The
Doormaster’s
Apprentice
Copyright 2014
by Zerelda’s Children
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors.
Table of Contents
Start
Dedication
Thank You
Chapter 1
Liam finished mounting the heavy second door into the frame and carefully rolled it across the polished stone floor. The small wooden wheels squeaked softly, echoing off the stone walls, as he rolled the door into place alongside the first. Liam glanced over his shoulder. Even small sounds seemed loud to him in the Doormaster’s cavernous underground workshop. Taking a fire globe off the wall, he held it close; the bright light chased the shadows from the door. Reaching out, he brushed the wood with his fingertips, smiling at how the quality of the gnome workmanship shone through.
A smile spread over his face. “Some day,” he said, “I will buy a door like this for my father’s vineyard.”
The doors were not gilded with gold or gems. They were heavy working doors made from solid oaken planks. But the gnome’s skill had transformed them into works of art. Liam moved his hand and light from the globe danced along the heavy brass hinges. He marveled at how it flowed out across the studded surface forming fanciful arcs and wide swirls.
Brass nails of substantial size held the dark planks of the door together. Each head displayed the shape of a different animal. The nails had been carefully driven into place with unique punches. Repeated hammer blows against engraved punches forged the once round nail heads into animals. At the top they had placed the Doormaster’s trademark, a small artistically carved window, which allowed you to see who was standing on your step.
Mother would just love to have a door like this Liam thought. But first I will have to finish my apprenticeship. He leaned back from the door and sighed, and to do that I’ll have to finish my chores.
So Liam replaced the fire globe, picked up the sack and the list of ingredients the Doormaster had left on the table, and crossed the room to a battered old door tucked away beneath the stairs. At one time the old door may have boasted exquisite carvings, but the years had washed away all but a shadow of its past grandeur. It was arched at the top, shorter and wider than the other doors in the house. The wood was ancient and looked out of place in the modern frame. Liam knew the Doormaster must have brought it with him from somewhere else, and installed it under the stairway.
Even though it was old, the ancient door held its magic well. The bond to its matching door, wherever it might be, was still strong. Behind this door lay the potion room which might be located across town or many leagues away from the underground workshop where he now stood. He wondered if even the Doormaster knew its physical location. Distance didn’t matter though. Once Liam passed through the door he would be stepping into that mysterious room.
He paused before entering and checked his pockets. It could be fatal to take a magical item through the field formed by linked doors. If the object wasn’t pure gold or shielded with silver, the bond would be severed. The Doormaster had explained the unpredictable and often violent results of such carelessness. He then gave him a pouch lined with silver net for carrying small magical items through the doors.
Everything was fine. The only magical item he was carrying was a solid gold ring that linked him to the Doormaster.
With a small gold key he wore around his neck, Liam unlocked the door. Shivering slightly he turned the knob. Even after serving as the Doormaster’s apprentice for three years, he was not comfortable in the potion room. Bending slightly he ducked through the entrance.
From the way it looked no one else liked to spend much time here either. The rest of the Doormaster’s dwelling was clean and spotless but here clutter and dust ruled supreme. A mysterious glow lit the room. Shelves and mismatched cupboards reached from the dust covered floor to the ceiling beams where tattered cobwebs swayed ghostly in unfelt air currents. Strange items littered the room. They had been jammed into jars and jugs, piled in pokes and pockets, thrust into tins, bins, buckets, bottles and bags, and what wouldn’t fit was crammed into crocks, cans, containers and closets. Narrow aisles twisted through this jumble of ingredients.
Pushing his way in to the room he turned and locked the door. His hand rested on the knob as he stood with his back to the door and let his eyes adjust to the shadows. With a deep breath he let go of the doorknob and reached his hand behind the large gray sack sitting on the floor. His fingers groped for the ball of string he kept hidden there. After securely tying one end to the doorknob, he started to play out the string as he crept down the aisles opening cabinet doors and checking shelves. He tried not to make any noise, but sometimes the floor creaked or a cabinet door would squeak when he opened it. Liam was not sure what he was afraid of. He had never seen anyone else in the potion room, but sometimes he heard noises he couldn’t explain. The place made him feel like he was being watched.
