The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2), page 4
“And when they ask, the good leader doesn’t tell them,” Lundin said, trying to sort this out.
“What? No; of course, then, the leader gives them orders.”
“But why not just do that earlier on, instead of waiting for people to come—”
“The point is,” Dionne said, tapping her glasses against the palm of her hand, “that people want to be led by a good leader. And a good leader doesn’t just tell his or her people what to do. A good leader tells them why.” She was nodding like this was important, so he nodded back at her.
“But the leader doesn’t just say why,” she went on, putting a hand on his arm. Her other hand gestured expansively in the too-small space between their bodies as she spoke. “The good leader paints a picture of the future. The leader shows the people how the world will be better when their work is done. The good leader, Horace, has vision.” Her palm traced through the air in a long curve. She looked up into his eyes.
“And should the good leader keep that wonderful vision inside?”
“Yes, until someone asks,” Lundin nodded.
Dame Dionne threw back her head with laughter. Lundin looked down at his feet and grinned. She did have a nice laugh; a little loud in close quarters, maybe, but nice. “No,” she said at last, through a final spate of chuckles. Lundin frowned. I thought I had that one.
“Horace, I think you’re an absolute treasure. And from all I’ve heard, you’re a brilliant technician. Now I’m going to challenge you to become a good leader too.”
He had a hunch the conversation was building up to something like this. “Dame Dionne,” Lundin said, raising his hands. “I don’t really see myself as the leader type.”
“Well, here’s the thing, Horace,” she said, putting her hard-edged glasses back on. She ticked a list off on her fingers. “You’ve got a vision. You’ve got a staff. And you’ve got a deadline. You’re already a leader; so you might as well learn how to be a good one, right?” she finished, flashing him a smile.
His mouth went dry. “What do you mean, a deadline?”
Dame Dionne cocked her head. “The next sharing is in nine days,” she said, bemused. He was bemused right back at her, so she went on, “Every other week, Civic project leaders interface with community representatives for demonstrations, public comment, and collaborative networking. That’ll be you, Horace, in nine days.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t know how to interface,” he said.
“Horace—”
“And what do you mean by demonstrations?”
“We’re going public with the mechanized wizardry project in nine days.” Dame Dionne put her hands on her hips.
Lundin’s jaw dropped, and dark black shock filled his mind. Going public?
“You’re a Civic now, Horace,” she went on, “and unlike some Petronauts, Civics don’t hole up in the workshop, doing clandestine research on brand new ways to kill people. Our mission is to work with the rest of the city to make things that are good for all Delians. We partner with industries. Merchants. We share our designs. We spread technology outside this compound. What we don’t do is keep secrets.”
“But I—”
“The Board of Governors transferred you here, which means two things, as far as I see it,” she said, her calm tone cutting through his objection. “They agree with Her Highness that you’re on to something big; and they think that Delia needs to know what you’ve found. And you’re going to do it nine days from now.”
She put a hand on his shoulder, looking frankly into his eyes. “Do you see why I think you might want to tell your team something more than ‘go hit the library?’ Mister Leader?” Dame Dionne said.
Lundin’s head was reeling. “I don’t know what else to tell them.”
“How about—I don’t know—a briefing?” She clapped him on the arm and stepped back, blue eyes crinkled with humor. “Why don’t you start with what you’ve done so far?”
I cast a spell on the court sorcerer to keep her from committing regicide, a fact that will get me murdered the instant it becomes public knowledge.
“Oh, it’s not that interesting,” he said weakly.
“Horace,” she said. The clouds broke overhead, and the immaculate workroom was flooded with light. “Do you believe mechanized wizardry can change the world?”
Lundin looked back at her, mulling over the flood of changes in his life since that day in LaMontina’s tent, a few short weeks ago. “Yes,” he said.
Dame Dionne nodded after a moment, her round face shining in the sunlight. “Tell your people why,” she said quietly, “and I think you’ll like what happens next.”
