The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2), page 15
“Where’s your number nine?” the boss asked, frowning after a quick headcount.
“Expert tech Roulande is running a sweep,” Kelley said, tracing a circle in the air. “She’ll need a place for her descent shortly.”
“Torches,” the boss said to his workers, who stretched their limbs and made for another of the sheds. “They’ll lead her in.”
“Dame Orinoco,” Sir Kelley said, looking up to the Cavalier. “Will you second a disarm order?”
“Sure. ‘Nauts, disarm in the longhouse and secure your suits for the night,” Dame Orinoco said, flipping up her visor. She gestured to the boss. “Let’s debrief on the Golden Caravan in forty-five minutes.” The thickly built man nodded.
“Tomorrow we head for Two Forks after breakfast,” Sir Kelley announced. As he moved in closer to talk to the boss, the rest of the ‘nauts began drifting to the longhouse. Samanthi watched all that armor tromping its way to the building, and started making a mental tally of all the intricate pieces the ‘nauts would be unable to remove for themselves. Then she did a tally of how many pairs of hands were available to help them take it off. The second tally went much faster.
“We’re gonna be helping them all damn night long,” Zig said, massaging his palm with his thumb.
“Burn that,” Samanthi said. “I’m getting some sleep tonight. Hey! You there!” she said, calling out to a knot of woodworkers coming back from the dock. They looked up as she walked towards them, a spring in her step from the seven-league boots.
“Come on, Zig,” she said, grinning over her shoulder. “Let’s deputize!”
Chapter Fifteen
Last Words
“Let’s get another layer of insulation in here,” Dame Miri said, tracing her finger along the inside of the crate. “Don’t want the spell box cracking open and all the magic leaking out.”
The poor Army clerk’s eyes widened. “Spheres! Is it corrosive?”
“I didn’t know magic had a fluid state. Do we need something absorbent in these crates?”
Dame Miri looked at the bureaucrats, their faces filled with sudden terror. I used to be funny, once, she thought wistfully. “Just the insulation will be fine, thanks.”
They scampered away, like little mice on a mission. Dame Miri watched them wending their way through the crowded lobby. The Army was using the reception hall of the Civic annex as a staging area as crates made their way down the hallway to the mechanized wizardry workroom and back. The beleaguered receptionist would have trouble physically getting away from his desk in the center of it all, even if he wasn’t beset with a stream of military newcomers asking questions and getting lost. They were making steady progress, though. Once the two spell boxes were packed up, that meant the last of the big equipment pieces was ready for loading. When the Princess of Delia says something needs to get done fast, it happens.
“Quite a zoo, huh?” She turned to see Dame Dionne with a thin smile on her face. The Civic laced her fingers together, her rings clinking against each other. “I haven’t seen this many people in the annex since Sir Ulrich’s ‘free pie’ demonstration.”
“Free pies, huh?” Dame Miri tilted her head.
“Oh, yes. Hand pies baked six at a time, start to finish in under five minutes. An amazing machine.”
“How’d they taste?”
“An amazing machine,” Dame Dionne repeated diplomatically.
They looked at each other. Dionne threw her head back with a bark of laughter at the memory and reached out, squeezing Dame Miri on the upper arm. Miri grinned and touched her bandaged hand briefly to the smaller woman’s back.
Dame Dionne sighed lengthily. “You’re going along, I take it?”
“That’s the plan.” Dame Miri gripped the tall crate by its open sides and swung it gently against the wall, making more space for passing traffic. She winced a little at using her hands that way, but at least they were both opening and closing again after long hours of therapy with the master of physic.
“Do you know what I thought, when I heard that mechanized wizardry was being transferred to my squad? And I learned what it was?” the Civic said, removing her trapezoidal glasses. “Finally—a truly astonishing, truly revolutionary Petronaut idea; and they’re not letting the military get first crack at how to shape it.”
Dame Miri looked at her, softening at the weary bitterness she saw in Dionne’s face. “This is still our project, Dionne,” she said quietly. “They’re not going to tell us how to run it.”
