Baba-Yaga examined the clockwork man carefully, walking in slow circles around the motionless figure. She shook her head, tapping the rust in the joints and making little clucking sounds with her tongue. She looked up, and nodded to the dwarf. "I'll give you four dreams of truth-seeing for it," she said.
The dwarf shook his head, and smiled a smile where the corners of his mouth pointed up, but otherwise resembled a smile not at all. "Eight, oh most magnificent of the night hags. You know it is worth at least that."
She rapped her gnarled old staff on the smooth copper faceplate, and something within rattled. "Shoddy," she muttered, shaking her head, "shoddy, shoddy. And just look at all this exposed wood," she added, wiping her finger across the oak shoulder joint, as if checking it for dust. "This device was to serve me between the deep desert and the great salt sea. How should a thing of so much wood survive either?"
"Magics, oh greatest of midnight fears," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Many, many well crafted magics. And an abundance of shellac."
She grunted, neither agreeably nor indignantly, and continued her inspection. Lightly, she traced the keyhole in the back of the thing's head with the tip of a fingernail, more talon than anything human. "And how long may it go between windings?" she asked.
The dwarf stroked his beard, twisting his fingers down the knots like the beads of a rosary. "A week without difficulty, oh emptiness within the hearts of men. Perhaps another week past that if it is used especially efficiently."
"Two weeks for a single winding?" the hag scoffed, her expression of surprise turning swiftly to scorn. "For half a dream of prophecy I would demand at least a turning of the moon. Are you attempting to cheat Baba-Yaga?" she demanded, flames flickering behind her eyes. "Four dreams are much too much for this. One dream would have been too much. Clearly I have been wasting my time here."
As Baba-Yaga began to work the spell that would summon her mortar and pestle, the dwarf held up a stubby-fingered hand. "Hold a moment, Queen of all-devouring despair. Two weeks is brief, I concede, but to wind it again is such a simple thing, and its strength more than makes up for its miniscule lifespan. It can carry one hundred times its own weight, can survive blows and pressures that would destroy any other automaton like tinder, and can travel sixty leagues a day without rest for as long as it is wound. It is impervious fire, sand, salt and steel. It will steal children for you, oh avatar of dark and endless eternity, and explore the wild and dangerous dream country, and end your enemies even unto their youngest and most innocent of offspring, and all of this unquestioningly, unmercifully, untiringly."
Baba-Yaga hesitated, and then scratched her chin thoughtfully, her anger dimming. "Your craftsmanship is well known, dwarf, and so your promises to be believed. Even so, two weeks for a winding will not get you eight dreams." She tapped her teeth, and the clicking noise echoed through leafless branches. "I would pay five for your skillwork, and not one dream more."
The dwarf frowned. "It is worth more than that, night bringer. Look closely and you will see the magics I forged into its very metals." He rubbed the light silver inlay along the spine. "You can see for yourself; it will last you a hundred turnings of the moon before the first cog needs replacing."
"Fine," said the night hag with a sigh. "I will give you no more dreams of truth-seeing, but in addition to the five already offered, true love will find you, as it will your children, and your children's children. Is this agreeable to you?"
The dwarf thought for a moment, and then nodded his head firmly. "Sold, my lady."
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