The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2) (19 page)

Transporting the logs by river wasn’t just good business.  It created a convenient excuse for a steady stream of traffic to and from the logging camp, as workers left with the logs and came back to replenish the labor pool.  Delian Army scouts worked right alongside their countrymen, who were authentically in the lumber trade, and brought regular reports on the state of the Tarmic back south to their officers.  It was a sleepy post, providing only a trickle of intelligence, but this mission had all of a sudden put it on the front lines.

Samanthi sighed aloud as the longhouses where the woodsmen slept came into view.  “I don’t mind telling you,” she said conspiratorially to Dame Gaulda, “that I’ve never been so happy to see a logging camp before.”

“Won’t say no to a little rest myself,” the Shock Trooper said in her soft, precise voice.  “Big day tomorrow.”

“They’re all big days lately, aren’t they?”

Dame Gaulda grinned and clapped her on the shoulder with a mailed hand.  “In our line of work, a quiet day just means the other guy snuck past you.  I’ll take seven big days a week before that.”

Samanthi stewed on that as they bounded the last half-kilometer to the camp. 
Every quiet day has a threat behind it? It can’t really always be like that.  Aside from the Corsair Venture, things were peaceful under Randolph and Tess when I was growing up.  There were those few wobbles when Prince Torvald failed the Ordeals and succession passed to Naomi, but nothing serious bubbled up then either.  There were two other peasant uprisings before LaMontina died at Verrure and the whole magical regicide doomsday plot sprang up… but this is all new!  I’m not exactly a sunshiny person, but even I have trouble believing that underneath every calm moment is a catastrophe waiting to happen.  Right?

She watched the strong line of Dame Gaulda’s shoulders underneath her heavy armor, and caught a glimpse of the death’s head profile on her helmet. 
Unless she knows something I don’t,
she thought, hair brushing over her face in the breeze.

The logging boss was already waiting for them, as were three long-armed woodsmen; two women and a man.  The boss had his hands on his hips, looking completely unfazed as a half-dozen Petronauts in full battle armor marched towards him with a thunderous sound.  The woodsmen, on the other hand, were definitely gaping at the machinery on display.  “Safe travels?”  The boss chomped out, his voice full of sawdust.

“No complaints,” Sir Kelley said, flipping his visor up.  Samanthi couldn’t stop a scowl of distaste from crossing her lips.  Since Kelley and Mathias had had their little talk yesterday afternoon, the senior ‘naut (and co-commanding officer for the whole expedition, in the fuzzy world of Petronaut rank across squads) had been an autocrat of the most unilateral sort.  A comment from one of the other ‘nauts might merit genuine consideration, but anything that she or Mathias had to say was met with a formulaic response or a very chilly cold shoulder. 
I’m not the one who was stupid enough to badmouth you to your face, much as I’ve wanted to
,  she thought, sulkily. 
Don’t know why you’re taking it out on me.

Samanthi shook herself back into attention.  The boss was gesturing to the longhouse behind him.  “Cots aplenty in there.  We hung up some nets up on account of the river flies.  Light a citron torch or two if they’re keeping you awake.”  He looked around and picked out Samanthi and Zig as the only two not wearing armor.  “Techs, we cleared out the old tool shed for you.  There’s a fire pit right outside and a potbelly stove.  Sorry there’s no proper forge, nor much metal.”

“Do you know where we could find some wood, though?”  Dame Gaulda said, her face completely blank.  Samanthi heard Zig snort, and was willing to bet Sir Mathias and a few of the Cavs were glad their faces were still covered.

The logging boss gave Dame Gaulda a look, then let out a low-pitched wheeze of laughter that ended as quickly as it began.  “See what I can do,” he said, nodding.  “In the meantime, got a cask of ‘tum that’s all yours, and scullery’s already got the griddles going in the mess hall.”

The Petronauts breathed a sigh of relief.  The fuel bladders around their waists had all become upsettingly light in the course of their journey.  A ‘naut without fuel was about as dangerous as a horseless knight in the mud, and a ‘naut without food was even more useless.

“Where’s your number nine?”  the boss asked, frowning after a quick headcount.

“Expert tech Roulande is running a sweep,” Kelley said, tracing a circle in the air.  “She’ll need a place for her descent shortly.”

