The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2), page 21
That’s a lot of bricks. The vapid thought was about the only thing that came to mind as he stared at the imposing compound. Lundin didn’t know too much about the going rate for brick-makers in the Tarmic Woods, but whatever it was, the proceeds from the thick palisade must have kept them fat and happy for years. The brown brick walls encircling Fort Campos rose up a story and a half, and they were wide enough for guards to walk their crenellated tops.
Their convoy had stopped a few hundred meters outside the fort, along the bumpy supply road. The underbrush was kept cleared away on either side of the muddy path. Starting at about twenty meters from the fort’s walls, the tall trees were cleared away too, leaving an expanse of bare, clay-filled soil. The barren area, he supposed, meant that that would-be invaders couldn’t try to overleap the walls from the treetops. Not that any sane soul would have tried it even if the trees had been closer. Not with the deep ditch that surrounded the wall on all sides; a dry moat filled, no doubt, with sharp stakes or something equally undesirable. There was a single log bridge that he could see, supported with two tall pylons on either side, that traversed the ditch and lead to a metal portcullis. The sealed bastion above the main gate and the four other towers at each corner of the brick wall were undoubtedly brimming with soldiers. Beyond the wall, it was impossible to see anything except the highest tower of the fort, perhaps three stories high in the same brown brick. More than two hundred Delian soldiers called Campos home. So it can’t be all bad, Lundin thought, putting a smile on his face.
He dusted off his sleeves and followed his team as the sergeant lead them forward. The road was crowded with carriages and hard-working bodies. Black-and-gold uniforms flashed this way and that as the other wagons in the convoy discharged their passengers and began giving up their cargo. Across the bridge, pennants were streaming in the summer breeze, carried on long poles by enlisted men and women. A small knot of gleaming officers was visible next to the flags, standing at attention just outside the main gate.
“An honor guard,” Dame Miri said, inclining her head towards the fort. She flashed Lundin a smile. “I think Colonel Yough’s eager to see us.”
I should make sure the equipment’s okay, Lundin thought, seized with an overwhelming desire to turn around and bury himself in his luggage until they were safely ensconced in their new workshop. He pressed his teeth together, shaking his head. You’re the leader, Lundin, he told himself, putting on a Dionne voice in his mind. And this is one of those moments where leaders need to talk to other leaders. This is where you charm Colonel Yough into becoming mechanized wizardry’s biggest supporter. But it’s also where you draw firm boundaries with her so she knows that this is a Petronaut project, not a military one. And it’s also where you establish yourself as a strong figure whose orders are not to be trifled with, but who’s also a friendly team player who in no way represents a threat to the structure and hierarchy of this woman’s command.
Basically, here’s where you work some magic, he thought heavily as they approached the bridge.
Lieutenant Colonel Farmingham turned around as the Civics crossed the bridge, the logs thumping underneath their soles. His face brightened with something a little more formal than a smile as he broke away from his conversation with his superior. Lundin was relieved to see him here. Their liaison to Campos had been nothing but cooperative in the last few whirlwind days.
Colonel Yough was a short woman with a blocky face and heavy, drooping eyes, which she turned on the Petronauts as they stepped forward. Her armor was more ornate than anyone else’s in the honor guard, festooned with medals that he was prepared to be very impressed by. And yet—maybe it was just a passing cloud, causing the sunlight to fall oddly around her, but her ensemble came out looking muted and worn, making her recede rather than lifting her out.
“The Petronauts?” she said in a clenched, sorrowful voice, like a grieving cat or a grandmother with a head cold.
“Colonel.” Lundin bowed humbly. “What a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you!”
She blinked like a toad blinks, her eyelids sinking down slowly and yawning back out of sight. “Oh?” she asked.
Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Lundin’s heart was thumping against his ears. “Oh yes,” he said. “Princess Naomi herself told us she has great respect for you.”
“Never met the Princess,” Yough said.
“Well! Well, it does your reputation that much more credit, then, that you should be so esteemed, without, uh, her, and you, having met! Please allow me to introduce my team,” he said in a rush, relieved, as Dame Miri tapped her toe against the back of his boot with an innocent look on her face. Lundin sidestepped to let the Civics come forward.
