Page 11 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)
Chapter
Eight
Braiden held his hands above his eyes, keeping out the sunlight as he hurried down the street. It was a busy day in Weathervale, but more so for Braiden Beadle and his new friend Elyssandra. They had business to attend to. Investigating business.
The nice thing about Weathervale was how neatly everything fit into its eight districts.
Finding the Wizard of Weathervale would go smoothly if Braiden kept those districts firmly in mind.
What made the search a little trickier was the obscurity of the shop where Elyssandra’s magical berries had spotted the elusive Augustin.
That the shop was filled with rows of shoes and had an old man with a hammer and a leather apron up front wasn’t the problem. That was clearly a cobbler. Augustin must have needed help with his ostentatious boots. The problem was how Weathervale had multiple cobblers spread throughout.
Many of them straddled the Noose, the street that cut through both the merchant and trade districts.
It was a grim but oddly appropriate name for the loop of shops that catered to the average adventurer, though the businesses didn’t discriminate.
They’d gladly take coin from anyone who might be looking for a durable suit of armor or a sturdy satchel.
One of Weathervale’s wealthiest alchemists ran a roaring trade at the Noose, churning out healing potions, antidotes, and salves for everything from magical burns to rashes from poisonous plants.
It was also home to cobblers who specialized in formidable footwear: shoes, boots, and sandals that withstood the rigors of dungeon life.
Elyssandra and Braiden decided to take their chances at the Noose, passing a few money changers on the way, a trade that was more relevant than ever now that all kinds of Aidunese currency were coming through town.
The Il-venessi dragons burned a hole in Braiden’s pocket. He resisted the urge to exchange them.
He’d accounted for his finances earlier in the morning, deciding that he wouldn’t have to exchange Orora’s coins after all.
Maybe after this was over, he could just hand them back and ignore all her nonsense about interest. He never asked for a loan, did he?
And there wasn’t a contract. None of this was binding.
“There,” Elyssandra said, pointing down the street. “I think I recognize the counter. This must be it.”
Braiden knew this place. He knew the owner, too.
Arlo wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but he was a man of few words.
From observing him several tables away at the Dragon’s Flagon, Braiden knew that Arlo enjoyed two things above all.
The first was making shoes. The second was wasting very little of his time on nonsense, especially nonsense that didn’t involve shoes.
“It’s a cozy little space,” Elyssandra said, studying the tiny cobbler’s shop. It was half of a normal lot, but that was really all the room Arlo needed to work his magic. “He seems nice enough.”
Braiden tilted his hand left and right. She shrugged, glided straight toward Arlo’s counter, and pulled back her hood, dazzling him with the glow of her golden hair and her elven smile.
“Hello there, kind sir.”
Braiden swore he could see her radiance reflecting off the perfect sheen of Arlo’s bald head. Hammer in hand, an elaborate instrument made of metal and glass fitted over one eye, Arlo glanced at her for all of one second then went right back to work.
“I’ll do the talking,” Braiden said, his confidence slowly eroding with every bang of Arlo’s hammer. He was beating the sole of a boot like it owed him money.
It was fascinating to watch Arlo at work: stretching the leather taut, trimming the excess with an exquisite knife, stitching it all back together with the weathered hands of a master. But they were kind of in a hurry. Augustin Arcosa could be on his way to the dungeon already.
“Arlo!” Braiden greeted. “Good to see you at work. Only ever see you at the tavern these days.”
Arlo polished a spot of something away from the boot’s sole until it squeaked. He turned one eye on Braiden, the way he did with Elyssandra, then muttered something noncommittal and indistinct that made his great white mustachios flutter.
“Hah, yeah, sure,” Braiden stammered, unsure of what, exactly, he was responding to. “Listen, Arlo, I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll just ask my question and get out of your way.”
To his surprise, Arlo set his tools down and looked Braiden straight in the eye. Maybe the cobbler respected those who knew how to respect his time.
“Did a wizard happen by your shop earlier today?” Elyssandra asked. “Tall, dark, handsome. Wears a cloak and a very fancy pair of boots.”
Braiden could barely see Arlo’s mouth behind his mustache but somehow knew he’d turned up his lip.
“Confidential,” he answered. “Lots of boots pass this way.”
