by Devin Hanson
The smell of bacon drew him from the room yawning and stretching. He took a seat at Milkin's urging and ate ravenously of the fried bacon and chopped potatoes the professor set before him. The combination of comfortable sleep and the best food he'd had in months prior to the night before soon had him as energetic as Milkin was.
He was just sitting back with a cup of tea when the door banged open and Jules stalked into the room. "You better be awake, gunny. I'm already-- is that bacon?"
"Good morning Jules!" Milkin called out cheerily, "Have a seat. I was just frying up a second batch."
"You know I don't have time for that, Professor," she said as she swung a backpack off her back and took a seat. She froze for a second then settled down, her gaze sharp on Andrew. "Someone's cleaned up. Hardly recognized you without your dirt."
Andrew flushed, but met her eyes and kept his chin up, remembering Milkin's advice from the morning before. "I wasn't always a gunny," he said quietly.
"No," she smiled back, just a slight twitch of her lips. "I don't imagine you were." Louder, then, directed at Milkin, "I need to hit the stores before the students wake." The last of the sentence was muffled as she forked a piece of bacon off the platter in the center of the table and stuffed it into her mouth.
"Well, if you must run, I won't stop you." He forked over the freshly sizzling bacon to the platter and started frying more potatoes in the grease.
Jules ignored him, too busy eating to do more than roll her eyes.
Andrew took another slice of bacon himself then slowly ate it while examining Jules. A lot of her bluster from the night before seemed to have vanished. She was wearing the same clothes as before, but now her holster swung heavy with a revolver and a long knife, almost a shortsword, balanced it on the other side. Her dress, now that he had proper light to view it in, was a dark burgundy, not brown, and the leatherwork on her person was finely stitched. Her eyes, if anything, were even more brilliant than the candlelight showed, a pure green with minute flecks of gold catching the sunlight.
She caught him staring and he buried his face in his tea, burning his tongue but too embarrassed to spit it out. "Like what you see?"
Andrew choked and tea shot out his nose. He dissolved into a fit of coughing as Jules smirked and spooned up fried potatoes.
"Be nice," Milkin chided her. "If he dies on my floor you won't find your brooder."
"Speaking of." Jules got up and snagged one strap of her pack. "Let's go, climber boy."
Andrew managed to get enough air sans aerosoled tea in him to stagger off his seat and come to a somewhat bipedal position. Jules walked over and pecked a kiss on Milkin's cheek. "See you around, Professor. I'll send you a letter when we make it back to civilization." She walked out of the room and paused in the entry to call back to Andrew, "Come on then, sometime today would be nice."
Milkin patted Andrew on the back. "Hold you head tall out there, son. She'll come around quick enough. Keep practicing your runework, use your scale as your guide. Make sure she buys you a notebook before you leave town and plenty of pencils."
Andrew nodded and was surprised to find his eyes burning. "Thanks, Professor, thanks for everything."
"Don't worry about it, Andrew." He threw his arms around Andrew and gave him a hug. "Just come back and share your stories with me. I'm too old to go out adventuring any more, but I do love the tales."
"Of course."
"Now go, before Jules leaves you here."
Andrew turned his head to see Jules rolling her eyes and tapping her foot. "Thanks again."
Milkin made shooing gestures with his hands. "Git."
Andrew got, looking back to wave when he reached the corner.
"So, that was mildly nauseating."
Andrew turned back and hurried to catch up with Jules. "How did you meet the professor?"
"The usual way. I was a student, he taught runework."
"Oh." This was sufficiently lacking in proper story-telling drama to bring him somewhat back down to earth. "So where are we going?"
"Shopping. For you. Can't have you looking like something the cat dragged in."
Andrew picked at his shirt. It was clean, at least, though his boots were little more than ragged flaps. "I don't have much money. I could get more if I visit the loading docks. They haven't paid me yet for yesterday's haul."