“No, of course not. That’s not how we treat our ‘nauts in Delia. But I have a hunch that when you arrange your demo for Colonel Yough, you’re not going to be making pies.”
“You play to your audience,” Dame Miri agreed.
“Just for once, I thought—” she broke off. “You’re Parade squad, Miri. You know the bias ‘nauts have towards what’s fast, strong, lethal; and what it feels like to be the only voice in the room that’s speaking up for technology that uplifts, or empowers.”
“I’m not Parade squad now. I’m not much of anything, at the moment.”
“Well, I’ll tell you; since Her Highness came in yesterday, bright and gentle and regal as could be, and declared my flagship project for peace would be shipped to Fort Campos under armed guard? I’m not feeling like much of anything, either.”
“Hey there.” Miri crouched a little to look into the shorter woman’s eyes. Dame Dionne was holding herself together masterfully. It took Parade squad training to realize just what a good actor she was.
“This work we’re doing is going to make us all proud,” she promised. “You understand this is a whole new field, right? This is physic, this is alchemy, this is metallurgy. Beautiful, uplifting achievements will come out of it, and terrible tragedies too, and all we can do is let them come. Ulraexi Pillok Mentatum Est; both good and bad.”
“That’s why I wanted it developed in the light of day,” Dame Dionne said, her body tense. “I wanted the public to see it from day one, so they had the chance to speak out before it was used for anything horrible.”
“Some people are going to think anything new is horrible. A little secrecy’s not such a bad thing.”
“Depends on who’s keeping the secrets.”
“Depends on who’s listening, too,” Dame Miri retorted gently. “Last month, a Petronaut tried to kill me inside our city walls. The royal steward was a traitor. A wizard who worked high society for years turned traitor and almost killed our Princess for a bag of coins. We’re under attack, Dionne, and by someone close to home. That’s not paranoia; that’s a scary, scary fact. At a time this tense, if we keep these ideas out in the light of day I don’t think we’re going to like what grows.”
“Those things will grow no matter where the light is,” Dame Dionne said, shaking her head. “But as long as the dark things grow for our side first, we’re fine, right?”
“Well, we’re more fine.”
The Civic snorted. “Didn’t do much debate training in the Parade squad, did you?”
“Sure I did,” Dame Miri said, flashing her most brilliant smile. “If you get your opponent to laugh, you win.”
“One, you’re not funny. Two, keeping secrets corrupts the keeper and just makes the truth harder to control. And there is no three, because I just had the last word.” Nose in the air, Dame Dionne shoved her glasses on her face and began striding across the lobby to the front office.
“What an exit,” Dame Miri called after her in honest appreciation.
“Last word!” the Civic shouted back imperiously.
Dame Miri turned around, smiling, and raised her hands as a hulking soldier swept up to the crate next to her. “Excuse me, Dame Miri,” he rumbled, wrapping his arms around the empty wooden box and lifting it effortlessly. She smiled, lips closed, and gave him a quick salute. She watched the empty crate in the soldier’s arms as he made his way towards the hallway. They would put a spell box in that crate, and tomorrow they’d take that crate east for the fort. And as for where they—or someone else— would take it from there?
“All we can do is let it come,” she murmured, feeling a twinge in her hands.
Chapter Sixteen
Cakewalk
Ariell held the brace of rabbits by their ears and whistled to herself nonchalantly. She knew that Brindon was watching her as she sauntered across the village square to the cooking house. He’d been watching her all morning on their hunt, too, sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. That’s probably why I bagged the rabbits, and he came home with nothing, she thought smugly. Boys are just too easily distracted. She looked over her shoulder casually. Sure enough, he was watching her, his hands on his hips and his bare arms tan and shining in the sun. Her eyes lingered on the smooth, firm skin of his arms for a moment. Then her toe caught against a rock and she staggered forward, rabbits scraping against the dirt as she flung her arms wide to keep her balance. Ariell straightened back up, stiff as a board, and started walking with a great sense of purpose. Knowing that Brindon was watching her had just lost its appeal.
