Surely there would be none who would refer to the long-eared devils by their pre-betrayal name! She shushed him furiously. "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded in a low voice, afraid now that someone might notice her speaking with a devil sympathizer while he was actively devil sympathizing. "You can't speak like that so openly!" Perhaps it would be an interesting conversation in private, but randomly in a shop like this? Where anyone could walk in at any moment?!
The man frowned.
He seems disturbed. Did he think me unafraid of the inquisition for some reason? Ah, perhaps from Mister Godfry's unfortunate demise. I may be royalty, but none are above the inquisition. The Goddesses are ever vengeful and watchful for those who stray from the path. How could he be unaware of that! Surely he's seen someone judged by the Trial of Faith at one time or another… She moved her hand away from his mouth when he made no further attempt to speak blasphemy. "No more of that here," she advised him in a grave tone. "You could—"
"But don't you ever get tired of it?" Carl asked, seeming a little distressed. "I guess…" He paused as though formulating his thoughts. "I mean, maybe you're always acting like this, but it's kinda tough for me to get used to as someone who just got here."
Isemeine sighed, her eyes dropping to the boot she'd randomly grabbed from the shelf. "I…" she trailed off, unsure how to respond. I have wondered about it often enough, I suppose. Mister Godfry and I conversed on the matter of other races at some length. And just today I had such difficulty with that thing… "I do think about it sometimes," she said in a very quiet voice. With all the strange things he's done today, at the very least I can be sure he's not a spy for the inquisition. They're always much more discreet; not at all like this very conspicuous man.
She nodded to herself slightly, her thoughts shifting in a safer direction as she conversed with a probable devil sympathizer whom she held no particular trust in. "Certainly there's a few things that I think could stand to be changed." Like not being forced to marry that man. She grimaced at the thought, then looked down at herself and the style of clothes she was never allowed to wear in the castle anymore in case Normannus grew thirsty. "For one, I'd actually prefer to wear this sort of thing more often. It's just so much more me." She looked up at him, finding to her pleasant surprise that he was rubbing his beard and staring off to the side rather than affixing his eyes to her well-covered chest as others seemed to do given the chance. "It's a bit odd, I know, but surely you understand what I mean." As a man who gets to wear these types of practical clothes whenever you want, I'm certain you understand.
Carl nodded, seeming somehow in better cheer with just that. "I do," he agreed. "Don't worry, though, your secret's safe with me." He made an entertaining motion with his fingers over his lips, as though they were a chest to be locked up, and threw away an imaginary key.
Isemeine found herself smiling at once. She decided to tell him a rather trivial secret she'd never told anyone else. "And do you know what else?" she leaned in, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I'd rather just spend my time reading books and tinkering with machines!"
The man seemed in no way bored, shocked, unhappy, or otherwise disgusted with the revelation.
She felt the desire to tell him something more substantial growing. "Did you know I…" She trailed off. But what if he tells someone? Devil sympathizer or not, I shouldn't… "I built my own magic-steam hybrid engine!" she blurted out, needing to finally tell someone of her amazing achievement, even if it was just a random, shoeless devil sympathizer. "I think it's the first of its kind!"
Carl seemed surprised at the reveal.
Isemeine held her breath, waiting for him to—
"That sounds pretty cool," he said, nodding.
"Well, no, it's quite hot, actually," Isemeine said reflexively, giggling a little at the man's obvious ignorance about how a steam engine must work.
He rolled his eyes and chuckled as though she'd made a bad joke. "Yeah, I guess it'd have to be to boil the water and create enough pressure."
He does know how a steam engine works? Isemeine felt herself growing excited at the prospect. Practically no one does besides the dwarves!
"There's no need, they work fine even if I don't know," her father had said. "I don't necessarily know how all of Balan's spells work, but they still work, don't they?" he'd added when she'd complained at his flawed reasoning. The same argument that had led to Valgud's arrival.
