The Wheelwright's Apprentice (19 page)

29

Art stayed the night in the Temple. He needed to know that everything worked the way it was supposed to, and although he trusted his brother’s skill as a healer, he didn’t think he had much practice in re-attaching heads. Fortunately morning came with everything feeling right and working exactly as it should. That left him with the day to himself and he was at a loose end. He discharged himself, and flitted over to see his father.

Surprisingly his father didn’t make him wait the three hours he had the previous time. He was actually eager to hear what Art had to report. “Arch told me a lot already, so I know about the wind making a mess of things before you finished and your unconventional escape. Tell me about it.”

Art carefully related everything he could remember and finished up by saying, “I don’t know if they took the canister as a noisy diversion or whether, after I left, they had a good look in the well and found what was in the canister. I feel I should go back soon and try to see exactly what is going on back there.”

“You’re right, you should. Tomorrow afternoon will be quite early enough. I’m going to send some more help with you then and I think you need a little edge against these women.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you should take this little rest day to build yourself another face, a really attractive one.”

Art was perplexed. “Why?”

His father, the Count, gave a slightly evil smile, “Aravia has established a certain cult of beauty. She and her leading female adepts have conditioned themselves to be more than usually aware of beautiful men. If you could present a strikingly handsome appearance and make them hesitate for even the smallest moment, that might make the difference between life and death.”

“So looks are a weapon?” Art asked.

“I forget how young you are,” his father replied, dryly.

Art had a concern. “I know the difference between ugly and handsome, but I have no idea what makes an exceptionally handsome man.”

The Count motioned to a servant, and a moment later Vanni and a striking older woman joined them. “I thought you would say something like that so I asked Vanni and her mother, Tandrea, to help you.” They took seats opposite him, and he couldn’t help wondering what his father had in mind. He didn’t particularly want to have Vanni and her mother design a face that they liked. It jarred. He had only recently lost his girlfriend, and now he was being set up, albeit unknowingly. He knew Vanni liked him a great deal. She had even grabbed him and kissed him enthusiastically after they had survived an attack by an enemy adept. Having her - and her mother! - design a new face for him was more intimate a thing than redecorating his house. He found the parallell obvious. For him it was, well, a bit too much too soon. Nevertheless he smiled and was pleasant as it might after all save his life.

As they left his father’s study, Vanni whispered to him, “My mother is a professional at this sort of thing. Just don’t ask how long she has been doing it.” A polite way of letting him know her mother had the Will as well.

He was led to a room he had never visited before, and when they entered, it was obvious why. The room was set up for making ladies beautiful, or, as Art cynically thought, to make them appear better tha="c yother n they actually were.

He was sat in a raised chair by Tandrea as she said, “Vanni has told me a lot about you, including that you saved her life.” She rested her hand on his arm.

“That was luck. If only one of us had been there that one would have been killed. It needed both of us to defeat the enemy adept.” He gazed at the myriad of mirrors on the wall and wondered when they would get started.

“Then you make a good partnership,” Tandrea oozed as she ran her hand up to his shoulder and pointed him at a mirror straight ahead. Her mother had been unable to resist an unsubtle hint. “Now, to make a really handsome face, we need to look at your bone structure.” He smiled weakly, wondering what exactly his father had been thinking. That was a feeling that persisted as mother and daughter oohed and aahed over each little alteration. They even argued over the teeth, the nose and the complexion. He was molding himself like a lump of clay, but not to his own directions. Finally his part was over.

“Well, that’s different,” Vanni enthused, after, what was for Art, a very draining couple of hours. His cheekbones were marginally higher, his jaw somewhat stronger. His teeth were perfect and white. In fact all his features had been changed and his hair was now jet black and down past his shoulders.

“And now I will style this for you,” Tandrea said running her fingers through his locks, in a manner that Art felt was overly intimate, until he dropped to the fact that she probably doing it unconsciously. As she started on her task she fell into a conversational mode. “I understand you had an exciting day yesterday?”

Art had never really talked to anyone about his various exploits and didn’t know how to start. Eventually he offered, “It was only interesting for about ten minutes. I must have spent an hour and a half dragging two heavy canisters through a boring landscape.”

