by J. S. Morin
“You’re one to talk,” Mifa muttered. “You’re pals with the patron, after all, ain’t you?”
“...and it cost me everything.”
Chapter 5
“I have never traveled for pleasure, or for leisure. I went where I needed to go, did what I needed to do. If I could have done it all from right here, I would have.” -Cadmus Errol
The windows of Madlin’s workshop faced south, allowing the mid afternoon sun to spill across her drafting table. Pinned all around the walls were old drawings and schematics she had created. There was a trigger assembly for a new rifle that her father was working on, which she had drawn just months earlier, hanging at one end near an open expanse of wall. Stretching back in time, the drawings grew simpler and more primitive. The last in the line was a hand-drawn sketch of a toy trolley that she had asked her father to make when she was six—the actual trolley it depicted sat on a shelf close by.
Madlin sat at the drafting table, pencil in hand, while Jamile hovered over her.
“I think you’ve finally got it!” Jamile exclaimed. “That looks just like them.”
“This is a long way from you telling me they looked like ‘pinchy scissors,’” Madlin replied. She took a gum eraser and brushed away a few extraneous lines. The lower right corner of the plans called the device “forceps.” It was the last of a list of medical instruments that Jamile had spent weeks describing to her.
“You’re amazing,” Jamile gushed.
“What? Because I can draw? It’s not like I know how to use this stuff to put people back together. I work strictly with inanimate objects.”
“I mean ... technically I’ve never touched anything like forceps. It was Sosha. I—”
“You have. You are Sosha. That’s your name in Korr. It takes some getting used to, but there really aren’t two of you,” Madlin said. She took Jamile by the hand and led her around the table to where she could see the sketch right-side up. “You’re every bit as much the nurse here as you are there, except here that same knowledge makes you a better doctor than the one-worlders can fathom.”
“Just like you’re such an expert at scrubbing floors,” Jamile replied, arching an eyebrow. The Takalish girl made a point of looking about the room—the workshop was anything but tidy.
Madlin held her tongue. She wanted to drive a final nail into her point. She wanted to say, “I’m as much a tinker in Korr as I am here.” Jamile’s point was a fine one, and Madlin could not refute it without telling her about all the things she did in Korr that she hid from her father.
A knock at the door broke the lingering silence. Madlin snatched the spectacles from her face and hid them in a drawer. They saved her from headaches after long hours of work, but she was self-conscious about looking the part of an old maid.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
The door opened and her father walked in.
“That wasn’t technically an answer,” Madlin scolded.
“Never mind that,” Cadmus replied, brushing her objection aside. “Something important has come up. I need you in Khesh.”
Madlin straightened up and blinked several times. “What— you what? What’s in Khesh?”
“I just got word of a mine opening in the Icefang Mountains. Maps they showed me look like they’re right about where Rockfire Deep would be in Korr,” Cadmus said. He spoke quickly, words tumbling forth like a runaway thunderail.
“So?” Madlin asked. She glanced to Jamile, who shrugged.
“So?” Cadmus repeated. “So there’s an opportunity! That part of the Icefang Mountains is full of gold. If whoever is running that mine finds it, they won’t give it up lightly. If you can get there soon enough, I want you to buy it from them.”
“What if they already know there’s gold there, the same way you do?” Jamile asked.
Cadmus stroked his chin, making a scratching noise over the stubble. “If that’s the case, he might make for a valuable ally. Recruit him. Be nice to have another twinborn with some initiative.”
“Why can’t you send someone else?” Madlin asked. She crossed her arms and set a stern look on her face. It was the same look she had used against him since she was five years old and demanding explanations before doing what she was told.
“Why would I want to?” he asked in reply. “For one, you ought to know the area. Rockfire is just outside Eversall; you can get there in half an hour by thunderail if you want to scout it out from Korr. You’re also not a child anymore, Madlin. You’ve grown up as well as I could've hoped. You’ve got gears between your ears and steam enough to power them. I need someone I can trust.”
