Cornelius was silent. Devin strained and pressed his ear against the door, but all he heard was a faint clatter of dishes.
“What is the redolent aroma behind the turnips? The scent of spicy cinnamon bones wrapped in a delicate skin of buttery cream confection?”
“Your tea,” Cornelius said. The chair did not groan as he sat.
Vice swished the tea in his mouth. A chair scraped across the floor and the watch slid across the table. “My thanks, kind sir. Now, to duty. I have a mistake to fix.”
“Surely, a traveler from the glorious font of civilization would not be so ungracious as to spurn my hospitality? I might expect such crude behavior from a barbarian, but a gentleman of the empire? All for one alleged guest? Please sit, Armand. Your tea grows cold.”
“If you agree you will not try and stop me pursuing this mage criminal with your sorcerous ways? I am a bit beyond my jurisdiction and have no desire to fight Corelian mages.”
“It is a poor mage who relies on magic for everything. Still, any guest under my roof is safe from any direct magic attack from the wizard in residence. The Royal Hospitality Proviso of 299. We are not a nation of lawless savages, sir.”
“Very well.” The chair groaned again. “Then I shall drain my teacup before quenching my thirst for justice. I've always enjoyed throwing the tea in little bags and watching them float as they discharged into the hot water. Hmmm, no bags. What are these shimmering, golden flakes?”
“Those are the source of the flavor,” Cornelius said. “My apologies, the strainer must be broken. Have another little cake.”
“What exquisite, carved wooden cups,” Vice said. “The way the tea enhances the pattern in the grain is quite striking. My aunt used to collect homey Corel knick knacks like this.”
Devin heard the sound of forks scraping plates. His guts rumbled, echoing in the confines of the armoire, and he covered his stomach with both hands to silence it.
“Thank you for the cake, Cornelius. This tea smells lovely,” Vice said, “but something seems off. Almost tainted. If you will forgive me?”
“Of course,” Cornelius said to the sound of metal hitting wood.
“The confounded sliding mechanism always jams. Ah, there!”
“May I examine your little, steel mug?” Cornelius asked. “Hmm, each section slides into itself. Ingenious. Our blacksmith would approve, but he's a bit odd.”
“I am merely a humble traveler. I like to carry a bit of home around with me wherever I go. Liquids just taste better in a proper, metal vessel. It adds a delicate, tangy sweetness.”
“And that wicked, mechanical gauntlet you propped against my door? Another sweet memento of home?”
“The roads are dangerous, sir.” Vice stamped his boot. “Criminals hiding around every corner. A traveler cannot be too careful walking through such strange, eerie lands.”
“I would assume most travelers enjoy seeing new things,” Cornelius said, gargling his tea.
“I am but a government employee,” Vice said, sipping. “A civil servant. I confess I find most of my pleasures closer to home. The further I travel, the more I am reminded of the empire and it grates on me.”
Cornelius slurped his tea. “Please elaborate, if you would be so kind.”
“Your happy, little household looks distorted through the lens of empire. Nothing seems quite right. The walls are off plumb. The floor is uneven. The furniture is untamed. You imprison your bread in that ridiculous wooden cage. All these foreign imperfections are like shadows of a shining, proper, imperial household. It almost gives me a headache sitting here. Home will be a welcome respite from this vacation.”
“And when you go home, would you care to take one of my mugs back to your aunt as a little souvenir, Armand? I've found old matrons can never have too many knick knacks.”
“Thank you, no. The woman passed away some years ago. Her house was littered with the things when she died. They clashed with the imperial décor.
“How boring the world would be if everyone's tastes were all the same. I suppose it would be like drinking the same beverage day after day. More tea?” Cornelius snapped his fingers and in the darkness of his mind, Devin saw a segmented loricate, steel traveling mug disappear. Cornelius was always snapping his fingers and making things disappear. A sharp, high-pitched whining came from the other room.
“Was that your watch?” Cornelius asked.
Vice swore. “Don't make my metal cup vanish like that. I find such things unsettling.”
