Dan Willis - The Survivors

The cool, smoky air of the cavern swirled around Bradok as he struggled with indecision. Finally, taking a deep breath, which he blew out with a growl, he set off toward the crowd. When he reached them, he saw that they weren’t doing anything in particular; they were just standing idly on the walkway, trying to get a look at the simple wooden building.

“What’s all this,” Bradok asked a scruffy, soot-covered dwarf.

“When you find out, you tell me.” The fellow chuckled. “Some say the cooper has gone mad; others say he’s had a vision,” he said. “Either way, it’s the darndest thing you ever saw.”

“What is?” Bradok asked, craning his neck to look over the crowd.

“That,” the scruffy dwarf said.

As Bradok followed the dwarf’s pointing finger, his jaw dropped open. He hadn’t noticed before because he’d been focused on the crowd, but one side of the building had been completely torn down. Thrusting out from the space where the wall should have been was a huge framework of wood that looked for all the world like the skeleton of some enormous creature. The entire apparatus ended in a long wooden spar that stuck straight out into the cavern.

Bradok had never seen an ocean, but he knew about large bodies of water. Likewise he knew what that was without ever having actually seen one. There, more than a mile beneath the surface, in the heart of a mountain, Silas the cooper was building a boat.

Bradok had to push his way bodily through the crowd until, at last, he found himself in front of the curved shop door. A sign to one side read Silas amp; Son, Coopers .

Not really knowing what else to do, Bradok put out his hand and rapped smartly on the door.

A moment later it opened.

In the opening beyond stood someone who could not be Silas or his son. Instead a human appeared, tall, like all members of his race, and pudgy, wearing a smock. Dust and wood shavings covered his clothes, hair, and apron, making it impossible for Bradok to determine the man’s age or appearance. Humans were not terribly unusual in Ironroot, but to see one so obviously apprenticed to a dwarf craftsman was additional cause for curiosity.

“May I help you,” the human said in a mild voice.

“I’m looking for Silas,” Bradok said.

The human’s face turned sour. “Master Silas is far too busy to entertain visitors,” he said grumpily. “If you just want to gawk, you can stay out here with this lot.” He nodded in the direction of the milling crowd.

He began to close the door, but Bradok shoved his foot into the jamb to keep it from closing.

“It’s really rather important,” he said.

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.