Querry bent his waist and wriggled his face into the hair above Reg’s ear. “Listen, love. I won’t let anything happen. I can handle these backward guards, should we meet them. Look how we handled the Grande Chancellor—”
The front door opening and slamming cut Querry’s explanation short. He jumped guiltily away from his lover out of habit and turned toward the sound. What he saw—who he saw—in the doorway nearly stopped his heart.
The round, wide brim of the man’s hat couldn’t hide his face or his long, strawberry-blond hair. Querry rushed forward, grabbed him by the forearm, and dragged him across the hall and through a door to a small alcove lined in books. He pushed the hat away, and the leather cord fell over the man’s throat before Querry pushed him against the wall.
“Happy to see me, monsieur?” Jean-Andre said with a lazy grin.
Querry recalled the Belvaisian spy, mercenary—he didn’t know what to call the man—from the events in Halcyon. He’d wanted to sell Frolic’s book and its secrets to the highest bidder. He’d tried to recruit Querry as a fellow… information broker? Querry had never really known what Jean-Andre wanted from him, only that he’d inexplicably disappeared after they’d destroyed the Grande Chancellor and his clock tower.
“What are you doing here?” Querry hissed, pinning the other man to the wall by pressing his forearm against Jean-Andre’s throat.
“Let me speak, mon ami, and I’ll tell you. I don’t understand your hostility given the amount of times I saved your sorry skin back in Halcyon. I never said I wouldn’t tell you what you want to know.”
“Talk.” Querry released him but kept his hand near his pistol. “Why are you here?”
“It is quite simple. The Empress of Belvais would find it very beneficial if the slave revolts weakened, or even destroyed, the government here. At that point, she could take over this very lucrative farmland. If she cannot claim it as a colony, she can at least grant these plantations to her loyal nobles. As you know, monsieur, your Anglicans like the sugar in their tea.”
“So—what? You’re here to help the rebels succeed?”
“A simplistic assessment, but correct, I suppose,” Jean-Andre said. “You always were clever, Querrilous.”
“Too clever to believe this can be a coincidence. What are you really doing here?”
“I’ve told you. I am here to weaken the government so the Empress can move in. As of late, I have been helping arrange shipments of weapons. That said, I’m still very interested in the knowledge you hold about clockworks. Many people would pay dearly for your Frolic’s book….”
“Out of the question. Bother with him, and I’ll kill you.”
Jean-Andre laughed. “Will you, Monsieur Knotte? You think it would be so easy?”
“I don’t trust you,” Querry said.
“You’d be a fool if you did. And I do not ally myself with fools. Now, let us go before the others question what we’re up to. You surely do not want your precious Reginald and Frolic to get the wrong idea, non?”
“Don’t think you’ll manipulate us,” Querry warned as Jean-Andre walked back into the hall.
“Come with me,” Jean-Andre said. “I will show you where you can rest.”
Reluctantly, and with Reg and Frolic staring at him with curiosity and concern, Querry followed the suspicious Belvaisian out of the meeting hall. He certainly planned to have more words with Jean-Andre later, and find out what the man really intended.
Chapter 15
EVERYONE USED the following week to prepare for the delivery of the guns. Frolic spent his time in the makeshift workshop provided to him and Cornelia. It was little more than a slanted, wood-shingled roof above a patch of moist dirt, but it served their purposes. It contained a forge, anvil, and metal workbench, and what tools they couldn’t find they made. Both of them knew they’d need carts to transport the weapons and the baron’s supplies afterward. To that end, they worked to modify the vehicles they’d made after the airship crash. They needed to redesign the wheels, make them more adaptable to the uneven terrain they’d be traversing. It required very creative manipulation of the springs between the axles and the shafts. They also thought it prudent to attach weapons to each of the vehicles, in case they encountered savages, beasts, or imperial guards.
The humidity of the jungle made Frolic’s hair go wild, his curls spiraling out in every direction, winding into tighter corkscrews than ever. He slid out from beneath one of the carts, stood, and pushed his unruly locks out of his eyes. One ringlet remained stained black by the sea monster’s ichor, and Frolic wondered if it would ever return to its original pigment. With all the work needing done, though, he scarcely had time to waste a second worrying about it. He swiped the twisted locks off his forehead once again and was surprised when Cornelia approached him with a scrap of cloth. “What?” he asked as she folded the square in half.