“I heard you may have struck a blow for us.” Vanni’s voice was eager for details. So, amidst the trimming and clipping, Art made an effort to tell a little bit. When he got to the part where he was being chased the trimming stopped and, when he intentionally had himself decapitated by a reversing spell, there was a long period of silence before Tandrea said, “You are a very dangerous person, Art.”

“And we are making you more dangerous.” Vanni supplied, “The enemy will be dazzled.”

Tandrea stepped back from Art and, holding a mirror, invited him to comment, “What do you think of that?”

“I don’t think it’s me. I mean, I know it’s me but, well...”

“I think it’s wonderful!” Vanni approved. “You look absolutely gorgeous!” This, Art thought, was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. “You should make the enemy do a double take and give you way more than a split second.” She caught his eye. “It’ll wow your girl.”

The change in Art was abrupt. Without saying anything he dashed headlong from the room, vanishing in moments.

Vanni was shocked. “What’s with him?”

“I thought the Count mentioned it. The reason he is taking all these ridiculous risks is because his girl was killed when the enemy collapsed all those buildings in Red City. With all the healing he had to do he didn’t even hear about it until after she was buried.” When Vanni’s mouth worked like a landed fish she went on, “I even heard that she was pregnant with his child.”
ilda li

Vanni sat, stunned. “It must have been very hard for him today.”

“I’m sure it was, but he was very compliant. He must have loved her a great deal to put up with us molding him with our image so soon after the event. He must be totally focused on revenge.”

When Art managed to stop, he found a mirror and fixed the features in his memory. Tomorrow was early enough to apologize, and he needed a change of scene. Vanni and her mother could stew for a while. He needed someone to talk to, and they weren’t it. The person who came to mind was Ellary.

The walk from the Temple in the Capital to Master Jangon’s yard was an education. Very few people didn’t give him a second look, and an extraordinary number actually stopped and gawked at him. It made him not only uncomfortable but also lifted his spirits. By the time he got to the yard, he had come to terms with the discomfort and was full of confidence. He had a note he had prepared before he left Red City and he handed it to the first person he saw, who was Dannoy, crossing the yard.

“I have a message here for...” Here Art theatrically looked at the envelope. “...for someone called Ellary. Is this the right place?”

Even Dannoy was taken aback by Art’s appearance and barely managed to mutter, “Yes she lives here.” as Art nonchalantly strode away. Dannoy went into the main house and knocked on the kitchen door. Ellary’s mother opened it and he said, “I was just handed this note for Ellary.”

He was interrupted by Ellary who blurted out, “A note? For me? Who was it?”

“He didn’t give his name and he didn’t seem to know who you were. It looked like he was delivering it as a favour. I will tell you one thing, he was most extraordinarily handsome.”

Ellary’s interest was now piqued, “Well, let’s see it then.”

Her mother took it. “A note delivered by a very handsome man? I want to see it. I want to see him too!”

Ellary grabbed the note from her mother and said, “I am going to open this in private.” as she pushed her way past her parents, and up to her room. She sat on her bed, examined it closely and carefully opened it. When she unfolded it, the page was blank.

“I knew you would open it in your room, so I left it blank. That way if someone else saw it, I would have given nothing away. Now it can be fobbed off as a prank.” Art was standing by the door, now visible. “Ellary, I need a bit of your time and help.”

“You are Art, aren’t you?” She crossed the room and tentatively put a hand on his cheek. “You going to start playing around or something?”

He grabbed the hand, “Yes, I am Art, and no, I am not fooling around. I needed someone to talk to and you came to mind. Sorry about this silly face but my dad thought it was a good idea. Personally I don’t think so.” He relaxed to his “Gim” face and said, “You had better show your mum the note. She’ll be on tenterhooks. I’ll wait for you outside the baker’s shop over the road, I need a snack.”

