Steamforged Sorcery - Chapter 18 (Patreon)

“Fair enough,” Angel said. “Just let me know if there’s something I can do to help. Not like there’s much I can do, but I’ve been in a position similar to yours before.”

“Running from a hideous Magistrate that wants to add you to his harem?” Vanessa asked dryly.

“Not quite,” Angel said, smirking. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

Angel stood and walked into the other room. He grabbed one of the mattresses and dragged it over to Vanessa. He bid her goodnight before returning to the closet, where two more mattresses laid on the ground. He sat down on one of them and pulled the pendant out from his pocket.

His eyepiece slid down into position and lit up the pendant up with a dim light. Angel’s fingertips changed to needlepoints and he set about opening the locket once again. By following the pattern in his memory, he was able to release all the latches without using the clamshell artifact.

A small grin tugged at Angel’s lips, but he didn’t entertain it for long. His features quickly grew concentrated, and he peered closer at the miniature clock within the pendant. The second hand hadn’t moved from where he’d left it.

Angel brought a spark of magic to his fingertips and raised them beside the pendant. It sparked through the air and into the watch. The second hand ticked back slightly.

“Is it charging it?” Angel wondered aloud. A surge of excitement built up in his stomach. He brought another spark of magic to his fingers and the process repeated itself. Angel licked his lips and did it again.

It took fifty-seven more sparks to bring the second hand in a full circle. Angel fought of the exhaustion creeping over him at the excessive use of the magic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used this much, and he wasn’t far from collapsing.

Angel eyed the watch carefully, trying to see if anything had changed. The magic had clearly entered it, but nothing seemed to be out of place.

“There’s no way it uses this much energy just to rewind the second hand,” Angel muttered. He inspected it for a few more minutes but failed to discover anything else. He let out a sigh and closed the locket, returning it to the oilcloth and then putting everything back into his pocket.

He climbed into bed, fighting off a yawn. The moment his head hit the rough straw, Angel was asleep.

The following morning, Cowl nudged Angel awake with the tip of his boot. Angel’s eyes snapped open and he grimaced. The rough straw dug into his cheek and arm, and a small twinge in his side told him that he hadn’t slept quite right.

Angel got up, shaking the sleep and straw off himself. Vanessa sat at the table, chewing despondently on a piece of jerky. Angel grabbed a strip of jerky from his own bag and stuffed it into his mouth as he walked into the main room.

“What time is it?” Angel asked, squinting out from a crack in the door. The sky was still as grey and dark as it had been the last night.

“Early morning,” Cowl replied. “We want to the markets just around when the beginnings of a crowd start to show up.”

“Why not before anyone gets there?” Vanessa asked.

“Because then we’re an anomaly,” Cowl replied. “And anomalies get remembered. We want to blend in.”

Both he and Vanessa both looked down at Angel’s arm. The Seeker followed their gaze and let out a sigh.

“Don’t worry. I’ve had to go undercover once or twice before,” Angel grumbled, reaching into his travel pack and pulling out a long tanned cloth. He pulled back his shirt, then wrapped the cloth around his arm and up over his shoulder. Then he pulled out some bandages and tightly bound his hand until it was difficult to tell that there was no flesh beneath the wrapping.

“That’ll do,” Cowl said, giving him a small nod. “I’ve seen better disguises, but it’ll hold up against a light inspection. Just try not to bring any attention to yourself.”

Vanessa pulled her hood low over her head, hiding her striking eyes under the shadow of the hood. Cowl gave them one more quick inspection before nodding and striding out the door. They followed the Hunter through the winding streets of Dune Valley, slipping through tight buildings and alleyways.

A few people milled about in dark clothing, but none paid much attention to the travelers. In a nearby alley, a beggar glanced in their direction but quickly averted his eyes when he caught sight of Cowl’s mask.

The market was nestled into a crook near the city’s edge. It was rather pitiful, with only about two dozen wagons and a few run-down shops made of warped and rusting metal. The air smelled damp and had a disturbing sweet tinge to it.

About half a dozen other shoppers milled about the merchants. Cowl led them through the crowd and straight up to one of the storefronts. Several butchered animals hung from the roof, tied with dense wire.

A warm fire flickered from within the building, illuminating a large man with a circular face and a thick moustache. His lips turned up in a half smile and he ambled out. Every step he took look like it drew significant amounts of effort.

“What can I do for you lads?” the merchant asked, wiping his blood stained hands off on a stained leather apron.

“Smoked meat and water,” Cowl said. His mechanical voice was a stark contrast to the man’s slick tone. “Enough for three people over the course of two weeks.”

“Twenty Vei,” the merchant said, putting out an upturned palm.

“I’m with the Hunter’s Guild,” Cowl said, revealing a small patch from within one of the folds of his clothes.

The merchant peered at it, then sighed and shook his head. “Eleven Vei and not a coin less.”

Cowl counted the money into the man’s hands. He gave them a wide grin and disappeared back into the shop. The man shuffled around within it for a few minutes before returning with a bulging tarp bag in each of his hands.