He grunted. That was still a large percentage.
She nodded. “I know. I know. That’s a lot of income to lose. Despite that, we should still be above water overall. We’ll know better when Cirtis’s figures come in.”
“And where will those self-employed employees live, if not in Bataan-Mok?”
She pointed her fork at him. “Good question. I’ll talk with Renata about it. We may need to do a census of the housing in the area villages to determine if there are enough rooms available for rent or homes for purchase.”
“The guild could always assist in building more if there aren’t.”
She nodded. “True enough.”
He couldn’t think of any other holes. “If things are as you hope, it seems a sound plan.”
“It will certainly bring the organization down to a much more manageable size.”
They talked about other matters as they finished their lunch, rumors, the dragon researchers—Komako and Oran, the upcoming dragon show, and the like. He enjoyed spending time with her, seeing her smile and laugh. Her earlier worry still troubled him, however.
When they were nearly done with desert, he thought it might be a good time to bring up the conversation with Liflin. “So, you’re adding another class?”
She ate the last forkful of cake and drew her brows together. “Yes. As soon as we can.”
“Interest in the guild is still high?”
“That, and we need more dragonlinked.”
He pressed his lips together. “The nahual-ton.”
She glanced at him and nodded.
He should have known. She’d been upset ever since that encounter. Why couldn’t he have been the one to run into it, or any of the others for that matter?
She shoved the dessert plate away. “There are more and more of them out there, killing people, and we are the only ones who can see them.”
“I know. But there is only so much we can do.”
“We have to do more!”
A few faces turned to them and she looked down at the table. Crossing her arms, she sat back in the chair.
“We don’t have to do more.”
She sat up and turned to him, eyes flashing.
Gods help him. Even angry she was beautiful. He looked at his dessert. “We do what we can, of course, but no one should be sent out on patrols until they are ready.” He scooped up the last of the cobbler and ate it. “Besides which, we need dragons more than candidates right now.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I do. I’m just worried that we’ll lose ground against them.”
“I don’t mean that we should proceed leisurely, I am merely suggesting that we do as much as we can as quickly as we can, without being reckless about it.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line.
“You aren’t doing this alone. You’ve got the entire guild behind you. And you must know by now that I will always do everything in my power to help you.”
The look in her eyes right now . . .
He sat up. “We have to leave.”
“What? Why?”
He raised a brow. “Do you think it would undermine your authority if here, in the front of the entire cafeteria, an apprentice dragonlinked took you in his arms, kissed you, and then . . . well . . .”
Her mouth opened and she stared at him, cheeks flushed. She then glanced at her wrist-watch. “I have a meeting, soon.”
Deflated, he fell back in the chair. “Oh.”
Millinith stood. “Don’t just sit there,” she said, quickly gathering plates and silverware. “There’s almost an hour before I have to leave for the meeting.”
In his entire life, he’d never bused dishes faster.
+ + + + +
“You recall that I said I wasn’t going to use ether-tangling, right?”
“I do,” Chanté said, nodding. He sat on a stool next to Quillan at the main worktable in the small workshop. He’d come here to pose a question to Quillan, but the excited machinist had immediately asked him one first.
“Well,” Quillan said, “I’d like your advice again, your opinion on the method I’m using.”
Chanté raised his brows. “You want my advice?”
Quillan nodded. “Yeah. I have too many options and I’m finding it difficult to choose the best among them. I’d like your opinion on this choice.”
“Sure.”
“Great!” Quillan became even more animated. “So, my idea has to do with the fact that magic creates a field much like an electric or magnetic field. Now, while the strength of the magic field also follows the inverse square law, it is still powerful enough over the ranges I’m interested in.”
Chanté stared at him. “What?”
“Right. You probably don’t know what I’m babbling about.” Quillan frowned. “Have you ever seen rubber balloons?”
“I don’t think so.” He had no idea what those words referred to.
“Hmm.” Quillan drummed his fingers on the worktable. “How about soap bubbles?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Alright. Well you can think of the strength of the magic field like the thickness of the soap bubble’s sides. The smaller the bubble, the closer its sides are to the center of the bubble, the stronger those sides are. As you blow air into it, as the bubble gets bigger, the farther those sides get from the middle and the thinner and weaker those sides get. The bubble will eventually pop if the sides get too weak, and in the case of a magic field, the farther you are from the middle—the place the field is generated—the weaker the field gets and the harder it is to sense.” He twisted his lips. “I suppose it’s also similar to how a sound gets harder to hear the farther you are from its source.”
Chanté nodded. A magic field’s strength at any given point was the inverse of the square of that point’s distance from the field’s source. As with much he’d read over in the sorcery books, they had a slightly different way of describing things, but it was all the same in the end. “I see.”
“What I’m going to do,” Quillan said, “is try to modulate that field based on sound vibrations.”
He grunted. “Voices?”
