My wife tugged at my arm, 'My husband, my husband, will I be able to sit too?'

'Hush, wife, hush - pay attention.'

All the wives were murmuring now, pointing and whispering excitedly among themselves. 'He sits! He sits while he works!'

At last, old Lesta could stand it no longer. He stopped spinning and leapt from his stool. 'Yes, dammit, I sit! And you stupid creatures will sit too, if you can learn how!'

Immediately they were quiet.

Lesta surveyed the group, 'Now, who wants to try it first?'

'Me! Me!' All of them pressed forward eagerly. 'Me first, me!' Each wanted to see what it was like to sit and work at the same time.

Lesta chose one and sat her down on the stool. She giggled hysterically. He put the tools in her hand, and the pieces of combed fiberplant and bade her do as she had seen.

And, Lo! She spun!

She spun the fibers into thread!

The weavers gasped in horror - it was possible! The husbands gasped in shock - could a woman possibly be this smart? I gasped - just because I had never seen such a thing. The women gasped - she sits while she works, she sits!

And Purple? Purple was bouncing with delight. 'It works.' he shouted, 'it works - she works, she works!'

And all the while, the woman continued to spin.

Of course, her thread was uneven and unusable - she was inexperienced and did not fully understand what she was doing. But it was obvious, even here, that it was possible for a woman to spin.

Purple could build his flying machine.

With experience and training - and careful supervision - all of these women might soon be spinning thread as fine as the best of them.

In fact, as the day progressed, it soon became obvious that a woman was a better spinner than an apprentice boy. An apprentice is smart - he knows that he will soon be a weaver - his heart is not in the spinning. His mind wanders and he pays little attention to it because it is such a mechanical and boring task. Boys will be boys.

On the other hand, to a woman, spinning is an enormously complex task. They must use both hands and one foot simultaneously in three separate and co-ordinated tasks. It requires all their concentration - it is a challenge. And if they fail, they know they will be beaten. Because a woman must continually pay attention to what she is doing, she is always watching the thread, always careful.

By the end of the day, many of them, including my own wife, were spinning thread fine enough to be used for aircloth.

Already, Purple was organizing. We had almost six hundred unwed women in our two villages. There was little work for them to do except for their own foodgathering and grooming.

But now we could make good use of all that wasted labor: we would put them to work spinning. And if that were still not enough women to produce thread for Purple, we would let our wives work as well.

The experiment was definitely a success.

Purple was not one to waste time. Quickly, he appointed the apprentice and novice weavers to a variety of new tasks.

The boys were eager and willing when they found out what their tasks were to be. Purple was creating a new trade - womenherders. These boys would be supervising the work of the women. They were delighted when they realized that finally they would be giving orders instead of taking them.

The herd of unwed women would be split into three groups; one group to spin, one to gather the raw fiberplants and wisptrees, and the third to comb the fibers smooth for spinning. There were approximately two hundred women in each group, but these were split into smaller herds of thirty to fifty each.

Even old Lesta was impressed. 'I have never seen such a work force as this. I would not have believed it possible.'

And then realizing that he had just complimented Purple, he added, 'I'll never work, of course.'

But it did. Purple appointed another team of men, this time weavers, to go out into the hills each day and gather housetree blood. They had giant urns which Bellis the Potter had made for us. Once the urns were sealed, the housetree blood would stay fresh until we were ready to use it.

It was no secret that we were going to need it in vast quantities. We would need everything in vast quantities. We had already dispatched runners to the other villages with samples of aircloth and invitations to their weavers and their women. If Lesta had thought Purple's army of labor was impressive with only six hundred women, he had not seen anything yet.

As the thread was spun, a team of novices would dip it into a vat of seething housetree blood, then slowly, slowly roll it up on a high suspended spool so it would have a chance to dry in the air.

It soon developed that Purple was unhappy with this method. If the thread should happen to touch anything while it was still wet, it would pick up flecks of dirt just barely large enough to be seen by the naked eye. Purple would rave and swear - the gas, he insisted, would leak around the particles of dirt and his flying machine would fall into the sea.

Further, the boys were complaining about the heat from the vats of boiling sap. The season made it all the more stifling.

The solution was to move the spinning wheels and the vats up onto Idiot's Crag. The boys enjoyed the change, for it was cool and quiet up there in the wind; and the women did not seem to mind the extra half hour's walk up the slope.

More important, the dipping and drying process was improved. As each thread was soaked, a great loop of it was stretched far down the crag, around a pulley, and back up again to be wound on spools. The wind held it aloft, and the boys pulled it from the housetree blood as fast as they could wind it through the wringers. The thread was clean and dry - and even shinier than before.

I stood up on the ledge with Purple one day. The work was progressing smoothly - with a minimum number of obstacles. Along the cliff edge were nearly two hundred women and spinning devices. There were fifty boys tending the vats of housetree blood. Loops of newly spun thread stretched out before them. Another twenty boys were winding it up on spools.

Wilville and Orbur had built several great spool winding devices. Each consisted of a rack of spools, a set of pulleys and two cranks. Each was powered by four boys, two on each crank, and wound up the thread faster than ten boys could do working alone.

Below, in the villages, there were almost ten looms now, each producing three patches of aircloth every five days. It was still not enough - but we were getting there.

Already, weavers from other villages were arriving, eager to learn this new secret. Many were shocked when they saw we had women spinning or that we had bone teeth on our looms - but most stayed to learn and to work. New looms were going up every day.

Purple and I stood on the edge and surveyed the scene below us. The waters of the sea were already lapping at the Lower Village, and several of the housetrees had already been abandoned.

'How high will the water rise?' I asked. 'Will it menace the looms?'

'I hope not. Look below. You see the tree line? That's where Gortik says the waters rose to last year. Apparently that's as far as the sea carried the new soil. You are lucky to have a fresh water ocean here, Lant. Where I come from, the seas are salty.'

'That sounds unpleasant,' I said. I looked out over the greasy blue water, remembering how it had been aching desert only a short time ago. 'I wonder where all the water comes from.'

Purple said absent-mindedly, 'When you pass between the suns, the ice caps melt.'

I looked at him oddly. After all this time, he still spoke gibberish. Probably he would never lose the habit. Abruptly, I realized just how accustomed to Purple's presence I had become. I no longer thought of his strange ways as being strange - just different. I had stopped thinking of him as something queer and alien - it was only when he said something undecipherable like this that I was reminded that he was not of our people.

Indeed, I had even become used to the sight of his naked and hairless face.

Until, suddenly, I looked again-

'Purple,' I exclaimed. 'Did you miscast a spell?'

'Huh? What do you mean?'

'Your chin, Purple - you are starting to grow hair all over your chin and on the sides of your face!'

His hand went to his face. He rubbed - then he started laughing, a deep booming laugh.

I didn't think it was funny at all. There were many, like

Pilg, for instance, who were still bald from head to toe because of a miscast spell.

Still grinning, Purple took a fist-sized thing from his belt and said, 'Do you see this, Lant?'

'Of course.'

'It is a - magic razor, moved by a particular kind of magic called electrissy.' I think that was how he said it. 'I will need the power in my razor to help make the lighter-than-air gas. So I have stopped removing the hair from my face.'

I peered at him curiously. 'You mean you can grow hair?'

He nodded.

'But you have been removing it willfully?'

He nodded again.

Strange. Very strange. I peered again. 'But, Purple,' I asked, 'if you are going to stop removing the hair from your face, why do you not stop completely?'

'Huh?' he said. Then realizing that I was refering to the rest of his naked face, he started laughing again.

I still did not see what was so funny.

-----

THE next day, Purple attempted to separate water into '' gases. Men of both villages came to watch.

The magician had obtained two lengths of copper wire from the coppersmith. These he attached to the rim of a large pot of water, using wooden clips, so that the end of each length of wire trailed in the water.

We watched as he disconnected a spell device from his belt. It was a flat bulging object like the one in the light tube he had given Shoogar many months ago - only bigger. He called it a battery.

He explained that it stored the magic called electrissy. When it was connected to his impact suit spell-belt, it powered several of the other devices attached there. He indicated, but did not explain. The only devices he had that did not depend on his battery were a lightmaker which had a tiny battery of its own, and a radiation counter, which Purple said needed no battery at all.

The battery was a heavy object - heavier than one would expect for its size. There were two shiny metal nodes at one end of it. Purple twisted the free end of each copper wire around these nodes, one to each one.

'Now,' he said, 'all I have to do is turn the battery on. This dial tells me how much power I have. This knob controls the rate with which I release it. When I switch the battery on here, I will activate the spell and the gases will separate.'

With a knowing look, he did so. We waited.

I heard a - sizzling - and looked into the pot.

Tiny bubbles were forming on the ends of the wires, breaking free and streaming toward the surface.

'Ah,' said Purple. He turned the knob. The water began bubbling more vigorously. He smiled proudly. 'Hydrogen and oxygen,' he explained. 'From this wire comes oxygen. From the other comes hydrogen, which is lighter than air. We will want to trap the hydrogen. It will lift the airbags.'

'Oh,' I said. I nodded as if I understood. I didn't, but I felt that I should at least pretend. Besides, I had expected something more impressive.

I stayed long enough to appear polite, then returned to my bone carving. I had seven apprentices now - and al-though they were quite capable of doing the work without me, I still felt it my responsibility to check on them as often as I could.

We were using sheepbone now. We had great amounts of it drying in the sun. It would not be the petrified bone that was so hard, of course, but it would still be usable. Such was the difference between wet bone and dry bone.

The apprentices themselves were working busily. Purple had suggested that they work in a new manner. One lad cut the bone into flat segments, another sanded the pieces down to fit into the loom slots, a third cut grooves into the bases so they would lock into the frame, a fourth and fifth cut the slits into the edges, while the sixth polished the finished pieces. The seventh serviced the tools of the first six and kept them sharp. Thus they were able to produce more loomteeth than they could have working alone.

Purple called it a 'division of labor' - every job could be reduced to a few simple tasks. If all a person had to do was learn one task only, it would simplify and speed up all methods of production. Nobody had to know everything.

Except Purple, of course, but then - he was the magician.

He had set up his put-it-together lines all over the village. There were put-it-together lines to spin the thread, to weave the cloth, to build the looms, to make the spinning machines. Everywhere there were great numbers of things to be made. Purple taught the people his put-it-together magic.

In fact he once explained to me that the whole region had become a put-it-together line for a flying machine. We could build others in the future, he said, if we so wished. All we had to do was keep the put-it-together lines going, and we could build as many as we wanted.

It was a staggering thought!

When he heard it, Shoogar's ears perked up. It was no secret what he wanted. An evil gleam came into his eyes, and he headed off to the mountains, to await the fall of darkness and a chance to glimpse the moons.

Fortunately, the nights stayed cloudy.

-----

PURPLE had odd ways of speaking - even odder ways of doing things - but if we gave him the chance, his ways worked.

He proved it time and time again.

For instance, he had figured out a way to keep Gortik from crashing his bicycle into trees. He had suggested that Wilville and Orbur add a pair of smaller wheels to it, one on each side of the rear wheel. It kept the machine from falling over.

Gortik was so grateful at finally being able to ride his bicycle that he allowed Wilville and Orbur to trade their other machines in the Lower Village - but only if they did not have 'Gortik wheels' on them. He wanted to be the only one with a 'crashproof' bicycle.

Wilville and Orbur were pleased at this turn of events. They had figured out a put-it-together line of their own - with only four apprentices they might be able to build as many as two bicycles per hand of days. They were eager to try it out as soon as they finished the flying machine.

At the moment, however, they had more than they could handle building spell devices for Purple.

For instance, he wanted bagholders - great frameworks to hold the aircloth bags over the bubbling pots of water. Thus he would trap the gas as it rose from his hydrogen wires.

Bellis the Potter had been asked to make great funneled pots for these frameworks, and had already finished the first one. In addition to the opening at the top through which the water would be added, it had two long spouts reaching up from either side. One was narrow and delicate; the gas-making wires were set so that the hydrogen gas would rise up through this spout. The other gas would bubble away harmlessly through the other spout which was wide and stubby.

An airbag - completely empty - would be hung on the framework over the pot and its mouth would be attached to the proper spout. When the wire was attached to the battery, Purple hoped the bag would fill with hydrogen.

But none of the airbags had yet been sewn together, only two of the frameworks for holding them had been built, and only one of the water pots had been finished. Bellis the Potter was being recalcitrant.

Originally he had been delighted at Purple's request for great amounts of pottery - but he was not delighted at Purple's suggestion that he use women to help make the pots. Not for gathering clay, he said, not for turning his wheel; not for polishing the finished pots, and not for cleaning his tools - not for nothing! No women, he insisted. Women were for breeding - and that was all they were for.

Purple said that it had already been proven that women could do such simple labors as spinning and gathering.

Bellis shook his head. 'Spinning does not require much thought. Pottery does.'

'H'm, that's what Lesta said. Only he said it was pottery that did not require much thought.'

'Lesta is an old fuzzwort. There will be no women working on my pots-'

'Is that your final word, Bellis?'

'It is.'

'Oh, dear. I had hoped you wouldn't say that. Ah, it's just as well. I have already sent for some potters from the other villages. They have said that they are willing to work with women. I guess I will have to deal with them. I will be seeing you-'

'Wait!' said Bellis. 'Maybe it is possible. We will have to try it and see.'

In other words, everybody wanted to work with Purple now - even if it meant changing one's way of working.

And something else: just as we were learning from Purple, it had become obvious, just from listening to him bargain, that he had learned something from us as well.

-----

BY now Shoogar had completed the cultivation and consecration of every housetree in the region except for three wild ones he had left for Purple to use for his aircloth.

For a day and a half, then, Shoogar wandered around the village looking for things to do, amusing himself with minor spells here and there to patch up minor problems.

Finally he complained to me. 'Everyone has something to do with the flying machine, but me! There are no spells that I have to cast to make it work properly - all of them are Purple's spells.'

'Nonsense, Shoogar. There are many spells you can cast.'

'Name six!'

'Well, ah - surely you can use your skill on the preparations for the flying machine. The aircloth for instance.'

'What is there to do with the aircloth? They weave it, they dip it - it holds air.'

'But surely, there should be a blessing over it, Shoogar, shouldn't there? I mean it is like trapping Musk-Watz the Wind God. There should be some kind of amelioration spell.'

Shoogar thought about it, 'I believe you are right, Lant. I will have to investigate this - certainly the Gods should be involved m this flying machine.'

I followed him down to the weavers' work area, a great pasture just under the crag. There were more than forty of the giant looms thrusting back and forth now. The noise was tremendous - each loom creaked and shuddered protested mightily. The raucous cries of the team leaders tumbled one upon the other until I wondered how the various weavers could tell who was commanding what.

We held our hands over our ears as we strode through the row upon row of machines - each with a tiny patch of air-cloth growing in its heavy frame.

I noticed with some dismay that the field here had been ruined by so much traffic - the blackgrass had given way to dirt, and dust hung heavy in the air. That was not good for the cloth. Even though each piece was carefully washed before it was dipped, it still was not a good idea for it to be exposed to so much dirt.

Doubtless we would have to move the looms farther apart.

We found old Lesta down near the end, supervizing the construction of three additional looms. Shoogar pulled him away from the work, and away from the noise. 'I must talk to you,' he said.

