by John Daulton
“Well, and there ya have it,” said Kettle, sounding put out by the entire affair. Without another word she set straight off for the kitchens and her culinary demesne.
A few minutes later found Altin and Orli emerging from the large central doors of Calico Castle’s main hall, both out of their spacesuits and in more comfortable Prosperion attire. Altin’s gray-and-brown robes fluttered in the breeze of his long strides as he eagerly approached the engineer, several steps ahead of Orli, who was hopping after him as best she could while still pulling on the second of her tall black riding boots. He reached out and shook the man’s hand enthusiastically. “Master Sambua, I’m glad you are back. Orli and I were just talking about our great need for you.”
The engineer’s eyebrows frowned, but his brown eyes were bright and his smile wide. “I’m happy to know I might be of some use to you both,” he said. “And, as I said, I do need some input from you now.” He turned back and directed both of their gazes to the work being done on Calico Castle’s eastern tower.
Shorter and less robust than the one that had just arrived, the eastern tower was the one that had been Altin’s for much of his youth. It would still be the one he used were it not for its destruction in a terrible and nearly fatal teleporting accident several months ago. However, the rebuilding was well under way, and Altin would have use for it again.
Except just then, the rebuilding had come to a stop. Both Altin and Orli noticed that none of the workmen were doing anything. The longer they looked, the more obvious it became, especially to Altin, who had delighted in watching the bright violet lights of the welders as they joined the steel beams together with their amazing electric rods. He still fancied that the technology to melt metal so easily had to be magical, despite Orli’s having assured him it was quite commonplace on her world, even an ancient bit of technology by her reckoning.
But none of that was going on; the bright stars of the welders sending down the rainfall of orange sparks were completely missing, as were the calls of the men to one another, and the droning of the machines that hoisted the girders and metal plates into place. All the work had stopped, and most of the workmen were nowhere to be seen.
Still, Altin had to smile, as he did every time he looked at it. His tower, being rebuilt by men from another world. A gift from another people. It was a strange set of coincidences that dated back through time, the rebuilding of Calico Castle’s four corners, the towers all rebuilt or repaired at one point or another in time by people with the need to express their gratitude—at least, those towers that could be rebuilt had been, those that had not been enchanted beyond repair. But unlike the masonry of kings or even elves, Altin’s tower was being rebuilt by, well, by aliens. And in a style so marvelously different than anything ever seen on Kurr before. On Prosperion. He could hardly wait to see it done.
But, for now, nothing was being done. The Earth men sat on their toolboxes, staring at the three of them standing there, Altin, Orli, and the engineer.
“So what is it that I can do for you, Master Sambua?” Altin asked.
“Well, Sir Altin, it seems the boys went into town yesterday and, after a few drinks, found themselves in a conversation with some of the locals, who told them about a curse. It appears the locals believe that anyone who builds a tower here will die by some terrible magic.”
Altin wrinkled up his face at the absurdity of such a claim. He glanced to Orli, who only shrugged in response. “That’s absurd,” Altin said. “Why would they say such a thing?”
“Well, Sir Altin, and I mean no disrespect, but, well, some of the boys came back—you know, on the suggestion of the people in town—and tried to approach that heap of rubble over there.” He pointed with the movement of his head to the remnants of Calico Castle’s northern tower, which, as described, was indeed nothing more than just a heap of rubble. “You see, Sir Altin”—and it could be easily observed that this conversation was very uncomfortable for the engineer—“the guys here, well, they’ve done a lot of work with broken buildings over the years, and while I admit that the stone masonry around here is not the sort of thing we see much of anymore on Earth, well … it’s just that there’s something about that heap of rubble that makes it impossible to approach.” His gaze darted downward for a moment, as if he were almost too embarrassed to say what came out next. “And, being perfectly honest, sir, I recognize that this may all be psychosomatic and all, but being that your people do have magic, after all, well, I tried to show the boys how to have a little backbone, so to speak, and, again being perfectly honest, I couldn’t walk up to it either. Like, there’s some kind of dark force preventing me.”
Altin tipped his head back and laughed, and for a moment Orli looked as if she were going to scold him for being mean, but then he stopped and clapped the man on the shoulder and looked him square in the eye. “It is cursed,” he said. “And there is a ‘curse’ of sorts here. But it has nothing to do with the men who built it. Or any of your men, for that matter. It’s the magicians who live in them who die, not the masons and carpenters. Nor, of course, the welders as they come along.”
The engineer looked relieved but still not entirely convinced. He glanced back over his shoulder at his men, who were all still watching, several of them nodding that he should go on. He turned back to Altin. “Well, they were fairly adamant about that last part,” he said. “Those men back at the bar. It was the workers that get cursed, they said. Burst into flames, or turn to zombies and werewolves and such.”
Altin smiled. “I suspect, Master Sambua, that they were having some fun with you and your crew. And, just as likely, more than a few of them believe some of it too. The first thing Tytamon told me when I came here as a boy was that Calico Castle got its name because Sixes always kill themselves. I was quite frightened at the time, being only eleven years old, and being told by everyone I was a Six. But I survived—although perhaps because it turned out I am a Seven. Nonetheless, wizard or not, some people have been afraid to come to Calico Castle over the centuries because of it.
