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“No, no.” Nick said authoritatively. “I’m certain we’ll be able to find laborers in the next town. There’s absolutely no need to tap a leper colony of all places! Supposedly non-contagious or not.”
“Yes, Master Nicholas,” Hedge relented.
Nick exhaled noisily, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his neatly trimmed blond locks. “These people and their superstitions! To think the area is cursed, what nonsense. Such a lack of curiosity is why they lack even basic plumbing!”
“As you say, Master.”
“Even you! All this about needing to use local equipage. Incompatible climate? These are of the highest quality and can withstand even the humidity of a jungle!” Nick slapped the nearest pole of the tent, the steel echoing hollowly.
It was indeed of the highest quality Nick's considerable allowance could buy, a spacious square field tent with straight sides and a generously tall roof. In it was a comfortable camping cot, folding desk, crates of supplies, several travel chests, washbasin, and portable privy. Entirely of Ancelstierran make.
"You have been scarred by using lowest-bidder gear in the Scouts - I assure you, this all will still be like new when we're done with the dig."
Hedge smiled and shrugged. “Perhaps so.”
Nick, irritated, took another swig of local brew. It possessed a strong fruity taste. Sweet, too. Dry and sour was currently the vogue at home, but Nick found that he rather liked this flavor. He'd originally acquired the lot to utilize as a morale booster for his workers, but seeing as there were none...
He stared dourly at the liquid sloshing about the dark bottle. It was quite a bit lower than it had been when Hedge had come to argue his case about the leper colony. Sadly, it had yet to blunt the edge of his frustration.
Nick had offered quite a generous daily wage for unskilled work. The peasants of Edge, obviously not rolling in economic opportunity from the look of their rough dwellings, had still regarded him with mistrustful looks and scurried away the second he mentioned where the digsite would be.
Well. At least they were competent brewers.
Hedge coughed politely. “You’ve had a long day, Master. You may wish to turn in early; it will be a long ride to Jedden tomorrow.” With that, he bowed and turned to leave the tent.
Nick made a wordless whine of frustration, fisting a hand in his hair. He was just so, so fed up with this backwater place, and he needed someone to vent to, even if that someone could sometimes be just as bad when it came to believing in superstitious hearsay.
“Wait!” He said impulsively. Hedge, halfway through the tent flaps, paused and turned.
Nick didn’t wait for a reply. “Sit,” he ordered imperiously, leaning over to slap a nearby crate.
With his other hand, he thrust the bottle at Hedge’s bemused face. “Drink.”
A pause.
“I appreciate the generous invitation, Master, but such indulgences would be wasted on a servant such as I,” Hedge demurred. “There is much work to be done, besides.”
“Work?! What work? We have no workers to do the work! All we can do right now is twiddle our thumbs! And no, I see the look on your face, I don’t want to hear about that blasted colony again!” Nick took another swig and then waved the bottle in Hedge’s face. “Drink!”
Hedge sighed and took the proffered bottle, settling down on the crate with a clattering of armor. He took a swallow, then wiped his lips and returned the bottle. “Mm. Good stuff.”
Nick nodded approvingly. “Not so hard, aye? You’ve been working hard too. You deserve to kick back a bit,” he declared magnanimously. He savored another mouthful of cider - that was probably what the local brew most closely approximated - and then set it back on the desk with a slightly louder than intended thunk, and then shifted his chair a bit so he was facing Hedge. The world was beginning to feel just the slightest bit blurry. Finally.
He’d had nine bottles that time he and the boys had gotten absolutely blitzed on beer smuggled into Somersby, right? He’d just have to stop before that point as the headache the next day had been deeply unpleasant. Sam had locked himself in the loo for hours, with only retching sounds to indicate his continued survival. Poor Sam…
“As I was saying, Hedge, the people here have no scientific curiosity whatsoever,” Nick continued, happy to have an audience to his grievances back, “choosing instead to worship some ridiculous superstition, carving sacred runes into their foreheads, when not even once have their so-called spells been reproducible in Ancelstierre! A shared delusion, I say. My friend Sameth, the Prince, you know, a smart chap really, he would do magic tricks for the lads and claim it was that charger-whatsit!”
“Charter,” Hedge corrected.
“Charter this, Charter that. I say, bollocks to it!”
Hedge grinned at that. “Fully agreed, Master,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll drink to that.”
“So this is my theory for what is really happening…”
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Hedge was a careful man. He wove his plans tightly, and did not like to leave things up to chance.
There were three reasons that he had not forcibly overridden the boy's insistence on gallivanting around to search for human workers and instead brought in his Dead Hands to begin excavation immediately.
