Monday 12 September 2011 photo 9/9
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The human hesitated for a moment, and Flummox let his features soften. “I understand. It probably holds dear memories of your lost home. But I have to point out that if the jotun kill us all—which is their plan, I believe, even if we give them the wagons—then all our memories will be lost. Yours is a sacrifice, but a smaller one in the bigger picture."
Flummox managed to smile in what he thought was a warm and engaging manner. It must have worked, for the young human opened the bag and produced a cameo, an ivory carving of a lovely woman wearing older fashions, set against a circular block of black jet.
“My mother…" she began.
Flummox nodded. “I understand, and I appreciate your sacrifice. It will not be for naught, and I shall have my assistant protect it with his life!"
And, not waiting for her to respond, Flummox spun on his heels and padded back to his wagon.
***
The pair, both the asura and sylvari, worked through the night. The shoe drivers provided a lantern, and Flummox insisted that no one bother them. Now the other members of the caravan watched in the distance while the asura prepared a noxious mixture that glowed green from the iron pot.
Flummox rendered the shoes in the iron pot, added the bloody bandages and the caravan’s medicine, and reduced the whole mass to a thick, sticky syrup. He pulled the pot from the heat and poured it out on a board, like taffy, while Sareb refilled the pot with oil from Flummox’s own stores. The sylvari knew the asura’s way, and quickly and quietly set about his assigned tasks with a minimum of comment.
Flummox mixed the grave dirt into the syrup and formed small lumpy balls, which he then dropped in the hot oil. The balls sizzled and crackled, but after a few moments, they bobbed to the surface, shrunken now, their sides smooth and crystalline.
Sareb let out a low whistle. “Instant gemstones," he said.
Flummox let out a grunt. “Don’t be too pleased; these are as brittle as spun sugar. It’s a kludge, a jury-rig, a lash-up—repurposing design elements for features they were not created for. I can milk three, maybe four, minutes of energy out of these before they go. I hope it is enough." He fished out the rough crystals and strode over to the inert form of the apparatus, of Mr. Sparkles, still sprawled out in the back of his wagon. With a chisel he began gouging the soft iron seals around the main enchantment emitter and slid the crystals into the jagged holes, packing them in place with the remainder of the damp grave dirt.
“There," said Flummox, “it should work. Maybe. Don’t stand too close to it when you start it up, though."
Sareb looked at the device, approvingly. “What about the jewelry?"
“The what?" said Flummox.
“The cameo you got from the human girl," said the sylvari assistant.
“Ah, yes!" said the asura, patting his pockets and producing the ivory carving set against jet. He pressed it into Sareb’s hand, “Here you go. Hold on to it, and guard it with your life!"
“But if you didn’t need it," said Sareb, “why did we take it?"
“Because," Flummox looked up at the sylvari, “even if this works, it is going to screw up the ethanators something fierce, and probably fry out the abjuration circuits. That’s in addition to the damage done to the device already, which required this miserable trip in the first place."
“So, you need the cameo?" questioned the sylvari, frowning slightly, seeing where this was going.
“So we have some ready money when we reach Lion’s Arch," said Flummox.
“So you lied," said Sareb, looking at the cameo in the same sad way the human girl looked at it.
“A small deception for the greater good," said Flummox. “You should try it sometime. In the meantime, keep hold of it! I want to be able to tell the human that I no longer have it and tell the truth."
Sareb’s slender fingers closed around the cameo.
“I will keep it safe," he said flatly.
The pair continued their work through the night, and with the morning’s dawn, a haggard Flummox stomped out to meet the jotun leader. The jotun had obviously spent the previous evening discussing the proper way to make an asura aperitif, and the lead jotun was practically salivating.
“So," said the jotun, “you give us wagons?"
“We have spent the evening in discussions and determined that it would not be in our best interests to acquiesce to your demands at the present time," said Flummox.
“Whah?" said the giant.
“No," translated the asura, “we want to keep our wagons."
The jotun smiled, a terrible thing to see in a creature with such a prodigious lower jaw. “Then you all die," he said, “starting with negotiator."
Flummox took a step back and smiled, speaking quickly. “I thought as much, so I have resigned as negotiator. My replacement should be along—" He checked the chronometer hanging from his belt and hoped that Sareb had gotten the damned thing started up correctly. “Right about now."
The golem heaved itself from among the wagons, rearing itself vertically to its full height, as tall as the jotun itself. Lightning crackled around its joints, and slender bolts played along its riveted hide. The apparatus was headless, but a single cyclopean eye dominated its chest, surrounded by small homemade gems that were already starting to smoke white-hot and steam in the cold air.
The golem towered behind Flummox and raised both hands to the sky. A mighty band of lightning surged between the golem’s articulated paws, and the thunder rolled back down through the valley. Far away, there was another roar, a distant avalanche responding to the challenge.
“Meet the new negotiator," said Flummox. “We call him Mr. Sparkles."
***
“I am sorry about your golem," said the caravan master.
Flummox shrugged, “The apparatus did its job, which is all one can ask of a good tool." Actually, the golem had exceeded all expectations, laying the jotun leader down with a single lightning-powered blow, then wading into a collection of its compatriots and detonating only when five of them were all trying to bring it down. The remainder of the jotun bandits disappeared into the falling snow, howling in despair.
“We salvaged what we could," added the caravan master, and held out a small bag, “and took up a collection to help you with repairs."
Flummox managed a smile, even though the coins within wouldn’t even pop for a secondhand ethanator. He would probably have to sell Mr. Sparkles to some younger golemancer. “It was my pleasure. But if it is all the same to you, I have been up all night saving our lives. I think I will now sleep for the rest of our trip."
The human was more than happy to agree, and started bellowing for the wagons to move out.
Sareb was putting the last recognizable remains of Mr. Sparkles into the wagon, piling blankets and pillows over it. “We got most of it," he said, “and while the upper armatures probably blew into the Sea of Sorrows, we did salvage the main housing. It probably can be saved and rebuilt."
“Good," said Flummox wearily, hauling himself up to his blankets and pillows among the sharded metal. “I am going to sleep for a couple days. Only wake me if it is something important. Really important. More important than jotun."
“Of course," said Sareb. “You did the right thing, you know, using Mr. Sparkles."
“I always do the right thing. You should know that by now," said Flummox, suddenly slapping his pockets. “The cameo. Ah! I gave it to you—you can give it back now."
Sareb looked at Flummox blankly. “Since we didn’t need it after all, I returned it to the young lady. She was very appreciative."
“You what?" said Flummox. “You assured me you would keep it safe!"
“It is safe with the girl," said the sylvari. “I could think of no place safer."
Flummox looked at his assistant for a long, stern moment, then managed a small smile and nodded. “So you lied."
Sareb returned the smile. “A small deception for the greater good," he said. “You should try it sometime."
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