“Hold still,” she instructed as she tied the fabric about his head before slipping it down around his neck and pulling it back up. The cloth pulled his hair back out of his face. “There.” She stood back and admired her handiwork. “How’s that?”
Frolic checked his reflection in a shiny bit of metal. Corny had fashioned him a headband similar to those some of the sailors had worn on the ship. “Great.” Frolic beamed, flashing his friend a thankful smile and returning to the task at hand. They worked in the comfortable silence that had become their routine, asking for assistance when they needed it but mostly tinkering diligently. Frolic rarely noticed the passage of time when he and Cornelia really got down to serious mechanics.
“That’s lunch, lovey,” Corny announced, dropping her large wrench. Frolic’s bird fluttered down from the rafters and landed on her shoulder. “I’m wasting away to nothing here. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Where are you going?” Frolic asked, as the two of them usually enjoyed their midday meal together.
Corny colored. “I—er, I’m having lunch with Jack Owens. He asked me, and I said all right. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just—couldn’t see no harm in it—”
Frolic grinned and squeezed her shoulder. “You fancy him!”
“No! Well, I don’t know. He’s in good shape, and quite a supporter of clockwork weapons….”
“Corny, it’s fine. Don’t be nervous. You’re a fantastic person, so don’t pretend to be anything you’re not.”
She kissed him on the top of his head. “Thanks, Frolic. Bugger, I’m a little excited. Feel like I might throw up, really.”
“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Have a wonderful time. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, my friend,” she whispered before leaving the workshop.
Frolic looked around at the tools and machines, wondering how he’d pass the hour. He decided to take a break too, hoping to find Querry and Reg at their meal as well.
He emerged into the midday sun. The bright light and heat didn’t bother him. He could feel the temperature variations, but he couldn’t sweat like most of the men he passed. Querry had taught him to adjust his wardrobe based on the discrepancies in the weather. He felt a smile stretch his lips as he remembered the time Querry had panicked when he’d seen Frolic in the middle of winter, stripped to his undershirt and sitting on the edge of the dock with his bare feet grazing the water.
His reminiscence was interrupted when he saw Tom Teezle with an armful of sacks hurrying toward one of the village homes. Multicolored smoke billowed from the chimney. Frolic found that very suspicious in the extreme heat. He trotted over to the faerie.
“Hello, Tom Teezle,” he greeted as he fell into step with baron’s valet. “Need any help?”
“Thanks to you, Frolic, but no. The human wizard wants these ingredients for his brew,” Tom answered, not slowing his pace.
“Brew?”
“I’ve said too much,” Teezle answered with a smirk.
“Aren’t you bound to not say too much?” Frolic asked.
“Yes and no,” Tom said.
> “What does that mean?”
“I mustn’t say too much, but I must be true to the baron’s plans.” Tom’s smirk grew to a grin. Frolic only frowned, trying to work out the faerie’s meaning. “I can’t be deceptive if it will help the baron.”
“So you can’t lie in certain circumstances?” Frolic asked, making a leaping inference.
“No, indeed. If one asks the right questions,” Teezle replied.
“That’s interesting.” Frolic chewed his lip, contemplating the new information. “So there are loopholes in the baron’s agreements?”
“Most definitely.”
“In ours?” Frolic asked with awe.
“I can’t answer that.” Teezle’s smile remained firm. “That would be against the baron’s best interests.”
Frolic gasped. In not answering his question, Teezle had definitively answered his question. “There’s a way out of our contracts,” Frolic stated.
“I’m glad that’s not a question.” Tom snickered. “I’d have to deny it.”
Frolic covered his mouth with his hand in surprise. Reg was right; faeries were terribly tricky. Tom managed to answer his questions without breaking his contract. Teezle was so clever.
“What are the bags for?” Frolic changed the subject, worried that pressing too hard would get Tom into trouble.
“Insurance,” Teezle explained. “Want to watch?”
