He does. Nudges the cat towards some missed scraps with his foot.
‘You mentioned a danger. Spinners. Bodies. A bad combination?’
Shipwright takes her own small spinner back. ‘Not necessarily. I use them. To speed up my reactions. Watch.’ With the spinner in one hand, she takes a shard of metal and dances it between her fingers, faster and faster, until there is only the briefest blur.
Wicktwister grins. ‘Useful, I imagine, in a confrontation. In all sorts of ways. Again, please.’ She obliges, and he makes notes. ‘Fascinating. An interface on the muscular level, perhaps. On the firing of the nerves. Guiding the lightning of the body to new, unexpected efficiencies.’
He watches the spinner slow again as she sets it down.‘Vulnerabilities, obvious now. Damage the spinner, detriment the effect. One cannot encase, in armour say, or other protection, because thus the vibrations would be affected.’ He sketches as he talks. ‘Further, one imagines the risks involved in bodily use. Fatigue of the muscles, fitting, seizures, ruptures and sundering of the major organs, likely death.’
She pales, a little. ‘Don’t tell Shroud.’
Wicktwister taps his lips with the quill. ‘Not a syllable, never fear.’
She fights a surge of relief. ‘Does that help?’
He nods. ‘There is the omitted component, of course.’
She laughs. ‘I’m impressed. How did you know?’
‘I am a craftsman. As are you.’ He looks at his notes. ‘Some motive force, non-mechanical, likely sorcerous or spiritual. Not derivative of the gods, for they, alas, are dead and gone. Thus, some other force, but one not limited by your home geography. One which you can perceive with relative ease, but which others, perhaps, cannot.’
Shipwright watches him in amazement. ‘How did you?’
Wicktwister shrugs. ‘Extrapolations. Reading the not-said as much as the said. I would surmise something in the vibrations. Perhaps a sensitivity. An ability to harness or find something amid them. To capture, cage, inject or sublimate it as needed.’
She starts to reply and he brushes a finger lightly against her lips. ‘No need. I have enough to assist, and the safest secret is the one unshared.’
He closes his notebook. ‘Make your selections. I shall have a package delivered, with materials, tools, instructions.’
He taps the tip of the quill on the book’s cover. ‘Would you allow me to produce a few prototypes, according to your design? I would like to experiment. You then might test them in the field … for efficacy.’
Shipwright thinks. ‘I don’t see why not.’
Wicktwister’s eyes light. ‘Excellent. After all, it is only metal without you.’ He glances at the shelves. ‘But what metal it shall be.’ He stands, brushes his robes. ‘Enough of your time, I suspect.And a genuine pleasure. You will return, I hope?’
She smiles. ‘I will. It’s been really good to talk to someone.’ A sudden rush of emotion in her voice. She tries to hide the shake, but has little hope it’ll pass by.
Wicktwister lays a hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘Indeed. Unusual. Most often I despise company. As does Nubbin.’
Shipwright laughs. ‘Can I test her in the field too?’
Wicktwister shakes his head. ‘She has been extensively tested over many years, and found lacking in most every department, I regret. So she remains here with me, adorable and useless.’ He stops, scratches her ears. Smiles up at Shipwright.
‘Farewell, Shipwright. As much speed as you need, and not a drop more.’
41
Imagine! to say the dead have passed away
when you see the birds, the fires,
the smoke that lies so low upon the land
—The Blue Beyond the Halls, Hallowfeather
Shroudweaver leaves Shipwright in the street and follows Fallon’s broad back through the twisting backstreets of Thriftglow, off the main thoroughfare of the Ghostmarket, towards a shop whose sign is barely visible in the light – a slim silver sigil, high on the dark wood. A birch tree.
The street is warm, the last scraps of morning sun filtered into green by a profusion of plants spilling from the balconies above.