He easily found the first few items on the list. This might not be so bad thought Liam. I’ll just get what I need and then I can leave this murk.
But as the list got shorter he found himself being drawn deeper into the room. Things had moved since the last time he was here, almost as if they didn’t want to be found.
Liam continued to play out his string as he made his way deeper into the twisting maze. On both sides of him tall over burdened shelves leaned in to cast deep shadows into the aisle. He peered into tins and squinted to read hand written labels on ancient sacks and jars. Cautiously, Liam shifted the items on the shelf as he tried to read the labels.
Even slight movements disturbed the dust, releasing bizarre and grotesque smells that assaulted his nose. His eyes watered. His nose burned. He pinched it hard to control the sneeze, but it erupted explosively. From behind came a loud creak and a soft thud. Liam spun around, tangling his feet in the string. Eyes wide, heart pumping madly, Liam stared down the aisle behind him. Nothing moved. He held his breath and listened. Silence…nothing…after several seconds he began to relax.
Something must have fallen over back there he thought. The way things are piled up around here it must happen a lot.
He untangled himself and continued his search for the last few items on his list. But he couldn’t convince himself that he was alone. Every little sound caused him to jump and glance over his shoulder.
Finally he spied a picture of an elderberry bush on a small tin. It was partly hidden behind a thick round jar with a black encrusted lid. When he pushed it aside, his fingers slid across something sticky and he sprang back in dismay.
“Pox and Corruption!” he swore. Without thinking he rubbed his tingling fingers on his robe. The jar lid wasn’t properly sealed and some of the contents had oozed down the side. He looked down at the dark smear his fingers had left on his robe. Hopefully it wouldn’t leave a stain or something worse.
Liam squinted at the label. In between the dark slimy goo he could just make out the words “Essence of Red Wor…” He shook his head. It could be just about anything in the potion room. He hoped he hadn’t just put his hand into something unbelievably gross.
His first time in th
e potion room he had picked up a small misshapen package wrapped in yellowed paper and tied with red string. The attached tag read “Harpy's Hairball.”
At first he thought it was somebody’s idea of a joke. Then the package started twitching in his hand. He jerked, dropping it to the floor. In panic he kicked it away. It wiggled under a low shelf, the tag dragging behind like a tail. He shivered. He never wanted anything like that in his hand again.
Being careful not to touch the goo a second time, Liam reached behind the jar and removed the tin marked Elderberry Pollen. After a quick peek inside he placed it in his sack.
Only one more thing on my list, he thought. Holding his robe close to keep from brushing against anything else, he continued his search through the precarious stacks.
The tall racks of potions and ingredients seemed to lean over the aisle even further, almost closing in near the top. In the dim light the looming shelves and musty smell of old ingredients made the room feel like a cave. The string felt thin and frail as it passed over his fingers. The ball was now the size of a hen’s egg. Only enough for another aisle or two, he thought. This was the farthest he had ever been into the potion room.
At the next intersection a tall red and yellow urn sat hissing and steaming upon a three-legged stool made of stone. There was no tag or label, but as he came closer he could feel heat radiating from it. He edged past it and turned left.
Halfway down the next aisle, a stack of nested pails made of silver paper leaned against a stately wardrobe. A thin layer of frost clouded the glass in the double doors. Liam gently pulled one of the decorative knobs. A drift of snow spilled out sprinkling the hem of his robe in purest white.
He stood transfixed at the view. The wardrobe door was linked to a land of snow, and he was looking down from the top of a rather high hill. Before him lay a wintry land of wonder. The landscape stretched away from his feet in a series of small rolling hills covered in white. Above, the sun shone impossibly bright from an intensely blue sky. Sunlight blazed off each individual snow crystal creating a blanket of gleaming diamonds across an untouched expanse of snow.
Liam had no idea what land lay before him. There were no hills like this near his village and the snows of winter had melted months ago. He looked at the stack of silver pails standing in the dim dusty aisle. It would be simple enough to reach in and scoop out the snow he needed, but it would be so exciting to step out of this murky cave of a room and explore the dazzling winter hillside. A gust of wind blew across his face stinging his skin with cold crystals, bringing with it the crisp clean sent of pine from some unseen grove. The chance to escape for just a few minutes pulled at him. Liam placed the ball of string on the floor and grabbed a pail. Without so much as a backward glance he stepped through the magic door into the snow-covered hillside.
