Oiling The Wheels

By Peter Caunt

The inhabitants of BafeldIsle are a simple people. Those that live in the countryside perceive that life in the city of Bafeld-Inwic is of a higher quality with the onset of new technology making city life safe and easy. Those that live in the city yearn for the days of open fields and clean air away from the failing sewer system of the urban environment.

A favourite pastime of many of the inhabitants is to sit on the highest point on the island and listen to the ramblings of Blind Jayke McAlastair while enjoying a family picnic. Most of these ramblings go straight over their heads as Blind Jayke is one of the tallest men on BafeldIsle. Some take copious notes and try to interpret his utterances as foretelling of some great apocalypse, but most regard it as a good opportunity to improve their children's throwing skills as Blind Jayke presents a slowly moving target.

Since BafeldIsle's highest point can hardly be called a hill let alone a mountain, the view from its peak is severely restricted. In fact on a bad day you can see the city in one direction and the Draconian Reef in the other direction. On a good day, both are invisible in the mist that hangs heavy over the island for much of the time. The reef has claimed the lives of many sailors who ventured too near, usually due to an excess of local mead.

On this day, at a particularly profound moment in Blind Jayke's pronouncements, the crowd was distracted by a child of one of the picnickers, pointing to the sky above the city where a small object surrounded by flames could be seen descending to the ground.

“Look, Mummy. A shooting star. Can I make a wish?”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Caunt
• Release date: Aug 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005141998

Peter Caunt

Peter Caunt was born in North Derbyshire but has spent the last thirty-five years in North Yorkshire.Peter originally had a science background and worked, in Harrogate, for the C.E.G.B, on pollution control (until it closed down), in Preston for Babtie Environmental (until they closed down the department) and in Harrogate for the Regional Health Authority (until it closed down). Following these, he worked for a software house in Harrogate until it was taken over by a multinational and downsized. Having seen the writing on the wall, he decided to copy it down and try to publish it.He has had an interest in writing short stories for the last thirty years but has only recently had the time and the enthusiasm to start accumulating a pile of rejection letters.In the latter part of 2005, a small pile of acceptances began to grow, much helped by inspiration from his wife, Pamela.Peter is a member of the Harrogate Writers' Circle.

Book preview

Main Characters

BafeldIsle

Edwan : King of Bafeld-Inwic.

Annel : Queen of Bafeld-Inwic - Edwan's wife.

Kathel : Queen Annel's handmaiden.

Ewis : King Edwan's fool.

Richye : Lord Richye, Archbishop of Bafeld-Inwic.

Abel : Chief Artificer.

Isaac : An artificer. Apprentice to Abel.

Wilhelm : New Captain of the Guard of Bafeld-Inwic.

Symart : Wilhelm's second in command.

Cardel : New Chief Scribe.

Braffin : Newly recruited Guard.

Loci : A blacksmith.

Gery : A young engineer.

Jayke : Blind Jayke McAlastair a philosopher and prophet.

Vidda : A ship's captain who gives Isaac passage.

Vikenlande

Arwab al-Mailai : Leader of the Council in Vikenlande

Ahin al-Riya : Captain of airship from VikenLande.

Muhtaa al-Id : Ahin's second in command

Yamain Haro :Navigator on Ahin's ship

Maki : Head of security on Ahin's ship

Tao Hi-She : Scientist

Others

Lorix : A mercenary from the Knights of the Holy Pentacle.

Toka : Lorix's mentor.

Efrix : Leader of the invading army.

Prologue

The inhabitants of BafeldIsle are a simple people. Those that live in the countryside perceive that life in the city of Bafeld-Inwic is of a higher quality with the onset of new technology making city life safe and easy. Those that live in the city yearn for the days of open fields and clean air away from the failing sewer system of the urban environment.

A favourite pastime of many of the inhabitants is to sit on the highest point on the island and listen to the ramblings of Blind Jayke McAlastair while enjoying a family picnic. Most of these ramblings go straight over their heads as Blind Jayke is one of the tallest men on BafeldIsle. Some take copious notes and try to interpret his utterances as foretelling of some great apocalypse, but most regard it as a good opportunity to improve their children's throwing skills as Blind Jayke presents a slowly moving target.

