The Wheelwright's Apprentice (33 page)

51

Art and Iria stared at each other across the breakfast table in their suite. Iria frowned and said “I noticed that you were writing something last night when I went to bed.”

Art was grateful for the opening. “I was writing to my girl, Ellary. Once I finish it, I can make it appear in a cubbyhole I designed in her bedroom. Unfortunately, it’s strictly one way. She doesn’t have the Will and can’t reply. Anyway, with all the moving around I do, it would be impractical.”

“Do you miss her?” She wanted to dig.

“Of course, but I can flit straight into her bedroom anytime, always in only one jump. Knowing that I will be seeing her is sufficient motivation.” This took some wind from her sails. She hadn’t even imagined that such things could be done. She was very innocent.

“Your father, is he married or have someone important?”

Art thought a lot before replying. “For all the children he has fathered over the centuries with so many different women, you would think he was the confirmed bachelor type. He isn’t. The love of his life is the girl who lived next door to him when he was growing up. Her name is ‘Red’.”

“You said ‘is’ not ‘was’. Does that mean she is still alive?”

“The best way to answer that is to take you to meet her. Only if you can learn to flit and only if your cooking lessons are any good.”

She kicked him under the table. “My cooking lessons will be wonderful. I am a very good cook. If I can’t learn to flit, it’ll be your fault.” This was the most aggressive he had seen her. Thing leere was hope.

Half the inn’s kitchen had been set aside for them when they went for Art’s cooking lesson. “What you need most is space,” she began in an authoritative and confident manner. “Not table space, air space.” He looked up and saw that there was a high ceiling, no doubt to let the hot air and smoke rise and help keep it cool. “Of course you do need a little table space, the ingredients and whatever vessel you need to display the finished dish.”

“What are you going to cook first?”

“I thought a cake would be a good first recipe. Now watch.”

Iria put on a show. “I don’t use any bowls so there is no cleaning up to do.” Three eggs rose from the table. They were cracked, with the shells floating to the garbage bin. She broke the yolks and stirred them, leaving the mixture rotating slowly. The other ingredients rose slowly, but separately from the table, eventually to intertwine themselves and mix together. “You have to be very careful with the flour. If you lose control it will get everywhere.”

This was a display of fine control much better than anything could he do. It was impressive. “What do you use as a motivator to get this done?”

“It’s silly, but I think of how happy my daddy will be when he eats it. He loves my cooking.” Daddy’s approval! Art smothered a cough. He would never thought of that for motivation. The important thing, of course, was that it worked.

“All you have to do now is to imagine the finished cake exactly as you want it and...” A cake, steaming slightly, replaced the ingredients that were swirling around in the air and settled gently on a platter Iria had placed on the table.

Art was thinking fast. “Looks good, can you cut me a slice?” Iria happily Willed out a wedge and gave it to him. “You can cut the cake easily with your Will.” He gave her a meaningful look.

“You mean if I can cut one thing I can cut anything?” He nodded assent and took a bite. It was lemony and moist. He took another and...”Do you like it then?” She was smiling now.

“You’re changing the subject. The cake is wonderful, by the way.” He licked his fingers. “With what you’ve shown me, I can have you flitting and lopping limbs off trees by this afternoon.”

“Before you can do that, you have to learn how to cook.” Her confidence was showing through now she was in her element. Art gave a rueful grin and asked, “What shall I do?”

Art now took his turn and tried to emulate what Iria had done. Three eggs rose from the table, one at a time. He managed to crack them, also one at a time, but while he was Willing the shells into the garbage, the eggs all fell on his head. Iria fell about laughing. Since so much went on the back of his head, Iria cleaned it up for him when she caught herself. That was another skill she had that was better than Art’s.

After that he tried harder and played the part of the earnest apprentice for the rest of the morning. There were no more disasters and several of his creations were good enough to be offered to the other guests at lunch. The thing that intrigued him the most was the ability to keep lots of different things floating or twirling in the air at the same time. It was the way he had been conditioned. He would have to think about its martial uses.

When they were finishing up, Iria told him, “It’s easy. All you need are the right ingredients in the right proportionsl us, and a very clear vision of how you want the finished product to look, feel and taste.”

