by S. G. Night
Alexis rolled her eyes. “Oh, but of course. I should have realized.”
Alexis flicked a trigger inside the Stinger and there was a loud snap. But nothing happened. Her brow furrowing, she started tugging, trying to get the blade loose. “Faul. I think the spring might be—”
The blade came free of the housing and flew out of gauntlet with the speed of a crossbow bolt. It shot across the armory and imbedded itself loud thunk in a wooden support pillar, twenty feet away.
Toren watched silently, eyebrows raised. Alexis looked thoughtfully from the blade stuck in the wall, to the empty gauntlet. “Huh.”
“Huh what?” Toren asked.
Alexis was quiet for a second, then shook her head. “Nothing. I just had an idea for a new project, that’s all. After I figure out how to get that damned explosive powder to work, anyway.” She turned her attention back to the dismantled Stinger, biting her lip. “Now. Let’s see here…hmm…” She made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a snort. “Damn, the inside of this thing is a mess…could you do me a favor, Toren?”
Toren shrugged. “Sure.”
Her eyes still focused on the weapon, she pointed at a wall of shelves overflowing with junk and clutter. “There are books full of diagrams on the third shelf over there. Can you run over there and grab me the one labeled Schemata of the Concealed Spring-Based Punch Dagger Aperture? Please and thank you!”
Toren got up and went to the shelves. “Concealed Spring-Based Punch Dagger Aperture?” he said as he began rifling through the chaos of paper and glass. “That’s a mouthful.”
“There’s a reason we call ‘em Stingers,” Alexis answered absentmindedly as she picked at the gauntlet. “That, and because the technical name isn’t entirely accurate. The Stinger’s been less of a punch dagger and more of an arm-mounted shortsword for about four model-generations.”
“Huh.” Toren made a face as he pushed a haphazard pile of books aside. “These shelves are a mess…how do you ever find anything?”
“I know where everything is. Which means everything is exactly where it should be.”
He grimaced again, but did not reply. Eventually, he found the appropriate sketchbook. Its grey cover was worn thin; paper stuck scrappily out from the sides. He held it up for Alexis to see. “This one?”
“That’s it.” She took the book from him and started flipping through it, admiring the drawings and diagrams it contained. “She’s a thing of beauty, isn’t she? A marvel of engineering and rotendry.” She shot Toren a self-indulgent smirk. “Of course, most of the more marvelous stuff is my work.”
Toren nodded congenially, taking his seat again, but said nothing.
Alexis let out a loud, exasperated groan. “C’mon, Toren. I’m baiting you. Don’t make me pull it out of you with a fishhook.”
Toren seemed confused again. “Wait…what?”
Rolling her eyes, Alexis set down the book of schematics. “Goodness, we’ve got a lot to work on with you. When a woman flaunts her successful work, that’s when you ask her to tell you all about it. Then comes the part when you sit there and listen like a good boy while I lecture you on how amazing I am.”
“Oh…” Toren said again, a blush climbing up his well-defined features. “Well then…err…why don’t you tell me about your work, Alexis?”
Alexis had to admit, she was having way too much fun with this. “If you insist!” she beamed. Flipping back a few pages, she showed Toren one of the complex schematics in the book.
“See, the previous Genshwin Mechanist, Dillin Locke, died about five years before I got here. Mrak gave me the position when he figured out just how clever I was.”
Toren nodded. “I remember.”
“Locke was a farce,” Alexis told him, the weight of her disdain heavy enough to crack granite. “Particularly when it came to Stingers. No appreciation for rotendry, and no regard for durability.” She pointed to the schematic. “This is his contribution to the Stinger — the Model 3.”
“I remember this one,” Toren said. “I wasn’t a full assassin until after you got here, but I remember having to learn how to use this model as an acolyte. What was so bad about it?”
Alexis glared at him. “It’s a shiv, Toren. It’s a glorified shiv. The locking mechanism had a manual release. The spring had barely any tension. The blade barely had an edge to speak of, and was too flimsy to use in combat at all.”
She jumped forward a page and showed him the next drawing. “Then I got here, figured out all the wonderful variants of Ioan steel you can make, and along came the Model 4. It still had a manual release, but I’d made the spring much more powerful and doubled the length and width of the blade — not to mention I actually made it sharp and durable enough to fight with.”
Another page forward.
“Then, after Mrak let me go through his books on rotendry, I added the runes that allow the spring to be opened and closed via telepathic command. Thus, the Model 5.”
Once more, another page.
“Then came Model 6, four years ago. That’s I added a whole bunch of other runes to further increase durability, spring-tension, and flexibility. Plus I included the safety system in the underarm of the gauntlet, see?”
She indicated part of the schematic. “When you bend your wrist back, a series of wires are pulled inside the gauntlet, which lock a switch into place that prevents the Stinger from opening. So you don’t open it into the back of your hand.
“And now, we have the new-and-improved Model 7,” she said, waggling her fingers at Toren’s gauntlet on the workbench. “Which incorporates a serrated edge on the left blade, and truncated fingertips on the right gauntlet for extra dexterity.”
