Chapter 83 - Flame Out

I didn’t want to try attacking the night haunts where they lived without at least 3 more airships and enough guns and flamethrowers to take them on. If the night haunts followed suit with the other creatures in the jungle we’d tangled with, then they had an alpha variant somewhere in that cave. Fighting on top of the bluff where we could swarm them was an entirely different beast than going into their caves after them where they could swarm us, and we’d be limited in numbers and stumbling around in the dark.

Since I didn’t have 3 more airships in my back pocket, I added that to our long, long list of shortfalls that fell in the materials column. The biggest thing limiting our growth and expansion from Village Apollo was just a lack of pretty much everything. And the answer to solving it was, as ever, get more goblins to throw at the problem. But with reproduction feeling the squeeze with the food being tight, more goblins required more calories.

The pulp-slurp (what the hobbies had taken to calling the slightly alcoholic paper pulp mash) helped as a stop-gap, but it ran the problem of putting food in direct competition with paper production and lumber for housing. Pulping the wood itself was time, resource, and labor-intensive as well, so it just wasn’t efficient for it to drain down goblin gullets in the long-term. Not with paper being so useful mechanically. Besides the comic books, lighter gliders, and propellers, Buzz now had all the tools he needed to reverse the principle of the direct-drive propellers to make windmills. And rather than making the bluff start to resemble a Dutch impressionist painting, I had the benefit of 500 years of engineering development principles to take some wild conceptual designs and turn them into space-saving realities.

I spend most of the next morning helping Buzz design a clutch system with the help of Taquoho while the construction team slathered paper sheets over helical windmill frames. Since almost all our iron and engines were ear-marked for aircraft and ground vehicles except for the few that were powering lathes and other rotary tools for Sally, Buzz needed another source of mechanical power for his construction teams. Wind was the obvious answer, as there was no shortage of it at the top of the bluff. There was, however, becoming a shortage of space—and water.

Currently we were bringing up water by hand and bucket, which was incredibly inefficient. But I’d devised a wooden trough aqueduct with a rotating screw—a design dating back to ancient Greece, really, but just as effective as a motor-driven pump at moving water uphill. It would also be good at pulling the oil out of the springs in the swamp, which would ensure we had a steady supply of Kerosene out on the badlands to power our limited motorpool.

“What we need,” I told Buzz, “Are airborne windmills on kites or balloons.”

“Lot of lines to get tangled,” said Buzz. He slid a ceramic gear into place and closed up the gearbox. Working the clutch lever, he was able to marry up the drive gear of a new device with a test spire being manually spun by a handful of goblins. It made a protesting shriek for a moment as the teeth found each other, and then a thunk as it slid into place and the output shaft began to spin.

“This’un is ready,” he said.

“Let’s get the helix mounted.” I raised my voice. “Clear the airspace, please!”

The windmill designs caught the attention of the Ifrit, as well, and not just Taquoho. Those who had managed to make friends with igni hovered nearby on variations of Taquoho’s coaxial copter, while others watched from a distance with their silent human guardians in tow. Only about half their number were currently in proxy bodies, however. The other half had apparently gone somewhat native and were spending most of their time inhabiting various gadgets and devices around the bluff—including one that had taken a buggy for a driverless joy ride.

The more brass we used in our construction, the more likely the Ifrit were to hitch rides. Rather than being a nuisance, it was a boon. Engines carrying Ifrit ran smoother and were less prone to stall. Gearing with an Ifrit was less likely to jam or break, and any moving parts were more resistant to wear or breakage when one of the fire spirits were on board. Gliders flew more accurately and more efficiently. The kilns even heated faster and used less fuel with an Ifrit relaxing in the oven, which I took to understand was something like a sauna for them. Across the board, the presence of the Ifrit had improved the Goblin technology out of little more than curiosity and boredom on their part.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Taquoho set his copter down nearby and watched as the paper-bladed helical wind turbine was fitted to the shaft. I glanced down at him.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Your friends still planning on leaving?”

“I hesitate to name them as such. But yes, Apollo, they are soon leaving.”

“Can’t say I’ll miss ‘em,” I said, hauling back on the clutch so it didn’t spin the output shaft as the helix started to rotate. The former de facto leader of the delegation (whose name I won’t even try to pronounce) had kept his distance since I’d snubbed him in favor of promoting cultural crossover with his contemporaries—an endeavor which had been quite successful. But the recalcitrant faction was preparing to return to the City of Brass with a shipment of ceramic parts. “Stuffy bunch. No offense.”