Art came right back at her. “When you flit, all you need is a clear vision of where you want to be and a good piece of motivation to get you there. After lunch it’ll be my turn to teach.”

An hour and a half later, after one of the best meals he had ever had, it was Art’s turn to be the teacher. “I am going to flit us into the arrival room in Furl castle. Do you know the first thing you must do when we arrive?”

“I must take a couple of steps forward.”

“I knew you knew, but I had to start with that question. Do you know why?”

“It’s the one thing that we adepts cannot guard against, someone appearing where we are.”

“Very good. Now you know how I killed Aravia.”

She gasped. “I thought you would never tell me that.”

“I wanted to make a point. Anyway that part of it is common knowledge. Ready?” He took her hand and they vanished to reappear in the arrival room at Furl castle. They took two steps forward and turned. “You must now memorize the pattern on the floor where we arrived, as well as any other features here. They should be imprinted so you cannot forget them.”

She stared intently for over a minute before she nodded at Art. “I think I have it.”

He again took her arm and then they were in another arrival room. “We are in your father’s castle. Do the same thing here.” When she had nodded to tell him it was fixed in her memory he added, “Whenever you are taken to an arrival room you haven’t seen before, you should memorize it as a matter of course. Now, can you get back to Furl on your own?” She seemed a bit reluctant so he tried, “Your father will be proud of you!” She vanished. He left it a few seconds and followed her.

She was waiting for him. “Well done. Easy wasn’t it?” He took her hand again and they were in the arrival room in King Daron’s palace. “Once you have memorized it, you might want to pay your respects to your father.”

Iria was a bit nervous. “Perhaps later, when I have done it a few more times.” She concentrated on her memorization.

An hour and several different arrival rooms later, she asked, “Where are we now?”

“We are in my father’s castle in Red City. I’m not sure where Red is, except I know I can reach her from here. Before I take you to see her, would you like to take a break and have a look around?”

“As long as you don’t weasel out of your promise to let me see her.”

They left the room, and as soon as they came to the more traveled parts of the castle they could see that everyone was excited about something.

“What’s going on?” Iria asked.

“I don’t know, so I had better find out.” He took her elbow and steered her. “This way. We’d best speak to someone who knows.” They headed in the direction of the Count’s study. Whoever was in charge during his absence would be there. The door was ajar so they simply walked in.

Lady Tandrea was sitting at the Count’s solid oaken desk. “Art, you’re not supposed to be here.” She caught herself as if she had said something she shouldn’t have. She smiled. “This is a pleasant surpolid oarise, and who is your companion?”

“Lady Tandrea, this is Milady Iria who is Baron Edgurd’s daughter. Iria, this is Lady Tandrea. You would refer to her as Milady.” Iria automatically took a seat in one of the easy chairs.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?” As expected, Tandrea wasted no time in probing.

“There isn’t much going on in Waygand right now so I’m doing Iria’s father a favour. He wanted me to fill a few gaps in her education.” He flashed a knowing smile. He hoped that would confuse her, and make her think that one of those gaps was of an intimate nature. He still hadn’t forgiven her for not mentioning Amia’s death to her daughter, Vanni. He knew that she wanted to push Vanni and him together, but as long as he had Ellary that wasn’t going to happen. Still, there was no harm in letting her think Vanni had a Willed rival. “Everyone seems excited about something.”

“It’s your father, of course. He killed Emperor Draman yesterday.” That was news, big news. “He also appears to have changed somewhat. It looks as if he is going to invade Jeerea soon.”

Iria was worried. “What will happen after that?”

“Nobody ever knows what’s going to happen in a war. As to what the Count wants, I can’t say.”

Art felt he should make a quick exit. “This is news that I need to pass on. Please excuse us.” He motioned to Iria by offering her his hand. Anything to make Tandrea uncomfortable. She took it and they left, Art still holding her hand.

Iria was the first to speak. “She certainly didn’t expect to see you! Your arrival quite shocked her.”

“She’s not my favourite person.”

“It wasn’t only that, I’m good at reading women. She wasn’t telling you everything. She said ‘I can’t say’. That’s the way you would phrase something if you were worried about being truthread. I think she knows what your father intends to do, but won’t tell you. Especially you. I got the impression you were expected, no, wanted to be somewhere else.” She hesitated. “I think your father’s plans need you to be somewhere else to do something.” She spread her hands expressively. “I’ve no idea what.”

