by Tish Thawer
I fastened the harness to myself again, and we started back down the trail. For the steeper parts of the woods, Charlotte pulled on the rope from behind to keep the wagon of ore from running me over. It was a little awkward in the rougher areas of the trail, and for the most severe parts, we both got behind the wagon. There were a lot of stupid ways to die in the woods, and getting run down by an ore wagon was particularly dumb.
I stared at the shadows to the west. The sun was high enough now that a decent amount of sunlight penetrated the canopy, but the shadows it cast were misleading at best. Every crack of a branch sent my eyes roaming toward the deepest parts of the woods. Charlotte studied the canopy, something you needed to do when you were dealing with an enemy that could fly.
“What’s Driscoll’s issue with this town anyway?” Charlotte asked. “Is it really just because he’s at odds with the Court of the Sun and the Moon?”
“Around here, that’s like saying is he really just at odds with the sheriff,” I said. “Going against the rule of law in any city is bound to get you in trouble.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “That’s why you have a license to produce liquor. All your moonshining is aboveboard.”
“Of course,” I said with a small laugh.
A twig snapped nearby, and I froze. Something was close, something big.
“You need not fear me, Gregory,” a voice said from the shadows, so smooth and silky that I distrusted it immediately.
I started to unhook my pistol from my vest, but Charlotte’s hand shot out and interrupted me.
“It’s Orna,” she said.
“The wood elf?”
The shadow of a tree moved, and a large deer strode into the clearing, and upon its back sat a creature of impossible beauty.
“Orna . . .” Charlotte whispered.
“Orna?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Peace, mortals,” the woman said, her voice lilting as if sung by the finest bard, the sunlight caressing alabaster skin that betrayed no human imperfections.
“What do you want of us?” I asked, my voice throaty and gruff compared to Orna’s.
“I have driven away the Unseelie stalking you in these woods. You bring my goddaughter into danger.”
“Goddaughter?” I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
“Betsy?” Charlotte asked.
Orna inclined her head. The deer moved with her, as if it too agreed with Charlotte’s words.
“Yes, Betsy is the name she has taken for herself in this life. The name she has chosen to share with the mortals. No harm will come to her.”
“We would never,” I said.
“I do not believe you would intentionally harm her, or allow harm to come to her, but now comes the Unseelie known as Driscoll. And that is an unfortunate turn of events. Should my family come to harm from your meddling, I will hold you and Driscoll responsible. The consequences will be immediate.”
“Betsy is her own person,” Charlotte said as Orna started to turn away. “We don’t control her decisions. Her willingness to help us was a kindness. But it does not place the responsibility on our shoulders.”
Orna paused and tilted her head, slowly turning back to Charlotte. “I have lived through days where I would have struck you down for such words. And perhaps there is some truth in your words, mortal. But there is more truth in mine. You will be held responsible.”
Orna turned in earnest, and the deer began to pace away.
“Then help her,” I shouted after her. “Stop Driscoll. Is it not your duty to stand against the Unseelie?”
She didn’t turn around again, but her voice echoed through the woods and whispered through the leaves. “You have much to learn of the fae.”
The deer crossed into a shadow, and Orna was gone.
Charlotte took a deep breath and turned to me. “That was new. What did we get tied up in this time?”
“Nothing much. Apparently just a minor fae who rules over the woods in this area. Still better than morgens.”
Charlotte barked out a laugh. “Let’s get back. The longer we stay here, the more likely it is Driscoll will come back.”
I nodded and leaned into the harness.
Chapter 11
Heading back into the town was truly a relief. We dragged the wagon to the back of the shop, and I pulled up a small lift we’d installed on the rear deck. Footsteps sounded in the kitchen before the door creaked open.
“We were getting worried,” Theodore said. “You’ve been gone quite a while.”
I glanced at my watch and frowned at Theodore. “We’ve been up to the mine, acquired the ore, and journeyed back to town. I rather think we made excellent time.”
“Did you see Driscoll?” Betsy asked as we crossed the threshold into the shop.
“We did,” I said. “Thankfully, we lost him at the entrance to the mine. Although I’d say that was one of the less interesting parts of our trip.”
“I saw him in town, too,” Betsy said. “Walking toward the conservatory.”
“If you saw him,” Charlotte said, “it’s because he wanted you to see him.”
I nodded my agreement. “Boilers ready?”
Theodore nodded. “They’re set, and the rock crushers are ready to go.”
“Good,” I said. “Start loading the ore in. As soon as you have it sorted out, get it in the crucible. We’re going to try casting the vessels. We don’t have time to form them by hand.”
“Time before what?” Betsy asked.
“Time before Driscoll comes after you, and then your godmother comes after us.”
“What?” she said, unable to conceal the surprise in her voice.
“The more interesting part of our trip,” Charlotte said.
“You saw Orna?” Theodore asked.
I smiled. “You’ve been sharing a lot with him.”
“That’s none of your business,” Betsy said. “It’s none of hers, either.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that when she tramples us with her deer,” Charlotte snapped.
