The Heirloom had been given pride of place next to the pincushion tomato on the shop counter, stored under glass and sealed by one of Augustin’s spells. The instrument drew more customers to the shop, many of them eager to purchase crafting supplies or elixirs after admiring its make.
With a simple dispelling charm, Augustin could easily unlock the seal, just in case either Braiden or Bones needed to use it. Braiden hoped that it wouldn’t be any time soon.
“Once we’re not so poor anymore,” Braiden had told Bones, “I promise we’ll get you your own instrument.”
“A Hyberidian Pleasure Box,” Bones said, breathless and dreamy.
“Sure,” Braiden answered uncertainly, believing with all his heart that the instrument was actually a torture box.
Augustin was especially attentive in the days following Braiden’s recovery, tailing him like a shadow and offering to help with every little thing. It was awfully sweet. Elyssandra, however, was nowhere to be found, spending most of her time inside her cottage.
Warren was doing much the same, helping to nurse Bones back to full strength — which, apparently, involved a lot of digging and recovering his bones from actual soil. There was no better person for the job than a burrowfolk.
When Braiden felt well enough, he decided to take his lunch at the Weathervale wharf with Craghammer. Part of it was to enjoy the crisp, salty air of the seaside, but part of it was to ask the orc what he planned to do next.
“Do you like working in the shop?” Braiden asked as they made their way to the docks. “I feel so bad. I don’t know if I’m really teaching you anything.”
“I’m learning plenty,” Craghammer replied. “Don’t you worry on that account. I like meeting all kinds of people and learning all the myriad ways they fight, especially these new friends I’ve made at Beadle’s Needles. And you know I move around a lot. I’ve never really stayed put. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay put a little while longer.”
The words felt familiar. Wanderlust was one thing, but many adventurers still longed for a place to call home.
“You can stay as long as you like,” Braiden told him. “I’d be sorry to see you go.”
Craghammer said nothing, only scratching the back of his neck, the green of his cheeks tinged with a rosy blush.
They sat with their legs hanging off the wharf, unwrapping sandwiches they’d prepared in the shop kitchen. Before Braiden had even taken his first bite, he noticed a pair of gnomes near the edge of the water.
One wore a brass helmet shaped like a sphere, attached to a long tube protruding from an elaborate machine. The other gnome noticed him staring and waved.
“Oh,” Braiden said. “Hello.” He raised his sandwich. “Have you had lunch yet?”
“Too busy to eat,” the gnome without the helmet called back. “Hungry for knowledge!”
Braiden laughed out loud. He hadn’t met many gnomes in his life, but he knew how deeply their people loved creation and discovery. As an artisan, he could very much relate.
Craghammer took a huge bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before pointing at the gnomish machine.
“What’s that you’re working on?” he asked.
“It’s a breathing apparatus,” the gnome declared, chest puffed out and legs apart, as heroic as an ocean explorer. “We came to your fine town to use it as a base for discovering the watery depths.”
Braiden raised his eyebrows as he watched the sunlight glint off the waves. He’d never thought about going under.
“Down there?” Braiden asked. “I mean, all the way down?”
The gnome shrugged. “Pirates and merchant vessels have explored over the water. Why not take a peek at what lies underneath?”
The other gnome waddled into the water, his movement made so much more cumbersome by his huge, spherical helmet.
“I don’t know,” Craghammer said. “It seems dangerous. Wouldn’t it make more sense to seek out some merfolk and ask them for knowledge?”
“But that’s different,” the gnome said. “You have to know for yourself. That’s how research happens. How can you understand unless you see things with your own eyes?”
“I suppose so,” Braiden said, smiling and thinking back to the luminous cavern, the othergoats, the burning meadow.
“These devices pump air to the bottom. In theory, that is. We’re not entirely certain if it works exactly as we’d hoped, but that’s the basis of it. When you enter an environment that is not ideal for gnomes, you must have a lifeline — some way to sustain breathing. Otherwise, all you have is soggy gnomes.”
“That makes sense,” Braiden said, “but have you considered creating a portable apparatus instead? Something you could carry that might enable breathing?”
