The Wizard's Daughters: Twin Magic: Book 1 (3 page)

The leatherworker nodded. “I do, though you may find the job a hard one to win.”

“What is it?”

“Have you noticed the stone house off the square? The one with the iron bars over the windows and the green pennant at the top?”

Erich had, though he had given it no thought.

“That is the house of Walther, the artificer. I have heard he is looking to hire a guard for a trip he has planned.”

“A mage?”

“Aye. He sold me this,” he said, indicating the chest.

“What is it?”

“Try to take it and see.”

Erich reached warily over the counter toward the chest. When his hand got with a foot or so, the chest suddenly jumped up on hitherto unseen legs and recoiled from his reach. To Erich, it almost seemed to be growling at him like a dog, and appropriately enough, a plate opened on the top that was ridged with sharp tooth-like projections.

The leatherworker grinned. “Try to grab it, and you might lose a finger. Convenient.”

“Clever.”

“Yes. Walther is a gruff sort, but a fair one. If you want the job, best approach it honestly.”

“I appreciate the help. Thank you for the belt.”

“Thank you for the business.” As Erich turned to go, he spoke up again. “Just one other piece of advice. If Walther lets you into his house, which is no certain thing, mind you keep your eyes off his daughters.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. You may find that difficult, but trust me on this.”

5.

As soon as Walther lifted Temperance up to carry it to the workshop, he knew something was wrong. Several parts rattled around the inside, and what sounded like a gear went clattering down one leg.

When he laid it on a workbench and pried open the back, he saw the truth of the matter. The worn-out brain was the least of his problems. The mainspring—the mainspring itself!—had broken, and in unspooling it had shredded most of the automaton’s internal workings. What should have been an elegant array of components was instead a tangled mess of wires, rods, and secondary springs.

Looking more closely, he could see what had happened. A small gear near the mainspring, a trivial thing that was there merely to balance the tension in some tertiary cables, had somehow worked its way out of alignment and begun rubbing against one of the mainspring mounts. Over time, it had gradually sawed through the mount until the mainspring came loose. It had no doubt been the source of the squeaking he had been hearing, but Temperance was old and old automata usually squeaked incessantly without self destructing like this.

Walther cursed his procrastination in replacing the brain, because he would surely have noticed the problem and been able to fix it. But now repair was out of the question; the automaton was good for nothing but spare parts.

As he sifted through the shattered fragments of brass, he saw that he had been right about the brain. Getting it out before would have been an extremely delicate process requiring days of work, but after this disaster it was simply a matter of lifting the mess of the mainspring remains out of the way. The once-clear stub of quartz, about the size of his fist, was now a deep purple, the Flow energies having wreaked havoc throughout its crystal structure over the past decade.

The one saving grace was that it would now make a fine amethyst if cut and polished. He could likely sell it for a tidy sum when they finally went to Köln.

Köln. Yes, the girls were right. It was high time he put his affairs in order and took them to the city. He had been building another automaton he meant to watch the house in their absence, for he did not trust Temperance to be able to do it properly, even with a new brain. That project had dragged on for months, largely because he needed to fabricate a number of delicate parts and building things like the rat-catcher was simpler and more enjoyable.

In that, perhaps Temperance’s unfortunate end was a blessing in disguise, because he could salvage much of what he needed from its wreckage. Most of what was broken was the main drive system, and he had already built one for the new automaton. Temperance’s was not powerful enough for it anyway.

All he needed was some time and freedom from interrupt—

“Father!” Ariel called.

Walther groaned. “What is it?” he replied.

“There’s someone at the door.”

He had forbade them from answering the door, for reasons that were obvious to all of them, which was why they went through this routine several times a day.

“Another one?”

“Yes, but I don’t recognize him.”