“You have plenty of trustworthy—”
“But I only have one daughter,” Cadmus interrupted. “You will be acting on my behalf. This whole enterprise will fall to you one day. Good a time as any to start learning how to run it.”
“What about all the projects I’m working on?” Madlin objected. She swept her hand across the desk, indicating the plans she had drawn up for Jamile’s forceps.
Cadmus took a moment to scan the drawing with a practiced eye. His gaze darted about, not content to take the sheet of vellum as a whole, but breaking it to pieces and holding each up for examination.
“Looks good enough for draft work,” he pronounced. “Myron can work from that for a prototype. You on the other hand, will need something appropriate to wear on your trip. See Ninna about some new dresses. You leave in five days—four if I can have the expedition ready by then.”
“Dresses? You know how I hate... ” Madlin began, but trailed off when she noticed her father’s glare.
“Not every occasion abides coveralls.”
“But I have a dress!” she protested. “I don’t need a new one.”
Cadmus sniffed, and his lip curled into a smirk. “Go try it on. Jamile, you go with her down to Ninna’s afterward.”
Madlin stood on a low stool, arms held out to her sides. A plump Takalish woman of middle years fretted about her with a measuring tape. The seamstress’s shop was overwhelmed with work clothes, which were either meant for men or unisex. There were only a handful of dresses on display, but Ninna seemed pleased to be making an exception to her normal clientele. She whistled a tavern song melody as she measured.
“I don’t see why my old dress doesn’t fit. It must have shrunk,” Madlin groused. “I haven’t gotten any taller in the last two years, and I’m not idle.”
“And you’ve taken a liking to those Acardian chocolates ever since your daddy first had them shipped here,” Ninna said. She threw the measuring tape around Madlin’s middle, pinched it off at the number, and showed Madlin. Madlin scrunched her nose. “No amount of tinkerin’s going to fight off those foreign sweets.”
“But I—”
Ninna held up the tape again, still holding the measurement. “Tape doesn’t lie.”
“Look at it this way,” Jamile said. “This way you get new dresses, instead of that old one.”
“I just needed the one. I have a mine to purchase, and a mine owner to impress. You’d think dangling a wagonload of trade bars in front of him would be impressive enough, but I’ll throw a dress on if that helps. The rest of the trip I plan on dressing in my regular clothes.”
“Just humor your father. I’ve known him a little less than a month, but I can already tell how stubborn he can be,” said Jamile.
“Never known a girl who hated dresses so,” Ninna muttered.
Madlin looked in the mirror and saw Ninna and Jamile standing to either side of an angry, frowning girl. She gritted her teeth and sighed.
“Fine. Three dresses, just like my father wanted.”
Jamile held one up in front of Madlin, where she could see in the mirror how it would look on her. “How about this one. The green would set off your eyes.”
“And freeze the tops of my tits off. I’m going for a business transaction, not a royal ball. Besides, the wide neck reminds me too much of my maid uniform. Seems Korrish to me.”
Ninna rolled her eyes, and Jamile just shrugged.
“Try this one.”
“Skirt’s too puffy. I still plan on wearing a gun belt to this meeting; it would get in the way.”
“Fine, what about this one?”
“Silk? What am I, a princess? I’m sure I’d ruin it before I got off the ship.”
“You’re just being difficult. Try this one.”
Madlin looked at the dress. It was sky blue, modestly cut, and sparingly adorned. Madlin shrugged.
“That wasn’t a ‘no,’” Jamile said. She held the dress up so Madlin could see herself in the mirror as if she wore it. “You can’t find anything wrong with that one.”
Madlin clenched her jaw. She stared at the reflection, trying to think of some way to rule out the blue dress as well. Jamile was right though, there was no fault to be found with it—the dress was unremarkable, completely inoffensive.
“Fine,” Madlin muttered.