"You know how a steam engine works?" she asked, feeling suddenly that this might—
"Of course I do," said Carl. "I had to take a thermodynamics class in—"
"You know of thermodynamics?!" Isemeine shouted, forgetting herself as her excitement rose to an entirely unprecedented level.
"Yes?" the man said as though it was obvious that he would.
The princess discarded the boot she had never cared about and ran her hands up along the sides of her face and into her hair, just as she always did when she'd had a great idea. I should show him my improvements to the steamcar! Perhaps he'll have ideas on how to further improve it!
She stopped the pacing she'd unconsciously begun as well as the accompanying chin-stroking—a gesture she'd affected after seeing Mister Godfry rub his goatee enough times as he'd pondered one of her questions—and turned to face him. "You are Carl, are you not?"
He seemed surprised that she'd known his name, nodding after a moment.
She scratched at a sudden itch next to her nose. "And I presume you know who I am already?" It's not as though I've tried to disguise myself, I suppose.
Carl shrugged. "Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea."
"I suppose it'd be difficult not to," she said, sighing as the weight of her duties seemed to crash down on her once more. "Very well, you may call me…"
Isemeine had a sudden revelation. For someone with whom I'll be speaking about mechanics and steam engines, I don't want to be constantly reminded of that. I should provide him with another name, free of all those burdens.
"Mina," she said after another moment's consideration. A little close to my own name, but not close enough that I'll be constantly reminded of everything that bothers me. The neckerchief suddenly felt a little less constricting at her throat.
Carl reached his hand out in the classic gesture of friendship.
A gesture that treated her as an equal.
"Nice to meet you, Mina," he said, using the name that he clearly knew was a false name.
Isemeine grinned, feeling as though some of her stresses had been washed away as she clasped his hand in a familiar gesture that she'd never before taken part in. "It's quite nice to meet you, too, Carl." Devil sympathizer or not, he's certainly a man with a unique perspective. She found her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders a little more than she liked and moved them back to their clasped hands while berating herself.
"Carl," she murmured to herself, enjoying the feel of the unusual name as she pronounced it once more. If he knows thermodynamics already, I wonder if he knows any of the other sciences? And where is he from that he possesses such knowledge?
"Well," said Carl, "do you—"
"Alright, I got it," Ingrid announced as she returned to the counter carrying a piece of paper.
Isemeine frowned at the interruption. Just when I was preparing to ask where his homeland is. Perhaps they'd allow me to study there?
"This what you want?" the gruff shoemaker asked, placing the paper down on the counter.
Carl looked back to Isemeine with an apologetic expression, then headed to the counter. "Looks like it," he said after a moment.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The princess began following him, curious what he'd ended up ordering.
"Black, or brown, or some other color?" Ingrid asked, watching the young woman approach.
"Black or—" Carl coughed. "Black will do."
Isemeine reached the counter and looked down at the paper, taking in the carefully-detailed drawing of a boot. Seems he's receiving the royal treatment despite his nobles' clothes. She must appreciate that he chose to walk in here barefoot rather than bring someone else's shoes into her shop.
"Her Highness approves, too?" Ingrid asked in her familiar, gruff manner, her use of the revoked title implying a certain sense of friendliness.
"They do seem quite nice," Isemeine said, smiling as she recalled the similar drawing she'd been presented with. "I've been enjoying the ones you made for me the last time I was here."
Ingrid grinned back, a little of her golden heart shining through. "Better be. I took my time with those. 'Specially with how much you paid."
"Worth every coin," Isemeine said. Twenty thousand was an unbelievable bargain for boots this comfortable. They fit perfectly.
"Hm," Ingrid said as her eyes flicked back and forth between the princess and the barefoot man. "It's not usually something I do, but I'll give you a little discount. Thirty thousand."
