The Engine What Runs the World

by Quinn Buckland

  Smoke nodded his head in agreement before walking away.

  “He was a bit of a softy,” Constance said as she trailed behind him.

  “I expected as much,” Smoke said while he looked around for a tavern. “Lift drivers don’t have anything to worry about. There’d be no reason for him to be aggressive.”

  “Do you think this trip will be faster?” she asked in a hopeful tone.

  “Yes, it’s a shorter distance.”

  Constance didn’t respond. He figured she didn’t think she’d have to with a statement like that. He turned the corner back towards the town and to the market. He wasn’t in the shopping mood, but he’d look at the weapons. He decided to bring it to her attention, “Since we’re down here and probably going to go lower you should probably get yourself a good weapon.”

  Constance looked at him with a look of surprise. He didn’t think she expected him to say she should arm herself. He knew she was strong, but he didn’t think that strength would come in handy if someone pulled a blade or a revolving pistol on her. “You serious?” she finally said after her brain had been given time to process his words.

  “I am,” he said bluntly. “That’s an order too. Choose a weapon and I’ll get it for you.”

  He had half expected Constance’s face to light up like it typically did when he made suggestions. She seemed to enjoy the adventure and followed his every command with the bright eyes of a child. Now she looked at him suspiciously. “I’ll take a blade. I know revolving pistols are good and all, but I think I can do more with a blade.”

  “You certain?” he asked before taking her to a weapons booth.

  She nodded without a smile or any look of humour or happiness, “Yes, I’m certain.”

  The closest weapons booth was filled with different sized blades and several revolving pistols. It made Smoke uncomfortable to be in the vicinity of these weapons. While he didn’t supply these exact weapons he had delivered several like them once upon a time.

  Constance looked over the weapons before deciding on a hidden shortblade encased in a hard metal casing, shaped to be a walking stick with a rounded head. The booth keeper smiled at her choice. He quickly pulled the shortblade away from her to show her how everything worked. “So as you can see here,” he said with a rehearsed and over-excited tone that told Smoke he had given this speech to a few customers already today, “the rounded hand rest for this walking stick has spring loaded pommel and cross guards so you can get a good grip on your blade while you swing it.”

  The booth keeper pressed a button on the metal circle and just as he said the pommel and cross guard ejected out. He then pulled the blade out of the walking stick and held it in the air. The short blade was longer than Smoke had anticipated; over two feet long.

  The booth owner handed the blade to Constance who gave the shortblade a couple swings and placed it back in its metal walking stick sheath. “I’ll take it,” she said still without any sign of happiness, but without any sorrow or unhappiness as well. Her face remained blank.

  “Wonderful,” the booth keeper said with a wide, toothy grin. “That’ll be fifty skins.”

  Constance’s jaw dropped at the price. Smoke was un-phased at the mention of fifty skins; blades were expensive, almost more so than revolving pistols. While pistols took more time to make, short blades took more metal, and metal had been a rarity since the construction of the underground. Smoke placed five purple stained skins on the booth and walked away with Constance trailing behind. “Thank you,” she said sheepishly.

  Smoke supressed his smile knowing Constance at the very least would be armed in the event they got separated or if he had been taken out. He didn’t reply to her thanks or even acknowledge it. The only thing he wanted was to get off this floor as soon as he could. Too many bad memories, too much of a chance of being recognized.

  The first tavern they found had a painting of a mole on the side with the words ‘UNDERGROUND HAVEN’ painted across the top of the door. Smoke looked to Constance who gave him a slight shrug before opening the door. He looked around the silent tavern in the same way a hawk scans for its prey.

  He approached the barkeep and ordered two large ales for himself and Constance. She didn’t seem to care that he insisted on paying for the drinks; they were his idea after all. The barkeep handed him two large mugs, bigger than those on the surface. Smoke took them graciously and returned to his table. Constance gave Smoke a look while he placed the ale on the table. “Time to try what good ale tastes like,” he said with a smile.