Since BafeldIsle's highest point can hardly be called a hill let alone a mountain, the view from its peak is severely restricted. In fact on a bad day you can see the city in one direction and the Draconian Reef in the other direction. On a good day, both are invisible in the mist that hangs heavy over the island for much of the time. The reef has claimed the lives of many sailors who ventured too near, usually due to an excess of local mead.

On this day, at a particularly profound moment in Blind Jayke's pronouncements, the crowd was distracted by a child of one of the picnickers, pointing to the sky above the city where a small object surrounded by flames could be seen descending to the ground.

"Look, Mummy. A shooting star. Can I make a wish?"

The Known World

Part 1

BafeldIsle

Chapter 1 - Abel

The hot dust burned his lungs and his vision was blurred by the layer of grime on his goggles. He tried to prise them off but realised that his good, right arm was trapped. Isaac raised his other hand and gently pushed the goggles from his face, leaving his hand in sight for examination. It was intact, but the fingers were bent out of shape. Repairable but currently beyond the range where they were able to manipulate small tools. He looked down at his good hand. There was no blood but he was starting to feel the pain. The heavy beam was pinning his forearm and he dared not try to pull it out for fear of tearing the flesh. He couldn't trust the damaged fingers on his other hand so he twisted his body until his left foot was under the beam pinning his hand. Slowly he prised it up and slid his arm out. A quick visual inspection showed no breakage and the pain when he flexed his fingers told him that he could use it, but it would not be easy for a while.

He took a deep breath and looked round at the wreckage. He could see the city on the horizon, at least fifteen miles away. They'd come further than he had dared to imagine. Moments later he caught sight of Abel, lying half covered by wood and metal. He called, then tried to crawl towards him when he received no reply. He couldn't move. His right foot was caught under the debris. As he looked closer he could see hydraulics leaking from it, and the knee was crushed almost flat. He glanced back at the city. The alarm must have been raised by now and they had to move. He unclipped his right leg and crawled as best he could towards Abel.

He was still alive, but unconscious.

He shook him awake. Abel, we have to move.

Abel's eyes opened and struggled to focus. Isaac? Did we make it?

Fifteen or so miles beyond the wall, but we need to get going.

Abel raised his head and examined what was left of his torso. You go. I'm finished.

I'll carry you.

Abel smiled as best he could. We both said that we would rather die than continue working in that god forsaken place of Bafeld-Inwic. Well it looks like I got my wish.

He tried to move the wreckage from Abel's body but stopped when he heard him gasp. You go, Isaac. It's ok. You have a life to lead, I've taught you as well as I could. One of us has to survive.

Isaac's eyes dropped. I'll stay with you.

Abel looked down at Isaac's missing leg. What happened?

It's crushed. I had to unfasten it. I can't run, I'll stay here.

Abel reached down and unclipped his own leg. Take mine, I'm not going to need it. You need to get away before the patrols arrive.

But you disabled all the transport.

It won't take them that long to realise. The armoury won't be able to repair them, but they still have horses. There are still some of them that remember how to ride.

Isaac took the leg and clipped it onto his own body.

Take the gold. And the transport parts, but you must destroy those. The city engineers will take for ever to recast replacements, but they could find ways to reinsert them.

But what about you?

Abel thrust the bags into his hand. Just go, Isaac. We flew for fifteen miles, no one has ever done anything like that before. Let everyone know what the city and the king is really like. I'll give you as much time as I can.

Isaac looked down at the mechanism in Abel's hand, then their eyes met.

I'm finished anyway, Isaac. I'll wait until the first patrol arrives before I use it. It should give you a decent start. Now just go.

He swallowed hard and bent down to kiss his mentor on the forehead. Then he stood up and slung the bags over his shoulder and set off for the port of Millsford.

Abel's leg was a little shorter than his own, so it took him a while to accommodate the difference. By the time he entered the town, he appeared to have nothing worse than a pronounced limp. That would hardly be noticed amongst the detritus that gravitated to a town like Millsford, but the high quality of the bronze of his left hand would need to be kept hidden from the prying eyes of the general riff-raff. He needed to find somewhere to do some minor repairs on it before he left.

