The human appraised Bradok for a moment, looking him up and down with his dust-colored eyes, then stepped back from the doorway. “Then you’d better come in, Mister …”
“Axeblade, Bradok Axeblade.”
The human nodded, shutting the door behind Bradok. “I am Perin,” he said, indicating himself, though Bradok didn’t know if that was his family name or his given. “I am the first assistant to Master Silas. If you will follow me, please.”
Perin turned and opened a door just off the entryway. Steam and the smell of washed wood and fire billowed through the opening as the two passed into the workshop. A small forge had been built on one side, and two young dwarves were pumping the bellows while a smith heated a long, curved iron band for pounding on a nearby anvil. Along the opposite wall were workbenches where a burly dwarf shaped and planed wooden slats smooth. Next to the forge stood the steaming box where the slats would be cooked to make them flexible enough to bend.
Bradok took it all in with a single glance. Like most dwarven shops, the cooper’s operation was neat and well ordered.
The only unusual thing was the giant boat. Its curved wooden ribs ran all the way up to the ceiling, and Bradok could see why the side wall of the shop had been torn out: The boat took up the entire length of the shop and then some.
“What in the undermountain is this about?” Bradok squawked once he’d gotten over his astonishment.
“I assumed that is why you were here, Mister Axeblade,” Perin said in an even voice.
Just then a squat, solid-looking dwarf in a clean apron came around the back end of the boat. He had bristly brown hair and a beard that had been braided and thrust under his apron for safekeeping. His eyes were blue, and he had a long, beaklike nose.
“Who have we here?” he said to Perin.
Bradok stuck out his arm before the human could answer. “Bradok Axeblade,” he said. “I assume you are Silas?”
“Silas Weatherstone,” the dwarf said, clasping his arm firmly. “Welcome to my shop.” He gestured around at the work stations that weren’t obscured by the half-completed ship. “Are you here from the council in some official capacity?”
That last bit caught Bradok unawares. As far as he knew, he’d never met Silas nor done any business with him. How did he recognize him as a council member?
“Gossip gets around quickly in the Artisans’ Cavern,” Silas said with a smile. “Everyone’s heard of Ironroot’s new councilman.”
“Harrumph,” Bradok replied, not very sensibly. “No, I’m not here on behalf of the council.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the brass device. “Someone told me you might know what this is?”
Silas took the engraved device, turning it over in his hands. He pressed the hidden catch, but the lid of the device refused to open for him as well. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, bending close to examine the engraving. “It’s exquisite, though.”
Looking up, Silas handed the device back to Bradok. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It might be a watch with a stuck lid or one of a hundred other things. I just don’t know. Who told you I would know anything about it?”
“Who? Oh, that doesn’t matter.” Somewhat disappointed, Bradok took the device and returned it to his pocket.
“I noticed the inscription,” Silas said. “There’s something very familiar about it. I’ve heard something like that before.” A strange look passed over the cooper’s face, and he smiled. “I think, whatever it is, it might be very important, Bradok,” he said. “Be sure to keep it safe until you figure it out.”
“Thank you anyway,” Bradok said, frustrated. “So tell me,” he went on, waving at the partially completed ship, “what is this all about?”
Silas smiled and led Bradok over to the side of the landlocked vessel. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he said, gesturing grandly. “There isn’t anything like her anywhere.”
“What is it, uh, she?” Bradok corrected himself.
“It’s a ship, of course,” Silas replied, as if building a ship in the middle of a mountain were the most natural thing in the world.
“I can see that,” Bradok said. “But why are you building it here?”
“I believe they call it senility,” a sarcastic voice cut in.
Bradok turned to find a young, well-dressed dwarf coming up behind them. He had a short beard, like Bradok’s, only light blond, and he had golden eyes. His clothes were of the finest cut and the latest fashion, and the dwarf wore them well. He had a handsome face, and though his smile bore mockery, there was just enough mischief in it to beg forgiveness.
“This is my son, Chisul,” Silas said, his eyes twinkling. “He believes me to be mad.”
“Why is that?” Bradok asked with a smile.
“You mean you haven’t heard the story?” Chisul interjected, a note of awe in his voice. He looked at his father, shaking his head, as if the cooper had committed some personal offense.
“Sit down, then, stranger,” Chisul said. “And I’ll tell you the most fanciful tale you ever heard. It all started one day when my father was down in the deep caves looking for good polishing stones-”
“Give it a rest, Chisul,” Silas said in a weary, admonishing tone.
“Aw, Dad,” Chisul said with mock sincerity. “If there’s someone in the city who hasn’t heard your tale of magic and mystery, then I am duty-bound to tell them.”
At that, Silas seemed to resign himself, and Chisul launched into the story.
“You see, when my dad was down in the deep tunnels looking for polishing stones, he thinks he hears this voice telling him to go lower. So he does, going down and down, deeper than he’s ever been. And when he gets to the very bottom, the voice tells him that he’s been called to perform a great work. And what do you suppose that is?”
Chisul winked conspiratorially at Bradok then swept his arm upward, indicating the ship. “Why to build this whopper of a vessel, of course! He comes back up from the deep tunnels covered in rubble and dirt, carrying a flat stone with the design of this boat carved on it. Says that it just appeared in the wall, right in front of him.”
“So … the voice told your dad to perform a great work and the design showed him to build this boat,” Bradok said, in his best unamused voice. He decided that he rather disliked Silas’s son.
“The voice told him he had to build this boat,” Chisul said cheerfully, “or everyone he cared about would die.”
Bradok suddenly remembered another dwarf who had encountered a godly voice: Argus Deephammer. Then there was the dwarf with the red-painted sign warning of repentance and doom. And the strange red-bearded one who called himself Erus who had given him the mysterious engraved device, warning him to choose sides.
He scratched his head, thinking. So many dwarves seemed to be saying the same thing, that some great disaster was coming and the people of Ironroot had to choose the path of salvation.
“So why are you here?” Chisul asked, breaking into Bradok’s thoughts. “Reorx send you here too?”
“What are you talking about?” Bradok demanded.
Chisul barked a short, derisive laugh. “Ever since Dad started building this thing, they’ve been coming around. Religious nuts who claim they’ve heard voices, like Dad, or seen visions, or been sent here by mysterious strangers that always turn out to be Reorx in disguise.”
Bradok felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He hadn’t given much thought to Erus’s resemblance to Reorx, but since Chisul brought it up, Erus did uncannily evoke the god of the dwarves.
“So what happens when you finish it, uh, her … the boat? What are you supposed to do then?” Bradok asked, turning to Silas.
Silas smiled and shrugged sheepishly. “Reorx didn’t say.” He put his hand on one of the naked ribs and stroked it reverently. “My job is to finish her. What happens after that is out of my hands.”
Bradok opened his mouth to ask another question, but a sudden disturbance erupted outside. He could hear raised voices and the sounds of a scuffle. With unexpected suddenness, the front door to the shop broke inward, smashed with some heavy object. A moment later five armed members of the city guard were standing in Silas’s workshop.