The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2) (16 page)

She thought back to the look of delight on Lundin’s face when he ran into her at the workshop, and the face he made when she had to leave.  It made her nervous to think what her expression must have been. 
I want the old squad back
, a small part of her said, plaintively, for the thousandth time.

Samanthi shook the thought away as quickly as it formed. 
If you take off your boots, don’t be surprised when you get left behind
.  She gritted her teeth and plowed through the forest after the Petronauts.

“Fine,” Sir Kelley said, his flat voice barely audible over the sound of Dame Orinoco’s heavy footfalls.  The Cavalier nodded and tromped back towards to her squadmates at the rear of the party.  Sir Mathias watched her go, shaking his head in amazement.  Her suit sounded like a clockwork elephant as she bounded through the leaves.  “I forget sometimes how good our noise dampening is,” he said to Kelley.  “Can you believe how loud she is when she walks?”

“I can’t tell if it’s her suit, or because she’s a flaming colossus,” Kelley deadpanned, scanning the trees ahead of them.  Sir Mathias grinned; Orinoco was nearly a head taller than his partner, and almost as tall as him.

“Nothing wrong with a woman being the proper size,” he said appreciatively.

“Must come in handy on missions.  Anywhere she stands turns into high ground.”

Mathias turned again, watching the Cavalier go.  The forest air tasted good in his mouth, though his throat still shuddered from the smoke damage if he breathed in too deep.  Still, there was a smile on his face.  It felt like Delia was finally taking the initiative, after weeks of wondering if they next time they saw their enemies would be when they attacked the Princess again.

Of course, there’s no guarantee that the Golden Caravan are the ones who hired that wizard Jilmaq.  But it sure looks like it was their Petronaut protecting him on the feastday.  And even if they weren’t involved in the plot, if they’re really spreading sedition and Petronaut weapons among the woodsmen out here, they’re going to have some explaining to do no matter what.

He caught sight of Samanthi a distance through the trees, taking long awkward strides on her seven-leaguers and staring at the ground, deep in thought.  Sir Mathias’ smile faded, and he turned back around.  The two ‘nauts marched in silence for a moment.

“Sir Kelley?”

“Sir Mathias?”  Kelley said evenly.

“Have you given any thought to taking on a new junior tech?”

Kelley looked over at him. Mathias could imagine that unblinking green-eyed stare through his black helmet.  “Can’t say I have, Sir Mathias, seeing as we’ve spent nearly two weeks straight deployed in these damn woods.  Not the time to be breaking in a new teammate, is it?”

“No, sir.”

Sir Kelley looked forward again, reaching up to steer a branch out of his face.  “Of course we’ll get someone eventually,” he said.  “All our surveillance gear?  The Abacus? Our suits?  Too much for one tech, no question.”

“So no thoughts on who, yet.”

“My hope is to find someone who isn’t a belligerent, mutinous psychopath.  Other than that I’m fairly flexible,” he drawled.

Sir Mathias nodded and shut his mouth.  There was a pause, the silence only broken by the noisy ‘nauts far behind them.

“Well?”  Kelley finally said, palms upturned.  “Spit it out!  Do you have a niece, or a pet, or a bastard son you’re recommending for the job?  Why bring this up?”

He took a deep breath, letting his caution drop.  “I think Sam really misses Lundin.” 

It looked for all the world like Sir Kelley’s eye visor narrowed.  “Well, that’s a crying shame.”

“Look, Sir Kelley, say what you want about Lundin—”

“Oh, I will; assuming he doesn’t play witchcraft with my brain again.”

“—but you can’t deny that he and Samanthi made a great team together.  The best in Delia.”

“‘The best in—!’  By what possible measure?”  he said with wolfish delight.  “Efficiency?  Productivity?  Organization?  Discipline?”

Sir Mathias struggled for the right word.  “Spirit.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself, junior ‘naut.”

“I just—”

“Listen.”  Sir Mathias slammed his jaw shut.  Kelley’s voice was calm and amused as they kept walking at the same steady pace.  “I don’t begrudge you for liking the techs.  I understand that people like you are insecure about asserting authority, and so you convince yourself you’re not in a position of power after all; you’re just one of the guys!  And that’s fine, Mathias.  Go ahead!  Abdicate your responsibility all you want, because I’ve got more than enough authority to run the squad all by myself.

