The Wizard's Daughters: Twin Magic: Book 1 (2 page)

With (nearly) all the pieces in place, the man carefully inspected the interior, checking to see if everything was where it was supposed to be. He found one spring and one rod attached to the wrong holes on their respective leg; each was supposed to be in the hole the other occupied. For a moment he fretted, worrying that he would have to take it all apart and start over, for things had to be done in a specific order to fit it all together properly inside the shell. Risking disaster—for if the mainspring were to come loose and the thing were to fly apart, he might as well throw it all back into his parts bin and make something else—he caught the end of the offending spring with a small hook and pulled it out of the hole, holding it in place while he repositioned the rod.

His hands had become sweaty, and the hook began to slip in his fingers, but just before it came loose, he pushed the spring back toward the hole, and the end slipped off the hook—right into the hole it was intended for.

The man let out a long breath and relaxed. He bounced the thing a bit on the table, watching the legs flex and contract as they had been designed to. Only one step remained.

Reaching into a small chest on the table, he pulled out the automaton’s brain. It was a prismatic quartz crystal about an inch long and half that wide. It was polished on the base end, into which were etched several sigils:
fywyd
for life,
ufudd-dod
for obedience,
chwilio
for searching. It was designed to seek out vermin and pierce them with its long spiky legs.

He set the brain into the socket in the center of all the gears and springs. When he was satisfied with the placement, he carefully put the thumb and two fingers of each hand on each of the six faces of the crystal’s termination. Then he closed his eyes.

After a moment, a dim golden light grew inside the crystal until it was about the brightness of a candle flame. The man withdrew his fingers, but the light remained. And now the gears inside the automaton began spinning of their own accord, winding the mainspring. The thing crouched for a moment, then rose and took a step forward.

The man caught it and fitted the last piece, the empty hemisphere, over the top and twisted it round to lock it into place. Then he set the automaton back on the table and watched in satisfaction as it began stepping hesitantly back and forth as if unsure of what to do.

This was normal. It would take a few moments before the life he had set into the brain found its bearings and realized its purpose.

“Father?”

Walther looked up. A pale blonde-haired girl of about nineteen was leaning into his workshop.

“Yes, Ariel?”

“There’s another man at the door. I think it’s Hans, again. We didn’t answer it, but he won’t go away.”

Walther rose, realizing he had been hearing someone rap on the front door while he worked, but blocking it out in his concentration on the automaton.

He took his new creation and set it on the floor. It immediately walked over under a workbench and began searching for its quarry. It came upon another automaton of about the same size but shapely roughly like a rat—he had forgotten what that one was for, which was a common occurrence—and tapped it twice with a sharp leg. The other automaton chittered at the new arrival. Apparently satisfied that it was meant to kill something else, the first automaton went off in search of other prey.

Walther went out into the main hall and walked to the door. Temperance, their butler, should have dealt with this, but he saw the large automaton standing motionless in one corner. Its mainspring had run down. Walther needed to replace its brain, but had been putting off what would be a tedious, days-long job. The butler was a more than decade old now—he had built it after his wife died—and over time, the energies in the crystals spawned defects in their structure. Eventually, the accumulation of defects would interfere with an automaton’s operation until it would get stuck on a task, stop, and stand still until its mainspring ran down as Temperance’s had.

Someone rapped on the door again. Walther angrily threw open the viewport. On the other side was a young man dressed in a green velvet doublet. Walther recognized him and was not pleased.

“Sir—“

Walther cut him off. “Did I not make myself clear when you came here the previous two times? My daughters are not for the likes of you.”

“Sir, if I might explain myself,” the boy went on. “I am not sure I did so adequately before. I have good prospects in my father’s business, and we own substantial land outside the town and three—.”

“Are you a mage? Do you have any talent at all for directing the Flow?”

“No, but—“

“Then why are you here? Are you so dim as to not understand whom my daughters can marry and whom they cannot?”

“I understand, sir, but I believe love will find way. My intentions toward your daughters are honorable. I have been unable to free my mind from thoughts of them. They are so beautiful.”

Walther grunted.

“And which one do you wish to marry?”

The boy fidgeted. “Er—either. Ariel. Or Astrid. Whichever will have me.”

“If I brought them out here, would you be able to tell them apart?”

The young man’s jaw vibrated.

“I would try.”

“Good day! Do not darken my doorstep again!” Walther slapped the viewport shut.

He turned to see his daughters looking down from the balcony overlooking the entryway.

“Which one was that?” Astrid asked.

“It was indeed that young Berdahl whelp.”

“He’s too short,” Ariel said. “And too desperate.”

Astrid sighed. “When are we to go to the city, father? There are no mages here to court us.”

“Soon, daughters. There are things I must do first, preparations I must make.”

“You said that a month ago,” Ariel replied.

“A month in which I have made plans. Patience, child. What have I taught you about patience?”

The girls said nothing, and Walther frowned at the idle butler. Best get this over with, he thought. There would surely be others calling on his daughters, and he had better things to do than chase lovesick dandies away from his door.

3.

Ariel sat in a chair with her back to her dressing table, listening to the clicks and whirs of the automaton behind her as it brushed her hair. She found the sounds it made soothing, but Astrid did not trust the thing and refused to let it touch her. Ariel was happy with that arrangement, since it meant she did not have to share it. The two girls had to share nearly everything—for a variety of reasons both of them knew and accepted—so anything either of them got for themselves was to be treasured while it lasted.

Astrid, meanwhile, lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.

“Father will never let us out of here. We are doomed to die alone in this house.”

“I suppose he’s right that we cannot simply move to the city for several months,” Ariel replied. “He must make arrangements for the house while we’re gone.”

“And with Temperance broken, that’s more delays.”