“Excellent,” said Ninna, but Madlin heard, Finally, it’s about time.
“She’ll take it,” Jamile said. “Along with the pretty green one. Oh, and now that you’ve heard all her complaints, think you can make a brand new one she’d like before we have to leave?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Ninna replied with a shrug. “The time’s not the issue, but the liking’s out of my control.”
“Wait, who said anyth—”
“Your father,” Jamile said. “He can’t make you wear them, but he told me to make sure you buy them and bring them. Mr. Errol is paying, by the way.” She addressed the latter to Ninna.
Breakfast the next morning found Madlin and Jamile at Greuder’s Confections. It was a sprawling bakery and pastry shop on a hillside overlooking Tinker’s Bay. It had only opened the previous summer when the proprietor had moved from Acardia, but was already the most popular eatery on the island.
“I can’t believe you went conspiring with my father,” Madlin said. She stuffed half a spiced crescent into her mouth.
“I can’t believe you’re still upset about it,” Jamile replied. “I thought a good night’s sleep would put it by the wayside. This is ... a strange place, you know. Most of the world expects a respectable young woman to be in a dress. Go about in your coveralls—like you are now—and no one is going to pay much attention to what you’re saying. They’ll be too busy wondering why some rich girl is dressed like a farmhand or a coinblade.” Jamile cut a cinnamon bun with the side of her fork and took a daintier piece than Madlin was chewing.
“Shouldn’t matter,” Madlin mumbled around a full mouth of pastry. “Rather be comfortable.”
“Well, you’re certainly not going to be comfortable in your new dresses if you keep stuffing yourself like that. You’ll ruin all Ninna’s measurements.” Jamile looked up from her food and narrowed her gaze. “Wait, that’s not your plan is it? Oh, Madlin!”
“Nah,” Madlin replied, swallowing. “Just taking advantage of the good food while it lasts. Who knows what we’ll be stuck eating abroad.”
“This is good,” Jamile agreed. “Reminds me of home.”
“You mean Korr?” Madlin asked. Jamile nodded. “Funny, I think of this as home, even as Rynn. But yeah, Greuder’s twin knows Ninna’s on the other side. They’re owned by the same family. He’s their cook. He can make just about anything, but he likes to bake. Knows all the Korrish food—even makes some of the kuduk stuff with the coal ash and iron left out.”
“He does indeed,” a voice came from above them. Jamile and Madlin looked up to see Greuder standing by their tableside. He was round-faced, with the heavyset build that diners find reassuring in someone making them food. He pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down with them. “I heard about your new adventure, Madlin.”
“Both ours,” Jamile added. “I convinced Mr. Errol to let me go with the expedition. It’ll be a while before all the surgical tools Madlin drew up for me can be made, and he liked the idea of her having a doctor along. That still sounds strange to say ... I don’t feel like a doctor.”
“Just you watch yourself out there,” Greuder said. “World’s a wild place between cities.”
“We’ll have fifty armed men and women in the expedition,” Madlin said. “With better guns than we sell to anyone, even the Takalish.”
“Well, what if your mine owner is twinborn?” Greuder asked. “Ever think of that? Why else start a mine right there, unless you knew about the gold.”
“My father already thought of that. If the mine owner is twinborn, we recruit him. Father likes the idea of another ambitious twinborn in the fold.”
“Oh? You assume that if he’s twinborn, he’s from Korr, like us?” Greuder asked. He grinned like a burglar, and wiggled his eyebrows.
“You believe in other worlds?” Jamile asked.
“Two are plenty strange, aren’t they? How much stranger would three be? Or ten?” Greuder shrugged. “Besides, I think I may have seen one or two myself.”
“My father believes in them too. A while back, out of nowhere, he tells me to watch for twinborn who aren’t from Korr, and to listen for mention of a place called Veydrus. If I find any twinborn from there, I either steer clear or kill them on sight.” Madlin stuffed the last half of her spiced crescent into her mouth.