“But you know what does hurt my feelings, Mathias?  You know what really hurts my ‘spirit?’  The knowledge that I’m the only one on the whole burning squad who understands that we’re here to
work
.”  He touched his chestplate with his fingertips, making a dull clinking sound.  “I’m not here—in the woods—because it fills me with friendship and happiness and camaraderie.  I’m here because we’re on a mission.  We have work to do.

“If camaraderie happens as a result of our daring exploits, I’m all for it.  But you seem to think that it goes the other way around!  That daring exploits and fabulous success come naturally to people who are good friends.  And only people who love to get drunk and make asses of each other are capable of doing a day’s work together.  Ridiculous!  We work together first, and we like each other second; if at all!”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Damn right,” Sir Kelley said.  He ticked off points on his metal fingers.  “Your argument that we’ve lost our team spirit makes no sense, even if spirit were measurable or meaningful.  Your implication that Ms. Elena is working less hard because she misses her friend has no basis in reality.  Believe me, I’ve been watching, and if anything she’s better since he’s been gone.  More focused.  Less chatty.

“Finally, as for your insinuation that I should, could, would ever consider reinstating Mr. Lundin in my squad?”

Kelley stopped dead in his tracks and pushed himself right into Sir Mathias’ face, quick as a snake.  Their visors were touching.  Sir Mathias kept absolutely still.  Something was pressing into the thin seam between his cowl and his helmet, just above his adam’s apple, and it felt suspiciously like the tip of a knife. 

“I find it offensive,” Sir Kelley whispered through his expressionless visor.

A single green leaf fluttered down to the ground over Kelley’s left shoulder.  It was the only moving thing in the forest.  “Withdrawn,” Sir Mathias whispered back.

The knife—if there had been a knife—also withdrew, and Sir Kelley stepped away.  Sir Mathias watched stonily as the lean man stretched his arms wide and sighed.  “Another four or five hours of daylight,” he said.  “Tomorrow we get to the logging camp and see what they know.  Then I say we press up the Bantam to that farming colony on our maps—‘Two Forks,’ was it?—and see if they know anything about our golden boys.  How does that plan sound, comrade?”

“Some people are meant to work together, Kelley,” Mathias said, quietly, touching his neck with one massive hand.

The senior ‘naut stopped moving.  “You can’t take a hint, can you?” he said, just as quietly.

“The three of us were already comrades when you broke us up.  Three years of working together will do that for you, if you let it.”

“‘I broke you up?’”  Kelley shook his head, furious. “Lundin’s the one who—”

“Lundin messed up, and he needed to be punished,” Sir Mathias said more loudly, his anger building like an avalanche.  “But he’s wasted over there with the Civics.  Samanthi’s going to crack the minute we’re not on deployment and she lets herself breathe.  And when you tell me
I’m
an insecure leader because I don’t play the tyrant over a staff of
two
?”  He paused.  “It makes me wonder, Sir, what’s in your head.”

The noisy footfalls of the other ‘nauts might as well have been a thousand kilometers away.  The men were completely focused on each other as they stood, unmoving, in the leaves.  Sir Kelley’s voice was a lash.  “Flagrant disrespect.  Questioning a senior ‘naut’s decisions.  Expect to be hauled before the Board the instant we get back home; your little buddy Elena too.”

“Do it,” Sir Mathias said bluntly.  “When a senior ‘naut fires his entire squad in a month, I can’t imagine the Board gives him fresh blood without asking some questions about his leadership.”

“This is why I’ve never understood camaraderie.  Other people are such assholes,” Sir Kelley fumed.  He turned on his heel and stomped northeast through the woods, making as much noise as half-a-dozen statuesque Cavaliers.

Sir Mathias blew all the air out of his lungs, wincing as his torn-up throat gave a little spasm of revolt.  His mind was spinning on everything and nothing when he heard heavy footsteps behind him.  “Hey,” Samanthi said, frowning.  She shifted her feet, lifting her legs a little too high with each mincing step from the boots.  “What was that about?”

“Oh, you know me.”  Sir Mathias flipped his visor up and looked down at her with a sad grin.  “Just making friends.”

