The Nullification Engine (The Alchemancer: Book Two)

by Scott Marlowe

  Thorvid gestured at Spectacles to sit. The man complied.

  "You've something for my expert to look over?" Thorvid asked, his words rumbling from his throat like a rockslide.

  Captain Kreg held up the book. One of the bruisers came forward, took it out of his hand, and placed it on the table in front of Spectacles. While he looked through its contents, everyone waited. About five minutes passed before he closed the book and stood up from the table.

  "Everything appears in order," Spectacles said. "This tome describes a reformulation process whereby body fluids are coalesced and—"

  "I don't much care about the details, professor," Thorvid said. "I just need to know if you think the rejuvenation process will work as the good captain here has described."

  "The man who wrote this no doubt had intimate knowledge of this supposed process," Professor Spectacles said. "His theories, inasmuch as I have read, seem sound, and he has a firm grasp of the principles at hand. Assuming the remainder of the research is as compelling as this single volume, I think it is certainly plausible. Still, I would need to examine the entirety of the material and run some trials before knowing for sure. I will, of course, require subjects for these initial experiments."

  Thorvid nodded. "Once I have taken full delivery, you'll have whatever you need, Professor."

  One of Thorvid's men let the professor out the back door. Once he was gone, Thorvid gestured at Captain Kreg to sit. The dwarf pulled the other chair out for himself.

  "We've some details to work out, captain. Your men can go upfront while we discuss the particulars." He addressed Jacob, Tippin, and Lundy. "While you're out there, buy something from the young lady at the counter. It delights her to no end when she makes a sale."

  The three of them followed one of the bruisers from the backroom and into the front of the antique store, where Jacob noted the presence of the young lady Thorvid had referred to standing behind the front counter. He gave her a quick smile, then went over the place with a cursory glance. Though he did not have an unobstructed view into every corner, what he did see looked like more junk, and so he saw no point in wandering about. Tippin, though, taken with the place, spotted something of interest and went to investigate. Lundy strolled about, looking as uninterested as Jacob at first until something at the far side of the shop caught his eye. He disappeared from view.

  But for the young lady who worked here, only two others, a gentleman and his wife, occupied the place. The lady grew excited over some piece of flotsam buried amidst the other trash as she tugged on her husband's arm to draw him near. The man let out a sigh, but that was all. Jacob turned to the back door. The bruiser who'd accompanied them stood in front of it now with arms crossed. No getting back in there right now. Jacob chewed his lip. Maybe he'd go see what had so interested Tippin. He'd barely taken a step in that direction when a distressed, feminine voice stopped him.

  "I must ask, sir, that you stand away. My father is close by, and he'll not tolerate such behavior."

  "Now I don't mean no harm, missy. Just want a little look-see."

  Lundy. Gods damn him.

  Jacob ground his teeth as he stomped across the shop. He knew they should have left him back at the ship. Coming round the last display to block his view, Jacob saw the boatswain pressed up against a lady he recognized instantly. It was Bella. Reprimands and threats disappeared from Jacob's mind as something else took hold. Jacob closed the remaining distance fast, taking hold of Lundy's collar with both hands and yanking with all his strength. Lundy careened back-first into a table set with an assortment of oil lamps. Down went the boatswain, and lamps and table with him in a clattering mess. While Lundy fumbled about on the floor, Jacob stood over him, fists clenched. Let him try standing back up, and he'd send him right back down.

  Lundy took one look at Jacob and knew what was coming, too. He smiled, and started to push himself up. Jacob lifted one fist, ready to follow through on his violent intention when someone grabbed him from behind. He struggled, but stopped when he realized who had him.

  "Not worth the trouble, Commander," Tippin said in his ear. The sergeant had him tight, and wouldn't let go until Jacob's faculties returned. They did, in ever increasing waves.

  "It's all right, Sergeant." Jacob slumped in his sergeant's grasp. "I've made my point."

  Released, Jacob straightened his coat and, before turning his attention to Bella, said to the sergeant, "Take our shipmate out for some air, will you? And keep an eye on him."

