The Queen's Quarry

by Frank Morin

  He watched people carefully as they cautiously tried unfamiliar sweets. Most were definitely better received, but he was still amazed by how many pushed the desserts aside after only tiny trial bites.

  Hamish would have to mingle around the room again at the end of the meal to help deal with those leftovers. In a time of war, rations had to be managed carefully. He couldn’t take the risk that any of those desserts might get discarded.

  “How can you people eat this?” Stuart demanded, pushing his plate roughly away. He sat at one of the closer tables with his younger siblings and with the rest of Hendry and Lilias’s family.

  Hamish wanted to fly over there and slap him a couple of times. He didn’t need Stuart’s big mouth making things any harder. Hamish had actually started hoping Stuart might think before speaking sometimes. The responsibility for caring for his younger siblings after their idiot parents had died in the first battles of Alasdair weighed heavily on him. He was seen as a rising leader among the ranks of the cutters, but now he was acting like the blockheaded Stuart Hamish had grown up with.

  Hamish had changed too, though. Even though he didn’t have a replacement flying suit yet, he felt confident he could put the heavily-muscled Stuart in his place if he had to. As tempting as that was, it probably wouldn’t help things either. So instead, Hamish spotted one of his favorite desserts. The platter of powder-coated, jelly-filled krapfen sat on the high table. Only one piece remained. Hamish snatched it up and brought it to Stuart.

  “Here. Try this.”

  Stuart recoiled, as if Hamish had asked him to try licking a live snake. “Grandurian food is disgusting.”

  Although most of the Grandurians did not understand, his tone and manner clearly communicated what he was saying. Hamish fought down the image of dumping Stuart head-first into the town well.

  He leaned a little closer and said softly but intently, “Stuart, these people have accepted us into their homes. I heard that one of their cutters even allowed you to use his chisel today. So do you think insulting them is the best response?”

  Stuart glared again but took the pastry. “Fine. I’ll eat it this once.”

  “And look like you enjoy it.”

  “You owe me.”

  “We’ll talk after you eat it.”

  Stuart took a deep breath and, with an expression like one about to plunge his hand into an open flame, shoved the entire pastry into his mouth. He chewed quickly, clearly planning to swallow the entire thing to avoid having to endure the taste longer than absolutely necessary.

  After the first couple of frenzied bites, Stuart stopped. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in amazement. Since it was full of half-eaten pastry, the sight was rather gross, but Hamish still laughed.

  “So, what was that about all Grandurian food being disgusting?”

  Stuart didn’t speak, but closed his eyes as he slowly savored the krapfen. Only after he swallowed did he say, “I never imagined something so wonderful. How is it possible?”

  Hamish chuckled again and clapped Stuart on his beefy shoulder. Many of those who had been glowering at Stuart’s antics earlier were now openly grinning. Nothing like a little food diplomacy.

  Hamish said loudly in Grandurian, “Even the most obstinate block-head is vanquished by your cooking.”

  The comment elicited a round of laughter, and even some clapping. Hamish asked, “Who baked this dish?”

  He glanced around, expecting to congratulate whichever mother had brought her best baking game to this first feast. She had done perhaps more to help break the ice between the two groups than anyone else.

  He noticed several people looking behind him, and he was surprised when he turned to see Stefanie, Lord Wenzel’s seventeen year-old daughter standing. She was a plump, blonde, happy girl, who Hamish already immensely liked. She had volunteered to help translate and lead language classes. And she could cook.

  With everyone staring at her, she flushed, little spots of color rising in her cheeks, serving to make her look even prettier. She accepted Hamish’s compliment with a nod and a smile.

  “Wow.”

  The soft word, barely above a whisper, would have been inaudible if Hamish had been standing even a foot farther from Stuart. He glanced down to find Stuart staring at Stefanie with a look of unabashed adoration on his face.

