“This,” said Sophie, opening the case to reveal the Devil’s Eye. As Olaf reached out a hand, she jerked it back. “No! No, you can’t touch it.”
“I’m supposed to make a forgery of something I can’t even touch?”
“It’s our understanding that you could pick it up with tongs, but you can’t touch it directly,” said Mick.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”
“Let’s go with flattered. Lives are at stake with this one, Olaf.”
The dwarf scowled. Sophie laid a hand on his arm.
“Please,” she said softly.
Olaf sighed and walked over to the tool bench. He pressed at a small sledgehammer, and a hidden door opened in the wall to the right. “Come on then. This might take a while.”
The passage led down into a large, subterranean room that couldn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, be termed a basement. The walls and floor were made of stone, probably hewn by Olaf himself. The room was stifling hot, owing to the forge that took up most of one wall, with iron ducts venting up to the surface. The forge itself was shaped like a giant, gaping dragon’s mouth. Being one of Olaf’s creations, it looked a little too real for comfort. On the wall opposite the forge was a long table with an assortment of equipment from a jeweler’s loupe to a mass spectrometer. All the trappings of a forger dedicated to creating the best counterfeits in the business.
Olaf fitted himself with heavy leather gloves that reached his elbows and gestured for Sophie to bring the case over. She set it on the table, stepping back as Olaf picked the eye up with a pair of tongs. He moved it under some kind of microscope and peered down at it, muttering in a language Mick didn’t know.
“Might as well find a seat,” Mick told Sophie. “He’ll be at this a while.”
They watched as Olaf ran test after test. Checking the weight, the mass, the buoyancy, the density, and dozens of other measurements on the Eye. He checked its reactivity to chemicals and to magic.
Mick reached over to rub at Sophie’s shoulder as she began fidgeting with impatience.
“How long does this usually take?” she asked. “Not to be rude, but we’re kind of on a deadline.”
“It takes as long as it takes,” said the dwarf. “You want quality, you gotta have patience.”
And at last he moved to a giant, multi-compartment chest across the room and began removing things.
“You’ve brought me a challenge, wolf. I like a challenge.” Olaf carried assorted materials over to the table and began mixing.
“What is all that?” asked Sophie, curiosity evidently overcoming h
er anxiety.
“A little of this, a little of that. The ground bones of a shape shifter. A ruby from a wyvern’s nest. Blood of a siren. And a few other things.”
Sophie looked a little green. “Double double, toil and trouble,” she murmured.
“Oh please, I challenge any witch to do what I do. It’s one thing to fool the mind. It’s quite another to fool all the other senses as well.”
By the time Olaf fired up his forge, working the bellows with one muscular arm to amp up the flame, Mick was thoroughly regretting his choice of leather. The dwarf seemed sublimely unaware of the sweltering heat as he turned and tossed a couple of pairs of goggles in their direction. “You’re gonna want those.” Then he shoved a mould filled with blood red liquid into the heart of the fire.
Mick barely got the goggles on before the fireworks started.
Fire and sparks spewed from mouth of the forge. Olaf whooped, and Sophie dove for cover behind a table. The bellows pumped again and Olaf started to chant. The building began to shake, and the dragon-headed forge began to move. The mouth closed, smoke and fire curling out of its nostrils, and as some magic reaction continued to explode inside, a pair of huge, emerald green eyes that Mick had never seen before cracked open.
The forge was alive.
“Holy mother of the ancients,” breathed Mick.
He crawled over to Sophie, ineffectually shielding her from the heat.
“What the hell is that?” she asked over the roar.
“I have no idea.”