“Exactly!” Quillan’s energy somehow increased. “The magic field is already used for very simple signals—the device to summon a runner when you have a message to be delivered uses such a signal—but I should be able to encode the sound vibrations at the mouth piece into the field, then, in the ear piece, decode it from the field and reproduce the vibrations, the voices.” He spun on the stool, grabbed a sheet of paper, and handed it over. “I’ve done some preliminary equations and it seems like it should be possible. In theory, at least.”
Chanté looked over the diagrams and notes. “I don’t see any obvious stumbling blocks, nor can I think of any. Of course, the range of the devices will be limited by the strength of the field they can generate and sense.”
Quillan nodded. “Right. But I think I can create magic circuits small enough to use in the caps and masks that will still allow transmission over several dozen miles. That should be more than sufficient.”
All the formulae and calculations seemed to be in order. Chanté nodded. “This is a simple and elegant solution. That simplicity will also reduce the chance of problems arising during construction.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too.”
Chanté handed the paper back. “I can’t wait to see one.”
“I’ll be sure to let you know when a prototype is ready.” Quillan’s smile faded. “In my excitement I forgot to ask why you dropped by.”
Chanté grinned. “I wanted to ask if you would come ride Nantli.”
Quillan tugged on his ear. “I’m not sure I’m ready, yet.”
“I don’t mean fly on her. Just sit in her saddle a bit as she walks around the ledge to get used to being on a dragon.”
“Oh.” Quillan chuckled. “I think I can manage that.”
“Great!”
It didn’t take long for Quillan t
o strap in. The dragonlinked lessons he’d been partaking in had served their purpose, apparently. Though, why Quillan needed safety straps when they weren’t leaving the balcony, Chanté had no clue.
He seems to be doing well. He does not feel fear, just a little worry.
Chanté smiled as he watched Nantli walk around the ledge with Quillan on her back. Well, you are somewhat larger than a horse.
He looked at Quillan. “You’re doing great. As you can see, Nantli is even more steady than your horse.”
Hands gripping the saddle handholds, Quillan said, “She is. I just need some time to get used to her, is all. And I have to say, whoever thought to include these handholds is a genius.”
Chanté laughed. “They’re very useful during lift-off and landing.”
Concern flashed briefly across Quillan’s face.
“Flying on a dragon is amazing. I could try to describe it, but I’d probably fail miserably. I just hope that one day you’ll get to experience it for yourself.”
Quillan glanced over. He looked worried and . . . something else.
“We’ll take as much time as you need.” Chanté lifted a corner of his mouth in a half smile. “If you’d like, I can see if someone can build a really, really tall step-ladder.”
Brows raised, Quillan said, “You remember that story?”
Chanté shrugged. “Of course.”
Smiling hugely, Quillan spent several minutes more riding around the ledge.
Nantli turned to Chanté. Itzel tells me that the Guildmaster wants Quillan to return to his workshop.
Why?
She wants him to help Master Gella with a . . . project? I do not know what that word means.
Chanté frowned. It means a task that may have several parts to it. At least they’d made a bit more progress.
He twisted his lips and turned to Quillan. “The Guildmaster wants you to help Master Gella with a project. She’s waiting at your workshop.”
“Oh.” Quillan looked disappointed.
It made Chanté happy to see that. He said, “I suppose we should go?”
Quillan sighed. “Yeah.”
They headed off.
At the workshop, Fillion and Master Gella were speaking with a young woman Chanté didn’t know. She was actually kind of pretty.
“E–Elizabeth?”
Chanté glanced back. Quillan had stopped just inside the doorway and was staring at the unknown woman. He knew her? Something about the way he’d said her name made Chanté wary, and the look on his face only made it worse. That was the same look Quillan had when he’d stared at the Guildmaster all those days ago in Caer Baronel.
“Quillan?” The young woman looked stunned, then a big smile broke out on her face. “I can’t believe it!” She ran over and threw her arms around Quillan in a tight hug.
Chanté stood staring, a tempest of feelings swirling in his chest.
What is wrong? You feel scared and angry and confused.
I’m not sca— He took a breath and gained control of himself. A young woman is here with Master Gella. She’s much too friendly with Quillan. And it seems they know each other.
Who is she?
I don’t know.
Quillan seemed unsure of what to make of the woman being here. He’d smiled at first, but then he’d looked confused, and now a trace of worry was evident by his wrinkled brow.
Master Gella cleared her throat. She watched the two and said, “It appears you know Master Elizabeth. We’ve brought another device we’d like you to take a look at.”
Quillan, one arm still around the young woman, blinked. “A device? Where?” He released her and walked to where Master Gella stood by his work table.
Confused—but not scared!—Chanté walked over as well.
“It’s a little fire and water damaged,” the Elizabeth woman said as she made her way over, “but we’re hoping you can learn something of it.” She removed a rectangular-shaped item from a pack on the table.
“Ah, yes.” Quillan took it from her and began looking it over.
Chanté had never seen its like before. There were a few protuberances on its top, and next to them was a small sheet of metal engraved with symbols. Thin, angular lines, yellowish-brown and dark red tracings of some kind, ran along the sheet as well.