“I’m Horace Lundin; senior technician, I suppose. This is Dame Miri Draker, formerly of the Parade squad. It’s a great personal honor that she’s agreed to help this project. The Feastday Hero, they call her back home.”
Yough smacked her lips, completely inscrutable behind her mournful eyes. Lundin fought to keep smiling as Dame Miri dipped her head respectfully and made her greetings to the honor guard. “And uh, from the Civil Improvement and Development team, Mister Martext Goolsby; Ms. Elia Desh; and Mister Willl…”
Lundin clamped his mouth shut. Sweet Spheres, I almost said “Willl with three L’s,” he thought frantically. What in the black flames is his last name? The bespectacled faces of his Civics looked over at him, and his throat started to tighten up. And then, miraculously:
“It’s okay, sir,” Willl with three L’s said. He turned to the honor guard with a bashful grin. “Willl Wythernsson. Mister Lundin knows I don’t care for it,” he explained.
“Oh, come on, Wythernsson’s a fine name. Sticks in the mouth a bit,” Lieutenant Colonel Farmingham admitted, after stumbling a bit over the syllables.
“Wythernsson,” Yough said, tilting her head as she looked at the blond technician. “Are you Svargath?”
“Nope. Second generation Delian. My grandfather’s family sent him out of Svargath as a midling during the famines. No food for him there. So he moved to Delia, and here I am.”
“Here you are,” she repeated.
“Here we are,” Lundin said just as pointlessly, as he stared at Willl with three L’s. The tech had smoothed things over before anyone in the honor guard gave Lundin’s mental hiccup a second thought. The blond man’s face was as blank as ever, with no sign of realizing what an embarrassment he’d just saved his boss from. You clever, useful little savant, he thought. What have you done with my Willl?
Colonel Yough cleared her throat; not to draw attention, but because something juicy was actually lodged in her throat. After she was done coughing, she swished it around in her mouth, frowning, and swallowed it down. Involuntarily, Lundin swallowed too. “When can you do your demonstration?” she spun one hand in a circle on ‘demonstration,’ clearly unsure how else to represent the event.
Wow. We’re just jumping right in, aren’t we? “Well, Colonel,” Lundin said, mustering up his confidence. It was time to set the boundaries. “We’ve got a lot of sensitive equipment to install, and a good many work-hours before our latest spell is ready to my satisfaction. I know you run on a military timeline here, but this is a Petronaut project, and I have to insist that it proceed on a Petronaut schedule.” He put his hands on his hips in a forceful, leaderly stance.
Colonel Yough nodded once, very slowly. Her forehead furrowed. “When can you do your demonstration?” she said again, with an air of having missed something.
“Two days?” he said quickly.
“Fine,” she said. She put on a smile that just made her eyes look sadder, and stepped forward with her hand outstretched. “Welcome to Campos, so pleased to have you,” she mumbled as she shook hands down the line, her leather gloves cold to the touch. “Ask Colonel Farmingham for anything, feel right at home. Dinner in the officer’s mess tonight, be my guests.”
“Thank you, Colonel, what an honor. We’ll be there,” Lundin said. She didn’t even look at him as she finished giving Martext’s hand a shake, turning on her heel and walking away through the portcullis. Half the honor guard bowed their heads briefly and followed her into the fort.
“Goodbye,” Lundin whispered under his breath.
“Right then!” Farmingham said, clapping his hands. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “While the grunts are unloading your gear, how about seeing your new home?”
They followed him under the portcullis, sunlight beating down on their heads as they stepped into the open compound. Fort Campos’ walls made a great rectangle around a handful of buildings. Colonel Yough and her entourage were striding purposefully across the courtyard to the central keep. Lundin felt a low ache in his stomach as she got farther away from them, and tried to focus on Farmingham’s tour.