The doorway was sheltered in a slight hollow on the southern slope of the hill. At first the snow wasn’t very deep, but in a few steps it drifted over the tops of his short boots. He retreated back to explore near the door.
The magical feel of a snowy day in the middle of summer was intoxicating. He glanced back at the door. It would only take a few minutes to see what lay beyond the shoulder of the hill. At the western edge of the sheltered spot, a rock ledge had been swept clean by the wind. A lone pine grew from the rock, its gnarled roots fracturing the stone. Lightening had split the top and left a blackened scar down the trunk. He stepped out along the ledge.
He left the shelter of the depression. The full force of the winter wind slashed him. Gritting his teeth he pushed on against the cold, but his summer robe did little to stop the wind from whipping around his bare legs and chilling him to the bone. A quick look to the west was enough. He turned away from the wind and ran back to the depression. With chattering teeth he climbed back in through the door stomping his feet to remove the snow.
It wasn’t until he started to close the door that he remembered the empty pail he still had in his hand. Leaning out to the side where the show was still undisturbed by his footprints, he scooped the fresh snow. Then he noticed what looked like a small boot print near the door.
Could that have been there when I went out he wondered. Squinting against the brightness, all he could see were his own boot prints crisscrossing the snow. The only small print was the one near the door. A chill ran down Liam’s back that had nothing to do with the cold.
Had someone used the door to enter the potion room? The floor where he was standing was covered with snow from his own boots, hiding any tracks that may have been there. Liam suddenly felt sick. There might be a stranger in the potion room. He might have been the one to let them in. If someone wanted to hide, this was the perfect place. Liam didn’t know what to do except to tell the Doormaster. His master had always been understanding and kind, but Liam had never done anything nearly as bad as this. He would surely be punished. Maybe even dismissed.
Liam picked up his sack and hooked the pail over his arm. Rolling up the string, he started following it back to the door. At the end of the aisle he stopped and peered around the corner. Nothing looked different…nothing was waiting to jump out at him. He released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.
“It was only a small boot print,” he thought. “Whoever made it would probably be scared of me.”
Just the same he was careful to check at the end of each aisle. By the time he made it back to the door he was feeling much better. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of anyone else. He had almost convinced himself that he had imagined the little boot print. Leaning down he stored his string behind the sack for the next time.
That boot print was probably just a trick of the wind or maybe made by some bird or animal, he thought as he wiped the last of the melted snow off his boots. Not really made by someone’s boot at all.
With one hand gripping the sack of ingredients, he fumbled at the key around his neck to unlock the door. The pail of snow swung on his arm and bumped against his chest as he ducked through the door, closing it behind him. Just as he managed to turn the key he heard a small but distinct clatter behind the door. Liam felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He leaned forward pushing his ear against the door. He stood frozen…listening. No more sounds came through the door, but Liam made up his mind. When the Doormaster came down to spell the doors he would be sure to tell him about the boot print.
He set about preparing the spelling table. The familiar routine helped to take his mind off the possibility of someone hiding in the potion room. After washing his hands he opened the package of fresh white towels. He dipped the first one into the bucket of spring water and sloshed it over the table scrubbing the cracks and wiping down the surface. With a fresh towel he dried it. From a cabinet under the table he dragged out a plain silver caldron and heaved it onto the table. The only ornamentation on it was a green enamel stripe that circled the rim.
With a fresh towel, Liam cleaned first the inside and then the outside of the caldron. As he ran the cloth over the stripe, the heat from the friction changed the stripe to a lighter shade of green. He wrapped the towel around his hand like a glove and hung the caldron on the tripod at the end of the table. He smiled with satisfaction at his reflection. Not one fingerprint marred the shinning surface.
Without warning a loud voice squeaked up from behind him, jarring his nerves like fingernails on a writing slate. “Taking the time to admire your pretty face?”
