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Back Iron Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Title page
  2. Contents
  3. Map
  4. ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. THREE
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. FOUR
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. Afterword
  88. By Stephen Baxter
  89. Copyright

‘Can you see?’ Pyxeas said, holding up a fragment of smashed-open tube. ‘The ends are sealed with rock salt, which passes heat without diminution. The tube can be evacuated altogether, emptied of any kind of air, or it can be blocked with metal plugs, so that virtually no heat passes. Thus we have a maximum and a minimum for the heat transfer. Then we can fill the tube with, well, whatever we like – ordinary air, fixed air, water vapour. And we can see how the various components of the air trap the heat differently.’

‘I think I see. And the conclusions?’

‘That the fixed air, even a trace of it, makes a very efficient blanket for the trapping of heat. Very efficient indeed.’

Uzzia was scowling. ‘Bits of gas in a tube, mirrors and flames – how did you manage to make all this blow up?’

‘That took some doing,’ Pyxeas admitted ruefully. ‘And on my first day here too. But – patience, my dear. Philosophical understanding grows as a child learns to walk, with one uncertain step at a time. Of course all these results are preliminary and need to be confirmed, which we can begin to do once we get this apparatus rebuilt. Where is that craftsman of yours, Bolghai? Got something better to do, has he? And can’t we get these wretched soldiers out of here?’

43

High on the Wall, fisherman Crimm didn’t want to get too close to the balcony rail. The day was clear and bitterly cold, and the balcony was thick with ice, slick and slippery and bright in the low winter sun that hung in the southern sky, shining straight in his eyes. Plenty of opportunity to go tumbling off this balcony, to go skimming down the length of the incongruously cheerful banners that had been unfurled down the face of the Wall, and to smash his head open on the heaps of rubble at the foot, thus getting himself killed before the day’s action even started.

Ayto, though, wasn’t troubled. He rested easy on the rail, arms folded, mittened hands stuck under his armpits, staring south, oblivious of the drop below. He waited calmly at Crimm’s side, just as they had so often faced a storm at sea about to fall on the Sabet.

Now there was motion on the ice-bound land, far to the south, black specks crawling under a clear blue sky. People approaching the Wall.

Ayto murmured, ‘Is it them?’

‘Not sure.’

‘They are coming up the Way, straight to Etxelur . . .’