'What about? As you can see, I'm very busy-' Even as he spoke, he fidgeted with his robe and growled at the scurrying apprentices.

Well,' said Shoogar. *I have been doing some calculations-'

'Oh, no - not more calculations!'

'It is about the aircloth - we cannot weave it without offending Musk-Watz - that is, we can weave it, but we must offer a spell of appeasement for every piece and over every loom-'

'I cannot afford it,' groaned Lesta. 'I have enough magic already to make my hair fall out-'

'You would risk being hit with a tornado-'

'It would be a blessing,' snapped the weaver. 'I would at least have a bit of peace.' He waved his arm, 'Look, you see all these looms? Each one is commanded by a different weaver - and each weaver pays homage to a different God. There is Tukker the god of names, Caff the god of dragons, Yake the god of what-if - more Gods than I have ever heard of! And each of those weavers is demanding that his cloth be woven in a pattern sacred to his God!'

'But - but-' I said, 'Purple would have a fit-'

'Exactly,' said Lesta. The cloth must be woven in a simple over and under, over and under, a steady alternation - we want it as tight as possible - no twill weaves, no satin weaves, no fancy patterns of thread - just a simple aircloth weave! But no - you see those men over there? They are packing to return to their village - they won't weave anything but satins. They are afraid to offend Furman the God of Fasf - whatever that is - every day we lose at least five more weavers.'

He turned on us, 'You know what it is? They are stealing the secret of aircloth - they come, they weave for a week, then they find some excuse to run back to their own villages. I cannot keep any workers here.' He groaned and sank down onto a log. 'Aaghh, I wish I'd never heard of aircloth.'

'But why?' I asked. 'Surely, you have taken precautions-'

'Of course, of course,' nodded Lesta. 'No weaver is al-lowed near the looms without surrendering at least two syllables of his secret name as security - but it doesn't work. They claim that an oath to a god is stronger and more important than an oath to a man - and they are right.'

'H'm,' said Shoogar. 'I might be able to do something about that.' .

Lesta looked up.

'It is simple,' he said, 'We will just consecrate all the aircloth to Musk-Watz. Anyone else who weaves it without my blessing, or who weaves it in another pattern, will be risking his wrath.'

'But what about the men who keep leaving?' asked Lesta.

Shoogar shook his head, 'They are not important. We can swear them to more binding oaths-'

'Oaths more binding than those to a god?'

'Certainly - how about the oath of hairlessness?'

'Huh?'

'It is simple - if they defy you, their hair falls out.'

'Oh,' said Lesta. He thought about it and brightened. 'Yes,' he said, 'let's try it. Surely, it couldn't hurt.'

When I left them, they were happily arguing over Shoo- gar's fee for deconsecrating all the other Gods out of the cloth.

-----

I WENT to see Purple at his nest. He was well pleased with the way the work was going. A satisfied grin showed through the black bush that surrounded his chin, and he patted his huge stomach in a jovial manner. For some reason, he reminded me of a huge black tusker.

I told him of the problem with the weavers leaving, and he nodded thoughtfully when I told him of Shoogar's solution. 'Yes,' he said, 'that was very clever. And I would not worry about the ones who have left, Lant. Most of them will be back.'

'Huh? Why?'

Purple said innocently, 'Because we have almost every spinning wheel on the island - where will they get enough thread for their looms?' And he laughed at his own mighty joke. 'They will be lucky if they can make even one piece of aircloth.'

'Why, you are right - I never realized that.'

'And another thing - we have the only bone teeth on the island. They would not be able to weave cloth as fine as ours anyway; they will be back.' He clapped me on the shoulder. 'Come, I must go up to the Crag and check on the progress of the spinning.'

I will walk with you part way,' I said. 'There are several other problems we must discuss.' I told him of the noise and the dirt created by having so many looms so close together. 'It is not good,' I said, 'not for the cloth and not for the men.'

'You are right, Lant - we will have to separate them, perhaps move some of the looms to other pastures. At all costs, we must protect the cloth. I will arrange it myself.'

'I have already told Lesta,' I said. 'He does not object - at least no more than usual.'

'Good.'

We puffed up the slope toward the Upper Village. I said, 'There is another thing. Certain of the men are beginning to wonder about payment for their skills. They fear that you will be unable to cast enough spells to pay them for their labor - they wonder how you will even keep track of them all. I confess, Purple, even I am mystified as to how you will keep your promises.'

'Um,' said Purple. 'I will have to give them some tokens or something.'

'Spell tokens?'

He nodded slowly, 'Yes, I guess we could call them that.'

'But what would they do-?'

'Well, each one would be a promise, Lant - a promise of a future spell. The person could keep it or trade it as he sees fit, or he can redeem it later when I have the time for it.'

I considered it. 'You will need a great many, won't you?'

'Yes, I will, won't I? I wonder if Bellis the Potter could-'

'No wait - I have a better idea!' My mind was working furiously. My apprentices were way ahead in their bone , carving. They had more than enough loomteeth carved to ' satisfy the needs of all the present looms, and even the ones still to be built for at least another hand of days. I did not like to see them sitting around idle - and I still had those one hundred and twenty-eight runforit ribs. I said, 'Why don't you let me carve them? Bone has a soul - clay doesn't. My apprentices have nothing better to do now.'

He nodded slowly, 'Yes, yes, a good idea, Lant. We can give one spell token for each day's labor.'

'Oh, no,' I said. 'One for each five days of labor. That is the way Shoogar works - it makes his spells worth more. "Work for a hand of days, earn a spell." '

He shrugged. 'All right, Lant. Go carve.'

I was delighted. I left him to go on up to the Crag, and I hurried off to the Upper Village to set my idle apprentices to work. We would cut each runforit rib into a thousand narrow slices - maybe more - and stain the resultant chips with the pressed juices of darkberries.

I found, after a little experimentation, that we could use the same cutting threads that we used for loomteeth. The cutting threads were held in a stiff frame. If we opened up one side of the frame and spread the threads out more, we could use it to cut several slices at a time off the end of each rib. Later on we figured that a larger frame holding more threads could cut more slices at a time.

In fact, there was no reason at all that the threads had to be held in a rigid frame - not for this type of cutting. In the space of that afternoon I must have figured at least six new ways to carve bone slices. One of the most effective involved wrapping a single thread in a loop around the piece of bone and pulling it steadily back and forth - in this way, the rib was cut from all sides at once.

We could cut several slices at a time this way - the only limit was the number of threads that we could string around the bone and pull at any one time.

While we were discussing this, Wilville and Orbur stopped by. They were on their way up to the Crag; each was carrying a bundle of hardened bambooze shoots.

I told them of my latest project and they nodded thoughtfully, 'Yes, we can build you a device for cutting many slices of bone at a time. We will use cranks and pullies, and it will be operated by two apprentices. I think we may be able to pull fifty threads at a time with it.'

'Good, good,' I said. 'How soon can I have it?'

'As soon as we have a chance to build it - first we must finish the airboat frame. The spirit pine is too heavy - we are going to try again with bambooze.'

'And that means building a whole new frame,' sighed Orbur.

They shouldered their loads and trudged on up the hill.

-----

IT was well past midnight when I finally grew tired. The red sun was already nearing the west.

It had been a relaxing day. It had been too long since I had concentrated on my bonecarving only, and I had missed it.

I was tired and I ached all over - but at the same time I glowed with the satisfaction of a job well done.

As I trudged across the blackgrass-covered slope toward my home I thought of the pleasures that awaited me there: a hot meal, yes - perhaps even a bit of choice meat; a massage, gentle and warm - I might even let the wives rub precious oil into my fur. It had been too long since I had allowed myself that luxury. And perhaps, if I felt in the mood, perhaps we would do the family-making thing. It would have to be the number two wife, of course - number one was growing heavier and more swollen every day.

Perhaps a hot brushing too, I dreamed - yes, definitely. I could feel the combs already. I quickened my step. My nest-tree loomed invitingly-

I found my wives in bitter argument. The first wife, the one with seniority, was in tears - the second wife, the thinner one, was red-eyed and glaring.

'Have you no sense?' I shouted at her. 'You do not badger my number one wife - she has borne me two sons! You have borne me none!'

The woman only glared angrily.

'Go get the whip!' I ordered.

She said, 'You may whip me, my master - but you cannot change what is. What is is!'

She would pay for such insolence. A man with a wife he cannot control has one wife too many. I stepped over to the other woman and put my arms around her swollen form, 'What is the matter, my number one woman?'

She pointed and said through her tears, 'That - that woman - she-'

My second wife interrupted haughtily, 'I am not "that woman" any more. I am Kate.'

'Kate? What is a Kate?'

'Kate is my name. I have a name. Purple has given it to me.'

'A what? You have a what? You cannot have! No woman has ever had a name!'

'I do! Purple gave it to me!'

'He has not the right!'

'He does too - he is a magician, isn't he? He came up to the Crag today where we spin - and he talked to us, and he asked us what our names were. When we told him we had none, he proceeded to give us names - and he blessed them too! We have consecrated names!'

Why, the fool would bring ruin upon us all! There is nothing so dangerous as a haughty woman - we should never have allowed them to learn how to spin! And now he had given them names! Names, indeed!

Did he think they were equal to men in other respects as well? I would fear to ask him - he might say yes. And this from a magician?!!

Shoogar would have to be told at once. The other men must be warned. Purple must be chastised. If women could have names, then they could be cursed through the power of those names. A man is strong enough to bear such responsibility and avoid such cursing. But a woman? How could a woman even realize the danger? They would be so delighted at having names, they would run to tell everybody.

My first wife turned to me in tears. 'Give me a name, my husband. I want to be somebody too.'

I stormed out.

The village was in an uproar. The sky was smoky and red, and angry men stood about in clumps, shouting foolishness. As if they would dare attack a magician!

Pilg the Crier stood on a tall housetree stump, shouting into the uproar, 'Torchlight procession - burn the - blasphemed against-'

A lot of help he was. And Pilg didn't even have a wife any more! What had he to complain about?

This had gone far enough - a voice of reason was needed here. I climbed the stump behind Pilg and pushed him hard in the small of the back. He stumbled forward and off, waving his arms.

I filled my lungs and bellowed, 'Listen to me, towns- people-'

But there was too much noise - and suddenly they were all going away.

Torches appeared as if by magic, red flames bright over dark crazed heads. I was off the stump and shoving through the jostling crowd. Where was Shoogar now that we needed him?

There was only me to stop them as they streamed toward the river, toward Purple-

I pushed and fought my way to the front of the crowd so that they could see me. 'Listen to me! Listen to your Speaker!'

And then the mob from the Lower Village charged into us, and there was no point. Nothing human or demon could have been heard above the roaring.

-----

WE were a raging torrent of men bent on murder. I was still trying to reach the leading edge, trying to turn it aside, somehow deflect it-

And then we spilled out onto the riverbank and there was Purple.

He was kneeling beside one of Bellis's funneled pots, hugging a kind of bag against his chest, an inflated bag as big as a small woman. As the mob rolled toward him he turned in astonishment, letting go of what he was holding.

It was as if the villagers had run into a stone wall. They stopped joltingly short, and then they moaned as if in agony.

Purple's thing tumbled slowly upward into the red-black sky. It was a flimsy-looking bag of wind, made of aircloth, shiny and bright and flickering back the glow of the torches. It danced as it rose ...

'Lant!' Purple cried. 'What's - what's happening? Why are they here?'

I tore my eyes off the bag of wind. 'Purple - why did you name the women?'

'Why not?' He seemed doubly confused. 'I couldn't just keep calling every one of them "Hey, you," could I?' There was a moan from somewhere behind me. I ignored it.

Purple continued, 'I had trouble remembering the order, Lant. There were too many of them. I mean, it was easy to remember to call a woman "Trone's wife," but she got insulted if I forgot to call her "Trone's second wife." '

'Third,' I remembered.

'Third. You see? It was slowing things up. So I made up some names - Kate, Judy, Anne, Ursula, Karen, Andre, Marian, Leigh, Miriam, Sonya, Zenna, Joanna, Quinn - it made things so much easier.'

'Easier?' I looked about me. Perhaps a score of villagers remained. They seemed to huddle together, holding their torches high against the night. The others had not fled, but seeped away into the darkness while Purple and I were talking.

I glanced nervously at the sky - but his thing had vanished.

'Easier?' I repeated. 'They're here to burn you, Purple. Or they were.'

'Um,' he said. He looked vaguely about him. 'Where's my balloon? It was right here a minute ago - I was holding it-'

'You mean that thing - that thing that went up into the sky?'

His face lit up, 'It did? You mean it worked?'

I swallowed hard and nodded.

'It actually worked!' He peered excitedly upward, squinted at the darkness. Abruptly he looked at me, 'Eh, did you say burn me?'

I nodded again.

It didn't seem to bother him much - he still kept glancing at the sky. He was preoccupied with the balloon. 'For what?' he asked. 'For naming women?'

'Purple, you're a magician - you should have known better! I suppose you named them right out in public, in the hearing of others, so that every woman who spins now knows the names of every other woman! Well, did you?'

'Certainly. Why not?'

I groaned. 'Because they'll use magic on each other! And magic is too powerful to be placed in the hands of fools and women! They'll get above themselves, Purple! First you lave given them a profession, now you give them names. They'll think they're as good as men!'

'It bothers you, doesn't it?' he said perceptively. 'Very well, Lant, what would you like me to do? Shall I take their lames away?'

'Could you?'

'Certainly. I'll do it for you - I'll memorize their numbers and their husbands' names instead - anything to make peace.'

I couldn't believe he would give up so easily, so casually. Is casually as he had given them ... Timidly I repeated, You'll take their names away?'

'Of course,' said Purple, 'what do you think I am? Some kind of fiend?' He laughed boomingly, showing his teeth. Twenty villagers moaned softly and pushed closer together.

Purple bent back to his water pot again, began fiddling with his battery wires. I watched as he fastened a large piece of cloth to the funnel of the pot. 'Another airbag?'

'Huh? Oh, yes - another balloon.' He spread the cloth between his hands. 'We made the first ones today.' Slowly, he bag began puffing up. He held it so it would fill evenly. Watch!' he said, 'Watch - it's filling with hydrogen!'

I took a step forward, curious in spite of myself. Behind me, the small knot of men who remained also edged forward.

The bag was puffy now, almost its full size. It grew rounder as we watched. I fancied I could hear the bubbles flowing up through the water, through the spout and into the bag. Purple watched it narrowly. At last he lifted the windbag from the pot spout and tied its neck. He let it go. It wasn't quite as large as the other, nor was it as full - but ; lifted into the air and flew!

It floated toward the little knot of twenty.

'It works! It works!' Purple was exultant. He did a little dance of delight.

We backed away as the thing drifted nearer. Pilg held his torch before him to ward it off. The bag ignored the warning, floated closer and-

Suddenly was a ball of flame!

A bright orange flash of heat and light!

I don't know what happened after that. Most of us reached home, one way or another; but Ford the Digger ran straight off a cliff, and nobody could find Pilg at all.

-----

BUT the trouble didn't end that easily.

When Purple told the women that they could no longer have any names, there arose such a weeping and wailing that one would have thought that all the men in the village were beating their wives in unison.