A quarter of an hour later, after having eventually eaten two sticky pastries, Art saw Ellary emerge from the yard. She had dressed as well as she could in the time available. He fell in beside her and asked, “Do you mind walking for a bit? I had to sit still for well over two hours for that idiocy and I want to stretch my legs some more.” Ellary took his arm and smiled.rm nd ask

“Although Aravia is supposedly High Priestess of a god whose outward aspect is love, it’s all lust and worse. That’s why my father thought that wonderful face might help me stay alive.” His voice suggested he thought otherwise. They had been walking, and Art talking, for quite a while so when they passed a street cafe, Art suggested they sit. When they had some refreshments, he went on, “All the time I was sitting in that chair I was wondering, ‘Why am I doing this? Wouldn’t it have been better to do something else? Are they really that dumb? Many of them must be well over a hundred years old after all’.”

Ellary gave his arm a squeeze. “I am glad that you came to see me. It has been very dull without you around. The boys are busy making lots of wheels for the army, and think you are a bit of a sneak for dodging all this extra work.”

He made a disgusted face. “They have no idea. I wish I had been making wheels instead.” He put his cup down slowly. “I really would have preferred doing honest work instead of playing the monster and trying - and hoping - to kill thousands.” He sighed. “When I have time to stop and think, it...” Art turned his head away from Ellary. “...it starts to be overwhelming. I needed this break to calm myself and get back to some sort of normality.”

“I am happy that you chose me to confide in, but what about your girl in Red City? I would have thought she would have been your first choice. Is she alright?”

Art was on the spot. He knew that Ellary was prepared to comfort him in any way he needed. She liked him a great deal and would do literally anything for him
. If she knew his girl had died then not only her view of him, but also their relationship would inevitably change. Right now he needed a friend not a lover. He was a long way from being over Amia, and he expected it would be a long time before he looked at a girl the way he had looked at her. “I thought that talking with a friend was what was best for me. Anyway, she would get sick with worry if I told her half of the stuff I’ve been doing.” Art didn’t like lying but he was very good at it.

“You know that you can ask anything from me, don’t you?” Art was warmed to hear those words.

“Thank you. There is one thing that you could do to really help me.”

Ellary leaned forward. “And what would that be?”

“Help me design a perfectly ugly face.”

30

There were several differences between now and the last time he had materialized in this clearing. The big one for Art was that he didn’t have any heavy canisters to lug across the countryside in the dark of night. It was sunny and the middle of the afternoon. Another was that they were all kitted out in enemy uniforms. Both he and Arch were dressed as grunt soldiers. Beech with his soft spoken voice and authoritative bearing was fitted out as an officer.

There didn’t seem to have been any need to travel invisibly as the enemy soldiers they saw didn’t seem to care. They only expected to be challenged if they attempted to enter the guarded perimeter that contained the heart of the camp. It was actually a pleasant walk, and when they eventually reached the sprawling encampment they were, as expected, studiously ignored. It was time for them to look for signs of the disease.

They were nrm nd werot long in coming. Two grunts carrying a stretcher crossed their path. It was a relatively easy task to follow and see where they went.

It was to a tent that had been set up as a medical facility. As the stretcher reached the flap that marked the entrance, the rear stretcher bearer collapsed. Beech, Arch and Art all looked at each other meaningfully. The disease was definitely a problem, but how much of one?

Their common speculation was cut short by a loud shout of, “Hey you there! Yes, you three!” They turned as one and saw an officer who appeared, by the various bits adorning his uniform, to be of the same rank that Beech was impersonating.

“Sorry, Captain,” the officer said as they turned, giving him a somewhat sloppy salute. They were all sufficiently alert to attempt a reasonable copy in return. It seemed that was all he expected. “May I borrow these two for a bit? My own are dropping like flies.”

“Help yourself.” Beech was very offhand. “Work the lazy bastards as hard as you can. Perhaps you’ll have better luck than me.” He turned to them. “Off you go then, and don’t slack off.”

Beech had been thinking fast. The two of them now had a legitimate job to do carrying stretchers into the sick bays and could much more easily judge the state of affairs. It was tedious and boring, but, Art mused, better than being chased by Aravia’s adepts. At least it would be as long as he remembered to make sure he didn’t get sick himself.

