“Rats, yes,” the emperor mused. “I don't think hunting vermin is the best use of your talents, Captain. No,” he shook his head, “you will need more clout for the task at hand. I hereby promote you to Major Vice.”
“Yes, my lord.” Armand said as a warm thrill fluttered in his chest.
“You have held an independent command in the past?”
Armand nodded, reddening. This was technically accurate. The shame of leading two barbarians through the wilds as his first official command still burned. I did acquit myself with honor at the Battle of Port Eclare, he reminded himself.
“I am assigning you as the head of a special task force. Mages are not the real threat. We've lived with rats for centuries. The weakness threatening the empire are those who would accord such rats the rights of true men. Root out these mage sympathizers.”
“But the mages, my lord?” Armand asked.
“A pox on your mages.” The emperor spat an orange seed on the floor. “The wretches are contained for the moment.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have placed one of these marvelous devices at every entrance, barring them entry into the old, inner city and trapping them in the confines of the outer city. The spring is set and once we have crafted the jaws of the trap all good, pure citizens will be encouraged to vacate the outer city. Then the mages will die. A trap is the best way to catch a rodent, Major. Don't go chasing them. Let the rats come to you.”
“And the razor bar of this glorious trap, my lord?” Armand asked. “How shall you crush those rats?” Armand winced internally. The emperor's plan—likely originating with General Festus—was . . . ill informed. The modern, smaller devices detected magic, not the mages themselves. You dare critique your emperor? the inner voice of his mind mocked him and stilled his tongue. You have only seen these larger, ancient devices mere moments and already you are an expert in their design and use?
“Oh, no doubt your books will help with that. What better way to entice and slaughter a magic creature than with a magic device?” The emperor fluttered his fingers. “Give them to Festus. I believe I gave you another task, did I not?”
Armand bowed. “Yes, my emperor.”
“Seek out the rot in my name and destroy it. You may begin with dear Lucius. He is under house arrest in his villa. His wife is away visiting relatives. Go comfort the man, won't you? He could not join her on the journey. Lucius has so much trouble getting around these days.”
Armand Delacourt Vice, veteran of hundreds of hours administering punishment to deserving enemies of the state, shuddered as the emperor flashed a cold, reptilian smile.
8. DEVIN, YEAR 497
Jemmy laid the heavy brass watch on the edge of the forge with a warm, apologetic smile. “I do not take back my gifts.” He turned to address his fellow revolutionaries. “And I am not here to sting you. As Fordus said, I merely came to meet Devin on behalf of the mages. They are eager to talk to the Hero of Port Eclare.”
There was nothing heroic about Port Eclare. Devin bit back the statement, but questions still spat from his mouth like flecks of spittle. “You, a leader of Black Guards, are here to introduce me to mages? Where? In the Atrium of Justice? Those sobbing statues of human flesh you've put on display? Won't do much talking without their tongues, will they? Why should I trust you?”
Jemmy unsheathed his sword, laying it on the edge of the forge next to the watch. “I did not capture you when I had the missive in my hand and an elite company at my back. I will not do so now. I come alone and unarmed.” He smirked. “Kill me if you wish with your magic bolts and dragon fire. You routed an entire army with such powers once. Surely, one lone man poses no problems?”
“You know why I can't.” Devin clenched his fists, his eyes pleading. Would Jemmy broach his secret now that the man's ties with the guards lay exposed?
“Such restraint, oh great and powerful Artifice Mage.” Jemmy smiled and nodded to the crowd. “Our new friends might discover worse fears than a humble Black Guard if you unleashed such fury upon me.”
Drusilla clucked. “Nobody is unleashing anything on anyone. Not in my workshop.”
“I wish more mages were like you. Can I retrieve my sword?” Jemmy asked, reaching for the blade. “The thieves in the alley will not show restraint.”
Devin nodded, but said nothing. His mind raced behind his eyes. You wish more mages were like me? Why? Because I have a glimmer of a conscience and a smidgeon of a brain? Because I wouldn't use my magic to kill after Port Eclare? Because my magic is bound up inside me?
