As he slipped over the shifting gravel below his feet and ducked to avoid the largest chunks of the wall that sailed through the air, he realized what a total failure he was. How ridiculous of him to think Claire would ever consider being his friend again. It was impossible. Especially once she got wind of his visit and his stupid request. “Oh, Liam,” he chided as he walked the dusty road of Quill back toward the palace, leaving the noise behind, “Liam, you are a fool.”
“Liam!” came a voice behind him.
He stopped.
“Liam!” the voice called again.
He turned. It was Meghan, running toward him.
“Wait,” she called, slightly out of breath.
“Yes?” Liam asked. “Have I forgotten something? My hat, perhaps?” His hand went to his head and he absently brushed pebbles from his hair. He hadn’t been wearing a hat, but in his embarrassment he could think of nothing else to say.
“You are a strange man,” Meghan declared. “Very strange. But I wanted to thank you for telling us what Aaron was planning. That’s helpful.”
Liam looked up. “You’re welcome. I’m on your side. I want you to know that. Just as Eva was. I don’t know if you believe me, but there it is. I’m also very sorry—so incredibly sorry, for what I did to Claire, and if you could pass that information along, I would appreciate it very much.”
Meghan regarded him for a long moment. “I will,” she said.
“Thank you.” He turned to go once more.
“Just a moment,” Meghan said. “I wasn’t finished.”
“My vast apologies, Meghan.” He waited.
“You see,” she went on thoughtfully, “I think I have an idea to help you with your little problem. And I must say, it’s a very good one—the idea, I mean. I think you’ll like it.” With that, she grinned impishly and started back toward Artimé. “Come on, then!” she called out over her shoulder.
Liam watched her for a moment, a puzzled look on his face, and shuffled after her.
» » « «
An hour or so later, Liam Healy, Governor to the High Priest Aaron of Quill, walked out of Artimé with his shoulders set, his head held high, and a large sack under one arm. He very nearly started to whistle as he walked, but then he remembered—just in time—where he was.
Aaron Builds a Machine
When Liam returned to the palace with the sack of spell components under his arm, the door to Aaron’s office was open. He peeked in.
Taking up nearly all the space on Aaron’s desk was a sparse contraption made up of rusty metal pieces. Gears were strewn all about along with other pieces of metal of every size and shape. Leaning over the contraption was Aaron. His priestly robe lay on the floor in a heap and the sleeves of his shirt were pushed up. There was a streak of dirt near his jaw. Surrounding the desk were several large burlap sacks overflowing with various nuts from the Favored Farm.
Aaron didn’t notice Liam, for he was incredibly intent on the task before him. He muttered to himself now and then. Things like “If this goes here, then I need . . . ah yes” and “Where in Quill did I put my wrench?”
“It’s in your back pocket, sir,” Liam offered.
Aaron looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Yes.”
Aaron reached for the wrench and almost grinned before he stopped himself. He was having more fun than he’d had in a very long time, but no one needed to know that.
Liam took a step inside the room. “What are you making, if I may ask?”
“None of your business,” Aaron snapped out, without thinking. It was second nature to him to respond like that, even when he didn’t mean to or need to. He didn’t even realize he said it, and continued, “It’s an oil press.”
“Very nice,” Liam said. He was intrigued by Aaron’s ability to think of such a thing. “You seem to be very good at putting it together.” He came closer and spoke in a low voice, as if he were doing something wrong by asking, “Tell me—how did you come to, ah, to create such a thing? How did you know what to do with all the metal pieces and such?” He realized he didn’t know the names of any of the instruments or parts that Aaron was working with. Most people in Quill didn’t have access to such things.
Aaron frowned and didn’t answer. He turned his attention to Liam, looking him over. “Where have you been? What’s that in your hair?”
“Oh!” Liam said, rubbing his free hand through his hair and dusting off his shoulders. “While I was out getting the spell components, I spent a bit of time, ah, overseeing the wall destruction. It’s coming along quite well.”
Aaron set the wrench down on the table. “Really? That’s good . . . I suppose. I mean, yes, that’s very good.” His eyes landed on the sack under Liam’s arm. “And what’s that?”
“The spell components you requested, High Priest,” Liam said. He nodded politely.
Aaron gave him a skeptical look. “You got the spell components already? And you know how to use them?”
“Oh, yes. I knew you wanted them right away, so I took care of it immediately. Only had to torture two Artiméans to get what I needed,” he said.
Aaron’s eyes widened. “Well,” he said, trying not to sound impressed, “I admit I didn’t think you had it in you. Torture, you say? That’s . . . that’s a job well done.”