The officer kept them working continuously, carrying soldiers of all ranks, and from many different places, into the sick bays. After two hours or so of this, Arch and Art were getting ready to ditch the job and move on, when their officer stopped them and said, “I have been told to send a stretcher team to help at the tent set up in the center of camp. You seem to be the healthiest team. Come with me.”

This was an opportunity to get into the real heart of the camp without using magic. Art knew that any magic use in or about the center would be detected at once and would set off an immediate hue and cry, something they didn’t need. Being in the company of an officer and looking the part with their stretcher, they were waved through by guards who were both careful and professional. They appeared to Art to be more alert than the last time he was there. He didn’t think it was due to his visit a couple of days before. They would have surely reacted to his antics by beefing up the magical defenses, not the normal ones. Was anything unusual happening? He kept his eyes open as they followed the officer towards one of the larger tents.

Before they reached the entrance, lots of officers and men started streaming out. One of them paused and told their officer, “Don’t worry about that now, Captain Hamer. The High Priestess is starting the sundown assembly soon.”

“Thank you,” Captain Hamer replied. “I’ve been working so hard I hadn’t noticed it was almost dark.” Art and Arch exchanged glances, then put the stretcher inside the tent and followed.

Somewhere along the way to the vast assembly ground in front of the Temple, Beech joined them. “Any use to you were they, Captain?” he inquired.

“I was happily surprised,” came the quick reply. “Oh, look! It’s starting.” He pointed towards the raised stage. They drifted closer to get a better view.

Great big flashes of multi-coloured light streamed upwards accompanied by noisy bangs. This gave Art the chance to ask Beech, who was next to him, if he togn= had seen enough.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “I’ve seen plenty.” He had a big smile. “There! I think that’s High Priestess Aravia.”

Emerging from a cloud of smoke and dressed in a fantastic, but incredibly revealing, costume was a figure which spoke of authority, theater and something which turned Art’s ears red. The fireworks continued on for another minute or two. This allowed Art to whisper to Beech and Arch, “That was where I pulled my tricky escape.” Something niggled at the back of his mind. He felt that there was something important he should remember.

Music had begun and a choir started up. Art couldn’t make out the words and wasn’t interested anyway. Halfway through the fourth or fifth verse it came to him: he had a memorized arrival point on the stage, the middle of a pattern on a slightly raised dais.

If Aravia stepped in exactly the right spot, he could kill her by flitting over and materializing where she stood. The problem was he had to judge it so that her head was cut through. She would undoubtedly, with her centuries of experience, be able to put herself back together if she had any consciousness left. With her dead the war would be over as she was the only one who wanted it. Trouble was he couldn’t see where the pattern was from where he stood, with his eyes just a bit lower than the stage. He definitely couldn’t use any magic before he flitted as its use would be instantly detected, and everyone would be alerted. He would have to guess based on what he recalled from his previous visit.

Under cover of the music, he whispered first to Arch and then to Beech, “I can flit over to the stage, almost where she is now, and kill her. I’m working on making sure she is in the right spot first. Can you please cover me if I do?” Neither answered but met each other’s eyes and nodded to each other. Art wasn’t sure but it seemed their silent communication was about something else.

He racked his brain. Was there anything, any sort of clue that would tell him the position of the pattern? He remembered back to the time he was waiting at the edge of the stage. He had been lying down until enough of the women he recognized as adepts were in sight. There had been a nail sticking up just to the left of one of the joins between the floorboards. If he could recall where that join led, he might be able to straighten out his bearings. First he had to get close enough to see the nail, and to be exactly in the middle.

Aravia had now given way to several priestesses dancing to slow rhythmic music. The almost exclusively male audience was transfixed. The dance was undoubtedly highly erotic, but this let Art move easily through the crowd, as the only thing that would get the men annoyed was if he spoiled their view.

There! Art thought, relieved. There was the nail, peeking out above the boards. Was he centered yet? He carefully edged sideways until he felt he was. Here was his chance to finally avenge Amia. He waited patiently, ignoring the show which seemed solely designed to whip up a lustful fervor. He was sure that Aravia would be back for another appearance soon.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Beech. “Are you enjoying the show?”