“Tytamon has mentored young mages with six schools of magic over many of those centuries, and, well, Sixes have a habit of destroying not just towers but themselves. Just enough magic to be terribly dangerous, and not quite enough to hold it together. That is why the towers have all been rebuilt so many times and, well, so differently over the years. That is the only ‘curse.’ It’s certainly not anything to do with the castle itself. And it has never ceased to amaze me how so many people were afraid of Tytamon. He was probably the kindest man who ever lived upon Prosperion.”
The thought brought him pause, and with a sigh, he looked up at the tall central tower from which he and Orli had just emerged. He still thought of that structure as belonging to the great old mage. He thought he probably always would. The feeling passed, and he turned back to the engineer. “That’s the truth of it, and you have it on my honor.”
The engineer’s brow furrowed as he took it in. He knew exactly as much about magic as he’d been able to read in the fleet documents provided to him by his company prior to coming here from Earth. Still, vague as all that was, he looked as if he supposed it might make sense. He glanced back to the eastern tower where the work had stopped. “And that one,” he said. “That was yours that got destroyed.”
Altin blanched at that, but nodded. “Yes, that one was mine.”
“So not only the Sixes destroy them, then?”
Altin laughed. “Well, you do have me there. But no, that was an accident of a different sort, although I suppose not so much different as I keep telling myself. But here I am, still alive. So, no, no curse. Just a poor bit of planning, or perhaps just bad luck.”
“Ah,” said the engineer. His tone suggested it was all clear now, but his expression suggested otherwise.
“Needless to say, Master Sambua, there are no curses for workmen here. Nothing magical set upon the stones. Your people are perfectly safe in that regard.”
The engineer nodded the
n, genuinely looking relieved. “The men will be glad to hear it. Thank you, sir. I know we must look silly to you asking that.”
“Not at all. I understand completely. You should hear the things I am asking Orli almost constantly about your world. If anyone looks silly, it’s likely me most of the time.”
“It’s true,” Orli said, leaning forward and touching the engineer on the shoulder conspiratorially. “But I don’t dare say anything for fear that he’ll turn me into a toad.”
Altin pretended to be angry and threatened her with that very thing, adding after it, “And it won’t be my fault if you end up dinner for some passing heron either, so you ought to watch out.”
They all laughed, and it was with the expression of one who has had a huge burden removed that the Earth man returned them to Altin’s own point of inquiry. “What was it that you and Miss Pewter wanted to ask?”
“Ah yes, I nearly forgot. It appears we’re going to need some considerable amount of Earth machinery, and we were wondering how well things are coming along, as we may be in need of my tower sooner than we thought.”
“Yes,” said Orli. “We’re going to need the basement garage you guys built for us to hold some equipment, stuff we’ll need for something we are working on. There’s just no room in this one.” She pointed with her thumb, jerking it over her shoulder at the tower that had been Tytamon’s.
“Well, that’s got a basement too, as I understand,” said the engineer. “What do you need that will need more room than that?”
“For one thing, that basement is crammed with magic stuff,” she said. “But mainly, it’s just not built to be a suitable cargo hold, and we can’t pressurize it in the absence of Altin’s magic shield. What you guys built down there is what we need.” She directed her eyes toward the ground beneath the gleaming steel structure being built.
“Well, I’m happy that you’re happy with what we’ve got under way, Miss Pewter, but as I said before, it will be at least five more months before she’s done. And Miss Kettle in there”—he looked toward the kitchens as he spoke—“has made it perfectly clear that we are not to tell Sir Altin that it’s done until we’ve placed the last stone in the outer wall around it. She said this place needs to be sealed up tight against orcs before he takes that tower into space, or, well, basically she’s threatened to brain us all with a frying pan. I saw the look in her eyes, and I’m half-convinced she could do it too.”
“She can,” both Orli and Altin said at once. They looked back and forth between each other, surprised, then laughed. They looked back at him, nodding in unison, as Orli added, “Definitely.”
“So there you have it,” Master Sambua said. “Five or so months for our part, and we haven’t even seen the Prosperion masons yet for that outer wall. We sent one of those little messenger lizards they have twice in the last week, but the master mason says they’ve got to prioritize rebuilding Crown City first. He says they’ll get to us when they can.”
“Well, that’s going to be a long time,” Altin said. “Crown City was nearly half-destroyed. It will be years.”
The engineer nodded that he understood. “We’re looking for someone on Earth, but there aren’t many stonework contractors anymore.”
“I suppose we could just use someone’s barn,” Altin said. “I don’t suppose there is much difference in the end.”
“Altin, it’s going to have to serve as a base for our machines. It needs a power source. It needs a proper pressure hatch and vehicle access. We need a ship, not a barn.”
“Well, what about Roberto?” Altin said. “Didn’t Her Majesty just buy him a ship?”
“She bought him a ship?” Orli looked surprised.
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“I haven’t talked to him in a month. What ship?”
“Do you recall when I went to Crown City two weeks ago? It was just after Kettle threw that rather large fit, insisting that I hadn’t tried hard enough to get Pernie back.”