Liam spun around with a jerk, knocking his elbow into the table. Not two feet away stood Hodekin. The short little man was dressed as always in a red vest and pants. His high top button down shoes a perfect match to his long sleeve shirt of deep blue. A rakish red hat with a turned up brim set cocked on his head like a crown.
“And such a pretty face it is…though not half as pretty as mine.” The little kobold’s wide grin showed his slightly pointed teeth.
Liam grimaced and rubbed his elbow. “Just because you can change your shape doesn't mean you can just sneak up on people.”
&
nbsp; Hodekin placed a finger on top of his hat and danced in a small circle, clicking his heels loudly on the polished floor. “Actually that is exactly what it means.” He doffed his hat and made a small bow. “And you make it so easy.”
He reached inside his hat and pulled out a small silver flask. “I was over by the wall pretending to be a stool, so you just overlooked me.” Placing the hat back upon his head, he uncorked the flask and took a short pull. With a wink he replaced the cork. “I was hoping to see the look on your face when you tried to sit down and found yourself flat on your backside, staring at the ceiling and flopping around like a freshly caught fish. Alas, it was not to be.”
Liam watched Hodekin stumble sideways and place a hand against the wall to steady himself. “A little early in the day to be drinking isn’t it?” He knew the little kobold had a weakness for honeyed rum.
“Just a little tired is all. Been busy cleaning all morning. Maybe a little nap is what I need.” Before Liam could say another word, Hodekin turned on his heel and weaved towards the stairs.
“Good riddance!” said Liam as he rubbed his elbow. “Go sleep it off you annoying little boil.”
The kobold's squeaky laughter grated on Liam's ears followed by the clatter of his shoes stumbling up the stairs. Liam scowled.
Then a sudden inspiration passed through his mind. Could it have been Hodekin's footprint in the snow? But Liam knew only he and the Doormaster had keys. The little kobold was annoying and unnerving, but he was loyal in his service to the Doormaster. No one seemed to know why, but Liam suspected that Hodekin was paying off a debt. The Doormaster was the only one Hodekin showed the slightest bit of respect.
Liam tried to ignore the possibility he was being watched and laughed at. It was irritating. The kobold could be imitating anything in the room and Liam would never know.
He pushed the thought out of his mind. He still had work to do. His mother and father had paid good coin to give him the chance to learn the Doormaster’s trade, and no pint-sized kobold with an undersized hat was going to stand in his way.
From the cupboard he removed a set of silver balancing scales and weights. With a clean cloth he started polishing the scales, shoving the cloth across the silver surface with short angry jabs. As he rubbed away the tarnish, his thoughts kept slipping back to Hodekin. I need to find a way to tell when he is sneaking up on me, he thought. Then he won’t always be having the last laugh.
Liam continued to ponder the problem as he polished the weights but was no closer to a solution by the time he finished. He paused and looked over the preparations. Everything looked right, but had he forgotten anything? More light might be helpful. Crossing to the fireplace, he added another log and stirred the coals. The fire claimed the log, and shot up flames. The globes, which were bonded to the fire, grew brighter and chased away the shadows. With a start, he realized what he had forgotten. Quickly he laid out several clean silver mixing spoons.
Satisfied, he twisted the small gold ring on the first finger of his left hand completely around three times and released it to call the Doormaster. He watched it spin one more time, telling him the message was received.
“Everything ready Liam my boy?” called the Doormaster as he came down the stairs carrying a heavy grimoire under his arm. Light glinted off the tome's elaborately reinforced corners and the artistic silver clasp that held it closed. He paused with a wry smile as he glanced over his rose tinted spectacles at the boy’s robe. “Did you find the mountain snow all right?”
“Yes sir, everything is ready,” said Liam. Following his master’s eyes he looked down and noticed the hem of his robe. It was still wet from where it had dragged in the snow. His face felt suddenly warm and he knew he was blushing. “I couldn’t help myself sir. The sky was so blue and the air so…fresh...I…I just had to…” When he looked back up the Doormaster face was split with a wide grin.
“Yes, the mountainside can be truly beautiful on a clear day and quite pleasant too, as long as you stay out of the wind.” He gave Liam a wink. “Let us begin then.” The Doormaster placed the grimoire on the ornate wooden podium carved with griffins.