“Please keep the watch. I do not need it anymore. By the five, I'm happy to be free of it.”
“Thank you for your gift.” Devin's mind whirred as he dropped the watch out of sight. You don't need it. Because you no longer hunt mages? Or because you've found them all already? Or something darker? Armand Delacourt Vice never wore a watch working in the torture chamber. “Styx, unbar the door. Let anyone who desires it scurry away like a rabbit. A person who would fear one lone Black Guard when he freely offers both his sword and badge of office is no true dragon.”
“They don't fear one Black Guard,” Drusilla muttered as the room began to empty. “They fear his friends.”
Most bolted. Some stayed. Devin ignored them all, focusing on the man fumbling with the sheath under his black cloak. Devin extended his hand across the dying forge.
Jemmy clasped it. “You're not the same wild-eyed lad from that day in the courtroom. Nor the vengeful monster I saw at Port Eclare or Ingeld. You have a purpose now beyond saving your own skin. It suits you.”
“We are none of us the same as we once were,” Devin said. His eyes fell on Drusilla as she banked the coals of the forge. He looked away and examined the revolutionaries who stayed behind instead. A core of loyal, passionate dragons stood watching him. Tarbon the Liquor Lord remained. Styx might take issue with him. Gora the sailmaker was there. Fordus the dockworker. One or two others whose names escaped him. And Jemmy, supposed ex-guard.
Devin patted the man's hand and let it go. He has never been less than honest and kind to me. Jemmy, a government spy? And if by some miracle he really is a conduit to the local mages, bless the five gods for sending him. “Time changes us whether we want it or not. I say we embrace that change. Focus it. Steer it . . . right into the palace.”
“Dragoons attacking the palace?” Gora fluttered her hands and then slapped her thigh.
“Not real ones, by the five gods,” Devin said, rolling his eyes. “Just honest imperial citizens breathing fire and justice. We shall burn the emperor and his vile bureaucracy to ashes and melt the empire to slag.”
“We have much to do in the meantime,” Jemmy said. “I will come for you tomorrow night after I have gathered the mages.”
“Good,” Devin said. “Fordus, shall we hold the next meeting at the dockyards? I'm sure some of your guild mates would like to hear what we have to say. Where do the dockworkers . . . work when there's no port for leagues around?”
Fordus merely smiled and nodded.
“If you dragons have finished your meeting, can you fly back to your caves?” Drusilla asked. “I've got to rise early tomorrow.”
Everyone shook hands, agreed it had been a fantastic first meeting, and left. Styx left, too.
“Where are you going?” Devin asked.
“I need to feed my dragons, Father. Don't follow me. You chased away all of my friends tonight with your talk of guilds and burning people. I don't think any of the cloaked weirdos who stayed behind love dragons at all,” he wailed before slamming the door.
Drusilla glared.
Devin sighed. “I'll take a look at the hinges tomorrow.”
She looked at him and smiled with a knowing twitch of her lips. “I wasn't worried about the door . . . much. Fix your son first. You did hijack his charming club and steer it towards a violent revolt. Styx just wants to save dragons.”
Devin rolled his eyes. “Maybe three or four of the people in this room wanted that. Ev
eryone else came here with their own interpretation of those fliers.” He shrugged. “Maybe we all saw what we wanted to see. They wanted to save themselves, not a catastrophe of fire-breathing, scaly monsters. By the five gods, one of them chops them to bits in his shop.”
“Who's the monster?” She pursed her lips as she collected Jemmy's watch and laid it on the shelf next to the one needing repair. “What is the penalty for hijacking someone's dreams? Is it worse than hijacking a boat? Perhaps Fordus or Gora can enlighten me.” She patted Devin's knee on the way to her room. “You make a wonderful budding revolutionary, Devin. Shitty father, though.”
The shitty father nodded as Drusilla doused the lights and went to her bedroom. He moved one of the chairs to face the door his son kept slamming. I'll wait for Styx to come home, Devin thought. Not to apologize. Because of that poor, thick door. If my son keeps slamming that heavy thing, the frame might warp. How long does it take to feed a trio of tiny lizar . . .
