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.
As he walked back towards his room, the feeling got a little stronger. Then as he moved between the advisors' offices and the main class build, a wave of tingling hit him so hard it nearly took him off his feet. It didn't hurt so much as feel like he'd hit the back of his elbow too hard, his funny bone, only all over his body. His hands and feet went limp, weak. He could move them, but they suddenly felt like they lacked any kind of power at all.
He stopped walking, wondering what heck this was. Had he made himself sick? Or... he couldn't think of anything that fit. Could he have transferred the field incorrectly or had one of the fields attached itself to him directly? That would be, well, not impossible, but highly unlikely. He'd been careful, even when he got bored. Besides this kind of field shouldn't make him feel like this. Maybe a medical device of some kind could, but his clothes dryer? Not likely.
Torrence started walking again, as hard as it was, and noticed the two figures fighting as he got a little farther into the central commons area. He froze, not really understanding what they did at first.
Feet moved on the black and gray paving stones, a soft shuffle that spoke of people that knew how to fight and came prepared in shoes designed for the purpose. One of the figures was huge, the night was too dark to make out who it was really, only a black silhouette of the man, clearly a male, could be seen, back lit by the much lighter sky above. The person fighting with him was smaller. Faster. Still a lot bigger than Tor.
No one yelled or screamed, but the smaller figure held something that glinted in the early morning light. Not a knife… Tor didn't think so at least. It was too matte colored and kept being held wrong, pointed at the large figure, sending him staggering back just a tiny bit. The closer Tor moved towards them, the more desperate the movements of the smaller person seemed. They staggered back and forth, barely able to keep to their feet, even though they didn't let the big one close enough to hit them yet.
Unless they'd taken a few blows already. It didn't take a lot to leave you feeling loopy and seeing stars. He felt that way himself in fact, and he wasn't even within thirty feet of them yet. Tor felt tempted to run the other way. After all, that big guy was... huge. Bigger than Rolph, which was saying something. The smaller one cried out just as he started to turn away. It was a high pitched voice. A woman's voice.
Worse, it was a woman's voice he'd heard recently.
Trice.
Damn.
That meant that he had to go and probably get killed trying to help her, didn't it? Something like that at least. If nothing else she was Rolph's friend and the buddy of his new business partner, which in a sideways fashion meant he was her friend too, and responsible for her. All he could think as he staggered towards them was that she better have a good reason for being out fighting this late. Especially if she wanted to pick fights with giants.
Who did that anyway? If you were going to pick a fight it only made sense to go after someone smaller than you were, right? That's why Tor held to a fast policy of only getting in fights with people under ten years old himself, if he could help it. If she was just out having too much to drink and getting in trouble he'd...
Exactly what he'd do didn't come to him as the large figure threw a single punch that took the girl to the ground, her weapon not being effective anymore for some reason. Sparks jumped in front of Tor's eyes, seeming to fly all around the man in front of him as he closed on the downed woman.
Taking a deep breath Tor ran towards the giant in front of him and swung the cloth sack he had in his hand. The copper inside gave it enough weight to make a decent weapon, at least until the cloth gave way, Tor figured. The edges of the metal were a little bit sharp and might cut through with repeated use. The first hit landed on the big man's shoulder. He kept moving towards the still form on the ground, so Tor hit him again. And then again.
After five or six hits, all solid blows, the huge form slowly turned towards him. The first thing Tor noticed was that the feeling of not being in control of his body got a lot stronger when the man focused on him directly.
The second thing was that it was Count Thomson that stood before him.
A half second later the Count stopped just standing and looking at him, and attacked.
Chapter three
“Run away!” Tor chanted to himself, his feet sluggish, almost as if stuck to the ground beneath him for some reason. “Run away!”