Jules snickered. "No kidding. But no, I'm buying. No time to get whatever small change you have stashed away. Consider it an investment. If you drop dead of hypothermia or fall off a mountain face, I'm not finding the brooder."
Andrew nodded. "Milkin asked me to request a pad of paper and some pencils." He thought for a second. "And an engraving stylus."
"For runework?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him inquisitively.
"Just so."
"And what, exactly, do you know of runework?"
"I can scribe a strong Tan," he said, somewhat proudly, wondering if he used the right adjective to describe a functioning runeword.
"Is that right?"
Andrew detected an undercurrent of polite disbelief, but let it slide. "I'll show you later, I guess."
"Why don't you do that."
Jules led him to a clothing store specializing in rugged outdoors-type clothing and proceeded to run up a tab that left Andrew staggered. How could you spend thirty nobles on a single outfit? It wasn't until she opened her purse to pay and he caught a glimpse of yellow glinting up through the silver that he understood. Jules was rich in a way he couldn't even begin to imagine. It was a pittance to her to fund this expedition.
The clothes were finer than any Andrew had ever worn and he changed in the back, enjoying the smell of new leather and freshly pressed cloth. New boots on his feet and a sturdy belt left him feeling more civilized than he had in years. He even had a new cloak, made of rugged cloth in a light tan, with a large hood to cover his head.
They went to an outfitting store next and she purchased a backpack for him and proceeded to fill it with mountaineering gear and food until he was sure he had everything needed to mount an expedition to climb a cliff after a trip halfway around the world. He folded the spare coil of rope down over the belt of pitons, nestled beside the package of hardtack, layered on top of other gear and supplies, and strapped the cover down. He lifted it to his back and tightened the straps until the was riding easily, if a bit heavy for his liking. Compared to schlepping a eighty-pound sack of dung down a mountainside, walking besides Jules on a street was easy work.
"Where next?" he asked after Jules had settled accounts with the clerk, handing over a stunning amount of silver without batting an eye.
"You wanted scripting supplies, so we'll go and get that. That'll be the last thing."
Andrew followed excitedly, a spring in his step despite the pack on his back. He caught a glimpse in a passing window and marveled at the reflected change. A day's worth of good food, a decent sleep and clean, new clothes on his back had changed him from the shrinking wretch he had been the day before. Better, even, than he had felt and looked three years ago. He had been just a child then, if technically aged enough to be a man, now he felt adult for the first time in his life.
Jules led him to the same store he had met Milkin at the night before and was met at the door by Eldred, whose smiling and waving was at stark odds with his stuffy manner from before. Andrew left the two of them chatting and scanned the shelves. Apparently Eldred didn't recognize him and his status as Jules' assistant meant he was free to roam the store at his whim.
Milkin's brief education into the lore of alchemy and runework was just enough that the vast array of materials and crafted items stunned him. Before he couldn't even begin to identify anything in the store, but now he knew enough to realize just how much he didn't know. And this was a common Guild store, there was nothing particularly fancy on display here.
Jules started dickering with Eldred over the price of a fat pad of paper and Andrew found himself examining a display of styli. The display was
a revolving tiered shelf with dozens and dozens of styli of every make and style he could imagine. Bone handles, wood of many types, a black material he didn't have a name for, and the points were of varying materials and thicknesses as well. Some were chisels, with iron-bound wooden heads made to be abused by a hammer, others had steel tips like the one Milkin had let him use. A few even had a crystal at the tip that Andrew was slowly beginning to realize were diamonds.
Jules was at his side then and nudged him out of the way so she could examine the display. "I'll take that one," she pointed out a stylus with an oak handle and a steel point.
"Kind of crude for you, isn't it?" Eldred asked teasingly. "You haven't fallen on hard times, have you?"
Jules shrugged. "I need something to etch ironwood."
"Ah yes. I wouldn't use an expensive stylus for that either. Right then. Anything else?"
"A small vial of dragongas. Something pure, but doesn't have to be refined."