  Tippin obliged, rousing Lundy to his feet and not gently shoving him outside the shop. Lundy's protests fell on deaf ears. The bruiser who'd been manning the back door, attracted by the ruckus, made sure they left before he came over to check on Bella.

  "Is everything all right, Ms. Kelm?"

  Bella managed a quick nod.

  The man cast a threatening look Jacob's way, but he went back to his station.

  "Lady Bella," Jacob said, "I must apologize for my man's inexcusable behavior. I will personally see to it that Mr. Mortimar receives the worst possible punishment once we return to our ship."

  Bella took a breath, composing herself. "It's all right... Commander Madison, is it? Do what you think is necessary, but really no harm done."

  Jacob's heart fluttered to hear she'd remembered his name. Still, there was no need for such formality. "Please, call me Jacob."

  She'd changed clothes from earlier in the day, into a blue gown of simple make, and her hair was tied in an efficient ponytail. Her more economical appearance did nothing to diminish her beauty. Jacob was surprised but not entirely ungrateful that Nod was not present.

  "I wonder, Jacob, what you and your shipmates are doing here."

  Jacob looked about the store. "Not buying any of this junk, I can assure you of that."

  "Junk?" Bella crossed her arms and fixed him with a penetrating stare.

  Too late Jacob realized his flub. "I meant no offense. You're obviously shopping here, so it must not all be junk, ah, I mean..." If not junk, what did one call it?

  "Antiques," Bella said.

  "Yes, of course, antiques. And for which antiques are you shopping today?"

  "Oh, I'm not shopping. I work here." As if to demonstrate, she picked up a bronze decanter from the counter behind her and gave it a quick polish. "Only part-time, but Father allows me to assist the store manager from time to time. That's the woman over at the counter." The young lady wasn't behind the counter any longer, as she made her way over to the toppled display. Bella waved her away before she got there. "Don't worry, Sarah, I'll take care of this mess."

  Jacob helped her, righting the table and replacing the lamps back to their original locations, more or less. After a few minutes, they had everything back in order.

  "Sarah is a sweet woman," Bella said. "I've been helping her out in the store for going on two years now, ever since her husband died. Mostly just in the shop here, but sometimes, like tomorrow morning, we'll take some of the antiques to market, where we have a stall."

  "That's admirable. Never hurts to make a little extra money in the process, too."

  "Oh, Sarah doesn't pay me."

  "She doesn't?"

  "That wouldn't really make any sense since my father owns the store."

  "Oh, I see."

  "So," Bella said, flashing him a coy smile, "what brings you into my father's junk shop, Jacob?"

  "Actually, we were meeting someone in back concerning some...other business."

  "So you're the ones Father came to meet."

  "Father? Your father was in our meeting?"

  "You'd know him by his height, though don't tell him I said that."

  Jacob's head went back. "Thorvid is your father? Thorvid Kelm?"

  "Adopted father, obviously, but yes. He said he was buying something from you, but wouldn't tell me what. Don't worry. I didn't press him and you needn't tell me now. My father likes to keep his business dealings to himself."

  "I can imagine." As one of the city's mos
t powerful crime lords, Jacob hoped he kept a great deal from her.

  Bella gestured with her chin at the back of the store. "It appears your captain and my father are done with their business."

  Jacob turned to see Captain Kreg, followed by Thorvid, just emerging from the backroom. Blyden headed straight for the exit, while Thorvid took a moment to locate his daughter. He started over as soon as he saw her.

  "Will you be staying, Bella, or coming back to the house?" Thorvid asked in the same gravelly voice. He paid Jacob no attention at all. "I've got some other things to do today, and time's a-wasting."

  "I'll come back with you," Bella said. "But, first, I'd like to introduce my friend, Commander Jacob Madison. Commander, this is my father, Thorvid Kelm."

  Jacob extended his hand. "It's an honor, sir. We actually saw each other in the back of the store."

  Thorvid glanced at the commander with a critical eye. He made no move to accept the offered hand. "Friend?"

  "Yes," Bella said, "though we only met earlier today."

  "That's true," Jacob said. "I thought the lady was about to get run over and so when I ran into her—literally—I thought I was rescuing her when in fact she did not need rescuing at all, and so—"

  "Let's go, Bella." Thorvid walked away and didn't look back. His men, who hovered in the background, followed him out of the store.