“Don’t worry about that. I promised you Red.” He took her hand.

They appeared in the warm, humid cave that was Red’s resting place. Art conjured a good light, as the soft glow from the walls was quite faint. “Don’t be surprised at what you see. There is a lot that can be done with the Will.” He guided her past the hot spring, while she gaped.

“What is this place?”

“This is where Red stays, has stayed, for almost all her life. It was originally their private place, their special place, when they were young. Here she is.” He indicated her figure lying motionless on her daybed. As they came closer, they could see her long red hair stretching down to her waist.

It was a long time before Iria found her voice. “Is she alive?”

“Yes, she is. Until my father wakes her, it’s not much of a life. Of course she has aged
only four or five years to his five hundred or so.”

“How does she wake up?”

“I know of only two ways. He lifts the spell that keeps her asleep, or he dies, which ends all his spells. sh”

“Could you or another adept wake her?”

“We might be able to, but I wouldn’t want to. She agreed to be like this, and I’m reasonably certain he would know if someone tried. If, as Tandrea said, he’s changed somewhat, it probably means he’s been taken over by power madness. I don’t really wish to annoy him if that’s the case.”

“I take your point, but it’s a weird way to spend your life.”

“When my father dies, she will have a brand new life, as long as she’s not forgotten here in this cave. If anything happens to both my father and me, I’m counting on you to get her out.”

This bald statement shocked Iria. Suddenly someone was putting responsibility onto her shoulders. It was an unusual feeling which only lasted as long as it took to trickle through to her that Art thought that both he and his father might both be killed soon.

They spent a few more minutes exploring the strange cave with its mutely glowing walls and odd formations before Art said, “My father sealed the outside access, so the only way in or out is to flit. Let me know when you have this spot memorized, we’d best make sure King Daron has this news.”

52

They took the trip to King Daron’s castle in Hollaton in several easy hops. Now that she had satisfied herself she had learned to flit, Iria wanted to see her father first so she could brag about it to him. She dragged Art to the courtesy suite he had, and they were both surprised to find Earl Damon there, lounging on a couch, in earnest conversation with her father.

Their news jolted the nobles. Earl Damon started questioning them closely and became very interested when Iria mentioned Tandrea’s evasiveness.

“So you feel that she was not only shocked to see Art, but also deliberately withheld information from him?”

Damon looked at Art, then at Baron Edgurd and back to Iria. “Did you feel that she knew all the details of the Count’s plans?”

“I think she knew enough of them to know Art needed to be kept in the dark.”

This blackened the Earl’s expression. “Edgurd, I’m going to have a walk and a think. I’ll be back in a bit. I think your daughter wants to tell you a few things anyway.”

Damon walked slowly through the corridors towards the library where he knew King Daron often spent this part of the day. The King was alone in an alcove, sitting on a wooden bench. He appeared to have been thinking as well, as he didn’t have a book. The Earl slid in beside him. “I’ve got news.”

The King stirred slightly. “Good?”

“I’m not sure. Draman is dead which is good. The Count killed him and...”

“...is now power mad, which is bad. How did you know? I only found out from a sealed message delivered a few minutes ago.”

“Art told me. He was in Red City and got it from Tandrea. Apparently he’s got his sights set on Jeerea now.”

The King whispered, “And he’ll come here afterwards.” He jerked his head towards a window. It was bleak and overcast outside. “Can you cast a ray of light through the gloom?through a.s“And he”

Damon let some seconds pass. “Perhaps. He had Iria with him. Flitting lessons, of all things. She watched Tandrea while she was speaking to Art, and came up with a couple of interesting observations. She believes that Tandrea left out quite a lot when she was telling Art what she knew, most probably because there were things that the Count didn’t want his son to know. She was shocked to see him too. Iria thinks it’s because the Count’s plans need him to be doing something somewhere else.”

“Any idea what?”

“The same horrible one I had before, only it looks a lot more likely now. I think I should tell you what I thought.”