“Torches,” the boss said to his workers, who stretched their limbs and made for another of the sheds.  “They’ll lead her in.”

“Dame Orinoco,” Sir Kelley said, looking up to the Cavalier.  “Will you second a disarm order?”

“Sure.  ‘Nauts, disarm in the longhouse and secure your suits for the night,” Dame Orinoco said, flipping up her visor.  She gestured to the boss. “Let’s debrief on the Golden Caravan in forty-five minutes.”  The thickly built man nodded.

“Tomorrow we head for Two Forks after breakfast,” Sir Kelley announced.  As he moved in closer to talk to the boss, the rest of the ‘nauts began drifting to the longhouse.  Samanthi watched all that armor tromping its way to the building, and started making a mental tally of all the intricate pieces the ‘nauts would be unable to remove for themselves.  Then she did a tally of how many pairs of hands were available to help them take it off.  The second tally went much faster.

“We’re gonna be helping them all damn night long,” Zig said, massaging his palm with his thumb. 

“Burn that,” Samanthi said.  “I’m getting some sleep tonight.  Hey!  You there!”  she said, calling out to a knot of woodworkers coming back from the dock.  They looked up as she walked towards them, a spring in her step from the seven-league boots. 

“Come on, Zig,” she said, grinning over her shoulder.  “Let’s deputize!”

Chapter Fifteen

Last Words

“Let’s get another layer of insulation in here,” Dame Miri said, tracing her finger along the inside of the crate.  “Don’t want the spell box cracking open and all the magic leaking out.”

The poor Army clerk’s eyes widened.  “Spheres!  Is it corrosive?”

“I didn’t know magic had a fluid state.  Do we need something absorbent in these crates?”

Dame Miri looked at the bureaucrats, their faces filled with sudden terror. 
I used to be funny, once
, she thought wistfully.  “Just the insulation will be fine, thanks.”

They scampered away, like little mice on a mission.  Dame Miri watched them wending their way through the crowded lobby.  The Army was using the reception hall of the Civic annex as a staging area as crates made their way down the hallway to the mechanized wizardry workroom and back.  The beleaguered receptionist would have trouble physically getting away from his desk in the center of it all, even if he wasn’t beset with a stream of military newcomers asking questions and getting lost.  They were making steady progress, though.  Once the two spell boxes were packed up, that meant the last of the big equipment pieces was ready for loading. 
When the Princess of Delia says something needs to get done fast, it happens.

“Quite a zoo, huh?”  She turned to see Dame Dionne with a thin smile on her face.  The Civic laced her fingers together, her rings clinking against each other.  “I haven’t seen this many people in the annex since Sir Ulrich’s ‘free pie’ demonstration.”

“Free pies, huh?”  Dame Miri tilted her head.

“Oh, yes.  Hand pies baked six at a time, start to finish in under five minutes.  An amazing machine.”

“How’d they taste?”

“An amazing machine,” Dame Dionne repeated diplomatically.

They looked at each other.  Dionne threw her head back with a bark of laughter at the memory and reached out, squeezing Dame Miri on the upper arm.  Miri grinned and touched her bandaged hand briefly to the smaller woman’s back.

Dame Dionne sighed lengthily.  “You’re going along, I take it?”

“That’s the plan.”  Dame Miri gripped the tall crate by its open sides and swung it gently against the wall, making more space for passing traffic.  She winced a little at using her hands that way, but at least they were both opening and closing again after long hours of therapy with the master of physic.

“Do you know what I thought, when I heard that mechanized wizardry was being transferred to my squad?  And I learned what it was?” the Civic said, removing her trapezoidal glasses.  “Finally—a truly astonishing, truly revolutionary Petronaut idea; and they’re not letting the military get first crack at how to shape it.”

Dame Miri looked at her, softening at the weary bitterness she saw in Dionne’s face.  “This is still our project, Dionne,” she said quietly.  “They’re not going to tell us how to run it.”

“No, of course not.  That’s not how we treat our ‘nauts in Delia.  But I have a hunch that when you arrange your demo for Colonel Yough, you’re not going to be making pies.”

“You play to your audience,” Dame Miri agreed.

“Just for once, I thought—” she broke off.  “You’re Parade squad, Miri.  You know the bias ‘nauts have towards what’s fast, strong, lethal; and what it feels like to be the only voice in the room that’s speaking up for technology that uplifts, or empowers.”

