Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Braiden moved quickly when 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 the boiling 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 could see 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 am very friendly,” Braiden protested, “and I am not rude. 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.”
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. “Elyssandra did handle 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.”
“Not that any of us are likely to get any sleep,” Bones said. “Not with this brass beast just waiting to pounce on us in the night.”
“It delivered its message, and now it wants to go home,” Augustin said. “Why don’t we just let it out the front door? Like a field mouse, or a cockroach.”
The mixing bowl clattered, the thing underneath it rolling about in protest, muttering to itself.