The Earl leaned over and whispered in his ear. When he finished, the King was shaken. “He must have been working towards this for decades. I see now why he let that menace, Draman, live.”

“He must have been desperate waiting for Art, or someone like him, to be born.”

The King managed his first smile as he mentally unraveled the clues. “That’s why he was sent to Captain Hanna’s troop. He knew about your right of first refusal, so he was essentially giving you Art, knowing you would work things out. He is relying on you to place Art properly when the time comes.”

“He must think I’ll know the time when it comes too.”

* * *

The Baron was well pleased with his daughter’s progress, and she spent a few moments basking in his approval, before he asked how she had fared as a teacher. “I don’t think I did quite as well in that role,” she admitted, “but Art did show some improvement,” She paused for effect, “after he got egg all over his face and head.”

The Baron grunted. “That’s what it takes to make your Will stronger, nasty experiences.”

This opening allowed Art to give a long sneer. “You’re right, Baron. I need to make your daughter have a few ghastly experiences.” He followed it with as evil a smile as he could conjure.

“Come on, Art. Don’t be silly. I’ve spent enough time with you to know that you’re all soft and cuddly, like a pussycat. You can’t do horrible things to me.”

The floor underneath her vanished and she plunged, chair and all, into the room below. This was followed by a crunching sound as she landed on something. Both Art and the Baron peered down through the hole. When the dust cleared, they could see it was a dining table. The room was empty otherwise.

Her father called down, “Are you alright dear?”

Before she could muster the oomph to reply, Art, seeing that she was angry fit to burst, laughed down at her. “I think we have a few lessons here.” He turned to Baron Edgurd. “Don’t we?”

At last Iria found her voice. “You beast, you horrible monster. I’m in pain and I can’t move.”

“We’ll be down in a bit, just hang on.” Art led Edgurd out of the door, remarking, “I hope you know how to get there.” On the way, he added, “That’s what you needed me to do, wasn’t it? Something you couldn’t bring yourself to do.”

The Baron was silent until they found the room. “Here it is. I think it’s Baron Jaram’s suite. He’s not here.” Baron Edgurd showed Art in and then left as Iria had calmed down.

Art strode over to her nonchalantly. “Where does it hurt?” She didn’t deign to reply, so he efficiently cut her clothes off with a wave of his hand. She was so shocked that all she could do was sit mutely in the middle of the broken table while he grabbed one of her ankles. “This one is fine. Where did you say it hurt? Oh don’t pout. Remember I’m a healer.” She started sobbing so he took hold of the other ankle and gave her a clinical examination. All he needed to heal were bruises, a sprained wrist and a broken collarbone.

“Why did you do that?” she asked when he had finished. She had been trying to work it out while he was examining her. She felt that he had treated her like a sack of turnips. In truth, in his healer mode, he didn’t even see her as female.

“It was a lesson, actually several lessons. It came to me that what your father wanted from me was to do some things that he couldn’t bring himself to do.”

“What things?”

“Nothing unusual for young adepts learning about the Will. Inflict pain, instill fear, create distrust...” He indicated the shreds of her clothing lying around.”...embarrassment. Bad and shocking memories for you to draw on when you want to exercise your Will. Why don’t you put your clothes together and go back upstairs? I’ve got a table and a hole in the ceiling to fix.”

His casual air really annoyed her, and her clothes literally flew together on her. She stalked out while Art applauded her with a faint hand clap.

By the time she stamped back into her father’s suite, Earl Damon had arrived and was listening to her father explain about the hole in the floor. He broke off from that to address her. “Don’t be hard on Art, dear. He was actually quite clever, and later you will understand what a favour he’s done for you. Simply speaking, he did what he had to do.”

Earl Damon sat up at that remark. Art did what he had to. Would he consider doing what the Count wanted him to do as something he had to do? He hoped so as he watched the floor reinstating itself.

A couple of minutes later Art came in carrying the chair that Iria had been sitting on and a circle of carpet. The carpet was the last piece of the puzzle, and when it had been repaired he put the chair where it had been and sat.

Iria was glaring at him, but he ignored it. Instead he told her father, “I think she is showing some progress already. Her shredded clothes literally flew around her as she left. Done perfectly.” Now he acknowledged Iria. “Best you ever did, wasn’t it?”

