Chapter Seventeen 

The Unwise Sage won the fight rather handily, and without showing off much of what he was capable of.

That was rather unfortunate. Someone blessed with the gift of good wordplay ought to be able to use some interesting and creative magics, but I could well understand the desire not to show off one’s skills where future adversaries were watching. It was just the wise thing to do... which I supposed was somewhat ironic. 

The crowd’s reaction to his wordplay did get me thinking, however. If I was... mercifully adjusting the weight on the figurative scales of this event, then by all means I ought to do so in a way that was a little more objective. And being objective often meant doing things through objects, as it were.

I nodded, mostly to myself while the arena was being swept clean and prepared for the next bout. “I believe I’ll want a device to measure the wordplay capabilities of our contestants,” I said. “Something like that ought to be buildable before tomorrow’s fights.”

The Limpet looked up to me, but it was mostly Seventeen whose attention I wanted. Fortunately, the valiant young Captain was nearby, and he straightened his spine a little. “A sighsmograph, sir?” he asked.

“For... measuring earthquakes?” the Limpet asked.

“No no, Limpet, that’s a seismograph. A sighsmograph measures the level of humour in good wordplay.”

She sighed. 

“Yes, exactly like that,” I said. “Seventeen, do we have what it takes to make one?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t know, sir,” he said. “I was never inducted into the deepest secrets of the necromantic order. While I know of such devices, their methods of construction are beyond me. I... may be able to build a facsimile, but not in time for tomorrow’s competition, and certainly not of a quality measurable to your own.”

“I see. That’s reasonable. I’ll give you a list of the required materials. I have most of them on my person, but I’d rather not dip into my stores. And perhaps some of my pockets aren’t as well organized as they ought to be. What we cannot find in time, I’ll supply myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Seventeen replied. He pulled out paper and clipboard, then looked up to me, fully attentive. “What will we require for this great device?”

I scratched my chin and I tried to recall all of the parts we’d need, but no, I couldn’t just requisition the parts since we didn’t have manufacturing for those yet. I’d have to find the base materials to make the parts to begin within. “We’re going to need certain reagents first. The yolk of a comedi-hen.”

“A comedian?” the Limpet asked. 

“No no, comedians don’t lay eggs. A comedi-hen. It’s a chicken that things its funny,” I said. 

The Limpet’s face contorted in a gloriously painful way.

“Next, to make the reagents less reactive, we’ll need eye of newt-rality and irony fillings.”

The Limpet started to run her face. “Irony filings? Do I want to know what that is?”

I chuckled darkly. “They’re metallic shavings, usually taken from an iron weapon designed to prevent violence. Of, and we need Daddery Root as well. From a father tree, of course.”

“Noted, sir,” Seventeen said as his pen scribbled away. “What else?”

“We’re going to need to mix that in a bath of mineral waters.”

“Just plain mineral water?” the Limpet asked with barely disguised suspicion.

“No, of course not. We’ll want a minor miner’s minor mind mineral water.” I grinned skeletally at her. “That is, mineral water extracted by squeezing the stone mined by an underaged person singing in a minor key.”

“I will contact our dwarven allies post-haste,” Seventeen said. “I’m certain they have some children with some singing ability that we can press-gang into mining for us.”

“Great idea,” I said.

Seventeen clearly enjoyed the praise. “What else, sir?”

“That was just for the reagents and elixirs that the device will require to function. As for the physical parts, I have a small list. We’re going to need a set of groanstones, as well as a non-magnetic rhymestone.”

“I see, I see,” Seventeen said. 

“Those will be set within the main casing. Then we need a set of parenthetical brackets to hold the main moving parts of the device together. Those would be a metafork--or a metaphor fork, if you wish--as well as a pun-dulum.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“A wisecrack lens.”

“I’m unfamiliar with that one, sir,” Seventeen said. 

I nodded. “It’s a lens made from the glass taken from the window of a sage’s prison, the lobby of a philosophy department, or from a well-stocked library.”

“Ah, of course.” Seventeen wrote that down with clean, practiced lines, then looked up to me. “Was that all, my lord?”

“I believe so. There are a few spells that will need to be cast as we make the device, but while it is a moderately complex working, it’s not something that complicated. Any member of the Necromancer’s Union ought to be able to create one once they have a few decades under their belt.”

Seventeen perked up. “Perhaps we can assign the creation of more sighsmographs as a project to some of the little boners, seeing as you claim that it isn’t hard.”

“Yes, that’s a fantastic idea,” I said.

The Limpet clutched at her head. “I... I need a break. Sorry Master, I’m going to go take a walk.”

Seventeen and I watched as the Limpet, in her empress gown, slipped out of the booth and the room beyond, a few guards peeling off to follow her.

“Is something wrong with her, sir?” Seventeen asked.

“Some knowledge can weigh heavy on the minds of the unprepared,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m certain she’ll be fine soon enough. Get those ingredients while there’s still time left in the day. Once the competition is done, I’ll see if I can’t put the device together. We can make a lesson out of it.”

“Yes, sir!” Seventeen said.

Ah, it was nice having good help.

***