The Dragons of Dorcastle

by Jack Campbell

  “A Model Six out of the Mechanics Guild calculating and analysis device workshops of Alfarin,” Polder stated, his voice smug.

  “I know,” Mari replied. “It’s actually a Form Three of the Model Six, with additional data storage and analysis capability added.” She glanced at Polder, who let himself look mildly impressed.

  “Then you know this device well?” he inquired.

  “As well as anyone but the Mechanic who builds them, and that Mechanic was among my instructors for a while.” He had overseen the construction of only one of the Form Threes, as far as Mari knew. Someone had wanted to spare no expense to get the best calculating and analysis device that could be built, and the Mechanics Guild had been happy to comply.

  But, according to the records she had been shown in Palandur before she left, Ringhmon had purchased only a Form One of the Model Six, and that several decades ago.The Mechanics Guild Hall here had an ongoing contract to keep it operating. The average city had only one calculating and analysis device, because the Guild kept them very expensive and the supply extremely limited. They were all Model Sixes, of course. The Guild built only one design, though it allowed buyers to add a few extras to the basic Model Six, which had been around for a very long time. Mari had never met anyone who had seen a Model Five, and when the Fives were pulled from service however many decades ago, every one of the operating and repair manuals had either been destroyed or consigned to the no access permitted vaults at Mechanics Guild headquarters in Palandur.

  She had asked questions about that, too, until the uncomfortably paternal Professor T’mos had warned her about it. The Guild will tell you what you need to know, Mari. If something is locked away, there’s a good reason. You obviously don’t need to know whatever it is if it’s locked away.

  No wonder history hadn’t interested her. Too much of it was hidden.

  Mari glanced around at the three room guards, City Manager Polder, and his two other guards. “I can’t work with this crowd in here. I don’t need the distractions and I don’t need to be stepping over them to get to things.” She wasn’t worried about them watching her work, since calculating and analysis thinking ciphers were far too complex for commons to figure out. Even the great majority of Mechanics couldn’t grasp them, but the Guild didn’t worry about that because only a few calculating and analysis devices existed.

  Polder nodded without argument, then gestured to the three room guards to leave.

  Mari evaluated the size of the room again and glanced at him. “It’s still too crowded.”

  The City Manager regarded her, then pointed at his two guards and with two quick flicks of his finger indicated that his two guards should also go into the hallway. Both men went, standing out in the hall so they could look inside from slightly different angles, their hands resting near their sword hilts. Polder himself stepped back, flat against the wall, and folded his arms. He obviously intended to stay.

  Fine. He would be standing there for hours while she went about the tedious work of getting this machine working properly again. Polder would not be enjoying himself, and he would get a ringside seat to see how well Mari knew her job. Yes. That was fine with her.

  She opened her tool kit, pulling out the necessary equipment, then went to the Model Six’s main control panel and begin entering some test requests. Instead of issuing the proper response on a punched stream of paper, the Model Six did an advanced-mechanical version of gagging.

  Mari smiled, the forebodings of the morning lost in the joy of doing something she could handle very well. Her first job would be easier than many of the tests she had passed to earn her Master Mechanic rating. She could fix this. Uncertainties disappearing like dissipating steam, Mari got other material to print out on the paper stream, examining the thinking ciphers for errors. They weren’t hard to spot, though surprising in a Model Six whose design had been around for so long. Getting happily into her work, Mari painstakingly put together a cipher fix, loaded it into the calculating and analysis device and then repeated her tests.

  Then she frowned. The Model Six gagged again, but in a different way. That shouldn’t happen. She knew the Model Six cipher very well, and her fix should not have caused that. Mari developed a new fix, loading it in, ran the tests again…and found that some of the original problems had reappeared.