Walther left Temperance’s carcass behind and went out to the front hall. When he opened the viewport, he saw a tall man with long brown hair on the doorstep. He was older than the boys who had been pestering Ariel and Astrid, and from his dress—little better than rags—he was no town dandy. But he carried a fine set of blades on his hip, which made him no beggar either.

Curiosity piqued, Walther opened the door, though he left the wrought-iron gate on the outside closed.

“Yes?”

“I am seeking Walther the artificer.”

“You have found him. What business have you?”

“I am told you are seeking a man to serve as a guide and caravan guard.”

“There is no caravan but myself and my daughters. We are going to Köln. Do you know the way?”

This was not what Erich wanted to hear, but he needed the work. Köln was a large city, and it was unlikely he would be recognized now. He hoped.

“I do and have been there. I know the city well.”

“What do you know of the route?” Walther asked.

Erich suspected—accurately—that he was being tested.

“It is not a difficult trip, but it will take a week or two, providing the weather favors us. There are a few rivers to cross, and one we may need to ford. That river in particular may be risky, as I have heard there are ogres in the area. Beyond that, though, the trip is not overly dangerous, but you are wise not to attempt it unaccompanied, especially if we are bringing children.”

Walther nodded.

“My daughters are not children and can handle themselves well enough, but indeed I do not wish to take them on that road without some assistance.”

He paused and looked Erich over slowly.

“By the look of those blades, you are an experienced swordsman, though by the look of your dress, you seem one a bit down on his luck.”

“You are correct on both counts, sir.”

“May I see your sword?”

Erich did not like giving up his sword, but the leatherworker’s description of Walther appeared accurate. He withdrew his rapier and passed it through the iron gate. Walther turned it over in his hands, then looked down the blade, rotating it to feel the balance.

“I’ve always believed you can judge a craftsman by his tools, and yours, sir, are in fine shape.” He looked more closely at the hilt. “These gems are not paste.”

“No.”

Then, squinting at the base of the pommel: “And this is an emerald.” He looked up at Erich with growing respect. “It never occurred to you to pry one of these loose and sell it? Your situation would be much improved from even one.”

“It did. But, as you said . . . I would prefer not to vandalize my tools.”

He passed the sword back to Erich.

“Well. I’m convinced your skills are in order, but what about your character? You arrive here with no references. Am I correct in assuming you have arrived in this town only recently?”

“This very morning.”

“You have no one who can vouch for you?”

Erich shrugged.

“I am afraid not.”

Walther nodded. “Fortunately for you, I have other means of assessing your suitability. Hand me your blades, and we can get started.”

Erich frowned but said nothing. Walther regarded him evenly.

“You can, I assume, understand my reluctance to allow an armed man I do not know into my house,” he said. “And a man such as you surely took the time to assess my reputation before showing up at my door. I do not need to steal your sword.”

Walther had read him correctly again. He had spoken to the smith, who had independently told him that Walther was seeking a guide, as well as to the fat woman at the inn, both of whom had confirmed what the leatherworker had told him.

He unbuckled his new swordbelt and passed everything through the gate to Walther, who disappeared for a few moments before returning and unlocking the gate.

“Follow me.”

6.

Walther led him into the house. The front hall led off in three directions on the ground floor, as well as up a curving staircase to the second floor. As he entered the room, Erich thought he heard footsteps scampering away somewhere, but saw nothing. Walther motioned him to follow down the passageway to the right, and Erich soon found himself in a large workshop. Three long workbenches were set against each wall, and a broad table sat in the middle of the room. Most of the benchtops were covered in gears, pulleys, wires, and parts beyond his understanding. What appeared to be a large brass man—in a state that even Erich could tell was badly broken—lay across the table, while another, larger iron one, partially built with its innards hanging out, stood in a corner. More than one smaller brass assemblage was walking around of its own accord.

“My workshop. Pray do not touch anything.”

Erich did not need this warning. Walther directed him to sit at the table and cleared some space amongst broken springs and gears. He was a large, heavyset man, balding but with a close-cropped black beard gone mostly gray—not quite Erich’s idea of a mage.

