Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Read online

  Nadja spun the pipe in her hands. The metal flashed in the firelight. She brought the mouthpiece up to her lips, but something gave her pause.

  “Oh yes,” said Morris. “I almost forgot. Both ends are protected with stoppers which you can remove when you’re ready to fire. They will help keep the inside of the barrel clean until you’re ready to use it.”

  “Brilliant,” said Nadja, as she removed and then replaced the mouthpiece stopper. It was cork wrapped in leather, both larger and more decorative than the stopper in the opposite end. It lent the feeling of a richly appointed cane to the blowpipe’s appearance.

  “I hope it serves you well,” said Morris.

  As if suddenly waking from a fantastical dream, Nadja’s eyes snapped to Morris and her mouth fell open.

  “It’s beyond imagining,” she said, “but I couldn’t possibly accept this with nothing to give you in return. The time you must have spent on it, and the cost of the materials alone . . . I wouldn’t even know how to repay you.”

  “Psh,” harrumphed the old man. “That’s why it’s a gift. Besides, it was a joy to create. Every day it’s ‘repair this string,’ ‘remove this dent,’ ‘fix that valve.’ The brain gets very mushy with nothing new to entertain it, you know. The challenge of something new and different. That’s living. That’s keeping sharp . . . sharp . . . hmm . . . aha!”

  The wiry white head dropped beneath the edge of the worktable, only to reappear a second later, this time wearing another grin.

  “Wouldn’t be of any use without these,” he said, plopping an embossed leather pouch on the table. He unhooked the pouch flap and tossed it back to reveal a dozen shiny metal darts in two neat rows, securely flanked by two empty glass vials. “The pouch has an adjustable strap, so it can be worn however and wherever you like.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Nadja, running her fingers along the rows of darts.

  “‘Thank you’ is the most commonly used expression, I think,” said Morris.

  “More than thank you,” said Nadja. Touched by the old repairman’s thoughtfulness and kindness, her eyes were filled with gratitude when they met his.

  Morris nodded in understanding then shuffled over to a nearby shelf and removed a small bottle. “Just remember to oil it after each use. Keeps it in top shape.” He handed the bottle to Nadja, who was slipping the pouch strap over her head and across her shoulder. Then, giving her an appraising look he added, “You look ready to take on the world.”

  Nadja smiled at the compliment, though his words sounded more like an omen.

  “Warmth and light, Miss Machinal.”

  “Warmth and light, Morris.”

  Chapter 23

  Thwak! Thwak! Thwak!

  Nadja’s metal blowpipe slammed a series of blows against the practice dummy. Her strength and skill with the makeshift short staff had improved greatly over the past couple of months. Her movements were becoming more instinctual and had developed a comfortable feeling of fluidity.

  Great clouds of steam puffed from her mouth with each strike, and a thin layer of snow blanketed almost every surface of the city. Though the weather was frigid, the walls of the training ground did a fair job protecting her from the occasional burst of wind.

  Nadja stepped to an adjacent dummy and removed her cloak, wrapping it around the dummy’s shoulders. Cold or not, her muscles were warming up, and the cloak was more of a hindrance than a help when it came to fighting. Her layered top and woolen pants kept her warm enough as long as she kept moving.

  Once everyone had returned from the winter break, she gave in to wearing pants almost exclusively. Partly because her original decision to wear them only a few hours a week for private “study sessions” was likely to raise as many questions as eyebrows, and partly because the more she wore them the more comfortable she felt in them. She could move with ease, and against the cold weather, the pants won out over the skirts with little competition.

  Helaine had noted Nadja’s change of fashion upon her return, to which Nadja commented on the standard garb of Grenyan women, and the practicality of pants in the winter. That was the last she heard on the topic.

  She returned to the first dummy and drilled against it once more.

  Pax’s return was more unsettling than she had anticipated. The feelings which flooded her senses when she saw him again were unnerving. Relief, happiness, and anticipation, tinged with regret. The emotional concoction was different from the general pleasure she felt at seeing Helaine again. He had greeted her with a warm smile and friendly handshake, but something about his demeanor had changed. She couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was different, but whatever it was tugged at her heart. And she didn’t like that.