  The two of them took sips from their giant mugs. When Constance pulled back with a sour expression on her face he had to refrain from laughing. She had been used to the bitterness of the surface ale and couldn’t quite handle the sweetness of the underground. “It’s good,” she said maintaining the expression. “A little sweet though.”

  “Holy shit!” a familiar voice shouted from behind him. “Smoke fucking Callahan!”

  Smoke knew the voice and swallowed hard as he looked around the room. He looked to the dark skinned, short skinny man who had called out his name. A flood of memories came back to him all the way from his childhood. “Fulcrum?” he asked in amazement.

  Smoke couldn’t help but grin as his childhood friend slapped him on the back and joined his table. “How the fuck are you?” Fulcrum asked in a voice much louder than his body would have suggested.

  The slap on the back was all Smoke needed to know Fulcrum was putting on a show for the patrons and for Constance. Smoke knew his game.

  “On a case,” Smoke said flatly.

  “Ooh, look at mister serious over here,” Fulcrum laughed while speaking to Constance. “By the way, I’m Fulcrum, Fulcrum Brown.”

  “Pleased to meet you Mister Brown,” Constance said with a forced smile, “I’m Constance.”

  “Shit Smoke, you married now? I never took you for the type. At least when it came to anyone but Glass.”

  Smoke was beginning to remember why he stopped liking Fulcrum all those years ago. The man didn’t know when to stop talking. “We’re not married,” he said. “She’s travelling with me. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

  “Bullshit!” Fulcrum said before taking a swig from his ale. “You’ve got to be at least fucking her.”

  Smoke shot Constance a look telling her to not answer that. He knew that was all the response Fulcrum would need, but it was better left unsaid.

  “What are you doing on the second below?” Smoke asked trying his best to not sound like an inquisitor.

  “Just up here to get a good weapon. The fourth floor is great for a lot of things but if you want a good revolving pistol or a sharp blade you’ve gotta come here. Shit, even the drink is better.”

  “It’s better here?” Constance slipped up and said in shock. She immediately shut her mouth trying to look like the accidental speaking was intentional.

  “So tell me about this case,” Fulcrum said stopping his laughter immediately.

  Smoke should have known better than to tell Fulcrum about him being on a case. There was no turning back; he knew Fulcrum wouldn’t be satisfied if he didn’t know every detail.

  “I’m looking for a highborn girl,” he began.

  “Really? You’re working for them now? I thought I knew you better.”

  “Money was too good to pass up,” he said ignoring Fulcrum’s obvious bigotry. “Anyway, she’s supposedly down in the underground somewhere. I’m trying to find her.”

  “Not trying too hard,” Fulcrum said with a straight face. “I didn’t even know you were here until I saw you. Had you been asking around I’d have known much sooner. You’re not trying, you’re pissing time away.”

  “She’s not on the second floor,” Smoke said with a matter of fact tone. “She’d be lower.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m just so goddamn lucky that way,” Smoke said with a sarcastic grin.

  Fulcrum paused for a second before bursting into
a fit of loud, overblown laughter. “Got an image of her?” Fulcrum asked after he’d calmed down.

  Smoke hesitated at showing his old friend the picture. He knew too much as it was, but at this point Fulcrum wouldn’t do anything but help. If Fulcrum hadn’t seen her it’d be possible for him to keep an eye out. He had people all over the place, if Fulcrum didn’t know at that time, he would soon.

  Smoke pulled out the image and slid it across the table. Fulcrum looked the image up and down and at several angles; he was doing it to hold for time, not because he wanted to further inspect it. “Yeah I’d seen her, she was on the sixth below,” he said finally as he placed the image back on the table, sliding it back toward Smoke. “Last I seen her though she was headed to the seventh below.”

  “Shit,” Smoke said a little too loudly.

  “Don’t I know it,” Fulcrum said matching his volume. Eyes had begun to peer their way. “Pretty thing like her is bound to get picked up by the Nagara.”

  Smoke looked at Constance and back at Fulcrum, “Can I speak to you outside?”