The door swung open several minutes later, and the three technicians filed back in. Their eyes widened at the sight of the squawk box, front-and-center in the expansive room, its side panel pulled back to reveal two turntables and an array of gears and polished resonators. Lundin was reaching into the mouth of the ornate trumpet on top of the box, making an adjustment to something unseen. Dame Dionne was crouched by the open panel, lowering a perforated metal disk into place on the lower turntable. They turned at the sound of the door, making last-minute adjustments before facing the three techs.
“Hey there, guys,” Dame Dionne said, dusting off her maroon slacks. “Before you dive right in to the fascinating world of Old Harutian, Horace has something he wants to say.”
Lundin fought the urge to swallow as Elia, Martext, and Willl with three L’s turned to look at him. He laid a hand on top of the squawk box, feeling the grain of the dark wood against his fingertips, and took a deep breath.
“We’re here to fix magic,” he began.
Chapter Four
Fireside
Samanthi squinted in the firelight. Gingerly, she pressed the tip of her screwdriver against the miniature ratchet, visible a centimeter beneath the side of the plundered armband. With a sound like a brick dropping through a sheet of silk, three thin claws flashed into view, extending forward a quarter-meter past the mouth of the bracer. “More like stilettos than daggers,” she mused aloud, flicking the closest blade with a dirty fingernail. “From what Dame Miri said, the Petronaut they fought back home had bigger claws.”
“Parade squad exaggeration,” Iggy snorted. “They’d probably be scared of someone with dinner forks for arms.”
“Spheres, I’d be scared of that,” Samanthi grinned, accepting the cup of applejack the older woman handed her. Expert technician Ignatia Roulande squatted down next to her, absently scratching a mole on her bare, leathery shoulder. The Aerial squad tech’s overalls were ripe from long days of consecutive wear, and Samanthi turned her head discreetly upwind. Iggy took a sip from her collapsible tin cup and frowned at the trio of razor-sharp claws.
“Spring-loaded, huh? How do you ratchet ‘em back?”
“This ring twists,” Samanthi explained, gripping what looked like a decorative band encircling the cuff. She gave it a half-turn and, with a few muffled clicks, the claws retracted a few centimeters. Iggy shook her head emphatically.
“Awkward. Not a Petronaut in the world who’d want to waste time like that in a fight.”
“Maybe you’re supposed to keep the claws out until the fight’s done.”
“Maybe you should carry a damn gun and leave the scratching to the tomcats.”
“Know what I think? It’s a model,” Samanthi said, twisting the band until the claws were out of sight. “A workshop sample of the real thing. Look how smooth it’s fashioned; no space for fasteners anywhere. This was never meant to be fitted into a ‘naut’s armor. It’s just proof-of-concept.”
“The concept that three knives coming out of your arm are better than one knife in your hand.”
“There’s a proverb in there somewhere,” Samanthi said, thoughtfully. Iggy chuckled as Samanthi drained her cup and reached for the growler of applejack. The Aerial squad had a reputation for being the most committed alcoholics in the entire Petronaut community; which meant, as Iggy had been telling Samanthi for years, that the younger woman would fit right in with them. The standing offer was a little tempting, since it was acknowledged that the Aerials had far and away the best toys (like Ironsides, whose armor Iggy had lovingly patched up after piloting her through the smugglers’ hail of gunfire that morning.) But the best toys also had the greatest tendency to break, which was extremely hard on the pilots who flew them and the techs who had to rebuild them. Besides, Samanthi mused as she refilled her cup, being an Aerial tech would be all about shop work, with fewer of the Recon squad’s varied assignments, inside and outside the city walls. She liked being part of a little squad that did big things. Though our squad is littler than it should be now… She narrowed her eyes and pushed that thought aside, thumping the earthenware jug back into the dirt.
“I think you’re right, Sam,” Sir Mathias spoke up quietly, lying on his back on the other side of the campfire. Samanthi hissed and threw an acorn at him. He flinched as it rebounded off the thin linen blanket over his chest.
“Quiet! You’re supposed to recuperating.”