Frolic nodded enthusiastically, wondering what they could be planning. Teezle dashed to the hut that belched the rainbow smoke, and Frolic followed him inside.
The atmosphere in the little house was stifling. Starling hunched over a cauldron. Thick, spicy, and cloying steam emanated into the air. But underneath all that, Frolic smelled something else: the smell of death, of decay, like the smells of the factory workers cooking roadkill back in Halcyon. It made his gorge rise, but Frolic had nothing to vomit. Starling and Teezle conversed while the faerie flopped the sacks he’d been carrying down on a table near the baron.
The man, wearing nothing but dark trousers and covered in a sheen of sweat, rifled through the supplies, pulling out herbs, ingredients, and vials of viscous liquid. He mixed these things in without looking at Frolic or the faerie. “What’s he doing here?” Starling asked.
“He offered to help me carry the supplies,” Teezle answered with a shrug. The baron made a sound of dismissal and turned his attention back to the cauldron in the hearth. Apparently Frolic’s presence wouldn’t impact Starling’s work. Frolic rolled to the balls of his feet and stretched his neck, trying to get a look at the contents bubbling over the fire. It was viscous and no color Frolic had ever seen in proper food. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and settled back on his heels.
“What is it?” Frolic asked Tom, who had drifted back to stand next to him.
“Protection brew. It should make us invisible to other Fair Folk for a bit,” Teezle explained. “After we drink this, we shouldn’t have to worry about giant, boar-headed men attacking us at every turn.”
“We have to drink it?” Frolic asked, worry sneaking into his voice.
“Of course. How else would you suggest we get it into us?”
“I don’t eat or drink. I don’t need to.”
“Oh.” Teezle rubbed his chin in an oddly human gesture. “Well, that is a problem. You say you don’t have to eat or drink. Have you ever tried?”
“I—” Frolic started to answer, but then he really thought about it. Had he never tried to eat? No. He’d tasted wine and some foods that Querry or Reg insisted he couldn’t miss, but he’d never actually swallowed any of it. He related that to Teezle.
“Right, then let’s see what’ll happen.” Teezle dug about in his waistcoat for a moment before producing a small, blue glass marble. “Here.”
“What?” Frolic blurted.
“See if you can swallow this.” Teezle held out the marble. Frolic regarded the shiny glass sphere for a moment before tentatively plucking it from the faerie’s fingers. Frolic practiced swallowing while he studied the smooth, swirling surface.
“Go on,” Teezle urged.
Frolic opened his mouth and plopped the marble on his tongue. He swallowed it. It was an odd sensation. He could feel the marble moving along through his throat and into whatever passed for his stomach.
Tom and Frolic both waited without breathing. Frolic wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but after a moment he took a breath and tilted his head questioningly. “That’s it?” he asked Teezle.
“Don’t lose that,” Tom said with a smirk. “That’s my favorite one.” The two were about to share a laugh when the baron’s voice barked, interrupting their moment.
“Teezle! Bring the Boar-man’s heart. It’s time for the words.” Tom hustled to obey, retrieving a bundle from the table. When Teezle unwrapped it, Frolic saw a heart the size of a roast turkey. Tom took it reverently to the kettle where he eased it into the bubbling contents. The potion began to glow. “Words,” the baron ordered once the heart had disappeared beneath the surface. Impossibly, the smell in the little hut grew worse.
Teezle and Starling joined hands above the kettle and started chanting words similar to those Frolic could hear in nature from time to time. Frolic’s head swam a little in the heat and the stench. The words coalesced into something coherent: “Don’t let them see us. We are the wind. Don’t let them hear us. We are the silence. Don’t let them smell us. We are the spirits. Don’t let them sense us. We are the shadows.” Then they started all over again.
Frolic wasn’t sure how long the ritual took, but when they had finished, Starling dipped a ladle into the foul concoction and tipped the contents into his mouth, swallowing every drop. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited. A smile crept across his lips. “It worked,” he declared. “Tom.” He offered Teezle the ladle. Tom dipped and drank. Then he submerged the ladle a second time, transferring the contents to a thin, metal vial only half the size of his pinky finger. He corked the vessel and handed it to Frolic.
