Ventus | Page 3

he always did when things
went well. The men began heaving stones onto the rickety scaffold.
Jordan grabbed an upright; for a moment he felt dizzy, and remembered
last night's dream--something about swirling leaves and dust kicking
into the air under the wingbeats of ten thousand screaming birds.
A group of brightly dressed women swirled across the courtyard,
giving the steam car a wide berth. His older sister was among them; she
looked in Jordan's direction, shading her eyes, then waved.
Emmy seemed in better spirits than earlier this morning. When Jordan
arrived at the manor she was already there, having been in the kitchens

since before dawn. "There you are!" she'd said as he entered the
courtyard. Jordan had debated whether to tell her about his nightmare,
but before he could decide, she bent close. "Jordan," she said in a
whisper. "Help me out, okay?"
"What do you want?"
She looked around herself in a melodramatic way. "He's here."
"He?"
"You know... the Controller General. See?" She stepped aside,
revealing a view of the fountain, pool, and Turcaret's steam car.
Jordan remembered Emmy crying at some point during Turcaret's visit
last summer. She had refused to say what made her cry, only that it had
to do with the visiting Controller General. "I'll be all right," she'd said.
"He'll go away soon, and I'll be fine."
Jordan still wasn't sure what that had been about. Turcaret was from a
great family and also a government appointed official, and as father
said constantly, the great families were better than common folk. He
had assumed Emmy had done something to anger or upset Turcaret.
Only recently had other possibilities occurred to him.
"Surely he won't remember you after all this time," he said now.
"How can you be so stupid!" she snapped. "It's just going to be worse!"
"Well, what are we going to do?" Turcaret was a powerful man. He
could do what he liked.
"Why don't you find some excuse to get me out of the kitchens? He
comes by there, ogling all the girls."
Jordan looked up past the scaffold at the angle of the sun. He wiped a
skeen of sweat from his forehead. It was going to be a hot day; that
gave him an idea.

He put his hand on Willam's shoulder. "I'm going to fetch us some
water and bread," he said.
"Good idea," grunted Willam as he levered another stone out of the
wall. "But don't dawdle."
Jordan swung out and down, smiling. He would get Emmy out here for
the morning, and keep his men happy with a bucket or two of well
water in the face. It was a good solution.
He was halfway down when a scream ripped the air overhead. Jordan
let go reflexively and fell the last several meters, landing in a puff of
dust next to the reflecting pool.
Surprisingly, Willam was lying next to him. "How did you--?" Jordan
started to say; but Willam was grimacing and clutching his calf. There
was huge and swelling bruise there, and the angle of the leg looked
wrong.
Everybody was shouting. Flipping on his back, Jordan found the rest of
his men plummeting to the ground all around him.
"--Thing in the wall," somebody yelled. And someone else said, "It
took Ryman!"
Jordan stood up. The scaffold was shaking. The men were scattering for
the four corners of the courtyard now. "What is it?" Jordan shouted in
panic.
Then he saw, where the men had been working, a bright silver hand
reach out to grab one of the scaffold's uprights. Another hand appeared,
flailing blindly. Bright highlights of sunlight flashed off it.
"A stone mother," gasped Willam. "There's a stone mother in the wall.
That's what made the hole."
Jordan swore. Stone mothers were rare, but he knew they weren't
supernatural, like the Winds. They were mechal life, like stove beetles.

"Ryman reached into a hole and the silver stuff covered him," said
Willam. "He'll smother."
The second hand found the upright and clutched it. Jordan caught a
glimpse of Ryman's head, a perfect mirrored sphere.
Jordan knew what was happening. "It's trying to protect itself!" he
shouted to the scattered men. "Ryman was sweating--it's trying to seal
off the water!"
They stood there dumbly.
Ryman would be dead in seconds if somebody didn't do something.
Jordan turned to look at the open doors of the manor, twenty meters
away. Clouds floated passively in the rectangle of the reflecting pool.
Jordan decided. He reached down, splashed water from the pool over
his head and shoulders, then started up the scaffold. He could hear
shouting behind him; people were running out of the manor.
He pulled himself onto the planks next to Ryman. Jordan's heart was
hammering. Ryman's head, arms, and upper torso