  Fulcrum finished his ale and nodded. “Yeah,” he said before letting out a loud belch.

  Fulcrum followed Smoke outside and behind the building. Smoke turned and looked at the man a foot shorter than himself; Fulcrum had already drawn his revolving pistol.

  Smoke nodded and said, “I need a favour from you.”

  “You need a favour from me?” Fulcrum parroted as his demeanor turned into one of hostility. “That’s rich. That’s just fucking rich.”

  “I know I don’t deserve it,” Smoke admitted.

  “What you deserve is a fucking shot between your goddamn eyes,” Fulcrum spat.

  “And I’ll let you do it; just this one favour and you can do as you wish.”

  Smoke did his best to refrain from sounding panicked or frightened. The truth was he had deserved the bullet for a great many years, almost a decade. He was amazed Fulcrum hadn’t come out of the darkness at any given night and done the deed.

  “I’m listening,” Fulcrum said, “but make it quick.”

  “Half a million skins,” was all Smoke said. It was all he had to say.

  He could see Fulcrum think about it for a quick moment, letting his guard down for a quick moment before raising the revolving pistol again. “I don’t believe you.”

  “The girl I’m looking for is worth that much to this family. They’ve agreed to pay me half a million skins to bring her to them.”

  “Could have held out for more when you made the deal,” Fulcrum snarled.

  “I could have also lost the job,” Smoke replied.

  “What’s to stop me from fetching her myself?”

  “Honestly, nothing. I just can’t guarantee the family would pay you. Their deal is with me and I think they’d see someone else bringing her as a breach of contract. Don’t think you can bring them down to get your pay either, you couldn’t even take down a high class place on the first below.”

  One of Smoke’s biggest assets was his brain; he had been a bright boy for a long time, which made the team up of him and Fulcrum dangerous back in the day. Fulcrum was the silent knife while Smoke was the planner. Fulcrum wasn’t especially bright. He knew enough on how to keep himself from being seen in any situation and how to survive the lower floors, but that was about all.

  He could now see the thoughts going through Fulcrum’s brain trying to figure out a way to get his vengeance and get the half million skins. Smoke decided to expedite the process, “You let me live and protect me through the underground and I will let you shoot me in the face and take the half million skins.”

  “How do I know you won’t pull a fast one on me?” Fulcrum asked. “And don’t even think of using your abilities on me. They won’t work.”

  “I figured knowing about what I can do would help protect you from my abilities,” Smoke said gravely. “Keep eyes on me; watch the entrance to the tower. I have to deliver the girl to their front door so all you’d have to do is wait for me to exit.”

  “Half a million skins and my revenge; I think I can do that.”

  Smoke nodded, “All you need is a little patience. That’s all.”

  Fulcrum lowered his revolving pistol and placed it back in the holster. “Alright you have a deal. I’ll keep you safe in the underground for the half million skins and your death.”

  Smoke silently thanked whatever gods he thought may still be there and said, “Thank you. If it means anything, I’m sorry about how things went down.”

  Fulcrum managed a smile, “It means a lot my old friend. It doesn’t change anything, but it means a lot.”

  Smoke nodded and waited for Fulcrum to leave, “Good bye, old friend.”

  Fulcrum nodded, “I’m not protecting you on the fourth or fifth floors. I hope you understand.”

  Smoke nodded again, “Don’t want to burn bridges. I get it.”

  Fulcrum nodded before turning away and disappeared into the shadows. The thought to shoot Fulcrum in the back had crossed Smoke’s mind as he watched him disappear. Any normal man in the underground would have tried. Smoke, however knew Fulcrum well enough to know the folly of the idea. Not due to some honour code or moral ethics. It was because Fulcrum was a much better shot and several times quicker than most men in the underground. He’d hear the revolving pistol leave the holster and Smoke would be dead before he’d have a chance to get his finger to the trigger.