“You said you’ve seen them?” Jamile asked.
“I’ve met plenty of twinborn. I recruited as many as anyone in my day. That pastry shop in Scar Harbor was like honey to bears. Most of ‘em couldn’t help recognizing favorite recipes from Korr. I met one, sure as sugar he was twinborn if only he’d wake up about it. Well, I could dangle as many of those spiced crescents in front of him as you like, but he never made the connection. Then, out of clear skies, he gets himself caught as a witch. He escaped being burned at the stake, and ran off with pirates. There was a suspicious fire on the docks, and days later there was a huge explosion in Marker’s Point—took out a whole city block.”
“That was black powder,” Madlin said. “My father made inquiries. There’s less magic here than in Korr, my father says. And magic’s dying in Korr.”
“Magic’s real enough. You can bet on that,” Greuder said, wagging a finger Madlin’s way. “Can’t say what world’s bringing it, but someone has. Someone knows a lot more about it than anyone from here or Korr seems to.”
Greuder stood up and dragged his chair back to its original table. The portly baker gave them a wink, and left Jamile and Madlin to their meal.
“It’s probably just a coincidence,” Jamile said. Madlin looked into her bright brown eyes and saw a naive sort of hopefulness there.
“Probably isn’t.”
By the time the expedition was ready to depart, Ninna had made good on the attempt to fashion a dress Madlin would find acceptable. Madlin even saw fit to wear it as she boarded the Darksmith. It had a leather bodice that was a smidge too tight for Madlin’s tastes, but that was its worst offense; she assumed it would soften and grow more comfortable with wear. Unlike the immodest green dress, which Jamile had preferred on her, it switched to plain white cloth to cover her to the neck and down the sleeves, which were cuffed like a man’s shirt. The skirt ruffled, but did not puff out, and ended high up her shins—there was little risk tripping over it except climbing ladders. Madlin’s two favorite features were that Ninna had fashioned a pair of matching trousers to go beneath the skirt, and that the skirt was removable. Knee-high boots, her work goggles atop her head, and her gun belt completed her ensemble.
“Stunning!” Jamile commented upon seeing her. “I haven’t seen you out of your coveralls before. You clean up nice.”
“Clean’s got nothing to do with it,” Madlin grumbled. “It’s the dress you like.”
“It suits you.”
“This suits me,” Madlin said. She pulled her pistol from its ov
ersized holster. It felt heavy and solid. The barrel was nearly a foot long. It had an eight chamber revolving wheel that held rifle cartridges. It was one of a kind. Madlin made it herself.
Jamile leaned away from where the barrel of Madlin’s gun pointed, though Madlin had aimed it nowhere near her. Madlin slid the weapon back into its holster.
“I really hope we don’t need all these guns we’re bringing,” Jamile said as she followed Madlin up the gangplank.
“The more guns you bring, the less likely you are to need them,” Madlin stated. It was one of her father’s tenets.
“I always figured it was the opposite.”
Chapter 6
“If something works right on the first try, you didn’t test it harshly enough.” -Cadmus Errol
The tables of the Tap’n’Chug were half empty as the late working crowd had yet to arrive. Rynn had been exempted from work (and pay) for the day due to a holiday break at the university—some kuduk festival that she didn’t know all the details of. She sat in Hayfield’s booth with her feet up on an empty chair; it was just her and Tabby.
“I haven’t got any sixes,” Tabby said. Rynn frowned at Tabby’s hand of cards, held jealously to her chest. “Go mine for one.”
Madlin dug in the pile of cards between them and picked one at random. It was an eight.
“This game is stupid. Can’t we play Crackle instead?” Rynn asked. Crackle was the only game she knew besides chess that survived in both worlds. She waved her empty stein to catch the aleman’s attention.
“For what stakes? Lint and buttons?” Tabby asked in reply. “'Cause that’s all I’ve got until Pick shows up with the split.”