The air tasted foul and acrid with the same chemical stink that came from the tanneries back home, only magnified and a thousand times worse. Billows of soot like black snowflakes drifted through the air and settled in their hair and clothing. The water was an odd colour, black and viscous-looking in some places, in others coloured red or green by effluents belched out of the black pipes that ran all the way to the harbour. 'Bones of Russ,' Ulli breathed. 'Look at that!' Ragnar glanced in the direction indicated by Ulli's pointing finger and saw the most amazing thing. It was a tower built all of iron, one of the most precious of metals. It rose from the water's edge. Looking at it closely, Ragnar could see the construction was odd.

It was not solid. It was like a latticework of metal beams, like the skeleton around which
a hall would be built. Except that here there was no dragonhide stretched around it. The frame was open to the air and to the elements, and you could see the intricate machinery it enclosed.
There were huge cogwheels and great metal arms that rose up and down in a regular rhythmic movement like the pulsing of a great heart. Black stuff, liquid and slimy, bubbled from pipes on the tip of the tower and rolled down long tubes to be gathered in wooden vats around the base. Small figures moved around constantly shifting the vats and emptying them with buckets. It was at once the oddest, most impressive and most baffling structure Ragnar had ever seen. 'Why do these people not fear the quakes?' Ragnar asked Ulli, more just to air his curiosity than because he expected any answer. 'Because they have no need to, laddie,' said the voice of the sorcerer. 'These islands are stable and have been for centuries. They will be for many more.' Ragnar's mind rocked. The concept was awesome. A land which did not constantly shake and quiver like a leashed beast. A place where there was no threat of the earth opening and swallowing you. A haven from the greatest and most commonplace of all the disasters that afflicted Russ's people. Could the inhabitants of these islands really be so blessed? Another thought struck Ragnar, the natural thought mat would occur to any of his war-like people.
'Then why has no one taken them away from the inhabitants? The clans would kill to own such a safe haven. How have these people survived for so long without being over- whelmed?'
You'll see soon enough, laddie. You'll see soon enough.' The stranger shook his head and seemed to be trying to contain his mirth. 'State your business, strangers, or prepare to die!' The islander's voice was harsh and guttural and there was menace in every word. It was amplified by the metal bullhorn he held in his hand that made it sound even flatter. Ragnar gazed in wonder at the ships that had moved out from the island to meet them. Suddenly he felt very afraid.