In fact many of them took to beating their wives in order to stop them from wailing - but that only increased their anguish. In a short time it became apparent that we had a spontaneous revolt in our hands.

Quite simply, the wives refused to work, to cook, and even to do the family-making thing unless we granted them the right to bear names.

'No,' I told my own wives, 'the old ways are best. If I let you have names, the Gods will be angered.'

They looked at me adamantly, 'But, La-ant, beloved master and faithful husband-'

'There are no buts about it,' I insisted. 'There will be no names.'

'Then there will no family-making either.' They said with a whimper.

I looked at these two women. The number one wife I had purchased while still wearing the fur of youth. She had been with me for many years and had borne me two fine sons and only one daughter. She had been a faithful companion, and I had trained her to my moods well. She was no longer as sleek as she once was, but I would not discard her to the vagaries of the old womens' compound. No, she was too well suited for the duties of running my home.

And the number two wife, sleek and sassy. Young she was, and only a wife of three cycles. She had borne me only daughters. She was spoiled and shrill.

Abruptly, I found myself mourning the loss of the number three wife, the modest and sweet one. She had talked little, and the others had bullied her, but she had been the most gentle. She had borne one son, but both she and he had been lost in the destruction of the old village.

I wondered about the possibility of gaining a new wife. Perhaps I should discard these two if they were going to be so difficult. After all, there were plenty of women around -they would jump at the chance to marry a man such as I.

But then, most of the good women were already married. It was only the flightier and shriller ones who were still single - and even the most comely of those was none too attractive.

Besides, if any other men were thinking in the same manner as I, there would be such a demand for wives that many would go without.

The possibility of trading my wives for the wives of someone else also occurred to me - but who wanted to inherit someone else's bad habits? No, I would just as soon keep these women-

But, no family-making thing.

I could try taking them by force - but they would probably make such grimaces and terrible expressions that there would be no enjoyment in it.

No - I must be the master in my own house. If they would not accept my wishes, then I would discard them and bring in new wives. I could have my pick of the village. After all, was I not the Speaker?

But most of the wailing was in the compound of the unwed women!

These were the women who did most of the spinning -and they were the ones wailing the loudest about names.

But surely, I thought, surely there must be at least one or maybe two of these women who would be willing to forsake her name for the privilege of keeping my house and bearing my children. Surely there would be one who would do the family-making thing with me.

I was mistaken.

Too many other men had had the same idea - too many other men were too eager.

And the women wanted names.

We held another council meeting.

Hinc stood up and said, 'I propose that we beat our wives thoroughly. Tell them we will allow them no names and will not permit a strike-'

There was a chorus of cheering. Clearly, it was a popular idea.

But a man of the Lower Village shook his head and said, 'It won't work, Hinc. We have already beaten our wives - and still they won't work. They want names and no amount of beating will erase that desire.'

'But it's unthinkable!'

'The women are incapable of thinking!'

'But we are not! Think about it! Beating will only increase their resentment!'

We thought about it.

We went home and beat our wives and thought about it some more.

We held another meeting. At last, we decided that a compromise might be in order. The word was Purple's - as was the solution.

The women could have names - but names only to be used as identifiers. They would be unconsecrated names with no religious significance at all. Just words, so to speak, that might let us know which woman we were speaking of.

In other words, a woman's name would be outside the influence of the Gods. . .

Shoogar grumbled at this - something about undermining the foundations of modern magic. He said. 'By their very definition names are part of the object which they are the name of. You can't separate the two. A flower is a flower is a flower.'

'Nonsense, Shoogar; a flower by any other name is still a flower!'

'Wrong, Lant - it's only a flower because you call it a flower. If it weren't a flower, it would be something else. It would be whatever you named it!'

'But it would still smell the same!'

'But it wouldn't be a flower!'

We were getting off the track, 'I'm sorry, Shoogar, but these names cannot be retracted. The best thing we can do is deconsecrate them and make the best of a bad situation. Make the women spellproof. Let the names be only meaningless words.'

'That's just it, Lant. There are no meaningless words. All words have meanings, whether we know them or not. There can be no words that are not also specific symbols of the objects they are names of - and a symbol is a way to manipulate the object. When Purple says we must deconsecrate the names, he is talking foolishness. You cannot deconsecrate a name.

'Unh,' I said, 'but Purple thinks so.'

'Purple thinks so! - Who is the magician here? Me or Purple?!'

'Purple,' I said meekly.

That brought him down. He glared at me.

'Well, this is his territory.'

Shoogar harrumphed and started picking through his spell devices.

I said, 'Shoogar, you are as smart as he - surely there must be some way-'

He frowned. 'H'm yes-' He considered it. 'Yes, Lant, there is. I will simply consecrate every woman with the same name. Therefore no one will dare cast a spell on anyone else's woman, because he will also be casting a spell on his own. And no woman would dare curse another because she would be cursing herself as well!'

'Shoogar - you are brilliant!'

'Yes,' he said modestly. 'I am.'

The next day he went out and named all the women Missa. Gone were the Kates and Ursulas and Annes and Judys. Gone were the Karens and Andres, Marions, Leighs, Miriams, Sonyas, Zennas and Joannas. Gone were the Quinns.

Now there were only Missas. Trone's Missas, Gortik's Missas, Lant's Missas.

It was the perfect solution. The men were happy, the women were happy - excuse me, the Missas were happy.

And best of all, they went back to spinning and working and doing the family-making thing.

Purple could call them whatever he wished - it wouldn't make any difference. Their consecrated names were Missa. That was the only name that had any power.

The men of the village breathed a sigh of relief. Now we could get back to normal - the business of making a flying machine.

-----

IN order to disturb the production of the aircloth as little as possible the looms were being separated at the rate of only three a day. New looms were being built on other slopes instead of in the same general area as the first ones.

When Lesta had been told that he would have to separate the looms already built and working, he had groaned in dismay -- the thought of moving all forty-five looms was frightening. But Purple had quickly pointed out that he need move only twenty-two; if he removed every other loom from the line, he would leave plenty of working space between the rest.

Shaking his head, Lesta went off to issue the orders.

Half of the new cloth was allocated to Purple's construction. The rest was divided on a percentage basis. Each weaver was paid in product, the amount determined by his importance and by the labor he had performed.

Purple paid for his cloth with spell tokens. I had carved them, or my assistants had, to meet his needs. The first set of chips was given to Lesta to be distributed to his workers in the same proportion as the cloth.

At first neither Lesta nor the weavers understood their purpose, but when we explained that each was the promise of a future spell, they nodded and accepted them.

Within a few days they were trading them back and forth among themselves in exchange for various labors. One group of the men was found rolling the bones for them: a common game, except that they had thought of exchanging chips according to the way the bones fell! Shoogar decided it was an offence against the Gods to trifle so with magic. They were severely warned, and their chips confiscated.

Still another man was found trading his wives' family-making privileges for chips. We confiscated his wives.

Because the put-it-together lines were so efficient, the total production of aircloth was more than twenty percent greater than all of the villages' previous cloth production combined. Of course Purple's share comprised half of that production, but few of the weavers minded - without Purple, there would have been no aircloth at all. They knew that they would be able to trade it for much more than the old cloth.

For a while Purple considered appropriating all of the cloth for his flying machine, but he let himself be talked out of it. If the weavers felt they were working only for Purple's benefit, they would be resentful and careless. If they knew they were working for themselves as well, they would treat each piece of cloth as if it were their own - as it might very well be, after the distribution.

Distributions were held every second hand of days. Most of the men received enough of the cloth for their own uses, and enough more for trading. The lesser weavers, the apprentices and novices whose labors did not add up to enough to make even one piece of cloth, were paid with a spell token. If they saved up three of them they could trade them for a piece of cloth.

That the cloth was highly valued was no secret. It soon became a mark of status to wear an aircloth toga, and trading for the material was fast and furious. Several men, head weavers in their own villages, took to clothing their wives in aircloth to show their own importance. But we put a stop to that soon enough.

It was not that they had not the right to parade their wealth, but they should not use their women for the purpose. The women were proud enough as it was - just with names. We didn't need our wives complaining that so-and-so's wife was wearing aircloth and why couldn't they wear aircloth too?

Hurriedly, we stifled that trend.

Chastened, the weavers wore the clothes themselves - as many as they could. For a while it was the fad to wear one's fortune on one's back, but it stopped after a few days. This was still the wading season - the season of sweat.

There was another incident too. We had our first theft.

They were two of the lesser weavers - boys really - they had coveted Purple's huge store of aircloth. They were from one of the other villages on the island and did not truly comprehend the importance of the flying machine project. They were only here for the weaving - and for the marvelous new aircloth.

But, being only apprentices, they weren't paid in cloth, only in extra spell tokens, and they were bitter about it.

Most of the weavers, not needing airtight cloth, took it as it came from the looms. The threads of the linens were highly polished due to the dipping in housetree blood. The cloth had a luxuriously smooth, starchy feel to it.

Purple's share of the cloth was set aside for its later treatment. It would have to be dipped again, this time m housetree-binding solution. It was this stockpile of waiting cloth that had tempted the boys.

They had been caught, of course. Although it was past midnight and most people were asleep, still the red sun was high in the west. Purple, whose sleeping habits were not like the rest of us, had accosted them - indeed had bundled into them, their arms laden with his stolen cloth.

The boys made the mistake of running for the weaving fields, Purple in hot pursuit, yelling, 'Stop, thief! Stop!'

The midnight weavers did not know the word. But they saw two boys running and a screaming magician following, and they knew something was up. They headed off the boys, and held them for Purple.

At blue dawn we held a council: the magicians, the head weavers of the villages, and five Speakers including myself and Gortik.,

'I don't know how they expected to escape,' Purple confided in me. 'Is there a standard punishment for- He seemed to search for a word, '-this crime ?'

'How could there be? Such a thing has never happened before. I don't know what we will decide.'

Purple looked astonished. He seemed about to speak; but then the proceedings began.

I said little. This was not a matter for me to decide. It was for the Speaker of the boys' village. The boys stood trembling, off to one side. They were much the same age as my Wilville and Orbur.

The Speakers argued for most of the morning. There was no precedent, no basis for a decision.

At last it was Shoogar who decided it. Grumpily he stepped to the center of the ring. These boys have committed a theft,' he said. The word is Purple's. Purple tells us that a theft is an offense where he comes from.

'Personally, speaking for myself, I consider it an act of foolishness - taking something from a magician is downright dangerous!'

There was a murmur of agreement.

Shoogar continued, 'Obviously, because the property taken was a magician's, this is not a matter for Speakers. It is a matter for magicians.'

This time the Speakers agreed heartily. Shoogar was taking them off the hook.

'It was aircloth that these two thieves wanted- said Shoogar, advancing on the boys. They shrank away from him. Therefore, I propose that the punishment match the offense -I say we give them aircloth!'

And with that he unfurled the huge bolts of cloth the boys had taken from Purple. They were long strips, the first ones sewn together for the airbags. 'Wrap them in it!' commanded Shoogar.

'Now, wait a minute-' began Purple.

Shoogar ignored him. The head weavers shoved the boys forward and forced them onto the ground, flat on the strips of cloth. 'Roll them up!' said Shoogar. Tight! Roll them tight!' The weavers did so.

'But - Shoogar,' Purple protested, 'they'll suffocate.'

'I do not know the word,' said Shoogar, not taking his eyes from the struggling bulks in the cloth.

'It means to - to run out of oxygen.'

Shoogar threw him a glance. He may have remembered the word, but what of it? Oxygen was the gas Purple threw away when he made hydrogen from water. Throw-away gas.

'Fine,' he said. 'They will suffocate.'

'You mustn't,' said Purple. He was quite pale.

Shoogar turned away with a grimace.

Purple made a sound in his throat. I thought he would go after the other magician; but he did not.

The boys were completely bound up now, the weavers were tying the cloth firmly about them. They looked like giant sting thing larvae, long and brown and shapeless.

'We will leave them here until the next rising of the blue sun,' said Shoogar. 'You will post men to see that no one comes near.'

-----

WHEN the boys were unrolled, they were stiff and dead.

Even Shoogar was shaken. 'I had not expected-'

He shook his head slowly. 'So that's what suffocate means.' He circled the bodies. 'A strong spell it must be. Look, not a mark on them.'

We looked. Their faces were dark and cold. Their tongues protruded, and their eyes bulged in amazement; but of wounds there were none.

When we told Purple, he made a sound of pain - but as if he had expected it, I thought. He went down to the clearing himself to see. 'I shouldn't have let him,' he said. 'I should have stopped him.'

When he saw their stiff forms, he recoiled. He sank down upon a log and buried his head in his hands and sobbed. Even Wilville and Orbur edged away from him.

The fathers of the boys arrived then. They had been summoned from the other side of the island, and it had taken them almost a day to make the journey. When they learned what had happened, they began to wail. They had come to participate in a punishment ceremony, not a funeral.

I myself felt strange, empty, taken with a terrible sense of loss.

Gortik gathered up the thefted cloth, handling it with new respect, and presented it to Purple. Purple raised his head, looked at the offering. He shook his head vehemently, shrinking back. 'Take it away. Take it away.'

In the end, we buried the boys in it.

*                      *                   *

Afterward I found Purple alone. He was sitting morosely on the unfinished airboat frame.

He looked at me, 'I told Shoogar. They'll suffocate. They won't get enough oxygen.'

'Curse your throw-away gas anyway! They didn't get any air, Purple! Your aircloth holds air out as well as gas in!'

'Yes, of course.' He looked puzzled.

'You knew? You knew!' I cried wildly. 'You knew they would die! If you'd sat on Shoogar and made him listen - or told me! The boys had done nothing so very wrong-'

'Stop it!' he moaned.

'You let them die, Purple! For so small a thing?'

'But that's the way it is in many savage societies-' he said. He stopped then and looked at me. Speechless.

'Savage societies?' I asked. 'Is that what you think of us -that we are savages?'

'No - no, Lant, I-' He flailed about. 'I thought that - I have never seen a punishment here. I did not know what | your penalties were. I thought Shoogar knew what he was doing. I - I - I'm sorry, Lant. I didn't know-' He covered his face.

Suddenly, I was calm. Purple was outside all human experience. We had been assuming things about him just as he had been assuming them about us.

I asked, 'Do they kill for theft, where you come from?'

He shook his head. 'It is not necessary. When one commits a major crime, our - Advisors can tamper with the thief's - soul, so that he can never do it again.'

I was impressed. 'It is a powerful spell.'

'And a powerful threat,' said Purple. 'A killer who has been so treated cannot even defend himself, or his children or his property. A treated thief could not theft water, though his house was burning ... But, Lant, I do not understand - how can theft be so rare here? The boys took a thing that | did not - pertain to them; they did not build it or earn it or trade for it. How can this be unusual?'

'It is unheard of, Purple. It has never happened before.' |

'But-' He seemed to search for words. 'What do you call . it when one takes another's bread?'

'Hunger.'

He was flustered. 'Well, what would you do if someone took your carved bone?'

'Without payment? I would go and get it back. He could not disguise it. No bonemonger ever carves exactly like any other. I never carve even two pieces alike - except for loom-teeth, of course.'

'Uncarved bone, then. You have a good store of uncarved bone. What if someone took it?'