Firstly, his true Master, the Destroyer, had instructed him to refrain from unnecessary usage of Free Magic upon the vessel, for it would interfere with integration of the shard.
The second reason is that construction of the Lightning Farm formed a bottleneck that afforded him some additional time for the excavation.
The third reason, and most important, was that it sometimes entertained him to play a role, to be a trusted advisor amongst the sheep even as he worked towards their doom. This was the only reason his four long years away from his true homeland, stripped of access to his magic as he plotted with dissidents and stoked a war, had been bearable.
And so the thought of sitting down for a drink and acting the affable servant with the boy who thought himself a master but was actually a slave - it amused him. Let the boy vent his grievances enough and he’d convince himself that the local populace was useless, allow Hedge to bring in the “lepers”, and thus unknowingly hasten his own demise.
And regardless of the outcome, it couldn't possibly be as bad as one of Corolini's dinners.
Right?
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Nick loved educating people.
"... and so when you think of a fungus, you probably think of a mushroom. But the mushroom is actually just the fruit produced by the root-like mycelia that forms the true body of the fungus! Amazing, right?"
"...Astounding," Hedge said listlessly. Unfortunately for him, Nick's already tenuous grasp on social cues for listener interest completely evaporated with alcohol.
"Mycelium networks have been known to stretch across multiple kilometers! And it's the way that fungi eat - they use the hyphae, oh I forgot to mention that's what the mycelium is composed of, it's like tiny branches! So they use these hyphae to secrete enzymes onto nearby food to dissolve and digest it."
"How interesting." Hedge looked yearningly at the tent entrance.
"You're probably thinking, how does this tie back to the phenomenon of the moving corpses? Do you remember what I told you about adenosine triphosphate?"
Nick also loved to make sure people understood what he was telling them.
"It…" Hedge kneaded his forehead. "It's an organic compound…" he began wretchedly.
"Which does…?" Nick wasn't sure why Hedge seemed so stressed out. Nick was patient. He wouldn't be annoyed about explaining the basics of human biochemistry again. Even if he’d already done it twice.
"... it triggers muscle contraction?"
"Ahhh, almost. It's actually a unit of energy used for muscle contractions. Important distinction." Nick tutted.
Hedge's eye twitched.
"You have personally seen walking corpses, some without working muscles, and you think it's a fungus?...Master."
Not this again! Nick shushed him. "I told you, that's explained in the second part of my theory.”
Nick tilted his bottle for another gulp -
Oh. It was empty. Nick gave it a disappointed look. And… damn and blast, there were no more unopened bottles on his desk.
Hedge took the break in conversation to abruptly stand up from his makeshift seat. “Well. While this has been quite the enjoyable conversation, I regret to say we do need to set off early tomorrow to try our hand at securing workers from Jedden. I know you are keen to begin the excavation, and I would hate to delay it, Master,” he reminded Nick apologetically.
Oh, oh yes. The excavation. Nick could see it, see it in his mind’s eye, that a great lodestone buried deep beneath the earth was surely the cause of this regional phenomenon. He could imagine the scientific papers bearing his name, the headlines.
“Nicholas Sayre Harnesses Lightning To Create Infinite Energy!”
“At 19, Nicholas Sayre Is Youngest Camberlyn Fellow in Ancelstierran History”
“Nicholas Sayre - The Breakthrough Genius Of Our Age”
He smiled dreamily.
Hedge inclined his head respectfully towards his employer. “Rest well, Master Nicholas.” And then he turned to leave.
What? Hedge was abandoning him? No!
The pleasant buzz surrounding him evaporated, replaced with panic.
"You can't be leaving," Nick wailed. "I haven't, I haven't finished telling you my theory! Theories!"
For some reason, this didn't stop Hedge's movement towards the tent flaps. Possibly accelerated it, actually.
Nick staggered up out of his chair with the intent to stop the escape of his precious audience. But the room whirled around him and suddenly he was halfway to the ground, face resting on leather, his hands gripping the armor of Hedge’s arms for support.
“Whoa.” His head was spinning and his legs felt as unsteady as a colt’s.
“Easy, there, Master,” came Hedge’s voice from above. “You’ve had a bit much to drink.” Hands gripped Nick’s sides to gently hoist him back upright.
“Nnnmmmaybe,” conceded Nick, eyes closed, head slumped against Hedge’s shoulder as gravity continued its merry gyrations.
“You should rest, Master.”
Hedge was obviously waiting politely for Nick to regain his balance before ending their awkward embrace. A most helpful chap, really. Could clearly hold his alcohol much better than Nick. Bastard.