She reddened as realization dawned. “It was rather good, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, wonderful,” her father put in, “you’re friends again. That should get Art a couple more cooking lessons.”

Earl Damon interrupted. “Not yet, please. I need to borrow Art back for an hour or two first.”

The Earl led Art back to the library. It wasn’t to see the King, whom Damon was sure would have already left; it was because the various alcoves there were good places to have a quiet conversation. Art was guided to a nook where they could sit face to face over a slim reading table. “A lot of important people have been racking their brains over a pressing question. Do you know what?”

“It has to be me and why my father put me here and what I’ll have to do.”

“That’s it. I was talking to King Daron ov>“It haer there,” he nodded towards another alcove, “only a few minutes ago. He worked something out. He said that your father had sent you to me by assigning you to Captain Hanna and that he trusted me to work things out. I believe I have.” The Earl leaned over the table separating them and whispered in Art’s ear, “This is what I think...”

When he finished, Art surprised him by replying, “I worked out the same thing. It’s horribly logical, and really clever. I’m not very enthusiastic about it.”

“I didn’t suppose you would be.”

“The only thing that’s keeping me from flitting to Hanpo and taking a boat to a country I’ve never heard of is because he thinks I can succeed.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he had a more certain look. “No, that’s not right. It’s because he’s trained me to succeed.” Art swung one leg up beside Damon. “That and because I have people who are important to me. I have my girl, some people I can call friend, and my daughter. I was trying to keep her a secret but now he’s lost it, it doesn’t matter any more.” The other leg joined its mate. “When I think about it, there are responsibilities too. I don’t know what will happen if I don’t do what he’s planned, but I do know it’ll be an utter disaster. The whole bloody region may end up in turmoil. It really doesn’t bear thinking about.” He let out a long sigh while Damon stared at him. “Worst of all, I’m not interested in what he wants or expects of me afterwards. I’m still young and I want to taste the freedom of youth.” His eyes pierced the Earl’s. “Is that so bad?”

“It’s not bad at all. I would say he’s chosen pretty well. The role he has in mind for you is the sort that you are only suited for if you don’t want it.”

They sat in silence for several minutes until the Earl offered, “I can help you all I can.”

“I was thinking about what sort of help, if any, I could use. You know what? I’m not sure anyone can help me.” He reverted to a dull silence again while he was clearly lost in thought. After a bit he managed to stir. “Perhaps there is one thing. If and when events turn out the way we expect, you can ask Iria to help you fetch a lady called Red. My father introduced her to me to her last year. My guess is he intended me to involve her.”

“Who is she?” Something about her name had struck a chord but the Earl wasn’t sure why.

“When you see her you’ll find out. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” He paused again. It was clear to the Earl that his coming to the same conclusions as Art had made him face facts and do some hard thinking. His expression was suddenly much more serious. “Little things like that have had me analyzing almost everything he has ever said to me or had me do. I don’t think he has even dropped an offhand rem
ark that wasn’t calculated and didn’t have some underlying significance.”

“If I read it right, he has been planning this from before you were born, possibly way before. You can’t let all his effort go to waste.”

Art stood up. “I think I’ll have a bigger motivation to worry about than letting his plans fall apart.”

Damon at last managed a small smile. “That you will.” He stood up as well. “Your father has never liked Queen Faria of Jeerea as she is a vindictive bitch. He will take his army to her capital, Geron City, next in the hope that she will have the nerve to fight him. Actually, now that he has succumbed to the power madness, he won’t be able to stop himselfCit. If she has any sense, she will surrender peacefully. Either way, even if he hurries things up by having his adepts move his infantry by flitting them forward, you’ll still have at least a fortnight before he can get himself to the Jeerean border with Waygand.”

“You’re right. Confronting him would be the worst thing she could do. If he kills her - and I wouldn’t waste a farthing betting on her - then his power madness will get even worse. He would most likely rampage and begin killing indiscriminately.”

The Earl was shocked. “Why would he do that?”

“He will do that to make sure when the time comes, I have another reason for not shirking the duty he has so patently laid on me.” Art leaned against a bookcase and cleared his head. “The duty of killing him before he can do worse.”