Tiny dragons occupied his dreams, crawling over his brain, nibbling and hissing. He slept fitfully and awoke suddenly. A crick had formed in his neck and a tiny whuffing pile of wings and golden scales was snoring on his lap. Somewhere nearby, a bird hummed.
What . . . oh, he brought the baby dragons home with him. Devin peered around the room, careful not to disturb the creature. He blinked in the morning sunlight. The persistent humming finished waking him up. Or maybe it was just a ringing in his ears? He turned to greet Styx. His son wasn't in his customary corner. Had the boy left again?
Devin surged from the chair, joints creaking. Pity I can't oil those, he thought, glancing around the room. The little dragon squawked in protest, then wrapped itself around his thigh.
“Styx?” he called, swatting at the dragon.
“Making breakfast,” the wooden man child called from behind the cupboard as the dragon continued to make horrible noises unfit for an early morning. “What are you doing to poor Penny?”
“Penny?” Devin glanced at the tiny dragon clinging to his trousers. He kicked his leg to shake the beast, but the dragon hissed and wrapped her long tail around his knee, locking it.
Styx emerged from behind the cupboard, already wearing his apron, arms full of bowls and steaming platters. He sniffed. “Well all those so-called dragon lovers last night seemed so concerned about money, I thought I'd name my golden darlings after crude, metal coinage.” The dragons flew from all directions to perch on Styx's outstretched, wooden arms. He chuckled and fed them slivers of hot meat. “These are the only treasures worth having,” he cooed. “Copper eyes, hence Penny.” He raised his elbows to show off the other two. “Her brothers are Ingot and Shiny.”
The dragons clutched the strips of meat in their teeth, gulping without chewing. In Devin's mind, each, limp strip turned into a tiny human corpse. He winced, then imagined the bacon wearing a Black Guard uniform of charred bits and gristle. One of the dragons chirped and flamed his son's apron.
“None of that, Ingot,” Styx said, rubbing the creature's nose. The creature whiffed, crawled up the wooden arm, and curled around Styx's shoulders. The humming intensified. Devin could feel the sound in the back of his teeth. The other two dragons took flight and began chasing each other around the room. Suddenly, the humming escalated to a sickeningly familiar shriek. And beneath it, the sound of metal rattling on wood. Someone knocking on the door?
Devin scanned the windows. “Styx, hide. It's the Black Guards. Jemmy must have sent them. Lying, back-stabbing, little—”
Drusilla burst from her room, poniard in hand. “Are we under attack? What is that racket?”
Styx glared at the ceiling where the remaining two dragons were playing a game among the joists. “Penny, Shiny,” he roared, pointing to the table. “Get down, now.”
The two dragons descended, slowly. The shrieking began to fade. The beasts flopped on the table, hiding their heads beneath pairs of translucent wings. One of them peeked over the top and warbled at Styx. Devin glanced around for a weapon, a metal rod, something.
The dragons began to settle down. The shrieking ceased, but the strange humming resumed.
Devin ran to the door and peeked outside. The ally was vacant. “False alarm,” he called. Drusilla peered over his shoulder, poniard at the ready.
Devin gestured to the workshop as they went back inside. “All these tools. Don't you have more robust weapons?”
“I have many weapons in my arsenal, some robustier than others,” she retorted before tapping her fingers up and down the length of her mechanical dagger. “Elegant, yet deadly. This suits me fine. Get the watches.”
“What?” He had missed something there. He could sense it in her blank stare.
“The Black Guard watches that react to strange and magical things. Did you forget them? Nobody here but us. No betrayal. No Black Guards.” She spoke slowly as though to a child and Devin grimaced. “But we do have two of their watches inside. Fetch them. I have a hunch. Styx,” she turned and yelled towards the kitchen, “keep your beasts behaved or we'll see if forge fire is hot enough to smelt Penny, Ingot, and ugh . . . Shiny.”
“It's not,” Styx said. Devin couldn't see it, but he heard that wood-cracking grin.
