The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2) (53 page)

“It’s been a while.”  Martext laid the sword on the ground and pressed the hammer on the pistol back with his palm.  “With enough shots, and enough time, I know I can hit it.  But—first try?  We’ll see…”

Martext stood in the doorway, level with the window high above their heads, and raised his arm.  Lundin blinked.  “A little higher,” he whispered, gesturing up with his index finger.

“What?”

“Higher, just a hair.”  Lundin could see the muzzle of the gun, and the angle of Martext’s arm, and the stonework around the slightly recessed rectangle of glass that they had one chance to hit.  The muzzle to the wall to the window made a right triangle, and the hypotenuse was almost like a visible line in the air, angling upwards from Martext’s pistol.  “A little to the left.”

“The left?”

“And—Spheres!—keep your arm steady!”

Martext ground his teeth, but he put the gun exactly where Lundin said and steadied his hand.  Elia stood across the room, holding the candlestick with both hands, her face still tinged with pink.  Lundin held his breath as Martext pulled the trigger.

Elia raised an arm as shards of glass fell from the ceiling, much too far away to hit her.  Martext lowered the gun, white teeth flashing in a smile.  Not only had he hit the window, the ball had shattered three quarters of the glass dead away.

“You’re amazing,” Lundin said, clapping him on the back.  “You’re both amazing.”

“
You’re
amazing,” Elia said, caught up in the spirit of the thing.

“Can you light those, Elia?”

“Oh, sure!”

They watched as the fire began to devour the first mattress.  A horde of little orange tongues was licking upwards through the straw bedding, sending a great column of gray smoke up towards the ceiling.  It pooled against the stones, and started spilling out the window in a steady trickle.  “If Dame Miri’s out there, she’ll see that,” Lundin said, rubbing his hands together. 

“I hope she does.”  Elia fingered the mace uncertainly.

“Hallway’s clear.  We should move,” Martext said, holding the drawn sword low as he looked both ways in the hallway.  The pistol was stuffed through his belt at the small of his back.

“Wait— Stage three!”  Lundin said, rushing towards a pile on the floor.  He kicked at his black dress trousers, sliding them across the floor to Elia.  “Put your notes in my pants!”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“Can you, uh, tie the legs together?”  He tapped his trouser legs with his toe for emphasis.  “Tight as you can!  And, Martext, grab all our notes.”

“What do we need our notes for?”

“Stage three of the plan!  That’s right, Elia, that’s great,” he said, crouching next to her.  She made a crude knot with the two legs, creating a bunch just above the hem.  With another long scrap from Lundin’s undershirt, she tied a tighter knot around the tangle of cloth.

“Like that?” she said, bemused.

“Perfect.  Martext, drop the stuff in the legs.”

He gestured for Elia to hold up the pants, and she stretched the waist wide and extended it to Martext.  The tech raised an eyebrow.  Sighing, he divided the three tablets of parchment and the folded scraps they’d accumulated as evenly as he could between the legs.  The notes jutted out through the fabric around the knees.

“And now…” Lundin threaded his left arm and his head through the spread legs and stood up.  The techs looked at him.  The trousers were around his neck like a bandolier, with the crotch resting on his shoulder, and the stuffed legs bulging against his chest and back.  He threw his arms wide with a showman’s winning smile.

“I may not be able to pick ‘em up, but I can still carry ‘em!”

Elia and Martext stared at him.

“Can we go?”  Martext said.

“Sure, yeah.  This way!  Time for stage four,” he said, dashing out the hallway and to the left.

“Stage four,” Elia said, right at his heels.  “Out of curiosity, senior tech, does that mean we’re, uh, finishing up with the forty percent of the plan you’ve worked out?”

“Don’t worry, though,” Lundin said, pressing his hands against the pant legs to keep his makeshift satchel from bouncing too much.  He gave her a quick look over his shoulder.  “Stage ten is where we escape!”

“I really hope Miri sees that smoke,” Martext mumbled, shaking his head.

“Say that again,” Dame Orinoco said, her face drawn out in shock.

“We cast a spell on Horace.  At least,” Dame Miri said, looking over to Samanthi, “we think we did.”

“We read through the whole text of something they worked up at Fort Campos.”  Samanthi felt a little schoolgirl defensiveness creeping into her tone. 
Why does this remind me of telling my dad I made some modifications to the suspension in his carriage? 
“The spell worked there, a few times, so odds are it worked here.”

