79
Jassie sat on a couch opposite Milo, studying his rifle. She peered through the Mana Collection Unit, frowning at the changes he’d made.
Beside him, Mila had a small bowl of thin pieces of potato fried into crispy slices. She crunched on them, lifting one now and then for him to eat.
They were oddly addictive.
But they made him thirsty.
As he was contemplating getting up to get a drink, Vesna glided into the couch beside Jassie. Jassie glanced at her, but was more interested in the rifle to acknowledge the Farringham woman.
“Mister Mooney,” Vesna said smoothly. “I was hoping to chat with you again. And here you are. Almost as if you knew I was looking for you.”
“I didn’t,” he grunted, feeling a greater desire to get up and get a drink.
Preferably an alcoholic one.
Which meant leaving the fortress because alcohol wasn’t allowed at the Academy.
Mila lifted an arm and held a crisp near his face.
He took it with a crunch while Vesna frowned lightly. “She feeds you like you’re her pet?”
“Get used to it,” Jassie muttered. “Stick around him long enough and you’ll feed him, too.”
“That will never happen,” Vesna said.
“Sure.” Jassie raised the rifle to peer through the modified scope. She seemed to like it. “Even I’m considering giving him a slice of cake or something.”
Mila giggled. “He likes cake. Don’t ya, Milo?”
“Sure.” He didn’t look at Vesna.
He instead lifted his gaze to the ranked mage standing behind her. The man had a cruel look to him which Milo didn’t like.
“See something you like?” the mage asked with a slight sneer.
“Yeah,” Milo said, shifting his gaze again to Selma who had quietly stepped up behind the mage. Smiling at her, he nodded; “Very much.”
“Aww.” Selma grinned back as the mage flinched in surprise.
“That’s sweet,” Mila said, holding up another crispy potato slice.
Milo crunched on it.
“I have bought every core in the city now,” Vesna said, trying not to sound irritated. “And I’ve let it be known that I will buy every depleted core at twice their value.”
Jassie looked up. “Twice? I got a few sitting around.”
“Then I’ll buy them,” Vesna said, flashing her sharp teeth at Milo.
Jassie looked from Vesna to him. “This sounds personal. I’m not sure I wanna be involved.”
“It’s not personal at all,” Vesna said. “It’s just business. Isn’t it, Milo?”
He shrugged, accepting another slice of the potato.
“It’s your money,” he said lazily, hoping his tone would annoy her.
And, judging by the tightness around her eyes, it did.
“If you want to waste it, go ahead. It’s nothing to do with me.
I’m not even sure what you want with depleted cores.
I might have a few, too. Selma, can you check on that?
Sell what you can to Miss Farringham. I could use the gold. I might be able to get a new wand.”
“Will do, Milo,” Selma said, knowing he didn’t mean it.
“This can all be avoided if you’d just talk to me,” Vesna said through her teeth. Her eyes glittered as she glared at him. “We don’t have to do it this way.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “What do you think, Jassie?”
“It’s good,” she said slowly. “I think some of the others would pay big for it. If the mods are legal, of course.”
“I already checked with Mistress Vizzingbelle,” Mila said. “She’s happy with the changes. Actually, she asked if the Tinkers could get a modified rifle, too. Tania made them pay for it.”
“I bet she did,” Jassie snorted. She stroked the barrel. “And I can test it on the Range?”
“Sure,” Milo said, ignoring Vesna’s glare. “It’s my prototype, though. So, it might be a little rough. The actual mod’s more smooth. I added dampeners so it’s not going to jump around too much after each shot.”
“Nice.” Jassie shucked the clip and looked at it. “Have you done something to the clip, too? It looks different.”
“Some slight adjustments,” he said. “It can absorb more mana.”
“How much more?”
“About a quarter.”
“Wow.” Jassie grinned at Mila. “That’s how you punch those holes into the targets.”
“Yep.” Mila clung to Milo’s arm and smiled up at him.
Jassie sighed. “I see why you feed him,” she muttered. “Alright. I can go for it. It’s not cheap, but if it hits as hard as that, it’ll be worth it in the dungeons.”
“I’m working on some other rounds, too,” Milo said.
“Those I’m interested in,” she said. “If I can do half of what Mila’s been doing to Vizzingbelle’s Range, I’ll be happy.”
“I can do that.”
“Can I get two? One as a spare?”
“Sure.” He gave her a slow nod. “I can do that for you.”
Jassie didn’t look up from the rifle as Milo leaned back in the chair and accepted another potato slice.
Crunching on it, he nodded and smiled.
