Wizard of Jatte by Rowan Erlking (ereader ebook .TXT) 📖

to chatter together over it.

Nodding to himself and drawing up his chest, Theissen added, “And for you men, you will become stronger than ever just from working. After all, a muscle not used is a weak one. And women love strong men.”

The birdwomen twittered, their laughter floating among the boughs.

“Now that is something to appeal to,” Theobold said to Mensin, grinning as he flapped over to Theissen. Theobold called out to the crowd. “I’m leading a group to go for wood. Theissen has informed me that we need purchase wood for walls and possibly straw for roofs.”

“It keeps the rain out,” Theissen said with a nod, grinning at his usually lazy friend.

Several of the birdmen moaned.

“Why don’t you conjure it?” one of the birdmen called out.

“Because, that would be stealing,” Theissen said, his eyes going dark. “The second law of magic is that magic cannot create something from nothing. Whatever I conjure comes from somewhere else. If we don’t pay for it, it is stealing.”

The birdmen murmured more, but a few flew down to Theobold and nodded to him while still in midair. “We’ll help.”

“I hate being cold in winter. What do I do?” a speckled bird demon said.

Theissen turned to Theobold. “You said your people have a commodity you sell. Who is in charge of that?”

Nodding, Theobold gestured to a birdman that fluttered down from a perch. “He is. Seron.”

Seron was a somewhat plump birdman, middle-aged. He looked mostly like a pigeon that had eaten too much. His wings barely held him aloft. “I am the one in charge of trade with the feather merchants.”

Theissen gave him space to land on the flet. Mensin and Theobold rose off. It definitely would not have held them at all with him on and Theissen. Seron nodded appreciatively.

Panting, the birdman said, “The problem is, the gold they give us is barely anything for this project. We use it to buy cloth and a few random supplies to last the winter when the trees don’t have fruit.”

Blinking at him, Theissen recalled someone talking about demon feathers. The magicians even had one. Feather merchants mostly dealt in quills for writing and down for bedding, blankets and coats.

“Can I see what you sell?”

Seron chuckled and held out one of his own quills. “It was coming off anyway.”

Taking it, Theissen knew it was the same as the quill the magicians had. He turned with a stare, holding the quill carefully in his fingers. “How much do they pay you for one of these?”

“Seven,” Seron replied with a discontented flap.

“Only seven gold pieces?” Theissen felt sick, peering at this usually expensive piece of merchandise. So little?

“Seven in silver,” Seron corrected with a sigh.

Popping his head up, Theissen nearly shouted. “Seven in silver? But people pay over forty in gold for one quill in the market!”

The birdmen around them rustled their feathers, hissing with discontent also.

“Forty in gold?” Seron looked like he needed to sit down. “We knew we were being cheated, but how much…oh, how terrible. We had no idea exactly.”

Theissen glanced at Theobold who was also flushing red as if feeling scandalized. Apparently all of them had contributed feathers to supplement their living. Mensin looked murderous. This could turn ugly, and Theissen knew he had to act fast for everyone’s benefit.

“Ok, then how about you not do business with those cheats.” Theissen nodded to Seron.

But the birdman shook his head with a morose whimper. “No. We can’t. They say they have another feather source just more reliable than ours.”

“Chicken feathers, and not as soft,” Theissen retorted, crouching next to Seron who did sit down now. “They’re liars. They’re lying to you.”

“But we tried to sell to other merchants already. They’re scared of us,” Theobold said, maintaining his altitude with strenuous flapping. Mensin had found a nearby branch to perch on. “No one will deal with a demon except these men.”

“Well, I will,” Theissen said. Then he turned to look at the other birdmen. “And some of you look human enough, I bet you could go in to villages disguised as feather merchants and sell your wares without a human middleman.”

“Which ones of us?” Seron looked up, suddenly excited.

Theissen scanned the crowd. His eyes narrowed carefully. “Anyone with black hair or dark brown hair here can pull of being a regular Jatten. Just wear a traveling cloak and clothes like mine. None of this white stuff. It’s impractical down below. But if you sent a pair or two of men like that, they could sell them in the market. Even undercut the feather merchants’ prices.”

“How much would you charge?” Seron hopped to his feet, getting more excited.

Shrugging, Theissen looked to the sky. “Oh, for now you could charge thirty in gold per feather and easily undercut a feather merchant.”

“Can we borrow your clothes?” Theobold flapped hard, grinning excitedly also.

“Well, you can’t wear them. You’re too much like a bird.” Theissen laughed waving at him.

Theobold chuckled, giving yet another flap. “Of course not. But I would like it if we started right away.”