  Mari rubbed her chin, studying the large, hand-crafted metal boxes that sat before her. There was one possible explanation for what was happening. It was an explanation that wasn’t supposed to be possible, involving something that wasn’t supposed to exist, but she had been taught about it anyway at Professor S’san’s insistence. Taking a deep breath, Mari started putting together a new set of tests. Lost in the challenge of her work, Mari was oblivious by now to the passage of time and the silent form of City Manager Polder standing against the wall. Mari didn’t even notice when electric lights were switched on to brighten a room going dim as the sun sank low in the sky.

  The tests ran. Mari stared at the long, long strip printing out. There it is. No doubt. This isn’t an error in cipher code. It’s a contagion. Someone infected this Model Six with another cipher designed to keep it from working right. No wonder Master Mechanic Xian couldn’t fix this. The fact that such contagions could be created was so secret that few Mechanics knew about it, and even fewer had any training in dealing with them. Mari was one of that last tiny group, which explained exactly why she had been needed here.

  If someone knew or suspected this was the problem, why didn’t they tell me? And who created this? I don’t recognize the hand that crafted this contagion, and I know just about everyone who can build ciphers like this. And creating a contagion is strictly banned. Anyone caught creating one would lose their heads. Literally.

  Fixing this is half the problem. The other half is figuring out who did it. Mari looked over at the City Manager. “The contract I have stated that you had no idea of the origin of the problem with this machine. Have you learned anything since then?”

  Polder shook his head very deliberately. “No. Nothing. Are you saying you cannot fix it?”

  He had to be lying. All of the security, all of the guards, all of the Mechanic weapons argued that Ringhmon considered itself surrounded by enemies. Why wouldn’t Ringhmon suspect those enemies? And if the contagion had been installed for blackmail, the city would have surely received a demand for payment in exchange for a fix. Instead, Ringhmon had come to the Mechanics Guild and claimed ignorance. “I can fix it. I’ll have to wipe the existing thinking cipher and reload it, but your information and calculations should be fine since they’re stored outside the analysis components.” She pointed at the spools of wire on which the machine kept the results of its work.

  “You are certain we will lose nothing?” Polder demanded.

  Mari shook her head, wondering why that particular concern had finally rattled Polder’s composure. “You’ll lose nothing.”

  An extra Model Six, and the effective ruler of this city worried about what was stored on it. Mari tried to keep a calm appearance as she resolved to find out more about that before she left here.

  * * * *

  By the time Mari finished purging all trace of the contagion and reloading the thinking cipher, the sky outside the windows set high up on one wall was completely dark. Suppressing a yawn, Mari ran her tests again and was rewarded with perfect results. It felt very good, bringing a warm sense of accomplishment. Who else could’ve fixed this? Maybe a total of two other Mechanics, one of whom rarely leaves Alfarin and the other rarely leaves Palandur. Hooray for me. First contract successfully completed. Good job, Master Mechanic Mari, and to blazes with Senior Mechanic Stimon’s black mark. I might as well praise myself, since I’m not sure anyone else will.

  Now for the rest of the job. She called up another readout, which should give line headers for the information stored on the Model Six. Neither Polder nor any other common would be able to know that was what she was looking at, so there shouldn’t be any risk in

it. But Mari still had to work to keep from showing any nervousness as she called up that data.

  The coded printout scrolled past as she scanned it. Not the usual listing of financial information, payrolls, inventories and such. No. Mari had to take a second look to be sure what it was. Measurements. Length, width, thickness. Shapes. Materials. Specifications.

  In a crude way, it was a description of a disassembled Mechanic device.

  A repeating rifle.

  This could only have come from someone trying to reverse-engineer a Mechanic rifle, taking it apart piece by piece to discover how to build a copy. Who would do such a thing? And why? Only Mechanics can do that kind of work. The Guild strictly prohibits commons from trying to learn any Mechanic secrets, and regularly tells the commons about the severe penalties for anyone caught trying. Why hasn’t Master Mechanic Xian already spotted what these commons are doing? He can't be that incompetent! What the blazes is going on in this city?