And this particular pair was headed farther and farther away from them. Braiden imagined Augustin Arcosa standing at the dungeon entrance and murmuring whatever it was a wizard murmured to cast a sealing spell.
“So this man we’re looking for,” Braiden said, “I’ll keep a long story short.
There’s a good chance he’s going to seal the dungeon for good.
Which I imagine could be bad for business in The Noose, and for you, too.
Lots of boots passing this way these days, but no dungeon nearby could mean fewer boots in the future. ”
Arlo regarded them in silence, taking a moment to twist something on the rim of the magnifying instrument strapped to his head. It clicked and flickered, the glass showing a vastly enlarged version of a deep blue eye.
“Fewer boots is bad for business,” he finally said.
Braiden nodded. Now they were speaking the same language.
“Needed minor repairs,” Arlo muttered. “Nice boots.”
Elyssandra clasped her hands in excitement. “Truly? He stopped by your shop, then? What did he look like?”
Arlo cocked his eyebrow. “Wears his hair like he doesn’t spend time on it, except you know he spends hours getting it to look that way? Struts around like a cockerel? Talks like he’s full of wind?”
“That’s the one,” Braiden said, careful not to show Elyssandra a triumphant smirk. “Do you know where he went?”
Arlo leaned over his counter and pointed down the street. “Thataway. Said something about buying supplies. You better hurry.”
Elyssandra and Braiden raced down the street, following the curve of The Noose.
Braiden’s feet practically flew off the cobblestones.
They were pursuing a man who could actually fly, after all.
What if he had access to other forms of movement magic, like something to speed up his walking and shopping?
It all sounded so practical compared to the little magics of weaving.
Perhaps Braiden should have asked Arlo if he’d sensed any kind of enchantment around Augustin’s boots.
Even an enchantment to protect a wearer from the impact of falling could be so helpful.
Braiden imagined leaping out of his kitchen window in the morning instead of taking the stairs down to the shop.
Thinking back, he should have asked Elder Orora for a more detailed rundown of her grandson’s talents. Wouldn’t his specialization in wind magic include the ability to blur the air itself? Would a wind wizard know how to make himself invisible? That would be far too unfair.
“There,” Elyssandra hissed. “I’m sure I saw his cloak, right in there.”
Good thing the wizard wasn’t in the habit of turning himself invisible to do some shopping. Very useful for someone so famous, like a reclusive local celebrity. That didn’t sound like Augustin, though. He enjoyed the attention too much.
It was his cloak, all right, along with the rest of his body.
The Wizard of Weathervale had changed to a different set of clothes, a deep, somewhat washed-out shade of blue reminiscent of the ocean on an overcast day.
The man clearly favored a certain color palette, picking through a similarly bluish stack of adventuring gear in a supply shop.
They watched him through the window, huddling behind some bushes for cover.
“Tents,” Braiden muttered. “I think he’s looking at tents. For camping out in the dungeon? Maybe his last tent was damaged.”
Elyssandra shook her head, rustling the bushes. “Or maybe he doesn’t usually travel with one. Heroes are just people, and some people don’t like roughing it.”
Braiden narrowed his eyes as Augustin poked at a tent in a particularly garish shade of blue.
He didn’t even know they sold adventuring equipment in that color.
Wouldn’t it make more sense to travel with something in a less obtrusive shade?
Whatever happened to a sensible deep green, or a muddy brown, something that didn’t stand out so much?
And then it struck him. Augustin Arcosa was the type of man who didn’t feel the need to keep a low profile. The Wizard of Weathervale wasn’t afraid of a little attention, whether it came from a curious monster or an admiring adventurer.
One of those walked up to Augustin as he perused the aisle.
He exchanged a few words with the excited adventurer, someone like Elyssandra, someone who clearly knew who he was.
Again Braiden observed the sudden lift in Augustin’s posture, the fleeting glimmer of his smile, like a cloud had passed to let the sun shine through.
The adventurer went back to their shopping. Augustin went back to the slightly tired, slightly rumpled man from before, his shoulders a little more rounded, the dark circles under his eyes a little more pronounced.
And then something else struck Braiden. Physically, this time.
Braiden batted at his head, bothered by the sensation of something that had lodged itself in his hair. Was it a leaf, or a twig blown on the wind? He frowned as he pulled the little object free. It was a crumpled ball of paper, exactly like something a child would throw.