It laughed. It actually laughed.
“I have a message for the one called Braiden Beadle.”
“So you keep saying,” Braiden shouted. “Now spill.”
“If you insist.”
The cube knocked over a jar, a hundred colorful beads slipping between the floorboards. Braiden groaned.
“Come to the dungeon depths,” the brass cube said. “Come and see what other wonders await you.”
Braiden gritted his teeth. The horned warrior, the man who wore a helmet all the time to hide his identity as a demon. Braiden didn’t know very much about demons, but this cubical messenger’s personality certainly seemed to fit the bill.
The shop bell tinkled. Elyssandra shuffled in, wearing a white sleeping smock. She rubbed her eye with one hand and held out an empty mug with the other.
“Braiden, could we borrow a cup of milk? Warren says he’ll sleep better after a warm glass of — oh, gods!”
The brass box hummed as it sped through the air, making a beeline for the open door. Before Braiden could even shout a warning, Elyssandra had swapped her mug for the broom against the wall, resting next to the mop Warren used so much. In one smooth, spinning motion, she whirled and brought the broom smacking against the box, sending it hurtling across the room.
It smashed into a display rack of hanging yarns, sending it all crashing to the floor. Braiden winced, but better a mess of yarn to clean up later than spilled blood, or worse. He greatly suspected that the horrible contraption could inflict as much damage as a cannonball, and it had all those sharp edges, too.
The brass box clattered as it struggled to free itself, dragging a tangle of yarn as it scratched a white line into the floorboards. Crashing into the display must have dazed it. Did that mean that this thing was alive?
“Now!” Augustin shouted, gripping a large metal bowl as he threw himself at the ground.
He slammed the bowl over the cube, then backed away suddenly, hands in the air, like someone who’d caught a cockroach under a glass and didn’t know what to do with it. Elyssandra issued what might have been an elven battle cry as she sprinted across the room — then sat down promptly on the upturned bowl.
Braiden frowned. “Oh.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Elyssandra asked, planting her hands on the bowl to steady it. It was already clanging, the cube ramming from the inside to break free.
Warren approached cautiously, followed by a frightened Bones.
“Have you been standing there the whole time?” Augustin asked.
“What could we have done?” Warren said. “It looks like Elyssandra handled things just fine.”
“Thank you,” Elyssandra said primly. “Elyssandradidhandle things just fine.”
Augustin sulked. “I was the one who thought about the bowl.”
Braiden narrowed his eyes. “Why did you even have that in your room? It’s supposed to live upstairs in the kitchen.”
“For snacks, of course.” Augustin twiddled his fingers. “But see how it now serves as a prison for this accursed object.”
Braiden did not comment on how Augustin’s snack bowl of choice was even bigger than his head.
“I think we should examine it,” Warren said. “Perhaps even take it apart, to see what makes it tick.”
The mixing bowl protested. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Just don’t let it out of the bowl,” Bones squeaked. “I’m talking to you, sharp ears. Sit on that thing all night if you have to.”
Sharp ears gave Bones a sharp look.
“That’s unreasonable, Bones,” Braiden said. “Elyssandra has to sleep at some point. And how did you get in here, anyway? I thought I locked the shop up properly and everything. Don’t tell me you somehow picked the lock by accident. Again.”
Elyssandra shrugged. “It happens sometimes. I can’t help it.”