  Tingling vibrations thrummed up the metal and through her gloved hands and arms with each strike as she channeled her confusion and frustration towards the dummy. Coming to her training session early had been a good idea. She cleared her mind and focused on her breathing and technique, her breaths coming faster and creating a great cloud in front of her chest.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a thin wisp of steam float over her right shoulder. She spun around to her left and swept her blowpipe upwards, blocking the wooden staff heading straight towards her.

  “Nice,” said Brooks, bearing down on Nadja’s staff for a moment before releasing her.

  “Lesson number one,” said Nadja.

  “Someone’s an early bird today.”

  “I wanted to get in some extra practice.”

  “Anyone I know?” asked Brooks, inclining her head towards the dummy.

  “No. Like I said, I just wanted to get some extra practice.”

  “Mmm hmm.” Brooks strode over to the benches and removed her cloak, stretching her neck and arms. “Glad you’re already warmed up. We can get right to work.”

  “Aren’t we going to wait for Wheedler?” asked Nadja, glancing towards the large double doors.

  “No. He’s helping your uncle with one of his runs to Chansey. It’s just you and me today.”

  Nadja didn’t like the sound of that.

  She got along well with Wheedler. Though demanding, he was a good and patient teacher. He fit Nadja’s imaginings of what it might be like to have an older brother.

  Brooks was another thing altogether. Though she had never been openly hostile towards Nadja, there was something about her which made Nadja uncomfortable. She was blunt and sarcastic and tough. Quick to judge and slow to compliment. She reminded Nadja a little of Grandmaster Gilmoren, but less likable.

  It was obvious Brooks didn’t like her, and she wondered why Brooks agreed to help with her training. She had always given Nadja good instruction, but never bothered to temper it with kindness or caring. Nadja could tolerate her presence when Wheedler was there, but she cringed at the thought of an entire training session alone with Brooks.

  “Why aren’t you with them, too?” Nadja asked. “I thought you and Wheedler were a team.”

  “Usually,” said Brooks. “But Tau only required one man this time.”

  “And you got the short straw?”

  Brooks eyes narrowed, and Nadja could have sworn she saw a smile threaten the corners of her mouth. “You could say that.”

  Brooks took an offensive position in front of Nadja. “Ready.”

  At Brooks’s nonquestion, Nadja spread her feet apart and prepared for the blow.

  Brooks gripped her staff like a bat and swung down hard towards Nadja’s head. Nadja instinctively spread her arms wide and lifted her staff above her head, blocking the hit. Brooks moved thorough a few more attack combinations, and Nadja effectively blocked each one. Brooks’s attacks carried more weight behind them than Wheedler’s usually did, and Nadja suspected the jovial giant had been taking it easy on her.

  Brooks increased the speed of her attacks and began varying the combinations. Nadja zeroed her focus in on Brooks’s chest and shoulders as Wheedler taught her, trying to anticipate each blow before it landed.
Her confidence grew as she skillfully blocked blow after blow.

  Without warning, Brooks took a quick step backwards, swung her staff over her head with one hand, and slammed it down in a diagonal at Nadja’s foot.

  Nadja’s knees went weak as the end of the staff connected with the side of her boot. She dropped her arms and grunted in pain, sinking to the ground. “That was a cheap shot,” she spat.

  “Your opponent won’t fight by the rules,” said Brooks, lowering her staff. “He won’t attack you with strikes he knows you can block. Just the opposite. Technique is good. Drills are good. Adaptability is essential.” She offered Nadja a hand.

  Nadja ignored Brooks’s outstretched palm. Instead, she planted the end of her blowpipe in the ground and pulled herself up.

  Brooks shrugged. “Nothing’s broken.”

  Nadja clenched her teeth against the pain. “How do you know?” she hissed, shifting her weight off of her throbbing foot.