"I've got just the thing." They went off chatting amiably about the qualities of dragongas that Andrew couldn't even begin to make sense of, but he got the feeling their stay in the store was nearing its end. With a last look about, he made his way to the front where Jules was paying for the few items with gold royals.
She was just turning to go when the door banged open and Lord Priah walked in, a jeweled cane swinging from one gloved hand. "Eldred," he called, his voice high and nasal, "The dragongas you sold me... Why, if it isn't Jules."
Andrew froze. Trent had promised to have him thrown out of the Academy if he ever saw him again, but the man's eyes swept past Andrew without even a hitch.
Jules rolled her eyes. "Trent. How unfortunate." She glared at Andrew, and he got the distinct impression her early-morning rush was to avoid exactly this confrontation.
"Imagine my surprise when I heard my fiancé was in town and hadn't deigned to stop by and say hello."
"I'm not your fiancé, Trent, and I'm not here to--"
"Funny, but your father seems to disagree." His hair was slicked back and tied, his bangs carefully curled. It must be some fashion back in Salia, but to Andrew it looked effeminate and silly.
Jules tried to step around him and he gracefully stepped to block her path. Andrew stood back and tried not to gape. Jules was betrothed to Trent? How had that happened? For the life of him, he couldn't imagine Jules doing anything with the man, let alone agreeing to marry him.
"Last time I checked," she snapped back, "I told my father he could take his fortune and spin on it."
"Such language!" Trent gushed. "And such fire! You'd make a wonderful duchess." He reached out one hand to grab her arm then froze as her hand dropped to the butt of her revolver.
"Try it," she growled at him.
"Please," Eldred cried, "Not in the shop!"
"Get out of my way," Jules said quietly, "or I will shoot you."
"You wouldn't dare," Trent glared back, but it was forced and even Andrew could tell he believed she would dare. He stepped aside. "We're not done yet, Jules Vierra. Your father's lands belong with mine."
Jules made a rude gesture and stepped past, waving for Andrew to follow. Trent dropped a shoulder as Andrew tried to get past him and almost knocked him into a display of glassware.
"Careful," Trent drawled. "Pick your serving boys more carefully or you might find yourself forced to go running back to your father just to pay for his clumsiness."
Andrew ducked out the door, trying to fight down the flush that was creeping up his cheeks.
"What a prick," Jules said, loud enough for Trent to hear. "Come on then, Andrew. Let's leave this miserable shanty town and get on with it."
Andrew followed, elated that she had used his name at last and desperately hoping he wouldn't get caught between a noble power struggle. He looked back as they turned the corner at the bottom of the street. Trent was watching from the doorway of the shop with Eldred wringing his hands behind him. The look in Trent's eyes was murderous and Andrew abruptly wished he had his cloak on to cover his features.
They didn't speak until they left the city gates and Andronath was over the hill behind them. Then Jules burst out, screaming at the sky with her pent-up rage. "That mother-rutting goat herder! He is a blight on his family, the cursed bastard demon spawn of incest and infamy. I hope he dissolves in acid, I hope he blinds himself, no, that's not bad enough, aargh!"
Andrew took one measured step away from her, glanced at her face and took another. "He definitely seems unpleasant." This set her off again and it was another several minutes before she wound down and stalked on in fuming silence.
"So," he tried again after her face had returned to its normal color, "you're an heiress?"
Jules spat over the edge of the road. "Pox on that. My father, burn his soul, tried to sell me off to Trent. I told him he could feed himself to a dragon. It went downhill from there." She stopped talking and Andrew got the impression that was all she was going to say on the matter.
He waited for a rider to pass on a horse that slowed down to a trot as he reached abreast of them then spurred back into a gallop as he passed.
"I wasn't always a gunny."
Jules snorted. "So you said. Nobody's born into it."
Andrew shrugged. "My parents, while they lived, were merchants. They had built up quite a fortune before passing."
Jules shrugged, dismissing it.
