Page 5 of Bottoms Up
The Bible was written by men. It’s close, but not entirely accurate.
“Start with this,” Mordecai told the old man, and he tossed what looked like an ear into a tall, thin container. Not a human ear, some kind of animal ear.
The old man looked into the pot and said, “Orecchio di maiale d’oro?”
Mordecai merely lifted an eyebrow at him, and the old man shrugged, lifted the container, put it into some kind of machine, closed a lid over it, and worked with some dials.
That didn’t translate,I told Mordecai.
I’m aware.
The old man left. A few minutes later, I heard the same noises coming from the front that I had before, and Mordecai touched the kiln — or whatever it was called — a few seconds before I felt the weight of the necklace leaving my body, and I realized Mordecai had opened the lid, tossed it in, and closed it so fast I hadn’t even seen him move. I still wore the chain, but the coin was gone.
“You told him you wanted the necklace and chain melted.”
“I wanted it hotter than for just gold.”
The next thing I knew, he was holding something else in his hand, and he opened the lid and tossed it in, too.
“The container is called a crucible,” Mordecai told me. “The crucible is in a furnace. I just put your gold in with the gold from pieces of two other magical items. If I’m right, the three magics will cancel each other out.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get us and the old man out of here a second or two before the explosion.”
A jolt of fear tightened my gut. The wordexplosiondidn’t pair well with words likemagic, especially when five feet away from a fucking furnace. But I reminded myself who I was standing next to — a man who could teleport through time and space without breaking a sweat. If he said he could get us out, he could.Probably.
“What magical items are you mixing it with?”
He hesitated so long, I didn’t think he was going to answer, but he finally said, “The ear of a golden boar and a small piece of a magical sword. A bit of decoration from the handle, not the sword part. Jewelry, animal, item of war — all sentient, and all made by dwarves.”
He scratched his chin. “Magical theory is more art than science, but the right balance of intent and origin might let the magics cancel each other out. Do you have something you know to be pure silver that you wouldn’t mind donating to the cause? I’d like my jeweler friend to braid the combined gold piece with a copper piece and a silver piece to make a bracelet. I have the ideal copper piece to melt, and can come up with something silver, but it feels as if the silver should come from you. The gold from the necklace belongs to you, and if the silver does as well, that will make it more yours than anyone else’s. It feels important.”
“I have a silver torc that goes on my bicep.” I sent him an image of it, and where in my home he could find it, and it was suddenly in his hand. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Mordecai looked through some containers on a shelf — crucibles, I supposed. He lifted one, put my torc in it, walked to a different furnace, put the crucible into it, sealed a lid over the top, and pushed a button on the side.
He did the same with what looked like a small copper statue — a naked man standing in one of those narrow one-person chariots, minus the wheels. I have no idea what made him Roman — other than the curly hair, the shield and sword, and his foot on his helmet. It was maybe four or five inches tall, and I only got a quick look, but it seemed old.
“What’s the significance of the dude you’re melting?”
“It was me, once upon a time. It isn’t anymore, but putting something of a piece of me in…” He sighed. “Symbology isimportant. This is going to be about more than the sum of the ingredients.”
Once all three metals were in the three furnaces, he walked to another wall and looked through what I thought might be molds. He chose one, and turned to look at me. “This is going to be a lengthy process, but it feels as if you should be present. Also, I want to stick with you for a while. Find a spot to sit, but please stay within my sight.”
There were a half-dozen work stools, and none looked comfortable. No sooner than I had the thought, a big, cushy armchair appeared near the shelves with the molds — not the one I curl up in to read, but damned close.
“You should be out of the way there, but I can move it if we need something in that area.”
My e-reader was on the seat when I got to the chair, and I opened it and went in search of a book on magical objects in mythology. I found a college textbook with great reviews and didn’t care how much it cost. It was time to get at least a half-assed handle on whatever the hell was happening around me.
It turns out, the golden boar was calledGullinburstiwhich, as best I could tell, was Norse forGolden Boar. Creative bunch, those Norse.
It had golden bristles, so its entire body wasn’t gold, and it was forged by dwarves, so that part fit. It could move through air and water faster than any horse, and its bristles were said to radiate with a golden glow, lighting its path. It was a gift to the god Freyr, who rode it around like a badass and occasionally hitched it to a chariot.
Had he been the dude on the chariot? No, Mordecai said that’d been him. Was he Freyr? No. Surely not.
I kept reading — I’d learn all I could about the golden boar before I researched the naked Roman guy.