The central keep seemed taller from inside the walls than it had looked outside. His eyes traced up the pentagonal structure. About two stories up, a shallow, diagonal roof sloped inwards towards a central tower that rose up nearly another two stories. The lookout tower provided what he could only imagine was a stunning view of the forest in all directions. The sloped roof at the base of the tower was dotted with hatches, about four on a face. Gun ports? he wondered. It was difficult to imagine needing to deploy cannons against invading bear cubs, sparrows, or whatever fiendish adversaries they had to deal with in the woods. But the ideal fort could hold against any enemy, he supposed, no matter how unexpected—so the Army could be forgiven for making their preparations a little on the excessive side.
In the shadow of the fort was an attractively arched brick building, with elegant lines and studded wooden doors. Lieutenant Colonel Farmingham was pointing at it just as it caught Lundin’s eye. “Haberstorm Hall, we call it,” he told them. “Our place for guests who wouldn’t take well to the barracks. Lord Portikal was visiting us around two weeks past, and that’s where he and his staff bedded down. Since we’re not expecting noble visitors for the next few weeks, that’s where we’ll be setting up your workshop, to give you privacy. Don’t worry—we took out all the hangings, the pianoforte, and the gilded furniture. Nothing to distract you from your work.”
“Thank you,” Lundin said tentatively.
“So that’s your workshop. As for your accommodations,” the officer gestured ahead of them to a wooden building past Haberstorm Hall, almost abutting the southeastern wall. It looked more like a barn than anything else. “Our newer barracks is on the north side, but it’s stuffed to bursting, I’m afraid. This one’s only got two dozen soldiers bunking on the main floor, and you’ll have the loft all to yourselves. Just, uh, keep the midnight parties to a minimum.”
“Or we could just invite you too,” Dame Miri suggested. As they laughed together, she smoothly asked him, “Colonel Farmingham, how long have you been stationed with Colonel Yough?”
“Ten months now,” he said cheerily in his musical voice. “A very fine officer. Keeps the fort ticking like clockwork.”
“And what makes her tick?”
He half-opened his mouth. Farmingham gave her a rueful smile, and looked across all the ‘nauts. “I take your meaning, Dame Miri. Not sure how she took to you just now, are you?”
Lundin nodded, grateful to Miri for getting the topic going. The officer raised his hands reassuringly, walking backwards as he led them towards their barracks.
“Colonel Yough just isn’t one for ceremony, that’s all. Pageantry and official welcomes and all that don’t make it too high on her priority list. Look.” He stopped, putting his hands on his hips. “Here’s what the dispatch from Her Highness told her to do: give you a workshop, take a look at your project, and evaluate it. She’ll do all of those things, believe me. But if I were you, I wouldn’t expect a lot of, uh, warmth from her in the meantime.”
“What about dinner tonight? Is there something we should be sure to talk to her about?”
“Stars and Spheres, you’re a nervous bunch!” Farmingham turned away with a laugh. “Figures. I’ve never met ‘nauts who understood how amazing they looked to the outside world.
“I promise, if you just calm down and do your work, everything will turn out fine. It’s not like you have long to wait. After all, you’ll be doing your demonstration in two days, isn’t that right?”
Burn me whole! “That’s right,” Lundin said with a pleasant smile.
“Are we really going to be ready in two days, sir?” Martext asked under his breath as Farmingham led them on.
“You know, Mister Goolsby, I think we will,” Lundin whispered back, taking a deep breath. “And if we’re not, then we won’t do it. I’ll just put my foot down and tell them ‘this is a Petronaut project, and we’re not ready yet.’”
Martext nodded, his long black hair swaying against his shoulders. “And when they tell you to do it anyway, we’ll do it anyway.”
“Most likely,” Lundin said, clapping Martext on the back. “Glad we’re on the same page. Speaking of which—Willl! Come here,” Lundin hissed, waving Willl with three L’s closer. He trotted closer, brushing his long blond bangs away from his glasses.
“First off, how do you say your name?”
“Wythernsson?”
“I would never in a million years have remembered that. Sorry, by the way,” he said, chucking the tech on the shoulder. “But since when are you so quick on the draw? You saved my hide back there with that ‘Mister Lundin knows I don’t like my name’ story.”