'For what? Who could use it? Only another bonemonger. I would know them all, in any region. I would go and get it back.'

This is nonsense. Lant, surely there must be something for thieves to take. Secrets!' Purple cried wildly. 'Lesta guards his weaving secrets as a mother her children.'

'But if one took his secrets, Lesta would still have them. He could still make his cloth, though others could also. One cannot theft a secret without leaving it behind. One cannot theft more food than one can eat before it spoils. One cannot theft a house, or anything too heavy to lift. One cannot theft tools; tools belong to a trade; one would have to learn the trade also. One cannot theft a profession, or standing in a community, or a reputation.'

'But-'

'One cannot theft anything easily recognized, unless one can flee faster than men can follow. In fact, the only things one can theft are things that look exactly like a great many other things.' My mind was searching as I talked, and I was beginning to understand Purple's confusion. 'Things that look like other things. Cloth, or spell chips, or grain-'

Purple was horrified. 'Why, you're right!'

'Cloth and spell chips. Yes. Until your coming, one could not theft enough cloth to be worth the effort. So much cloth did not exist. And how could one theft the services of a magician? The idea was nonsense until you arrived, Purple.'

'I've invented a new crime,' said Purple dazedly.

'Congratulations,' I said, and left him.

-----

THE search for fiberplants and wild housetrees had been extended even into the wilderness hills. Four teams left the village each blue dawn to search for materials, and they often did not return till long after Ouells had winked out in the west.

Too often they came back with their gathering baskets and urns only half full.

The fiberplants were not as big a problem as they might have been. They grew fast and the cropmongers had begun experimenting with planting them for the weavers. Already the new shoots were springing up and it looked like we would have fiberplant all year long.

It was the housetree sap, though, that was really slowing us down. We were running out of trees. Shoogar had consecrated all the trees in the region, except three - and those three were nearly tapped dry. Indeed Purple didn't want to bleed them any more for fear of killing them. Already they were losing their leaves.

There were wild housetrees of course, but the effort involved in dragging the filled urns back from the wilderness hills was prohibitive. They were great heavy things, and it took eight men to move them. Bellis had made them out of oaken barrels lined with aircloth, then reinforced them again with extra bindings.

He'd made larger ones as well to be used as vats. These had been made out of heavy bricks of reinforced clay. They were beautiful.

But we did not have enough housetree blood to fill them.

Meanwhile the piles of untreated cloth continued to grow. We had only enough sap for the spinning, not enough for the second dipping.

And the boatframe was rapidly taking shape on the peak.

The first boatframe had become much too heavy and had to be scrapped. The boys had taken it apart and thrown out everything heavier than spirit pine. Then they threw out the spirit pine too, leaving only one length of it for the keel.

Instead, they used bundles of bambooze, bound together and made rigid by judicious hardening. Shoogar had helped them on this, although we rarely saw him otherwise. He was too busy with loomblessings and other spells.

The second boatframe was almost entirely bambooze. But, so far, it was only a framework.

The boys abandoned their idea of aircloth-covered balsite. It turned out that the balsite was unnecessary and that they could use the aircloth alone. The hull could be made of many stiffened layers of it stretched tightly over the bambooze frame. Wherever possible, the aircloth would be used instead of lumber. It would be hardened later by the application of many layers of housetree blood to make it watertight.

Once the boys began thinking about it, they came up with many ways to keep the airboat as light as possible. Instead of wooden planks for seats, they used stretched cloth over simple frames, and Purple would sit on those. Instead of planking on the sides of the two cabins - one a storage compartment, the other a sleeping room - they would use air-cloth again.

The boys were ecstatic over their work. It would be watertight; it would be strong. Best of all, it would be so light that Purple could afford to be extravagant with the rest of his weight allowances.

The only part of the boatframe that had to be wood were the deck slats along the floor. The boys had already tied and glued them into the frame; it was a narrow walk running the length of the boat. The rest of the hull was still open to air, but eventually the rigid structure would be covered and firm.

It made me wonder - could aircloth be used in other ways as well?

For instance, could one use it to make a nest? Instead of weaving a home out of fiberplants and stretchvines, one could use aircloth instead. It would be easier and faster and lighter-and it would keep out the rain too.

H'm - perhaps one could stretch large pieces of the cloth across a rigid framework and use it as a rainshelter for the flocks - or to dam a stream. Many thicknesses might be required for the latter, but there was no reason why it shouldn't work. H'm, we might be able to store large amounts of water in aircloth-lined pools as well It would not drain away. If we put aircloth across the top of the water, not even thirsty Musk-Watz could steal it.

I was willing to bet that there were a great many uses for the cloth that we had not thought of yet. Perhaps I had been too easy with Lesta. No matter, I could renegotiate the terms of our deal after Purple's flying machine was finished.

The finished framework looked like the outline of a boat. It was so light that it had to be tied down against the winds of Idiot's Crag. One man could move it, and two could carry it without difficulty.

The Keel was the single length of spirit pine they had saved. To make it even more effective, they had slung it below the boatframe on several spars of rigid bambooze. Then, to hold the boatframe and keep the keel from snap-ping, they had built a cradle to stand it upright.

Now they were adding rungs to the struts that supported the outriggers. Why rungs? Because, Wilville told me with a happy smile, they would need to be able to crawl from the hull out to the airpushers.

I didn't ask. In time we would know.

The boys continued to work on the outriggers. Soon they would begin stretching the cloth over the frame. Then the only thing holding up the launching of the airship would be the sewing up of the windbags.

And that was being held up by three things.

We needed more aircloth. For that, we needed both fiberplants and housetree blood.

We needed more housetree blood just to treat the cloth we had already woven.

And thirdly, we needed another way to separate water. Purple's battery had died.

-----

I FOUND out about the battery when I went to tell him about the housetree blood. Purple was sitting on a log outside his house, turning the flat, bulging case over in his hands. From the way he looked, he might have been holding his own death.

I sat down beside him, without speaking, and waited.

'It's dead,' he said presently.

I said, 'How? Did you starve it?'

He pointed up. Hovering above his housetree were seven man-sized aircloth bags. They hung upward from ropes. 'I have been experimenting, Lant - I grew carried away.' He waved up at the village. 'And I did not want your people to fear the airship-'

A group of young boys came running by, each trailing a shiny aircloth bag behind him on a string. The bags were about the size of a man's head, maybe bigger. 'Useless patches of extra cloth,' Purple explained. 'Not tight enough for the airboat, but I thought if the children could see - that is, if the adults could see that even children could handle the spell-'

I understood. Purple had seen our terror on the night of the riot. He was trying to lessen that by showing this was a simpler spell than we had thought.

Now, he mourned over his battery and stroked it sadly.

'Is there no way you can make a new one ?'

'You don't know what you're asking!' he exclaimed. 'My whole civilization is based on the kind of power that was in this battery. I am not a - a - magician of that type, I don't have that training. I am only a student of how savage men can live together!'

I ignored the insult, for clearly he was upset. I forced him to sit down and would not let him say another word until he had drunk off a bowl of Quaff. His face twisted into extraordinary shapes.

'I've been an idiot,' he told me. 'For eight months I shaved my face with the electrissy I needed to get home!'

'But what about those airbags?' I pointed at his house- tree.

Those wouldn't be enough. Besides, by the time we finish the boatframe, those will be empty again. The gas leaks out, Lant. Very slowly, but it still leaks.'

I handed him another bowl of Quaff. 'But surely, you can make some kind of power source to separate the water.'

'No. That was it. You don't have the tools to make the tools to make the tools.'

'Is there nothing else that would activate a flying spell?'

'Hot air. Hot air is lighter than cold air. That's why smoke rises. The cursed trouble is that hot air gets cold. We'd sink into the sea and stay there; we couldn't possibly get far enough north in a hot-air windbag.'

I sank down onto the log next to him and poured myself some Quaff. 'Surely there must be some way, Purple. It was not so long ago that you thought an airboat was impossible. Is there nothing you can do about your battery? There must have been a first source of electrissy some time. How was it done?'

He looked at me, bleary-eyed. 'Oh, no, Lant-' And then his eyes narrowed. 'Wait a minute - I did make something in school once! A spinning motor made from paper clips and copper wire and a battery. But-'

'But you don't have paper clips-' Whatever that was.

'Oh, that's no problem. The paper clips were only for structure.'

'But your battery is dead-'

'That's no problem either. In that - spell, I was using the battery to make the spinning section go round.' He grabbed me excitedly - we tumbled backward off the log; he didn't notice. 'It will work just the same the other way! I can reverse the spell and make a spinning section to recharge my battery!'

I grabbed the Quaff bladder before too much spilled. I took a drink. 'You mean, you can restore its power?'

'Yes, yes!' He began dancing about, paused, took the bladder from my hands and drank. 'I can make as much electrissy as I need. We can even make some for you too, Lant-'

'Uh, no thank you, Purple-'

'But it is great magic! It can help you! You'll see. And I won't need to take it all with me - oh, my goodness - we'll have to turn the spinning section by hand, won't we? Well, we can use a crank and - gears! Migosh, yes - we can gear it up and-'

Abruptly he stopped. 'No, it won't work.'

'Huh? What's the matter?'

'Lant, it was so long ago. The thing I built was so small. I'm not sure how to do it any more, and I don't know if it would make enough electrissy.'

I poured him some more Quaff and sat down on the log again with the bladder. 'But you're going to try it, aren't you?'

'Of course,' he said. 'I have to - but I hardly remember-' He sat down on the log next to me. 'Making an airship isn't as easy as I thought.'

I nodded. 'It's been nine hands of days since we started. I thought this would take only a few at most, but it has gone on and on.'

'And on,' he added.

I took another swig. 'You know,' I said, 'I've got some more bad news for you.'

'Oh? What?'

There won't be any more aircloth. We've run out of wild housetrees. The weavers can keep weaving, of course, but unless the threads are dipped, it won't do you any good.'

'Wonderful,' he said. His tone suggested that he thought it was anything but. 'Of course, it hardly matters, if we can't make more gas.'

I took another drink. So did Purple.

'Of course,' he said, I do have enough aircloth for a small airship - one that would carry me alone-' He trailed off. He hiccuped and said, 'If I have to make a hot-air flying spell, I'll do it. Just so that Shoogar can't call me a liar. I promised.' He drained his bowl and held it out. I filled it again.

'I'd sell my hope of flying for a quart of good Scotch right now. Well, if we can't bleed the wild housetrees any more, let's bleed the tame housetrees!'

'Blessed housetrees,' I corrected him. 'Consecrated housetrees. If you try that, they'll burn you for sure. Tampering with a wife is one thing, but a housetree is quite another.'

'Can't bleed consecrated housetrees,' said Purple. He was having more trouble than usual talking. 'Can't bleed consecrated housetrees.' His face lit up. 'We can deconsecrate them first!'

'Nonsense.'

'Why? Shoogar deconsecrated the other villages' weaving patterns. Shoogar deconsecrated the womens' names. Why don't I get to deconsecrate something?'

He was right. 'Why not?' I agreed.

'Because I don't know a deconsecration spell,' he answered.

'Nobody does,' I said. 'There are no spells for de-consecrating housetrees.'

'Nobody's ever needed one. I'll make one up. Am I not a magician?'

'Certainly,' I said.

'Best magician in this whole spiral arm, and two more besides.' He was trailing off into gibberish. What he needed was another bowl of Quaff. Me too.

We trudged up to the Upper Village, and climbed into my nest. I dug out a fresh bladder.

Purple took the first swig. Somewhere along the way he'd lost his bowl, so he drank it straight from the bladder.

'How are you going to deconsecrate the trees?' I asked.

Purple lowered the skin from his mouth. He gave me a dignified look of reproach and staggered to his feet, 'Let's go look at one and see.'

Somewhat unsteadily, he lowered himself from my nest and together we tottered through the village to one of the largest housetrees - that of Hinc the Lesser. Purple took another swill of the Quaff and surveyed it thoughtfully. 'To which God is this tree consecrated?' he asked.

'Um, this is the tree of Hinc the Lesser. I believe that it is consecrated to Poup, the God of Fertility. Hinc has fourteen children - all but one of them girls.'

'H'm,' said Purple, 'I would need to deconsecrate it with potions of sterility then, wouldn't I? H'm, Quaff being alcohol is a cleansing medicine. Yes, Quaff can be used to make things sterile. Quaff should be used in the deconsecration spell. And let me see, we should use the petals of the prickly plant which blooms only once in fifty seasons, and ...' He mumbled on and on like this. I took another drink of the Quaff and followed him back to his nest.

He disappeared up into it, still mumbling. A hail of objects, vials, potions and other magical devices began falling out of the nestdoor. 'Junk!' Purple bellowed. 'It was all Dorthi's junk. I had to learn the names of each and every -| Damn, I'm out of prickly plant petals. Can I substitute?'

'Isn't that dangerous?'

'Do you want to wait fifty family-making years?'

'No.'

'I don't either. I'll substitute.'

After a bit he dropped out of the nest himself, landing unsteadily on top of the by now large pile of spellcasting items. He started gathering them into a large pack. 'It's obvious to me, Lant, that we need to research this a little further. Let's return to the village and look at the trees again.

Again we surveyed Hinc's tree. The sun was red in the west. We had perhaps an hour before blue dawn. 'Is this a I nighttime or a daytime spell ?' I asked.

'I don't know. Let's make it a dawn spell, a five o'clock in the morning spell.' He took another drink of Quaff. The bladder was badly deflated by now.

He hiccuped and pulled out a clay mixing bowl. He began mixing a potion, changed his mind abruptly and discarded it. He started another, but poured that one out too - it sizzled on top of the first. Finally he started mixing powders and things in his pottery bowl.

Pottery. I wondered if I should be insulted.

Purple sniffed his mixture and wrinkled his nose. 'Ugh! Almost - almost. This should do it, Lant. All it needs is-' Abruptly he straightened and announced, 'I have an urge.' He lifted his robe and looked around for a bush to step behind. There were none. He looked at the bowl before him, shrugged, 'Why not?'

There was a hot spattering into the bowl.

'Purple!' I cried, 'That is sheer genius - defiled water will make the spell twice as powerful - defiled magician's water! Yes, yes.'

He lowered his robe modestly, 'It was nothing, Lant. It comes naturally.' He reached for the Quaff, explaining, 'I may need more later.' He drank, then returned the bladder to me.

He hefted his spell-potion bowl carefully. 'Now, there is only one thing left to do.'

I lowered the skin and said, 'What's that?'

'Why, try the spell of course-' Immediately he began singing and dancing in a circle around Hinc's tree. On his second round, he almost tripped over his robe, but fortunately he caught himself before he fell into his bowl. Quickly he divested himself of the robe, and picking up the bowl once again began dancing around the tree and singing, 'Here we go around the prickly plant, the prickly plant, the prickly plant - here we go around the prickly plant at five o'clock in the morning.'

I wondered if I should tell him that it was not a prickly plant he was deconsecrating, but a housetree, when suddenly Hinc shoved his head out of his nest and shouted, 'What is that terrible noise?' He wrinkled his nose, 'And what is that terrible smell?'

'It's nothing,' Purple called as he came around again. 'Go back to bed, Hinc. We're only deconsecrating your house-tree.'