  He allowed a tear to fall down his face in the knowledge his death was imminent and there would be very little he could do about it; he knew he deserved death, though it didn’t make him feel any better about it. He slowly walked back inside where Constance waited patiently. A man lay sprawled across the floor by her chair, “What happened here?” Smoke asked, trying to lift his spirits. This was sure to amuse him.

  “Someone decided to get a little grabby so I knocked his head in. He’s not dead, but he’ll be feeling it for a long time.”

  Smoke chuckled at the story, he didn’t know how else to try and take his mind off his and Fulcrum’s deal.

  “What happened to your friend?” Constance asked.

  “He had to go. Business.”

  He watched Constance read the look on his face before nodding and taking another sip of her ale. She made the same sour face with every sip. That amused him less and less as the night went on. He kept waiting for her to ask about his past with Fulcrum, if she did he’d answer. He would owe her that much at some point.

  “So what did you guys talk about?” Constance asked finally.

  “About the past mostly,” Smoke said trying to half hide the truth. She didn’t need to know he was going to die. Not yet at least. “He’s also agreed to keep us safe while we go down the floors.”

  “Well that’s good,” Constance said with a smile.

  “Yeah, it is,” Smoke said trying to not meet her glance.

  He could tell she knew something was wrong, something he’d have to remedy as soon as he could. If he walked around acting gloomy, she’d start asking questions. After a second thought he decided he didn’t want her to start asking anything. He’d just tell her, at least when the time was right. Potentially before the fourth floor.

  Smoke had been silent for the majority of the night. This put Constance on edge, not because she thought of him as a chatterbox by any means. What aroused her suspicions was the fact that he typically talked to himself in a low mutter. That night there had been nothing. Something had happened outside with Fulcrum that had set him off and she wasn’t going to press the issue. It wasn’t her business, at least not until it would start affecting Smoke’s abilities. Until then she’d let him deal with his problems on his own.

  As the minutes ticked down to when they would have to be at the lift, Constance could feel her heart racing with excitement and dread. She had heard some horrible things about the lower levels. Though the third level wasn’t that low she didn’t expect to see anything good.

  As they walked down the road
she couldn’t help but think about the reason she had come along with Smoke; it sure wasn’t for his winning personality. There was something down here there that she needed. Something she wanted for herself that she couldn’t get on the surface. The image flickered in her mind before she mentally shooed it all away.

  She could hear a man shouting before they saw a crowd of people surrounding him. “It’s been too long for us to be stuck down here.”

  “What’s going on there?” Constance asked.

  She watched as Smoke looked to the man on a small box made from false wood, shouting about the oppression of the underground.”

  “People are never satisfied with what they have. They’re willing to take it from those they believe don’t deserve it.”

  “People like me?” she asked in a worried tone.

  “No,” Smoke said as he stared towards where they needed to go. “People of the underground have no problem with surfacers. They’re an oddity down here, but they know surfacers have been dealt the same shitty hand, they just get a sky for their troubles.”

  “That’s what they want? A sky?”

  “Not quite, but it would sate their blood lust for a time. At least until they began to believe that the people in the towers need to be taken down.”

  “When that happens?”

  Smoke let out a long drawn-out sigh. She didn’t know if it was for dramatic effect or if the truth was too much to think about. “Let’s just say with nine levels of people who have had to do nothing but work for a living, compared to the minority of those in the towers who’ve done nothing but make business deals, but at the same time can afford their own personal army,” Smoke gave her a grave look that made her step back. “It’d be a blood bath for both sides. I don’t even know who’d come out on top.”

  “Look at us down here!” The man on the box continued to scream. “Yeah we’ve got food with our darkplants and our synthetic meat. Sure we’ve got baths and the like. Sure we have everything we could ever need to stay alive. But you know what? That’s not enough for me. I want real sunlight vegetables, real meat from an animal that wasn’t a mole. I want to be able to see the sky and let the rain dance on my face…. Consistently! The longest any of us ever get at any given time is a day, and even that could bring any one of us to financial ruin. I say it’s time we put a stop to it!”