A captured cauldron, p.12
A Captured Cauldron, page 12
“This is a gorgeous shop,” she said. “You really make all of these?”
Dawn forced herself to stop tugging at the hem of her tunic. Maybe she looked bland, but her wands most certainly did not.
“Made all of ’em,” she said. “I’m looking for an apprentice, though, so one day they might have a few of their own on the shelves.”
Rory straightened. “Can’t keep all that genius to yourself, I guess.” She nodded up at the awards above the shelves and gave a long whistle. “Are all those yours, too?”
Dawn’s face warmed. Gods, if Rory was starting the quest like this, how was she possibly going to focus?
“Should we, uh, get going?” She gestured nervously to the street.
“Right, right!” Rory bounded back to the door and held it open for her with a grin. “After you, my lady.”
Dawn scurried into the night, letting the cool air warm her burning cheeks. Not a date, not a date, not a date.
Together, they headed south, in the opposite direction of Dawn’s favorite hangout spots. More mundane shops crowded the thin streets here, all vying for the small bit of sky the narrower chasm had to offer. In the dim, sporadic crystal light, the unfamiliar space spawned hundreds of equally unfamiliar shadows. Dawn made sure to walk a little closer to Rory as she spoke.
“So, you said you had contacts at this tavern,” she said. “They don’t know you’re a reporter, right?”
“Hells no.” Rory pointed to the bronze pin on her lapel, a wand crossed over a wrench. “Over here, I’m Liddy, an apprentice to an artificer in Watchby. I come in now and then when my mentor’s here to pick up supplies. You know, stopping in long enough to get a drink and hear the local news. And, in this case, see if anyone knows how to make a teleport device that can bypass Aphos’ barrier.”
Dawn gave a hum. It was a decent alibi—Watchby was a fairly well-to-do town a few days’ ride from the Scar. Rory would blend in among many of the Watchby travelers who came in to shop at The Whirling Wand Emporium.
“This tavern is one of the best spots to look for what we need,” Rory continued. “It’s been catering to Aphosians for years now. It’s not an Aphos-exclusive joint, mind you. The barkeeps just know how to look the other way when needed.”
She jerked her chin toward a tavern that Dawn would have otherwise overlooked—a squat, jagged place carved into the chasm wall. It was smaller than The Jumping Ogre, more hunched in stature, with low stone walls and guttering lanterns.
But within, the cheery sounds of a festival bubbled.
Dawn didn’t know whether to be frightened or pleased by what she saw through the windows. There were no shadowy figures or whispered schemes here. On the contrary, no one here was even attempting to remain quiet or discreet. A jumbled mass of people danced before a stage on one end, while huddles of friends toasted with large, frothy drinks on the other.
The location was no Jumping Ogre, that was for sure—but the energy within rivaled the Ogre’s half-price ale nights.
“What, you thought criminals didn’t like to have fun?” Rory extended an arm to her. “Come on. Drinks are on me.”
Many thoughts reeled through Dawn’s head—Not a date, for one, and Oh gods she’s touching me for another—but she managed to latch on to one of the more practical thoughts bobbing in her mind.
“Wait, wait.” She backpedaled. “What’s my story, then?”
“Story?”
“If you’re Liddy, the apprentice from Watchby, then who am I?”
Rory faltered. “I had a thought on that,” she said, then bit her lip. “Now, hear me out. What if we—?”
“Liddy!” A woman with a dull apron and bright smile waved eagerly from the doorway. “Haven’t seen you in a donkey’s age!”
“Callia!” Rory approached, her grin frozen. “Just, uh, got into town—”
“A lucky one, you are.” Callia tilted her head toward the bar. “Jimmy’s not out of the whiskey sours yet. Who’s your friend?”
The question sounded innocent enough, but Dawn caught the edge in her voice, the suspicion built into the words. Her hand immediately tightened on Rory’s elbow. Why had she agreed to walk into an Aphosian bar, of all places? Did she have to make up a name for herself right now? A backstory, an alibi? Would she have to answer riddles in thieves’ cant to get one of those whiskey sours—?
