Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 27: Things at Rest

Barnaby wandered from dreams to the awareness of weight upon his chest. Hoping to see Val, he opened eyes, meeting the angel-wing gaze of his tutor in magic.

"Lesson time," declared Professor Night-Creep.

Barnaby sighed, nodded. He sat up, sending the cat leaping away. He looked about the sheltering crater. The other Benefactors still slept, campfire long settled to dim embers. The sky in the east turning pale at the threat of dawn. He stood, stretched, taking up axe and wand.

The cat walked into the night. Barnaby followed, stopping to pee. The wind blew chill. Autumn coming soon, he thought. Harvest time. Back at home, who'd be grinding the grain, fixing the vanes and cogs, sacking the flour? Couldn't picture Alf or Mother doing such labor. Mill Town had best call off harvest, go straight to winter.

He looked about, spied Night-Creep springing effortlessly beyond the hollow, following a path clear to cat eyes. Man-eyed, Barnaby stumbled after him.

"Do you ever have to pee?" he asked the cat.

"Hmm, yes. In an intellectual sense."

"Oh." Barnaby considered exactly what that meant. Considered asking what it meant. Decided not.

"Where are we going?" he asked instead.

"First to gather our tools. Pick up that metal rod you just stumbled over. It has excellent properties that will serve nicely for wand."

"I have a wand."

"Yes, but it is attuned to Demetia. Here plays the music of a different conductor."

Barnaby searched the dark ground, fingers finding a cold metal rod. Lighter than iron or bronze.

"What is it made of?"

The cat tutor stood on hind legs, sniffed at the bar.

"Several metals, alloyed. Your friar might be able to tell you of its forging. I limit my interest to detecting potential for magic."

He descended to four feet again.

"Now go to the right, past that tangle of spikes. Seek in the shadows. You will find a small pool. Dip the wand in, stir it about. Try not to breathe overmuch."

Barnaby stepped forwards, cautious of sharp objects to left and right. Past piles of debris, he spied a small pool glimmering in the growing light. He approached; ears catching a faint drip, drip of seepage from geologic strata of mechanical beasts long buried in the hills.

Wafting vapors of oil and metallic ichors thickened the air. Holding his breath, he bent over the pool. It looked black, glistening with rainbow streaks. He reached the wand downward, stirring the florescent lines. The liquid moved sluggishly, thick as cloth.

When he could hold breath no longer, he retreated, gasping, coughing, head turned light with strange fumes.

"That shall do," said the cat. "Now raise the rod high."

Barnaby did so.

"Recite after me: "Things at rest remain at rest. What moves shall continue to move, constant in goal and speed. Let this be your first law, sainted Hefestus."

Barnaby repeated these unlikely words, offering the rod to the dawn. It glimmered with peacock streaks, same as the pool.

"Excellent. Now follow."

Barnaby followed; not far, but downwards into a crater deeper than where they'd camped. The brightening sky revealing the path sufficiently that Barnaby no longer stumbled. At the bottom of this new crater, Night-Creep halted.