Chapter 72 - Trinkets

The next day I was awoken by frantic squawking and another hail of notifications. I brushed them aside and raced out to see that Ifrit had taken over one of the cranes and pulleys and were working the mechanisms. Others had settled into the gearing for the drop hammers, and yet another was roasting in the test balloon over the scat pile. Others were spinning augers, pottery wheels, or stoking forge bellows. The whole village looked to be possessed by pale blue sprites.

I relaxed. Armstrong ran up, rifle at the ready, fur matted from where he’d been sleeping. Becoming my body-guard had given him the benefit of being able to sleep and wake when I did, instead of being beholden to the typical hobgoblin hours. I waved him down. “It’s alright, Armstrong.”

Some of the tribe didn’t think so, but mostly they were amazed at tools suddenly moving by themselves. Most of them hadn’t been onboard the heavy glider when Taquoho took over controls from Eileen. I had to imagine she was sitting smug watching other goblins have their devices coopted.

The small spider bot I recognized as belonging to Taquoho scurried up. “I apologize for this,” he said. “My kin can be quite incorrigible.”

“It’s alright. I was hoping this would happen,” I said, laughing. “I wanted your Ifrit to integrate into the tribe, feel at home, and learn how to work with my tribe to get the most out of our engineering.” I watched a pair of goblins getting pulled along by the paper-pulper jig lines.

Taquoho worried the ground with his front two legs. “I suppose with your leave, it’s alright,” he said. Then he flared a moment, which I had to assume was the Ifrit version of clearing his throat. “We have unpacked much of the trade brought for you.”

“Lead the way!” I said.

Armstrong whistled for a few more bodyguards as we trotted to the Ifrit/human quarter of the bluff. Buzz had erected a few buildings that looked more accommodating to the human proportions, though it seemed like the paladins weren’t quite ready to trust my chief builder’s efforts just yet. They’d erected their own tent pavilions and cooking stations. It also seemed that not all my goblins held onto their innate fear of humans, because at least two cuddle puddles had made their way into the tents, settling onto the sleeping humans for warmth. The paladins seemed at a loss for how to deal with them.

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A few Ifrit were present, as well. Some of them had abandoned their vessels for the light wraps Taquoho had used last time—the equivalent of using a pair of camp sandals after a long hike in boots, I suppose. I spotted at least one human thumbing through what looked like a blue-tinted paper brochure with hand-drawn art along side a pair of Ifrit in their light gauze getups and narrowed my eyes. Friggen canoneers.

The strange walking wagons had been unloaded. I spotted stacks of brass piping, crates of threaded bolts and associated tools (clearly meant to fit on Ifrit vessel connections), two brass casks, three barrels of coal, rods of copper, brass, and zinc, various rings and gears, their own versions of bearings. I also spotted spools of copper wiring, springs, more lodestones, and a variety of powder compounds I couldn’t identify at a glance. And some stacked canvas—which I realized had been the canvas covering the supplies on the wagons. Ironically, the simple canvas covers used to weatherproof and secure the cargo were perhaps the most important thing the Ifrit had brought.

I went and lifted the canvas, testing the weight and thickness. It was light and had a little bit of give, perfect for our needs. Then I moved on and took a look at the metal fixtures. There were a variety of arms, ball joints, sockets, connectors, hinges, flanges, brackets, and a lot of what would amount to cast-off in most workshops but was a goldmine here. Plenty of pipe-sections and joints filled one barrel, and I was sure I’d be able to find a use for them.

“Our friend Rufus is acquiring more sailcloth and other items from the coast for you, but I hope this offering demonstrates our good faith and interest in incorporating ceramics into our culture.”

It was the richest treasure trove I’d seen since coming to Rava. All the scraping and scrapping we’d had to do for a little metal, some sulfur, and some magnets and these guys had dumped a crate of it into my lap. I could have jumped for joy. I could have wept. And yet… something about their phrasing bothered me. Incorporating ceramics into our culture. Nothing about friendship, or alliance, or a relationship to tribe Apollo. Despite their presence here, they weren’t here for a goblin king or his enterprising tribe. They were here to further their own material sciences.

“Taquoho, you honor me,” I said.

The Ifrit vessel bowed. “The honor is mine, King Apollo.”

I whistled for the goblins in the human tents, and they came to wakefulness like a slow tide, if the water were furry and groaned and scratched its butt.

“Let’s go! We’ve got goods to distribute.” I pointed at the piles. My goblins’ ears perked up when they realized it was their king giving instructions. “Canvas to Javier, metals to Promo. Nuts, bolts, cogs, and springs to Sally. Nails and piping to Buzz. Let’s go, go, go!”

The goblins gained their energy back and swooped in on the goods like a pack of ravenous vultures. I’m surprised half the goods didn’t get destroyed before they made it out of eyesight. I watched them go.

“Quite industrious creatures. I never imagined…” said Taquoho.

“Well, they take after their king, I suppose.” I turned and faced the Ifrit. “The seals on the engine won’t be strong enough today so I’ve got some free time for an old idea I toyed around with for a design contest once. Why don’t you come find me after the eclipse. Until then, your people can get with Sally or Promo with designs for any ceramic parts you want.”

“As you say, King Apollo,” said Taquoho, bowing. He waved a foreleg goodbye

I trotted off, trying not to let my shock and glee show. The treasure he’d just dropped at my feet, all for a few chooms of crude industrial ceramics. And for the first time in what felt like weeks, the Sword of Damocles that was the javeline wasn’t hovering inches above the back of my neck. Though how long had I been here? The moon on Rava was tidally locked, so I had no way of knowing whether a month had passed without counting individual days, and the thought hadn’t even occurred to me while flitting from one crisis to another. Did Rava even observe a custom of discrete months? Never mind that.

Today, I had time to tinker. I looked up at the skyline of the village and the self-moving artifice that scraped the rooftops. I knew why the Ifrit had chosen the cranes, the drop hammers, and the balloons. Their squat walkers were stuck close to the earth. They wanted a better view.

Well, I had the means to give them one they’d never want to give up.