“And now the Civics know they’re not alone.”  Miri pointed towards the castle.  Even through the bags under her tired eyes, the ‘naut radiated satisfaction. 
Wonder what I’m radiating
, Samanthi thought, covering a yawn.  It had taken over three hours to get through the endless pages of the spell.  Towards the end, she’d barely been able to stay awake.

“They know they’re not alone, and the Golden Caravan does too.  Right?”  Dame Julie put her hands on her hips.

“My thoughts exactly.  What if Lundin was being interrogated when the spell took effect?”  Dame Orinoco said.  “If anyone saw it happen, they’d immediately know that their fortress was being watched.”

“Come on.  It was the middle of the night.”

“And, naturally, interrogations only happen between the hours of noon and five.  What does this spell do, anyway?”

“Oh yes,” Sir Kelley said, a big smile stretching across his scarred face.  All the ‘nauts turned to look at him as he spun a hand in the air casually.  “What exactly has this spell done to Mister Horace Lundin?  Anything embarrassing, by any chance?  Painful?  Unsightly?  Disfiguring?” he said, practically purring.

Miri shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.  “It improves his eyesight.  It’s purely internal, and he’s gone through it twice before.”

“So since he knows it, our hope was he could keep the effects secret from the Caravan goons,” Samanthi said.

Dame Orinoco snorted, stomping up the ridge.  “I certainly hope so,” she said, pointing down into the valley.  “Because Mathias, Gaulda, and the musketeers have been scouting the keep since dawn; and given how many waves of troops we saw heading north last night, and the fact that surprise is on our side, we might actually have a chance to beat what’s left of the garrison.  Assuming that surprise
is
still on our side after this stunt of yours.”

“Giving hope to our people is more than a stunt—”

“I mean,” Zig said, raising his hands and wading into the fray.  “Um, are you even sure it worked?  I mean, I didn’t know you two were, well, wizards.”

“There’s got to be more to magic than reading out of a journal,” Dame Julie said, a challenge on her dark face.

“Going by actual research?  Probably not,” Miri shot back.  “If a spell works when a machine says those words, why shouldn’t it work when we do?”

“And, you know,” Samanthi said with a feeble smile, “if it didn’t work, then no harm done, and nobody’s in trouble.”

“‘No harm done.’  Say that when the shooting starts.”  Orinico wheeled on Kelley, her voice dripping with acid.  “Any thoughts you’d like to share, senior ‘naut, on this irresponsible, flagrantly unilateral action?”

“There’s magic in my family,” Kelley said, sighing and letting his smile fade.  “More than half the time when a
wizard
sits down to say some magic words, nothing happens.  So that dramatic reading you two did last night, given that you’ve got no wizardly experience and—what—one month of study apiece of magic language?  I’m sorry to say this, because it absolutely would have made my day, but your ‘spell’ didn’t anything to Horace Lundin.”

Dame Miri brushed her hands against her thighs, frustrated.  “You don’t know that.  And we had to try something.”

“You mean
you
did,” Orinoco said, her voice low. “Forget the mission, as long as the Feastday Hero gets to shine.”

Miri’s eyes flashed and her muscles went tense.  Samanthi reached a hand towards her arm;
like I could stop her if doesn’t want to be stopped
, the tech thought nervously.  But as Dame Miri opened her mouth, a fuzzy voice lifted into the air.

“Communicator, come in,” a deep voice crackled. 

They all looked at the boxy Communicator resting on the ground.  Samanthi knelt by the machine and pulled the mouth trumpet to her lips, flipping the transmission switch.  “Sam here, Sir Mathias,” she said quickly, desperate for the distraction.  “Something to say?”

She flicked the switch back to ‘receive’ in time for his next words.  “We just heard something funny from inside the keep—”

“What do you mean, funny?”  Kelley mumbled automatically, frowning.  Sir Mathias plowed on, unable to hear anything while he was transmitting.

“—like an impact of some kind.  And then there was the sound of a shot, and maybe some breaking glass?  But we’re not sure where.  Over.”

Orinoco made a flicking gesture to Samanthi and bent down to the mouthpiece.  “Are you saying shots have been fired inside the keep?”