“I can’t think and recuperate?”
“Not out loud; no, Sir. You sucked in a lot of smoke today, and the field physician told you to go easy on your lungs.”
“My lungs are fine. Want to see them?” Right on cue, Mathias sank into a particularly juicy coughing fit. Samanthi threw up her hands, disgusted, dismayed and amused at the same time.
“Why is it always the handsome ones who get set on fire?” Iggy said, sipping wistfully.
Mathias sat up, his big hands resting on his knees as he got his cough under control. “I figure there are only a few ways these smugglers could have gotten a hold of ‘naut gear,” he said, his normally rich voice coming out as a sad croak. He ticked off his theories on his fingers. “Killing a ‘naut and stripping a whole suit; stealing it from a workshop; or trading for it. If they’d had a whole suit to cannibalize, we’d have seen them using other pieces.”
“And this cuff would look like it belonged to a set,” Samanthi agreed.
“If they stole it, that makes me feel good. It means our mystery ‘naut shop out there is way more lax about security than we are. But I bet the armband was part of some trade.”
“If I were a mystery ‘naut,” Iggy said, “and I wanted a band of low-lifes to do something for me, the first thing I’d do is try to pay them in junk like this. Make it sound all impressive and authentic.”
“‘With the claws of justice, you can slay your enemies three at a time,’” Mathias intoned, making use of his gravelly throat.
“As long as they stand close together,” Samanthi said over the rim of her glass.
They laughed, their voices rising into the night. Then Sir Mathias had another coughing spasm, bad enough that it brought both women to their feet. Samanthi snatched a waterskin from her wide-open pack and brought it to her friend, a prone giant under a too-small blanket. He took a few swallows before lying back on his side.
Iggy laid a hand on Samanthi’s back with a non-verbal ‘need anything?’ in her eyes. Samanthi shook her head. Iggy nodded, then made a fierce face and crushed her empty cup to her own forehead, the collapsible tin segments stacking neatly into one another. Samanthi barked with laughter and shoved the Aerial tech away. Iggy rode the momentum and turned it into a lazy walk across the camp site to the round, hulking bulk of Ironsides. Without turning around, Iggy waved the Recon squad good night.
Samanthi sighed, sinking down to the ground. She listened to the crackling fire for a long moment before patting Sir Mathias on the calf. “How’re you doing, sir?”
The ‘naut was still for several seconds, his brown eyes lost in thought. “You know why I’m alive today?” he said, not looking at her.
“‘Cause you’re a virtuous, Sphere-loving champion of righteousness?”
“Because of Lundin.”
The smile sank away from her face. She scratched the cup in her hands absently, staring at the ground.
“He’s the one who finally got the fire dousers working,” Mathias went on.
“He’s the one who junked up their design in the first place,” Samanthi murmured, shaking her head. “The number of times I told him to toss those blueprints… but he just went through to a prototype anyway, and, sure enough, got a faceful of foam the first time he pulled the trigger.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“‘The vapors, the vapors,’” she mock-gasped, slipping into Lundin’s voice. Mathias grinned. “‘Quick, boss, get me a towel.’ The closest thing at hand was a certain brown-and-gold scarf, so—”
“Wait, wait. The double-wide scarf with the gold embroidery, that’s been missing for months?” He sat up. “That was my scarf.”
“Well, Sir,” she said innocently, “it saved Lundin’s life. So I guess you two are even.”
“Burn that! Lundin wasn’t going to die from any vapors. You couldn’t have used a rag?”
“It was an emergency.”
Mathias flopped back to the ground theatrically. Samanthi snorted with laughter. A log popped in the fire, sending a swarm of sparks up into the black air. The sparks rose for a moment, shining, before their lights faded away. She looked back down at him. “And then he went back to the blueprints,” she said, “and he went back for another prototype, and back to the blueprints; and, finally, during the feastday prep, we got the douser on your suit, and it saved your life.”
She exhaled sharply, feeling an unwelcome tightness in the back of her throat. “He might be the slowest, densest, most scatterbrained tech in the world. But whenever he actually finishes a project, it’s a damn work of art.”
