by Devin Hanson
Andrew nodded. He had, indeed, experienced airon. Like the name implied, airon was iron as light as air. Though rarely seen in large quantities, it was common enough, especially in Andronath. The axles in the cart Andrew rode to the mountains every day were made of it. And, of course, airship engines were made almost entirely from it, as he well knew.
"Airon is iron that has been shifted, via alchemy, over to dragon rules. We call that shift transmutation. It's a rather crude example and the procedure is simple enough, but the result is undeniably draconic in its physical properties. Another example is swampgas. Normal natural gas, hexanes of various sorts, can be made much more explosive. By an order of magnitude or so. That procedure is even simpler, as it's just a straight mixing. Natural gas, dragon gas, a hundred to one, mix, carefully! and voila, swampgas. Burns bright and clean at a much lower flow than pure natural gas does. Makes lighting the city much easier."
The impromptu lecture was interrupted by a knock on the door. Milkin dropped the scrap of leather over the scale and winked at Andrew. "You're here on an errand, hm?" Andrew nodded. "Good, good. Let's see who it is at this late hour. You can stay there."
Andrew darted a glance toward the scale, wondering if he had time to wrap it properly and get it in his pocket before Milkin got to the door, but his hesitation lost him the opportunity.
"Good evening, Professor." A woman's voice from the entryway, followed by Milkin's exclamation of delight.
"Jules! I was hoping you'd arrive today. Come in, come in."
"I had a good haul, lots of-" The woman entered the room and stopped mid sentence.
Jules was a tall woman, though she only came up to Andrew's shoulder, with sun-bleached brown hair and a heart shaped face with enough firmness of jaw to lend her a determined air. She was around Andrew's age, older by perhaps a year or so, but not more. Her eyes were a shockingly brilliant green. Her face was tanned and freckled, her clothes were scuffed. She had the air of an aristocrat but was clothed, while richly in Andrew's eyes, with practicality in mind. Her dress was slit up the sides, exposing a scandalous amount of leg when she strode into the room, though her scarred boots went up past her knees and tight pants covered the skin of her leg beneath. Around her waist she had a wide leather belt that supported a few pouches and an empty holster. Her lips...
Andrew flushed, closed his mouth and forced his eyes to meet hers. He was halfway through the motion of getting up from his seat and completed the maneuver jerkily. Jules smiled at him and whatever half-formed plan he had to carry out a greeting vanished.
Milkin chuckled and stepped in to cover his lapse. "Jules, this is Andrew, a friend of mine. Andrew, Jules, the one I told you about."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Jules said and turned her shoulder a few degrees, probably the most subtle dismissal Andrew had ever experienced. "I didn't think you'd have company, Milkin, or I would have come by at a different time."
"No, no. Andrew is a collector. No secrets here."
Jules turned back, her eyebrow cocked in surprise. She gave him a more thorough once-over and Andrew felt himself flushing again, excruciatingly aware of his tattered clothing and sprung boots. "He's a gunny, Milkin, not a collector." This time, her dismissal was not subtle at all and she turned to leave. "I'll just come back tomorrow. I have to get a room still and this gods forsaken backwater town has the most miserable accommodations."
"Don't be so hasty, Jules. Sit. I will show you a wonder."
Jules sighed. "Really, Milkin. I should go."
"Ah, but then you would miss out."
"Okay, now I'm curious," she frowned. "It can't wait?"
"It belongs to Andrew," Milkin revealed, smiling as Jules did another double take at Andrew. "You might not get a chance if you miss this one."
"The gunny found something?"
"Andrew, Jules, his name is Andrew. Now. If I have your permission?" He turned fully to face Andrew, forcing Jules to turn with him and include Andrew in the conversation.
Andrew nodded, not sure what he was giving permission for, but he felt he could trust Milkin, and, well, anything to get Jules' approval.
"Behold. A brooding scale!" Milkin whipped the scrap of leather off Andrew's scale. The light from the scale cast a ruddy glow over Jules' face as she leaned in, lips parted in a gasp of delight. She reached out and Andrew had to fight the impulse to catch her hand, twisting the hem of his shirt instead. She didn't reach to touch, though, only held her hand as one would over a stove to see if it was hot.