“I’m not Parade squad now.  I’m not much of anything, at the moment.”

“Well, I’ll tell you; since Her Highness came in yesterday, bright and gentle and regal as could be, and declared my flagship project for peace would be shipped to Fort Campos under armed guard?  I’m not feeling like much of anything, either.”

“Hey there.”  Miri crouched a little to look into the shorter woman’s eyes.  Dame Dionne was holding herself together masterfully.  It took Parade squad training to realize just what a good actor she was. 

“This work we’re doing is going to make us all proud,” she promised.  “You understand this is a whole new field, right?  This is physic, this is alchemy, this is metallurgy.  Beautiful, uplifting achievements will come out of it, and terrible tragedies too, and all we can do is let them come. 
Ulraexi Pillok Mentatum Est
; both good and bad.”

“That’s why I wanted it developed in the light of day,” Dame Dionne said, her body tense.  “I wanted the public to see it from day one, so they had the chance to speak out before it was used for anything horrible.”

“Some people are going to think anything new is horrible.  A little secrecy’s not such a bad thing.”

“Depends on who’s keeping the secrets.”

“Depends on who’s listening, too,” Dame Miri retorted gently.  “Last month, a Petronaut tried to kill me inside our city walls.  The royal steward was a traitor.  A wizard who worked high society for years turned traitor and almost killed our Princess for a bag of coins.  We’re under attack, Dionne, and by someone close to home.  That’s not paranoia; that’s a scary, scary fact.  At a time this tense, if we keep these ideas out in the light of day I don’t think we’re going to like what grows.”

“Those things will grow no matter where the light is,” Dame Dionne said, shaking her head.  “But as long as the dark things grow for our side first, we’re fine, right?”

“Well, we’re
more
fine.”

The Civic snorted.  “Didn’t do much debate training in the Parade squad, did you?”

“Sure I did,” Dame Miri said, flashing her most brilliant smile.  “If you get your opponent to laugh, you win.”

“One, you’re not funny.  Two, keeping secrets corrupts the keeper and just makes the truth harder to control.  And there is no three, because I just had the last word.”  Nose in the air, Dame Dionne shoved her glasses on her face and began striding across the lobby to the front office.

“What an exit,” Dame Miri called after her in honest appreciation.

“Last word!”  the Civic shouted back imperiously.

Dame Miri turned around, smiling, and raised her hands as a hulking soldier swept up to the crate next to her.  “Excuse me, Dame Miri,” he rumbled, wrapping his arms around the empty wooden box and lifting it effortlessly.  She smiled, lips closed, and gave him a quick salute.  She watched the empty crate in the soldier’s arms as he made his way towards the hallway.  They would put a spell box in that crate, and tomorrow they’d take that crate east for the fort.  And as for where they—or someone else— would take it from there?

“All we can do is let it come,” she murmured, feeling a twinge in her hands.

Chapter Sixteen

Cakewalk

Ariell held the brace of rabbits by their ears and whistled to herself nonchalantly.  She knew that Brindon was watching her as she sauntered across the village square to the cooking house.  He’d been watching her all morning on their hunt, too, sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. 
That’s probably why I bagged the rabbits, and he came home with nothing
, she thought smugly. 
Boys are just too easily distracted. 
She looked over her shoulder casually.  Sure enough, he was watching her, his hands on his hips and his bare arms tan and shining in the sun.  Her eyes lingered on the smooth, firm skin of his arms for a moment.  Then her toe caught against a rock and she staggered forward, rabbits scraping against the dirt as she flung her arms wide to keep her balance.  Ariell straightened back up, stiff as a board, and started walking with a great sense of purpose.  Knowing that Brindon was watching her had just lost its appeal.

“More game, Miss Ariell?”  the stocky man at the baking tables groaned as she swept through the open doorway, rabbits held high.  The other men and women tending stewpots and chopping vegetables looked up too, grinning.  So did the knot of kids washing breakfast dishes, their hands deep in  the sudsy water in the round metal basin.  “We just got finished cleaning the last batch you brought in,” the baker said.

“I’ll skin ‘em myself, then.”  She plopped the rabbits down on a splintery table near the door.  “Sorry I’m bringing in too much meat,” she said, mock-repentantly.