While the loss of the core market was a hit, Tania had told him the mods to rifles could make up for a lot of it if they tried.
With the new blueprints she’d pulled out of the Supplemental Archive, he thought he could do a lot to boost the output of the mana rifles without breaking the limits the mages had put on their weapons.
Breaking those limits would definitely get more attention than the cores.
He felt he could divert Vesna if he just kept denying everything and pretending it didn’t matter.
But if he started using a weapon which had broken the limitations set b y the Mage Court, he knew they’d never accept him just looking at them dumbly and pretending he didn’t know what he’d done.
They’d suspect he knew more about their testing capabilities.
There’d be no way they’d hand him over to the Paddstones then.
And no way they’d let him live, either.
Suppressing a shudder, he nodded at Jassie as she took the rifle away to the Range. She’d pay for a mod. He knew it.
Everyone in Vizzingbelle’s class would eventually.
“Good job,” he said down to Mila, who’d arranged most of it by talking to the other students. She’d been the one to show the prototype to the other teams. “Looks like we can afford to eat this week.”
“Can we get another ice cream?” Selma asked. “All of us, I mean.”
“Sure. Why not?” He fixed Vesna with a cold stare. “Is there something you wanted, Miss Farringham?”
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” She rubbed her temples.
Mila lifted a potato slice for him to crunch on.
He took it and chewed slowly, not saying anything. He should feel irritated by Vesna’s presence. But he wasn’t.
Instead, he felt a little smug.
She’d tried to box him into a corner and take his source of revenue. Hoping to starve him out. Knowing he was poor.
Instead, Milo had simply pivoted from one thing to the next.
And if Vesna somehow managed to stop him from being able to make money with mods? Well. Then he’d find something else.
The Archive’s blueprints were extensive. And, while he lacked the materials for some things, a lot of the smaller things could be assembled fairly easily. Though questions might be asked.
Like, if he started making daggers out of dwarven bronze.
That was easily doable with the forge in the Workshop.
But no one had been able to replicate dwarven bronze. So, he’d be asked about the process.
He could say he found a cache of weapons, but the teachers might suspect he found them in the fortress and try to confiscate them. Anything found in the fortress was, technically, owned by the Mage Court.
He’d have to create a story, then.
Something plausible.
And continue working through Spragg.
Whatever Vesna tried to do, he would have other options she couldn’t dream of.
Finally, realizing she was getting nothing from him, she stood and smoothed her robes down. Her robes looked like they were custom made. Their cloth was softer than the ones the Academy provided.
He suddenly thought about how Selma thought they were uncomfortable.
It was a shame he couldn’t ask Vesna where she got her robes.
Maybe Click or Clack could let him know.
He made a mental note to check on the little spider golems. Tania had been dealing with them more than he had.
“You will need to talk to me sooner or later,” Vesna huffed with conviction. “Right now you have a position of strength. Don’t leave it until you’re weak, Mister Mooney. Or I’ll make you pay for all of this.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Gav Greenstowe,” she suddenly hissed angrily. “I knew him since he was fifteen. I also knew his wife.”
He blinked at her in confusion. “So?”
“There was no need to kill him.”
“Huh?” He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”
Vesna held his stare for a moment, then spun and stomped away. She waved her arms as she went as though ranting silently to herself.
“What rank are you?” the mage asked Selma suddenly.
“Two,” she said proudly. As though she was telling him she was also 10.
He snorted. “You want to be careful where you stand in future. Or I’ll show you your place.”
“Or she’ll show you yours,” Milo said softly.
“What are you talking about? Do you have any idea what rank I am?”
“Ten,” Milo said. “But I’ll tell you something I learned recently.”
The mage didn’t look impressed. “What’s that?”
“A mana round through the head will kill anyone.” Milo aimed a finger gun at the man. “Just ask Fergus. Oh. Wait. You can’t. He’s dead.”
The mage gave him an odd look before sauntering off after Vesna.
Milo watched him go.
“I don’t like him,” Mila scowled.
“Me neither,” Milo said. “Stay away from him, though. He’s still a ten.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” Selma said. “You said so yourself.”
“He’s a rank ten, Selma,” Milo said, wishing he had a way to tell her why that was special. The golems didn’t seem to care too much about that sort of thing. “And he has to be good if he’s working for the Farringhams. He’ll have a lot of strange tricks up his sleeve. Just leave him alone.”
She shrugged. “Alright.”
“While we’re talking about leaving people alone,” Milo said slowly, looking from one golem to the other. “Who’s going to tell me who Gav was?”
Mila blushed.