands a blur as she cranked the warp and weft back and forth, as the shuttle-bobbin hurtled from left to right, and back again. She looked round.
‘Oh, Hedgethorn,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t wait any longer.’ She beamed happily. ‘It works perfectly. You’re a genius, Hedgethorn.’
Perhaps that was overstating the fact, yet I don’t mind admitting I was mighty proud of the loom. I’d built it from scratch, cutting each tiny rod, spool and spindle by hand and attaching them to the main frames, then connecting it all to an engine that was powered by a tiny crystal of phrax I’d removed from my rusting phraxmusket.
‘Phraxweapons into looms,’ I said. ‘It’s the future for the Farrow Ridges, Laria, now that the war is behind us.’
Gradually, as I watched, Laria produced a broad length of material. Finally she turned off the engine and stood back.
‘Our first bolt of fustian weave,’ she announced delightedly.
‘The first of many,’ I said. ‘When Forden returns with more phraxcrystals, we’ll be able to build a stilthouse - several stilthouses - great factories that will produce all the cloth we need, and more. Why, the fettle-leggers who have settled on the southern shores of the Farrow Lake will be able to work the looms we’ll construct. Just think of the prosperity we’ll generate, Laria - and all Farrow Lakers will share in the profits!’
‘We shall become renowned for the high quality of our fine materials,’ said Laria. ‘The Farrow Ridges will become the envy of all the Edge.’
‘We should celebrate,’ I said. ‘I propose that you, me and baby Vitus go for a picnic. It won’t take me long to get a hamper ready…’
So it was that by midday the three of us were sitting in a beautiful, secluded spot on the far side of the Five Falls. Laria had laid a blanket out on the ground, I’d uncorked a bottle of sapwine, and the three of us were tucking into a spread of blackbread, curds, hammelwurst and snowbird drumsticks. We toasted Laria’s new venture, and raised our goblets.
After our lunch, Vitus splashed in the shallows of the lake with Laria. I lay back and watched a group of young rabfox cubs playing in the long grass, their long beards and bushy tails glinting in the sunlight, while high above my head a tasselled featherhawk circled in the sky, its curious pahaa-wit cry echoing across the still waters. The sun had turned to a golden orange when Laria suggested we head back.
As we approached the hive-house, Plume, my pet cantationary bird, came flapping towards me, crest raised and squawking at the top of its voice. I knew at once that something was wrong. It landed on my outstretched arm and threw back its head.
‘Death to the engineers!’ it cried out. ‘Death to the engineers!’
‘What does that mean?’ said Laria, but before I could reply, she had thrust Vitus into my arms and was dashing up to the hive-house.
A moment later, I heard a distraught cry and hurried after her. I found her standing before the loom - or rather, what was left of it, for it had been utterly smashed, reduced to a smoking pile of splinters and misshapen metal. Above it, daubed on the wall in glistening black paint, were five words.
DEFENDERS OF THE FIRST AGE
‘Oh, Hedgethorn,’ Laria sobbed. ‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’
‘There are those who are against progress and all that our little enterprise represents,’ I told her. ‘Dark forces are at work here.’
Plume flapped its wings and landed on my shoulder. ‘Death to the engineers!’ it squawked. ‘Death to the engineers!…’