“Not to mention deafening. Well, you come to a nation of wizards,” Cornelius said. “You tend to see magic. Most of the rest of your countrymen don't seem to mind. Tourists tell me it harkens back to a time of fairy tales and fantasy. They pay good money to indulge that fantasy. One could even say this town makes a living fleecing the empire.”
“I am not like those other tourists. I live in the real world. Magic has no place in these advanced, modern times. By the five gods, must you swirl those sugar cubes through the air like that? It's obscene.” Vice sounded on the verge of tears. Devin smiled.
“My modern world looks different from yours. The very brew you sip comes from the most magical, wondrous source in the world. I'm sorry, it must taste like poison to you.” Cornelius snapped his fingers again and the whining repeated.
“Stop that!” Vice slammed what could only be his watch on the table. “Not only do you flout the law, you persist flaunting it in my face.”
“What precisely do you and your watch do?” Cornelius asked. “And why is the little spiral dial spinning backwards like that? It would almost be hypnotic if not for that horrible noise.”
“This device is a mage tracker. It finds magic users who slink into their holes and hide.”
“I'm scarcely hiding, Armand,” Cornelius said.
“Of course not. What reason do you have to hide anything, Cornelius? But you should know I am excellent at finding mages who do not want to be found.”
“Fascinating. How does your little watch work, Armand?”
“This device is an unreality detector. The more magic it senses, the faster it spins. Your magic unhinges the universe, Cornelius, and I can detect it with this watch.”
“That dial's spinning awfully fast now. Hmmm, strange. I can't levitate your watch. It's like trying to lift a mountain.”
Devin covered his ears. What had begun as a dull whine sounded like a tortured, mechanical beast. He could still hear the metallic shrieking through his fingers. Then the watch fell silent.
“At close range, the watch collects magical energy as well as detects it. Your spells are useless. Stop looking around, Cornelius. None of your neighbors will disturb us. I left two mercenaries guarding the door. And stop feeding my watch. It attracts sorcery like iron filings to lodestone; it can absorb any magical attack and remain unaffected. Such is the might of the Iron Empire.”
Such is the might of imperial artificers, Devin thought. But I've never heard of any artificers tinkering with magical devices. Which of my fellow craftsmen has been breaking the law and what were they offered in exchange?
“Bravo, Armand,” the wizard said, clapping his hands. “Your watch seems impervious to my little tricks.”
“You are destroying the fabric of reality. You are dragging the universe further into chaos every time you wiggle your fingers.”
“Chaos is the natural order of the universe,” Cornelius said. “Someday you will die and it will claim you. Your stitched vest will unravel. Your tidy bones will scramble. Your skin will become nothing more than random, swirling traces in the dirt. You are one last breath away from descending into chaos, Armand.”
“You speak of my death to chaos? You sir, are living, breathing chaos incarnate.”
“I am an agent of chaos,” Cornelius agreed.
“I prefer order,” Vice said. “Life is a constant struggle between order and chaos.”
“I quite agree,” Cornelius said, “but my side is winning.”
“I uphold the law. Everything you do is a violation. You offer me tea from a mystical bush. I want to uproot it. We sit around this magical table on magical chairs. I want to chop them into kindling. No natural tree should ever assume such shapes.”
“Your tea didn't come from a bush,” Cornelius slurped. “Don't forget my wooden cups.”
“And these delicate wooden cups. Such lurid, sorcerous designs. One should sip virgin's blood from these cups. I want to take them and smash them over your head, Cornelius.”
“What about your poor aunt? I suspect she would have enjoyed my cups.”
“The day she died, I laid my aunt on a bier in her house, surrounded by all her cherished possessions. I brought the priest. He said the rites. Then I burnt that woman's house to the ground.”
“How extreme. Most folks around here barter their dead relative's unwanted possessions or donate to the temple. You reduce them to aimless, drifting particles of ash. How delightfully chaotic. I approve, Armand.”
“I do not crave your approval, wizard.”
“Styx, bring the pot over. We still need to finish that tea.”