Rory gestured to Dawn.
“This is Kerry,” she said. “My, um, date.”
Somewhere in the back of her head, Dawn’s past self cackled wildly as the word date bounced around in a panicked echo.
“What extra luck you’re in tonight!” Callia relaxed and gestured inside. “Go on, go on. I’ll be there to get your drinks in a moment.”
Once they were inside the warm, ale-laden air, Rory beelined for a booth in the corner. “Sorry,” she muttered, “I meant to ask before I—”
“It’s fine,” Dawn said, filtering both her elation and her nerves out of her response. “Kerry, though?”
“You know, like Kerighin!”
“Do I look like a Kerry to you?”
They slid into the booth side by side, taking advantage of the relative privacy in the shadows. Rory gave her a sheepish smile.
“You’re not a Kerry,” she said. “More like an…Allani.”
“Allani?”
“Means beautiful in Deepriver.”
Dawn gave a weak laugh while heat rushed from her neck to the tips of her ears. She couldn’t do this. A date-not-date in the middle of a thieves’ den, while her friend’s rescue hung in the balance.
She fidgeted with her rings and turned her attention to the people around her, all drinking, dancing, and playing cards. She had to focus on them, but how could she? Rory aside, any of these people might have been Ambrose’s kidnapper. Maybe they had even seen him that day, toiling away in a dingy underground lab. Her thoughts spun faster, merging fears with memories. Maybe they had peered into a cell at an Ambrose who was pale and scared and begging them not to leave him, begging for her not to leave him while she stepped back and—
“Dawn?” Rory’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I’m serious. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you don’t want to sit next to me as a fake date—”
She tried to shake away the thoughts, but they stuck firm. “It’s not that,” she said. “Really, it’s—I’m fine being a date. A fake date. It’s just—I’m worried about Ames and…”
The story teetered on the tip of her tongue. There was no point in explaining it. Eli had already told her it wasn’t her fault; she should let it go already and move on with her life—
“Wanna tell me about it?” Rory asked quietly, her navy eyes soft in the lamplight. Dawn shook her head.
“I’m just being stupid—”
“You’re not,” Rory cut in. “Hey, I saw those trophies. I know you’re a genius, you can’t hide it from me.” Dawn gave a feeble smile, and she grinned in response. “Whatever it is, it isn’t stupid, and you can tell me about it if you want.”
At some point in Dawn’s worrying, a whiskey sour and a glass of wine had appeared in front of them. She took the wine and tapped her fingers on the cool glass. “Off the record?”
Rory sat back. “With you? Always.”
Dawn both hated and adored how that sounded.
She spoke in between sips. Describing how she had once left Ambrose in a sinkhole in a flash of anger and terrible judgment. Then, in another lapse of judgment, had chosen not to follow him into the hallway during the debates—and how he had landed underground once more as a result, alone and scared, while she remained safe and terribly guilty on Rosemond Street.
“Eli’s right,” Rory said firmly. “It’s not your—”
“Fault, I know. I just can’t get it out of my head, and if we’re going to get that—that bypass mechanism for the teleporter tonight—”
“Hey, don’t worry about that.” Rory pushed her untouched cocktail in Dawn’s direction. “Here, let’s play a game.”
Dawn continued spinning her own glass. “What about the contact you were looking for—?”
“He’s not here yet. We’ve got time.” She set one arm behind them on the booth. Dawn tried not to think about the warmth coming from her hand.
“All right,” Rory continued. “Take five deep breaths and tell me one thing you can see.”
Dawn found herself drawn to the one earring Rory had left on—a simple, faceted black stud. A stoic contrast to her tilted smile.
“The lantern behind you,” she answered instead. “There’s a spider crawling on it.”
“Okay, gross. Thanks for telling me.” Rory grimaced and shifted away from the lantern, closer to Dawn. “One sip, five more breaths, then tell me one thing you can feel.”