  Hamish nearly laughed, but embarrassing Stuart would undo everything he had just accomplished. So he clapped Stuart on the shoulder again, shaking him out of his rapt reverie.

  Stefanie had noticed Stuart’s attention, but did not look displeased by his interest. Torben, her burly older brother did, though.

  Hamish returned to his seat, content with the breakthrough he had helped broker. Hopefully the goodwill would continue to grow enough to withstand the imminent and likely challenge Torben would make. Grandurian older brothers took their responsibility to honor duel any potential suitors very seriously. Torben was a cutter, and Stuart’s equal in size so the match would be interesting.

  Hamish chuckled to himself as he polished off the last of the food at the high table.

  “You seem awfully proud of yourself,” Lilias said. She looked more nervous than happy about Stuart’s obvious infatuation with Lord Wenzel’s daughter.

  Hamish grinned. “I’m just thinking about how Stuart will react when he learns Stefanie is a Rumbler.”

  5

  Look Deep. See Clear.

  Jean settled onto a short wooden stool beside one of the marvelous healthbeds in the long, brightly lit recovery room of the hospital in Faulenrost. The tidy beds marched down both sides of the room, positioned under tall windows with the drapes thrown wide to enjoy the fading afternoon sunlight. A huge storm was sweeping toward them from the north so darkness would arrive early.

  For the moment, the room was quiet, and most of the patients lying in their healthbeds recovering from injuries or illnesses seemed at peace. Several had family members visiting. Four white-jacketed Healers moved among their patients.

  Jean alone sat beside the last bed and the terribly sick little girl sleeping fitfully on it. Barely ten years old, the girl looked exhausted, her features drawn from her life-threatening ordeal.

  Her name was Else and she had scratched her arm on a rusty nail three days prior. The cut was so minor, her family hadn’t bothered to bring her to the Healers until it grew red and inflamed. Infection was one of the ailments that Healing power could not easily cure. That had surprised Jean and given her an opportunity to really help.

  Most of the time, her herbs and tonics weren’t necessary. The Healers with their marvelous sandstone power could heal cuts, broken bones, and even many internal injuries with the touch of a hand. Patients usually recovered within hours after treatment, relaxing on a healthbed, soaking in the gentle flow of healing power. Jean felt it as she leaned over Else’s bed, like a waft of warm air against her skin, easing her concerns and invigorating her.

  Jean used a piece of soft cloth to gently bathe the girl’s sweaty forehead with cool water. The way her bedclothes stuck to her suggested the fever sweat had spread all over. That was a good sign. If the fever had broken, maybe they were finally winning the fight against the insidious infection.

  For a couple of days, she had feared they would lose the girl. She’d visited three times a day, despite her many other duties, adjusting the dosage and composition of her herbal remedies to find the best solution for the unusually difficult infection.

  Else blinked open her eyes and managed a weak smile. “Hello, Lady Jean.” Her voice sounded stronger too.

  She loved the fact that she could understand Else’s words. She’d been studying Grandurian with Carolin, the elegant mistress of the Faulenrost Girls Academy, who also worked with Jean on her management team.

  “Just call me Jean,” she replied in broken Grandurian.

  Understanding what other people said came easier than forming the strange sounds herself. Far too often people gave her odd stares, warning her that
she’d again messed up the words. One time she’d tried to tell Bruno, the huge master blacksmith, that she wanted to meet to discuss designs for a new flying craft.

  He’d laughed loudly and explained that it sounded like she’d said she wanted help burning a latrine for dinner.

  She had gotten better.

  That didn’t mean the girl would drop the ‘lady’ honorific. Lord Eberhard had proclaimed Jean the hero of Schwinkendorf, and the people of the town had enthusiastically adopted her as their favorite new daughter. Her initial embarrassment at all the attention was fading under the realization that it wouldn’t change, and that at least her new position helped her get things done.