“Father said he just needed to replace the brain.”

“I don’t think that’s it. It was making horrible noises before it stopped. I think something is broken inside it.”

“Did you tell Father?”

“No. He would be happy. Another month in his workshop fixing it while we wither away.”

Ariel knew her sister was right, though she understood her father’s passion for the things he built. She had always loved the little animated toys he made for her, though she had no talent for it herself. Her and Astrid’s talents with the Flow lay elsewhere.

“I can’t believe Hans Bergdahl came back again,” she said.

“I don’t think he’ll be back after this.”

Ariel mused for a moment.

“What do you think about Stefan, the baker’s son?”

The merits and shortcomings of the town boys who came to court them were a common topic of conversation between Ariel and Astrid, though they knew full well none of them were appropriate matches. But there was little else to talk about.

“He’s handsome, but I don’t like him. He’s always staring at your bottom.”

“Yes. Yours as well.”

“I suppose he likes bottoms,” Astrid said.

“I think I would prefer a husband who liked my front.”

“What does the book say? About men who like bottoms?”

Ariel got up from the chair and dug into the lower drawer of her dressing table. Under various smallclothes, which she knew her father would never bother with, was a slim book she had found hidden high up in her father’s library years ago. She had meant to return it at first, but when time passed and he appeared never to notice its absence, she had let herself keep it.

It was part spellbook and part instruction manual. It was clearly not meant for the eyes of unmarried girls, but as their mother was gone, she and Astrid had to learn about these things somehow.

Ariel flipped through the pages, most of which were covered in rough drawings of a naked man and woman in various positions. With the drawings were spells that were supposed to enhance the experience depicted, make it possible, or both.

She found several pages showing the man doing various things to the woman’s bottom.

“
Many men enjoy entering a woman from behind and find the view of her bare bottom pleasurable
,” she read.

“It says that about everything.”

“
Many women enjoy having their bottoms lightly spanked
,” Ariel went on.

“I don’t want to be spanked. Certainly not by a baker’s son.”

“There’s a spell that goes with it.”

“What is it?”

“
Poen yn Bleser
.”

“‘Pain into Pleasure,’” Astrid replied. “What does it do?”

“It seems to make spanking . . . pleasurable.” She grinned, and Astrid smirked at her.

She and Astrid had tried to cast only a few of these spells. They were not easy to convert to
deuolhud
, since they had no experience with such things.

They had tried to cast one of the first spells in the book—
Corn y Ddraig
, or Horn of the Dragon—on the watch captain’s stallion as he rode past their house, but it had not gone well. The horse’s male organ had immediately expanded to enormous proportions, and it was all Ariel could do to keep from bursting into laughter. But the animal had then become extremely agitated and thrown the captain to the ground. It had taken five watchmen to finally get it under control, during which the two of them had hidden in their courtyard trying not to laugh and hoping desperately that no one had seen what they had done.

Another spell was supposed to prevent conception. Thinking it would do nothing in particular—since they were unmarried—they had cast it on each other just to see what effects there might be. It had indeed appeared to do nothing at first, but they later discovered it also stopped their monthly bleeding. Happy to be free of that annoyance, they had left it in place.

Ariel found Horn of the Dragon toward the front and read through the section again. It sounded interesting, nonetheless. Perhaps it wasn’t meant for horses. She was sure she could convince Astrid cast it on their husband when the time came.

4.

Erich found the blacksmith’s shop a few blocks from the inn, following the sounds of hammer on metal. The smith was inside at his forge while two apprentices worked the bellows. He looked up from hammering some metal implement and saw Erich standing in the wide doorway.

“Come back in an hour. I am in the midst of something.”

Erich nodded. He was unlikely to get any information out of the man by interrupting him. But a glance around the shop also told him he would not find a sword belt here. There were a few basic weapons on the walls—a few axes and a dirk—but no scabbards or other gear to be seen.

He looked up and down the street, not seeing any immediate possibilities. A pair of town guards walked past, and he considered asking them, but given his manner of entry to the town, he felt avoiding their notice might be best.

Past the square in the other direction, toward the town gate, he found a leatherworker’s shop. Wrinkling his nose at the residual tannery stink—the tannery itself was of course located well outside of town, but the noxious smell of it typically came back with its owner to some extent—he lowered his head and entered the building.

A tall, thin, man was working behind a counter, but stood up and brushed off his clothes as Erich entered.

“Good day. What can I help you with?”

“I need a sword belt.”

“What size?”

“Not heavy.” Erich showed him his blades, and the man nodded. “I gather from your dress this is for the road, not a parade?”

“You gather correctly.”

The man went to the back and returned with a few options. One, which looked the most solid, was dyed black and tooled with geometric designs. Erich liked it.

“How much?”

The leatherworker named a price that was nearly everything he had left. Erich winced, and the man noticed.

“I stand behind my work, friend. That belt will last you far longer than the one you had.”

“How can you tell?”

The man picked up the broken belt and twisted it between his fingers. “Not all tanning is created equal. This was leather meant for breeches, not for a belt to support the weight of those blades. Whoever sold you this cheated you.”

That would explain the numerous times it broke, Erich thought. “I paid little for it.”

“There you have it.”

Erich manage to talk him down a few coppers, but finally gave in and paid him. When he handed over his money, the leatherworker took the coins and placed them in a small brass chest behind the counter. The chest whirred and clicked curiously as he dropped the money in.

Erich strapped on the belt and attached his sword and dagger, and immediately felt more his usual self.

“Those are fine blades,” the man said. “Worthy of a fine belt.”

“Aye.” He adjusted the belt until the fit was to his liking. “But fine belt or not, my purse is lighter than I would like. I don’t suppose you know of anyone in this town hiring swords?”