Chapter Thirteen

Royal Reassignment

The trumpet fanfare made him turn, but it was already too late.  The receptionist’s eyes bugged out of his head.  He leapt to his feet, his stool rocking back precariously on two legs.  He reached a hand behind him to catch it before it toppled onto the hardwood floors of the Civic annex.  As he set the stool right again, he struggled to get his voice under control.  “Welcome—ahem!  Welcome, your—”

<>
Princess Naomi signed, smiling brightly.

The flustered young man did his best not to look at the swelling entourage of Heralds and guardsmen filing into the annex behind the heir to Delia’s Throne.  There were nearly two dozen impassive men and women crowding the lobby in dazzling royal white, and at least as many swords and pistols on display, glinting in the mid-afternoon sunlight.  A pair of massive soldiers, muskets resting against their shoulders, were settling into place right outside the doorway, and the heads of the horses drawing Her Highness’ royal carriage were visible in the looping driveway just past them.  The receptionist had heard the carriage riding up, of course, but he’d kept shuffling lazily through his ledger, not thinking anything of it until; well, until Delia’s sovereign had appeared in front of him with a blast of royal fanfare.

The Princess was looking up at him, her spiky bangs curling down towards her dark eyes, standing comfortably erect in the tabard and leggings common to midlings of both genders.  She might have looked like any other fresh-faced young apprentice in Delia, except for the filigreed tiara sparkling in her close-cropped light brown hair, and the unflappable poise she displayed at the center of two dozen armed servants.

The receptionist took a deep breath, as surreptitiously as he could, and smiled back.  He put his fingers to his forehead and moved his hand forward in a gentle salute.  He quickly dropped his hand to his shoulder, spreading two fingers out, and drew a line across his body as if tracing a sash from shoulder to hip.
<>
he signed.

The Princess’ eyes sparkled, and she cast a quick glance to the Herald standing next to her. 
Chief Herald Dawkins,
the
receptionist realized, taking a look at the weathered man’s ornate epaulets, a clear badge of rank.  Dawkins nodded to the Princess, lowering his hands and clasping them behind his back.  He had been preparing to translate for her.  The older man took an appraising look at the receptionist, a hint of approval on his well-lined face.

Princess Naomi’s hands began flying through the air, her mouth opening and closing as she silently spoke. 
<> 
He struggled to keep up, his mind racing through his hand language tutoring from all those years ago.  When Princess Naomi’s deafness had been diagnosed in her early years, and Delian hand language formally codified, it had become popular for youths in ambitious merchant or noble families to receive some tutoring in the language, whether or not they had a single deaf acquaintance.  As it spread, many of the gestures in the elegant, intuitive language had become fashionable accents in hearing society—a trend which was bound to accelerate when Naomi Haberstorm became Queen, a few years from now.  The receptionist breathed words of thanks to his parents for forcing him to attend those classes, nearly a decade ago, and he cursed himself for not having paid more attention.

“Um.”  He held his hands out indecisively, then moved them in small strokes close to his body.  “I wasn’t frightened, your Highness,” he said aloud along with his gestures, hoping that she’d excuse any gibberish movements as long as the words she read on his lips made sense.  “I simply regret the, uh, meager reception you find here.  Please allow me to arrange—a proper welcome—”

<> 
Princess Naomi made a gesture he’d never seen before, tracing a symbol in the air and then flicking all her fingertips out at once, as if tossing water droplets away.  She looked at him inquisitively.  He had no idea what to say. 
I’m going to the dungeons,
he moaned
.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head.  “I don’t—”

“‘Magic,’ young man,” Chief Herald Dawkins said, his face stern but his voice gentle.  He traced out the same sign, flicking his fingertips.  “Her Highness wishes to see your magicians.”

Our magicians…?

“Right at once, your Highness!” a booming female voice rang out from behind him.  The receptionist turned to see Dame Dionne scooting at them down the hall, with Sir Ulrich and knot of other Civic ‘nauts and senior techs behind her, trying to make a dead run look as dignified as possible.  The fanfare had clearly gotten their attention; which, an oddly sober-minded part of his brain mused, was the point of having fanfare in the first place, wasn’t it?  The ‘nauts came to a stop and bowed deeply before the Princess and her entourage. 
Did I bow yet? 
the receptionist wondered, suddenly chilled to the bone.  He genuflected so fast he almost hit his head on his desk.