The Builder tya-1 Page 6

  Even though Rolph liked to complain about the beds every now and again, even going so far as to have a new mattress brought in, Tor didn't mind what the school provided. It was better than what he'd had at home and no one jabbed him with a bony elbow in the side while he rested. He fell asleep quickly, more than a little exhausted by the events of the day.

  The next day was just as hard, if in a different way. After his morning classes a younger student found him in the dining room and told him that advisor Gear wanted to see him in his office after he'd eaten. The girl, who looked about fourteen, flipped her light blond hair at him after delivering the message, dismissing him without another thought. Fair enough. He didn't plan on thinking about her either. He had real things to worry about.

  Like not dying.

  When he got to Frank's office a strange man sat in front of the desk, his advisor behind it smiling up at him when he walked in.

  “And here he is now. Torrence Baker, this is Merchant Donald Sorvee. His family runs a very large sales concern in Western Noram and he's asked to speak to you in regards to this novel device you've created.”

  The man dressed all in a deep purple velvet that was so dark it could have passed for black in most light. Tor liked the color a lot. On his head sat a ridiculous, and probably expensive, floppy hat in bright red, with a single huge black feather sticking out of it. The black hair underneath it looked to be greasy at first, but then he realized it was just some kind of hair oil or slick, rather than a medical condition. There was something about the man that Tor just didn't like, even if he couldn't place his finger on it. Like he was evil… or dangerous.

  The man spoke smoothly and quickly, as if trying to dazzle Tor with words. It might have

  have worked if he didn't start out by offering to buy as many of the dryers as Tor could make for two golds each. He smiled at the man who sat next to him and shook his head.

  “I'm sorry, but I already made arrangements with someone to handle sales, you'll have to go through her.” Sara seemed better equipped to handle a slick person like this than he was. Not a difficult task, since he'd only spoken to a half dozen merchants in his life and all those had been in their shops, mainly telling him that what they carried was too expensive for him. If nothing else she could probably knife the man and dump the body. Trice would help no doubt. “Her name's Sara, she's one of the special school students? I'm sure you could find her there now.”

  Tor didn't shrug, but wanted to. For all he knew Sara was sitting in the library or off in town getting drunk or there were a half dozen girls by that name in the special section. It was pretty common after all. But for some reason he really wanted to get away from the creepy fellow in front of him. It wasn't that the man had done anything wrong, more that it just felt like he might. Like he really wanted to. It took a while to convince the man that his agent, a school girl, was really the person he needed to talk to. Tor didn't have the girl's last name, but hoped that wouldn't be too big a problem for the man. He really didn't want to meet up with him again.

  When the guy left, Frank looked at him with a smile, it wasn't sour, not exactly, but it didn't seem too pleased either. “Are you sure that's wise? A deal like this doesn't come around every day…”

  It wasn't, he assured his advisor, that he didn't want gold, but that the man had been offering a tiny fraction of the current sales price that had done it. Instructor Gear whistled when he heard the going rate. Then he shrugged and told Tor that if he had any other ideas or new builds, the staff would be there to test them at need. The implication was that, in the future, such testing should be remunerated if needed at all. It seemed fair to him, so he nodded seriously, taking the drying field template back before leaving.

  He'd have to see if he could get any of the metal he'd need for the copies as soon as possible. How he was supposed to get the funds for it he didn't know. Maybe sell one of his younger siblings? But by tradition that would only give him livestock of course, which wouldn't do him a lot of good. Plus his mother would actually get the animals, not him.

  Not really helpful at all.

  That afternoon Kolb decided that the previous day's poor performance meant that he'd be best served by practicing his running it seemed, even if the man didn't say it out loud, so Tor ran back and forth to Lenders three times and then had to hack at a pell for half an hour when he got back. His right arm felt like it was about to fall off by the time he got back to his room, where he immediately started working on the shield project, exhausted or not.

  There just wasn't time not to.

  No wonder these things were so expensive… Just to get it to do half of what would be needed took fifteen separate linked fields that all had to be grown together. Way harder than his simple little clothes drying device.

  On the good side, he had, by making a small but decently powerful cutter to use for testing, figured out how to set up a background pattern that would scramble any incoming field of information that used direction. Unfortunately it meant that he couldn't just mix the physical shielding portion with it. Instead he layered that one just underneath the disruption field. Both had to allow air in, which meant figuring out how to filter particles out of the air. It was harder than it sounded, and it didn't sound easy. Finally he worked out a way of keeping things as fine as smoke out, mainly at least, that still let air through. All of the fields had to exist inside this filter, including the one to block directional fields. Of course the filter was a directional field…

  Another problem.

  Eventually, just before dinner time, a soft knock came at the door. It took him a second to realize what the sound was and he blinked for a moment, baffled by it. Taking a deep breath he asked whoever was there to hold for a moment, trying to bring himself back to reality long enough to deal with whatever the problem might be. No one would be knocking on his door without Rolph there if it wasn't bad news.