“More game, Miss Ariell?” the stocky man at the baking tables groaned as she swept through the open doorway, rabbits held high. The other men and women tending stewpots and chopping vegetables looked up too, grinning. So did the knot of kids washing breakfast dishes, their hands deep in the sudsy water in the round metal basin. “We just got finished cleaning the last batch you brought in,” the baker said.
“I’ll skin ‘em myself, then.” She plopped the rabbits down on a splintery table near the door. “Sorry I’m bringing in too much meat,” she said, mock-repentantly.
“Spheres, don’t listen to that lazybones,” a woman shouted, shaking a wooden spoon at the baker. “If he don’t want any meat, he don’t have to eat it.”
“More for us!”
Ariell grinned broadly as she unsheathed her hunting knife and pulled one of the brown-furred rabbits towards her. The crowd went back to their jobs; supper was only a few hours away, and there were lots of hard-working bodies to feed. Ariell looked around for a bowl to catch the blood and found one resting in a pair of small, water-wrinkled hands.
“Here,” Columbine said, holding the wooden bowl up for her sister.
“You got soap in it,” Ariell complained automatically as she took the bowl. Columbine’s fingers still had traces of suds on them from the washing basin. She wiped her hands diligently on her too-big brown apron as Ariell set the bowl on her table and held the rabbit over it by the feet. A quick cut set the blood trickling into the bowl with a gentle liquid sound. Columbine stayed next to her as she waited, rabbit held high. Ariell’s face softened.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Look at my fingers,” Columbine said, holding her hands up. They were soft and crinkly from an hour in the wash basin.
“Old lady hands,” Ariell said. “I’ve been telling you to grow up fast, but I didn’t mean that.”
Columbine giggled. “I’m the older sister now!”
“No way.” She looked down, smiling, and shifted her weight so she pressed her body against Columbine’s little frame. “I’m your older sister, and don’t you forget it.”
Columbine put an arm around Ariell’s waist. “Okay,” she said. Her sister’s hand was dripping and wet against her new tunic, but Ariell chose not to complain about it.
“You’re coming right up on it, ladies and gentlemen,” Iggy’s voice echoed in Sir Mathias’ ears. Iggy had been shadowing them far overhead in Ironsides as they’d made their way north from the logging camp. They’d followed the Bantam upriver for a few hours until reaching one of its feeder creeks, a six-meter wide channel of water that their maps said would lead them to Two Forks. The soil up here was full of gravel, and dotted with person-sized boulders among the thick dark trees. Rough place to start a farming town, Sir Mathias thought. If it’s the life they want, then more power to ‘em. But I don’t understand why some people insist on making things hard for themselves.
“Almost there,” Sir Mathias related to the rest of the team. He was the point of contact between the Aerial on her platform and the ‘nauts on the ground. The Communicator built into his helmet was Recon-only equipment, too delicate and error-prone to be standard in the brawling suits that Cavaliers and Shock Troopers wore. “Just as well,” Mathias had told Iggy suggestively at the start of their day’s travel. “It means I get your sultry voice all to myself.”
“Ha! I’m not one for whispering sweet nothings in the ear, I’ll have you know,” she’d said, a broad smile on her weathered face. “If I like a man, I holler in his face, and just keep yelling until he punches me or beds me.”
“And, uh, how’s that strategy working out for you?”
“A lady never yells and tells, Sir Mathias,” she’d said with a wink.
They pressed through a line of trees, and just as Iggy had promised, the ‘nauts saw the pointed stakes of a stockade in the distance. The creek that had guided them this far ran right through the settlement, breaking south towards them and also forking further east. “Halt,” Sir Kelley called quietly. The six ‘nauts stopped, thin trails of exhaust emanating from their suits. They’d left Samanthi and Zig at the logging camp to pore over some surveillance charts the Army scouts had been keeping. It seemed silly not to be splitting up further, but their orders had been very clear; until the Army reinforcements arrived, all missions were to be conducted as a single unit. Never know when a phalanx of masked Petronauts will leap out at us, or a five-tongued demon from the olden days, he thought wryly.