Given her proximity, Dawn could now feel the shift of Rory’s jacket sleeve against her bare shoulder. The pattern still mesmerized even here in the dim light, its fabric cool and smooth, practically begging for her to run her fingers across it…
“The booth,” she said quickly, shoving her thoughts in a different direction. “It’s, uh, kinda lumpy.” She wiggled to make her point.
“I mean, I prefer the term cozy, but…” Rory shifted around and winced. “Point taken.”
A quick sip of her wine, then five more breaths. These were easier this time—slower, more regular. And somewhere between the wiggling and the breathing, she had edged even closer to Rory, until their shoulders almost brushed.
But neither woman made an attempt to pull away.
“Last one,” Rory said. “One thing you can taste.”
Dawn’s traitorous gaze went straight to Rory’s lips. What would they taste like? Whiskey sour and the warmth of the tavern, or the coolness of the breeze outside, with that hint of mint she kept catching on the air—?
She quickly turned away and gulped down her drink, hoping the liquid would cool her burning chest; then, in a show of pretend disdain, she puckered her lips and set the glass back down with a heavy clink. “At least it’s not poisoned.”
Rory laughed. “Heard you loud and clear. Next time, I’ll take you somewhere nicer.”
Dawn opened her mouth to ask exactly what that meant, but Rory’s attention suddenly snapped to the crowd, her expression dropping into careful neutrality.
“He’s here,” she murmured.
Dawn caught a brief glimpse of a gnome maneuvering his way toward the other wall, goggles still strapped to his forehead and soot streaking the edge of his folded ear.
“Jasper. Senior artificer in Aphos,” Rory explained. “I’ve had a few chats with him. Enough for him to remember my face.”
“Wanna go catch him?” Dawn asked.
Rory shook her head. “Best if we talk to him after he downs a drink. He’s a bit friendlier then. Now, if I could just see him finishing his ale, I could time it right…”
Dawn briefly stretched to peer over the crowd, then quickly hunched back in with a practiced air of indifference. Even in such a relaxed space, she was sure prying eyes weren’t a good look for a visitor. She drained the dregs of her glass and looked over the crowd before her. Surely there was some way to get closer to him, between the pairs crowded at the bar, the card players filling the corners, the dancers before the tiny little stage…
She stood, a half-giddy idea forming in her head. Two had to play the fake dating game, after all.
“Dance with me.” She held out her hand out to Rory, who raised an eyebrow.
“You sure?” she said. “I can’t say I have experience dancing on the job—”
“You sure have experience bar-fighting on the job. This’ll be easier. All you gotta do”—Dawn grinned—“is relax.”
Rory returned the gesture and took her hand.
“If my date wants to dance,” she said in a low voice, “who am I to say no?”
They pushed their way to the other side of the bar, where the patrons had given up all pretense of dancing in an orderly line or circle and instead moved however they pleased, several of them raising sloshing wineglasses in a toast to the bards onstage. There would be no smooth moves on the floor here—if Dawn and Rory were going to blend in, they were going to have to do this as terribly as the others. Dawn quickly grabbed two wineglasses off a passing tray and handed one to Rory.
“My lady”—Rory lifted her glass, narrowly dodging a woman’s flailing arms—“what do we toast to?”
Dawn raised her wine. “To dancing badly like my best friend’s life depends on it.”
Rory clinked her glass. “Say no more.”
In a delightful excess of Dawn’s wildest expectations, Rory Basha of the Scarrish Post was an extraordinarily terrible dancer.
“You”—Dawn was barely dancing now, hardly able to move for doubling over in laughter—“how are you even moving your arms like that?”
“Oh, like this?” Rory continued with a perfectly serious expression, achieving a motion somewhere between a flapping dragon and a panicked chicken. “You said someone’s life depended on it. I am doing my due diligence. And frankly, I don’t see you keeping up your end of the deal here—”
“Excuse you, I’ve spilled wine on no fewer than three people through practice and sheer force of will!”
“But can your cabernet do this?” Rory made a flailing kick that almost struck a passing orc. “I didn’t think so, Kerry.”
Dawn gave another shrieking laugh and nearly toppled over—Rory grabbed her shoulders to steady both of them.
