The dungeon wasn’t the right place to go. Not just yet. Life was good, and things were only going to get better. Laughter erupted from the table. Braiden had been too caught up in his thoughts to follow the train of the joke, but he smiled and chuckled all the same, lifting his mug to meet Augustin’s when he raised it for a toast.
Things were going just great up here in Weathervale, and things were only going to get better.
Chapter
Four
Braiden moved quicklywhen he heard the kettle boil. Not that the noise had any chance of waking Augustin from his slumber. The rattling of the floorboards told Braiden that the wizard was already fast asleep downstairs, lulled by his dinner of a comically enormous turkey leg. Still, no need to risk it when it wasn’t necessary. They’d both had a very long day — a very good long day — and Augustin Arcosa deserved a good night’s sleep.
But Braiden decided he needed a little assistance falling asleep himself, his mind still abuzz from the excitement of the day. The others had retired for the evening, too. Braiden moved the kettle to a wicker pad on the counter, a gift from the grandmothers of the Underborough, which came with a matching set of coasters, too.
He smiled as he patted the deck of Granny Bethilda’s recipe cards in the corner, trusting that he wouldn’t need to consult them at least this one time. He’d long memorized her recommendation for a delicious tea to encourage restful slumber. He took a slow, luxurious sniff of the dried lavender flower buds in the bottom of his mug, a bit of vanilla bean and some citrus peel added for a tasty twist. He poured in theboiling water, reminding himself to only steep long enough for the flowers to bloom and release their flavor, and —
A crash from the ground floor, followed by the distinct sound of tinkling glass. Braiden held still, as if that would help him hear better. His heart raced as he carefully set the kettle down, pricking his ears for more. Augustin could be clumsy sometimes, accidentally knocking over his bedside cup of water if he was too sleepy to find it in the dark.
But this was different. Besides, Braiden had specifically asked him to use wooden cups instead. And that had sounded like a lot of broken glass. And then there it was: a scream.
“Get away from me, you foul creature!”
Braiden raced for the stairs and all but sprinted for the ground floor, leaving behind his tea and all his thoughts of peaceful slumber. Augustin’s door was still closed, but Braiden could hear all the crashing and grunting from inside. A struggle. Someone — or something — had broken in through the storage room window. But who, and why?
Braiden crouched low to the ground as he curled his fingers, preparing a measure of magic. No specific spell in mind, for how would he know which spell to use when he didn’t even know the nature of their enemy?
Augustin yowled. A loud wind whistled from the crack under the door, between the doorframes. Oh, gods. Augustin was launching his own spells in close quarters. He’d hurt himself or bring the roof down around his ears, provided his assailant didn’t do it first. Braiden threw the door open. He gasped.
Augustin’s room was a mess, as expected, his sheets torn off the bed, shards of glass littering the floor in front of the window. His attacker spun menacingly as it hovered in the air a foot or so away from his face: a metallic box the color of faded gold, or old brass. It oddly reminded Braiden of a jewel box, despite being shaped like a perfect cube. Even from the threshold he couldsee the intricate lines graven into its surface, designs he didn’t recognize.
But this was no time to admire their enemy’s aesthetics. Braiden thrust his hand out and unfurled his magic in the form of a blanket, so thick and so heavy it would drag anything to the ground. Wrapped in its magicked shroud, the box toppled to the floor with a metallic clunk.
“Good work,” Augustin said, still catching his breath. “None of my magic could help me against it.”
“We have to get rid of it first, whatever it is. It’s a cube. Do you think the elementals — no. That would be silly.”
Braiden thought back to what Augustin had repeatedly drilled into him on their last adventure. A storm was neither evil nor good. It was just wind and water. The elements had no emotions, no agendas.
“I have a message for the one called Braiden Beadle,” said a voice from under the blanket.
As far as Braiden knew, the elementals couldn’t talk, either.
A glowing, fiery blaze in roughly the shape of a box ignited Braiden’s conjured fabric. Oh, good. The cube could set itself on fire, too.
The fabric burned entirely away, leaving no ashes on the floorboards, but the cube had already left its darkened imprint on the wood. Braiden grimaced. How in the several hells were they supposed to polish that out? And was this really the time to be thinking of cleaning?
The cube launched from the floor, narrowly missing Braiden’s head as it flew out the door. He ran out after it in a panic. After seeing what it had done to Augustin’s room, what damage could it do in the rest of the shop?
“I’m Braiden Beadle,” he shouted. “Tell me your stupid message and go, already.”
“I was told you weren’t very friendly,” the cube intoned, zipping among the shelves like it was only window shopping. “I did not know that you would be rude, too.”
“I amveryfriendly,” Braiden protested, “and I amnotrude. Most of the time. To people who don’t come in to smash up my shop.”
The cube continued its erratic zigzagging flight, occasionally bumping into things. Whoever had sent this horrible messenger was going to get a very stern talking-to.
“Maybe with a well-aimed tornado spell,” Augustin suggested. “Just a tiny one.”
Braiden threw his hands up. “What did I just say about smashing up the shop?”
“That might be an improvement,” the brass box said. “Ha. Ha. Only joking.”