“Just one shot that we heard.  Scouts are scanning the building with telescopes for any—”

His voice dropped out.  Dame Orinico looked at Samanthi, her long fingers wrapped around the mouthpiece.  “Did it cut out?” she asked.

“I don’t know, should be fine,” the tech said, flicking the switch back and forth.  As she bent to look at the back panel, Mathias’ voice came back with new urgency.

“There’s a fire inside the castle.  Repeat, a fire in the castle!  We’re seeing smoke coming out of a little window on the second story, western face.  The window is shattered… gray smoke is just now starting to pour out.  Orders?  Over!”

The ‘nauts looked at each other.  The color drained out of Dame Orinoco’s face.  “It has to be a coincidence,” she said quietly.  “Doesn’t it?  That can’t possibly be some kind of…”

“If anyone would set himself on fire to send us a message, it’s Lundin,” Samanthi said.

“Stars and Spheres,” Kelley said, joyously.  “I hope he’s covered in magical boils!”

Dame Miri breathed a sigh of relief, climbing to the top of the ridge with a few strides from her seven-leaguers.  Sure enough, there was a plume of gray smoke starting to rise into the sky.

“Tell the platoons, tell the scouts we’re running with the attack plan we’ve got,” Orinoco ordered, tapping Samanthi on the back and nodding at Dame Julie.

“Seconded,” Kelley said, grinning from ear to ear as he rushed for his gear.

As Samanthi bent back to the mouthpiece, Dame Julie unsheathed her sword and ran to spread the word to the ranks of musketeers.  “Dame Miri!” Orinoco called out.

Miri turned from her place on the hill, her black hair falling around her face.   “Are you looking for something heroic to do?”  the Cavalier said sardonically.

“Always,” Dame Miri said, grinning back.

Orinoco shook her head, smiling despite herself.  “Zig, is the Caravan ready?”

“Yes, Dame Orinoco, it’s already in position.”

“Then take Dame Miri here, and teach her how to drive.”

“Uh,” the ginger tech said, raising a hand as Dame Orinoco started away with her long-legged stride.  “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, pressing her fingers to her forehead.  “But I think this rescue operation has started without us.”

Chapter Twenty

The Siege And The Civics

“They need to know the consequences of disrespect, Master Torvald,” Iimar said, bristling inside his hood of golden fur.

“Naturally,” Torvald said, resting his tailbone against the front of his desk.  “But surely you can devise appropriate consequences, short of executing them,” he said placatingly.

The Enchanter made himself stop pacing and flung his hands to the sides in exasperation.  His voluminous golden sleeves rippled through the air, and the fur tipping the cuffs glittered in the morning sunlight.  “Certainly, certainly,” the wizard said with a sigh.  “I worry about their recalcitrance, that’s all.  Horace Lundin’s loyalty to them compromises his desire to cooperate with us.”

“Then killing them will stop his cooperation completely.  Iimar, look at these two, Martext and Elia, as opportunities for more incentives to win over Mister Lundin.  Offering comforts or threats to
them
might shape his behavior better than the leveling the same inducements at
him
.”

“If these assistants do not present an acceptable text to me today,” Iimar said, lifting his nose in the air, “I will have no choice but to treat them harshly.”

“By the Spheres, Enchanter,” Torvald said, grinning, “I would almost think you’re intimidated by these Petronauts!  Don’t shake your mane at me like that.”  Iimar lowered his hood, offended.  “You have nothing to worry about from these gadget-heads.  Their machines are a supplement to what you offer to my cause.  They can never replace you.  They would never replace you.”

“They don’t respect me,” he said sullenly.

“I do,” Torvald said, standing.  “And in this castle, my smallest word is more important than anything that trio of technicians could ever possibly do.”

A fist slammed against his chamber door with savage rhythm.  Before he could speak, the door swung open and a yeoman burst in, short of breath.  Torvald Alexander Galidate Haberstorm drew himself up, his brow furrowing.  “You weren’t admitted, yeoman,” he began.

“I dearly beg your pardon, master,” the soldier panted, bowing deeply.  She stood up, concern animating every corner of her face.  “The keep has been compromised.”

“What?”

“As you’ll see through the, ah,” the soldier said, gesturing to the arched glass that dominated the southern face of Torvald’s spire.  The Haberstorm strode to the glass on his long legs, his armored boots heavy against the stone.  “There seems to have been an attack from within.”