“You’re welcome here,” I said, “but the least you can do is forewarn us.”
“How am I supposed to forewarn you of something I’m unaware of?” Betsy snapped. “Most of the fae won’t intercede in mortal affairs, but you can rest assured they’ll take revenge. They thrive on it.”
Theodore, apparently being the wiser of the two of us in that moment, dragged the wagon back through the kitchen and out into the workshop where the crucible and the rock crusher waited.
“Perfect—” I started.
“Shut it,” Charlotte said. Her voice was just as cutting as Betsy’s, only I didn’t understand where the anger was coming from. “Leave her alone. She’s good as family to us, as much as Theodore is, and I’ll not have you talking down to her.”
My anger flared for a moment, but I stifled it with a deep breath. Charlotte was right. Betsy was sticking her neck out for Theodore, for us. How could we do any less?
I ground my teeth together and slid out of my tool-laden vest. I let it drop with a loud thud to the workbench as I stormed through the doorway, more angry with myself than Betsy. “I’m sorry.”
As I followed Theodore out into our second workshop, I heard Charlotte telling Betsy that I didn’t always handle stress very well. She was right, but the comment rankled.
The workshop in the back of the building wasn’t as neat and polished as the workbenches that the customers saw. Here there was almost always a fine layer of dust on things, but it wasn’t from lack of use. It was the powder created from pulverizing rock, along with shards left from working with glass and metal. The scent of hot metal and burning coals filled the air, the small steam engine whirring as it pumped air into the fires.
The shop felt like home. Sometimes even more so than the home we kept above it.
“You okay?” Theodore asked.
I nodded. I picked up some of the larger chunks of ore and placed them in the chute of the
rock crusher. The metal and stone clanged against the steel slide.
Theodore pulled the brass lever down that opened the gate for the steam. The piston started up, bits of ore rattling into the crusher as our conversation was drowned out by the calamity of the machine.
We continued like that for a few moments, feeding the raw ore into the machine and gathering the crushed remnants on the other side.
There it mixed with water before running down a sluice. The concentrate separated until we were left with rock containing the metals we needed, and a lighter, more fluid mass that carried smaller flecks and shards of the gray substance. Theodore funneled this into a barrel. Once we had enough, he loaded the smaller remnants onto the wagon with the barrel and dragged it toward the back door.
I turned to watch him go before starting to shut down the rock crusher. It would take a while for heat from the steam engine to dissipate. In the meantime, we could start smelting the ore.
Once I was satisfied the fires were out and the rock crusher was on its way to cooling down, I followed Theodore into the back.
The furnace may have been attached to the shop, but it generated far too much heat to keep it indoors. Perhaps it would’ve been possible if we had a large barn, or other open area, but as it was, I didn’t want to burn the house down.
Theodore flipped open the metal disc that sat on top of the furnace. Inside burned a fire hot enough that it glowed like the sun.
The long tongs we used for loading ore into the crucible were unwieldy and hard to handle. I’d come up with a solution to use it with wicker baskets. We lowered it into the crucible where it burst into flames and let the ore settle to the bottom.
“We can get more in here,” Theodore said. “Probably at least another quarter of the load.”
I shook my head. “We don’t need that much.”
I grabbed a hook and used it to pull the heavy lid closed. Theodore turned the valve, and airflow into the furnace increased, sending a small burst of flame out through the hole in the center of the lid.
“You want to do anything with the barrel now?” Theodore asked.
“No,” I said. “We have all we need for the vessels. Let’s focus on that.”
“How do you plan to cast these?” Theodore asked.
Most of the work we’d done with the vessels for the aether involved crafting them by hand. That took time, more time than I was willing to risk with Driscoll in town.
I pulled two pairs of wood blocks out from underneath the workbench beside the furnace.
“You can’t get the details of the vessels chamber with that,” Theodore said.
I handed Theodore one set of blocks and said, “Look inside.”
Theodore cracked the block open, and his eyes widened as he stared at the intricate web work of copper and iron. “You think this will work?”
“The theory is sound. And what better time than now to test it?”
“I don’t know,” Theodore said. “Maybe about two weeks ago before we really needed it?”
I barked out a harsh laugh and said, “You make a fair point. Ore from the cave will form a bond with the copper.”
“An alloy,” Theodore said, nodding his head. “And the iron has a higher melting point so it should help you keep it shaped.”
“That’s the theory,” I said.
“Aren’t you worried about weakening the wards?” Betsy asked as she stepped outside the shop and joined us by the furnace.
I glanced between her and Theodore before nodding. “Do you think it will impair the aether itself?”
Betsy frowned. “I honestly don’t know. The vessel you’re building, it is not a solid structure.”
“I’m hoping the alloy will have enough of the ore’s property to conduct the aether.”
Betsy nodded. “I suppose we’ll see soon enough.”
“Let’s get them ready,” I said.
Theodore put the mold back together, and set it into a square metal box partially filled with sand. I handed him the second mold, and he did the same.
“You think those channels are wide enough to take the alloy?” he asked as he studied the points we’d be pouring the molten metal into.
