Page 6 of The Grip of Death
He shrugged. “Good people over at Mother Dough, you know? Back after the — well, the accident — they came to some of us old-timers with free food. Kind of like rations, I suppose. Some of us couldn’t work anymore, see? It’s been years. I told them to stop, that I didn’t need help. But it just keeps coming.”
“Lucky you,” Preston said, a man who knew all about his baked goods. Eating them, that is.
“Well, it’s good to know that you’re comfortable,” I said.
Giuseppe groaned as he settled back in his armchair. He waved his hand vaguely. “There’s always work in the Black Market, you know? You don’t have to look very hard. But tell me. Is that why you boys are here to see Old Giuseppe?”
I scratched the tip of my nose, unsure of where to start. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the guild is rebuilt again. I mean, it’s different now, but with the help of the other guilds — what I’m trying to say is that we have somewhere to belong again. People like you, and me, and Preston. Artificers. Just like old times.”
The old man snorted. “Just hopefully with no kaboom this time, eh?”
Preston held up two fingers and crossed them. “Here’s hoping.”
“And who’s in charge?” Giuseppe asked. “Not a lot of us left, even fewer left to lead, I imagine.”
“It’s just us,” Preston answered. He elbowed me. “As for leading? Well, you’re looking at him. That’s our new guild master.”
Giuseppe’s eyes crinkled at me as his lips pursed into a strange, sad smile. “Your parents would be very, very proud.”
“Thank you. I think so, too. But look. I know it’s asking a lot. You have no reason to join us. I’m sure you’d rather be relaxing in here with all your — um, your bread and your television. But we’re doing new things these days, Giuseppe. Exciting things. It’s different now. And we’d love to have you on board. We’re still working on finding new blood, but we’ll want someone old school to teach them what’s what. Someone from the old guard, you know? Someone like you.”
Giuseppe sighed as he rose from his armchair, bones creaking, joints popping. I could almost imagine his movements dislodging a coating of dust from his clothes. No. This was a different sort of dust, the kind that came loose from the soul. A different sort of awakening.
The old artificer shuffled toward the corner of the living room, reaching for his cane, this thing that was nearly as old and knobbly as the man himself. Made of metal, it looked like, when I would have expected it to be made of gnarled wood, the way its trunk twisted in on itself, like a branch that had fallen from a very confused tree.
He turned toward the two of us with a small, soft smile, then struck the ground with his cane. My hands flew to my ears as a great metallic clanging filled the room, like the tolling of an ancient bell. The cane was gone, replaced by a familiar, welcome sight: an artificer’s hammer.
“I’ve kept it with me all these years,” Giuseppe said, smiling down at the gleaming tool, greeting it like he would an old friend. “I never thought I’d have an excuse to pick it up again, but I’m glad I held on. To the hammer, and to the dream. Good on you, kid. You’ll make the Halls of Making shine again. Good on you, Master Jackson.”
“Jackson,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, glancing at the threadbare rug by his armchair. “Um. Jackson is just fine.”
Preston stepped forward, his huge hand gripping at the air, like his fingers longed for the touch of his own hammer. “So? How about it, Giuseppe? Can we count on you to work with us again?”
Old Giuseppe swung his hammer over his shoulder with ease, as strong and as spry as his very first day in the workshop. He smiled a smile full of missing teeth, and the room lit up with the sparkle of his spirit.
“When do we start?”
4
“So I toldLore that it didn’t have to be so enormous, you know?” Xander sketched the outline of a gigantic wedding cake with the tips of his fingers, then waved apologetically when he almost swatted a fruit peddler in the process.
I chuckled and reached for his hand, lowering it between us. “And I’m telling you now that the middle of the bazaar isn’t the perfect place to illustrate this hypothetical cake for giants. Let’s just meet Lore at his workshop like he told us to and see for ourselves.”
“But that’s the thing,” Xander said, his posture relaxing as we strolled through the bazaar hand in hand. “Surely our kitchen at home is big enough for whatever he has planned. I mean, I’d love for the cake to be special, but it doesn’t have to be big enough to blot out the sun.”
“Doorway,” I said, nodding as we weaved our way past a haggling shopper. “Lore’s got some of that artificer brain from Mom and Dad. Whatever you’re making, if it doesn’t end up fitting through the door, you gotta make it somewhere else.”
“Oh. I didn’t even think of that.” Xander squeezed my hand and grinned. “Sometimes I forget that you’re much smarter than you look, Jack.”
I sighed dramatically. “I realize you’re marrying me for my stunning good looks, but this beautiful body does come with a beautiful brain too, you know.”
Xander laughed. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
But if someone deserved praise for having both the beautiful body and brain — and face, naturally — it was Xander. Funny how he’d almost slapped that fruit vendor in the face in an attempt to envision Lore’s cake when he was flawlessly exerting arcane control over the wooden crates following closely behind us.
They filed behind him in precise formation, turning and starting and stopping smartly in time with his movements, almost like they were an extension of his body. Xander had very kindly volunteered his levitation magic for this shipment, the delivery of several hundred more glass phials that Gertrude Goodness had ordered from me and Niko.
And who was I to say “No” to the nice lady who was helping to fund our very lovely and very expensive wedding?