Isemeine was shocked for a moment. I'm not sure I've ever heard her offer a price that low aside from mine. And I'm reasonably certain that was only because she likes me. Why would she… Ah, of course. She must think we're old friends, or perhaps that he was a former tutor of mine.
Then her expression grew concerned. Then again, will he be able to pay that amount of coin? While it's a trivial amount to many nobles, it doesn't seem like he has—
"That sounds fair," Carl said, interrupting her thoughts.
I suppose my worries were unfounded.
"Great," Ingrid said, clearly pleased that he hadn't tried to haggle the way another of the nobles had been doing when Isemeine had been in the shop previously. The ordeal had lasted all of five minutes before the annoyed shoemaker had torn up her diagram and sworn she would never make a single item for the man or his family. "I'll bump you up a bit in the queue, too. Should be ready…" She paused for a moment, likely as she recalled her current schedule and orders. "Eight days."
Carl stared, no doubt in amazement that she was moving his order forward in her months' long queue. "Alright," he said after a moment.
"Payment up front," Ingrid said, holding her hand out for the writ of payment that she'd attempt to use at a nearby bank before making any progress on the order.
The large man seemed to grow confused. "Um, do you have a big bucket or something?"
Isemeine frowned. A bucket? For a writ of payment?
Ingrid let a sigh of overt exasperation and rolled her eyes in equally-overt annoyance. "Every one of you, I swear by the Goddess…" she said in a low voice, moving into her workshop and coming back with a large metal bucket. "This big enough for your ego?"
Carl placed his right arm in the bucket, and Isemeine saw his lips move slightly.
The princess's eyes widened. Surely he doesn't mean to—
"Thirty thousand coins," Carl intoned, staring across the counter as he focused.
A moment later, his arm came out of the bucket along with an eruption of coins that sent them flying off to the sides and all over the counter and floorboards.
Isemeine stared. When I heard that he created a hundred coins, I thought it was still some sort of trick. Or perhaps that he'd used a minor spell to transport them out of his own coin purse. Her eyes looked up and down the large man's person. He doesn't have a purse of any sort, nor anywhere he could be carrying coins.
The idea staggered her. Did he create the coins with magic?
"I was expecting a writ of payment," said Ingrid as she inspected a coin, seeming stunned.
Carl sighed, then turned to Isemeine. "Anywhere around here that sells coffee?" he asked, suddenly appearing tired.
That spell must have cost most of his mana reserves. How did he accomplish it, though?! She nodded. "There's… There's a coffeehouse down the way? I've never been, but—"
"I need coffee," Carl said with a certain sense of distress, looking down at her. "I need coffee. Which way is it?"
Perhaps he's found a way to convert it to magical energy? Some sort of… No, that's absurd. "I'll take you there," she said, moving towards the door. "Come, I have many questions I'd like to—"
"Don't forget your receipt," Ingrid called out, holding up a small paper she'd—
"Ingrid, lady, whatever," Carl said, looking back to the shoemaker from where he'd moved nearer to the front door. "We both know you're not gonna try to cheat me out of those boots. I'm tired, I need coffee, and I need to sit down for a bit. Save the theatrics." He turned back towards the front door and walked past the somewhat confused princess out of the shop.
Isemeine shared a look with Ingrid. "He's…a friend," the princess said, as though that was enough to explain the strange behavior.
Ingrid shrugged, starting to gather the coins off the counter. "He needs boots, he doesn't complain, he pays up front without haggling, he makes coins with magic so I don't have to walk to a bank—He's exactly the kind of customer I always wanted. Good friend to have, I'd wager." She looked up. "You just here waiting for him?"
"Something like that," said the princess. "My thanks again for these boots," she added, lifting one of her feet. "They're more comfortable than I imagined."
Ingrid grinned, placing both hands flat on the counter. "Good advertising, too, if you're seen wearing them around."
"Like you need it," Isemeine scoffed. "I'll come back another time. I do have an idea I think you might be able to assist me with."