Orli nodded, clearly remembering it well.
“Well, as I was being brought into Her Majesty’s private audience chamber, I heard her talking to the Lord Chamberlain about getting the gold together for ‘dear Roberto’s spaceship.’ I didn’t get most of it, but it seems the Queen and your friend have something in the works.”
Curiosity flitted across Orli’s face, then she nodded. “Let’s find out. Take me to Little Earth, and we’ll see if we can’t get him up on the entanglement array.”
They bade the engineer farewell—and good luck with convincing his crew to get back to work now that the fear of curses could be allayed—and in a matter of moments, they appeared in the knee-high grass of the meadow outside of the walled fortification known as Little Earth. Within the walls was a small village built by the Queen’s people to serve the people of Earth as a Prosperion base. It was a forty-acre stretch of land upon which fleet transports and other craft could land, coming and going as they pleased. The whole compound was only two measures from Crown City, near enough to be convenient for travel in between, but remote enough that the wayward effects of magic would not very often disrupt the machinery.
They strode purposefully through the grass to the gates where two Marines stood sentry outside. Wide smiles cracked the men’s somber façades as the famous couple approached.
“Lady Pewter and Sir Altin,” they said nearly in unison. Both of them, young enough to have barely sprouted beards, looked starstruck at seeing who had come.
“Well, I’m not technically a lady yet,” Orli said. “I have to be granted that title or be married to a lord.” She jerked her head in the direction of Altin standing near, and added, “And he keeps finding ways to slip out of my clutches.”
“Hey,” Altin said defensively. “You know that isn’t true.”
She relented. “I know. We do have rotten luck, though.”
Altin didn’t want to get her going on that point, or the whole afternoon might go up in flames, so he quickly redirected the conversation, sufficing himself to finding the right time to reset the ceremony as soon as possible. With Pernie being snatched away by the elves, it was difficult to find the right, well, mood at Calico Castle. Kettle was such a constant source of warmth and love in his life that he just couldn’t bring himself to do it yet, not when she was still to be found crying in the kitchens most nights. And the Queen had been adamant about there being nothing he could do in regard to getting Pernie back. The whole affair was the makings of many centuries, the product of treaties, and, worse, the blathering prophecies of both men and elves. Interference on his part would be seen as either an act of war or blasphemy, and for many, both. He was as helpless as Kettle was. And all he could do was sigh with her, and tell her that Pernie would be okay. That she’d be famous someday, and important to all the realm. Which, of course, Kettle could not care a lick about.
They passed through the gates and entered the main compound, making their way up a modest dirt lane that was not unlike many to be found in quaint old villages all across Kurr. Orli still smiled when she saw the thatched roofs, and to Orli’s ears the creaking wood of the steps was the sound of happiness.
Inside the command building they were greeted by her father’s secretary, a lean, older man with the look of a longtime military bureaucrat. He looked up, nodded politely, and indicated they should go into the office beyond.
Her father, newly made general, rose and greeted them both with a smile so wide and welcoming few sunrises boded as much warmth. “Baby girl!” he said, coming around the large wooden desk and clapping her in an iron hug. “I missed you this week.”
“We were busy finding Yellow Fire,” she said, looking a little embarrassed given that she hadn’t told him what they were up to. She hadn’t wanted him to worry.
If eyes could growl, his would have, but he let it pass, moving from her to clap Altin into another bear-trap hug. The dull thuds of his strong hand clapping Altin on the back sounded like drumbeats before he finally pushed
him away. “You better be careful with my girl out there, young man.” The words were gruff, but there was love in his eyes. He and Altin had one thing in common: both would die for her. It was a bond that had been forged over the course of seeing how close they could get to proving that, time and again, and the two of them could not have been closer or held one another in higher esteem had they been of the same blood.
Altin grinned at Orli, who was radiant upon seeing them together and so fond of one another. They were all smiling as they took seats, the general behind his desk and the young lovers in chairs before it. After a few lingering pleasantries, Orli got to the crux of their visit. “I need to get in touch with Roberto,” she said at last. “Altin thinks the Queen might have bought him a spaceship. Have you heard anything like that?”
The general laughed, his silver-haired head tipping back as he did. “Oh, she did all right,” he said. “And not just any ship. I have, let me see ….” He tapped up something they couldn’t see on his computer screen, before he resumed, “I have two hundred and thirty-six messages from various cartels and trade union folks within the NTA all whining to me about it.”
Both Orli and Altin looked surprised, though Orli more so, since she knew what that implied better than the Prosperion did. “Why?” she asked. “What has he done? He can’t possibly have had that ship long enough to piss that many people off. He only got his discharge papers a month ago.”
The general laughed again, his smile wide and his eyes glinting with affection for Roberto. “You’re correct. I have no doubt that your friend will piss them all off in his own good time, but for now they’re mainly in a fuss about his exclusive deal with Her Majesty.”
“And that is?” Orli prompted when her father paused.
“She’s given him an exclusive deal on the entire Goblin Tea trade with Earth.”
“She what?” That came from both Altin and Orli at once.