Willl with three L’s just stared at him. “But you do know I don’t like my name,” he said, whispering loud enough to turn Farmingham’s head, a dozen paces ahead of them.
“No, Willl, I didn’t. I didn’t know how you felt about your name because I didn’t know what your name was. (Sorry, again, by the way,)” he said quietly. “I just… that was a really clever story, that’s all.”
“What story?” Willl with three L’s said, tilting his head.
Lundin looked back at him. “Never mind,” he said, patting his arm. “Good work. Good work,” he trailed off as Willl with three L’s turned away, visibly perplexed.
Go team, he thought weakly as they arrived at their barracks.
Chapter Three
The Wounded
Pauma kept one hand on the reins and one hand on her gun. Gnats were buzzing around her face, drawn to the beads of sweat at her hairline. She ignored them as best she could and kept her eyes searching through the trees and bushes to the west. Her horse placed its hooves carefully among the ferns as she rode her slow patrol. She fingered the hammer of her pistol for the dozenth time. The damn Petronauts hadn’t pursued the people of Two Forks to the upper fields yet, but if they did, she would have only seconds to react before they were on top of her. And with the way the butchering Delians fought, she would be dead if those seconds caught her unawares.
Honestly, it was a miracle that Two Forks didn’t have more dead. Pauma dreaded what she’d see when they went back to town and took a look at the prone bodies they’d had to leave in the streets. Some were probably just battered, or playing dead. Others could be bleeding out right now. Others could have been executed where they lay. Did Petronauts take prisoners? The farmer brushed her hand through the cloud of gnats, grimacing. She was realizing how little she knew about soft, corrupt Delia, that hollow kingdom to the south. But she had a feeling that after today, their little hamlet was going to be seeing a lot more of their distant, not-so-good neighbors.
A crunching sound on the breeze. Pauma drew the horse up sharply and raised her pistol. It was the unmistakable sound of footsteps, coming from the southeast. Coming from town.
She held her breath and scanned the woods at head height, the barrel of her gun tracking with her eyes. The crunching was coming closer. Awfully light footsteps, for a mechanical man in full armor. She hesitated, and then a head came into view—
“I’ll be damned,” she murmured, spurring the horse forward.
Columbine Fletcher stopped in her tracks when she heard the horse. She stayed motionless as Pauma trotted up to her, stuffing the pistol back in her belt. Columbine’s wavy brown hair was twisted and speckled with leaves, and her new clothes were scraped in half a dozen places. She must’ve been running pell-mell through the brush, Pauma thought with a frown. Well, who could blame the girl for being scared?
“Little Miss Columbine,” she said, as reassuringly as she could manage. “Swing up here with me. Why aren’t you with the other kids?”
The girl said nothing.
“You and Ariell jumped town with the other kids, didn’t you? Where’s your sister?”
Pauma looked nervously into the woods as Columbine stayed silent, swaying back and forth on her heels. “Swing on up now, Miss Columbine. We can’t stay here.”
The girl finally took Pauma’s outstretched hand and allowed herself to be yanked up onto the saddle. Columbine was clutching a little leather pouch tightly with her other hand, and wouldn’t let it go even to help steady herself against the horse. Pauma had to drop the reins to help Columbine stay balanced as she sat the girl on the saddle behind her. The farmer grimaced as she twisted back around. She’d thrown something out in her back with that awkward lift.
“Stars and Spheres, girl,” she grumbled, glancing over her shoulder. “What happened to you?”
“I was wrong,” Columbine said. Her little voice was barely audible, even with her body pressed against the farmer’s back. But something about it made the hairs on Pauma’s arms get straight and bushy, like a scared cat’s tail. The farmer swallowed, not knowing why.
“Hold on, now,” she said, crouching over the horse’s neck. The girl curled one thin arm around her stomach. She could feel Columbine’s cheek resting against her shoulder blade. After one last look around, Pauma flicked her heels into the horse’s flanks and sent them galloping for the upper fields. Her jaw was tight with anger as they rode. Something told her that Ariell Fletcher wouldn’t be joining them any time soon.