'You're what?' Hinc's neck-fur bristled. He dropped angrily out of the nest.

'Calm down, Hinc,' I said. 'Have a drink of Quaff while we explain.' He did and we did. We told him how we were short of housetree blood, how Purple needed it desperately in order to complete his flying machine and leave this world. We told him how desperately Purple wanted to go home, and how he was doing Purple a great favor. We told him how it would only be for a day or two, and then Shoogar would be glad to reconsecrate the tree.

By the time we finished telling him, Hinc was almost as drunk as we.

He nodded agreeably as Purple gathered up his bowl again and began singing and dancing around the tree, sprinkling it gently with the potion. We watched for a bit and couldn't help laughing.

Purple called out, 'Don't stand there laughing. Help me.'

We looked at each other and shrugged. Hinc dropped the robe he was holding about himself and easily joined Purple. After pausing for a moment to finish the Quaff I did too.

When we had finished deconsecrating Hinc's tree, we found we had potion left, a lot of it, so we moved on to the tree of Ang the Fish-Farmer and Net-tender. He peered out of his nest at the noise and shouted, 'A festival? Wait! I will join you.'

Almost immediately he dropped out of his tree, stripping off his clothes, but Purple had stopped singing. 'No, it's no good - we're out of Quaff.'

'No! No, we're not!' cried Ang. He disappeared back into his nest and reappeared almost immediately with another full bladder. 'Here, let the celebration continue!'

After we had danced about his tree five times, Ang suddenly turned to me and asked, 'By the way, Lant, what are we celebrating?'

I told him.

'Oh,' was all he said. Whatever the magician wanted was fine with him. We kept on dancing.

The noise awakened several other people nearby, and they joined us, with Quaff. We de consecrated their trees for them too, and were about to start on mine - when abruptly we were out of potion. 'It's not fair, Purple. You've deconsecrated everybody else's tree - you've got to deconsecrate mine!'

So we made some more potion.

This time, though, we all provided the defiled water.

By this time the sun was close to rising, we could see the blue-black glare of it behind the horizon. Most of the men in the village were awake now and eagerly joining the line to put defiled water into the potion pots - of which there were several now. We passed around the ever present Quaff bladders. As soon as one was emptied, another full one seemed to appear from nowhere. The new arrivals kept bringing them. The wives watched nervously from the nests.

And then we were ready to resume the dancing and singing. We danced and sang around every tree we could, until the sun flashed over the horizon. We danced and sang in the harsh blue light until it disappeared behind a cloud bank and abruptly we were in the midst of a raging rainstorm.

'Hurrah! The deconsecration spell has worked!' We skipped down the slope and began to dance around Purple's housetree and the seven giant airbags hanging over it. 'The Gods are angry! The Gods are angry!' We sang, 'It's raining, it's pouring! All the Gods are roaring!'

Lightning and thunder shattered the sky - the warm drops felt good against our naked fur.

And then-

A crackle of shattering brightness - our hair stood on end - a giant KKK-R-R-R-ummmmppp!!! And a ball of orange flame enveloped Purple's airbags, housetree and all.

For a moment I stood petrified - had we gone too far? Was Elcin about to destroy this village too?

And then it was over, and silence reigned. Only the quiet spattering of raindrops.

'Well,' said Purple in the stillness. 'I guess that's how you deconsecrate a magician's tree.'

-----

WHEN I awoke, the crimson sun was glaring.

Shoogar was standing above me, also glaring.

'Shoogar,' I said and groaned. The sound of my voice hurt my left eye.

'Lant,' he replied. His voice hurt my right eye.

'Shoogar,' I said.

'Lant,' he replied.

'Shoogar,' I said.

'I mean to know the meaning of your dancing this morning.'

'Not my dancing, not mine.' I lifted myself up on one arm. 'It was Purple's. He deconsecrated some housetrees so he could use their blood.'

'He what??!!'

'Shoogar,' I whispered. 'Please don't shout. He only did it for a little while. You can reconsecrate them again.'

'I can what?!!'

'You can reconsecrate them as soon as we tap their blood.

'When?!!' he screamed. I winced. 'I have cloth to bless, airboat frames to bless, threads to bless, nets to bless, weaving to bless. When do I have the time to consecrate housetrees?'

'You'll find time, Shoogar. We didn't deconsecrate that many.'

'How many?'

'Um, not that many.'

'How many is "not that many"?'

'Um, let me figure it out. There was Ang's and Hinc's and Kifs and Totty's and Goldin's and ... um... and...'

'Come on, clothead. Remember!'

'I will, I will, don't rush me. I think we deconsecrated mine and maybe Purple's - but I don't think we have to worry about Purple's. After we deconsecrated it, there was nothing left. And I think we did Snarg's, but not ... or maybe ...'

'Lant, you're such a bloody blithering bowl of bladderworts - if you don't remember, I'll have to reconsecrate every tree in the whole fang-sucking village!'

'Um, I'm sure I can remember, Shoogar. Just give me time.'

-----

SHOOGAR was preparing to reconsecrate every tree in the village.

But we wouldn't let him. To do that meant that all the other work would have to wait until he could bless it. We would just have to pass out spell tokens to the housetree owners until Shoogar could redeem them. Like Purple's, they would be promises of future spells, and he could catch up later.

'Um,' said Shoogar, surveying the village. It was obvious he didn't like the idea. 'Well, I still need to know - would you mind telling me just how you and Purple did your spell?'

'It's all every vague. I remember we sang and danced and had a lot of fun. Purple was singing something about "It's raining, it's pouring, all the Gods are roaring." '

'I can imagine.'

'Oh yes, he also sang, "Here we go around the prickly plant, the prickly plant, the prickly plant-" '

'He turned the housetrees into prickly plants?'

'Only symbologically, Shoogar-'

'Only symbologically-?' He groaned. 'Of course, only symbologically. How else can you turn a housetree into a prickly plant?'

He turned and stared across the hillside, toward the village of prickly plants. 'Well,' he sighed, 'there goes the neighborhood.'

-----

THE sap-gathering was well under way. I headed down to the Lower Village. Bellis the Potter would have to supply us with everything he had that we could use to hold housetree blood - we weren't going to run out again.

When I told him, he was delighted. It meant a great deal of work, he kept bouncing up and down and shouting, 'Oh, goody, goody, goody - spell tokens, spell tokens!'

I shrugged and left him. My head still hurt. I went up the river to look for Purple. I couldn't even find where he had been working. The surf was already crashing in around his blackened housetree stump.

Half the Lower Village was underwater, the Speakers' clearing and the graves of the two boys as well. The river had long since seeped over its banks.

Lower Village families had been trickling up the hill to occupy the housetrees we had prepared for them for some time now, but I had not realized just how high the water had risen. It had been a while since I had been to this part of the village.

I found Purple with Trone the Coppersmith. The two of them were hard at work with wood and metal. I couldn't fathom what they were doing, but it seemed odd that Trone, a layman, should be working on a magical device.

When I pointed this out, Trone only snarled at me. Purple said, 'I need his skills, Lant. He's the only man who can make what I need. We've got the copper wire - now, I need a way to insulate it.'

'Insulate? I wish you'd speak like a man, Purple.'

'It means trap the magic in the wire. That way it can't take short cuts. I can make it go round and round in a spiral, but if the wire touches itself - I wonder, maybe if I coated the wires with sap ...'

'We have more housetree blood, Purple. The gathering crews are busily working in the Upper Village right now. All those trees we deconsecrated-'

'I remember, I remember.' Purple clutched at his head.

'Ooh. I've got a head you wouldn't believe ...'

True enough. I hadn't believed Purple's head the first time I saw it. But I had come on weightier matters. I said,

'Your housetree was destroyed last night, Purple-'

'No matter. There are others-'

'But your battery-?'

He held it up. 'Safe!' he said. 'I have kept it with me always.'

'Have you worked out a way to restore its power?'

That's what we're working on now.' He indicated the device on Trone's bench. 'This one is only a model, but as soon as Trone gets more copper wire, we will be building larger ones. We still have to wind these two iron uprights with copper wire. Then, between them, we will mount a long cylinder of iron so that it can spin between the two uprights. We must wind that with wire too, as much as can be fitted on. Then we must run leads for half a mile.'

'Half a mile? That's a tradesman's ransom in metal!'

'In your old village it may have been,' snorted Trone. 'Here metal is more plentiful.'

'Besides,' said Purple, 'we dare not risk bringing the electrissy maker any closer. A stray spark from it might set off all the hydrogen bags.'

'Set off?'

'Explode,' said Purple. 'Catch fire.'

'You mean like the ones over your housetree-?'

'Exactly,' said Purple. 'Only we will be using bigger airbags for the flying machine - we must be very careful with them.'

'Oh, yes,' I said. 'Oh, yes. By all means. Use a mile of wire if necessary, two miles - a dozen - as much as you need.'

Purple laughed at that. 'Don't worry, Lant. The danger will be minimal.'

'That's what Shoogar said, just before the last con-junction.'

He missed the point, began poking at his device again.

'What is it that will make the magic?' I asked.

'The spinner here-' he pointed at the iron bar which would be mounted between the other two uprights. 'One must turn this core to make the magic flow. When the wire is wrapped properly, the core will resist turning. We have already mounted the crank here. For the larger ones we will use a set of bicycle pedals and a seat for the pedaller.'

'That means more work for my sons,' I said. 'They will have to build a bicycle frame for your devices, won't they?'

He frowned, 'Yes, they will. I hadn't thought of that. I'll go and tell them.'

'Don't bother. I'm going up there; I will mention it to them.'

'Yes,' said Trone to Purple, 'you will have to stay here and help me melt this copper into wire. You work the bellows.'

-----

UP on Idiot's crag the women were still spinning thread, a pleasant and pastoral scene. Great loops of silvery thread shimmered out over the edge, glistening wetly in the wind.

I climbed past them to where my sons were just finishing the outriggers on the boat. Every day saw them making more and more adjustments with the masts and rigging. All they needed now were the windbags. The women, of course, did not know about Purple's windbags. All they saw was a great flatbottomed boat with a fin on the bottom and two pontoons mounted far out on the sides.

Naturally, the women gossiped among themselves. Occasionally one of my wives would relate to me the latest rumor - the most recent being that Purple's strange machine was going to fly off the mountain by flapping its wings. Purple was only waiting until Orbur and Wilville could cover the outriggers with fabric and feathers.

We had tried to stop the rumors by showing the loudest of the women the small airbags that Purple had made for the children. Those we said would lift the airboat. It did little good. Most of the small airbags had grown flaccid over the few days since they had been filled. They drooped.

I could see what Purple was talking about when he said it was imperative that his battery be recharged - when he took the flying machine on his long journey he would have to be constantly renewing the hydrogen in the balloons.

Wilville was applying another hardening layer of housetree blood to an aircloth-covered side. Orbur was just fastening a bicycle frame to one of the outriggers and stringing pulleys to an odd, bladed construction.

'What in the name of Ouells is that?' I asked.

'It's an airpusher,' said one.

'A windmaker,' said the other.

'What does it do?'

'It makes wind,' said Orbur. 'Shall I show you? We have the other one hooked up right - I think.' He crawled across the outrigger, into the boat, out the other side and across that outrigger-

'Hey!' cried Wilville. 'Be careful!'

'Sorry,' said Orbur, still climbing.

'Is it safe to climb on those?' I asked.

'Oh, yes,' he called down, 'they're designed for it. Whoever is working the airpushers will have to climb out there to sit on the bicycle frames.'

'Oh,' I said.

He pulled himself onto the bicycle seat, explaining, 'If it were in the air, I wouldn't be able to stand on anything but the outrigger. Wilville and I have been practicing, crawling from the boat to the bicycle and back again.'

I nodded. 'Yes, that makes sense.'

'Stand just behind that bladed thing there - not too close.' I did so. Wilville paused in his painting to watch.

Orbur began pedaling then - the airpusher started to spin. A wind blew against my face. Harder and harder - it was a pocket hurricane! It was coming from Orbur, coming from that whirling bladed device! I stumbled back with my arm across my eyes.

My sons laughed. Orbur released the bicycle pedals. The spinning slowed and so did the wind.

'You see,' said Wilville. 'It makes wind. When we get the airboat up in the air, we will lower these slings with the pushers on the end. They hang one man height below the airframe. We will be sitting on the bike frames and we will pedal. The pulleys turn the shafts, and the blades make wind. The wind pushes the airboat, and it moves.'

'Oh,' I said, 'but why are there two windmakers?'

'You need two to steer.'

'But that means that someone else will have to go with Purple!'

'Two people,' corrected Wilville. 'One person could not bring the airboat back alone. He would be stranded there.'

'But - but - who - who is so foolish as to-?'

'Father,' said Orbur. 'Haven't you been listening to a thing we've said ? We are going with Purple.'

I felt suddenly stricken. 'You're what-?!!'

'Somebody must - who is it that knows the airboat better than us?'

'But-but-'

Orbur climbed down off his bicycle frame, climbed down from the airboat cradle, and came up to me. Gently he put his hands on my shoulders and began to guide me down the hill. 'You go home and think about it, Father. You will see that it is the wisest choice. Somebody must see that Purple leaves. Somebody must make sure.'

I went. Wilville and Orbur were right.

-----

I TRUDGED back down the hill toward the village. Spread below me was another facet of the airboat's construction. Great swatches of cloth had been spread out across an unused slope and Grimm the Tailor was sewing them together to make the first of Purple's giant airbags.

This was cloth that had already been treated in houseblood and tested for its water tightness. As it was sewn together, the seams would also be treated. The cloth was light and airy, and a gusty wind swept across the hill making' ripples in its surface, despite the weights that were holding it down.

I had not realized that we were this far along. I had imagined many more hands of days before we had enough cloth. Apparently, Purple's prophecy had been correct, 'It may seem like a long time before we see any results, but when they do happen, they will seem to happen overnight.'

Now, all of a sudden, the airboat was almost complete, the first of the bags was being finished and Purple was making a large-scale gasmaker.

As I approached I noticed Shoogar also was working with Grimm. He was holding a copy of - of Purple's blue-drawings! He seemed to be directing something. When I came closer I realized that Shoogar either had figured them out or-

No, it soon became apparent. He was directing the transference of the pattern onto the cloth. Knowing that the bag would form a sphere when inflated, Shoogar wanted the proper spell markings on it. Accordingly, he was using ; the best flying spell available - Purple's. After all, weren't the blue-drawings the airship itself? Wouldn't it be necessary to have blue-drawings on the balloon in order to make it lift? Shoogar had taken on two apprentices, and they were painting the lines in wide swatches.

I continued on down to the village, where I ran into a disgruntled group of villagers. They were setting up tents beneath their housetrees. 'I am not going to live in a prickly plant,' Trimmel was saying. 'I absolutely refuse.'

Others murmured their agreement. I tried to quiet them the best I could. 'As your Speaker--' I began.

'Some Speaker - you were part of the dancing!'

'Uh, it is necessary for the Speaker to be on good terms with the magician,' I said. 'He invited me to dance. I couldn't very well refuse.'

'All right,' grumbled Snarg. 'What are you going to do about it now.'

'I'm not going to do anything - Shoogar is. He has promised to reconsecrate all your housetrees as soon as he gets a chance.'