Liam walked quickly to the Doormaster’s side and watched him flip through the illustrated pages of spells and formulas. Before he could lose his nerve he blurted out, “Master, when I was out on the side of the mountain I was away from the door for a short time and I think someone may have slipped in.”
The Doormaster stopped on a page with an embossed picture of a door at the top and tucked the corner under the griffin’s wooden wing to hold the book open. Without looking up he asked, “What would make you think that? I know of only one person who is tough enough to want to live near that mountain. And Olaf is not likely to be spending much time climbing that high.”
“But Sir, as I was coming back in I found a small boot print near the door. I’m almost certain it wasn’t there when I went out.”
“Hmmm…small boot print you say?” The Doormaster looked off into space and slowly stroked his beard. Turning toward Liam he leaned forward. “Tell me more about this boot print lad. What did it look like?”
Liam swallowed hard. Hoping for the best he closed his eyes and tried to picture the print in his mind. “It was small. Could have been a made by a child but it had the look of a working boot. Large heel and a rounded toe.”
“I wonder…it might have been made by a tommyknocker,” said the Doormaster almost as if he were talking to himself. “Very rare for them to leave any sign of their passing.” He looked thoughtful as his fingers combed through his beard. “Something must have surprised him, made him jump for the door.”
“Tommyknocker…Sir, did you say tommyknocker?” Liam didn’t know what that might be but having one loose in the potion room sounded terrible. “Do you think I may have let one in to the potion room, Sir?” This was worse than terrible. He was going to be expelled for sure! “Should I try to find him and put him out?”
“An explosion of laughter burst from the Doormaster making it impossible for him to talk coherently. “Find a tommyknocker? Put…put…put him out!”
Liam was getting so flustered he wanted to scream. What was so funny about having some kind of knocking thing loose in your potion room?
Finally the Doormaster reined in his laugher enough to talk. “Sorry lad. Catching sunbeams on a string while balanced on a soap bubble would be an easier task. I’ve made a hobby of studying tommyknockers, and in thirty years I’ve never seen more than a glimpse of one.”
A lump formed in Liam's throat. “Oh, but Sir, what will happen now that one is loose in your potion room?”
“Easy lad,” said the Doormaster with a chuckle. “A tommyknocker in the potion room is nothing to worry about. Quite the opposite. They belong there. They are not as unfamiliar as you might imagine. From what I can tell, Hodekin may be a distant cousin.”
Liam was stunned. His mouth opened but he had so many questions he didn’t know which one to ask first.
The Doormaster reached over and gently pushed up on Liam’s drooping jaw. “I can see your education has a gap. Very well then, I’ll tell you a little about tommyknockers while we finish our preparations, but the tale may be briefer than you would like. We still have work to do.”
So as they moved around the table laying out ingredients the Doormaster began to explain. “First of all lad, it’s not my potion room. It was built ages ago by craft masters with a common cause. Over the ages the room has pushed its boundaries ever wider. Their idea was to build a place where nothing was rare. Where a craft master could walk in and pick up whatever he needed and leave whatever he had in his pocket, so to speak, for trade.
“But how could that be master?”
“To a large extent, where you live determines what is rare and valuable. Snow lies on the mountainside in piles, but in the desert snow is rare. If you live on the mountain, desert sand or milk from a camel would be very hard to come by. So a band of craft masters created a room where you could st
ore what you have in plenty and find what to you is rare.”
Liam paused his sorting and asked, “Where did the masters build this room?”
“I have often wondered this myself. I believe it must have started in a cave under some large mountain. That may be how the tommyknockers found it.”
It embarrassed Liam to hear his voice quaver when he asked, “You mean the one I let in today, master?”
“No lad, nor even his great, great grandsire. There have been tommyknockers in the potion room almost from the time it was built. They are small secretive creatures who tunnel underground. They tend to be hoarders, collecting odd bits and forgotten trinkets. Over the years they became the potion room guardians, watching those who use the room. Causing mischief for any who are greedy and take advantage of the bounty of the room.”
“But master, what do we leave?”
“Over the years my contributions have varied. Lately I have been supplying the room with eiderdown that I receive from the goose girl in payment for transporting her eggs to the kobold tin mines, but more of this later. We have a door to complete.”
