Chapter 4 #2
“There’s no telling if it’ll actually leave,” Braiden said. “And besides, I think we’re better off questioning it. The horned warrior isn’t letting up on dragging us back to the dungeon, it seems. We could stand to learn a thing or two.”
The mixing bowl chuckled. “You could stand to learn a thing or two about interior decorating. I find that some fire is always an improvement. The more, the better.”
Augustin rapped the mixing bowl with a wooden spoon, producing a horrible clanging sound. “That’s enough out of you, foul creature.”
“Ayiee!” the mixing bowl cried. “The ringing hurts my ears! My master was right all along. Demons we may be, but nothing is so cruel as a human.”
“I’m so sorry,” Augustin stammered. “I was only trying to — ”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. Master Valefour also said humans were stupid and gullible. I see now that he was right. I have no ears. I feel no pain.”
Augustin reddened. Braiden frowned. Valefour. So that was the horned warrior’s name.
“Okay then, no ears,” Bones said, rapping the bowl with his exceptionally bony knuckles. “You answer some of our questions, and maybe we’ll think about letting you go.”
The brass box didn’t answer, seemingly deep in thought.
“Ask it about the dungeon depths,” Augustin said, waving his wooden spoon threateningly. “And maybe ask why it’s so rude, while you’re at it.”
“That belongs upstairs,” Braiden hissed, glaring at the spoon. “Like the mixing bowl. Why do you have that, anyway?”
“For pudding,” Augustin answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Braiden didn’t have time to needle him about where he was getting the pudding. United front and all that, right? They shouldn’t bicker in front of the enemy. He hadn’t yet decided whether the brass box was better or worse than Orora Arcosa.
“What exactly awaits in the dungeon depths?” Braiden asked.
“Great riches, for those who know where to find them. Forbidden knowledge, for those clever enough to seek. And the glory of uncovering the dungeon’s even greater mysteries. So many adventurers in this town of yours, but none have found the way forward. Does this not pique your curiosity?”
Silence and stillness, except when Augustin leaned closer and licked away the dryness of his lips. Braiden held his breath. Augustin could claim to be bored of the adventurer’s life all he wanted. Apparently, you couldn’t take the wanderlust out of the wizard.
“Your master mentioned fire, too,” Elyssandra said. “Lots of fire. Very cheeky of you to leave that out.”
“Well, that goes without saying,” the box said.
Warren chuckled. “Then why should we go deeper? Why risk burning to a crisp? What is our incentive?”
“Must I repeat myself? Riches. Knowledge. Glory.”
“And flames,” Bones said. “You’re forgetting the flames again. I’m out. I don’t know how flammable these old bones are, and I don’t intend to find out.”
“Your master wants something from us,” Braiden said. “And you’re not planning to tell us what that is, are you?”
The box’s silence was answer enough. As was Elyssandra’s sudden yelp. She leapt off the mixing bowl, wagging her fingers and clutching her backside.
“Hot! So hot.”
The glowing mixing bowl flew off the floor as the box launched itself back into the air, zipping straight out the front door as it left a taunting trail of, “Ha, ha, ha” into the night.
Warren picked up a broom and set to sweeping. Elyssandra muttered something about making tea as she rubbed her bottom and trudged up the stairs. Braiden sighed as he gathered up the fallen yarn and went searching for scattered beads.
Bones had followed Augustin into his bedroom, going down on all fours as soon as he saw the broken window.
“All the broken glass can’t hurt me. I’ll pick out the little shards, windbag. You just clean up the room.”
Bones could be very helpful when he wanted to be. It was part of his charm.
“Very kind of you, friend Bones,” Augustin said. “Still, I don’t see myself sleeping here tonight. Very chilly with the draft and all.”
Braiden frowned. “This wouldn’t be such a problem if you would just put a shirt on for bed. And something warmer than those ridiculous shorts you love so much.”
He didn’t really mean that, of course, considering the very lovely sight that Augustin and his shorts had to offer.
Augustin gestured vaguely at the broken window. “Why don’t you conjure up some curtains strong enough to keep the wind out?”
Braiden folded his arms and smirked. “I will, as soon as you cast a spell to calm the wind down specifically outside your broken window. See how silly that sounds?”
Before Augustin could protest, Bones dropped an entire handful of broken glass and gasped.
“The two of you, shut up for a minute. Look at this.”
Braiden and Augustin leaned closer, squinting as they followed the skeleton’s bony finger, but there was nothing there, only the wall, painted the same boring beige as the rest of the shop.
Bones harrumphed in annoyance as he crawled across the floor, bits of glass sticking into his skeletal crevices. “No, right over here,” he said, jabbing his finger at the wall. “Don’t you see it?”
Still nothing, until Bones scratched at the paint with the end of his finger. One, two, three scratches, and an entire section of it had lifted away.
“Look, Bones,” Braiden said. “The paint we used for the shop is the cheapest money can buy, but I’d still appreciate if you wouldn’t — if you wouldn’t — ”
The section of paint came away, and somehow kept coming away, like a little scrap of paper. And why was it in the exact shape of a rectangle?
Carefully, his fingers guided by all the practiced precision of a musician, Bones peeled the piece away. He held up the little rectangle to the light. The window might have been open, but the shiver that ran down Braiden’s spine didn’t come from the cold.
It was one of Granny Bethilda’s cards — and one that Braiden had never, ever seen before.