Page 20 of Wizards & Weavers
He told her about Augustin’s plan to seal the dungeon, about the meeting with Elder Orora. Braiden did not tell her how the Il-venessi dragons found their way into his coin purse. They could discuss that mess later. Maybe. Not just yet.
“And that’s why I want to try my luck in the dungeon,” Braiden said. “It’s better than sitting in the shop and waiting for a miracle. If this dry spell goes on much longer, I won’t be able to pay rent, much less feed myself. Speaking of which — I know I sort of mentioned it before, but seriously. About the dungeon. Would you want to — ”
“Hold that thought,” she said, whipping her head around as if she’d heard something from the window.
Braiden hadn’t expected one of her little sprigs to fly back so quickly. The golden sprig twirled into the kitchen, the sunlight turning the jeweled berries into something translucent anddelicious, like pieces of candy. Elyssandra caught the sprig in one hand. She held it up to her ear, listening.
Braiden strained to hear something — anything — but only silence. The berries glimmered, relaying their message. Elyssandra brought the sprig up to her eyes, squinting into the berries like they were tiny crystal balls. She tapped one with her fingernail.
She stood bolt upright. Braiden nearly fell out of his chair.
“He’s still in town. I think. We have to go. Right now.”
Elyssandra shoveled the last of her food in her mouth and glugged down her juice. Braiden gathered up the leftovers and threw them into the ice box.
They had to get a move on. They were off to see a wizard.
Chapter
Eight
Braiden heldhis hands above his eyes, keeping out the sunlight as he hurried down the street. It was a busy day in Weathervale, but more so for Braiden Beadle and his new friend Elyssandra. They had business to attend to. Investigating business.
The nice thing about Weathervale was how neatly everything fit into its eight districts. Finding the Wizard of Weathervale would go smoothly if Braiden kept those districts firmly in mind. What made the search a little trickier was the obscurity of the shop where Elyssandra’s magical berries had spotted the elusive Augustin.
That the shop was filled with rows of shoes and had an old man with a hammer and a leather apron up front wasn’t the problem. That was clearly a cobbler. Augustin must have needed help with his ostentatious boots. The problem was how Weathervale had multiple cobblers spread throughout.
Many of them straddled the Noose, the street that cut through both the merchant and trade districts. It was a grim but oddly appropriate name for the loop of shops that catered to the average adventurer, though the businesses didn’t discriminate.They’d gladly take coin from anyone who might be looking for a durable suit of armor or a sturdy satchel.
One of Weathervale’s wealthiest alchemists ran a roaring trade at the Noose, churning out healing potions, antidotes, and salves for everything from magical burns to rashes from poisonous plants. It was also home to cobblers who specialized in formidable footwear: shoes, boots, and sandals that withstood the rigors of dungeon life.
Elyssandra and Braiden decided to take their chances at the Noose, passing a few money changers on the way, a trade that was more relevant than ever now that all kinds of Aidunese currency were coming through town. The Il-venessi dragons burned a hole in Braiden’s pocket. He resisted the urge to exchange them.
He’d accounted for his finances earlier in the morning, deciding that he wouldn’t have to exchange Orora’s coins after all. Maybe after this was over, he could just hand them back and ignore all her nonsense about interest. He never asked for a loan, did he? And there wasn’t a contract. None of this was binding.
“There,” Elyssandra said, pointing down the street. “I think I recognize the counter. This must be it.”
Braiden knew this place. He knew the owner, too. Arlo wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but he was a man of few words. From observing him several tables away at the Dragon’s Flagon, Braiden knew that Arlo enjoyed two things above all. The first was making shoes. The second was wasting very little of his time on nonsense, especially nonsense that didn’t involve shoes.
“It’s a cozy little space,” Elyssandra said, studying the tiny cobbler’s shop. It was half of a normal lot, but that was really all the room Arlo needed to work his magic. “He seems nice enough.”
Braiden tilted his hand left and right. She shrugged, glided straight toward Arlo’s counter, and pulled back her hood,dazzling him with the glow of her golden hair and her elven smile.
“Hello there, kind sir.”
Braiden swore he could see her radiance reflecting off the perfect sheen of Arlo’s bald head. Hammer in hand, an elaborate instrument made of metal and glass fitted over one eye, Arlo glanced at her for all of one second then went right back to work.
“I’ll do the talking,” Braiden said, his confidence slowly eroding with every bang of Arlo’s hammer. He was beating the sole of a boot like it owed him money.
It was fascinating to watch Arlo at work: stretching the leather taut, trimming the excess with an exquisite knife, stitching it all back together with the weathered hands of a master. But they were kind of in a hurry. Augustin Arcosa could be on his way to the dungeon already.
“Arlo!” Braiden greeted. “Good to see you at work. Only ever see you at the tavern these days.”
Arlo polished a spot of something away from the boot’s sole until it squeaked. He turned one eye on Braiden, the way he did with Elyssandra, then muttered something noncommittal and indistinct that made his great white mustachios flutter.
“Hah, yeah, sure,” Braiden stammered, unsure of what, exactly, he was responding to. “Listen, Arlo, I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll just ask my question and get out of your way.”
To his surprise, Arlo set his tools down and looked Braiden straight in the eye. Maybe the cobbler respected those who knew how to respect his time.