“Six ‘nauts at once will only intimidate them. Dame Orinoco and I alone will make contact with the farmers,” Kelley was saying. “Establish support positions around the stockade, and keep a retreat clear.”
“We’ll lay down covering fire if they deploy their plows against you,” Sir Xiaoden said, nodding soberly.
“Joke if you want. My orders are to take this seriously, and that means yours are too.” The senior ‘naut looked from face to face, his visor up and his flat eyes humorless. Sir Xiaoden squirmed slightly under that look while the other ‘nauts stayed at impassive attention.
“I want a promise,” Kelley went on. His gaze lingered on Sir Mathias as he swept across the other ‘nauts. “If they put livestock on the battlefield, don’t be a hero,” he said earnestly. “Just get out of there, every man and woman for themselves.”
The ‘nauts sputtered with laughter, surprised. Kelley’s face twisted upwards in something very like a smile. “Making contact now. Nobody screw this cakewalk up. Understood?”
“Understood,” the chorus came back. Sir Mathias picked his jaw back up off the forest floor. T. Kelley Malcolm, Esquire, trying a lighter touch? Have the Spheres come loose in the sky?
Dame Orinoco held up a hand to Sir Kelley, asking for a moment. She clomped over to Sir Xiaoden and Dame Julie, pointing out a mound of earth around a hundred meters from the gate that would make good cover. Dame Gaulda shook her arms out, gazing down at the settlement with the calculating eyes of someone who saw support positions, retreat paths, and fields of fire as clearly as if they’d been painted on the soil. Kelley and Mathias stood an awkward distance from each other while Orinoco conferred with her squadmates.
“Good luck, Sir Kelley,” Mathias said with genuine sentiment as the moment crept on.
Kelley looked back at him, expressionless. The lean man swung his black visor shut. “Sir Mathias,” he acknowledged formally. “Inform Ms. Roulande that we’re approaching the stockade.”
Sir Mathias nodded. As Sir Kelley joined Dame Orinico and started towards the farming hamlet, he flipped the transmission toggle on the side of his waist. “Ms. Roulande, we’ve got two ‘nauts heading for the stockade; Kelley and Orinoco,” he whispered, flipping the switch back to ‘receive’ after he finished speaking.
“I don’t know who Ms. Roulande is, but Understood on the rest of it. I’m getting eyes on Kelley and Orinoco now.”
He smirked inside his helmet. The raspy rush of Ironsides’ engine was audible above the treetops, far overhead, like a duststorm whipping through a tunnel. Iggy would drop out of the sky the instant he gave the word, ready to lay down sniper fire or just scare the daylights out of anyone who needed scaring. Sir Mathias shook his head at the thought of all the concentrated power this little mixed squad represented. Let’s find this Golden Caravan, and show the world what it looks like when Delian Petronauts flex their muscles, he thought, taking a point position as the four supporting ‘nauts crept stealthily towards Two Forks.
*****
Something had been putting Kipes’ teeth on edge all afternoon long. There was a weird, scratchy noise in the air that the burly farmer just couldn’t place, like a wind ripping through dead leaves, combined with a sawmill in full operation. The sound had been floating around for hours. Now it was louder and closer than ever.
He pressed another trowelful of daub in between two logs in the stockade, right near the gate. Kipes smeared the sticky mud up and down, patching the gaps that always seemed to be springing up. He just couldn’t focus. “You hear that noise?” he called to a woman passing by towards the creek with a basin full of laundry.
“Buzzing like a nest of river flies?”
“So I’m not crazy!”
“It’s about fit to drive me crazy,” she said, resting the basin on her hip. “What d’you suppose it is?”
“Can’t say I’ve got a…”
He trailed off as a new sound pricked his ears: a rhythmic, mechanical whine paired with a series of stomps. Heavy footfalls, like a pregnant woman clomping around in wooden shoes. He turned to look at the gate as the sounds approached it. Wasn’t someone on lookout duty?
The woman next to him gasped as two figures walked their way right through the gate, uninvited, heads held high without a worry in the world. It was like suits of armor come to life.
