Warlock

that. He will tie a second length of rope to the cut end of the first before he leaves, paying that one out as he crosses. When he reaches us, the second rope will be made fast to our end of the first. The ropes are thin, but strong, and the knots will be tight but small. On both sides of the gorge, after the knots have been tied, wax will be melted over them to seal them tighter and to guard against slippage. At that point, we will have a great loop of rope stretched across the canyon. Sergeant Crowler will break loose the anchor piton on this side and slip this end of the loop into a pulley system which men are now putting together. The pulley is built on a small platform, upon which four men will stand as anchor. On the other side of the gorge, we will then do the same with a second, matching pulley that we will take across with us. After that, a man need only grasp the lowest rope with both hands and be whisked across by our team of drawers and the team of pullers over here who will work on the upper rope while we pull on the lower. Perhaps three minutes per man to cross. A great time saver and far less chance of disaster.”
        
        “Quite ingenius!” Mace said in obvious admiration.
        
        “This Zito,” the Shaker said. “He can be trusted?”
        
        “We've used the same device three times before,” Commander Richter said.
        
        That is not what I asked.”
        
        If I can't trust Zito,” Richter said, shrugging wearily, “I can trust no one. He has given me his bloodied kerchief once, and you know what that means among the Coedones.”
        
        “Eternal fidelity,” the Shaker said. “And they have never been known to break such a vow. Well, it is nice to know there is one of your men who is not suspect.”
        
        Richter finished eating and went off to take care of the last of the arrangements. Ten minutes later, he and a party of seven enlisted men had started down this side of the canyon.
        
        
        
        “One of us simply must remain with our baggage,” Gregor said firmly. “And they say the luggage must go last, after the men. So I'll just stand here until it's across. They can send me over after it. Then the four men weighting down the pulley platform, and the two on the drawing team can pack up and make the climb down and up like Richter did.”
        
        “Why don't I stay?” Mace asked.
        
        The Shaker will be over there, and that is where the muscle must be, you lummox. I am small game compared to the Shaker. Now, no more arguments.”
        
        “I guess you're right,” Mace said.
        
        “You know I am.”
        
        He gripped the smaller boy's shoulder, looked at Gregor with what passed for love between them. “Be cautious. It is a long way down to the bottom of the canyon and no cushions when you get there.”
        
        “That I see,” Gregor said. “I will be quite careful indeed.”
        
        
        
        Gripping the lower rope with both big, thick-fingered hands, Mace looked down at the shattered floor of the canyon seven hundred feet below. He had been told not to look down, but the temptation was too great. He was glad, now, that he had ignored that order, for the whirling, slowly turning spires of rock below were truly lovely from such an improbable viewpoint. His blood, too, sang with a rare excitement.
        
        Excitement.
        
        Not fear.
        
        For Mace, there truly was no such thing as terror. He had never experienced anything which had brought him to the frazzled ends of his nerves. And that, despite the fact that being the assistant of a Shaker provided a goodly number of hair-raising experiences. And as he was never terrified, he was seldom even given to fear. It was as if he had been born without that portion of his soul, as if all the fear he had never felt was transformed into extra inches of height, extra pounds of muscle.
        
        Once, Shaker Sandow had explained to Mace just why he was so fearless. “Mace,” the Shaker bad said, “you are a very small magician. You have within you just the barest stirrings of a Shaker's power. That glimmer of power makes you faster on your feet than other men, quicker to react, more clever to understand, more cunning to perceive that which others wish not perceived. But there the power ends. It will never be great, nor even