Andrew continued, pretending he hadn't seen. "They died in a fire and I was lost, penniless. Eventually, I found myself here, hauling dung off the mountains."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I know what it's like to lose your parents."
"I didn't lose him," she said testily, "I just told him I didn't want any of his money. Or his advice on whom I get married to."
This time, it was Andrew's turn to shrug. "All the same."
They walked in silence for a while and Andrew tried to remember which mountain he had gone to yesterday. Andronath was surrounded by mountains, all except a narrow valley to the south. The rocky plains around the city had few trees and innumerable cart paths winding through rocky outcrops and little false foothills. He hadn't really been paying attention yesterday, but he had spent the last several years climbing around the mountains and had a pretty good idea of where they had gone.
The sun was nearing its zenith when he stopped at a cart path leading to the east. "This one will take us to the mountain."
Jules stopped and dropped her pack to the ground. "A good spot for lunch, then. I'm starved."
Andrew remembered the way she had packed away the bacon and potatoes at breakfast and wondered how long their supplies would last, but he swung his own pack off, gratefully for the chance to rest.
"You see that rider?" she asked him.
Andrew grunted a negative opinion.
"Always sitting on the edge of the next hill. He was in such a hurry, but now he's barely walking his horse."
"I don't know anything about horses."
Jules sighed. "Course not. Well, let's have lunch."
They formed an impromptu meal from Jules' pack, a chunk of hardtack and a thick slice of some sort of heavy sausage. As Jules was cleaning her knife after cutting the meat, Andrew caught the glint of runework along the blade.
"I see Tan there, but I don't recognize anything else."
Jules looked up at him in surprise. "You really did learn Tan, didn't you?"
Andrew nodded.
"Well now, aren't you full of surprises, merchant's son."
Andrew ducked his head. "I was up late with Milkin practicing. He wanted to make sure I knew it."
"Aye. That's a good one to know. Sketch it for me?" She broke a stick off a nearby bush and handed it to him. "There, in the dirt is fine."
Andrew drew it quickly, taking pride in how his hands remembered the small details.
Jules stared at it for several seconds before scuffing it out with a boot, having to really work to break up the lines in the dirt. "You know Tan, no
doubt about that." She held the blade up, showing him the runes running alongside the runnel. "Tan is the last one, for obvious reasons."
"It'd be hard to etch after that rune was applied," Andrew guessed.
"Right in one. The other runes are there for sharpness and other protective concepts. This blade will never have to be sharpened, it won't rust, break, bend, slip..." she trailed off and shrugged. "It's my own crafting. You won't find many like it."
"That's amazing. I never knew runes were so useful."
Jules gave a wry smile. "It's considered inferior to alchemy and is given short shrift in the Academy. I could make a good living as a weaponsmith if the Guild would let me. They don't approve of such sales for obvious reasons."
"Come to think of it, I've never seen any alchemical weapons." He didn't mention the cannon on the airships. He didn't know what her reaction would be to that piece of his history.
"You won't find many. The Guild doesn't like to get involved in wars. Alchemy could make a warlord too powerful so they all but outlaw making weapons for war. They don't prevent private creations," she patted the hilt of her knife, "but if someone were to be in possession of such a weapon, they might ask to see Guild credentials."
"Keep the power within the Guild," he surmised.
"Look at you, the world-wise gunny."
Andrew shook his head. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Nope. Come on, let's get going. I want to get to the foothills before night falls."
"You know, we could have hired a cart to take us there. We would have been there by now."
"And tell everyone who's got ears to listen that we're going to your mountain? No, I think not. And no horses, though I suppose you could guess why. Dragons love horses."
Andrew gathered up his pack and fell in beside Jules, thinking over what she had said. She was well known, there was no doubt about that. And liked, too, by everyone she had met. She made no secret about her business, and business was good. Suddenly the knife and revolver on her belt had an altogether different air. They were weapons, and used. He wondered how many people she had killed. Was afraid to ask. Up in the mountains, as the saying went, there are only the dragons to hear you scream.