"When did you find it?" she asked Andrew, her eyes still locked on the scale.
"This morning," Andrew replied, after a false start and a hastily cleared throat.
"And it's still hot. Definitely a brooding scale. You tell him how much it's worth?" This last was directed at Milkin, who shrugged.
"I gave him the general idea."
"Don't let him sell you short. That thing is all but priceless. Or it might as well be." She gazed at the scale for a few seconds then shook her head. "A brooding scale..." she sighed. "I haven't heard of a brooder in years. Who would have thought one would be so close to Andronath. You tell anyone yet?"
Andrew and Milkin both shook their heads. Andrew looked a question at Milkin and the professor nodded. "Jules is a collector. She hunts down dragons and collects scales and the like for sale to alchemists."
"You kill dragons?" Andrew asked, eyes wide.
"Tiny gods no," Jules laughed, a silver trill of genuine amusement. "I just find where they lair and collect the scales when they're out."
This still sounded to Andrew like the closest thing to suicide this side of actually jumping out of an airship without a parachute. His face must have showed it, because Jules laughed again. "It's not as dangerous as all that."
"Andrew," Milkin interrupted suddenly, "is interested in learning alchemy and runework."
He nodded his agreement, unsure of where Milkin was going with it.
"Well, you can't hope for a better start than a brooding scale. I wish you the best of luck."
"As you surmised, he doesn't have the funds or the connections to attend the Academy."
"That scale would get him entrance."
"But then he would lack a flux."
"A shame."
"He's a good kid."
"No doubt."
"I would teach him, if I could."
Jules laughed. "I'd love to hear you explain that one to the Guild."
"Exactly. You, on the other hand, are not under such scrutiny."
"Whoa, there. Whoa." She stuck a gloved hand out, one finger pointed at Andrew accusingly. "Don't try and foist your stray on me. Not to mention the legality."
"Consider it a favor."
"I don't owe you that much."
"He knows where the brooder is."
This stopped Jules dead. Andrew had watched the back and forth riding his own emotional rollercoaster. The thought of getting off the mountain face was exhilarating. To go to the Academy! Then he crashed as logic dictated its impossibility. Being taught by Milkin was just as good. He could imagine studying in this room with all its wonders under the helpful and knowledgeable eye of the professor. Jules' reference to the Guild crushed that dream. And now Milkin was suggesting he be taught by Jules! The woman was stunningly beautiful, obviously intelligent and as capable as her profession demanded. Despite himself, Andrew felt intimidated.
Now Jules rounded on Andrew, a speculative look on her face. "You didn't just find this scale?"
Andrew shook his head. "The dragon practically landed on my shoulders. While I was... uh..."
"Climbing," she finished for him. The silent accusation of his profession unspoken. He hung his head.
"He knows what the dragon looks like, he knows where it is hunting."
Jules took a few steps back and paced, tapping her lower lip with her thumb, lost in thought. Milkin winked at Andrew and gave him a thumbs up when Jules' back was turned.
"Teach him simple alchemy, use of a flu
x, basic runework. He'll lead you to the brood den. You make a killing. He gets educated. Everyone wins."
"Until the Guild finds out."
"What's there to find out? You have a gunny helping you. It wouldn't be the first time."
Jules wrinkled her forehead. "I can't think."
"The alternative: the brooder lays and you lose your chance."
Jules' shoulders slumped and Andrew could tell she had made her decision. His heart did a weird flop in his chest. On one hand, he wouldn't have to report to the loading dock before the sun rose to spend another day toiling on a mountain with twenty pounds of dung on his back. On the other hand, he was going to be tutored by Jules. While in theory both of these were good things, he couldn't help but feel afraid. Then he realized he was going to be chasing down a dragon and his heart flopped again.
Jules snapped her fingers under his nose. "Oy. You have a place to stay?"
Andrew started. Apparently, this wasn't the first time Jules had asked him the question. "Uh. Sort of."