The silence that followed made her sad, and being sad made her angry. Samanthi pounded back the rest of her liquor and jabbed a finger at Sir Mathias. “And if you ever tell him I said so I’ll fill your thrusters with custard,” she growled.
“The Civics are lucky to have him,” he said.
She dug the heel of her boot into the ground sullenly. “I’d retire before I let them send me to the Civics,” she said. “Wasting my life in meetings and presentations? My biggest accomplishment designing a plow that sharpens itself? Please.”
“It’s the better place for the magic project.”
“That was my project too!” Samanthi leaned in closer to him, her face reddening with anger. “And Lundin was my junior tech. Don’t you rationalize with me! His transfer had nothing to do with Princess Naomi and what the project needs. Lundin got booted because Kelley’s a spiteful sack of crap.”
“Don’t go there, Sam,” Mathias warned, sitting up.
“You know as well as I do—”
“Hey! I said no.” His brown eyes were flashing. “Sir Kelley is your boss and mine. And as long as we’re a unit in the field, there are things that are never to come out of your mouth. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
“Don’t tell me what to think, sir,” Samanthi said quietly, her jaw set.
“Think whatever you want. But if you say things that make me question your commitment to your squad, your superiors, and your mission, then I have no choice but to report you. And I’ve had my fill of that style of drama lately.”
He sank back onto his elbows. She tossed the last few drops of applejack from her cup into the fire, where they vanished with a hiss. “If you didn’t want to talk about Lundin, you shouldn’t have brought him up.”
Mathias rubbed his face. “We can regret the decision that was made without being insubordinate to the people who—”
“If I wanted to be a soldier, I would be a soldier,” she shot back. “I would have a uniform, and a musket, and better muscle tone, and I wouldn’t expect to speak my mind. But I’m not a soldier. I’m a Petronaut, just like you. You may be the one who puts the suit on, but I’m the one who makes sure it doesn’t kill you. Given that your life is in my hands every day, sir, silly me; I thought you might be interested in hearing me speak my point of view now and then.”
“In the workshop, yes. On almost everything, yes. But you can’t slander the senior ‘naut—”
“I don’t want to slander him, I want to punch his burning lights out! Did it occur to you, Sir Mathias, that the scandalous talk you just heard from me was the filtered-down, toothless, strait-jacketed version of what I’ve had going inside for weeks now? And that the reason I let it out at all was because, with the way those big brown eyes got damp when you talked about Lundin, I thought you were finally ready to be honest about how we both miss him?”
“Yeah, I miss him,” Sir Mathias said. His voice caught in his throat. “And I’m terrified about losing you, too.”
She looked sidelong at him, the firelight playing across her face. “You think Kelley will go after me next,” she said.
“If you give him reason to, no doubt,” he whispered sadly. “And then the Recon squad will get two new techs, or we’ll just get folded into the Cavaliers. Don’t think the Board hasn’t talked about that before. And the next time I’m in battle and somebody throws a bottle of exploding jelly at my chest, I’ll be dead. Because my life has been in your hands and Lundin’s hands for three years now, and I don’t see how I could ever trust anyone the way I’ve been able to trust you.”
The fire was dying and the shadows were long. A night breeze stirred the embers, unexpectedly cool, and Samanthi rubbed her hands together furiously for warmth. She bit her lip, not looking over at the big Petronaut. “Don’t listen to me,” Sir Mathias muttered. “Just because I’m scared of Kelley doesn’t mean you need to toe some party line, especially in private.”
“Well,” she said, “just because I’m entitled to my hateful opinions doesn’t mean you have to hear them. Even in private.”
They looked at each other. Slowly, solemnly, Sir Mathias raised the sloshing waterskin up to her eye level. Samanthi’s lips tugged upwards in a grin as she raised her empty cup and clinked it against the soft-sided waterskin.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” she said, quietly.
“Cheers,” Kelley said, raising an imaginary glass.
