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“WE DID OUR PART WELL,” one of the sorcerers said as they followed Airmed and the alchemists to the skiffs. The remains of used magic lingered over the beach and had a metallic smell so strong Waylen could taste it. His body still trembled, but not from the dampness or cold, rather from having been drained both physically and emotionally.
“Indeed, the Neverworld sorcerers will shine like the sun in the coming days,” one of the sorcerers chimed in as he helped push the boat into the water.
“The elements are in our hands now. Only one more obstacle to tend to.”
“My scheme will work even if we don’t succeed in luring the king,” Airmed assured her crew. “The airship tracked our bait to Kolada. Once we capture her, we’ll have all that we need.”
“Never has anything like this been accomplished. To think, the power of the elements wrapped up neatly in a box. We’ll gain control of the upperworld with no problem whatsoever. No more living in caves and darkness,” another agreed.
The men and women each found their seats in the skiff and waited for Waylen to take his place. He hesitated to embark for they all stared at him. Airmed came up behind him and put a cold hand on his shoulder.
“We succeeded only by the hair on our chins. We should have been more careful. I blame the flawed chanting for the light that had filtered into the machine. Had it gotten through, the magic would have been used against us.” Airmed squeezed and even through his woolen cloak her long fingernails pinched Waylen’s flesh.
“What did I do?” Waylen spun around and looked at her, brushing her hand away. “I did what I was told.”
“You faltered. You know the principles of incantations. Our skills are not determined solely by words, or summonses, but by will. Where was your will, Waylen? What did you hold back?”
Waylon scowled and turned away. He didn’t have to answer her. The admiral was his superior. The magic was not for the sorcerers to keep, or to play with, but for Geraldo to accomplish his mission. Therefore, the principles she spoke of didn’t apply because the magic didn’t belong to them.
He opened his mouth to tell her but thought differently. Challenging Airmed would mean certain death.
Let them think what they will! If they are planning evil, I’ll not be a part of it.
He watched the sailors row, mesmerized by the way the oars broke the reflection of the moon, sending light rippling in circles over the glassy sea.
Waylen climbed on board The Enchantress and stood next to the admiral on the poop deck. The men in the rowboat attached a pulley to the chest. The crew on deck shoveled coals into the engine that cranked the gears that lifted it from the skiff onto the ship. Such a spectacle it made as swung in the air on ropes and was slowly lowered, for the chest glow from all the magic it held.
“How heavy is it?” the admiral asked skipping down the stairs to the huddle of crew and sorcerers now encircling the trunk. He pushed past them and knelt by the chest.
“Don’t open it, sir,” Waylen said as he came up behind him. “Not out here in the open air. Not where nature might fight to free it.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Geraldo stood and brushed the creases from his coat. “Take the chest below and secure it safely.” He twisted the tips of his mustache into a wiry end with nervous fingers and gave Waylen a nod
“This is only the beginning of our journey. We have work to do. Make sure the locks on the gear deck doors are secure when the alchemists have everything in place. Then come to my cabin. We have things to discuss.”
Waylen eyed the men and women already transporting the chest to the hatchway, rolling it on a dolly. The sorcerers didn’t need him. They had all the magic necessary for any foul deed, having lived in the caves of the Neverworld where dark magic was brewed, and monstrous spirits waited for their command. They knew what they were doing and wouldn’t listen to him no matter what Geraldo ordered. Regardless Waylen was told to interact with them and relay the admirals wishes, and so he trotted down the hatch, opened the door to the gear deck, and faced the team of sorcerers and machinists standing in a semicircle in the center of the room, the chest of magic at their feet. Behind them, along the walls of the ship, metal gears captured the reflections of their lanterns, and a low hum of a roaring fire filled his ears.
He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Testing,” one of them said.
The men dispersed to their tasks, the machinists at the forge, the sorcerers at different stations along the walls where gears began to rotate as coals were shoveled into the fire. The sorcerers opened the chest and Waylen stared wide-eyed at the nuggets. Like stars in the night, they shone brilliant with their own light, illuminating the room.
Why am I the only one in the room shaking? Are they really that arrogant to think they can stop a mishap if this power goes wild?
“You’re just testing a little, right? To see if the Machine works?” He trembled.
Airmed shook her head, laughed quietly, and spoke to the alchemist’s assistant who scooped a miniscule number of beads from the chest using a crucible the size of Waylen’s palm.
Airmed set the receptacle over a flame and immediately covered it with a glass tube. From there the massive contraption known only as the Machine shifted gears and chugged into motion. Gears, tubes, and wheels stretched the entire length of both sides of the ship began to sputter, shaking the floorboards, and piercing his ears with a shrill whistle. The ferocity of the Machine pitched the ship as if they had hit a squall. A steel ramp had been configured in between the two sides so that one could walk along the Machine without falling into it. Steam puffed out of five different vents and filled the room with a sulfuric odor.
“I’m going upstairs, now,” Waylen said. No one heard him.
Even on the upper deck he could feel the vibrations. He hurried to the admiral’s quarters eyeing the dinghy that would have to be lowered if the ship blew up...or blew away.