She let out a beatific sigh and flipped merrily back through the pages to the very beginning. “Such a beautiful machine.”
Suddenly, she stopped her musing and looked more closely at the current page — very first schematic. “Huh…”
Toren, who had kept a respectful silence this whole time, leaned forward to see what she was looking at. “What?”
“Have you ever wondered what the Genshwin did before the Demons came?” Alexis asked, the question seeming to come out of nowhere. “Like, what their purpose was?”
Toren blinked in surprise. “Uh…the Genshwin weren’t…anything before the Demons came. We were founded in Year 3 of the this Age, in response to the Dominion.”
Alexis snorted in derision. “Yeah, right. Sure we were.”
Toren bristled at her response. “That’s what Mrak says.”
“And do you really buy the piss that comes out of that man?” Alexis asked. “I trust Mrak about as far as I can throw him. Which isn’t very far.”
“What evidence do you have against him? What reason do you have to distrust him?” Toren seemed to take her comment as a personal challenge. It was like by accusing Mrak of any misdoing, she was accusing the Genshwin as a whole — and thereby, Toren.
Rolling her eyes at his snippiness, Alexis spread the book of schematics flat on the a table for his examination. “This is a schematic for the Model 1 Stinger,” she informed him, and then pointed at a marking in the margin. “See that?”
Toren looked. The figure on the bluish paper was a series of numbers and slashes. “What is that, a date?”
“Yep,” Alexis nodded. “The copy-date for the schematic. The twelfth day of Adur, Year 550 — of the Third Age.” She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. “And I happen to know that the Third Age was just short of nine-hundred-sixty years long. That means that the very first stinger was developed — for the Genshwin — almost five-hundred-twenty years ago.”
“…So?”
“Oh, come on, Valgance,” Alexis condescended. “Do you really think that Mrak just decided one day, three years after the Demons showed up, that he was gonna start taking in Majiski orphans and training them to be assassins? Do you really think he just got bored one night and made up the Black Path by himself? Hell, look at this place!” She made
a broad gesture at Velik Tor in general. “Do you really think that Mrak just got out a hammer and chisel and dug Velik Tor out of the rock?”
Toren’s conviction wavered at that. “Well, it’s possible—”
“I’m a bit of an expert on these things, Toren,” Alexis stopped him. “If Mrak had started digging on the first day of Year 3, he might — might — have been able to chisel out all of Velik Tor by the turn of the century. But that’s only if he had a thousand trained monkeys helping him. You got here when, Year 88? Did you see any excavation going on in here? No. This place was dug centuries ago, in secret, and it probably took hundreds of Genshwin architectural craftsmen dozens of years. You don’t just do that in your spare time when you’re trying to fight a secret war against the Demons. We’ve never even had hundreds of Genshwin architectural craftsmen. Or any, for that matter.”
Alexis’s face was delightedly conspiratorial. “You know what I think? I think the Genshwin were mercenaries — killers-for-hire during the Third Age. Real Majiski hit-men hiding out under Oblakgrad. A prosperous business for hundreds of years. And when the Demons came, the Genshwin already had a place to go into hiding — here, in Velik Tor.”
Toren thought about it for a second, scratching his chin. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s say you’re right for a second. Say we really were just high-end thugs back in the day. If that were true, where did all those Genshwin go? A Majiski lifespan is usually more than two hundred years. Say there were a few hundred of your hypothetical Third-Age-Genshwin, all between the ages of twenty and forty. That would make them between one-hundred-twenty and one-hundred-forty now. That’s a lot longer than a Human life, but only a little bit more than half of ours.”
He held up his hands, as if waiting for Alexis to supply him with something. “So, where are all those old Genshwin?”
“I dunno…” Alexis muttered. She bit her lip again, thinking. “But I think there’s a way we can find out. Come on, come with me.” She stood suddenly, pulling Toren after her by the hand, and headed for the door.
Surprised, Toren allowed himself to be dragged along with her. “Uh — wait, what about my Stinger?”
“I’ll get to it later,” Alexis assured him. She paused just long enough to snatch what looked like a pen from one of the shelves. “Right now, we’re gonna go have a chat with Virgil.”
——
Virgil Tarem was a thin, bespectacled Majiski, almost as short as Alexis herself. His mousy hair dangled around his eyes in little brown strings. While he was only a few years older than Toren, the skin around his eyes was wrinkled and aged-looking — a product, Alexis assumed, of too many hours spent recordkeeping.
The squeaky-voiced Archivist ruled over the Velik Tor archive: a chamber separate from the library. The archive was divided in half by a long counter. One the side of the counter nearest the door, much of the floor space was occupied by reading tables and chairs. On the opposite side (Virgil’s side), were the shelves of Genshwin records that only he could handle with impunity. Anyone else had to go through him to see any of the contents, and many of the records required special permission from Mrak to view. A door in the back led to the Genshwin Archivist’s office and bedchamber, where he spent most of his time researching.
“You want me to give you what?!” Virgil spluttered from his side of the counter, aghast.