He rounded the next corner and found himself in the middle of a market. He rushed past the stalls of fruit and pies but couldn't find what he wanted. The sacks over his shoulder were starting to attract the stallholders' eyes.

He quickly looked around for what seemed the least ignorant. Can you tell me if there is a metal artificer in this town?

The stallholder moved his gaze from Isaac's shoulder and screwed up his eyes.

Isaac shook his head. Ok, is there a blacksmith?

The stallholder pointed and Isaac set off as fast as Abel's leg would let him, but he could feel the eyes pressing into his back.

As he hobbled through the back streets he could hear the sound of a hammer beating time on an anvil until the rhythm was interrupted by the sound of a distant explosion, and his path was blocked by a figure covered in sweat and muscles staring towards the distant column of smoke rising into the air.

Isaac had no inclination towards social niceties nor the time to mourn his mentor. He thrust a gold coin into the blacksmith's hand. I would like to engage your services for a little while.

The blacksmith looked Isaac up and down then pointed at the column of smoke. That anything to do with you?

Isaac sighed and reached into the sack for a further coin.

Isaac was surprised how well the blacksmith could repair delicate pieces of metal and within a quarter of an hour he was reassembling his left hand. The blacksmith had straightened out the fingers but the joints were stiff and would take more time to return to their original state than he could afford. He slipped his tools back into his belt and stood up.

The blacksmith stared at his right leg. I could sort out the length for you.

Isaac shook his head. I'm sure you could. If I had time. But thank you for the repairs to my hand.

Isaac held out the hand to shake the blacksmith's own, but drew it away when the blacksmith just stared.

The docks were full of vessels. Many looked as though they were converting back to sail, but Isaac tried one which was lying low in the water and should be ready to leave.

The captain shook his head. Not a chance mate. I've cargo starting to rot. The engine has failed. My so-called engineer says he needs spare parts. These days the city keeps its machine parts to itself.

He looked round the deck. There were signs of chips of wood still on the deck and his nose detected no rotting smell. Probably an illegal cargo of timber set for Anthorpe.

Isaac set to go, but the captain caught sight of his left hand as he turned. Who made the hand?

Isaac slipped the hand back in his pocket. It's not functional. It's just for decoration.

The captain chuckled. I'm not going to give you away, but if you made that yourself you could earn your passage if you can do better with the engine than that bastard engineer.

The engineer could not have been more than fourteen years old. He was covered in grease and had parts of the engine spread out on the floor. As he turned, Isaac could see clear patches on his face beneath his eyes.

The main drive gears seemed to be intact. Isaac breathed out. Any repairs to them would have required a recasting, something that he could not do quickly and certainly not on the boat. He bent down and examined one of the cogs on the floor. It was badly worn, but was missing several teeth. A quick glance round the floor showed several more in the same sorry state. He pulled the bag of parts close to his chest and thought of Abel's instructions to destroy them, but his mind was already sizing up the broken parts on the floor and matching them up to the ones in the bag.

He sat down next to the boy. Can you put these back into place?

But they're broken. They won't work.

Isaac smiled and pulled a cog out of the bag and placed it next to the first broken one. I think this will serve as a replacement for the moment.

The boy's eyes widened. He picked up the cog. What metal is this?

We need to sail now. What's your name anyway?

The boy lifted his eyes. It's Gery.

Ok Gery, no more questions. Start putting the engine back together and hand me any of the broken parts, I'll find something to replace it. When we are out of port, we can talk.

Abel had made a great sacrifice to enable him to escape. He thought of the patrol that had found their flying machine before Abel blew it, and them, apart. Abel had been single minded in using all means to cover their tracks. As he looked across at the young engineer reassembling the engine, Isaac wondered if he could be just as ruthless.

Chapter 2 - King Edwan

The official history of the kingdom of Bafeld begins by describing Edwan as a paternalistic king who ruled wisely and had ushered the city of Bafeld-Inwic into a new era of prosperity. The remainder of the history was progressing rather slower than the king would have liked. This had resulted from the fact that the newly appointed chief scribe, Cardel, was still suffering from the effects of the thumbscrews and the trauma of seeing the previous incumbent of the post torn limb from limb for refusing to compromise his principles as a historian. His principles along with the remaining parts of his body were now buried in the four corners of the known world.

