Chapter 9
The Fantastical Armory, Roya Lane, London, England, United Kingdom
“What do you mean, I’m the only one who can fix Bellumferrum?” Gen questioned, still holding the small, obsidian cube out in the palm of her hand and staring intently at Subner. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Subner said, returning his focus to his book.
“Of course there is,” Gen argued, holding up the Weapon of War. “It won’t keep a form when I use it. Instead it cycles through several different weapons, shifting at random.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” he said, dryly, his attention all on the pages of his book.
Gen stomped over, slamming the stone cube onto the glass counter, making a loud sound and the surface shake. “What’s wrong with Bellumferrum?”
Unhurried, Subner brought his dark eyes up and met her. “Nothing.”
“Then why is it acting strange?” she questioned through clenched teeth.
“It isn’t,” he replied, not blinking. “It’s doing exactly what it was intended to do and following the intention of its master.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her mouth falling open as confusion settled over her. “What?”
Subner sighed, shutting his book rather reluctantly. “You’re unsettled. You don’t have a purpose. And therefore, Bellumferrum doesn’t have a clear intention to follow. So it’s shifting randomly, following the whims of your confusion.”
Suddenly Gen felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She was out of breath. Light-headed. But what Subner said absolutely made sense.
“My boss won’t let me work any cases and is trying to make me quit because of who I am,” she said. “He’s assigned me tons of training and I feel that I’m never going to be done with it. I feel hopeless.”
“Do you see a couch in here?” Subner mumbled, reopening his book.
Gen looked around, confused. “No, why?”
“I’m not a therapist and I don’t care,” Subner replied. “I’m simply telling you why Bellumferrum is shifting often. It’s you.”
“So what do I do?” Gen asked.
Subner turned the page of his book. “Try getting a life.”
Gen picked up the black cube with symbols and held it up in her fist. “Help me. Tell me how to fix this problem. I need a weapon.”
“It sounds like you don’t, actually,” he said indifferently.
She huffed. “Why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you simply tell me what I have to do to make Bellumferrum work properly.”
He glanced up at her, his face like made of stone. “I have tried. You’re not listening.”
Her chest vibrating with emotions, but Gen tried to breathe through it, settling herself down. “Fine, I’m listening. Tell me what to do.”
“Like I said, get a life. Find your purpose amongst the Rogue Riders,” he answered. “When you do, then you won’t feel lost and you can clearly define your intention to Bellumferrum.”
Gen blinked at him in confusion. “And then it will work right?”
He nodded, returning his attention to his book.
“But how do I find my purpose with the Rogue Riders when Dwayne Stone is trying to force me out?” Gen asked, defeat heavy in her voice.
Subner turned the page of his book. “Beats me.”
She looked up at Papa Creola who was really throwing paint onto the canvas. Then at Mama Jamba who was busy grinding herbs, making her new color.
“We can’t help you dear,” Mama Jamba chimed at once without looking up from her work.
Gen sighed. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it really matter?” Papa asked, not taking his attention off his artwork.
Gen nodded, having heard from the other Beaufonts that Mama Jamba and Papa Creola were always like this, not enabling their children by giving them the answers. Apparently, they really wanted everyone to figure things out for themselves. Still, the pair could be somewhat helpful in their own ways. “Well, maybe you, Papa Creola, as a half magician, will tell me where to go to find books on moral philosophy? I don’t really know where to look and have quite the long list.”
“As a magician, I am naturally drawn to literature and knowledge,” Father Time began, flicking the tip of his brush quickly against the surface of the canvas. “But I haven’t really explored that part of myself yet, so I’m not sure where to send you. Maybe the Great Library.”
Mama Jamba shook her head, sprinkling some purple herbs into the mortar. “No, not yet. She’s not ready for that place just now.”
“Oh, well, I’m new to this world and not sure where to look for these things,” Gen said, feeling deflated. She turned to Subner. “You like to read. Do you know where I can look for my assigned reading material?”
He kept his focus on his book. “I don’t like to read.”
“But that’s what you’re always doing,” she reasoned.
“I do it to pass the time,” he stated.
“Aren’t you pretty much immortal as a demi-god?” Gen questioned.
“Pretty much,” he replied, turning the page of his book.
“So you’ve got a lot of time to pass, then,” she guessed with a sigh.
“Dear,” Mama Jamba cut in. “Why don’t you visit this cute little magical bookshop in Los Angeles. It’s called Spellbound Pages and they will have most of the books you need for your required reading list.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Gen said, grateful to get an actual answer from the woman. “And one more question…”
Mama Jamba finally looked up from her work. “I’m not making you cookies, but I’m sorry that your situation has you down.”
Gen’s mouth fell open in surprise, yet again. “How did you know that’s what I was going to ask?” Then before Mother Nature could reply, Gen waved her off. “Of course you knew.”
“Of course, I did,” Mama Jamba sang, returning to her work. “But the place to go for a cookie is The Crying Cat Bakery down on Roya Lane. You should pay them a visit.”
“Oh, well, I’ve got a lot of reading ahead of me,” Gen muttered. “I better make my way to this bookshop.” She turned for the door, thinking that she’d use the mobile device Sophia had given her to find this Spellbound Pages in Los Angeles. Gen hadn’t wanted one of the phones that everyone in this time period was obsessed with, but Sophia had insisted that she at least have a way of finding her way around without getting lost and contacting a few people if needed.
“Gen,” Mama Jamba called at her back, making her pause.
She looked over her shoulder at the old woman. “Yes?”
“Go get a cookie from The Crying Cat Bakery,” Mama Jamba asserted. “I insist.”
Knowing that it wasn’t wise to argue with this woman and this was probably one of those times that she was getting advice, unknowingly from the gods, Gen nodded and headed out the door for the bakery.