  That had not gone precisely as Jacob had imagined it. "Your father must think I'm a blubbering idiot."

  Bella giggled. "Don't worry. My father thinks everyone's a blubbering idiot."

  Jacob escorted Bella outside the shop where her family's mechanical contraption awaited her. Tippin stood to one side with Lundy. Captain Kreg was with them. Bella did not spare the bosun's mate a single glance as she climbed in beside her father. The carriage lurched into motion, and then they started off down the road

  "We've a deal," Captain Kreg informed the others. "All of the research materials upfront for the agreed-upon price. Damn fool dwarf hardly haggled. He must want the books and such pretty badly. Let's get back to the ship. He wants everything delivered immediately so his expert can start his evaluation as soon as possible."

  Captain Kreg said nothing more as he led them back the way they'd come. Jacob fell in beside him, his thoughts fixated on his latest encounter with Bella. Tippin walked right behind. Lundy kept their pace, but he hung back, his gaze wandering in the direction of the departing carriage and the woman within.

  * * *

  Malf walked away from the Kelm's carriage with haste. He'd only jumped out right before Thorvid and his daughter had come out of the shop. Close call, he thought. But he'd gotten what he'd been sent to retrieve. "Something of Thorvid's," Bekjris had ordered. Malf didn't know if the bloody kerchief belonged to the dwarf or not, but he figured close enough. Not like he was going to get another chance at the carriage. Catching that dimwit Nod dozing off had been a blessing. Malf had no intention of tempting fate by risking another try.

  Slowing his pace—he was lost in the crowd now, anyway—Malf tucked the kerchief into a pocket and set off for the rendezvous spot. The quicker he got the item to the witch, the sooner he could get on to the gaming hall. When he eventually reported back, he'd just tell Bekjris it took longer than expected to retrieve the item. No harm done, and everyone was happy. Everyone except Thorvid. Malf chuckled. About time that dirty dwarf got what he deserved. About time.

  15. Hired Help

  EVAN WALKED INTO THE SWORD and a Prayer and very nearly tripped on a dwarf lying passed out on the floor. Two more lay nearby. All three snored, and not lightly. The tavern had a reputation for hard drinkers, so seeing a few patrons sleeping even this late in the day didn't surprise Evan. He just wished they'd found a better place to pass out. Stepping over the first and around the others, Evan called to the barkeep for a mug of ale as he made his way to a table nestled in a corner. His order was filled before he'd even settled in. A second, for another mug and a meal, arrived at his table just as quickly. He downed the second ale and called for a third before touching his food. Even then, he only picked at it. His run-in with the skeva had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. His third mug arrived courtesy of the barkeep himself. Short and bald, the man lingered long enough Evan knew he meant to strike up a conversation.

  "I've plenty of coin if that's what you're going to ask," Evan said.

  The man shook his head as he wiped his hands on his apron. "You King's Patrol?"

  Evan thought the golden eagle on his tunic indication enough of that. Feeling a bit surly, he said, "Why? Is that a problem?"

  Some considered the King's Patrol no more than a ragtag band of ruffians. Their allegiance to the memory of a long-dead king and not to the four living dukes had a lot to do with it. Evan hoped this man wasn't one of those. He really wasn't in the mood.

  "No problem at all. It's just, if you are a patroller, I wanted to say your money's no good here."

  Not sure if that was good or bad, Evan asked, "Why's that?"

  "Few years back, my brother—he's a logger out of Easthedge—was traveling the eastern Dormont and got himself into a bit of a scrape with some brigands. Patroller helped him out. Probably saved his life. I don't get many patrollers in here, but when I do, I like to show my gratitude."

  Evan raised his flagon. "Consider your gratitude appreciated."

  The barkeep went away happy, leaving Evan to settle into a quiet afternoon of free drinking. Right up until the first of the dwarves lying at the entrance woke. Evan heard the dwarf groan. Then he saw a single hand come up to grasp a nearby tabletop. Using the table to pull himself up didn't work so well, as the table fell over and the dwarf with it. The dwarf tried again, this time on his own, and managed to stand, albeit on wobbly legs. He stretched, yawning so all the world could hear, before shouting at the barkeep for a fresh round of drinks. He concluded his display by kicking his comrades awake. The trio staggered to a table and henceforth remained quiet.