  A contagion of unknown origin. Hostile, arrogant commons. Somebody playing around with Mechanic secrets. Mari felt like she had when the bandits attacked the caravan. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve got to get out of here. “That’s it,” she stated in what she hoped was a calm voice. “It’s done.”

  Polder’s face lit with eagerness. “The Model Six works as it should again?”

  “Exactly as it should.” Mari slowly stretched, feeling the strain of the day’s work and tense with what she had learned. Take it easy. You’re tired, ready to leave, work’s done. Be like that Mage. Don’t show anything else.

  “Excellent.” Polder gave her a look of polite interest, waving his guards back into the room. “What was the nature of the problem?”

  I have a nasty suspicion that you already know, and if you don’t know, I’m not telling you. “The exact cause is a Guild matter, not to be discussed with outsiders.”

  Instead of bridling at her words, or even showing the usual resentment commons couldn’t hide when Mechanics declined to share their secrets, Polder nodded in a humble way that seemed very out of character. “Naturally. But can you tell me how to ensure the problem is not repeated? Is it anything we’re doing on the Model Six?”

  Mari shook her head. “No.”

  Polder looked regretful. “You saw nothing out of the ordinary? Are you asking me to believe that you do not understand the problem you claim to have fixed?”

  Polder’s attitude set off alarms inside Mari. She had been assuming that no common would dare do anything, not when it was known that she had come here. It was only at this moment that Mari realized how late it was, how dark outside. Polder and his guards could swear that she had left this building before mysteriously vanishing. She was abruptly aware of the fact that she was alone, inside a building owned by commons, surrounded by commons, some of whom were clearly dangerous. They wouldn’t— Would they? This isn’t supposed to happen.

  With the pistol hidden in her tool kit, Mari had no weapon within easy reach. No weapon except her status as a Mechanic. She tried to reassert her authority fast. “I’m a Mechanic with the full power of my Guild behind me. I don’t ask commons to do anything, I tell them. I am done here, and I am leaving. My Guild Hall will send you the bill for my services.”

  Instead of moving out of her way or getting angry, Polder gave a small, humorless smile. “I see. Perhaps it’s time that your Guild learns that the people of Ringhmon don’t want to stay any longer in the box the Mechanics have made to confine this world.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care,” Mari said with what she hoped was the right mix of anger and authority. “I’ve finished my job and I’m leaving,” she repeated more forcefully.

  “As you wish.” Polder made a small gesture, looking somewhere behind Mari where his two guards were standing.

  Mari started to turn, then something hard slammed against the back of her head. Her last sight before darkness came was of Polder still watching her with that grim smile.

  Chapter Nine

  Alain had watched from a distance as the Mechanic left the trolley and entered the very large building which served as the center of Ringhmon government. Already the subject of curious and worried glances from passerby, the Mage began walking around the outside of the area bounded by the great building. As he had expected, there were numerous small and large restaurants dedicated to feeding those who labored inside the building. He also located a store which sold written items, and found a large volume dedicated to the history of Ringhmon. The bookseller he selected reacted to Alain’s presence in his store with ill-concealed unease, but Alain gave no sign that he noticed.

  He carried the book out of the store, past the payment desk where the clerk pretended not to see Alain. Commons paid elders for the services of Mages, but Mages did not “pay” for anything, Alain had been told. They took what they wanted or needed from whichever common had those things, and the commons, who did not matter anyway because they did not even exist, should be grateful that the Mage had not chosen to take more. If a Mage needed shelter, he walked into a room and any commons there left. If he needed food, he took it from a roadside stall or entered a place where commons ate and was fed. No one would dare deny a Mage.

  Except a Mechanic. He had been warned that Mechanics would resist, and so should be ignored. Do not walk into a room with them or take their food. Just realize that the Mechanics do not exist and are not worthy of your attention.

  Unless they threaten you, and then you must kill them, Mage Alain. Mechanics are as merciless as they are mercenary. If any appear dangerous, kill them.

