20. MEDUS OPERANDI

Mibbet glanced down at the paper before her, a map of the kingdom, and at her modifications to it.

“I think you may have got just a little bit carried away.” Rosalind ventured, looking at the black and white map now criss-crossed with blue water lines.

Mibbet held her ground; you can never have too much water. Besides, the big ponds she had slapped all over the place would help a lot. She knew ponds took a lot longer to dry up than puddles and streams. Behind her, the engineers and architects gazed at her in a mix of awe and terror. The King had demanded that they cater to her whims, but they had no idea of the logistics of this (nor did the Princess, and in this case, while ignorance was bliss, they were knowledgeable enough to see this as purgatory beckoning.) They could see a lot of ulcers and migraines in the future.

Well, at least they didn’t have to worry about the budget. The King had thrown his backing behind it. If they could somehow, by some miracle, make this work, then they could not only stop this drought but help ensure that such things became far rarer. (Not impossible, of course, every engineer knew there were limits.)

They had no choice; it was time to call in the big guns.

*****************************************************************************************Arturo Medus (or Artie to anybody who could get into his social circle, that was closer akin to a full stop.) Was bored, He had asked them to give him a challenge, and instead, they’d handed him a gargantuan puzzle that had kept him occupied for all of five minutes before he decided he’d had enough playing about and solved the damned thing. (On hearing this, the artisan's guild who had taken six months to collectively make said damned thing had fallen into despair.) He was quite happy when he had something to occupy his mind, but when he lacked that, he became quite distraught.

He briefly toyed with the idea of a device that could launch messages over castle walls contained in a metal ball (carefully aligned to a catchment device, so nobody would be hurt, of course) propelled by a fast burning powder of his own devising. But he seemed to have misplaced the blueprints. As he scoured the workshop in search of his grand design, Miss Patience, his old friend and maid. (See also the only person in the world he allowed to call him Artie), cleared her throat and unrolled a map before him. A black and white map covered in blue lines that put him in mind of veins and arteries.

“What is this?” he asked curiously. Peering at the map as if willing it to reveal its secrets. (The map of course being a sheet of paper with no speech skills or vocal equipment with which to tell him remained Stoic.)

“You wanted a challenge, Artie? You’ve got it. The Princess wants waterways and reservoirs across the kingdom, following these routes, and the architects and artisans guilds are stumped. Looks like a challenge to me."

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He glanced again at the topographical terror before him, as somewhere in his mind, visions of artificial rivers danced in his head. Then came doodles of beaver dams, apparently drawn by the Princess herself. Not that they were mere piles of wood by the time Artie was done with them, oh no-no-no. That wouldn’t do at all. This was a lifetimes work, and he would achieve it. Now, how to get the water up all those hills? Not to mention the logistics of ensuring the damming apparatus would hold strong without bursting under pressure. He needed side channels and a proper system to prevent blockages. This was starting to look like, dare he say? Fun.

Now, these waterways all looked straight and narrow; with some careful tweaking, they could be used to transport things too, other than water, of course. They would need a shallow draft, so they didn’t get stuck, oh and of course, there was always the matter of propulsion.

Oh, but straight routes were quite a clever idea. Logistically, cutting through a hill once saved months and months of swerving around them. It meant direct trade routes that were far quicker, with less dangerous terrain along the way. (It was somewhat difficult for a monster to attack in the middle of a mountain, after all). But how to cross all those valleys? The routes cut straight across them. Surely she can’t mean a bridge FOR water?

This was too much fun not to share; he wondered if the others wanted to join in.

Miss Patience, meanwhile, true to her name, waited by the side until she was quite sure he was completely absorbed into his own little world once more. Most people would have run a mile from a person who was so caught up in their own ideas that other thoughts never even occurred to them. But she was different. She knew one day he would glance up from those papers and notice her, and in the meantime, she had a job to do besides maid duty.

She pulled out the disastrous design for a deadly delivery device and examined it. Patience remembered the powder with a shudder. With it, Artie had nearly blown the house to kingdom come. He had lost the formula to that too. With a shake of her head, she pulled out a device Artie had given her, intended to light her stove. Artie was a dear, sweet man who always thought the best in people. That was, to an extent, the problem. Now, Miss Patience was a more cynical sort. In her head, visions of invading armies, falling walls, and the devastation a messenger ball could cause floated to the surface. She steeled herself; she would keep him safe, even from the King himself if needs be.

The fire in the corner was out; she poured some of the fluid from the fire starter into the mix, then piled wood high on top of the design. If one of his designs hurt people, he would never forgive himself. She would not let them hurt her Artie like that.

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Mibbet, meanwhile completely unaware of the whirlwind her doodling had sown, and her new reputation as a visionary had, of course, planned absolutely nothing. The reason the waterways were all straight and narrow was because she was lazy, and rulers were handy. The reason the designs had cut through everything was Mibbet didn’t have a clue how maps worked, and not even Rosalind could do much except tell her what bits were already water and hope for somebody capable to fix this mess.