The Brotherhood of the Twisted Iron: A Case of Whims, a Sack of Wisps - Chapter 2

[seymoure]

The Chronicle of Azo 

She was abruptly aware that every eye was resting upon her face.

“I am Ni’nique. My father, Azo, is a famed Alchemist and had been contracted by several kingdom for medicine and other things all over the world. But his great love has become the mechanics of invention. Building things that could aid those who are not mighty or wealthy.

“Up until recently the plush Royalty looked away, because of their need for his products.

“But then he created the Connonette. It was the first thing he wanted to reproduce and give to the masses that would tip the register toward the indigent and lower classes.”

Antac spoke up, “What is a . . . you called it a Cannonette?”

The girl face beamed, “For as long as any can recall the upper classes had the power of catapults and cannons to put down uprisings of the unduly set upon peoples.

“But, what if, there was a cheap, hand held cannon?

”With the range of a good arrow and nearly as much accuracy?

“Would the balance of the powerful shiver in fear?”

The thought was amazing and terrifying at the same time. It would be great if the power of armies was given to the baseborn to protect their own families. But the thought of such power falling into the hands of the drunkards, the insane, even those guilty of nothing so much as lack of judgment, which was a chilling one.

“How many of these would your father make?” Grath passed on Meri-am’s thought.

“Not many,” the girl excitedly pronounced, “But the mechanics are so simple that any smith could create them, once he had something to copy. It would create so many jobs; create an air of asylum for any home in the land.”

“Who has taken this thing from your father?” Bizjon asked.

“King Borodin of Shazaz. There is only one. It was the last thing my father tooled,” the girl was shrouded by her sadness, “The King’s men killed him as they took the Cannonette. They said they were under orders. Once the King had the device he wanted to make sure that no one else could have one or make any more. So they . . .”

Meri-am took the sobbing child in her arms.

“Borodin,” Grath supposed, “Could use all his metal workers to equip his troops with these things.”

“We better get it before he can,” Bizjon agreed, “Just give me till midday to fashion a quiver full of shafts. I believe we will need them all.”

Grath was already sharpening his sword.

Antac had taken out his lyre and was absently plucking the strings. He had sharpened his blade earlier in the morning.

The girl’s laments drove the larks from the skies. 

© C. Wayne Owens
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