SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦. 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
Xanthiene Vivenca, af...
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"You are an inventor?" Xanthy asked as she entered a room Cyrdel called a workshop. "I thought you are a prince."
Cyrdel had led them back into the trapdoor, down the stairs, and into the dark room.
Cyrdel chuckled. "I am a prince," he plucked a number of tools from the wall directly ahead of the room's entrance. "This is just my getaway job. It helps me unwind."
Xanthy stepped inside, followed by June and Nyxis. She cast a sideways glance at her friends.
Last night, June and Nyxis returned to the mansion with their faces red. They had walked in a funny way and had slurred when they talked. Xanthy screamed, ran to her room, and locked the door. What had that been about? So far, they look fine now.
Cyrdel, back in his coveralls, moved among tables arranged in neat rows. Some had machines resting on them while some were empty save for a glass surface framed by wood, long rolls of paper thrown on top.
Xanthy looked around in wonder, amazed at how something so metal and mechanical could be so beautiful. June and Nyxis nodded in approval as they moved around the room.
"Where's Ravalee?" Xanthy asked as she examined a contraption with a huge crank and a set of blades set at differing angles.
Cyrdel grunted, a huge metal plate between his arms. "She's out in town grabbing something. We'll meet her there. Would you pass me the vise?"
Xanthy knit her eyebrows. "The what?"
Cyrdel sighed. "Never mind," he shook his head. "I'll grab it."
A metallic thump resounded throughout the room as Cyrdel set the metal plate down at the nearest empty table.
Cyrdel hummed a jovial tune as he picked his way back to the tool wall. He plucked a clamp-like thing with a metal rod sticking through. A handle sprouted by the upper part. So that must be the vise.
Xanthy watched Cyrdel place the vise atop an empty table, produce a belt to secure it, and secure the tool into the table. Then, he turned the metal rod and the clamps began slipping apart.
Cyrdel grunted again as he hefted the metal plate from the other table to his left and carried it to the vise table. Gingerly, he set the plate between the clamps. Balancing the plate with his left arm and most of his torso, his other hand twisted the rod, moving the clamps closer again, this time, hugging the thickness of the metal plate snugly.
Whoa.
June loitered in front of a table that supported a mountain of small devices. He picked one up. "What is this?"
Cyrdel barely glanced at the half-blood's direction as the brownie moved to fish out a can of something by the pile of tools he laid on yet another table. The sound of liquid being sprayed drowned out June's next comment.
