Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Braiden did, in fact, wake up at intervals to gulp huge quantities of water for his parched throat, or to partake of quick meals. Most of them were administered lovingly by Augustin, and some by a very attentive Elyssandra.
After a few days, Braiden finally felt strong enough to return to work at Beadle’s Needles. Grand adventure aside, it felt right to be back on his own two feet, on the familiar old floorboards of the shop.
The portal had successfully held, both the demons and their pet hellhounds making the journey back through to the other side.
Braiden convinced himself to think of it not as a permanent goodbye, but a “See you later,” even as the portal winked shut and Valefour and the others waved gratefully back at them.
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?”
The gnome stroked his beard, his eyes going distant. “Hmm. Hadn’t considered that. You mean like a mask with built-in air so you could breathe?”
“Sure,” Braiden said, wondering if he could do something similar with moongrass. “Do away with the hose entirely. That way you don’t have to stay tethered to the surface. All sorts of things could go wrong if the tubing snaps.”
Braiden would know. Some frayed yarn in the course of a project was a nuisance. A severed lifeline was a catastrophe.
“Maybe even bring some spare tanks of air,” Craghammer said. “Could be with magic, could be with gnomish engineering. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure we could,” the gnome said, narrowing his eyes.
Braiden could see the gears turning in the gnome’s head. But far behind him, frantic splashing erupted in the water.
The gnome looked over his shoulder, then down at his feet. Braiden followed his gaze to where the gnome’s boot had clamped down on the tubing, cutting off the air to the diving gnome.
“Oops,” the gnome said, hopping off and dashing toward the water.
Craghammer didn’t hesitate. He ripped off his vest, muscles bulging, and took a running dive into the water to rescue them.
Braiden shook his head in awe. He didn’t know how much he could truly teach the orcish warrior, but he certainly didn’t mind having him around.
Craghammer’s clothes had dried off by the time they made it back to Beadle’s Needles, though he was starting to walk funny as they approached the front door.
“Salt and sand crusting in uncomfortable places,” he said, picking up the pace. “I’ll be cleaning up in the lavatory, if you don’t mind.”
Braiden swept a welcoming gesture toward the shop. A greenish oval appeared by the door just as it clicked shut behind Craghammer, the portal to Elyssandra’s cottage. Braiden beamed at the chance to greet her — he hadn’t seen nor heard from her in a few days — but someone else stepped out instead.
“Elder Bahul?” Braiden stammered, incredulous.
The elder seemed to be in high spirits, even gracing Braiden with a smile. Tucked under one arm was a large, flat rectangle wrapped in brown paper. Off the elder went, a spring in his step despite his cumbersome cargo, his painting and his trademark backpack-chest both.
Braiden frowned after the elder, watching as he disappeared down the street when he heard the portal humming again. This time it was Elyssandra, only in a state he’d never seen before.
Her hair was disheveled, her pins in disarray. Her forehead and cheeks were daubed with smears of color, the same as her outfit: a stained olive-green smock, not one of her rich traveling cloaks.
Braiden threw his hands up, at a loss for words.
“Oh, you won’t believe it,” Elyssandra said, grasping Braiden by the shoulders. Her emerald eyes bored into his, burning with excitement. “Remember when I was sketching Elder Bahul in the Underborough? He liked my drawings so much that he commissioned me for a portrait.”
“He what?” The wrapped rectangle under his arm — it was a painting. “Well, I hope he paid you well! You know how much he loves to extort us. Former smuggler, current elder of the Lighthouse, and all that.”
“Well, that’s the thing! He said he doesn’t know anyone who’s ever had a portrait painted by an elven artist. It’s unheard of out in greater Aidun. You’ll never guess how much he paid me.”
She told him. Braiden nearly fell on his butt.
“Elyssandra, that’s — that’s more money than I’ve ever had in my lifetime.”
She clasped her hands. “It gets even better. I used a portion to pay off our debt. The flutterbutter, the unicorn hair — you can forget about all that. Our bill is paid, and there’s plenty left over to boot. Maybe I can invest it in the shop.”
This time Braiden needed to clutch the doorframe to keep from falling. “Or maybe buy some more paints and canvas and become Aidun’s greatest elven artist? In any case, you really didn’t have to, and yet — thank you! Thank you so much.”
He hugged her just as soon as he knew he wasn’t going to faint from happiness. She hugged him back, smelling strongly of oil paints and turpentine.
“And now I have to wash all this paint off. It took me a week to finish, but even bathing every day I somehow end up getting just as much paint on my body as I do on the canvas.”