With an empty glass in hand, Marta shouted just in time to prevent the butler from sneaking off, “Hobard, more wine!”

  It was amusing to see the man suddenly stop halfway out of the room, sigh very slightly, then turn around. She’d been keeping him close to hand for hours, even though it was quite clear he had other priorities.

  She’d had more wine than she’d ever drunk before, but was perfectly sober, due to an enchanted necklace Amelia had made for her, which featured amethyst set in copper, very similar to the one their mother had worn, though the backside of the main plate had three runes etched into it, which roughly translated as, ‘Wearer does not get drunk’, while the back of another had three runes that roughly translated as, ‘Alcohol makes wearer clumsy.’

  However, based on past experience, Marta had been acting as drunk as she knew how, despite how embarrassing it was. She’d been dancing on tables, singing her favorite songs at maximum volume, and made multiple demands for a guitar, even though there wasn’t one anywhere in the house. Despite the fact her mind was totally clear, her body acted as though it were drunk. She’d already broken three chairs and a table, because she couldn’t control herself properly.

  She’d also been occasionally screaming for food, because she always got the munchies when she drank, which was keeping a fair number of the maids busy running back and forth between Marta’s wandering rampage and the kitchen, while others occupied the most recently-trashed room, because wine stains were best cleaned immediately.

  The staff may have been active-duty military personnel, but first and foremost, they were maids and butlers.

  Hobard rushed over, but hesitated to refill Marta’s glass, though he commented, “Haven’t you had enough already?”

  “Shut up!” Marta growled, “I’ll drink the whole cellar dry if I wants to! Your-your-” Marta belched in the butler’s face, the fumes of which made him blanch, “-job, is doing what I say, not telling me what to do!”

  “Apologies, ma'am.” Hobard stepped back.

  He eyed Marta carefully and watched as she climbed on top of another table by first laying herself face down on top of it, followed by sliding forward a bit, before rising to her feet. All the while, she managed to spill only a small amount of her glass, though most of that splashed on the carpet, which was white and therefore, extremely easy to stain.

  Seeing she appeared to be busy with the difficult task of climbing to new heights, the butler began sneaking toward the door again.

  Marta got to her feet and suddenly turned to face him, sending the rest of the wine in her glass flying over half the room, splashing down on a cream-colored couch and chair set, as well as the carpet!

  Seeing this, Hobard stared with horror, obviously disturbed by the gigantic stain, hesitating long enough for Marta to recklessly throw her glass into a wall, then request, “Dance with me, Hobard!”

  “I’m…I’m not sure that would be appropriate, ma'am. Servants should never-”

  Marta once more see-sawed from happy to angry drunk, demanding, “Dance with me or look for another job!”

  Hobard reluctantly set aside the wine bottle, joined her on top of the table and offered a hand. Marta grabbed hold of him and took the lead, as witches often did when dancing, twirling the butler around in a tight and fast spiral!

  The man objected in the distressed tone of a servant trapped in a situation beyond their control, “Should we be doing-”

  “Urk!” Marta produced a little sound of discontent as her stomach lurched a little, right on cue, just as she’d been hoping the twirling would accomplish.

  It was about to be the most embarrassing moment of both their lives, but it had to be done. She leaned herself over the shoulder of Hobard, who was much shorter than her, and hugged him tightly to prevent him from escaping, as she began to cough.

  “Release me at once!” Hobard wailed, because he knew just as well as Marta what was coming!

  Marta gagged, then retched all over the back of the butler’s uniform!

  The poor man screamed, “No! No!”

  Marta finished by aiming for the backs of the man’s legs, filling his shoes, then let go, only to stumble backwards! Marta’s full weight hit the table all at once and the legs snapped off, splaying out to the sides like a squashed bug as their combined weight brought it down! As Hobard fell, he managed to turn around, that he might land on his hands, but it did him no good, because both of them slipped in the rather large puddle of vomit and he landed face-first in the mess!

  As Marta rose unsteadily back to her feet, she declared, “I feel a bit better! More wine!”

  Hobard wiped his master’s vomit from his face, then tried to wring it out of his sleeves.

  When he was done, he turned away and walked from the room, calling out, “I don’t care what the military does to me, no one should have to endure this kind of abuse! I quit!”

  Marta grinned from ear to ear and gave the man’s backside an evil glare, quite pleased with herself, despite the fact she might never be able to look any of the house staff in the eye again.

