Ihrman Karsrick, who had finally become accustomed to the grinding rumble outside the windows of the Judiciary, leapt up from the breakfast he was sharing with the Lord Cymrian and hastened to the window. He looked out over the streets to the place where Entudenin stood, and the work had been progressing.
In the distance he could see that the internal ring of Bolg guards had broken in places; Firbolg soldiers and artisans alike were milling about, apparently packing up equipment, carrying it out of the tent to the large wagons that had brought it in eight days before. He could not see any sign of a restored fountain, no breach of water, no change in the tent, no pool on the ground.
“Gods, where are they going?” Karsrick said, crumpling his napkin in panic.
Ashe took another bite of his hot buttered scone and shrugged.
“They aren’t finished—they can’t be finished, it’s only been eight days. I don’t know whether to be thrilled or horrified,” Karsrick muttered, his eyes darting around the room to the window, at the Lord Cymrian and back again.
Ashe swallowed and wiped his mouth on the linen napkin. “Perhaps they are. Achmed does not waste time.”
“We must go to them, m’lord,” Karsrick insisted, hurrying across the conservatory to the door. “Where’s the Lady Cymrian?”
“I believe she is in the garden, singing her morning devotions.”
Karsrick summoned the chamberlain, clanging the bells so frantically that Ashe rose from the table and folded his napkin, his breakfast half finished.
“Ihrman, why are you so distressed? You have been beside yourself since the Bolg arrived; I would think their departure would gladden your heart immensely.”
Karsrick stared at him glassily. “There is no water, m’lord. They have dissembled Entudenin—disemboweled it, really—sliced away the relic’s upper arm, disturbed the city for eight continuous days without stopping, robbing the entire square and all the streets surrounding the Marketway of any peace, any sleep whatsoever as they continued their hellish drilling into the dark hours of the night. They’ve destroyed the walkways and the fountainbed in and around the town square—and there is no water”
Ashe sat back down to finish his meal. “All right, Ihrman, all right, calm yourself. Rhapsody will return in a moment, and then we can make our way to the square and ascertain precisely what is happening.” the duke, lord, and lady arrived in the square, the Bolg had half finished packing up the equipment. Karsrick hurried to the Firbolg king and tapped him nervously on the arm.
“Where are you going, King Achmed? Surely you are not ready to leave yet.”
The Bolg king turned around and regarded the duke as he would someone with cauliflower sprouting from his ears.
“Surely we are,” he said as if addressing a five-year-old or a mental defective. “It’s finished. We’ve done as much as we can. We hate this place, this place hates us; seems all in all like a good time to leave.”
The duke gazed in dismay at the disarray of his town square beneath the tent and beyond it. Clay dust was everywhere, piled in great heaps like miniature red mountains. Deep crevices had been dug that were hastily filled in, lending the appearance of new graves, while the cobblestones of the street and the bricks of the walkways were strewn about in abandon.
And worst of all, Entudenin stood, naked and dismembered, looking as sad and shriveled as it did eight days before, shorter, with a great hollow hole in it.
“It’s—it’s not finished!” the duke cried, waving his hands wildly.
“As far as we’re concerned, it is. We’ve done what we can do.”
“But there’s no water.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“You’ve broken the Fountain Rock down, sliced its arm off, delved the streets, made a colossal mess, and there is still no water. Yet you are preparing to leave?”
Achmed crossed his arms and looked for a long moment at Rhapsody; he narrowed his eyes, inhaled, and addressed the duke in a barely civil voice.
“We, unlike you, have been following the phases of the moon, Karsrick,” he said, stepping out of the way of three Bolg soldiers carrying a long, heavy wooden box. “If there is water still available to Entudenin, it would be in its sleeping phase right now; five days or so hence, if there is water to be had, it should come back. It may, it may not.” He shrugged. “We’ve done what we can to make the Fountain Rock capable of withstanding the flow, should it return. We removed a great deal of debris and detritus from the feeder tunnel, and there is another place below the ground where the passageway is partially barred, near the Canderian border, which will be taken care of. I’d say we’re finished here.
“Since we cannot predict for certain how the cycle of the flow corresponds to the moon’s phases, I deemed it necessary to get the miners away from the subterranean chambers now. The force of water at Awakening was said to be violent, damaging in fact. I don’t want my men in harm’s way when it returns, if it returns. I will not lose any of my subjects on your behalf.”
“What he says makes good sense, Ihrman,” Rhapsody said, staring at the dry red geyser. “There is really no point in the Bolg remaining here, in the heat, now that the digging is done. I’m certain King Achmed is looking forward to returning home.”
“Please, sire, reconsider and stay,” Karsrick said, eyeing the building crowds that had come to investigate the silence. “I will host you and your artisans in the Judiciary—
“Did you find me a stained-glass artisan?”
Karsrick stopped in midword, his mouth open, then closed it quickly.
“I put out a call to every legitimate guild, sire, but alas, no, I was unable to locate anyone qualified to do the level of work you asked for who was also available to travel to Canrif.”
The Bolg king exhaled. “Ylorc. It’s called Ylorc, Karsrick.”
“My apologies; of course. Ylorc.”
Achmed directed three soldiers carrying an enormous metal gear to a specific wagon, turning his back on the duke. “I wish I could say that your inadequacy surprises me,” he said sullenly, “but I was prepared for it. Grunthor—are we close?”
“Yes, sir. Just ’ave to pack the bit, and a few o’ the odds and ends.”
The duke trailed along behind the Bolg king as he continued to make preparations to leave.
“Please—just a few more days. Stay until the water returns.”
“No.” Achmed took hold of one end of a jointed timber, and Ashe caught the other end, helping him carry it to the waiting wagons.
“Why are you so insistent that they stay, Ihrman?” Rhapsody asked, coiling a great length of rope.
“I—in case—well, if there should be some residual need—
Achmed gave the timber in the wagon a ragged shove, then turned to face the duke.
“He’s afraid the water will not return, which is a very good possibility,” he said to Rhapsody, staring at Karsrick in contempt. “And if that comes to pass, he wants the Bolg here to take the blame, and whatever ugly reaction the citizenry may visit upon whomever they blame. You’re a coward, Karsrick; when a man starts being afraid of the reactions of his own subjects to the point where he is unwilling to acknowledge his own decisions and take responsibility for them, he ceases to have any credibility as a leader, in their eyes, and in the eyes of those who rule alongside him.” He picked up a pair of wrenches waiting in a pile to be loaded and tossed them into the wagon.
“He’s right, Ihrman,” Ashe said. “Bid your thanks to the king and move out of his way.”
“I do appreciate the irony of your invitation,” Achmed said, signaling to the Bolg soldiers to pull forth the last wagon, the one that transported the bit. “You didn’t want us to come; now you don’t want us to leave. It’s touching.”
“Sire—” Karsrick protested.
“Have the bill of tender prepared immediately; I expect to be given the down payment within the next hour,” Achmed said to the duke, cutting his protest off with a mere glance. “And make certain those powdered mineral ores I ordered—the manganese, iron, cobalt, and copper—are delivered here, ready to be packed.”