  “Because I didn’t hit you hard enough. And you’re standing. It’ll hurt like anything for a few minutes, but it won’t last long. Shake it off.”

  Brooks walked over to the bench and took a drink from her canteen. Nadja rolled her injured foot a few times and gingerly tested her weight on it. Brooks was right. Much like a stubbed toe, the initial pain was ebbing.

  Brooks returned empty handed. “Put away your blowpipe,” she ordered.

  “Why?” asked Nadja. She warily propped her blowpipe against the dummy still wearing her cloak and returned to face Brooks.

  “Adaptability is essential,” Brooks repeated. “There is no guarantee you’ll have your blowpipe assembled and ready when an attack happens. What would you do if someone came at you while you were unarmed?”

  Brooks lunged at Nadja, who threw up her arms in front of her face and jumped back.

  Brooks grunted. “Let’s try this another way. Attack me.”

  Nadja lowered her arms and set her legs into a fighting stance.

  “What are you waiting for?” taunted Brooks. “Attack me.”

  Nadja pulled back her right arm and swung it towards Brook’s face.

  Brooks reached across her body and caught Nadja’s wrist, glaring at the open palm. “What is this?”

  “This is me attacking you,” challenged Nadja.

  “With a slap?” Brooks eyed her incredulously. “I intend to end you, and the best you can do is a slap? This should be a fist at the very least.”

  “It was the first thing I could think of.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Think. Why is this,” Brooks jerked her head towards Nadja’s open hand still in her grasp, “the first thing you thought of?”

  Nadja dropped her gaze to the snow-covered ground beyond Brooks’s body and searched her mind. She was given a free pass to attack, and she had gone with a slap to the face. Thinking about it now, that didn’t make much sense. She considered other times in her life when she’d injured someone, whether accidentally or on purpose. The answer came to her in a flash.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Exactly.” Brooks released her wrist and took a step back. “If someone attacks you, hurting you is not something he’s trying to avoid. No man is going to go easy on you just because you’re a woman. Take advantage of every opening. You may not get many, and if you squander them, you’ll get yourself killed. Now try again.”

  They got back into position. Once again, Nadja swung her right arm. Once again, Brooks caught her wrist.

  “It’s a fist at least,” said Brooks, “but choose another place to land it. You’re much more likely to be fighting a man than a woman. And while I know punching the side of my face might be something you really want to do, you’re likely to break the little bones in your fingers against a big man’s jaw. Aim for a softer spot, like the nose, or stomach.”

  Nadja tried again, this time, leading with her left arm and landing a decent blow to Brooks’s midsection.

  A sharp exhale of steam puffed from the guard’s mouth on contact. “Exactly,” she grunted.

  Brooks showed Nadja the proper way to form a fist, a few ways to strike an opponent with her hands and feet, and how to take a hit.

  As the end of their training session drew near, Nadja and Brooks once again took up their staffs and faced off in a sparring match. At first, Nadja attacked and defended herself well against her trainer, but after a dozen moves, she found herself disarmed and lying on her back on the frozen ground.

  “What will you do?” Brooks looked down at her, staff in hand.

  Nadja hesitated.

  Brooks landed a blow against Nadja’s knee. Nadja cried out as pain radiated up her thigh to her hip.

  “What will you do?” demanded Brooks.

  Nadja scrambled backwards. On the ground with no weapon, she was at a severe disadvantage. She rolled over and got up on her hands and knees just as Brooks’s staff connected with her ribs, knocking the air out of her lungs.

  “Adapt!” yelled Brooks.

  The frozen snow tingled beneath her hands. Without thinking, she crushed a handful of it into a tight ball. She rolled over onto her back and aimed it at Brooks’s face.

  The frozen projectile found its target and splattered frosty bits across Brooks’s eye and nose. It didn’t do any damage, but the surprise attack bought Nadja enough time to put a little more distance between the two of them. She rolled back onto her hands and knees and reached up to feel her ribs. When she did, her hand brushed over the leather dart pouch she wore around her waist.

