Page 5 of The Last Kelpie

“Then fix it,” someone shouted at him.

“I'm not fixing this piece of shit. I'm building a new one.” He slammed his hand against the machine's side, and it immediately started working, producing a perfect shot of espresso. “See? It just needed encouragement.”

“That's not encouragement.” Julian crossed his arms and stared down at the dwarf. “That's harassment.”

“Same thing.” Brannoc poured the espresso into a tiny cup and downed it in one swallow. Then he noticed me. “You're the new one, eh?”

“Ethan Clarke.” I held out my hand.

“Brannoc.” He peered at my hand. “You any good with those?”

“I—what?”

“Your hands.” He took my hand, inspected it, then shook it. “Can you build things? Fix things? Or are you one of those scholars who only reads books all day?”

I thought about the bookshelf I had built for my flat in Reykjavik and the chair I'd repaired for my grandmother when I was fifteen. “I can fix things. I'm not a master craftsman or anything, but I know my way around a screwdriver.”

“Good.” Brannoc nodded as if I'd passed some kind of test. “Come by the smithy sometime. I'll teach you proper metalwork. Can't trust a man who doesn't know how to forge.” He stomped off before I could respond.

Julian handed me a cup of coffee. “Congratulations. Brannoc likes you.”

“That was him liking me?”

“He didn't insult your parentage. That's practically a declaration of friendship.”

As I added cream and sugar to my coffee, I surreptitiously watched the myths. But Julian caught me.

“They're amazing, aren't they?” Julian sipped his coffee and watched me.

“Sorry, I can't seem to stop gawking.”

“Don't apologize. Just remember our rules.” Julian's voice was gentle but firm. “Rule One of the Velasca: Never confuse belief with ownership. Humans created myths, but they don't belong to us.”

“I didn't learn any rules in Switzerland. What are the others?”

“Rule Two: Consent is everything. We don't document anyone who doesn't want to be documented. We don't share information without permission. We don't help if they don’t want our help. A myth's story belongs to them, not us. If they want to fade or fight it on their own, that's their choice.”

“Okay. That's fair.”

“Rule Three: Remembering is an act of love. Always approach your work with compassion. Most Velascans become lifelong friends with their assigned myths. Some even become lovers. How you care for your myths is up to you. But you must care, Ethan. The Velasca was founded on love, and love helps us endure. The myths most likely to survive are the ones who know that someone cares about them.”

That unsettled me. Love my assignments? Then I looked around the room and noticed the way the humans interacted with the myths. There was warmth in their words and actions. Even when they got upset with each other, they did so as friends.

Academics like me aren't known to be romantic, but we can be very passionate about what interests us. We wouldn't spend so much time researching things if we didn't feel excited about them. I probably would care about my assignments, maybe even make some friends, but I wouldn't be falling in love. That was just ridiculous. They weren't human. What kind of love could I share with a dryad or a dwarf? I couldn't see how it would work.

“And Rule Four?” I asked.

Julian grinned. “Rule Four: When in doubt, ask Mateo. He knows nearly as much about myths as Caelum. Also, he'll feed you, which can solve most problems.”

As if summoned, Mateo came out of the swinging door beside the pass-through counter with two plates of food. He set them on the nearest table and pointed at me. “You. Sit. Eat.” His voice carried the kind of authority that made arguing impossible. “You're too thin. When did you last have a proper meal?”

“I, um, yesterday? I was traveling.”

“That's no excuse.” Mateo shook his head as if I'd disappointed him. “Sit down and eat.

I sat down and followed his orders. The food was extraordinary, every bite perfect. The eggs were cooked but soft, the toast was crisp but not burned, and whatever Mateo had done to the potatoes should probably have been illegal.

Julian sat across from me and claimed the second plate, eating with the manners of a royal. The dining hall started to empty as people finished breakfast and headed off to whatever mysterious tasks filled their days.