Drusilla's eyes narrowed. She marched back inside. “Wood burns just fine. On a leash, understand? No more hissing and flying about everywhere. Why I just met the most fascinating gentlemen last night. He'll be so pleased to learn you have three small, succulent dragons.” Her voice grew distant, soft. “You remember Lord Tarbon? He would be happy to take those animals away. Hang them on little hooks in his cellar . . .” Drusilla paused like she had caught her voice on a bent nail.
Devin tried squinting and peering into the distance. Still no Black Guards. He shrugged, closed the door as he stepped inside, and collected the watches. An interesting tableau was waiting at the table: Styx, trying to shield three rambunctious dragons as they crawled all over him, hopping to and from his apron pockets. Drusilla, standing in her night dress, finger raised, trying not to laugh as one of the dragons extended his neck to nuzzle it.
He sighed. He had seen that pent up happiness on her face once before. The first mechanical limb he had ever built was for a squirrel. Drusilla had brought him the creature. Leg caught in a trap meant for rats, bloody and mangled. Fix it. Fix it. He amputated the limb above the elbow and spent days crafting a tiny hinged forelimb with some scraps and a small spring. Then, when the wound had healed, he slipped it over the stump.
He had expected congratulations or at least a cheer when the little tree rat walked again, but she was quivering and silent. She told him later she had dreams, nightmares about that ragged, mangled flesh. When the squirrel hopped around on his squeaky leg, she bit her lip to keep from laughing. As if the joy and the horror crashing against themselves might break her.
If Lord Tarbon so much as glanced at those little dragons with a furtive eye, Drusilla would boot the man out the door. No need to tell Styx of course.
Devin stepped between Styx and Drusilla, patting his friend on her shoulder as he placed the watches on the table. Three pairs of bright dragon eyes turned like copper rivets.
Drusilla pursed her lips. “Styx, throw the scaly beasts into the air.”
“They will hiss and fly about,” he said.
She nodded.
“They will not be well behaved. You will throw them in the fire . . . or sell them to the Liquor Lord.” He shook his head and clutched the dragons close. Penny screeched. He stifled the noise with a thick, wooden finger. She bit him. He pushed the dragon away. “Bad girl,” he murmured.
Drusilla placed her hands on her hips. “I swear by the five gods I shall do none of those things, Styx. Let them go. Please . . . and get ready to catch them again.”
Styx's wooden eyebrows shot so high they pinged the brass cornet encircling his brow. “And you will not shake your finger or burn them or get rid of them?” he asked, pleading.
“No,” she said, raising her hands. “Now
throw them up when I nod . . . right there next to the table.”
Devin covered his ears. “Stupid experiment.”
“You suspect it, too, eh?” she said, covering her own ears and nodded before Devin could rebut.
“Of course. The conclusion is obv—”
Styx threw his hands up, dislodging the dragons. The watches gave a loud, synchronous keen in a two note metal screech. The dragons plummeted towards the floor like three golden rocks, their wings beating with raucous futility. Forewarned, Styx lurched to catch them, but one of the males smacked his snout on the table. The wooden man scowled and knocked the watches off the table with a sweep of his hand. The dragon settled on his arms again, quivering and chittering nervously as the watches' noise ebbed.
Drusilla stared at the watches as they slid across the floor and smacked against the far wall. “So, the private's detector wasn't broken after all . . .”
Devin stared at his son. “No, it was the dragons this whole time. They were our 'mages.' I should have suspected magic was involved in their flight somehow. The creatures have such tiny wings.” He reached out to touch one of them, but Styx stepped away.
“I always thought they were bags of gas held together with sinew and scales,” Drusilla murmured, shrugging.
“Cornelius once told me they violated an important law of physical science. Hard to know for certain. What maniac is going to run tests on . . . live dragons.” He grinned and turned towards Styx.
“No.” The wooden man shook his head so hard his brain rattled. “That gleam in your eye. You look like grandfather right before he cut off my foot like a chicken head. You are not touching my babies, Father!” He glared at Drusilla. “And they are not going to hang in some awful man's cellar after Father chops off their heads.” He squeezed the dragons against his wooden chest. They didn't seem to mind this time. One of the males folded his parchment thin wings tight against his back and shivered.
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 60