"I'll look forward to it," Ingrid said. "Lock the door, if you would."
Isemeine did, turning the small lock in the handle, and then she was outside.
Carl was leaning against the brick wall nearby. "Coffeeeee," he said in an odd, droning tone.
"We'll go this way," Isemeine said, pointing to her sleek, modified, light green steamcar that had the royal crest emblazoned on its front. "The one I'm thinking of is some distance away, so I'll drive us there." She pulled her goggles out of her pocket and brought them up over her head.
Carl threw his hands in the air as he pressed himself off the wall. "Awesome," he said, seeming to brighten a little. "I'm so freaking tired of walking. Why is this starter zone so big, anyway?"
Starter zone? Perhaps some foreign… No matter, hardly what I wanted to discuss. She stepped up across the side seat and into the driver's seat of her dual-seated steamcar. I'm suddenly glad that I didn't remove the passenger seat in order to further reduce weight and improve fuel efficiency. "Well, the city started out smaller," she began, waiting while Carl stepped towards her.
"Nice car," he remarked as he took a seat next to her. The lighter-than-usual steamcar shook slightly under his weight. "Runs on your new engine, you said?"
"It does," the princess said, a wide grin forming on her face as she became completely distracted from her previous line of thought.
"No seatbelts?" Carl was looking around his seat, on the floor next to his feet, and even into her seat as though searching for something.
"Seat belt?" Isemeine frowned. "No, we don't have those." She focused for a moment, pulling a strand of fire energy into the steering wheel and pushing it down the metal shaft towards the engine. Then she held the flow of energy in place, the trivial act requiring no real effort after so much practice. Her relative lack of skill and talent in the arcane didn't mean that it was more difficult for her to accomplish simple tasks, merely that she would likely never succeed in casting complex spells or drawing vast quantities of magical energy for use.
"I suppose you aren't going that fast," Carl said, his head turning to watch another steamcar drive past. "And not having to worry about fuel is pretty nice, I guess. How's that work, anyway?"
Isemeine felt that her smile would cause her face to combust. He's actually interested! "Well," she began in an excited tone, "see here, where I'm grasping the wheel?"
He looked at the wheel.
"I've added aluminum plating on the reverse side," she said, gesturing to the center of the wheel, "and it connects here, where the heat that I'm channeling into the wheel passes through—also aluminum—and down to the engine compartment where it reaches the boiler—which I've had engraved with glyphs to magically reinforce it—by transferring along thin copper cables."
Carl nodded along with her explanation, stroking his beard. "That's pretty clever. I didn't expect to find anyone in here with that kind of interest. And you don't, uh, run out of mana or anything?"
Isemeine shook her head proudly. "I would have to drive a considerable distance for that to be an issue. But there's an even better detail that I didn't mention yet."
A burst of heated air escaped noisily from the exhaust pipe she'd modified to trail down behind the steamcar so that it wouldn't block her vision, then the vehicle returned to near-silence. She depressed the pedal that opened the magically-reinforced valve and sent the steam to the engine's turbine instead of the condenser. The car started moving forward slowly.
"What's that?" Carl asked, seeming to be enjoying himself.
Isemeine knew she shouldn't. The avenue was crowded! There we so many people, and carriages, and even other steamcars…
She was unable to stop herself.
"My steamcar is somewhat speedier than the others," she said, glancing over at her interested passenger with a wide grin. Just for a moment, however. The princess faced forward as she pressed the go pedal of her steamcar halfway down under the light of late afternoon.
It was the farthest she'd ever depressed it.
Her steamcar, lighter than usual from the unnecessary parts she'd removed and the others that she'd replaced with smaller versions that had been magically reinforced, sped off at an incredible rate, its sleek design the result of what little Valgud Flintbrow had known of aerodynamics.
The vehicle was nearly silent as it sped through the princess's city, save for the sound of the wheels, the soft thrum of the turbine, and the screams of Carl as he clung to the seat.