  By her estimate and as evidenced by the butler’s outburst, she’d occupied all of the house staff with her rampage and even managed to push them right to the limits, until they were a hair away from breaking cover, a delightful bonus.

  “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” Marta quietly commented to herself and chuckled.

  Still, the work wasn’t over and Amelia needed the staff busy. Marta grabbed the bottle of wine and took a deep pull for the sake of appearances, then moved to a new room, because the floor of the current one was too sticky and there were unsafe shards of glass scattered about that she might cut her bare feet on.

  Dawkin climbed into the witchpit of Starwitch, where Amelia lay in the pilot’s seat. She’d strapped herself in, a safety measure to avoid sliding out of it. She was busy mounting flat panes of quartz crystal, which bore runes etched into their backsides. Each displayed a different scene around the tower on its surface, though the pair for the rear views were completely black. Iris and Amelia had worked together on the scrying crystals that afternoon, because Iris understood that kind of magic far better.

  The crystals that gave a view of the tower’s doors also displayed a horse-drawn wagon that was little more than a huge, metal water tank with tires. The wagon was connected to large, rubber hoses that led inside the open doors of the tower.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “How are the water tanks coming along?” Amelia requested.

  Dawkin responded, “Nearly done. One of them leaked a bit at first, but we got it sealed and now it’s holding. We’ll have them filled within a few minutes.”

  “Good.” Amelia relaxed a bit, “I can’t tell from up here, but I assume you’ve got someone keeping an eye out, right? I don’t want anyone to realize how much water we’re using in here, because that could lead to strange questions.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, ma'am. I’ve no idea what’s going on, but I’m told the staff are extremely busy cleaning, on the opposite side of the house. So far, the lookouts have seen lots of damaged furniture being hauled out by the gardeners.”

  Amelia had no fear of what the gardeners might see, because she paid them out of her own pocket and she’d been generous enough to keep them loyal. In fact, she trusted them almost as much as her apprentices, because she’d taken the time to get to know each and every one of them. They were all decent men of good character, because she’d fired the troublemakers that weren’t, a fact that had endeared her to the rest, because it made their lives simple and enjoyable.

  She finished mounting the crystals and unstrapped herself from the seat. It was awkward, but she managed to leap down to the back wall Dawkin stood on.

  She finally took a moment to follow Marta’s advice and looked into the eyes of her Chief Assistant. She set aside all preconceptions and tried to look at him purely as a woman. He met her gaze and smiled.

  She stepped closer, until they were just two feet apart. Most would have been uncomfortable at that distance, but Dawkin smiled even broader, though it was obvious he was sweating a little more.

  Something Amelia didn’t understand stirred in her heart and she felt the oddest of desires. She wanted to get even closer, but she didn’t know why. Curious to learn what it was all about, she leaned toward him. Dawkin closed his eyes and his lips puckered a little. Amelia closed her own and leaned forward, tentatively doing the same. Neither one of them heard the sound of someone grumbling as they climbed the ladder, because they’d become lost in the moment.

  “The water tanks are full!” Tillote, a female apprentice, loudly declared as she hauled herself off the ladder, to join them.

  The magic of the moment was gone in a flash and Amelia turned away with a sigh of frustration, while Dawkin appeared mildly embarrassed.

  Tillote was rather young for an apprentice, at fourteen years, but Amelia had initially mistaken her for a boy, because she had rather short hair and showed up for the job interview in trousers held up by suspenders. Amelia had quickly learned she’d been passing herself off as male for more than a decade, all because it brought her better opportunities than being female. The girl had been quite eager to learn a trade, because once her foot was in the door, no local law could stop her from practicing what she’d learned, despite being a girl.

  Amelia inquired, “You’re done with your other tasks?”

  Tillote nodded.

  “Okay, we’ll calibrate the control fins next.” Amelia looked at Dawkin, “I need you all the way down, at the bottom of Starwitch.” To the girl, she instructed, “Tillote, you’ll be my messenger, to shout instructions down to Dawkin.”

  Dawkin rushed off and Tillote followed right behind, to position herself in the entry bay, which was just below the witchpit.

  As they got to work, Amelia felt a kind of regret and frustration that Tillote had ruined the moment, even though Amelia hadn’t even understood what was happening. Had she been about to kiss Dawkin? Was the odd feeling in her stomach the butterflies her sisters had sometimes spoken about? Sadly, she doubted the two of them would have another quiet moment together, since the next day was going to be so busy with final touches on the war wagon, followed by a day of sheer chaos.