  Brooks’s bitter laugh echoed off the stone walls of the training ground. “Nice try, but you’ll have to do better than that.”

  With her back to Brooks, Nadja jumped to her feet and deftly released the small clip which fastened the pouch’s strap. Gripping the end of the strap, she spun around, swinging the pouch like a whip towards Brooks’s head.

  The guard didn’t see the improvised weapon until it was too late. The pouch landed a solid blow against her cheek. She staggered backwards, stunned.

  Nadja raised her fists, readying herself.

  A small stream of blood trickled from the corner of Brooks’s mouth, likely from a cut left by the pouch’s buckle. She reached up and wiped it off.

  She looked at the blood on her fingers.

  Then, she grinned and looked up at Nadja.

  “Well done.”

  Chapter 24

  “Ooo, this looks like a good one!” exclaimed Helaine, pulling Nadja into yet another dress shop. It was the fourth one they had been into that day, and while Nadja enjoyed beautiful dresses as much as the next woman, she didn’t think anyone enjoyed them as much as Helaine.

  “What do you think, too much?” the cheerful blonde asked, running her hand down a fluffy confection of pink organdy and white satin ribbons.

  “For a spring wedding, no. For an informal lunch date, yes,” replied Nadja.

  Helaine sighed and strolled along the row of dresses, letting each one slip through her fingers as she passed.

  “Do you know where he’s taking you?” asked Nadja.

  “No,” replied Helaine, creasing her brow. “That’s what’s making this difficult. If we’re going to The Hen and Harp, then anything would do, really. But if he’s taking me somewhere like Trio’s, that’s a whole different matter.”

  The two restaurants Helaine mentioned represented opposite ends in the range of culinary choices available in Cantio’s middle ring. Of course, the wharf offered its own particular style of food and atmosphere, but the idea Petrin would consider one of those eating establishments for their first official date was absurd.

  It had taken the lanky craftsman a few weeks to work up the confidence to ask Helaine out on a proper date once everyone had returned from winter break, and Nadja had watched the whole awkward dance with amusement. Without their project creating the perfect excuse to spend time together, Petrin began popping up regularly in Helaine’s day-to-
day routine: between classes, at mealtimes in the dining hall. Helaine interpreted his continued presence as a gesture of friendship, while Nadja knew better.

  But getting two shy people to admit they have feelings for one another is like trying to push together two identically charged magnets. One has to go against its true nature before they can snap together. Here, it was Petrin whose courage finally won out over his nerves, and their date on the following day was the result.

  “Ooo!” Helaine squealed.

  She was standing in front of a mirror holding up a long-sleeved cotton dress in ice blue. The bodice had just enough detail embroidered along the neckline to add a pretty bit of interest without overdoing it, and the color complimented Helaine’s skin and hair perfectly.

  “That’s lovely,” said Nadja.

  “It’s perfect,” said Helaine, grinning at herself in the mirror.

  Helaine paid the shopgirl, arranged to have the dress delivered to the conservatory, and breathed a sigh of relief as she and Nadja exited the store.

  The market district was more crowded than usual. The quarterly delegates meeting was in progress, and between the delegates and their entourages, the middle ring was a hub of activity.

  Right now, sitting in an assembly in the Delegates Hall, was Baulo. Nadja shuttered at the thought.

  “All that shopping has made me hungry,” said Helaine. Then, she halted and grabbed Nadja by the arm. “Oh! I overheard Selina and Vatara talking the other day about a stall selling a new frozen sweet cream. It sounded delicious. Let me treat you. As a thank-you for coming along with me today.”

  “Frozen sweet cream? In the middle of winter?” Nadja smiled. “That sounds wrong and right all at the same time. Where’s the stall?”

  “Somewhere in the western fifth.” Helaine’s face lit up. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  Nadja felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach. That would put them near the government district and the Delegates Hall. But, seeing the excited look on Helaine’s face, she brushed the feeling aside. The bustling streets should make it easy enough for them to go unnoticed, and as it was not yet supper time, the delegates would still be in session.