Jules sighed. "Milkin, can he stay with you? We're going to have to go shopping in the morning and I want to be out of here by six, latest. I won't have time to fetch him from wherever he's holed up in the slums."
"Ask him," Milkin said, folding his arms. "I'm okay with it, but in this he's your partner, Jules. Give him the respect he deserves."
Jules pinched the bridge of her nose and rounded on Andrew. "Are you," she asked flatly, almost angrily, "willing to spend the night at Milkin's?"
Andrew nodded.
"See that wasn't too hard." Milkin put his hands on her shoulders from behind. "Now why don't you run and find yourself a room. I'll get Andrew settled."
"Right." She cast one last look at the scale sitting on the desk in a pool of ruddy light then turned and strode out of the room. Andrew heard her talking to the professor in the entry for a minute, their voices muffled, then the door shut and Milkin made his way back to Andrew.
"Well. Isn't that an exciting turn of events?"
"Is she really going to teach me?" It seemed like an odd question, even to Andrew, but he was worried she'd just get the information she needed then vanish into thin air.
"Once you get past her admittedly formidable armor, she's a nice girl. And trustworthy. Once she accepts you as a partner, she'll never betray you." He wrinkled his nose. "Though getting her to accept you might be a challenge."
Andrew sighed. It was better than he hoped for, even in his wildest dreams, though it was a daunting prospect to say the least.
"Here," Milkin said, drawing Andrew's attention back to the present. "Let me show you something useful." On a fresh piece of paper, he drew the runes for An and At, but merged the swirls so they ran together into a continuous whorl.
"This is the runes An and At, together they form the runeword Tan. Carve this precisely into something and it will be much more durable. You try."
Andrew took the pencil offered to him and sketched it out. Milkin waited for him to finish then took the pencil back and started marking up his attempt.
"On top, this curve runs too long. The bend here is too sharp. This angle needs to occur further up, here. The lines crossing here are together, all three. Note the precise parallel of the lines here and here," and so forth.
To Andrew, this only made him more determined to make it precise. Sort of a challenge to his worthiness to be Jules' partner in their coming endeavor. This time, he took care to make it as exact as possible. It took him several minutes of back and forth comparing, erasing bits here and there, redrawing, comparing again, before he finally announced that he was complete.
Milkin immediately took the pencil and marked a few discrepancies. This really struck home how demanding the art of runework was to Andrew. It was precise. It was exact. He tried again, and Milkin only made one correction this time.
"Alright!" he cheered.
"Again." Milkin handed the pencil back.
It took three more tries before Milkin nodded grudging approval. "Good." He took the paper away and laid a fresh one down in front of him. "Now do it without the original."
"Hold up, don't I get to look at it?"
"Imagine, if you would. You're hanging by one hand by a strap of leather. The leather is fraying. You have to carve this runeword into the leather one-handed, without being able to see it properly, with a thorn, in three seconds."
Andrew gulped.
"If you fail, you plummet to your death. If you succeed, the strap supports your weight and gives you time to climb to safety." Milkin gauged Andrew's reaction then nodded. "Good. Now draw it again."
In the end, he worked the pencil down to a nub and Milkin had to light three new candles before he could consistently draw the runeword Tan without error, quickly and smoothly.
Andrew picked up his last attempt and tried to tear the paper. It resisted all the force he could put on it with only minor wrinkling. "This one is solid too, Professor."
"Good, good." Milkin took the paper and examined the runeword then handed Andrew a sharp tool. "A leatherworking stylus. Carve Tan into your beltpouch and the scrap of leather you wrap the scale in. Somewhere hidden so prying eyes won't see it. It will resist the heat of your scale and the pouch will be impossible for a thief to cut off your belt."
Milkin watched over his shoulder as the inverted his pouch and carved the runeword quickly into the leather at the bottom. Quick as a snake, Milkin snatched the pouch away from him and threw it into the fire.
"Wait! Oh..." The pouch sat among the coals for a minute without even singeing, both Andrew and Milkin watching it carefully.