When Erich sat down, something like a large brass spider came over and inspected his foot. He was about to pull it away when the thing turned and left the room. Meanwhile, Walther dug around in the corner of one workbench and returned with an ornate brass cube that had an array of cables dangling from it.

“This is what it means to be an artificer?” Erich asked.

“My father was a watchmaker, and his before him. I was expected to follow in their footsteps, but I found my talents lay elsewhere.”

“These are far more than watches.”

Walther reached across the table for a large purple crystal and held it out. “This, when tuned to the Flow, is what gives them life. This one is burned out, but the principle is the same. You need a watchmaker’s craft and a mage’s sensitivity to make these things work. It is not a common profession.”

“So I have seen.”

“My daughters have no interest in these things, though their talent to direct the Flow is strong.”

“Your daughters are mages?”

“Yes, but their interest is in the natural world. Artificing is not really a craft for women in any case. Few of them care to look like this.” He held up his hands, which were heavily calloused, cut, and blackened with tarnish.

Walther set the brass cube between them. It had about a dozen cables protruding from it, each with a ring on the end.

“Give me your hand.”

With more than a little trepidation, Erich extended his hand. Walther slid one ring halfway up each finger. As soon as the last ring was in place, the cube began humming softly.

“This will give us an independent assessment of your character.”

“How so?”

“You may have no talent for directing the Flow, but you are part of it nonetheless. That means I can measure how it affects you, and vice versa.”

Walther tweaked a few things on the cube, then turned to Erich.

“Tell me a falsehood.”

“What?”

“Anything. You’re the emperor’s son. Your grandfather was a dwarf. Whatever you like.”

Erich left the first one alone. “My grandfather was a dwarf.”

The humming within the cube suddenly peaked, and it let out a shrill whine. Walther nodded in approval and tweaked a couple of knobs on one side.

“What is your name?”

“We are speaking the truth now?”

“Yes.”

“Erich.”

“You have no surname?”

“No.” Not any longer, at any rate, as far as he was concerned. The cube appeared to agree.

“Where did you get those blades?”

An easy question. “I won them in a game of cards a few years back. Their former owner was not wise enough to stop playing when his money was gone.”

Walther glanced at the cube and frowned, then twisted the knobs again.

“What was your last dishonest act?”

Erich snorted. “I climbed over the town walls this morning because the guards were asleep and could not let me in.”

Walther roared with laughter. “Their captain is a notorious drunkard, but the town fathers appear blind to the fact. You are a man of some resource. I like that.”

Another tweak to the knobs. Then he grew serious again.

“I have two daughters of marriageable age and so far unimpeachable virtue. I need a man who, I can trust, will respect that. I want no seductions.”

“I can control myself.” But he glanced at the cube anyway. It was silent. Well, that
was
true—it was simply that he sometimes chose not to.

“Well, you say that now. Let us see what you say when you understand what you will be dealing with.” He turned to the door. “Daughters! Come here.”

Erich heard footsteps coming down the stairs. In a few moments, a young girl came through the door. She was pale-skinned, long silver-gold hair falling in cascades around her shoulders. She wore a long green dress trimmed with gold brocade, one that did little to hide her full bosom. Then the other girl stepped into the room, and Erich blinked in surprise.

They were identical: dresses, shoes, thin gold necklaces around their necks, even the way they wore their hair.

“My daughters Ariel and Astrid. Daughters, this is Erich. He may be the man we seek for your trip to Köln.”

“Hello,” they said in unison.

“So, I will ask you again, are you the man I need and can trust?”

Erich swallowed hard. The beauty before him was considerable, but it did not quite outweigh his fear of angering an experienced mage. The thought of his incipient poverty—after the belt, he had enough money left for one night at the inn, no more—was enough to tip the scales.

“Yes.”

The cube was silent. Walther nodded.