'As soon as he gets a chance? That could be days!'

'Don't worry,' I said. 'He has authorized me to give you blue spell tokens. You will be able to redeem them later.'

There was some grumbling at this, but no serious dissent. Spell tokens were accepted in both the villages now.

A voice called, 'So where are the tokens?'

'My apprentices are making them,' I said. I hurried back to my work area and quickly stained some bone chips blue. I directed my assistants to stain as many blue ones in the future as purple ones. We would need both.

I returned to the villagers and began distributing the tokens. There was a little more grumbling about the houseblood-gathering teams. Some villagers felt that the magicians had no right to take their housetree blood, even if it was a prickly plant now. I paid them a purple token for Purple, and they were satisfied. They disappeared into their nests to sleep.

I wandered downward to the weaving pastures. The weavers were grumbling because Shoogar had not shown up today to offer the morning blessings. I gave them some blue spell tokens in lieu of the blessing. 'These are spell tokens too. Shoogar spell tokens. They are just like the Purple ones, only Shoogar will redeem them.'

They eyed the blue chips warily. They hadn't liked the purple ones that much, but they had been forced to accept them. Now they were having another chip introduced, and they liked it even less.

I prevailed upon them. 'Shoogar will redeem these as soon as he has time. This is only the promise of a spell. As soon as he catches up with everything else, he'll come by and consecrate the cloth. Go ahead and weave.'

Glumly they did so. Now they were getting paid in blue chips and purple chips.

I pocketed the balance of the tokens; I was carrying several of each, and wandered back up to the village. Here and there were a few people I had missed earlier in the day, still moaning about not wanting to live in prickly plants. I gave them some tokens, blue ones for the reconsecration spell, purple ones for the use of their housetree blood.

Having solved those problems, I felt that I had earned my pay as Speaker and went downslope to see Ang the Net Tender. 'Ang, have you a fish for my dinner?'

He produced a fine flatfish, already plucked. 'I will trade you for it,' he said.

'A bone utensil?'

'No,' he shook his head, 'bone rots here.'

'H'm, how about some of the new cloth.'

I put my hand into my robe fold and found one last blue token. 'How about a magic spell?'

'You're not a magician.'

'No, but Shoogar is. I will give you this token, which is the promise of a spell.'

'H'm,' he eyed it warily, 'I would rather have one from Purple.'

'I can do that.' Fortunately, I still had a few Purple tokens with me. I gave one to him for the fish. He handed me the fish and a bluetoken. 'Here is the difference between the value of the fish and the value of the purple token. One Shoogar.'

'How did you get a blue token?' I asked. I had just distributed them a few hours earlier. I had not given one to Ang.

'I traded a fish for three blue tokens earlier. Also, I traded for some cloth, but they didn't have enough for me, so they gave me some tokens in exchange, telling me I can trade them back later.'

'Oh.'

Something about that troubled me. While my wives prepared the flatfish for dinner, I realized what it was. People were trading those spell tokens as if they were the actual spells themselves. But they weren't. They were only the promises of the spells.

But then again, a promise is a symbol of an act, and a symbol is the same as the act itself.

They were trading magic!

It suddenly occurred to me that it was possible for a magician to make enough 'promises' to release an inordinate amount of magic into the village. There would have to be controls of some kind. Oh well, it was Shoogar's problem now, not mine.

-----

THREE days later, Grimm finished the first of the giant airbags and began working on the second.

Shoogar and Purple, Wilville and Orbur had already claimed the first one and folded it carefully over the giant filling framework that Wilville and Orbur had built so many hands earlier. Three other filling frameworks waited empty nearby.

'Only four windbags?' I asked.

'No,' said Purple. 'I hope to use more. But we will probably only need four frameworks. We can only fill one bag at a time, and it will take a while to lay each empty one on a framework. While we're doing that, we can fill the others. We'll do it in rotation.'

'Oh,' I said. 'What is this trench that runs below?'

'That's for the water - instead of using water pots, we are going to use a trench. See these funnel affairs on the side? That's where we will attach the hydrogen-making wires - the airbag mouths will attach here. The oxygen-making wires we will put down at the other end of the trench. We won't need them.'

'By using a trench,' said Orbur, 'we will be able to generate much more electrissy-'

'No,' corrected Purple, 'we will be able to make better use of it. It will fill the balloons faster.'

'We can fill four balloons at once,' said Wilville, 'or one balloon four times as fast. It all depends where we put the wires and funnels.' He held up an odd-looking aircloth bag, a collection of sleeves. 'We can attach this to several gasmaking funnels, and lead all their hydrogen into one balloon.'

'It looks as if you have been doing a lot of work,' I said. 'All you need now is the electrissy.' Purple winced when I said the last word. He always did when I spoke of electrissy. I asked, 'Have you and Trone succeeded in making a magic maker?'

Purple sighed. 'Yes. Elcin's wrath, but that gave me trouble! Trone did everything right, mind you, but I wound the wire wrong, and then it took me a while to figure out a commutator-'

'A what-?'

'Alternating current, Father,' said Wilville. 'We can't use it.'

'We have to change it to direct current-' said Orbur.

'Never mind. Pretend I didn't ask.'

'Okay,' said Purple. 'Anyway, it's working now. It doesn't make as much electrissy as I'd like, but Trone is building the bigger machines and hopefully, they will be ready before the airbags are. Would you like to see them?'

He didn't give me a chance to refuse, but led me up at the slope to where one of the ever-present apprentices was sitting on a bicycle frame and pedaling wildly - but getting nowhere.

'What is he doing?' I asked.

'Look,' said Purple. 'Isn't it obvious? He is making electrissy.'

I looked. All I saw was a complicated arrangement of cranks and belts and pulleys making a spinning thing turn as fast as it could. Two wires led from the spinning thing to Purple's battery.

'He is restoring its power?' I asked.

'Oh yes - he could never restore all of it,' said Purple, 'but he can make enough electrissy so that it will not run out on the journey.'

We trudged farther up the slope. We found Trone and half a dozen other men, working with some giant frameworks of iron and copper. I had never seen so much metal in my life. 'Where did you get so much?' I asked.

'We practically had to ransack every smith on the island,' he grunted. Apparently he wasn't too happy about it, but then Trone was rarely happy about anything.

'When will the bicycle frames be ready?' he asked.

Purple groaned. 'Oh, no - I knew I forgot something.' He looked at me. 'Your sons have been building bicycles and bicycles - all without wheels. They have built them to power the airship, and to make electrissy for my battery - now they will have to build more, many more. As many as possible to power these spinning things.'

'How many will you need ?'

'At least ten or more for each spinning thing. If we have more, we can turn them faster.'

'And how many spinning things are you hoping to build?'

'At least four - but we won't have to wait until they are all through before we can use them. As each one is finished we will put it to work storing power in the battery.'

I nodded. I was doing some figuring, 'But, Purple, you are asking for forty bicycle frames - without wheels. That's a lot of bicycles. It takes time to build that many machines.'

'I know, I know. We had better go back down and talk to the boys. We may have to start another put-it-together line. This time for bicycles.'

As we trudged downslope, I noticed that a different apprentice was on the bicycle now. The first was resting. 'It is very tiring work,' explained Purple.

'Oh, come now,' I said, 'I've ridden bicycles-'

'It's not the bicycle,' said Purple. 'It's the generator. Try turning that crank on its other side.'

'All right I took the handle in both hands. I waited while the apprentice dismounted from the bicycle. He was panting heavily.

The crank did not look that hard to turn. I pushed on it.

The crank turned easily when I moved it slowly, but the faster I moved it, the more it fought me. An invisible spirit was pushing back. I felt my fur trying to stand on end.

I let go of the handle and backed away slowly. The crank whirred to a stop.

'There - now you see why we need a boy on a bicycle. Legs are stronger than arms. Even so, they still get tired. Can you imagine how hard it will be to make a big machine spin?'

I nodded my head. 'I can see, I can see. You will need more than ten bicycles to a machine.'

'Right,' said Purple.

When we explained the problem to my sons, they nodded understandingly. 'We may have to recruit every free man in the village to make a bicycle put-it-together line.'

'Do it,' said Purple. He turned to me, 'You will have to make some more spell tokens, won't you ?'

I nodded.

Wilville and Orbur did not seem as depressed as I had thought they would be when Purple told them of the number of bicycles they would have to build. Apparently they had been talking about their bicycle put-it-together line for some time. This would give them a chance to try it out sooner.

Purple began talking over the details with them, 'Of course, we will want to fill all the airbags at one time - that means we won't launch the flying boat until all four generators are working. But as each one is finished we'll put it to work storing power. My battery will hold as much electrissy as any of these machines can turn out. The best part about it is that we can use it to supplement the power from the generators when we are ready to launch the boat and fill the airbags that much sooner.'

'Won't you run the risk of making it dead again?' I asked.

'Not really. It has a power meter on it. That tells me how much power I have left. I have figured out how much we will need to be sure of making the trip north safely. As long as there is that much in the battery, we are okay. Anything over it we can use for the launching. I can regulate the outflow of the power, Lant, so as to fill the balloons as fast as I can on launch day.'

I nodded knowingly. I hadn't understood a word he had said - but I felt he needed the reassurance.

-----

THE waters continued to rise. The surf crashed higher on the slope every day. The tides came in - and in and in and in, until most of the people of the Lower Village were forced to move up the slope. Only the tops of the housetrees marked where the major portion of the village had been. Occasionally a nest would break free, and be seen floating away.

The Upper Village was fairly crowded, but we were able to manage with a minimum of doubling up. Wilville and Orbur were able to recruit quite a few men for their bicycle put-it-together line. It gave many of the villagers something to do while waiting for the waters to recede, and there were those who were eager to earn extra spell chips.

By the time the first twelve bicycle frames were finished, Trone had finished the first of the big spinning things - generators he called them. The boys connected up the bicycles that same day.

Shoogar had recruited twelve good men for the first test. They stood nervously to one side and grumbled to themselves. They were unhappy about the prospect of making electrissy. Shoogar kept fumbling with his magic kit, and every time he did, the men twitched in response.

No matter. As long as we could perform the test.

Purple checked over the wires that led across the hill to the water-filled trench. When he was ready he signaled Shoogar with a wave of his hand. Shoogar bade the men mount the bicycles.

At another command they began pedaling. The generator began spinning, slowly at first, then faster and faster - it was making electrissy. Sure enough, down by the trench there was activity - other men were clustering around the wires.

I left the generator crew and approached the water trench. From one end, oxygen bubbled steadily upward. At the other, Purple was just fitting a clay spout over a water- immersed wire. To this he attached a small airbag. Within a few minutes it was full.

He tied it at the neck and released it. It drifted gently upward. This time though, there was no panic - only a cheer. We were becoming more and more used to this spell. indeed, it was almost commonplace by now.

Purple was delighted. He signaled Shoogar to stop the pedaling. He then trudged halfway up the hill and connected his battery to the leads from the generator.

'All right, Shoogar,' he called, 'start them up again.'

Shoogar growled an order and the twelve men began pumping again. It looked strange to see them pedaling as hard as they could and getting nowhere - but it was only a foretaste of things to come. Purple wanted a whole army of men up on the hill, pedaling wildly.

The smaller generator - the one powered by one apprentice on a bicycle - was dismantled then, and its parts cannibalized for the larger generators. It was one less bike frame to build and that much more wire that could be used.

Wilville and Orbur were pleased at the success. That the twelve bicycle frames had been built so quickly testified to the efficiency of their put-it-together line. 'I figure we could have at least fifty bicycles before another hand of days is up, said Orbur.

We started trudging up the slope to where the airboat waited. Wilville replied, 'I think only part of it is the put-it-together line, Orbur - remember, we have an awful lot of people working for us too.'

'Yes, but we had to teach them.'

When we got to the Crag the boys pointed out what still needed to be done on the airboat. Some of the rigging structures to hold the ropes for the balloons had not been secured yet, and Wilville wanted to add at least one more coat of hardener to the sides of the airboat. It felt hard enough to me, but then it was my sons who would be flying in it, and it they felt they wanted it hard, it was their boat.

Orbur explained that he had adjusted the airpushers as well as he could, but he wanted to experiment some more with 'higher' gears. He wanted to try putting smaller wheels on the spinning sections and larger wheels on the bicycle frames. The connecting pulleys should then make the airpushers spin even faster. But he needed new pulley cloths first. He hoped to have them before this hand of days was over.

Wilville sighed as he began heating his hardening solution. 'I'm glad that most of the other building is over - we could have had this boatframe finished months ago had it not been for all the bicycle frames and filling frameworks and cranking machines we have had to work on.'

'Yes,' I agreed. 'But the boatframe couldn't have gone anywhere until all the other work was done first. You needed the aircloth and the generators and the cranking thing for making loomteeth and-'

'It's just as Purple said. You have to make the tools with which to make the tools to make the tools,' Orbur called from above. 'That's just what we have been doing. You can't just build an airboat - you have to build the put-it-together line which can make the pieces which will make the airboat.'

'Imagine the size of the put-it-together line for Purple's black egg,' replied Wilville.

I tried to, but I couldn't.

I noticed a figure trudging up the hill then - it was Shoogar. He had come to inspect the flying machine.

'Oh, not again,' groaned Orbur. 'He's up here almost every day now, asking questions and annoying us-'

'He's only trying to understand the spell,' I said. , 'He will never understand the spell,' said Wilville. 'He is a-'

'Watch it,' I cautioned, 'whatever else he may be, he has phenomenal hearing.'

Shoogar arrived then and tsk-ed satisfactorily over the progress of the work. 'But when will you hang the sails?' he

asked.

Orbur said, 'Sails? We won't be hanging any sails, Shoogar. We don't need them.'

'Nonsense,' said the magician peering up at Orbur who was hanging in the rigging. 'How many times must I explain to you - you can't be pushed by the wind without sails.'

Orbur began climbing down. I could see that he was sighing to himself. He swung down a rope to the boat's cradle then dropped off the edge to the ground. He walked around to Shoogar, 'Purple has explained it to us over and over. 'We won't need sails. We have the windmakers instead.'

Shoogar stamped his foot impatiently. 'No, Orbur - if you have windmakers then obviously you are planning to use sails. The windmakers will make wind and push the sails, and the boat will move.'

'No, Shoogar - the windmakers push the air backward and the airboat moves forward. Without sails.'

'Without sails, what will they have to push against? The boat won't move at all through the air.'

'It won't.'

'Purple says it will.'

'And I say it won't.'

'I say it will!'

'Are you arguing with a magician?!!'

'Yes! We have tested the windmakers already - and when both Wilville and I are pumping as hard as we can the boat seems to edge forward as if it could hardly wait to leap into the air.'

'It may get into the air,' said Shoogar, 'but it'll never move an inch without sails!'

'But-'

'Don't try to correct me, Orbur. I've already ordered the sails from Lesta. You and Wilville had best plan on masts for them.'

'Masts?' asked Orbur. 'And where will we put masts? He pointed at the boatframe. It sat gently on the cradle, its two outriggers stretching wide on either side, its heavy keel hanging below on a spar of bambooze. It had a flimsy looking set of bambooze rigging above empty and waiting for the airbags. It looked strangely incomplete. I tried to imagine it finished and in the air, but could not.