Cardel's mood had not been improved by his current position. His office had been moved to a high tower which offered, in the distance, some of the most spectacular scenery in the kingdom, but in the foreground gave a clear view of the scaffold, together with its most recent customer. Cardel had already begun to write his last will and testament.

The newly appointed Captain of the Guard, Wilhelm, paused while the king's face turned from a slightly flushed pink to a frighteningly bright vermilion.

How many horses?

All of them, my Lord.

The king stood and Wilhelm stepped back a pace, being careful to bend his knees so that he didn't cause the king to seem smaller than he actually was.

All of them? Who the hell ordered all the horses out at once?

Wilhelm swallowed. He knew it was the king himself, but he was a pragmatist so he lied. The Captain of the Guard, sire. The transports had all failed and it was deemed prudent to pursue the escapees with due haste.

The king's eyes narrowed and Wilhelm felt his throat drying out. I mean the previous Captain of the Guard, sire. He made the decision to send the riders out just before you removed his rank.

For a moment Wilhelm's mind flashed through the events of the last hour. The previous captain had indeed been stripped of his rank together with some more essential parts of his anatomy. Removal of the remaining parts was currently awaiting the regent's latest whim. Wilhelm flexed the two metal fingers of his own left hand remembering the transgression that had led to the removal of the originals. But he also remembered Abel's skill in providing him with metal substitutes.

The king had turned away and was pacing, his heavy boots sending echoes reverberating off the distant throne room walls like some harpy searching for another soul to plunder for body parts.

Wilhelm's eyes followed him round the room. Most of the walls were bare of any form of decoration. The king had disproved of anything that glorified his ancestors. It was rumoured that he had commissioned a complete new set of tapestries that would show himself in various glorious poses which would mirror the history that the new Chief Scribe was inventing.

He watched the king turn full circle and end up standing behind the queen. She did not move. No one moved. Everyone waited for Edwan to calm down.

He could hear the king's muffled cursing but could make no sense of it. That in itself was not unusual, but in his current mood, if unchecked, the king was likely to start issuing more execution notices.

Wilhelm decided he had better risk a distraction. Sire, there was one survivor of the explosion who made it back to the city. The horse died of its wounds but the man is currently in the dungeon.

The king swung round. So why is he still alive?

Sire, he may have information that would be useful. After I have extracted this, he can be executed as you desire.

The king returned to his pacing.

Wilhelm swallowed. I would suggest that I take a small contingent and undertake a forced march to the crash site then onwards to Millsford. If either of the escapees survived that will be where they were headed.

He held his breath. The thought of a forced march in heavy armour did not fill him with a sense of well being, but anywhere away from the city, and especially the king, seemed like the safest place to be at the moment.

The king turned and waved him away and activated the mechanical bird in the cage that sat next to the throne, usually an indication that the audience was at an end. Wilhelm let out the breath he had been holding for the last few minutes.

Twelve men should be enough, He'd leave the details to his new second in command, Symart. But before he departed the city he had to make a visit.

In his room, Cardel was applying a new layer of tape to his fingers and giving thanks that at least they only applied the thumbscrews to his left hand when then door burst open and he jumped back with a start.

Wilhelm sheathed his sword. Sorry about that. Force of habit. You can't be too careful at the moment.

Cardel shrugged and turned away to his desk.

I don't have much time, Cardel. I have to leave the city at once, but I need you to do something for me.

Cardel soothed his fingers. I have a history to invent. I have no time for anything else. I'm sorry.

Wilhelm rounded the desk and looked him in the eyes. I know what you've been through. But you're not the only one and you'll not be the last. We need to get the situation under control.

Cardel sat back down at his desk. I'm sorry, but if I don't get on with this then I know what will happen. Well I don't know exactly what, but it won't be pleasant.

Wilhelm grabbed his collar. We've known each other for a long time Cardel. If you want that friendship to go on for much longer you need to learn to delegate. Get one of the other scribes to write the history. Right now I have a much more important task for you. One that could save both our lives.