  Amelia had just stowed the rope, sponged away the sweat from working so hard and gotten dressed for bed, when there was a knock at the door. She and the apprentices had taken longer than she would have liked to finish the night’s work, but Starwitch was ready for launch. There was still more work to be done on the interior, but all of it was minor details related to creature comforts, things Amelia could finish in orbit.

  She’d hoped to get at least an hour of sleep, but the sun was already up and clearly, the staff were sufficiently bothered by Hurricane Marta to leave the Master of the House alone.

  With a sigh and a yawn, Amelia opened the door and looked on the face of Tibota, the maid she’d recently promoted to Housekeeper, a position second only to the butler, Hobard.

  “What is it?” Amelia glared with barely-concealed contempt.

  “Apologies, ma'am. I hate to speak out of turn, but Mistress Marta upset Hobard so much, he quit!”

  Amelia suppressed a smile, instead turning her lips into a frown, before she spoke in a weary tone, “Tell me everything.”

  Tibota did exactly that and Amelia was forced to deal with the consequences of Marta’s extremely effective distraction, until Iris rose and took Amelia’s place, overseeing the decisions required for the selection of new servants to replace those that had quit in the night, which included most of the night staff, while the day staff were fully occupied with cleaning and preparations for the following day, which promised to be busy, since the staff would be entertaining guests for the demonstration.

  When Amelia finished her breakfast and headed out to the workshop, she was delighted to see that not one of the servants followed, absolutely overjoyed that Marta had gone above and beyond the call of duty, by getting Hobard to quit.

  Inside the workshop, Amelia looked on the steel war wagon she’d designed, which was currently unfinished and standing on four wooden blocks under the axles. It was short and squat, with front and back armor plates angled to maximize armor thickness against projectiles coming from straight ahead or behind, though the less-steeply angled plates to protect the sides were not in place, because the tires hadn’t been available the night before. All sides featured glass windows that had been enhanced with runes to make them as hard as steel, which made it particularly easy to drive. It featured four seats, one for the driver, on the left side, a seat just beside the driver, on the right, and two back seats, one of which faced backwards. Each seat was responsible for a different weapon.

  The weapons were all fairly identical, varying only by size. On the design table, the “spring-gonne”, as Amelia had named the device, had started as a crossbow that replaced the bow with a powerful spring. Shortly after that, Amelia had learned about the existence of prodds, which were a variation of crossbow that fired stones or metal balls in place of arrows, an option that had immediate appeal, so she’d incorporated that into the design, further reducing size. The handheld spring-gonne had been rather impractical, however, because it used a winding mechanism for cocking that took far too long, despite the fact the prototype had put a stone clean through several layers of oak planks. She’d made plans and even some parts for a smaller variation with less power, but had never finished it.

  In the end, Amelia had opted to make a mounted, clockwork version that was wound by a vehicle’s steam engine, which had become a part of the war wagon, while in the back of her mind, she imagined an enchanted version that was self-cocking, a project for another day.

  The driver had access to a crossbow-sized gonne that pointed straight ahead on a fixed mount and was activated by a button on the dash, while the front passenger had access to one mounted on the front hood, which could be rotated roughly forty-five degrees to either side, with the butt of the weapon extending inside the cabin. Both of those fired small stones or bullets that weighed no more than an ounce or two. The front-facing rear passenger operated the largest gonne, which was mounted to the roof, using something akin to a periscope with a trigger for aiming and firing. That hurled one pound bullets that could hypothetically put holes through brick walls and could be rotated almost ninety degrees to either side. Last of all, the rear-facing passenger had access to a gonne setup much the same as the one for the front passenger, only it faced backwards. The small ones could be fired once a second when the engine was running and used closed-top, cone-shaped hoppers to gravity feed ammunition, but the big gonne took about five seconds to reload and used a hefty pipe that held six shots.

  Amelia’s apprentices were already hard at work, unpacking the tires, which had apparently been delivered that morning, while she’d been in the house. There was still too much work to do and only one day to get it done, after which the wagon would likely be put through the wringer and back again. Unlike the previous prototypes, Amelia had no intention of ‘accidentally’ detonating this one.

  Amelia donned a pair of gloves and joined her apprentices.

  She was supposed to have retrieved the plans for Starwitch from Dawkin, but they’d both totally forgotten in their haste to get everything done and that particular sheet of paper was still folded up, inside his coat.