  At the door stood Sara and her friend Trice, both dressed in low cut and tight fitting black dresses that showed a lot of smooth bare shoulder considering how chilly it was outside still. Before he could speak Trice pushed her way in.

  “Come to check in on you and make sure Sorvee didn't come back put the squeeze on. That guy's a real piece of work, but Sara told him that Debri house already held the contract for re-sale, which should keep him away for a bit, at least on the clothes drying device. If he's smart he'll probably come back just on general purposes to build the contact.”

  For all that Sara looked far less ready to just push her way into his room, she followed her friend and shut the door behind her. It was chilly out, and a wave of cool air followed them.

  “That's alright, isn't it? That I told him that? I mean, he said that you told him I was your sales agent, so I bent the truth a little. If nothing else you can get a better deal by going with almost anyone other than his group. They'll rob you blind, and then convince you to thank them for doing it. Not that most merchants won't take advantage of you, but few are as bad as Sorvee.” The blond blushed prettily about something, and looked down.

  “Hey, um… what kind of percentage do you think's fair? This is kind of a big deal, but I'm not really in the business you know? I have some contacts with Debri of course… my mom and brother and all, but that's not really the same as knowing what I'm doing yet…”

  Torrence shrugged and wondered if they'd dressed up just to see him or if they had a party to go to? Probably not anything to do with him, he decided. They both already knew they didn't have to impress him. Once you beat a guy up half a dozen times that ship's probably well and truly sailed, right? Smiling he pointed at the papers to the left of the ones he worked on.

  “Well, if you can get up to speed on this one, I should have a food dryer ready to go by next week. Then I really have to work on the shield project full time after that. If I don't want to die at least.” For some reason that he didn't get, both girls laughed. When he asked why Sara blushed again, but Trice touched his arm gently and smiled.
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br />   “We just have every confidence that you'll live, if you put your mind to it. We heard Kolb talking to the head of our department, he thinks you can do it, no problem, or he wouldn't have set you the task. They very rarely murder the students here you know. It cuts down on enrollment too much.”

  For some reason, the idea didn't feel right to him. Then again, the first time he'd tried to block a punch, the bald giant had made sure that Tor knew he'd hit him in the head if he missed. It had worked out pretty well, fear making Tor a lot faster than he'd have been otherwise. Maybe it was like that? Only this time if he screwed up he'd be dead? Let him know the threat was real to get his attention? If that was the plan, it worked. Tor felt focused on it indeed.

  Changing the subject, he looked at the blond, realizing that while she was taller than he was, she was shorter than Trice by a few inches, and told her ten percent. He didn't even have to explain what he meant, she just nodded.

  “That's fair. More than fair really. I'll… let you out of the deal if you need to later, alright? I don't want to hurt your business prospects. Still, get with me when you have anything ready, oh!” She scrambled at her waist and seemed to remember that the somewhat skimpy outfit she wore didn't have any pockets.

  “Um, no calling cards. Well, if you need me, ask Rolph or Tovey to help you find me or Trice, if you need one of us, alright? They both know where to find us.”

  Trice got up and walked out then, without another word. Sara followed with a wave over her shoulder that seemed genial enough. Both of them looked good, dressed as they were. Fit. The outfits didn't leave a lot to the imagination though. That, of course, wasn't his concern at the moment. Had Sara really just suggested that if he needed to find her he should go and get a sitting Count to act as his guide?

  Sure, he'd just show up on the man's doorstep and haughtily demand to be escorted. Sara would be sure to come to the funeral right? So it might even work, if not exactly in the desired fashion. Of course he had no idea where to find the man anyway, so he was pretty safe from that fate.

  Did the girls think he and the Count were friends? It kind of sounded like it. How odd. Just looking at him Sara had to realize he was probably one of the most common people on campus.

  He went back to the shield build shaking his head a little in amused disbelief.

  When Rolph came in later that evening, smelling a little of wine, but not drunk, Tor turned around at his desk to talk to him. That and stretch his slightly stiff back at the same time. The larger boy lay out on his bed and kicked his shoes off.

  “You know Tor… A lot of people at the pub were talking about you and your new little invention tonight. I knew that people would want it, but I didn't get how badly they would. Do you think I could jump the line and buy up the first batch of ten or so? Mom would love these I think. Maybe pass them out to a few of her friends, which can't hurt future sales, she's kind of connected, even if her friends are a bunch of harpies. They're rich harpies though and really want to keep up with the popular trends…” Rolph sounded like he was trying to wheedle him into it, which was ridiculous on its face. Of course he could have the first batch.

  He could have the first hundred, even if it meant Tor didn't sleep for a month to get it done. They were friends.

  “Really, the only major problem I have here are time to do the work and materials to put it on. I'm thinking metal, but right now I can't afford anything more than wood plank and school paint.” Honestly he couldn't afford that. He'd probably have to skip buying soap and toothpaste the next time if he did it and the money didn't come in fast enough.

  His friend shrugged and went to the large trunk at the end of his bed, pulling out a smaller chest, about the size of both Rolph's hands and opened it, showing that it was filled with gold and silver coins. Rolph counted out fifty-five gold and put them in a small blue velvet bag, which he handed over to Tor.