Shoogar peered at it. He circled the boat thoughtfully, stepping around Wilville who quietly and calmly continued .to paint.

He climbed up on the launching cradle and peered into the boat itself. Orbur and I followed. He climbed in and rapped on the floor. 'What's this?'

'It's sand-ash wood. We're using three thin planks to add stability to the floor.'

'It's too thin. We can't possibly mount masts in it.'

'That's what I'm-'

'We'll have to hang them from the outriggers.

'Where? There's no room at all behind the airpushers!'

True enough, there wasn't. There was a bicycle frame at the back of each outrigger. The airpushers hung a good man height below the bicycle seats and well behind the pedals - so that the pedaller would not be riding in his own wind.

'You'll have to put them in front/ said Shoogar. 'Plenty of room if you do that. Put the masts and sails in front of the windmakers, then pedal in reverse. The wind will blow forward, into the sails. You'll be facing in the direction you're going.'

'But pedaling in reverse is hard work ¾

'Then reverse the gear!' Shoogar snapped. 'Do I have to do all your thinking for you?'

'We do not need any sails!' Orbur shouted at him.

'All you have is Purple's word for that.' Shoogar's voice suddenly turned persuasive. 'Set the masts now, put the sails on before you leave. Then you'll be prepared for anything. If the sails don't work, you can take them off!'

'Well-' Orbur hesitated. He looked at Wilville. Wilville studiously ignored him, slapped the paint on extra fast.

'It wouldn't hurt,' I suggested.

'There!' said Shoogar. 'You see - even your own father thinks so.'

'Yes, but-'

'No buts about it. The sails will be ready in seven days.'

Pleased that he had won the battle, Shoogar began climbing down from the boat. As he dropped to the ground, he rapped sharply on the sturdy side of hardened aircloth. 'Good construction,' he noted. He grabbed my arm and started dragging me toward the village, 'Now then, Lant, we have to get straight on this matter of the spell tokens. The blue tokens are obviously not being properly appreciated by the villagers.'

'What do you mean?'

'They are trading four Shoogars for one Purple - why just this morning Hinc the Lesser told me that it was because I was only one fourth the magician that Purple is. Excuse me, Hinc the Hairless told me.'

'Oh,' I said.

'Now tell me honestly, Lant - could you agree with a point of view like that?'

'Uh, well-' I began.

'Don't be afraid, Lant. You can tell me the truth.'

'Well, Shoogar - it is well known that you do much more work than Purple. You do most of the spell casting in the village, and Purple hardly does any. That makes Purple's magic much rarer and worth a lot more. The people know that they can always redeem your coins for spells - but Purple's magic is rarer, and hence they seem to think that it is more valuable or else he would use it as freely as you do.'

'H'm,' said Shoogar.

'Well, you wanted me to be truthful.'

'I didn't mean for you to be that truthful.' He grumbled on down to the village. Certainly he had the right to be miffed.

But there was no help for it. Already villagers were calling Shoogar's blue tokens 'quarters'. The custom was now fixed in the language.

-----

ORBUR was having some trouble with his gears. He had dismantled the whole assembly and rebuilt them from scratch. When finished, he had increased the speed of the airpushers so that the boat had to be tied down when he tested them.

He had connected three sets of pulleys to each windmaker in descending orders - Purple called it 'high gear'. There was the large wheel which was turned by the man pedaling. The pulley from this was looped around a very small wheel which was caused to turn very fast. On the same shaft as this small wheel was another large wheel. A pulley from this large wheel was connected to the shaft of the bladed airpusher.

Orbur had also changed the pulley cloths, alternating the loops in order to reverse the spin of the airpushers. Now they threw their wind forward, toward the masts.

Purple came to inspect the progress and nodded in satisfaction. Then his eye caught the masts that protruded below each outrigger, and he asked, 'What are these?'

'For the sails,' Orbur explained.

'Sails? Are we going to have to start that again?'

'No, but Shoogar-'

'Shoogar. I might have known. Shoogar wants sails, does he?'

'See for yourself. When they're mounted, the wind from the airmakers will blow right into them. We won't have to wait for a breeze - if it works. In fact,' said Orbur, 'it ought to work for boats too. If-' But he had to stop there, for Purple was leaning against the hull, chortling, while his nude face grew redder and redder.

'You think it won't work,' Orbur said sadly.

'Yes, yes, I think that. But try it anyway. What harm can it do? There is only one way Shoogar will ever be convinced that we don't need sails. We'll have to let him try it.' He turned to go, but turned back. 'Just be sure we can remove the sails after we prove they don't work.'

-----

DOWN the slope Trone had finished two generators, and there were more than twenty men pumping away on each of them. All of their power was going steadily into Purple's little battery.

Purple was growing more and more impatient every day. He hovered around the workers like a bumble-sting, prodding and poking. Grimm, the tailor, had finished sixteen airbags for him. Each, when inflated, would be nearly six manlengths in height.

Purple estimated that ten airbags might lift the boat, but thirteen would be necessary to carry the additional supplies he wanted to take - and sixteen balloons would give him a margin for error in case they leaked faster than he had figured. He was worried about the seams.

Grimm also made three additional airbags to be taken along in case of emergency. If one of the airbags developed a leak too big to be patched, or was otherwise damaged, Purple would have a spare with which to replace it.

In short, we were taking no chances - when Purple left, we wanted to be sure he was gone.

Right now he was directing the anchoring of the filling frames. He had suddenly realized how light they were, and did not want to risk a balloon suddenly lifting up and taking a filling frame with it.

With Grimm's help they had worked out a system of harness and anchor ropes for the balloons, and as each one | was filled, six men wearing weighted belts would ferry it up to the Crag where Wilville and Orbur waited. The rigging ropes for the airboat were laid out across the launching cradle in a set pattern, and the harness ropes had to be attached in a specific order. Then - and only then - would the anchoring ropes be released. Purple did not want to risk losing even one of his giant balloons. They had taken too much time and effort to build.

Originally he had planned to use many smaller balloons, each the height of a man - but then he had done some figuring - he could hold the same amount of gas in fewer but larger balloons - and it would not need as much cloth. He would still be able to fly, and it would not take so long to make his windbags.

Purple and Shoogar had created a whole new trade -airmen. These were the various crews who were tending the generators, the filling frames, the water trenches, the anchoring of the airboat - everything that was needed to fly.

More and more villagers came to watch or help. We had little else to do now that the seas had reached their peak - even the lower slope of the Upper Village was under water now. Most people were living close to the working site anyway. That was fortuitous for Purple - he always had need of men to pump on his bicycles, and the demand for his spell tokens was so great that there was never any shortage of volunteers.

Purple grew more and more impatient with each day. The only thing holding him up was the production of electrissy.

Apparently, it took fantastic amounts to make enough hydrogen.

The fourth generator had not even been begun when

Purple began filling his airbags. He was experimenting, he said. He wanted to see how long it took to fill each one, and he needed to know how fast they lost their gas. Besides, it would be easier to pump a limp airbag taut than to start from scratch. And in any case, it would take several days to fill all the balloons.

That he was eager to see how well his flying machine worked was no secret. There were almost thirty men on each generator now and he had more than enough power in his battery to fill all the airbags. He would use it if he had to, he said, but he hoped to save it for his journey where it would really be necessary.

We watched as he arranged the wires in the trough. The women began filling that channel with water. Fortunately, they did not have to carry it very far, only half a mile uphill, and the slope was gentle.

There was some hassling then with the filling crews, the boys who had been hired to watch the filling of the bag, but finally Purple straightened out their instructions and they began laying one of the finished airbags across the frame.

Shoogar and Gortik and I exchanged a glance. 'You know,' said Gortik. 'I actually think he's going to do it-'

'I've never doubted it,' I said.

Shoogar only snorted.

'All that work, all that work - Gortik murmured. Frameworks and looms and bicycles - all that work, just to build a flying machine.'

'He said it was a complicated spell,' I put in

Shoogar snorted again.

'It's necessary though,' I added. 'Otherwise, he can t go home.'

'He must want to go home very badly, Gortik said.

'Not as badly as we want him to,' Shoogar snapped. 'And the sooner the better. I think I'll go help him.' And he tottered off down the hill. 'There are supplies to gather and sails to pack.'

-----

IT was a strange scene - four giant frames, three covered with cloth, and the fourth holding a gently puffing mass of rising airbag. A trench of water ran below, and bubbled furiously at its free end. At its other end a nozzle and hose attachment reached up to the giant bag.

Farther up the slope, more than a hundred and twenty men were pumping wildly on their bicycles. Great spinning generators whirred loudly. One could hear their high-pitched whine all over the hill - but we had become used to that sound. It had become a part of our lives.

Nine airbags had already been filled and ferried up the hill. Wilville and Orbur were climbing excitedly about on the airboat frame, making last minute adjustments in the rigging.

All over the slope we could see the imposing frame of the craft - and at last we saw what Purple had visualized all this time. Not all the airbags had yet been attached; yet the nine straining upward from their ropes gave us an idea - a cluster of moons swelling gloriously in the red and blue light.

It had taken nearly five days to fill this many bags.

Already the first bags filled were starting to droop, and others were showing ripples in the wind - signs that they were not as taut as they should be.

But Purple had counted on a certain amount of leakage during the time it took to fill the bags. He intended to use his battery to replenish the hydrogen in each of them just before departure.

By now the affair had turned into quite a festival. There was much singing and shouting and drinking of Quaff. The men working on the generators had organized themselves into teams and had begun competing - each team trying to see how long they could go at full speed - each team trying to prove it was stronger than the other.

Purple was delighted. He offered two extra spell tokens for every man on the winning team. As soon as one competition was ended, another promptly began, fresh teams replacing the tired ones on the bicycles. The process of replacement was always fun to watch - one man at a time would hop off his bicycle, leaving the pedals still spinning wildly. Another would then hop on and match the rate of pumping. The next man in line would then hop off his bike and so on.

As soon as all the teams were replaced the signal would be given, and another competition would begin with a roar from the spectators. Purple had even permitted a certain amount of side-wagering with his spell tokens although Shoogar and I had expressed some misgivings about it. 'Why not?' Purple said. 'It makes them more enthusiastic.'

He was right about that. Often the teams would bet large amounts of spell tokens against each other so that it was possible for a generator team to lose chips while they worked.

But if they didn't mind...

Trone and his men were eager to finish the fourth generator - they hoped to form a bicycle team themselves and earn some of those extra chips. He would be a formidable team, I thought. Trone's arms and legs were strong and thick from years of coppersmithing. I might bet on him myself.

Meanwhile, the eleventh balloon was already puffing up. The tenth was just being removed from its filling frame for its transfer up the slope. Purple was directing the transfer, with much swearing and threats of curses.

It was an eerie sight: Six strong men bouncing slowly up the hill under the absence of weight of the giant balloon. Once a sudden gust of wind caught them, and they bounced high in the air and floated slowly down. All were laughing -except Purple. He was white beneath his beard as he followed them up.

Then they were on the Crag, and the harnessed bag was attached to the rigging. The rope transfer was made and the men released the balloon - it snapped upward to join the others. They were blue spheres with white lines inscribed upon them, looking tiny from here. The airboat tugged at its mooring, and Purple kept climbing in and out of it, pulling at its rigging and anchoring ropes.

Satisfied, he came bounding down the hill again, shouting, Two more balloons, Lant. Two more and I can go flying!'

'I thought you wanted to use sixteen-'

'But it works so well. Look! See how it tugs at its ropes - and that's with only ten balloons! And see how some of them are limp. Imagine how it will lift when I pump them up again with the battery! Two more balloons should do it. Those will be for the weight of the supplies and the passengers. We will be able to test it today!'

And he bounded on down the hill to supervise the filling of the eleventh balloon. I followed slowly in his wake. Thoughtfully.

I couldn't get used to the idea. Purple was actually leaving!

He had actually built his flying machine, and he was actually going to leave in it. Soon we would be rid of him.

I shook my head as I looked over the fantastic activity below me - things would not be the same with him gone.

-----

A GROUP of boys stood down near the unused end of the trough, cheering the balloons and giggling hysterically.

Some were rolling in the blackgrass, others were peering into the bubbling water. Trone's generator wires led into the water right at that point, and apparently the boys liked to watch it bubble.

They had been gathering at this point for some days now, ever since Purple had begun filling his airbags.

I began to wonder about this. Curious, I approached that end of the trough and observed. The water was bubbling furiously as the gas rose from the wires. The young men would put their faces near it and inhale deeply, then fall back among their fellows and giggle happily.

Their behavior was much like that of one who was drunk on Quaff - but that was silly. These boys were still unconsecrated and not allowed to drink Quaff.

But then, what was producing this strange effect?

I pushed my way through them and asked, 'What's going on here?'

They shook their heads shamefacedly, but would not say.

I bent over and sniffed at the bubbling waters, but I could smell nothing. Curious, that. I took another sniff. Still nothing. It was interesting though. I took another sniff, a deep one - I felt just a wee bit light-headed.

I took another sniff - was it possible that this gas made people light-headed? I wondered about that. The other gas made things light - this gas made people light. No, I'd have to think about that. I took another sniff. The other gas made things rise above other things. This new gas made people's view of things rise above other things.

Another sniff - how strange! I knew what I meant. Why weren't there words for it? I lowered my head again-

Abruptly I was being pulled away by Shoogar, 'Lant, Lant - what is the matter with you?'

'Um - ah, oh - hi, Shoogar-'

He dragged me downwind of the bubbling water. 'What are you doing?'

'Um, I was investigating the bubbles.'

'You will turn into a bubblehead - like those wastrels! He gestured at the boys once again gathered around the trench. 'They talk about the strange gas that makes them light.'

'I didn't know you'd investigated it, Shoogar.' I was beginning to feel heavy again. 'Is it dangerous?'

'Of course it is - if only because it teaches the young to enjoy themselves.'

'Something should be done.' I said.

'Right Shoogar fumbled in his sleeve. 'I'll toss a ball of fire at them.' He reached and pulled and - Fwoof! It went off in his hand, burning and sizzling faster than I'd ever seen-

Shoogar yelped and plunged his hand into a water pot. He shouted, 'See? I told you the bubbles were dangerous!'

-----

WHEN it happened, it happened in broad double daylight. Red sunlight and blue lit the sky. The windbags glowed like moons; one side red, the other blue.

There was always a crowd on the Crag now, and Purple had posted men to keep them back. Mongers moved among the people, trading sweetdrops and spicy meats for small tokens.

Wilville and Orbur were just storing the last of Purple's supplies. Each packet had been wrapped in aircloth to protect it from the wet and cold Purple said they would find in the upper sky.

I stood below, leaning on one of the taut ropes that led from the boat to the ground.

Purple was up on the landing cradle with three large pots of water. He had his battery connected to one of them, and a neck of cloth hung down from one of the balloons. It was tied tightly to the water-pot funnel, and as we watched, this last giant sphere swelled and tightened.

Abruptly one of the mooring ropes parted. One end of the boat swung upward.

There was an 'Oooooo!' from the crowd.

Purple jumped back in surprise, knocking over one of the water pots. Wilville and Orbur had been thrown to the floor of the boat - they stuck their heads up confusedly.