He pushed back the sleeves of his robe with a smile and a flourish. They began to first weigh and then mix the potions in the silver cauldron.
“We must take extra care with this batch,” explained the Doormaster as he worked. “When set in place the doors will be many miles apart and our potion must be powerful enough to keep the bond strong. Today’s bonding must reach over wooded hills and across wide swift rivers. If our ingredients are not pure, our measurements not exact, or our actions not precise, the magic will fail. The bond between the doors will fade and passing between them will become impossible.”
“How will we know if the spell is strong enough?” asked Liam as he struggled with the mortar and pestle to grind the lodestone into a fine powder. The rock was tough and the pieces stuck together in a lump.
“Magic is not much different than other things in life,” said the Doormaster. “We shall put forth our best effort and let nature judge the results.”
“I don’t understand master,” said Liam as he continued to wrestle with the lodestone. “How will nature judge?”
“There is only one way to test it lad,” said the Doormaster. He tipped the summoning salts out of the scale pan and into the cauldron and turned to peer at Liam over his rose tinted spectacles. “Once you have set the door in place you shall test it.”
“Me! Master?” The pestle slipped and pinched his thumb, but he hardly noticed. “You want me to install the doors?” He had never been much past the outskirts of the village.
“Well not both of them,” said the Doormaster with a smile. “Just the one by the lake. The other one is to be delivered to the king’s own castle. I’m sure there is someone there who can be trusted to hang a door.”
Liam slowly turned back to grinding the lodestone. His mind spun with thoughts all trying to be first. Could it really be true? Was he really working on a door for the king? Was the Doormaster going to ask him to install the door all by himself? Liam was not at all sure if he was ready to take a trip into the wild woods. What would the Doormaster say if he admitted he was afraid to go?
“That looks fine enough,” said the Doormaster as he reached for the lodestone Liam had been grinding. “I’ll measure this while you bring out the heating stones.”
Liam crossed to the silver lined cupboard where the heating stones lay nested like plates.
“How many will we need master?”
“Let us start with four and build upon that,” answered the Doormaster as he sprinkled a white powder on the finely ground lodestone.
Liam removed a stack of four heating stones from the cabinet and slid them under the caldron. As soon as the stones were removed from the protection of the silver cabinet, the bond they had with the fire pit was renewed and they began to warm.
“How hot would you like the caldron sir?” The green stripe was changing to yellow.
“Bring the heat up to just past orange but stop before it turns a true red.
The Doormaster mixed more of the white power with the ball of lodestone in the mortar. The tightly packed ball began to relax and slowly spin on its axis. He added more powder. The ball rose up, hovering slightly, a wide ring forming around its middle.
Liam lengthened the chain holding the caldron above the heating stones. The stripe changed from yellow to orange and steam rose from the potion. He eased the caldron down another link. The stripe turned a glowing rust color and the potion started to bubble.
Again the Doormaster carefully sprinkled the white powder on the lodestone. It spun faster. The ring thickened, pulling mass from the center. The mixture took on a bluish cast. Tiny flashes sparked out from the center like miniature lightning.
“The potion is ready for the stones lad. Quick now before it starts to turn!”
Liam took a last look at the burnished orange stripe and made a small adjustment to the chain.
“I’m ready sir!”
The Doormaster made a quick flick of his wrist. The spinning blue disk landed in the caldron with hardly a splash.
“Watch the potion now lad, keep the heat up until the spinning stops. Then let it cool back to green.”
Liam leaned over the caldron. The lodestone sunk to the bottom. Its spinning stirred the contents. The mixture slowly thickened and the circling mass slowed and stopped. Using tongs he moved the hot heating stones back into the silver lined cupboard. While they waited for the potion to cool Liam set the mixing table back in order, cleaning the utensils and placing them back where they belonged. When the stripe on the caldron had turned green again he called for the Doormaster.
“Let’s test the batch,” said the Doormaster. He dipped the ladle into the potion. Holding his hand high he dribbled the mixture back into the cauldron. Small shimmering blue drops spun into disks as the liquid fell. A satisfied smile crossed his face. “It looks fine lad.”