“I love these general purpose cases,” Quillan said. “You create magic circuits of whatever type and place them inside. The buttons here can then be used to activate the circuits.”
“Wonderful!” Elizabeth smiled. Her eyes were annoyingly bright when she did so. “Master Gella spoke highly of a machinist she’d sent to the Dragon Craft Guild, though I had no idea it would be you. She never mentioned a name.” She tilted her head. “I thought you were a smith.”
“I was,” Quillan said, “and technically, I still am. Machine Engineering is part of Smith Craft.” He continued to look the device over.
“Right,” Elizabeth said.
“You’ve seen one of those before, then?” Fillion asked from the other side of the table.
Quillan glanced at him. “The cases, yes.” He turned back to his examination. “These are great for prototyping some kinds of magi-mechanical devices. Once you’ve got something working the way you want, you can then have custom—” He frowned and fiddled with a coil of something tied with a ribbon. “Hmm. These openings are not standard, nor are the magic symbols on top, for that matter.” He opened a kind of hatch on the back and peered within.
“I took it to a few sorcery shops around Stronghold,” Elizabeth said, “and a gentleman there told me that those symbols may have been used in an attempt to hide the device’s purpose.”
Quillan poked around inside with a slim tool. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. Using non-standard symbols is common practice in order to protect a proprietary circuit for long enough that a patent can be issued.” He dragged a sheet of paper over and began scribbling on it. “I’ll need to make a linkage map before pulling these circuits out for a closer look.”
Chanté wasn’t entirely sure he understood everything they spoke of. He glanced at Elizabeth. She stood directly to Quillan’s left, watching him work. Chanté, to Quillan’s right, returned to watching his progress, too.
Quillan peered through the large magnifying lens into the device as he slowly dismantled what was inside it. After almost half an hour of scribbling, careful use of several tools, and lots of quiet muttering, four thin metal plates and a small framework with gears sat on the table next to the now empty case. Each plate had very small symbols scratched into it. The color tracings on these, unlike the burnt plate on the outside, were a highly saturated golden yellow, like bright egg-yolks.
“Those lines are a different color,” Elizabeth said.
“Yeah.” Quillan stared at the plates. “Sulfur is part of the compound used in magic guides. High enough heat will burn the sulfur in them, turning them red and rendering them useless.”
“Magic guides?” Fillion’s brows were drawn together.
“Without a consciousness to control it, those lines are needed to feed or activate the circuits, guiding magic power between them and along their symbols.”
Quillan crossed his arms. “I’ve actually never seen these symbols used before, but even so I can say that this was no simple prototype. This circuit in particular is fairly complex.” He tapped his finger next to the first plate. “Strangely enough, the enchantment on it looks familiar.”
Elizabeth smiled and placed a hand on his arm. “Do you know what the device was used for?”
Why was she touching Quillan? And why was Quillan blushing? Chanté blinked, wondering why he felt so much concern about it.
Quillan cleared his throat. “Actually, it will take me a little time to decipher the specifics.”
“I see.” Elizabeth removed her hand. She seemed a bit disappointed.
“But I can do it.” Quillan turned to Master Gella. “How do I contact you when I do?”
“That won
’t be a problem,” Fillion said. He turned to Master Gella. “We can get the Guildmaster to contact you on the ’writer, yes?”
She nodded. “That would be best.”
“So you can do it?” That smile was on Elizabeth’s face again.
“Sure.” Quillan smiled back at her.
“I should probably stay here at the Guildhall for a bit, then, as you work.”
Chanté’s mouth dropped open.
She leaned on the table. “It’ll give us a chance to catch up on each other’s lives, too.”
What troubles you now?
He closed his mouth. T–That woman. She’s going to be staying here for a few days. She’ll probably be spending most of it with Quillan. He frowned. I really don’t like her.
Oh, ho. How interesting.
She isn’t interesting at all! She’s . . . she’s annoying.
I was not talking about her.
What?
Amusement and, oddly, a little pride came through the link, but Nantli made no other response.
“Are you sure?” Master Gella said. “You don’t have anything to do in Stronghold?”
“I’m sure.” Elizabeth smiled.
Chanté scowled. She did that far too often!
“Assuming a room is available, I can spare a few days. Your people are looking into Insurgo Industries, and any other lines of inquiry I may have are entirely dependent on what exactly that does.” She pointed to the device.
“Perfect!” Quillan smiled at her.
Perfect? Chanté looked away. In addition to feeling angry and worried, he now felt . . . betrayed somehow. It made no damn sense.
He frowned. Why do I feel this way? Is something wrong with me?
There is nothing wrong. You are merely doing as your father instructed.
As he instructed?
You are living.
That’s not an answer.
Some answers you must discover for yourself, I think.
Is that also part of living? He pushed as much sarcasm as he could through the link.
Only love came through from her, however. It is.
Feeling a stab of guilt for the sarcasm, he twisted his lips. I’m sorry. It’s just that being a human isn’t as simple as I’d assumed.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 41