“It might as well be anything. It’s a distraction. I’m simply waiting for my chance. What were you doing?”

Beech grinned, “I was interviewing someone of importance.” He reddened. “I got a lot of interesting information.”

“I bet you did.” The caustic tone was all Arch. “Art, can you jArte studge the place correctly?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it right.” He was determined and sounded it. The music stopped and they shut up.

A roll of drums and the rat tat tat of staccato fireworks heralded Aravia’s return. Art belatedly realized that the second room he had seen two days ago contained all the makings for the smoke effects, fireworks and percussion that enhanced the shows that she put on. He watched her intently as she virtually floated over the stage. The audience started cheering loudly, shouting her name over and over as she drank in adulation that Art guessed was at least partially fake. He noticed her take a small step up so she had to be on the patterned dais. It was getting close to the time when he could make the gamble of his young life.

A heavy hand closed on his shoulder. “Enlisted men aren’t allowed in this area. You need to be a Sergeant to get this close.” Art turned and saw a huge man, who was larger even than Arch, glowering at them.

“Sorry, Sergeant,” Arch interposed himself. “We were assigned here to work and this is the first time we have been lucky enough to see the High Priestess in person.” Art, meanwhile, was oblivious as he was concentrating on working out whether Aravia was in the correct spot.

“Well, off with you. Get moving.”

Arch started moving, but Art was fixated on his task and stayed rooted where he was. The Sergeant suddenly grabbed Art saying, “You little jerk, don’t you know to obey orders?” He picked Art up effortlessly above his head like a wrestler about to throw his victim into the ground. That didn’t happen. The moment Art was raised up, he could see Aravia was exactly where he needed her to be, and when the Sergeant’s hands started down, they were empty.

All Art could see was a red haze. He shook his head and looked to his left and there was part of a torso, wearing colourful robes. A glance to his right showed him the rest of the torso, this time with most, but not all, of the head attached. He had done it!

He put on his newest face, the ugly one, and faced the crowd. He took a precautionary step forward. They were all looking in his direction, still dumbstruck. A quick turn of his head confirmed that the corpse wasn’t moving. He fancied he looked extremely intimidating, covered as he was with Aravia’s blood.

Art had not thought about what to do if he actually succeeded. He had a captive audience and realized he had to say something. He Willed his voice to be as loud as possible and spoke, “THE WAR IS OVER.” His voice boomed out with such force that most of the audience fell down and covered their ears.

Art gave them a moment to recover and changed his wish to “Loud enough for them all to hear me clearly.” He tried again. “Aravia is dead!” This time there was a more normal reaction. “Only Aravia wanted this war.” He turned around and then back again. He gestured behind him to the seats reserved for Will adepts. “How many seats are empty now? Every empty seat represents an adept who has already flitted back home to contest or influence the rule of your country. Your leaders are already deserting you.”

He took a deep breath and noticed the crowd still unsure and trying to digest the news. “You all have a bigger problem. You have stayed here too long and have been hit by swamp fever.” Now wasn’t the time to tell them the disease had been deliberately spread. “We know all about swamp fever and can cure it.” He was on a high having achieved his goal of revenge, and decided to take things further. e thingthetelWe will cure everyone, but any adept must agree to have their Will modified so that they can never attack us again.”

H
is eyes searched frantically for his friends. He needed some support. Fortunately Arch clambered up to the stage, his long arms enabling him to pull himself up easily. He was wearing the illusion of clothes fit for a king. He faced the crowd, let them take him in and took over. “We of Galland know that Aravia was our only enemy.” Art drifted back to the room that he now knew held various explosives. “We have no ill will towards any of you. We want you all to go back to be with your loved ones as soon as you have been cured.”

Art came back and saw that Beech had joined Arch. He whispered, “We need to flit away in ten seconds.” Still wearing his fearsome and bloody visage, he again let his voice boom out, “You need a new god. This one wasn’t much good.”

They all flitted away as the Temple disintegrated in an explosion which put a big punctuation mark at the end of his statement.