  “Half up front. That's standard for large purchases like this anyway, in case the idea's new to you. It is eleven G. apiece right? I can go higher if you need…”

  Tor looked at the bag on his desk and shook his head. “I… can't take your money. You're my friend and…” And there were no debts owed between friends, he was about to add.

  A large hand suddenly clapped him on the back, a little harder than normal. “Nonsense. You need initial, capital and I'm doing nothing more than assuring my place in line. Think nothing of it and, you know, within reason, hurry it up. My mom's birthday is in a week. On Friday.”

  Tor thought about the date.

  “Ooh, like the Queen? Isn't her birthday celebration this next week? We don't get that off this time, do we? I could use the work time.”

  Rolph chuckled and nodded.

  “Yeah, just like the Queen, same day and everything, so you know, people will notice it if I don't have something there in time.”

  Wincing, Tor knew that he had to start working harder. If he could get the materials the next day, maybe he could have the first batch ready by the day after. It would mean at least one sleepless night. Nodding he decided to do it. Rolph Merchant's mother would not be left with soggy clothing if he could help it. It may not be a big deal to anyone else in the world, but he had some small professional pride after all, even if he wasn't really one at all yet. It was a good thing to practice, right?

  The materials were surprisingly easy to come up with once he had money for it. He bought up a hundred copper squares about the size of his palm and about as thick as heavy paper and enough acid to etch them with a pale green design that he drew up the night before. These didn't need any more than an indicator as a sigil, not like a template did. That was all about keeping him from forgetting something or losing his place while working and wasn't magic at all, no more than words on a page were, though a lot of people couldn't tell the difference.

  Even the indicator sigils were really just about letting people have something to focus on to activate a field and keeping one device separate from others that might look similar otherwise. Some people drew the designs of the different fields sometimes, or whatever the indicators were, trying to make magic happen, which rarely worked at all. It took focus, will, and an idea of how the world worked to get any real effects. Of course he'd kind of gotten that to work a few times, which was what led him towards building in the first place. Trying hard enough had made a weak field that actually worked. Just a copy, but that was still pretty good for a kid from the woods like him.

  Tor drew up stencils on paper and cut them all out with the small cutter he'd made to test part of his shield. It let him do all of them at once easily, which even a razor wouldn't have done. Then, after laying them all out in the courtyard on one of the wooden work tables, he painted the acid on and waited.

  A mere four hours later he could finally rinse them all off. It was weak acid after all. Students weren't normally allowed to buy anything too dangerous, which made perfect sense. Most of the students were morons. Tor didn't exclude himself from that categorization either. He had his moments of less than brilliance after all. Times that he just didn't think clearly enough, or made a snap decision when he should take time to reflect. So yeah, weak acid, and no explosive weapons sold in the student store.

  The design, a stylized D with wiggly line after it — D for dry — turned out well on all but four out of the hundred. He'd make those anyway, and just give them to other students or something. Some of the other scholarship kids might want them, right? Or maybe the boy with the wash from the other day, since Tor hadn't shown him how to properly wring out clothing yet? For that matter he could just set one up at the wash area, so anyone could use it.

  That made sense.

  Then he took half of them back to his room for safekeeping and took the rest with him to one of the empty work chambers. The floor in the room was softer than his bed, which he knew firsthand helped a lot, especially if he wasn't going to be moving for several hours.

  Sitting on the deep red cushion, weight sinking in slowly for a
few seconds, Tor set up the work space. The template went into the guide frame in front of him, of course, just like he'd done for class work. He had to adjust it to take the slightly oversized wood, but it worked after a few moments of tinkering. Then he counted out ten of the metal tiles and started to reach for the focus he'd need to make the transfer.

  The first set wasn't that hard, and the next two were only a little boring to do, not difficult in any way. After that things got rough. Tor felt tired already, and it wasn't even midnight yet. The fourth batch pulled at his mind. Really it was a feeling like waking up in the early morning and knowing that you had to use the restroom badly, but also feeling like you didn't want to bother moving. Normally when that happened he just waited, discomfort or no.

  Right now he couldn't do that. He had to keep his mind sharp and focus tight or else the copies wouldn't take, then all this work would be wasted, which would suck. The last batch ate at his mind, almost making him ache with boredom, but he kept at it until finished.

  Finally. It was good practice at least.

  Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stretch and move. Tor hadn't gone stiff yet, but everything inside told him that he should run away from this evil place before some meany came and made him do more of that boring work. He laughed a little as he walked out, his legs protesting just a tiny bit. His left ankle must have had some of the blood cut off to it, because his left foot was getting a pins and needles feeling. No numbness. It was interesting… Maybe just didn't notice that he'd gone numb because of the pain difference that came in trance? He knew that he didn't feel pain as much in a deep working state and some people could block out even severe pain that way if they started to meditate before the injury happened. It could be useful if he was ever being tortured. Hopefully he'd never have to find out if it really worked or not.