feel sorry for himself at a time like this.
Borund pointed at it, still laughing. “What in the wide great seas made you buy such a thing?”
Gravlos nodded toward Nikandr. “You’ve not heard?”
Borund looked between Nikandr and Gravlos. “Heard what?”
Gravlos caught Nikandr’s eye, waiting for permission. When Nikandr nodded, he said, “I thought My Lord Prince would want to see it. He’s been flying around the islands, every spare moment he’s had outside of our work on the Gorovna , searching for clues.”
“Clues to what?”
“To the blight,” Nikandr answered.
Borund chuckled, but stopped when he realized Nikandr was serious. “We should have asked for more ships if you have so many to go about.”
“Easy words for you, Bora. Vostroma has not been hit so hard as Khalakovo.”
“And Rhavanki is worse off than you.”
“But that’s all changing. Rhavanki’s hauls have been better. Their first plantings look to be healthier than years past.”
“This is my point, Nischka. Nature will do what it will. It matters not what attention you might pay to it.”
This was a thought that came to Nikandr every day, but he refused to believe it. “Did you know that when herds of goats become sick, we have found hordes of black fleas on them?”
“Not surprising with diseased animals.”
Nikandr shook his head. “When we take them in and wash them with vinegar, the goats become well again.”
Borund laughed. “You should have told us. We could have brought you a herd.”
“The potatoes,” Nikandr continued, “if we discover mold in the roots, we know which fields should go untended. I can tell you by looking at a pack of wolves which are infected and how many days it will be before the pack devours them. If I watch the coast of an island for a day, I can tell by the flights of the gulls which shoals will yield the most herring.”
“And by the time the ships get there, things will have changed.”
“That isn’t the point. We learn more all the time, and someday we hope to understand the blight. Perhaps the wasting as well.”
Borund’s expression turned to sadness. “Nischka, the news of your sister’s illness was tragic, but do you really think you can unlock the secrets of her disease?”
Let’s hope so, Nikandr thought. “I’ll never know unless I try.”
Borund shook his head. “The blight and the wasting are unpredictable workings of the world, and nothing you do will change that.”
Suddenly the sounds of a grumbling crowd grew, making it clear the business of unlading the haul had gotten underway. It also made it clear that it was a smaller catch than the crowd had been hoping for—with so many visiting Khalakovo for Council, the palotza would need the ship’s entire catch and most likely several more beyond it.
Gravlos’s smile faded. He led them away from the doors toward the wooden ponies and workbenches. “It’s been getting worse.” He glanced meaningfully at Nikandr. “Not that I’m complaining. I know the people on the Hill have to eat as well. But some don’t see it that way. They say too much is taken from the city, more than a fair share.”
“Our share is what we take,” Borund said before Nikandr could reply.
Gravlos dropped his gaze. “That’s as may be, My Lord Prince, but there’s enough grumbling stomachs to go about, of that I can assure you.”
Borund opened his mouth to reply, but Nikandr raised his hand. “The blight isn’t something we’ll solve by talking, and we have other things to discuss.”
Gravlos nodded and motioned them toward one of his workbenches, upon which sat a complicated mass of wood and iron. Six cylindrical sections of wood, each of which looked like they’d been sawed cleanly from a windship mast, were connected with an arrangement of iron levers and hinges. It looked like two logs laid across one another with a third skewering them both. A complicated mass of hinges at the very center allowed for free
Borund pointed at it, still laughing. “What in the wide great seas made you buy such a thing?”
Gravlos nodded toward Nikandr. “You’ve not heard?”
Borund looked between Nikandr and Gravlos. “Heard what?”
Gravlos caught Nikandr’s eye, waiting for permission. When Nikandr nodded, he said, “I thought My Lord Prince would want to see it. He’s been flying around the islands, every spare moment he’s had outside of our work on the Gorovna , searching for clues.”
“Clues to what?”
“To the blight,” Nikandr answered.
Borund chuckled, but stopped when he realized Nikandr was serious. “We should have asked for more ships if you have so many to go about.”
“Easy words for you, Bora. Vostroma has not been hit so hard as Khalakovo.”
“And Rhavanki is worse off than you.”
“But that’s all changing. Rhavanki’s hauls have been better. Their first plantings look to be healthier than years past.”
“This is my point, Nischka. Nature will do what it will. It matters not what attention you might pay to it.”
This was a thought that came to Nikandr every day, but he refused to believe it. “Did you know that when herds of goats become sick, we have found hordes of black fleas on them?”
“Not surprising with diseased animals.”
Nikandr shook his head. “When we take them in and wash them with vinegar, the goats become well again.”
Borund laughed. “You should have told us. We could have brought you a herd.”
“The potatoes,” Nikandr continued, “if we discover mold in the roots, we know which fields should go untended. I can tell you by looking at a pack of wolves which are infected and how many days it will be before the pack devours them. If I watch the coast of an island for a day, I can tell by the flights of the gulls which shoals will yield the most herring.”
“And by the time the ships get there, things will have changed.”
“That isn’t the point. We learn more all the time, and someday we hope to understand the blight. Perhaps the wasting as well.”
Borund’s expression turned to sadness. “Nischka, the news of your sister’s illness was tragic, but do you really think you can unlock the secrets of her disease?”
Let’s hope so, Nikandr thought. “I’ll never know unless I try.”
Borund shook his head. “The blight and the wasting are unpredictable workings of the world, and nothing you do will change that.”
Suddenly the sounds of a grumbling crowd grew, making it clear the business of unlading the haul had gotten underway. It also made it clear that it was a smaller catch than the crowd had been hoping for—with so many visiting Khalakovo for Council, the palotza would need the ship’s entire catch and most likely several more beyond it.
Gravlos’s smile faded. He led them away from the doors toward the wooden ponies and workbenches. “It’s been getting worse.” He glanced meaningfully at Nikandr. “Not that I’m complaining. I know the people on the Hill have to eat as well. But some don’t see it that way. They say too much is taken from the city, more than a fair share.”
“Our share is what we take,” Borund said before Nikandr could reply.
Gravlos dropped his gaze. “That’s as may be, My Lord Prince, but there’s enough grumbling stomachs to go about, of that I can assure you.”
Borund opened his mouth to reply, but Nikandr raised his hand. “The blight isn’t something we’ll solve by talking, and we have other things to discuss.”
Gravlos nodded and motioned them toward one of his workbenches, upon which sat a complicated mass of wood and iron. Six cylindrical sections of wood, each of which looked like they’d been sawed cleanly from a windship mast, were connected with an arrangement of iron levers and hinges. It looked like two logs laid across one another with a third skewering them both. A complicated mass of hinges at the very center allowed for free
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