Liam picked up the cauldron and followed the Doormaster to a bench against the back wall. Sitting on the shelf was a small decorative window just like the ones in the doors. The Doormaster selected a large round bristled brush made from goat whiskers. With deft strokes, he carefully painted the window.
“Looks good to me,” said the Doormaster as he set the window back on the shelf. “Now for the doors.”
Once the doors were painted the Doormaster put down his brush. “Watch closely now Liam, but with more than just your eyes. Reach out to the doors in your mind and touch them. They were made from the same tree. The mountain snow washed their roots. An elderberry bush grew beside this tree. Its berries and leaves helped nourish its roots. Now we make the doors one again.”
The Doormaster stepped in front of the doors with his arms by his sides, his palms up, fingers spread towards the doors. Closing his eyes he slowly raised his arms. A shimmering blue fog appeared at the base of each door and spilled across the floor. The Doormaster continued to raise his arms. The fogs rose higher and grew thicker, flowing across the floor to meet in the middle. Where the two fogs joined, a lump began to form.
Liam shivered, as the room grew colder. The fogs flowed faster and thicker. The Doormaster raised his arms even higher and the mass responded. It swirled upward caught in an unfelt wind. The Doormaster reached toward the fog bringing his hands closer together, molding the mass. The swirling slowed, the masses thickened, taking the shape of a door. Just as the mass jelled into a door the Doormaster brought his hands together with a loud clap! Shattering the fog into a thousand sparkling explosions!
“It is done!” said the Doormaster as he dropped his arms. “The doors are joined.” His gray eyes sparked with excitement as he turned to Liam and asked, “Tell me what you saw. What you felt.”
“There was a blue fog that your hands shaped into a door. It was cold. The kind of cold that creeps about your feet in late fall with a promise of winter. Then it all exploded in a shower of colorful sparkling stars.”
“Excel
lent lad, excellent! I expected you to feel a chill or maybe sense part of the ending. The magic in you is strong. Keep up with your exercises, and soon you will be ready to link your first doors. You have the gift, lad. You will have the ability to give people the freedom of travel. Bonding doors together gives people the chance to go places without having to spend valuable time getting there. It is like giving them a gift of time itself.”
Liam thought about his parents and how little free time there was around the vineyard. “But master, only the rich can afford to buy the doors, and they already have leisure time.”
“Yes, it’s true the doors are expensive. The materials are costly. Skilled artisans are hard to find, and their training is lengthy. Still, I think it important that common people benefit also. That is why every tenth door I make is donated to a village that doesn’t have a common door for the public.”
Liam’s parents had used the village’s common door once to visit his grandparents when they were sick. The journey by horse or cart would have taken a week each way.
“Master I would be pleased if the first door I linked was one of your tenths.”
The Doormaster looked closely at Liam, “Are you sure about this? It is traditional that the new apprentice receives half the payment from his first bonding. You would be missing a chance to gain a fair amount of coin.”
Liam remembered how worried his mother had been. The common door had made it possible for her to visit her sick mother and know she was recovering. “Yes sir, I’m sure.”
The Doormaster smiled at Liam, “When I selected you for my apprentice I made a good choice. I believe one day you will make a fine doormaster. But first, you have doors to test and deliver.”
Under the watchful eye of the Doormaster, Liam performed the initial test. With the doors placed at opposite ends of the room, Liam took his position in front of one and the Doormaster stood at the other. When Liam opened his door, the other door swung open, and he could see the Doormaster looking back at him. Liam leaned to the side and looked around the frame. The Doormaster was still standing across the room. It was like seeing two Doormasters.
Liam stepped through the first door and out the second. It felt exactly like walking through any other door, but he had traveled across the room in a single step. The Doormaster watched as Liam opened and closed the doors a couple more times and stepped back and forth across the room.
“The bond is working fine. You can do the final testing when they are hung,” said the Doormaster as he walked towards the podium carved with griffins.
“Will they be hung near here sir?” Liam asked. He had been waiting for this opportunity, but his stomach felt queasy at the idea of traveling a long way by himself and with such a valuable cargo.
“Not too far,” said the Doormaster. “The one you need to install will be at Yellow Finger Lake.”