But for as long as Hedge was stuck here supporting him, he couldn't leave. Nick gave himself a mental pat on the back. He was a genius, he really was.
"So we were talking ab-"
“Can you stand?” Hedge interrupted.
"Nuh uh."
A sigh.
"Let's get you to bed, Master." Hedge started shifting his weight, maneuvering one of Nick's arms over his shoulders, and guiding him towards the cot.
In response, Nick let go, relaxed all his muscles, and slithered to the ground like a cat evading its owner's grasp, forcing Hedge to let go lest he twist Nick’s arm.
They regarded each other.
Nick smiled winsomely up at his guide.
Hedge stared down at him with incredulity.
“Goodnight, Master,” he finally said, and turned to leave. "Remember, we must rise at dawn to depart tomorrow."
Wow. Was Hedge so unmoved by the sight of his noble employer lying sadly on the ground like a discarded puppet? Not even another attempt to help him up? Rude.
With a sudden burst of cricket-honed speed, Nick's hand shot out to the side to grasp Hedge's ankle - to close on empty air. Had Hedge's foot blurred out of the way?
“Nnoooooooo…"
They had been having such a good time. Nick had never had such a marvelous time in his life. He was on the cusp of a historic discovery, and someone familiar with the Old Kingdom was listening to him discuss scientific concepts without running away; at this point Sam always groaned and changed the subject immediately. Well, Hedge was trying to run, but Nick wouldn't let him.
"If you stay and listen," Nick pleaded, putting on his best doe-eyed look, "I will… I will let you hire your leper friends. And we won't need to wake up early tomorrow."
Jedden was far enough away that it would take them nearly 3 days for the roundtrip. And if Nick was being honest with himself, he had no desire to be back on a horse so soon.
Allowing Hedge to entertain his fanciful notion would buy him a couple days of rest. It would, of course, fail. Lepers weren't exactly known for being in great physical condition and would surely find the work too onerous.
Hedge stared down at him. His face ran through a series of expressions. Hope. Fear. Despair. Grim determination. He licked his lips.
Seconds ticked by.
Please please pleeaaase
"You drive a hard bargain, Master. Very well."
Nick beamed at him.
"Wonderf-"
"... On one condition. Proof of our agreement, should you arise tomorrow without recollection."
"You have no confidence in me," Nick complained, but flopped over to his desk and scrabbled about for pen and paper. It was a fair enough request. Rolf Brisby, that absolute twat, had never coughed up Nick's winnings from a drunken bet, claiming that it had never happened.
His grasping fingers closed on his favorite Montblanc fountain pen after several failed attempts.
"Future me, I have made the lucid and unforced decision to allow Hedge to hire from the leper colony, sanitation be damned. Do honor this promise.
- Nicholas Sayre"
That was what the note was supposed to read.
They looked at the overlapping and utterly unreadable scribbles in silence.
"Ahhhh…" Nick lamented. Then he brightened again. He could do this.
"L E P E R S", he scrawled in huge childish block letters across the page.
Under it, he carefully drew an equals sign.
Finally, a big smiley face.
Hedge gingerly took the proffered paper.
"Future me will understand. Word of a Sayre. Word. Of. A. Sayre."
Hedge closed his eyes. Opened them.
"Very well, Master Nicholas. I am yours for the night."
Nick giggled.
"That sounds lewd, Hedge. I'm not that kind of master."
"..."
"So back on the topic of signal transduction -"
Hedge calmly walked to the supply crate, fished out a bottle, and downed the entire thing in one go without pausing for breath.
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Several hours later
It was a warm summer night on the shores of Red Lake. A triangle of light appeared, then disappeared, as the silhouette of a thin man ambled unsteadily out of the large tent that was the only visible dwelling. Clutched in his hand was a crumpled wad of paper.
His name was Hedge, and he was feeling rather proud of himself, for he had just overcome a great trial.
He no longer remembered the reason he'd been in there, soothing his aching brain with Edge's strongest moonshine while listening to and being quizzed on offensively incorrect and crushingly detailed theories on how various magical phenomena could be explained with “scientific” concepts. But it must have been important. And so he had endured, until the boy finally, blessedly, passed out.
Once he reached the cover of the treeline, Hedge closed his eyes and tapped into the Free Magic that lay latent in his bones and bound into his flesh. It responded in a bloom of power. For an instant, he was wreathed in bright flames, red as freshly spilt blood. Scorching heat raced through his veins and banished the pounding headache.
And so it was with a dreadfully clear mind that Hedge watched the charred remnants of the note - the note which he now remembered was the entire reason he had suffered so dearly - flutter away into the darkness.
"For fuck's sake."
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They went to Jedden.