Machiavelli helped Perenelle clear up after lunch. The Italian longed to join Billy and Black Hawk in the backyard, but he had been conditioned strongly by his mother to help out the women in his life. "Go ahead," the Frenchwoman said, catching him looking out the backdoor. "But tie up your dog, you don't want him getting underfoot when you're putting the house together."
"Okay." Machiavelli tied the Pup to the front porch and ducked through the house and out the back door, running to reach Billy and Black Hawk. The two immortals were standing in a clearing behind the cabin, looking over a large piece of blue paper. He felt suddenly shy as he approached the two men. "Are you starting to build it right now?"
Billy rubbed the back of his head. "Black Hawk wants to get it built sooner rather than later. And with the extra people coming now, it's probably a good idea to get it done quickly."
"It's not that I don't like living in Billy's armpit," Black Hawk drawled from his place against a tree. "But things are getting crowded in that cabin."
Billy smacked him with a trowel. Turning to Machiavelli, he motioned to the clearing around them. "Before we get John, I want to put the piping in."
"Why?" Machiavelli asked curiously.
Billy crouched down by the Italian. "Cause I want to put the pipes in with magic," he whispered, "and I can't do that with the kid around without seriously freaking him out."
"Ah," Machiavelli nodded. "That makes sense. So what are you going to do, use magic to move the dirt faster?"
"No," Nicholas said from behind Machiavelli. The Italian jumped slightly. "We're going to use transmutation to soften the ground and push the pipes in all at once."
"Makes sense," Machiavelli said, glad not to be digging. He watched with some interest as Nicholas touched the ground and the air around them came alive with the scent of mint. Billy forced the piping into the ground with minimal effort. The whole process took five minutes.
Billy slapped his hands together. "Let's just mark the foundation and then we can go get John." He took up a stake and tied a cord around it. He pounded the stake into place. He measured out the proper length of the wall on the ground and positioned the stake in the proper spot. "Here, Mac, I'll hang on to this and you can pound it in." He handed Machiavelli a mallet. "Bang it in."
Machiavelli took the mallet and began gently tapping on the stake. He looked up at the American, who raised his eyebrows slightly. Machiavelli paused, repositioned his hand on the handle, and continued to tap in the stake with light strokes.
"Promise me that when it starts to snow, you'll let me get my coat?" Billy joked. "I know we're immortal, and we've got all the time in the world, but Mac, we don't have all the time in the world."
Machiavelli arched his eyebrows, continuing a steady stream of taps. "Are you insinuating that I'm too slow?"
"No, I'm saying it outright."
"I'm just afraid I'm going to hurt you," Machiavelli said.
"Ah," Billy waved his hands around in the air before grabbing the stake again, "hit me with your best shot."
"You just watch me..."
~MB~
"So, you did this with your stepfather?" Machiavelli asked Billy with some interest. Together, he and John hefted the last concrete block into place. Billy pressed the block into the cement, carefully minding his bandaged thumbs.
"This isn't quite how we made our cabin," Billy grunted. "Things were different back then. But it's roughly similar."
"Have you ever built a cabin before?" John asked Black Hawk.
The Native American looked up, surprised to be spoken to by the shy boy. "I made a whole slew of them a couple of years back on an Indian reservation. But I'm following Billy's lead on this one." He grinned. "If the cabin collapses and everyone dies, it'll be on his head." Black Hawk moved off to grab the planks of wood they were using to make the floor.
John stared after the Native American, clearly not sure what to make of the muscled man.
Billy settled a hand on John's shoulder. "Black Hawk's an acquired taste. He means no harm." John nodded mutely.
"Are we going to put the walls on now?" Machiavelli called from his place by the foundation.
"No," Billy answered back, beckoning him closer. "We have to wait for the cement to dry before we can drill the floor into it. But we can make the walls now. They're built separately from the floor and foundation anyways." He explained how they were going to make the frames then stabilize them with support beams.
The two boys listened to him with rapt attention. The Italian glanced back at the foundation. What his American friend was describing seemed impossible, but Billy seemed completely confident. By his side, John listened to every word intently. When Billy was done explaining what they needed to do, John set to work, carefully nailing together the sections.
Billy caught up to Machiavelli. Under the pretense of checking the Italian's work, Billy leaned over him and whispered in his ear. "Seems happy, doesn't he?" Machiavelli nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe he'll be an architect someday."
"Maybe. I'm going to go check on dinner," Machiavelli said, brushing off his hands. He passed John as he went back towards the main cabin.
John wandered over to Billy's side. He watched Billy checking the measurements. The American felt the boy's gaze on him and looked up. "So, Mac told you about us?" Billy asked curiously.
The boy tilted his head. "He said you had were immortal, that you had lived for hundreds of years." He dropped his voice. "How can any of that be true?"
Billy let go of the board he was working with. "Do you believe in magic?" the American asked the boy.
"Nick asked that. I don't know," John whispered.
"Let me show you." Billy rubbed his hands together. Sparks fell from his hands, a spicy scent filling the air. All at once, the flooring that they had been nailing down lifted into the air and settled into place one by one. John watched in open-mouthed wonder as individual nails punched into place. Billy smiled down at him.
"Kind of makes anything seem possible, doesn't it?" Billy said happily.