This one is almost done. There’s a revelation that I kind of want to save for another story. I don’t know if I’m gonna write that other story, though, so there’s that.
“Sure, I can make your bomb waterproof,” Malma said. “Even got the things to do it. Can’t blow it up for you, though.”
“Can’t you cast, you know, a spell for it?” asked Mike.
Malma snorted. “Oh, Hell no. Here, watch this.” He extended a finger and stared at it; a moment later, a bit of flame appeared and danced above the tip. “That’s my ‘fireball spell,’” he said. “Great when your pipe goes out in the rain, but it doesn’t have a damn bit of range. I’d have to get right up to the bomb for the spell to work. And I ain’t doing that, sorry. Sounds just a bit too much like suicide.”
“Right,” said Mike after a moment looking at one corner of the ruin. There had been maybe a little flicker of flame there, too. Mike went on, “Maybe some kind of slow match?”
Malma hiked a thumb back towards the cave entrance. “Check my wagon, Captain,” he said with maybe the smallest, littlest bit of ill-will. “That’s where I was keeping mine.”
Mike shook his head ruefully. “Fair enough, Mr. Jefferson, fair enough. You just make sure that bomb stays nice and dry. I’ll worry about getting blowing it up.”
Mike ambled over to the corner where he had seen the flicker of light. Nobody there: at least, nobody visible. Mike gave a tight grin at that. “Hey, Mister Spirit,” he said. “You wanted to talk?”