“I’ll be going with them,” said Taquoho.

I dropped the clutch lever in surprise, eliciting squawks as several goblins were smacked by the ensemble they were trying to assemble.

“What? Why? I thought you liked it here!”

“Simplifying my feelings as ‘like’ is a crude and reductive description for a very complex platter of emotions that strike me, especially when faced with the prospect of departing both the village and your company,” said Taquoho.

“I’ll miss you too, buddy,” I said. The pale flame flickered with surprise. “So, why leave?”

“I am certain Haut Voclai Behen Mira Do will report negatively about his time here, and how little we stand to gain from anything beyond a distant trade agreement. I must present the King of the Ifrit with an alternate perspective to extoll the virtues in continued… friendship. I do not know if I shall be allowed to return.”

I could see that over-stoked Ifrit bad-mouthing(flaming?) us to their King. Beside me, a trickle of water began to fall into the waiting basin as the screw carried it up from a collector halfway down the bluff. We’d need another ensemble to reach from the staging point to the base of the bluff, but even eliminating the need for dedicated vertical transport would free up dozens of labor hours per day spent on goblins simply hauling water up the side of the cliff. Those were goblins Buzz could dedicate to making more windmills that ran things like lumber saws.

Thanks, System.

Now that we were reaching the near-industrial phase of our society, the more tasks we could automate through captured power—be it steam, wind, or combustion, the faster we could expand as the productivity of a single goblin went further. Instead of having 12 goblins hacking at a log, we could have 6 goblins feed it through a wind-powered saw. Instead of 20 working a gravity hammer and mixing sticks at the paper presses, we could have 10… you get the idea.

Taquoho’s pale flame dimmed slightly. “I would have liked to witness your infernal engines traverse the badlands,” he said.

I leaned back and ran a hand under the outflow, bringing the water to my mouth. Establishing wind power was thirsty work. “Maybe you’ll be able to come back. You’re my unofficial ambassador, you know. Whoever was most senior in this delegation doesn’t matter to me.” I looked out over the edge of the cliff. “You crossed the desert and the badlands to get to us. What should I expect out there?”

“Little that would think twice of making a meal of a goblin, I’m afraid. Predators, territorial beasts, great herds, furtive shaman, and even orcs have come deeper into Lanclova than ever before.”

“How did you cross them?”

“The Ifrit know many ways through the land. Some are safer than others. But we have the Paladin. And the orcs fear us as demons and spirits of their slain kin come to haunt them and play tricks. We go where beasts dare not.”

I sighed. “Part of me wishes I could go with you. See the City of Brass.”

“It would be our honor if you were to do so.”

I shook my head. “Can’t leave the tribe. Armstrong would probably lock me in a box if I tried. And he’d be right to do so. If I got separated from the rest of the tribe, it would be easy to—”

“To what?”

“To get lost and not find my way back.”

Taquoho flashed a myriad of colors, the living flame equivalent of a belly laugh. “King Apollo, surely you must know we would provide a guide for your return.”

I’d almost let slip the Head of the Snake skill. Even though I trusted Taquoho, the Ifrit as an organization were still an unknown agent in the grand scheme of things. No one outside the tribe needed to know that all they had to do to eliminate the entire tribe was stab me a couple hundred times. Hell, I didn’t even like that Ringo knew about it. And he had the skill, too!

I straightened and whistled for a goblin runner, sending him with a quick order.

“If I can’t go with you, maybe I can still at least send someone to speak for Tribe Apollo.”

A few minutes later, Luther came waddling up with one of his fellow canoneers in tow.

“Just the noblin I wanted to see,” I said.

“I wish to support my King’s plans,” said Luther. Both noblins made the sign of the moon over their chests.

I reciprocated, which seemed to make them happy. “Taquoho is leaving the bluff. I want one of the canoneers to be my voice in the City of Brass."

The canoneer in the rear began to speak up, but Luther smacked him with a meaty palm before turning back to me.

“Highness, this is a task I ought handle myself. I shall bring the canon to the Ifrit personally.”

“Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that it means you won’t have to ride the airship north to look for other potentially hostile tribes,” I suggested.

The noblin chief sputtered. “Highness, there is no one in the tribe better with the pen than me. No one more versed with the histry of your—”

“Relax,” I said, patting him on the side of the arm. “You’ve got the job.”

I nodded down at the lazily spinning blades on Taquoho’s vessel.

“Take care of him,” I added softly. “I don’t trust the others.”

Luther nodded. “I shall guard him with my life.”