“More, sir?” Styx asked. The heavy iron kettle hit the table and Devin could see the tiny branches of the table top flexing in his mind. “Oh, I feel faint,” Styx said as the watch shrieked.
Cornelius laughed. “Armand's little toy reacts to your very presence, Styx. Fascinating.”
“What is this horror with clothes draped over brass and wooden bones?” Armand asked. “I thought it was a statue and now it ambles towards me to serve tea? What foul spells did you cast to create this mockery?”
“Oh, I cannot claim credit for Styx here. Go outside and fix the roof, Styx. You're making our guest feel unwelcome. A point of fact: I suspect I dislike him for much the same reasons you do. Well, how about that, Armand.” Cornelius's bare feet slapped the floor. “We seem to have something in common after all.”
“I am nothing like you. Did Devin create this construct? He's making monsters, now? Wooden soldiers? Where is he?”
Devin could feel the man's eyes boring through the thin walls separating them. He huddled in the far corner of the armoire and hugged his knees. In the long silence that followed, all Devin could hear was the quiet echo of several small drops plinking into a near empty cup.
“By the five gods,” Cornelius whispered, “we've finished all the tea.” Devin heard a small, plopping noise. “And I have dropped the last cake on the ground. A pity. My hypothetical guest could have eaten it after you left.”
“Then our pact is complete. The boy is mine. Step aside, wizard.”
Devin's stomach growled again. The sound reverberated inside the small armoire seconded only by the pounding of his heart. He hugged his knees tighter.
“Wait,” Cornelius said. “Listen, Armand. Do you hear that? Those clumsy steps above us? Feel the rafters tremble overhead? See the dead dust drift past your face? That's my heavy, wooden construct scouring this fragile, little cottage. Such crude, Corelian construction. He might fall through at any moment, like a tree in the woods. Makes a man feel all safe and cozy, doesn't it, Armand?”
“You swore no magic.”
“And you would hold me to that regardless of the King's law with that awful, little brass device of yours. Which even now, leaches the strength from Styx's heavy wooden limbs. The longer you stay, the weaker he becomes. One foot in the wrong place. One misstep. Soon, he will fall through the roof. Right on top of you.”
“Out with it, wizard. You know what I want.”
“To take my apprentice,” Cornelius roared over the watch, which was beginning to diminish. “You want to take that metal glove and pull my house down around my ears. Well, you will touch neither my apprentice nor my school . . .” The roof shuttered. “Leave before you sap his strength entirely. If that poor wooden doll loses his balance . . .” Sharp tones of sarcasm and insincerity fought themselves in his voice.
“Yes, I've heard you teach a school,” Vice said. “Is Devin helping you train your evil, little wizard spawn? I will destroy your school, Cornelius, then this horrible town steeped in blasphemous sorcery. I will marshal the imperial army in a swirl of red and black splendor. I will deflate the mountains like a wet teabag. I will raze your whole kingdom to the ground and destroy the mage menace with fire and water and . . . by the five gods, what is in this tea?”
Styx crashed through the roof and the foundation of the cottage quivered as he hit the ground. The watch fell silent and Devin could hear a few loose tiles break on the stone floor.
Styx! Devin reached towards the armoire door before Cornelius interrupted his thoughts.
“You're drinking Golden Dragon Blend,” Cornelius said as the last few tiles crashed. “Only the best of Corel for a citizen of the empire. Those golden flakes are tiny wyrm scales. You've been sipping pure, raw, undiluted magic.”
Armand Delacourt Vice sputtered and choked. Devin heard the sound of spewing tea and a chair hitting the floor.
Dragon tea? Devin spat. Cornelius has been serving me boiled dragon hide this whole time? Ew. I thought 'Golden Dragon Tea' was just some clever brand name. They harvest dragon scales, steep them in hot water, and then drink the slimy dregs? Is the entire country insane? Have they no reverence? No shame?
“Clever, wizard,” Vice said. “Yet your wooden doll missed your target.”
