“Do you have a permit for selling beverages on the premises? Inspections must be made, of course, for cleanliness and safety standards. We can’t have everyone in Weathervale selling food and drink willy-nilly. The rules are there for a reason.”
Braiden’s head spun as he tallied Elder Orora’s demands. He should have known not to come. He should have known this was a trap.Ybura preserve me, he thought, morbidly aware that even the gods couldn’t help him now.
“But all of this can be remedied, of course,” Orora said with a wave of her hand. “Provided that the Wizard and Weaver of Weathervale lend their aid to the Lighthouse. And that’s where Elder Bahul comes in.”
Wizard and weaver alike turned to look at the other elder. He still hadn’t moved the entire time. Halfway through Orora’s haranguing, Braiden had considered that the stranger mightwell have been a corpse propped up in a chair to make the great table, paradoxically, look a little more lively.
The man’s mustachios twitched. A moment later, Braiden realized that the gruff, muffled bark had been the sound of the elder clearing his throat.
“A pleasure to meet you, Elder Bahul,” Augustin said, never one to forget his manners.
“Yes,” Braiden added. “Same. Hello. Hi.”
Still hardly moving, the pile of white hair and equipment quaked with its one-worded answer.
“Pleasure.”
A man of few words, then. A refreshing counterpart to Orora Arcosa, the Lighthouse’s resident windbag. Augustin’s words, of course.
“If the two of you agree to accompany Elder Bahul down the dungeon,” Orora said crisply, “then the Lighthouse may be convinced to lower your fees owed, or perhaps even waive them entirely.”
“So a bodyguard job, then?” Braiden asked.
“In a way. The upper levels are somewhat safer since your little adventure, now that the cube of frost has been dispelled. But Elder Bahul here is most interested in infrastructure and engineering. Why not a shaft for a lift to more easily access the lower levels?”
Augustin folded his arms and cupped his chin. “Hmm. Safer passage for adventurers going down and unparalleled convenience for any burrowfolk coming up for a visit. That does sound like a fine idea.”
“Yes, exactly,” Orora said. “He was telling me all about it before you came, among other ideas. Couldn’t stop talking, in fact. He’s very excited.”
Braiden risked the few seconds it took to assess Elder Bahul’s still statue-like state. The only way this man would look excitedwas if an earthquake struck at that very moment and tossed him around in his chair.
But life above the dungeon was only truly beginning for Braiden and Augustin — no, for all of them. Their businesses and Craghammer’s employment aside, even the others were just discovering life outside the boundaries that had been built for them.
Elyssandra with her freedom from her royal bonds, temporary as that may be, and Warren discovering the world beyond the Underborough, and Bones all but traveling through time, dying in an Aidun of hundreds of years past, awaking in a new Aidun brimming with places to see and people to terrorize.
Braiden remembered his favorite pincushion tomato, no longer sitting in its sewing tin, now taking pride of place on the Beadle’s Needles counter. They were five little tomatoes trying to flourish outside of their boxes, to see who and what they could really become.
Braiden exchanged a long, meaningful look with Augustin, seeing only agreement in his storm-gray eyes, The dungeon could wait.
“We’re grateful for the opportunity, Elder Bahul,” Augustin said. “And extremely flattered that you would consider us. But we must decline at this time.”
Orora Arcosa sighed as if she’d known this would be the outcome all along.
Elder Bahul’s backpack — backchest? — clattered against the back of his chair as he shrugged. He rose from the table and reached for one of the tools dangling from his harness — a coil of rope. He walked to the closest window and hurled it out into thin air.
Braiden watched in fascination as the rope knotted itself around the nearest wooden pillar, as if sentient, the cleverest tentacle on an octopus. Without uttering another word, ElderBahul took the rope in both hands and slid effortlessly down the side of the tower.
“Goodness gracious,” Braiden breathed. “That’s one way to make an exit.”
He tried not to seethe with jealousy over something he’d always wanted to conjure — a lengthy coil of sturdy rope — but to make it smart enough to tie its own knots, too? Braiden understood that the enchantment of objects and the weaving way were two entirely separate arts, but it was hard not to be sore about it.
But what if he spun some moongrass filament into a coil of existing rope? Braiden bit his lip, chewing it in his excitement. All along he’d dreamed up ways to weave moongrass thread into knitted and crocheted articles of clothing. All this time he was dreaming big when he could have been thinking even smaller!
What magics could he infuse into a single ball of yarn, a spool of thread, or a coil of rope? Would he make a killing at the docks that way, supplying ships with intelligent ropes and fishermen with self-hooking fishing lines? Certainly something to consider for the future.
The back-and-forth staccato of Augustin and Orora arguing snapped Braiden out of his burst of inspiration. “You never listen,” one or the other said, and the other shot back with, “You don’t understand.”
“I’m very sorry, Elder Orora,” Braiden interjected, hoping to keep the peace. “We’re just very, very busy right now. I’m sure Elder Bahul will find plenty of capable adventurers to escort him down the way.”