'The other end! The other end!' Purple was shouting and pointing, 'Go stand at the other end!' He pointed to the nose of the boat which was aimed eagerly at the sky.

Wilville and Orbur scrambled quickly up the boat. As they did so, that part of it started to settle. Purple began directing men to secure it with new mooring ropes. He bent to disconnect his battery, and hurriedly began tying off the neck of his balloon.

And then Shoogar arrived, leading an excited team of men, bringing with them the twelfth giant windbag. He caught sight of the eager airboat and cried, 'Purple, Purple -don't leave without your balloon!'

The murmur of the crowd rose behind him - a gabble of voices and conflicting opinions. 'Shut up, Shoogar - if he wants to leave without it, let him!'

Wilville was leaning out over the edge, pointing and waving at the men with the balloon - 'No, no! That's the wrong rope - don't attach it there!' They couldn't hear him.

'Wilville! Orbur!' I cried. 'Get out of the boat!'

But Purple was crying, 'Stay in the boat! Stay in the boat!' He jumped off the landing cradle and ran over to where Shoogar and the others were trying to attach the windbag. 'Not here, you slithy tove!' He began pulling them around to the other side - 'This is the rope, here!'

For a moment I thought they were going to lose it - the bag was as eager as the rest to leap into the sky. Thank the Gods for the anchor ropes. If we lost a balloon, we would lose many days of work. The anchor ropes prevented that. The balloons could not escape their tethers. If we let go of one, it would only snap upward until we could pull it down again.

Under Purple's direction the men were able to fasten the bag to the proper rope without losing it. It snapped upward, and the rope strained as taut as the others.

This last windbag seemed to do it. The boat hung upward at the end of its mooring ropes. The chatter of excited voices rose.

'Ballast!' Purple was crying. 'Get the ballast bags-

'I'll do it!' cried Orbur and started to climb out of the boat-

'No!' Purple swarmed up the cradle and pushed him back in - he fell to the deck slats with a thump 'You stay in the boat! We need your weight to help hold it down.'

Shoogar was bouncing around the base of the launching cradle, barking at the men struggling to tie more mooring ropes. Heavy wooden stakes were being pounded into the ground.

Other men came running across the slope - each carrying two heavy ballast bags with him. They swung ominously back and forth. Trone the Coppersmith brought four.

The ballast bags were also made of aircloth, and filled with sand. Purple had realized their need only a hand of days ago, and Grimm had had to hurry to sew them up. Trone had taken the responsibility of seeing that they were filled.

Now the men came jumping up onto the cradle and practically threw the bags at Wilville and Orbur - Orbur slipped under their weight and disappeared again into the bottom of the boat. There was a muffled curse.

The bags had been finished and waiting since this morning. Purple said they were needed to provide extra weight that was expendable as the gas leaked out. A thought occurred to me - why hadn't he put them in the boat as they were finished, instead of waiting till the last moment like this. It certainly would have been easier.

'More bags! More bags!' He was calling. The men took off again, dashing to get another load. Wilville and Orbur staggered to stow them evenly.

Purple then jumped into the boat to help. He grabbed the ballast bags as each one was brought up, and directed their distribution about the craft.

I jumped up on the cradle. 'Purple,' I screamed over the noise of the crowd and the ballast runners. 'It has been a great honor to have you here - we will miss you greatly -your memory will never be forgotten - we wish you the speediest of journeys-'

'Shut up, Lant - you blithering wart! 'I'm not going anywhere. I'm only going on a test flight! That's why we only need twelve balloons for now. We'll need the other four for the longer journey, but right now we only want to see how well she handles in case we have to make any modifications-'

'Don't forget the sails! The sails!' Shoogar came screaming up. His arms were laden with great folds of cloth, and he was followed by two apprentices, also laden with cloth.

'Yes,' said Purple. 'We can use them as ballast - Shoogar, what are you doing?!!'

Shoogar paused. He was climbing into the boat. 'What does it look like I am doing?''

'It looks like you're getting into the boat-'

'That's right, I am. You cannot take from me the honor of the first flight.'

'Honor?!! Shoogar, this might be very dangerous-'

'It will be even more dangerous if you don't take the sails - you will have no ways to move through the air.' His assistants began handing them over the sides to him.

Purple shrugged. He grabbed one last sandbag from Trone. Did the airboat seem to sag? Had the mooring ropes slackened momentarily? 'All right, Shoogar,' he said. 'You can come. I guess I do owe you a ride in my flying machine.'

'Our flying machine,' corrected Shoogar.

'All right,' sighed Purple. He climbed up a rope ladder to get a better view. Trone!' he called. The coppersmith looked up. 'Be sure that you and the rest of the flight crew pump up the other four balloons! We will be needing them. And organize that ground crew that I told you about - we will need them when we return!'

Trone waved and grinned. 'Don't worry, Purple.'

Purple waved back. He climbed higher up the rope ladder and began checking the rigging of the balloons. 'Wilville,' I whispered loudly, 'be careful! Do not let the magicians kill each other!'

'Father,' he called back, wide-eyed, 'do not let the magicians kill us!'

'Don't worry - they won't. They need you to pedal the bicycles and turn the airpushers. Just be careful - don't fall off.'

'We won't - we are going to tie safety ropes around our necks.'

'Try your waists,' I suggested. 'It'll be even safer. Good luck with the sails.',

He groaned. 'We'll need it. Shoogar will not be convinced - he is sure we will need sails.'

'What do you think?' I asked. |

Wilville shook his head. 'Purple's first flying machine didn't have sails. I think he knows what he's talking about. So does Orbur-'

We were interrupted by a voice from above. Purple had completed his check of the rigging and he was calling, 'All right, cast loose! Cast loose the ropes!'

'Huh? What-? Talk like a man, Purple! Not your demon language!'

He screamed, 'Cut the ropes, curse you!'

I paled and grabbed for a knife.

Try to cut them all at once!' he shouted.

I started hacking at the first of the mooring ropes. Both Shoogar and Purple were yelling at me from above. As soon as I cut it, that side of the boat leapt upward, throwing it into a violent slant. Purple and Shoogar screamed excitedly, 'The other side! Cut the ropes on the other side now!'

I ran around to the other side and cut a rope there, but then that side leapt upward. I ran back to the first side and cut another rope, but now the front of the airship was hanging lower than the back, and so I had to cut another and meanwhile all of them were screaming, Wilville and Orbur, Purple and Shoogar, Trone and the ballast crew, the roiling crowd - even Lesta, upset because the ropes had been bound from his finest cloth.

And then there was only one rope left - the airboat was pointed severely at the sky. I cut it and-

It leapt upward, and there was a great echoing cheer from the crowd. I collapsed on the cradle, rolled over on my back, and watched them shrink into the sky. I was glad that there had not been more ropes. I was panting heavily.

The sky was sparkling blue. The airboat was a slender shape, hanging under a cluster of swollen grapes. The crowd ooh'd and ah'd as it floated up and away from them.

It was not the first time I had seen a flying machine. But I felt a surge of pride as it rose into the sky - as if I had built it myself. It was so much lovelier than Purple's black egg had been. And after all, hadn't I helped to build it?

A white sail bloomed beneath one of the outriggers.

Then another.

Still the flying boat continued to rise. I thought I could hear voices floating back to me, tiny from the distance, but shrill with emotion: 'We don't need your guilty-of-incestuous-rape sails!'

'We do!'

'We don't!'

'We do!'

But perhaps it was only the wind.

-----

THE wind pushed the tiny speck of the airship over the mountains and out of sight, and we settled down for a few quiet days of recovery.

Lesta and his weavers continued to make their cloth, the women relaxed into a more leisurely pace of spinning. The airboat was finished now, and there was no longer an urgent need for dipped aircloth. Indeed, Lesta was considering abandoning the dipping steps altogether, except for small amounts of thread and cloth specifically set aside for the weaving of watertight fabrics.

Trone finished the fourth generator and attached the bicycle frames to it. There were forty men on each generator now, but still, those on the bicycle-put-it-together line kept building. No one had told them to stop. Besides, more and more men wanted to join the generator pumping teams, and the only way to do that was to increase the number of bicycles.

The four balloons were filled in just a little more than one full day. They hung tautly in their filling frameworks. With all four generators working it was possible to fill a balloon faster than ever - indeed, they grew and swelled as we watched. The oxygen bubbled furiously from the other end of the trench, and the bubble-heads giggled hysterically.

My assistants were carving nearly three sets of loom-teeth a day, just to replace the ones that had worn out. Every afternoon was spent carving new chips for Purple and Shoogar.

Damd the Tree Binder was busier than ever. Many of those who had emigrated from other villages were tired of their tents, and wanted to move into proper housetrees. Because of the shortage, Damd had begun binding trees to hold two or three nests whenever possible. In a way it was a lost effort. The trees would be under water before they would be ready for nests.

Ang had commissioned three more giant nets from Lesta, and was working out new ways to increase his catch of fish every day. One set of nets was strung across the river. Another set of nets hung from an overhanging ledge of rock which had not been submerged by the rising seas. The third set was used in the most ingenious way yet. Ang had built a boat, much like the hull of the flying machine. Each day he and three of his apprentices would row out a ways, trailing the net behind them. They had to be careful though - once they caught a submerged housetree.

In short, life had settled down to a regular and steady pace. Neither of the magicians were present to consecrate anything, and Shoogar's two apprentices were neither skilled enough nor trusted enough to handle even routine consecrations, so I took it upon myself to distribute tokens as necessary.

Of course I levied a small charge for my carving services upon both Purple and Shoogar - it was the least they could do for me. Hence, as monitor of all the carved chips, for every nine I carved for them, I kept two for myself. It was a fair rate.

Of course I had other sources of wealth as well. Lesta and I had renegotiated our contract for the use of the loomteeth. I would provide him with as many loomteeth as he would need, in return for which I received seven percent of his total output, payable either in spell tokens or cloth.

I was beginning to think about the purchase of a third wife. The gods knew I was entitled to it. I had had three wives before, and had never been happy with the demotion to two-wife status. It was not fitting for a Speaker to have only two.

I decided, however, to wait until the airship returned. If this first airship worked well, we might be able to build others. We could perhaps use such ships of the sky for trading expeditions. Yes, that would enrich us considerably. Large bodies of water would no longer be barriers to travel, and we would not be cut off from the mainland every wading season.

Gortik and I and Lesta and the other advisors discussed the idea eagerly. Lesta, who was now the head of the newly enlarged Clothmakers' Guild (formerly the Weavers' Caste), was one of the strongest adherents of the idea. Of course he had the most to gain - it was his cloth that they would be trading. But still, there was little opposition from any of the rest of us. Aircloth had enriched all of our lives considerably.

We spent those three days resting - and making exciting plans for the future - and speculating about the fate of the airship. We had not been told how long they would be gone. Purple had said only that they would take as long as necessary, until they had determined how best to steer and control the Cathawk - for that was what he had decided to call the boat.

It did not look like a cathawk to me, but it was Purple's spell, so I did not question it.

Without the magicians the village seemed strangely quiet - and I began to wonder, was this how it would be after Purple was gone? A strange thought that - I had grown so used to Purple's presence, I could not imagine this village existing without him.

I spent one afternoon helping Trone and his ground crew. They were practicing the mooring of the Cathawk when it returned. One group of men stood on the launching cradle and threw down ropes, pretending to be the returning airship. The ground crew stood below. When we threw down the ropes, they would chase after them and grab them as fast as they could - then they would pull us off the cradle.

It quickly turned into a competition. We would throw down our ropes and try as hard as we could to keep the ground crew from catching them. The ground crew would try as hard as they could to pull us from our perches. As they were some of the burliest men in two villages, they always won.

Afterward, panting, sweating and covered with dirt, I went up to Trone and asked him if he thought all this effort was truly worth it. After all, the Cathawk would only be making this one landing, and then we'd never see it again.

Trone grunted, 'Purple is paying me and my men to see that the Cathawk is grounded safely. It is to our own benefit to see that it does. If anything should happen to the airboat, Purple will only want to build another - and that might take another three hands of hands of days. You want to see him gone, don't you?'

I couldn't argue with that.

Shortly after that a rumor started that once Purple returned, he would outfit the Cathawk immediately for his journey north, and leave without redeeming any of his spell tokens.

I tried to stop such foolish prattle, but the villagers would not be convinced. They felt that if Purple did not cast spells in return for his coins, they were worthless. I said that this was nonsense. The coins were symbols of the magic and, as such, were magic themselves. They were as good as a real consecration. Just keep the spell token near the object to be consecrated.

They didn't believe me.

Instead, they argued about the Cathawk. Trone took credit for it by saying that it was his generators that made the gas that put it into the air. The pumping crews said that the generators wouldn't have done any good at all without their effort. Lesta laughed at them both, saying that it was his cloth that had done the job. Nonsense, said the weavers, it was their effort in weaving the cloth. Yes, agreed my apprentices, but they couldn't have done it without my loom-teeth. Grimm claimed it was his work in sewing up the airbags, the thread-dippers claimed it was their housetree blood, and even the women murmured about the thread they had spun. But the heights of idiocy were reached when the ballast-stuffers claimed it was their sand that allowed the Cathawk to fly - it flew when Purple threw it out.

It would have been funny; except that they were all taking it so seriously! Ang was making a small fortune selling dried fish - the same kind, he said, that Purple had taken with him on his historic flight.

The speculation went on about the flight itself. I wondered if they had used Shoogar's sails. Wilville and Orbur believed that Purple's airpushers didn't need sails, but-

I was bathing in the ocean, on a hot still day, when a shout rose up. The Cathawk is returning! The airship is coming back!'

I didn't bother to dry myself, but snatched up my robe and ran for the Crag. Others had the same idea. A great crowd materialized out of nowhere, and streamed up the hill, shouting and cheering. As I rounded the crest I could see it - slender boatframe and great swollen bags bright against the sky.

I wondered why the Cathawk was flying backward.

Then I saw that there were no sails. Purple's method of airpushing had worked! Wilville and Orbur were right again!

-----

AS the boat approached I could see my two sons pedaling wildly on the windmakers, pushing the boat closer and closer. Occasionally one of them would stop or pedal backwards for a few seconds, and the Cathawk would shift ever so slightly in its direction.

Purple was hanging in the rigging again. He was fiddling with the neck of one of his airbags - apparently he was releasing the gas in calculated amounts to control their descent.

He was shouting too: 'Where is my ground crew?!! Where is my ground crew?!!' The boat sank sideways through the air.

On the ground, Trone and his men were running around wildly, the big Coppersmith shouting orders, the others trying to take up positions around the landing cradle.

'Okay,' Trone was shouting. 'Bring 'er in - right over the cradle - and we'll grab the ropes!'

'No! No!' Purple shouted back. 'You bloody blind fools! You have to come out and grab the ropes where they fall and pull the boat over the landing rack! Then you pull it down! We can't control it that fine!' He swung around in the rigging, 'Wilville, Orbur, throw down the mooring ropes!'

Trone shouted at his crew, 'Move out! Move out! They can't get it over the landing rack - we'll have to do it for them.' His ragged group of men ran down the slope toward the Cathawk's trailing ropes. They were waving gaily in the wind. Wilville and Orbur were pedaling as hard as they could just to keep the boat in place.