  And she had a lot to do. Somehow she’d been appointed to oversee the effort of coordinating with Builders to provide temporary workshops in Faulenrost. She also headed the committee responsible for rebuilding Schwinkendorf, and Lord Eberhard had enthusiastically supported her idea for a new school of higher learning. He’d immediately appointed her as its first head mistress.

  Her days were packed so full of meetings and planning with her ever-growing management teams that she found it increasingly difficult to slip away and visit the hospital. She’d found a way, though. Else’s life depended on it.

  Else said, “Yes, Lady Jean. I will.”

  Jean chuckled and brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead and checking her temperature. She really did feel much cooler. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Tired, but better, I think.” She finished with more of a question than a statement, looking up at Jean with nervous hope.

  “Let’s check your injury.” She took Else’s bandaged hand, but approaching footsteps drew her attention.

  An aged Healer was heading in their direction. Healer Karlmann was Lord Eberhard’s chief physician. He possessed a profound understanding of the human body and how to heal it, but his own body was failing. His wispy, gray hair framed an ancient, lined face with the hint of a scraggly beard. His blue eyes were weak, his skeletal hands shaky, and he walked with a pronounced stoop. But he possessed a happy smile, a rich, friendly voice, and thankfully he spoke Obrioner.

  “Lady Jean, I heard you’d come again. How is our young patient?”

  Jean rose and curtsied. “She is much improved. How are you feeling today?”

  “Old,” he said with a wheezing chuckle.

  She helped him to the chair on the other side of Else’s bed. He grumbled about the attention, but did not refuse. Jean had felt intimidated by the old Healer when they’d first met. He hadn’t bothered hiding his impatience at her herbal healing, but had allowed her to visit the hospital without restriction. No doubt at first he’d just humored her because she was a favorite of Lord Eberhard, but he too had been drawn to Else’s case.

  In the past couple of days they’d spent as much time together as Jean could spare, discussing various treatment options and the limitations and advantages of their different approaches. She’d grown to respect his depth of wisdom and experience, and she’d sensed that he’d been surprised, then intrigued by some of her questions and by the potential help her herbal remedies offered.

  “I brought you something,” she told him, extracting a ceramic jar of warm tea from her many-pocketed apron and removing the stopper for him. “It’s a mixture of herbs that should help ease your aches and revitalize some of your energy.”

  Karlmann chuckled. “Not even you or I can stop aging, young Jean.”

  “But we can help ease the journey.”

  “Indeed. Thank you, my dear.” He sipped the tea and gave her an appreciative nod. She’d added extra honey. She knew he had a bit of a sweet tooth.

  He represented another interesting case for the limits of Healing powers. With his amazing abilities, he’d extended his productive lifespan significantly. He hadn’t told her his exact age, but she suspected he was well over a hundred.

  If he possessed a tertiary affinity, no doubt he could have extended his life even further. She longed to interview Kilian and Evander about their longevity. If she could isolate the reasons their unusually powerful affinities granted them such remarkably long lives, could she find a way to adapt it for use by others? The ramifications were staggering.

  Karlmann sipped his tea again, then placed one trembling hand on Else’s forehead. His eyes might not work very well, but his inner sense saw more than anyone Jean had ever known. Sometimes she felt jealous. If only she could see and feel what he could. Even if she lacked the ability to apply healing power directly to her patients, that added information could guide her remedies so much more effectively.

  Karlmann grunted with satisfaction. “The fever is broken. The infection is in full retreat.” He gave Else an encouraging smile. “I suspect you’ll be well enough to return to your family in a couple more days.”

  “Thank you.” The girl closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. The tea Jean had given her would help her sleep.

  Jean breathed a sigh of relief as she gently stroked Else’s forehead. She hated the thought of losing any patients. Infection was an enemy she loathed and would fight with every ounce of skill.

  “You saved this girl,” Karlmann told her with an approving smile.

  “I had a lot of help.”

  “I ensured she had the energy her body needed to continue fighting, but your remarkable herbs turned the tide.”