  Evan watched others come and go as he sipped his ale. He was glad for the outcome of his encounter with the skeva. Especially that he had lived, but also that he'd been able to deliver the proof the city watch needed. Evan had meant what he'd said about bringing in patrollers to help. But, in the meanwhile, the city guard was on its own. That, Evan figured, was what bothered him the most about the situation. Evan had never seen anything move so fast. While his patroller training had kept him alive long enough for help to arrive, he knew if it hadn't, he'd be dead right now. In good conscience, he couldn't move on with his business without repaying that debt. Also, there were the people of the city to consider. He wasn't about to stand by while more of them were taken by those filthy creatures. Evan shared a bond with them, for though not of Brighton himself, he did hail from its fiefdom, Seacea.

  "You've the look of a man who shouldn't be drinking alone."

  Evan had been so lost in his thoughts he'd not noticed the dwarf's approach. Neither had he time to voice a protest before he pulled out a chair and sat down at Evan's table.

  "Barkeep!" the dwarf said. "Ale for me and my friend." The dwarf eyed Evan's tunic. "Alzion patroller, eh?"

  The dwarf's appearance reminded Evan of an Anolgan hill man: Braided chestnut beard hanging over a dark leather jerkin; a wide, muscled girth; and hard eyes set deeply beneath a firm brow. Evan figured him from Rillock. The dwarves and humans of that part of Uhl were a hard, wild bunch, and indistinguishable but for their obvious racial differences. They'd both reputations for quick tempers, too, so Evan thought it best he not dismiss this one outright.

  "That's right," Evan said.

  The dwarf slammed a fist into his chest. "Hirad Bolheim, Fire Rock clan, out of Rillock."

  "Evan Kingsley."

  Hirad nodded in automatic fashion. But then his face took on an amused look. "Kingsley? King's Patrol?" He let out a deep chuckle. "By the All-Father's dusty bones, how did you not think of a better name?"

  Evan frowned. "What do you mean? It's my family's
name, so I hadn't much choice in the matter. It's coincidence my surname and occupation bear such similarity."

  "Coincidence?" Hirad said, chuckling some more. "I don't believe in coincidence."

  "What are you saying then?" Evan asked, surliness returning. "That I lie?"

  Hirad held his hands up with digits spread wide. "No need for all that. Your choice of name is your own business and none of mine."

  Just then the barmaid deposited a mug of ale in front of each of them. Hirad drank deeply, draining the cup in one pull, whereupon he let out a belch which very nearly shook the walls. Wiping a sleeve across his mouth, he asked, "What's your business in town, patroller?"

  "If my name's none of your business," Evan said, taking a draft from his mug, "then neither is the reason for my being here."

  Hirad leaned back in his chair. "A bit testy, are we? No wonder, I suppose. A little bit ago you looked like a man who just had his arse handed to him." The dwarf looked him up and down, including a quick peek under the table. "Looks like you've all your limbs, and not even a bruise on that pretty face of yours, so what's your worry?"

  "My worry is that I was almost killed."

  Hirad shrugged. "Yet here you are, breathing, talking, and drinking. Barkeep, another!" While Hirad waited, he slouched in his chair and took to shuffling his empty mug back and forth across the table. Of a sudden, his expression turned somber. "I've seen my share of death as well this past week or so. Some of our own too. But that business is done now. Now, my clan mates and I drink, sing, laugh, and, eventually, go home." Hirad turned to look at the other two dwarves, who, thankfully, remained at their own table. "Ain't that right, Ardus?"

  The one named Ardus narrowed his brow and shook his head before looking to the other to see if he'd any idea what Hirad had asked. He shook his head as well, and so Ardus shrugged and raised his mug. "Whatever you say, Hirad." Then he downed the remainder of his beer and, in what seemed a tradition of sorts, shouted for another.

  "So," Hirad said, turning back to Evan, "who kicked your arse?"