Hume pulled Mordions sleeve and shouted his demand. Hes broken! Please mend him. Please!
Mordion could see Hume was frightened and distressed. He explained kindly. I dont think I can, Hume. Mending a robot requires a whole set of special tools.
Ask for them then like the nails, said Hume.
Yes, why not? Ann said, unexpectedly joining Hume. Ask the parawhatsit field like you did for the aeroplane food, Mordion. Yam stopped two crossbow bolts and saved Humes life.
He was brave, Hume agreed.
No, Yam whirred. He sounded like a cheap alarm clock. Robot nature. Glad. Mended. Uncomfort. Like this.
Mordion pulled at his beard, dubiously. If he used the field the way Ann and Hume were suggesting, he sensed he would be admitting a number of things about himself which he would rather not admit. It would be like turning down a forbidden road that led somewhere terrible, to face something he never could face. No, he said. Asking for things is cheating.
Then cheat, said Ann. If those soldiers go back for reinforcements and come after us, youre going to need Yams help. Or start being an enchanter again, if you wont cheat.
Im not an enchanter! Mordion said.
Oh blast you and your beastly field! Ann said. Youre just giving in to it and letting it make you feeble! She found she was crying with anger and frustration, and swung round so that Mordion should not see. Come on, Hume. Well see if my dad can mend Yam. Yam, do you think you can get across that river down there?
You know Hume shouldnt go out of the wood, Mordion said. Please, Ann
Im disappointed in you! Ann choked. Bitterly disappointed, she thought. Mordion seemed to be denying everything she knew he was.
There was a helpless silence. The river rushed below. Yam stood swaying and clanking. There were tears running down Humes face as well as Anns. Mordion looked at them, hurt by their misery and even more hurt by Anns contempt. It was worse because he knew, without being able to explain to himself why, that he had earned Anns scorn. He did not think he could decide what to do. He did not think he had decided anything, until a large roll of metalcloth clanked to the ground at his feet.
Did you ask for this? Mordion said to Hume.
Hume
shook his head, sending tears splashing. Ann gave a sort of chuckle. I knew youd do it! she said.
Mordion sighed, and knelt down to unwrap the cloth. He spread it across the earth under the pine tree to find every kind of robotics tool in there, tucked into pockets in rows: tiny bright pincers and power drivers, miniature powered spanners, magnifying goggles, spare cells, wire bores, a circuit tester, a level, adhesives, lengths of silver tegument, cutters
Yams rosy eyes turned eagerly to the unrolled spread. To Mordions fascination, a sort of creasing bent the blank modelling of Yams mouth. The thing smiles! he thought. What a weird antique model! Old Yamaha, Yam warbled. Adapted. Remodelled. Trust. Correct tools?
Ive seldom seen a more complete kit, Mordion assured him.
You told me you were old Yamaha before, Hume said.
Not, Yam rattled. Gone back. Time you first found me. Think everything. Told for first time. Hush. Mordion work.
Hume obediently sat himself on a smooth brown rock, with Ann on the ground beside him. They watched Mordion roll up the sleeves of his camel-coloured robe and unscrew a large panel in Yams back, where he dived in with some of the longer tools and did something to stop Yam lurching almost at once. Then he whipped round to the front of Yam and undid the voicebox at the top of Yams neck. Say something, Mordion said, after a moment.
THAT IS MUCH Yams normal flat voice boomed. Mordion hurriedly twiddled the power-driver. Better than, Yam said, and went on in a whisper, it was before, and was twiddled back to proper strength to add, I am glad it was not broken.
Me too, said Mordion. Now you can set me right if I get something wrong. Youre much older than anything Im used to.
He went back to the hole in Yams rear. Yam turned and bent his head, far further than a human could, to watch what was going on. Those fuel cells have slipped, he told Mordion.
Yes, the clips are worn, Mordion agreed. Hows that? And if I take a turn on the neck pisistor, does it feel worse, or better?
Better, said Yam. No, stop. That red wire goes to the torsor head. I think the lower sump is wrong.
Punctured, said Mordion. He bent down to the roll of tools. More fluid. Where are the small patches? Ah, here. Do you know of any more leaks, while Im at it?
Lower left leg, said Yam.
Ann was fascinated. Mordion working on Yam was a different person, neither the mad-seeming enchanter who had created Hume, nor the harassed monk trying to build a house and watch Hume at the same time. He was cool and neutral and efficient, a cross between a doctor and a motor mechanic with, perhaps, a touch of dentist and sculptor thrown in. In a queer way, she thought, Mordion seemed far more at ease with Yam than he was with her or Hume.
Hume sat seriously with a hand on each knee, leaning forward to watch each new thing Mordion did. He could not believe Mordion was not hurting Yam. He kept whispering, Its all right, Yam. All right.