have to conduct most of their training without a thapter to work on, as it was about to leave on Flydd’s embassy to the east coast. Nish had the construct mechanism recovered from Snizort some months ago, but for the rest he had to make do with wooden models and drawings, which he knew were not good enough.
But his most challenging job was finding and training pilots to fly thapters from Snizort to Fiz Gorgo. If his other tasks were difficult, this one looked impossible. Few people had the talent to draw power with a controller, and most became air-floater pilots or clanker operators. Once trained for a particular machine it was difficult for an operator to adapt to another; the emotional bond usually got in the way.
Nish discovered that two air-dreadnought reserve pilots had survived the collapse of the amphitheatre. Unfortunately one had gone insane when her craft had exploded. The other, distraught at being separated from her machine, had stepped off the outer wall of Fiz Gorgo while he’d been away on the trip to Nennifer. After much searching, Nish despaired of finding a single pilot.
‘It’s hopeless,’ he said to Flydd after days of frustration and failure. ‘We’ll never be ready for spring, surr. I’m letting everyone down.’
‘Just take it one step at a time, Nish. Don’t think about winning the war, or even being ready for the spring offensive. Just concentrate on getting the next task done. And then the one after that.’
The following day there was a knock at the door of his shed. Nish fed the last of his wood chips into the brazier, held his blue fingers over it for a moment and went to see who was there.
It was Yggur’s newly appointed seneschal, Berty, a small, round, bustling man, not much short of eighty, with wings of frothy white hair on either side of a pink, bald skull. He was accompanied by a pair of downcast, bedraggled and red-eyed men, one big, pockmarked and hairy, the other small and completely bald.
‘Cook found them in an inn at Old Hripton,’ piped Berty. ‘They lost their machines in the battle at Snizort, then became separated from the army. They were pressed into service as sailors, deserted and worked their way from port to port around Meldorin. Gorm and Zyphus are their names.’ He nodded and hurried out.
‘Operators,’ Nish said hungrily, ignoring his misgivings. Since they’d lost their machines so long ago, retraining might be possible. ‘Let’s see what we can do for each other.’
When he took them to see the controllers Irisis’s team were working on, Gorm and Zyphus broke down and wept, and Nish had to leave them for an hour. When he returned, the hairy operator, Gorm, the ugliest, roughest fellow Nish had set eyes on in a long time, threw his arms around Nish and kissed him on the cheek.
‘You might change your tune when you see what you’ll be operating,’ Nish said. He led them to the side yard where the thapter stood, ready to depart.
The operators’ eyes stuck out like toadstools. ‘Not sure I could operate one of them alien craft,’ said Gorm. The small bald man, Zyphus, looked equally askance. ‘Used to clankers, we are.’
Nish cursed under his breath. Operators couldn’t be forced. They had to be cajoled, and if there was no bond with the machine they would not be successful. ‘We don’t have any clankers. What about piloting an air-floater?’ He needed three more air-floater pilots, plus reserves.
‘Don’t know,’ said Gorm, rasping at the wiry bristles on his chin.
‘It’s an air-floater or nothing,’ said Nish.
‘Used to watch them soaring above us at Snizort,’ said Zyphus. His skin broke out in goosepimples. ‘Always fancied one of those. Come on, Gorm, you’ll love it.’
‘Expect I won’t,’ said Gorm, ‘but it’ll be better than nothing.’
That was Nish’s feeling too, so he took them on and Irisis began to tailor two of the Nennifer controllers to them. That afternoon, Nish was sitting head in hands at his bench, despairing of ever finding anyone to become thapter operators, when there came a tentative knock at the shed door.
‘Enter,’ he said. Again the knock. ‘Come in,’ he roared, and a small, sweetly pretty girl who looked about thirteen put her head and shoulder through the crack.
Her straw-coloured hair was done in dozens of small plaits, her cheeks were red from the wind and her frosty grey eyes had a liquid shine. Unusual eyes around here; where had he seen their like before?