The Book of Silence by Lawrence Watt-Evans Read Free Book Online

shop, squinting and blinking in the bright light of day; he smiled, revealing a jawful of randomly assorted gold and white teeth.
    The overman stared at the man for a moment, then back at the window, where the swordsman’s blade continued to miss the smith’s broad back and swinging hammer by the breadth of a few hairs, where the yapping dog bounced merrily along and the plaster witch grinned gruesomely.
    â€œI think I might, yes,” Garth said at last. “Are they expensive?”
    â€œOh, no,” the little man replied. “I don’t need much to live on. I have a pension of sorts—I suppose you could call it a pension. Enough to make do, at any rate. But it does get so dull! So I keep making these toys, to amuse myself. The children seem to like them. Have you any children, my lord?”
    â€œFive; two sons. They’re grown, though, old enough for families of their own.”
    â€œGrandchildren, then?”
    â€œNot that I know of; I haven’t been home lately.” He smiled wryly to himself at that.
    â€œA pity, a pity.” The old man shook his head, looking downcast, as if it were the greatest tragedy of his life that this fine overman should have no grandchildren and should be so long away from home.
    Garth’s smile became a little less bitter; the man was amusing. “Did you say that you find this village dull? What of the dragon, then? Does it not provide enough excitement for you?”
    â€œOh, the dragon...” The man shrugged, as if the legendary monster were beneath his notice. “I meant that doing nothing for myself was dull, not that there had been no excitement in my life. I like to keep my hands busy when the dragon is not about, my hands and my mind.” He gestured, wiggling his fingers to show that they were still agile.
    Garth decided that he liked this fellow. “Have you children yourself?” he asked.
    â€œOh, all long since grown, like your own, my lord; even my grandchildren are married now, some of them.” He glanced at the shop window. “Tell me,” he said, “which do you like the best?”
    Garth turned back and studied the collection; his gaze wandered over ships and horses, men and castles, women and machines. The swordsman had run down, frozen in midstroke with his sword thrust out before him.
    â€œI cannot say,” Garth replied. “I have not seen them all run. Some are not displayed to their best advantage here.”
    â€œCome inside, then, and I will show you more closely any that interest you.” The toymaker grinned and beckoned, and Garth followed him.
    The building’s interior was dim and smelled strongly of metal and oil and herbs. A narrow passage led between two great tables that held the two window displays; beyond, a fair-sized room contained a fireplace and oven, a table, a few chairs, and a workbench. The last was cluttered with gears and wheels and snippets of copper, chisels and scissors and knives, powders and pastes, jars and vials, a potter’s wheel, and a pedal-driven lathe. At the rear another door stood slightly ajar.
    Garth looked over the two tables; dozens of toys were displayed, perhaps a hundred or more. The toymaker wound up a spider that danced in circles as the cauldron-stirring witch ground to a halt.
    Everything was a maze of arms and legs and wheels, plaster faces staring in the waxed-paper windows of wooden castles, and Garth could not imagine picking a single favorite from the muddle. He let his eyes roam, and found himself staring at a glistening copper shape that gleamed in one corner.
    â€œWhat’s that?” he asked, pointing. The object stood out because of its smooth, curving surface, unbroken by flailing arms or whirling gears.
    The old man followed his pointing finger and fetched the object in question out into the light that poured through the window. It was a copper sea gull; two eyes of smoky quartz stared unseeingly from its