Liam’s apprehension started to grow. “I’m not sure where that is sir.”
“I would be surprised to hear you did. It is two days east of the village of Fairgrove. I have made special preparation for a cart and donkey.”
Liam didn’t know what to say. People in Three Oaks Dale often spoke of Fairgrove, and he had a vague notion it was several days journey away. It was exciting to imagine installing the door by himself, but he had never driven a donkey cart. He had heard the animals could be stubborn. “What kind of preparations have you made sir?”
“Well, besides finding a cart and donkey I hired your friend Mica to travel along with you. Never can tell when you might need a friend.” The Doormaster looked at Liam with a knowing smile.”
Liam felt some of the apprehension slip away. This was the best news he could think of. Mica was a couple years older than Liam. He had drifted into the area all alone about a year ago and took up living in an abandoned farmhouse down the road from the vineyard. Nobody knew much about him, and Mica didn’t talk much about his past. Liam’s father let Mica hunt deer and conies around the vineyard, which Mica sold in town to pay for what little he needed. When Liam was home, Mica had taken him hunting and they became friends. Liam was sure Mica could handle just about anything.
“Since I have made all the arrangements and the doors are ready, you can leave in the morning. Take the rest of the day to ready yourself for the trip. Pack light, just a spare work robe and your old cloak. Anything fancy will only bring unwanted attention.”
“Do you think there might be trouble on the way?” Liam wasn’t sure he liked the sound of unwanted attention.
“If I expected any serious difficulty I wouldn’t send you. The only town between here and Yellow Fingers Lake is Fairgrove, and that leaves a lot of empty road to travel. Just keep a sound head, stay on the road, and remember not to put yourself in any bad situations.”
Liam’s head spun as he climbed the stairs to pack. The day had been full of surprises. Telling the master about the boot print was the right thing after all. He wondered if he would ever see a tommyknocker. He hoped they would stay in the potion room. A whole tribe of kobolds would be more than he could handle.
He grinned. Tomorrow he would be setting out unsupervised. In just a few days he would install the door and return to show the Doormaster he was worthy of his trust. He would please the master with his efforts. Liam could hardly wait to see Hodekin’s face as the master heaped praise on him. His toe caught on the last stair. He stumbled into the wall scraping his shoulder shattering his pleasant daydream.
Who am I kidding, he thought. I can’t even walk up the stairs by myself. The thought of failing the Doormaster’s trust put knots in his stomach. If the door was damaged or lost, both doors would be useless and take months to replace. A failure might even mean a loss of his apprenticeship. His mother and father had made it plain. There would be no money for another chance at a different trade.
He pushed open the door to his room. Light from the partially shielded fire globe cast flickering shadows on the table and walls. He slid back the shield, and the shadows retreated to the corners.
Kneeling on the floor he peered under the bed to find his rucksack. Just out of reach in a dark corner lay a rumpled heap. Lying down he tried to wiggle under the bed, but his head wouldn’t fit. If he pressed his cheek against the floor he could just squeeze under and slide across the rough surface, but he couldn’t see what he was doing. Stretching his arm to full length, he felt for the leather bag. His fingers brushed against fabric. It slipped from his fingers as he tried to grasp it. A faint scent of tobacco smoke made him wrinkle his nose. By trying again he was able to pinch a corner. Wiggling backward he tugged on the bag, pulling it with him.
“Hey now…no need to be tugging on my boots. Next will you be wanting my trousers?”
Scrambling backwards, Liam banged his head on the edge of the bed. “Ow!”
From under the bed came a gleeful chuckle. Liam instantly recognized the squeak of Hodekin’s laughter. “You withered little boil. What are you doing hiding under my bed? The honey rum has muddled your brain. You can't even find your own room. I should bond your trousers to a cactus.”
The little kobold popped out from under the bed. “You would need help to bond stink to a skunk.”
Liam scowled and rubbed his head as Hodekin danced out of the room, his heels clicking on the floor.
Liam fumed as he stuffed clothing into his pack. Still angry, he threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and thought about the events of the day. Sleep crept up on him like a shadow.
The Doormaster's Apprentice Page 1