“Enter,” Admiral Geraldo said when Waylen knocked on his door. The admiral swung in his hammock admiring a newly made breastplate. He rocked gently with the motion of the sea, The cabin walls, however, did not mute the sound of the Machine.
“Waylen? Did it go well, I trust? I heard you out there on the island. Very nice voice, though a bit heavy on the vibrato,” he added. Waylen waited for the admiral to glance his way. “We’ve had an interesting friendship these last few years.”
“Yes, sir,” Waylen said.
“Over the years, you saw me through some difficult times. It’s not easy being a genius and a pauper.”
“No, sir.”
“I thank you for your suggestion that we take this voyage, and of course, beseeching King Delitar to pay for it.” He blew breath on his fist and rubbed the armor, adjusting the angle to see his reflection in its shine.
“I suggested a voyage, not necessarily this one,” Waylen mumbled. This voyage had become extremely dangerous. Not what Waylen had expected.
“Yes, I know. You wanted to harvest ivory much further north of here. But anyone can do that. I needed an assignment that would make me stand out. I’m surprised how easily this is coming together. You picked a good crew, Waylen.”
Ironic that the admiral should say that since Waylen had no choice whatsoever in the selection of these sorcerers. Geraldo had chosen Airmed for her beauty and after that, she chose her partners from the Neverworld.
“The magic belonged to the people living here,” Waylen grated.
“Yes, well, I didn’t come to disturb the people who live here, only to make use of their resources. We’re doing them a favor, reproportioning wealth of which they had little understanding and of which I and King Delitar could utilize to its utmost capacity.” He threw his legs over the hammock and sat upright, holding the breastplate for Waylen to see. “This armor, my friend, is constructed from material that far surpasses any textile this primitive nation can boast and yet they own the commodities needed to manufacture it. We’re merely helping them see the benefit of worldly goods that are at their fingertips.”
Waylen shook his head and eyed a water glass on the man’s desk. “Sir, I think you don’t give these people enough credit.”
“I give them all the credit I’m going to. I didn’t come here to balance things. I came here to conquer, if you will. Have a drink, Waylen,” Geraldo offered.
Waylen helped himself.
“What are you trying to say?” Waylen asked as he swallowed, a little less hoarse than before.
“Armor made from fermented grapes, my dear fellow. And wine in this country is abundant in a valley called Tellwater. Once we appropriate enough of this wine for the King Delitar’s army and for fuel for his airships, we will instruct the locals in the technology.”
Waylen raised his brow. Something didn’t seem right.
“Take a look at this! Come, feel it,” Geraldo tapped his knuckles on the deep burgundy breast plate. Waylen stepped forward and stroked its surface. Silky, cold, and hard. It would make an army strong in its defense.
“Have you ever felt such a solid shell in such a rich color? The framework is as hard as steel, yet flexible like leather. “Smell it,” Geraldo lifted the item to his nose and breathed in. “That is the scent of black cherry, cassis, with notes of savory spice. Delicious!”
He wet his lips and picked up his goblet filled with the wine of Tellwater Valley. “Soon our country will be brimful with such armor and at what expense? A few islanders deprived of a little magic. No bloodshed, only cunning and wit.”
“It’s not fair,” Waylen said.
“You’re missing the point, Waylen.” He looked wide-eyed at the wizard, his face red, his voice raised. “I do not need your verdict on what is fair or what is not fair. I need this magic. It’s the only way to get what I promised the king. My reputation is at stake here. You don’t know how hard I worked to get the king to finance this trip and now I’m in debt. If I don’t return with the goods, I could be imprisoned.”
Waylen shook his head. For all the years he’d worked with Geraldo, he had never seen him so adamant, and yet the reasoning was wrong.
“Is it not my duty as your friend and counsel to advise you when something is skewwhiff?”
“The only thing that’s skewwhiff is you. Do you know what this magic is worth? We have in our possession the power to stir the wind and churn the sea, to make roads disappear and reappear somewhere else.” The admiral waved his hands dramatically as he talked.
“It’s still no reason to demean the people who live here,” Waylen argued.
“Oh, crush it, Waylen. No one is around to hear me but you. I’m not better than anyone else, but if I want to look better, I need to talk as though I think I am. Come with me,” Geraldo demanded and stepped out his door.
Waylen had to step down to follow, as the admiral’s cabin hung from lines attached to a mast made specifically to support its weight when raised above the crow’s nest. Geraldo enjoyed swinging above everyone when moored.
Waylen followed Geraldo onto the deck just as the colors of dawn painted the sky. Geraldo took a deep breath with his eyes closed and a triumphant smile under his mustache. “The elements are ours, Waylen! Ours!”
Waylen cleared his throat and spoke cautiously. “The Cho Nisi sorcery is incredibly strong, sir. It will take all your men to control it. I’m hoping there are no accidents.”
“Accidents?” Geraldo laughed. “I’ve never known you or your team to have accidents.”
“My team?” Waylen asked with raised eyebrows.
“Your team, yes! You’re a wizard, are you not? You share in their abilities, don’t you?”
