The Shepherd of Weeds by Susannah Appelbaum

Author:Susannah Appelbaum [Appelbaum, Susannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 978-0-375-89897-6
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-10-11T04:00:00+00:00

Grig, like nearly all trestlemen, was a masterful inventor of sorts, and his area of expertise was exceptionally wide. Over his long years he had experimented with various contraptions—most weather-related, some more successful than others. His snow twirler, for instance, performed as promised, and his sleet beater was renowned throughout the land. He even had mastered a small metal box that would every so often produce a heavy ball of snow—a clever invention indeed, until he was asked to what purpose such a snowball might serve. Having no answer at first, he soon improvised. He used milk (rather than water) and served the result to his critics for dessert, topped with flavored syrup. This improvisation brought him great wealth and afforded him the leisure of his more eccentric pursuits.

These eccentric pursuits were familiar to both Ivy and Rowan from their recent journeys. They were small, coiled packets of canvas and strapping, called springforms, that when released—usually with a surprising amount of force—would transform into objects of varying usefulness. In this way, something the size of your palm might suddenly become a kitchen sink (it’s surprising how watertight waxed canvas can be), or—Axle’s favorite—a weather balloon.

“Great, thank you! Very helpful of you.” Grig handed his discovery to Rowan. “It’s the final piece for my current device, and it wouldn’t do to misplace it. So there we are!” The trestleman looked at Rowan, his rosy cheeks like two small, shiny crab apples. “Now—what was it again that you wanted from me?”

Rowan cleared his throat uncomfortably. Hemsen Dumbcane’s storefront held disagreeable memories, and although there was no visible remnant of the forger’s business, Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if the dark, cramped corners contained something dangerous.

“The springforms, sir.”

“Oh yes! Of course! Don’t you worry, young man—I have hardly forgotten. I must congratulate you for testing them! No one, er, ever wanted to actually use them.” A cloud passed over the trestleman’s face. “It’s a good thing—for you especially—that they performed as expected. Shall I bring them to you, then, in the morning at the palace? They are in tip-top shape—just a few adjustments needed.”

Rowan smiled, relieved. “Yes—and thank you! Oh”—he handed the coil of copper back to Grig—“here you go.”

Rowan’s enthusiasm for departing the cramped shop now got the better of him, and his shoulder met with a stack of blueprints. What began as a small disruption to the hastily piled scrolls soon became an avalanche, and as the taster and inventor moved to staunch the cascade of papers, for their effort they were soon covered high in them.

Flushed and embarrassed, Rowan began to apologize, but the words stalled on his lips.

The stack of mechanical drawings had been propped against a wall, and now, with their absence, Rowan was treated to a view of what lay behind. Tacked to the chipped plaster were a few of Dumbcane’s sketches, an attempt at an ornate alphabet—Rowan remembered these from his last visit to the calligrapher’s shop. They had been fanciful and grotesque, and one even appeared to have the image of Ivy upon it.

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