  Jean flushed under the praise, even though it was true. “It still seems remarkable that you can’t sweep away infection as easily as you mend shattered bones and stop internal bleeding.”

  Karlmann had explained that infection and some diseases were like tiny armies of monsters that invaded patients. Healers could bolster the patient’s natural defenses, but that did not guarantee the patient would win the fight.

  The aged Healer said, “Infection is one of the few enemies I do not always conquer. I wish we could find a way to magnify our healing sight like the Pathfinders can their vision. If we could study the disease more closely, perhaps we could better determine how to fight it.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Jean exclaimed, pulling out her ever-present notebook and pencil.

  Karlmann chuckled. “I miss that boundless enthusiasm of youth. I spoke only hypothetically, my dear.”

  “But it’s a good idea.”

  “An impossible one.”

  Jean flashed a determined smile. “Impossible ideas are sort of my specialty.”

  He raised his jar of tea in salute. “Indeed, You have a knack for creative thinking, and access to some exceptional friends.”

  Jean prodded, “What other ideas can you suggest?”

  He sipped his tea again before speaking. “If you can indeed help the Builders figure out a way to magnify healing sight, or a way to visualize the tiny particles of disease, it could prove the most monumental mechanical of all time. Make sure you do not only look at infection, though. I recommend you look at molds too.”

  Jean grimaced. She hated mold. It smelled like disease and represented the corruption and decay of living things.

  Karlmann noted her look. “Usually, mold is exactly what it appears, but a few years ago as part of my studies, I cultivated infection in a laboratory. Ultimately, the effort proved fruitless, but at one point some mold began growing on one of the infection dishes. Where that mold grew, the infection died.”

  “Really?” Jean had never considered one type of decay might overpower another.

  “Indeed. I do not know the reasons, but if you develop a way to study tiny things, please take a look for me.”

  “I will,” Jean promised, jotting a few more notes. She wasn’t sure what good studying mold might do, but she would humor the old man anyway.

  “What other problems have you been chewing on?” he asked as she finished her notes.

  Jean flipped to the page where she kept that exact list. She scanned it quickly. Most were items that required far more research before she understood the question well enough to pick Karlmann’s remarkable brain.
But one caught her attention.

  “Do you have any idea what triggers double-tap sickness in Agor Petralists? Why can they not use two primary-affinity stones, but they can use multiple secondary or tertiary affinities at the same time?”

  “Never the easy questions for you. I am not an affinity researcher, but I have a colleague in Edderitz who is. I will send a letter asking her opinion. I personally believe the limitation is tied to the inner-focused nature of primary affinity stones.”

  That was what she suspected. She planned to ask more, but the far door opened and Gisela rushed inside. The pale-haired Althin approached, notebook and papers clutched in one hand. She’d assumed the role of Jean’s primary secretary and scribe, and she tried her best to manage Jean’s increasingly busy schedule.

  Gisela was very organized and very skilled, and Jean had no doubt she was copying everything down to report to her mother in Althing. That was a small price to pay. Gisela had also requested resources from her mother, who had promised to dispatch several leading research scientists. With their help developing the curriculum for the new school, Jean felt confident her dreams of building an institution for higher learning to accelerate Builder efforts could really materialize.

  Jean rose and told Karlmann, “See you tomorrow.”

  6

  The Dangers of Too Much Alone Time

  Three days stuck in a tent during a blizzard was not Connor’s definition of fun.

  The storm continued to intensify until Connor worried the howling wind might rip the entire Grandurian camp right off the mountain. The whipping snow might have buried them all if not for the Water Moccasins working in shifts to deflect it away.

  Despite their every attempt to use the snow-laden air to turn the winds, the calm never lasted. The storm grew too fierce. Walls of snow built up around the camp, reaching twenty feet at one point. But then the shifting winds changed again and whipped those piles of snow back into the air for the Water Moccasins to chase again.