Waylen dismissed the admiral’s assumption. He was not at all similar to the Neverworld sorcerers, but the concept would be too difficult to explain to Geraldo.
“I’ll do my best to fulfill your wishes. I offer no promises.”
“I have faith in you.”
The admiral raised his hand for silence as the chanty of the sailors swept over the deck. They manned pulleys that lifted massive fans behind the sails. Men on the rigging attached the platforms that would hold the blowers near the masts and maneuvered them in place. To each of those engines, they connected a spout from the boiler. Other sailors shoveled coal into the boiler’s oven, sending steam to each of the engines. Soon the fans spun, the sails billowed, and the ship began to move. All to the rhythm of their song.
“Hey, oh, row, oh!
Set the boom and away we go.
To the wild and open sea, we flee,
Hey oh row oh me!
“Hear that? The sound of success. Good. We’re on our way!” Geraldo said. “And now that this part of the endeavor is complete, I wanted to talk to you about my next plan.” He squinted out over the sea, watching the coast from which the ship was slowly departing.
“Plan?”
“The chest and its contents. The vault of magic! What we’re going to do with it. Trivial matters, and some not so trivial.”
On the island’s hillside, as the fog lifted, Geraldo spotted a company of riders and whipped out his spyglass for a closer look.
“Think they spotted us?” Geraldo asked as Waylen squinted at the landscape.
“Of course. How could they not?”
“And they know we stripped them of their magic?”
“The island will know the magic’s been lost soon enough.” Waylen’s chest tightened. He glanced at the admiral.
How could he not feel remorse?
“Well!” Geraldo slammed shut his spyglass and, still watching the riders, he spoke with a voice of triumph. “Doesn’t matter. The chest is secured within the hull of this ship, well protected.”
“It is, sir.”
We’ll be far from their reach by morning, and in a day, we’ll moor off the coast of the mainland to gather our payload.”
“And without their magic, they have no way of getting it back,” Waylen mused. “Perhaps we could return it before we leave.”
“Return the magic? Ha! Who are you with? The islanders would have no way to extract the magic from its material form. We’re safe to claim it as ours.”
“You’re correct,” Waylen mumbled.
“That’s what I like about you, Waylen. Always by my side to add weight to my conclusions. Then on to more pressing matters.” He turned his back on the island and faced Waylen squarely.
“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I would rather not know the plan. I get my orders from you and that’s enough. I....”
“You’re my confidant, Waylen. My best friend. My only friend, it seems. My partner.”
“But sir, I’m not really your partner. I mean, I’m here to help you, yes, but you deserve all the glory. I’m just a lowly wizard.”
There would be danger in partnering with Geraldo. Waylen didn’t trust the sorcerers, yet it was too soon to accuse them of mutiny. If they were planning something against Geraldo, Waylen didn’t want to be caught in the middle.
“And why not? I’ll make you Dean of Alchemy at the school I’m building. You’ll have rank over all these sorcerers and more!”
“What school?”
“The school the king will finance when we’ve taken him his payload.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll have a major role in its development.”
“Please. It’s too much...responsibility. I...I can’t.” Waylen refused to make eye contact.
“You’ll change your mind.” Geraldo grinned, but Waylen turned away. How could he side with the admiral against all that magic the sorcerers wielded?
“I admire your humility, but higher status means more recompense. Who cannot use a bit more coin in their coffer? Eh?”
Waylen frowned.
“Does this mean I have no one to talk to? Come, wizard. I need your help.”
“I will assist you in whatever it is you tell me to do,” the wizard rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing the stairs to the lower deck wondering how quickly he could run from this conversation.
“But I cannot partake in the planning of it.” This last he garbled, then cringed when Geraldo slapped him on the back.
“Good. I’m glad to have you on the team.”
Holy cremation, how can I get out of this one? If I tell him there are whisperings of mutiny the wizards would skin me alive—especially if no such schemes are truly in existence.
Waylen bit his tongue and watched Geraldo closely. There must be some way he could bow out of this without riling the admiral.
“Sir, I’m not...I’m not the material you need.”
“Nonsense, Waylen, you’re exactly what I need. With your talents, you’re possibly all I need. Once we bring King Delitar his payload, the world will be our footstool. Can you imagine the power of our technology in conjunction with this...” he waved toward the gear room, signifying the chest of magic, “...with the power of the elements?”
“Sir? You’re not giving the chest to the king?”
“Why would I?”
“Well, because he’s the king.”
“And I am his servant who needs tools to do his bidding. And you are here to pay duty to me. If there are implements you need, you will have them. See the connection?”
Waylen’s face turned red and when the admiral’s dark eyes rested on him, he swallowed. He had no choice. He was the admiral’s puppet, and the sorcerers’ target. What would become of him when this is over?
“Yes, sir,” he muttered.
The Enchantress glided under full sail now, her decks wet from fog. The island had vanished beyond the clouds and only open sea spanned the horizon. A chill ran through Waylen’s bones, and he hurried toward the gear deck, dodging around the horde of sailors working the lines.