"Fine work there, lad." Milkin patted his shoulder. "That's the fastest I've seen anyone match their first runeword." He fished the pouch out of the fire with the poker and handed it back to Andrew. "The more precise the rune, the stronger the effect. This is fine work. Given the time and patience, with your scale as your guide, you could learn to make master runes, I'm sure of it."
"I want to learn," Andrew said eagerly.
"Yes, I can see. It will stand you in good stead. But now it is late and Jules will be by early. Don't want to keep her waiting, hm? While you were practicing, I set you up in the side room."
"Thanks, Milkin, though I don't think I can sleep."
Milkin chuckled and patted him on the shoulder again. "We'll see, we'll see. I'll wake you in time for you to have breakfast before Jules gets here."
Andrew thanked the professor again then went into the side room and found a straw pallet made up with a few coarse blankets folded up on top of the pillow. A washing basin sat on a stand, with a fat cake of soap sitting on a washcloth. A mirror hung above the basin, with a razor and a shaving brush. If he was going to be traveling with Jules, he couldn't smell the way he currently did.
A glance back confirmed the door was shut, his newly reinforced pouch with the brooding scale nestled inside it safe on the pallet. He stripped out of his clothes and frowned at himself in the mirror. He hadn't seen himself clearly like this since his days in boot camp with the Caerwin's crew and he almost didn't recognize himself.
The changes weren't entirely displeasing. His hair was an unruly mop on his head, his beard uneven, though full. Three years had scraped the last of the baby fat off his face, and his cheekbones stood out further than he remembered.
Andrew dipped the washcloth in the basin, lathered up some soap, and set to cleaning himself from head to toe. He had to call out to Milkin for clean water three times, and by the time he had finished shaving and trimmed his hair as best he could with a single mirror, he looked completely different.
Milkin knocked on the door and slipped a bundle of cloth through. Andrew glanced over at his rancid clothing and wrinkled his nose. The thought of getting back into that turned his stomach, but Milkin had anticipated that. The bundle proved to be clean pants and a shirt, mended and far from new, but without holes and smelling faintly of hay.
He dressed, leaving his feet bare, and exited the room. M
ilkin sat by the fire, wrapped in an old flannel robe and he looked up when Andrew shut the door to the side room. "Ah, Andrew. Well, let's have a look at you."
Andrew ducked his head and moved closer to the light of the fire.
Milkin tisked. "None of that, lad. Now. Shoulders back. Head up. Look straight ahead. If you want Jules to take teaching you seriously, you will have to show her that you're worth her time and the danger of teaching someone outside the guild."
Suddenly, Andrew remembered his conversation with Michael at the airon conversion shop. "Teaching me… it's illegal, isn't it? I mean, it goes against the Guild's charters?"
Milkin nodded, his face closed. "Yes."
"I heard… Isn't it punishable? By death?"
The old professor chuckled. "That. Well, I suppose. It depends on who you are. Me, they would probably bust me down to a junior scribe, but I still have enough friends and allies that it wouldn't go any further, if even that far. Jules, though, they would probably just frown and be a bit angry, but not for very long."
"I don't understand," Andrew said, puzzled. "She has that many friends?"
"In a sense. That's her story to tell, if she chooses. But now, to bed. I daresay she'll be here quite early."
"I'm used to getting up before the dawn," Andrew commented.
Milkin nodded. "Then you might be able to keep up with Jules, but I wouldn't count on it."
Andrew returned to the side room and lay down with a pleased sigh. It'd been far too long since he had the luxury of a pillow and though his mind raced with all he'd learned, sleep came quickly.
Chapter 9
Back to the Mountains
It seemed Andrew had just blown out the candle a minute ago before Milkin was shaking him awake. "Jules will be here soon. I have breakfast ready for you." The old man positively scampered out of the room, the vicarious thrill of coming adventure making him energetic and spry.
Andrew sat up, lost for a second, still muggy with sleep then remembered all that had transpired the day before in a sudden wave. He sat in the early morning light and stared at his hands, remembering the concentration from the night before as he struggled to learn Tan.