“I did not. My target was the townspeople, Armand. Even now, they're rushing down the street to see what happened to dear old Professor Cornelius. Can you and your two mercenaries stave off an entire populace? That metal glove of yours is an offensive weapon and there aren't nearly so mages in this town as you seem to think. Does the watch fend off fists, knives, and pitchforks?”
“I shall return with an army, wizard.”
“I would die a happy man seeing you try to march soldiers through that wyvern infested, cramped mountain pass.”
“The dragons will not protect you when the snows fall, Cornelius. I've seen . . . or not seen, actually. The monsters stay huddled in their warm, little caves.”
“So should your army, Armand. Take a lesson from our large, fierce, armored wyverns before you launch a campaign into a hostile, snow swept country. Your knights would turn their fancy armor into pots and start boiling their leathers.”
“They would march regardless. They fight for the empire, the font of civilization.”
“But your empire is more than the font of civilization, isn't it?”
“Art, theatre, music, medicine, masonry, religion, bureaucracy, tea,” Vice said. “All of these originated in the empire. What possible hallmark of civilization am I missing?”
Courts and warcraft, Devin thought. Politics and pogroms.
“Magic, Armand,” Cornelius said. Devin could picture the old wizard wiggling his fingers with histrionic glee and chuckled. “The Iron Empire is also the wellspring of wizardry. Over the eons, magic advancements and bloodlines migrated out of the empire, not into it. Destroying the Kingdom of Corel would do nothing for your supposed mage menace.”
“That's a vicious lie.”
“It's the vicious truth. Surely you know someone conversant in the histories? Someone in a position of power who has a stake in wizardry besides wholesale slaughter? Don't trust an old sorcerer and veteran scholar. Go find out for yourself.”
“I should arrest you. May I have another cup of this truly glorious tea before your mob arrives? A pity dragon products are contraband in the empire.”
“You are such a hypocrite, Armand.”
“Everyone is a hypocrite, Cornelius. An honest man admits to his hypocrisy. The liar tries to mask it. Which one are you?”
“Drink your tea. I will even have some virgin's blood on hand the next time you visit if that will make you feel more at ease. For now, you will have to settle for fresh cream and sugar.”
“You would dilute this ambrosia with foul additives? What makes you think I would return to this hornet's nest of idolatry?”
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“You will return to sate your curiosity on mage history because I just placed one of those hornets under your splendid, plumed hat. You will return for the tea, because it satisfies a nostalgic craving you never knew existed. You will return because you're searching for someone and you have not found him. I am sending you away unrequited on three counts.”
“I shall return with an army at my back, Cornelius. We will tear this town apart until we capture the mage Devin, and then we will drag that traitor back to the empire, finish what we started, and correct a gross miscarriage of justice.”
“The mountains, the wyverns, and good sense will stop you. Your empire cast him out, Armand. Why are you so desperate to reel him back in? He belongs in a nation of wizards among his own kind.”
“You would shelter a stranger?”
“He is a wizard in the Kingdom of Corel and we protect our own. Is your respect for order which you claim to cherish so weak you would use an army to trample our laws, Armand?”
“I do not serve your kingdom, Cornelius, and I spit on your laws. I serve the glorious Iron Empire. Our laws are paramount where we hold dominion.”
“You have no dominion here, hypocrite.”
“Not yet, wizard. Tell Devin I shall return soon. The empire also cares for our own and we need to take care of him.” A metallic scraping noise slithered through the sudden quiet. Devin startled and then relaxed. It was just Vice collapsing his loricate travel mug. “Thank you so much for your exquisite Corelian hospitality and that delicious, ambrosial tea. Despite its foul origins, I have tasted nectar from the flowers of the gods. The cake was dry.”
A chair scraped. The front door closed. Devin slumped to the floor. Bless the five gods. The monster has gone. Thank you, Cornelius.
“And take that damn thing with you,” Cornelius yelled, grunting as the front door opened and closed again. Then the wizard padded to the back room, footfalls growing louder. The wardrobe opened and Devin blinked in the harsh, bright light. Cornelius leaned over him, hand extended.
The Artifice Mage Saga Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 28