  “How can I ever repay you?” Master Mechanic Mari had asked him.

  Alain stood on the street for a moment, looking at the book he had taken. He could not do what commons did even if he chose to. “Pay” had something to do with money. He knew that much, but he had no money. Why would a Mage carry money when he or she never needed it?

  Unless they threaten you, and then you must kill them.

  What if he had remembered that advice during the bandit attack, when the Mechanic had pointed her weapon at his face? He could have killed her then. He could have tried, at least. Then, when she was dead, the bandits would have found Alain and killed him, too.

  Clearly the advice of his elders was lacking in some respects.

  On his journey from Ihris to the Imperial port of Landfall, Alain had taken rooms and food just as he had been told to do, but not without noticing the fear and resentment on the faces of the commons who provided those things. They tried their best to hide it, worried that he would do something terrible to them, but it was always apparent to a Mage.

  It had bothered him. Despite all of his training within the Mage Guild Hall, once out among the commons again, whenever he saw a man and a woman he thought of his parents. When around Mages, Alain had acted as they had, oblivious to the cowering commons. Now, alone among commons, he could choose how to act.

  Perhaps he would take back the book when he was done with it.

  He had to eat, however. Alain chose a restaurant with a window seat which gave a good view of the entrance to the government building and settled down to watch for the Mechanic’s reappearance. He still had no clear idea of what he was doing or what he would do next. If this course of action was a road, he should reach a point where it offered a choice, to go onward or back, or to turn off onto another road.

  A trembling server came to stand near him, afraid to speak. Alain gave her a dispassionate glance, then pointed to another table where a common was eating and drinking. The server went to grab the food and drink from the common, paused as if realizing that might not be the best course of action, and looked back at Alain, who shook his head and pointed to the kitchen.

  Within a very short time Alain had his own meal set before him, after which the commons pretended he wasn’t there while they discreetly watched for any sign that he wanted anything.

  Yes. It did bother him. He wasn’t certain why the faded memories of his parents came at such times.

  It did not seem like the sort of question that he should ask an elder, though.

  He ate without tasting, in the Mage way. Food was another illusion, of course, and while it was necessary, too much focus on it would distract a Mage. Or so he had been taught, and acolytes did not vary from or question the wisdom they were told. Finishing, Alain settled into meditation, outwardly unmoving, barely aware of the commons avoiding coming near him, the book showing the alleged, officially approved history of Ringhmon open before him but unread.

  The sun sank through the sky until darkness began creeping across the courtyard, and large numbers of citizens who either worked in the city hall or had business there filed out and dispersed into the city. Alain blinked his way back to alertness, certain that the Mechanic had not yet left the building. How much time had passed? He had reached here before noon, and now sunset was passing. He was hungry again.

  Alain looked toward a server, who jerked with fear at his glance. Pointing toward the kitchen once more, Alain soon had dinner before him. He ate it just as heedlessly as he had the earlier meal, paying no attention to the food, thinking that this road he had taken appeared to be leading nowhere. What did Mechanics do, anyway? It had never concerned him, but now Alain thought that whatever it was, it took awhile. Perhaps it took days. He almost got up to leave, but decided that if nothing mattered, then waiting here also did not matter. Besides, he had no wish to encounter the impassively hostile Mage elders of Ringhmon any sooner than he had to.

  It was fully dark outside the restaurant when Alain’s road finally took a turn. A deeper darkness flashed before his eyes and sudden pain filled his head, before both vanished without a trace as quickly as they had come. What did that mean? Pain that was not my own? How could— ?

  Alain looked down at his hands, trying to apply what he knew to what had happened. Foresight? Of something due to happen soon? Yes, very soon. Not a vision or something heard, but a physical sensation felt. I felt someone else’s pain. How is that possible? Others do not exist. Their pain is not real. How can I feel it even through foresight?

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