“Should be fine,” I said. “Let’s fill that up with sand and get ready to pour.”
Betsy studied the furnace and the box we were using to cast the vessels. “I think I’ll just wait inside.”
I leaned toward Theodore. “I think she’s smarter than us.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Theodore said.
The door clicked closed behind Betsy as Theodore finished leveling the sand off around the molds.
“Grab the tongs,” I said as I picked up the hook and moved toward the furnace.
“You want me to pour?” Theodore asked.
“I can handle this.” I pulled on thick heavy leather gloves. The padding inside of them was enough that I could barely move my hands, but it provided an adequate level of insulation from the heat of the forge.
Theodore hurried to put his own gloves on. Once he was ready, I lowered the end into the forge, and hooked the tongs around the crucible.
“Locked in,” I said.
“Ready.”
He nodded and stepped back, only helping with leverage to get the crucible, now filled with slag and molten ore, evenly out of the forge. Even with our protective clothes on, this wasn’t the kind of thing you wanted sloshing over your feet. I’d known more than one blacksmith over the years who had terrible injuries from accidents like that. I’d known some who didn’t survive it.
Sweat poured off both of us as the heat of the open furnace filled the area with a stifling blast of air. I positioned the red-hot crucible in the sand and took a deep breath before turning my entire body slightly to line up the spout on the crucible with the opening in the mold. Another moment of focus, and then I levered it forward. Liquid metal slid from the crucible like a river of heated butter. It spat steam into the air as it slid into the mold. It only took a few seconds of pouring before the opening at the other end of the mold bubbled molten metal up in the sandbox. I carefully tilted the crucible back into a sitting position.
“Let’s get the other one,” I said, grabbing the tongs close to where they were connected. I could feel the heat through my gloves now, a good sign that I was done handling the tongs. With the crucible positioned, Theodore stepped away. I repeated the pour before emptying the crucible into a small round pocket at the edge of the metal box. Once the extra metal cooled, we could knock the slag off and would have all the metal we needed to make the rest of the vessels later.
Chapter 12
“Turn the forge down,” I said. “We shouldn’t need it now.”
Theodore stuck the crucible back on top of the forge before he released the tongs. Those he hung back on the metal hooks, with the heat safely out of the way.
Theodore straightened his back with a start and turned to face me. “Are we going to get aether in those?”
“It’s already in,” I said. “It’s the only option I could think of that would allow us to do the casting.”
Theodore looked back at the box of molds. “What if it would’ve ruptured?”
“I suppose if it had, we likely wouldn’t be talking about it right now.”
“If this works,” Betsy said, walking back outside to join us, “you’ve only provided the town protection against one threat. I don’t believe these wards will dissuade a great many of the other things that threaten the settlement.”
“And I thought I was the optimistic one,” I said.
Charlotte let out a low laugh as she followed Betsy out the back door. “The biggest threat to this place right now is Driscoll,” Charlotte said. “Whether the people who live here know it or not.”
Betsy nodded. “There’s more you don’t know. Driscoll is Unseelie, clearly, and he wears that fact proudly. What you don’t know is that he is vile even by the standards of the Unseelie fae. Many years ago, Driscoll’s sister was
exiled from this place. A faerie of the wood, exiled to the desert. You understand what that means?”
I exchanged a look with Charlotte. I had some idea of what the consequences might have been, but not enough.
“No,” I said.
Charlotte shook her head too.
“It is a slow death,” Betsy said. “Taken away from the magicks that sustained her, she would have starved. Some of the old tales say it took months, and some say it took years. But there’s one thing all of the stories agree on. Driscoll found her before she died, but he was too late. He may not be at odds with the Court of the Sun and the Moon directly, but he is at odds with anyone who trespasses on the land where his sister lived. The mere existence of this town has awakened a monster that you do not understand. And that monster knows what you did to the Unseelie fae of the Caribbean.”
“We get the wards in place,” I said. “That’s our priority.”
“He’s had time to study the conservatory,” Charlotte said. “He’s seen the wards work. He likely already knows what we’re doing.”
I looked down at the molds at our feet. “He might know, but he’ll be too late to stop us.”
The molten metals cooled quite quickly once they were in the mold. Without the heat of the forge to keep the temperatures above the melting point, the metal regained its form in moments. It wouldn’t be cool enough to touch with bare hands until we quenched it.
“What do you want to do?” Theodore asked. “Drop them straight in the bucket? Or crack the molds and inspect them first?”
“Just drop them right in the buckets. We don’t have the time to worry about small imperfections in the castings right now. There’s no point in inspecting them too closely.”
Theodore nodded.
I picked up the wooden block with my padded leather gloves, undid the small clamp holding the two halves closed, and let the vessel inside fall into the water. It hissed, and steam exploded from the top of the bucket as the metal sank to the bottom. Theodore did the same, and we waited for the frenzy of activity to slow. The boiling waters became a slow stream of bubbles as the steam cleared enough we could see the bottom of the steel bucket.