“What should I do with this?” Frolic asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
“Time to practice swallowing.” Teezle nodded at the vial. Frolic didn’t want that evil brew inside him, but at least he wouldn’t have to taste it like everyone else. With a determined nod, he tipped his head back and pushed the vial into his throat, swallowing until it was well on its way inside. He opened his mouth to show the baron and Tom that it was gone. “Well done, Frolic.” Teezle gave him a friendly pat on the back.
“You two,” Starling said, retrieving a bottle of Tartan whiskey from the table. “Get that distributed to the rest of the men.” He unscrewed the lid and took a swig right from the bottle, presumably to wash the taste of the boiled Boar-man’s heart from his mouth. “Don’t just stand there, go!” he barked. Frolic and Teezle scrambled to obey, grabbing a towel to hold the hot kettle and the ladle. They left the hut to find their companions.
They looked for their party members near the huts they’d been assigned by the chief. The mercenary brothers sat together, lounging after their noonday meal. Frolic grimaced, thinking about their bellies filled with food and the stink of the concoction he and Tom carried between them. To his surprise, the mercenaries drank the awful stuff without a word after Teezle explained its purpose.
Corny and Owens sat at a makeshift table around the corner. They, too, had finished their meal and were engaged in polite conversation. Corny blushed when Owens touched her hand, coaxing a smile from Frolic. The potion was presented and explained once more. Without ceremony, Owens grabbed the ladle and downed two scoopfuls of the stuff, then handed it to Corny. She stared at the ladle like it was a snake.
“Go on, Corny,” Frolic encouraged. “It will keep you safe.”
“Frolic, you know I don’t go in for all this magic falderal.” She eyed the kettle suspiciously.
“I know, Corny. But you also know it exists. I’m living proof.”
“I can’t argue with that,” she conceded
. “And it’ll stop any more of those awful Boar-men?”
“That’s the plan,” Teezle answered. She looked at the three men gathered around her, sighed, and dipped the ladle in the potion. Then Corny pinched her nose and drank the contents of her ladle. The taste still made her cough and splutter. Owens grabbed her hand and patted her back until she recovered. Frolic asked if they’d seen Querry and Reg, and they pointed him to a small area on the edge of the village where the two men sat in the shade of a tree.
Frolic waved as he approached his two best friends in the world, and Reg returned the wave with a smile. “Where have you been hiding?” Querry asked, standing to embrace Frolic, who happily accepted the affection.
“I helped Tom with some bundles and then kind of got distracted,” Frolic answered before explaining once more about the protection potion. Reg listened intently, though he periodically cast wary glances at the kettle. Querry only nodded, one eyebrow raised as Frolic finished.
“Good enough for me,” Querry stated, ladling a healthy portion from the kettle.
Reg grabbed his hand before it could reach his lips. “Wait. How do we know it’s not poison or something?”
“Starling needs us alive, Reggie,” Querry answered. “Besides, you heard what Frolic said. All the others drank it, and they’re fine.”
“Well, yes. I suppose,” Reg said thoughtfully, releasing Querry’s arm. Querry sucked down the potion and replaced the ladle in the kettle.
“Your turn,” he told Reg with a big grin. Reg chuckled nervously, reaching for the ladle. He stirred the remaining potion a couple of times apprehensively. “Come on, Reg. We’ve eaten worse. Remember the workhouse gruel?”
“Indeed. Vile stuff, that.” Reg scooped up a bit of the potion and raised it, sniffing it. He winced horribly, sticking out his tongue.
“Best if you don’t do that,” Teezle advised.
“Fair point,” Reg choked out. In an effort to help, Frolic reached out and pinched Reg’s nose closed, mimicking what he’d seen Corny do. “Thanks.” Reg’s voice came out nasally. He squeezed his eyes shut and drank the potion. “Blagh!” he exclaimed once he’d finished it off. “You’re… right,” he said through gags. “Better than… the workhouse gruel.” The small group laughed at that while Teezle retreated with the tiny amount of remaining potion. Frolic watched him go as Reg and Querry fell back into easy conversation. All of them sat back down on the grass, and Querry and Reg returned to the simple lunch spread out on a strip of cloth between them.
A Grimoire for the Baron Page 19
