The Philosopher Kings by Jo Walton Read Free Book Online Page A

Lysias said. “They have refused to let us have any of the solar lights, so we need a proper alternative. What did people use?” Lysias came from the twenty-first century and so, like the Children, he had grown up with electricity.
    â€œGas lights,” I said. “Gas was made from coal in some way. I’ve no idea how.”
    â€œNobody will know, and there won’t be any books on it,” Lysias said, savagely. “I don’t think there’s any coal on the island anyway. What else?”
    â€œOil lamps,” Axiothea said, a calm voice in the darkness. “We have olive oil. We can make glass, or if we can’t we can make clay lamps like the Romans had. I wonder what wicks are made out of?”
    â€œIf the Romans had them, somebody might know, or it might be written down somewhere,” Lysias said, sounding a little more cheerful. “Did they give enough light?”
    â€œEnough to read and work by,” I said. “And there are also candles, made from beeswax or tallow. Wicks were made from cotton in my time, which we don’t have, but I expect linen would do just as well.”
    â€œCandles, of course,” Klio said.
    â€œThey’re just decorative,” Lysias protested. “Not that I wouldn’t appreciate having one right now.”
    â€œLamps are more effective,” I said. I had lived with electricity long enough that it was easy for me to understand how in future ages, candles could have come to be thought of as nothing but decoration.
    â€œYes, I’ve heard of things smelling of the lamp, meaning people were up late working on them,” Klio said. “And burning midnight oil. So it must give enough light for people to work. We can’t make glass, but Crocus can. Except I don’t want to impose on his good nature to ask him to do even more for us. There’s not much we can do for him in return—only discuss philosophy and read to him, and there are plenty of people in all the cities happy to do that.”
    â€œBooks,” Lysias said. “That’s another tech issue we should discuss. We can use the libraries in the Remnant, they’ve agreed we can. But can we use their printing presses? We should have our own library here. The City Planning Committee have assigned it a place. But should we be building a printing press? Do we have anyone who can set type?”
    â€œAnd should we be duplicating everything so we have it to hand and don’t have to walk ten miles every time we want to look something up?” I asked.
    â€œAnd if we have only one press, should it be Greek or Latin?” Klio asked.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter, we melt all the type regularly and recast it—it’s only lead.” I said. “We’d have to have both sets of molds, but we could print in either language, switching when the type got worn.” I had always enjoyed working with the presses.
    â€œGood!” Lysias said, relieved.
    When we had set up the original city, most of the tech questions had been philosophical—we had to decide what we wanted to do and what was the best way to achieve it. We had the practical means, unlimited Worker resources, and the presence of Athene to give us divine intervention as needed. We didn’t realize what a luxury these things had been until we had to manage without them. Now the problems were almost all practical, and the answers were almost all things we didn’t like.
    We made the most urgent decisions, and had drinking-fountains and latrine-fountains and wash-fountains enough for everyone, and fields prepared for animals and crops, and shelter from the elements before the first winter came. During that winter we began to manufacture lamps. We had a skilled potter, one of the Children from Ferrara, a girl called Iris. She made the bases, and Kreusa, of all people, knew how to make wicks from flax and instructed others. Crocus was still helping us finish off