Queen Annel tried to stroke Edwan's hair but he was not in the mood.

Just leave me. I need to think.

Annel removed her hand but sat squarely on the throne beside him.

Edwan rose and started pacing again. How could he do this to me?

Abel was a nobody, a traitor. He deserved what he got.

He swung round towards her. Not him. I mean Reder. God damn it. He was Captain of the Guard. His father was captain in my own father's time. We were brought up together. We used to spar with swords in the main courtyard.

Annel regained her composure. But you have made an excellent choice with his replacement.

He sat back down. I'm not so sure. Reder was a good man. Wilhelm thinks too much. I could rely on Reder.

She stroked his arm. She had warned him against executing Reder. But now was not the time to remind him. But for once he was right about Wilhelm.

Edwan hung his head. Call in the fool. I need something to take my mind off this.

Annel signalled to one of the attendants who exited to wake the fool. She could do with the king being distracted so she had time to think.

Reder had been a good leader and had maintained the loyalty of his men. And more importantly had kept their loyalty to the king despite some of his more strange decisions. Leaving Abel in charge of the armoury had been a mistake. Reder had known this, but the king had been amused by all the toys Abel had managed to produce which distracted him from what was actually going on. She cursed herself. She would not make the same mistake again. As soon as Wilhelm returned she would have a word with him and let him know that she had a large folio of information about him that he would prefer to be kept private.

Ewis, the fool, ran into the room and promptly fell full length in front of the king sending the various accoutrements he had been carrying scuttering across the throne room floor. Annel closed her eyes as the king burst into a full blown fit of giggling.

Ewis struggled to his feet. I say I say. A funny thing happened to me on the way to the throne room.

Annel sighed and felt her whole body drain of energy as she slumped into the throne, resigning herself to a half hour of inanity before she could excuse herself and leave the two fools to get on with it.

Chapter 3 - Gery

Millsford is a thriving town and highly cosmopolitan port. Trade has flourished, although the exact figures are disputed as much of the trafficking takes place as part of the black, or at least very dark brown, economy. This has not been impeded by the local guards whose attitude is to turn a blind eye and an open palm.

The official history of the town describes it as the gateway to the island of BafeldIsle. A stepping off point for the tourist to explore the many delights afforded by the island.

As far as Gery was concerned, the delights of the island had extended to finding a half eaten piece of bread and some rotting fruit. The only stepping off point she had ever considered was the end of the jetty. And any tourists that ventured into the streets of Millsford were likely to be mugged before they found suitable transport for an onward journey, if not by the cutpurses then by the local guards. No tourist who did make it back home ever reported on the delights of the island, and tended to book their subsequent holidays at home.

Gery wiped away the grease and looked across at Isaac. He had fallen asleep as soon as the engine had burst into life. The bags he had carried were pulled close to him. Gery could have done with sleep as well, but the unusual noise, or rather lack of noise, from the engine was disturbing. After half an hour, the gentle rocking of the ship on the open sea finally removed all thoughts of wakefulness.

Gery dreamed of home. Not the warm embrace of loving parents, but the streets of Millsford that became her home after the guards dragged her parents and her older brother away. She never found out what crime they had been accused of, she just knew that the food in the small house where they had lived rapidly ran out. One day when she returned from foraging for more supplies she found the house full of new occupants and her way barred. The only option she had was the streets. An ingénue amid the urban wolves.

One early morning Gery had been asleep behind an old corrugated iron sheet when she felt herself dragged along by her arm. She screamed and turned to bite her abductor but found herself quickly bound and thrust onto a cart.

Well lad, you seem to have a lot of spirit. Quite strong too.

Gery bit back a denial that she was a boy, but then decided that after her experience on the street perhaps she would be safer if she let him think what he might.

My last assistant, well let's just say he doesn't work for me any more. I could do with some help and you look a likely lad.

Gery spat at him. You'll be sorry when my friends come back to find me.

He laughed. Looks to me like you're all alone. No one's going to miss you, my lad.

After a week of working for Folke, Gery had to admit that