“All right, all right,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll cool it. Don’t wanna show up my date, after all.”
Dawn stared at her, relaxed giggles bubbling into nervous ones in her throat. Rory was inches from her face now. If she just straightened and tilted her face up, she could—
Rory’s gaze flicked elsewhere.
“Jasper’s finally finished his drink,” she murmured, barely audible over the dancing crowd. “You ready, my graceful actress?”
Oh. Right. The mission.
Dawn steadied herself and nodded. Rory took her arm once more and led her over to a small table, where the artificer had begun to nurse his second ale. He had taken his goggles off, but their imprint remained deeply set across his wrinkled forehead. And below his dirty collar, his own wand-and-wrench pin glinted in the light, its edges worn and tarnished.
Abandoning all traces of her terrible, jerking moves on the dance floor, Rory slid smoothly into the seat across from him.
“Jasper,” she said, keeping her tone short and casual—almost gruff, like she had worked a long day. “How you holding up?”
“Liddy.” He briefly raised his mug to her. “Good to see you. Boss send you with the grocery list again?”
Rory leaned back. “Yep. And I’ll need at least ten griffins to haul it all back.”
“And he won’t even use half of it.”
“Of course. Needs all that stuff—”
“Just in case,” Jasper finished with a snort. It was a path they had clearly trodden before, a conversation as well-worn as his artificer’s pin.
But Dawn had never been on that path before, and he swiveled to her.
“Who’s this?” he grunted. She pulled up a chair as casually as possible.
“Liddy’s date for the evening.” She plopped down next to Rory, who gestured between her and Jasper.
“Jasper, meet Kerry. Kerry, Jasper.”
Even as she lounged in the chair, Dawn’s chest tightened. She was seated directly in front of him now—there was no hiding from any questions he might ask her.
But the artificer seemed to have little interest in dates and instead turned back to Rory.
“Working on any of your own pieces yet?” he asked.
Rory shrugged. “Sometimes.” She tapped the table in pretend thought. “Been trying my hand at teleporters lately.”
Jasper raised his bushy eyebrows. “Not an easy tinker, all told.”
“Right?” Rory slouched in a mix of frustration and relief, so convincing that Dawn half thought she actually made devices in her spare time. “It’s so difficult! I don’t know how you do it. And you’ve gotta make the device work inside Aphos on top of everything else.”
“Time and patience, kid.” Jasper took a long sip of his ale. “Time and patience.”
Dawn kept herself from fidgeting in her seat. She had neither time nor patience at the moment—not when it came to Ambrose’s rescue. In an echo of her feelings, Rory groaned.
“But my boss wants me to get a working one going in three weeks,” she pressed. “I’ll take any kind of tip you got. Hells, I’ll buy you another drink.”
That sparked a glint in Jasper’s eyes, and Rory hailed Callia before it could wink out. “Beer for Jasper and me,” she said, “and another wine for the lady.”
Once the drinks arrived, they all hunched closer together around the table.
“For a basic device, it’s all in the materials,” Jasper said. “If you’re not refining the metal first, you’re never going to get it to work. But if you’re looking to add a special parameter like I have to, you’ll need extra help, like this.” He pulled a key ring from his pocket. The wand on it was one of the smallest pieces Dawn had ever seen—hardly longer than the artificer’s pinky, dangling from the ring alongside a smattering of keys and other trinkets. The construction of the wand—the branched setting, the plain base… Was it a signature device, or a—?
“Using this is another step to manage, but it gets the job done well enough without magical interference,” Jasper said, then began to tuck it back into his pocket, reaching for his beer with his other hand. Dawn’s heart pounded in her ears. If she could just get a closer look at the wand, hold it even for a second—
“Looks like you’ve got a break in the fire ruby there,” she blurted out.
Jasper paused, his eyes narrowing at her. Rory stiffened in fear.
Dawn took a breath. The only way out now was through.
“I supply gems to her boss.” She nodded to Rory. “I know a broken stones when I see one. If you don’t adjust the setting, you might have a backfire on your hands.” Then, with a shaky breath: “May I?”