Sighing, Theissen nodded. He hadn’t worn his old clothes since the day he arrived. He had seen them once since they had been washed. Theobold had kidnapped them back for him (the women were planning on just tossing them in the end since they could not completely remove the molemen’s odor after all) and he stuffed them back into Theissen’s travel bag, setting the bag and all of Theissen’s belongings under a bench near the nest Theissen occupied. 

His friend flew off, obviously going straight for the clothes.

“What about the rest of us?” Mensin asked Theissen, now flapping off his perch. “What do you want us to do in the mean time?”

Looking over the lay of the trees with an inspecting eye, seeing the many flets that were well exposed to the elements with no protection from the winds, Theissen said, “I will need the rest of you to start gathering more tools, scraps of wood and as many feathers that you can use that are not going to be sold for supplies.”

Mensin nodded then flapped up to call to others. Some more birdmen flew down, giving the typical nod that was customary among them. Several of these young men were grinning at Theissen like they were eager to work.

“We want to learn how you make wood things without magic,” one of them said.

Theissen blinked at that one, ready for someone to help him off the resting flet. “You want to be apprentice carpenters?”

They all nodded eagerly.

“Are you kidding?”

“We don’t think it is boring.”

“We’d like a bit more luxury than just feathers and cotton,” another said.

Grinning, feeling tears almost burn his eyes, Theissen said, “What are your names?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Only When I Get Bored

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing had ever stirred up the bird people before. Nothing.

The flurry of work among the trees was without a doubt, unprecedented. Every nest was turned inside out with work.

First, it started with building sturdy walls for the rain shelters, adding thatched roofs and feather lining the walls so that they would be warm for the winter. The main carpentry work for that job was simple construction. The bulk of the workers did that. Theissen’s apprentices learned the more detailed stuff, building window frames, doorframes and awnings. They constructed storm shutters and more elaborated landings for them to roost on. Theissen also had them construct covered pathways, just in case they wanted to walk from one tree to the other midwinter rather than fly in a storm.

Then they improved the summer platforms and perches. The carving on these were done with more elegant hands, art that matched their graceful clothing and laid back lifestyle. Theissen’s apprentices were very busy in this area, and more apprentices joined his ranks by the end of the project, refining the work. Most of the finishing touches were sealing up the wood with tree resin so that it would repel water and not dry out.

Most of the time, Theissen hung from scaffolding as he worked. There were few times where he resorted to magic, urging branches to grow and intermingle with other tree branches, making natural bridges with the brambles of wood and vine. This gave natural grace to the place, so much that the village of trees was looking more like a celestial city of high-rises and balconies. It was the start of the rainy season when they had finished the main work. They then started on the inner work of the homes.

Theissen never quite stopped. His apprentices worked almost equally as hard, constructing swinging beds with elegant scrollwork and making sets of cabinets that would attach to the walls of homes for good strong storage of belongings. They had already heaved up stone and brick so they could create cook stoves for fires to heat the homes in winter. They bartered with smithies for finished wood grates and fire irons. Some of these areas, Theissen insisted they invest in stone coverings for their wood floors to prevent fire catching indoors.

As the rainy season continued, Theissen mostly worked in his shop. Theobold had one set up for him attached to his own winter shelter where they both now lived. In the mornings, Theissen still awoke with a stomachache, though he did not complain if he could help it. He didn’t think it polite to tell the demons around him they still stank like old dry mold. Usually he could handle it, but in afternoons he often found his arms aching and weak, and then the doctor would stop by and give him his medicine. It was always the same awful nasty stuff. It discolored the bottom of Theobold’s cup so much that Theissen pulled the powdery residue left off of it with magic and shook it out so that his friend would not notice.

“How are you feeling?” asked the white haired doctor whom Theissen at last learned his name to be Lorne, feeling his forehead.

Theissen wished he could lie to him. However, lately he had been feeling more ill than normal. “I get shakes, occasionally. Sometimes it is hard to hold my tools.”

“Do you still get fevers in the afternoon?” Lorne Doctor’s face contorted into his usual frown when discussing Theissen’s condition.

“Only when I get bored,” Theissen said with some irritation. His workload had reduced since the major construction on the village had been completed.

“Very funny. Now let me listen to your breathing.” The doctor set his listening horn to Theissen’s chest, lifting up the young man’s shirt top to expose his chest. Theissen’s muscles had atrophied some. He had lost most of the bulk he gained from working in Liptan Town, despite all his work in the bird village. Mostly, no one allowed him to lift up heavy beams or to heft the heavier tools. He didn’t have to deliver large cabinets and chests these days anyway. Those he built into the homes themselves.

“Well, all I can say is that you are not quite over the infection as I had presumed,” the doctor said as he put away his listening horn into his satchel. He turned with a sad gaze. “You really ought to rest more.”

Theissen made a face. “Not a chance. I’m restless.”

The long white haired birdman gave him a patient, yet tired look. “You have been restless since the day you