“You heard me,” Alexis said remorselessly. “I want to see our recruitment records. Dating as far back as possible, please.”
Virgil made an overdramatic huff of affronted dignity. “My dear lady, do you realize what you’re asking me for? That roster is one of the most confidential documents within these walls! I can’t just…hand it over to anyone who comes asking for them! Only the Patriarch, the Steward, and I are permitted to see those records. Are you the Patriarch or the Steward?”
“No, but—”
“Then — I’m sorry!” Virgil said sharply, shaking his head and holding up his hands, like he was pulling them back from something dirty. “I cannot give them to you.”
Toren nudged Alexis nervously, whispering. “Alexis, let’s just forget about it. If we don’t have permission, then we shouldn’t be pressuring the poor man for it.”
“Indeed, you shouldn’t!” Virgil snapped. “What the blazes do you want the recruitment roster for, anyway?”
Alexis made a vague gesture with her fingers. “Call it…settling a bet.”
Virgil snorted incredulously. “A bet? Really? You come down here and ask me to violate the terms of Genshwin security so you can settle a bet!?”
“It wasn’t really a bet…” Toren muttered. “We never actually put any money on it—”
“Ooo, that’s a good idea!” Alexis exclaimed, looking at him. “Do you want to put money on it? I’ve got some cash to spare.”
Virgil threw up his hands. “This is ridiculous.”
Toren shuffled uncomfortably beside Alexis. “Alexis, drop it…” he pled, his expression pained. “Please? We don’t have clearance. I’d rather not get in—”
“Oh, clearance shmearance! Don’t be such a pansy, Toren.”
Toren looked more than a little put out by that remark. “If I’d known you were going to try and breach security, I wouldn’t have followed….Let’s just go?”
“Yes, go, please!” Vigil piped, waving his hands at her like he was shooing away a bird. “Listen to your friend, Mechanist. See yourself out of my archive, before I call the Bruisers to come and do it for you.”
“Well, that seems a little extreme,” Alexis remarked, dry as ever. “You seem a bit more peeved than usual today. Something bothering you, Virgil?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact!” Virgil snapped.
“Aww, well I’m a great listener if you wanna talk about it,” Alexis offered wryly as she leaned forward onto the counter, mock-concerned. “Go on, Virg. What’s got your britches in a bunch?”
Virgil scowled. “That damned friend of yours, that’s what! Racath Thanjel. I’ve hit a roadblock at a critical juncture in my research of Demonic archetypes. And from what I hear, Thanjel’s report on his assignment in Milonok would contain just the data I need to progress. But did he even give me a report? No. What did he do? He up and disappeared to gods-know-where, probably never to be seen again! And while we’re on the subject of reports, you—”
He pointed an accusatory finger at Alexis. “ — young lady, failed to follow procedure! You never gave me a copy of the schematics for the Model 7 Stinger design, not to mention that crossbow thingamuhwidget—”
“Bolter!” Alexis corrected indignantly.
“Whatever! You know the process: two copies of every new schematic that comes out of the armory — one for the archive, one for the library. And you—” he turned his threatening finger on Toren. “ — Toren Valgance, had better have a report on your last job on this counter by tomorrow morning, or I’ll ask the Patriarch for your balls as my next birthday gift!”
Toren blanched ghost-white. “Uh…alright then…”
Alexis stifled the laugh that burbled up in her throat at the sight of this tiny man striking terror into the six-foot-four Genshwin Talon. “Oh, Virgil,” she grinned. “I think I have just the bribe for you.”
“What good is coin to me?” Virgil said snappishly.
“Not coin, no,” Alexis shook her head. “What if I told you I could get you Racath’s report on Milonok?”
Intrigue lit behind Virgil’s spectacles, latent behind a wall of skepticism. “…You couldn’t.”
“Oh, but I could,” Alexis countered. “Before he left, Racath gave Toren and me an account of his trip. A real detailed account.”
“Did he now?” Virgil said dubiously, turning his questioning gaze on Toren.
Toren squirmed uncomfortably for a second, then sighed, resigned. “Yes, it’s true. He did.”
“And I have a good memory for stories like that,” Alexis added. “If we could write up a report for you, do you think that’d crack your little roadb
lock open?”
She could see Virgil’s fortitude wavering. “Well, uh…I suppose it could—”
“Good enough to earn us a quick peek at the roster?”
Virgil was growing more and more tempted by the moment. Alexis could see it in the way he held his tongue at the corner of his lips, the way his eyes kept checking the door for any intruder. “How do I know you can deliver?”
“If I don’t, then you can report me to Mrak and tell him I offered to let him cut off my thumbs for you.” She jerked her head at Toren. “And you can have his balls on your birthday, too.”
“Hey!”
“And I’ll throw in this.” She reached into her pocket and produced the pen that she had brought from the armory. It was a neat little device, something she had developed months ago for just such an occasion — a girl never knows when she might need to bribe a scholar.
“A pen?” Virgil said questioningly. “I have lots of pens, Mechanist.”
“Not like this you don’t,” Alexis grinned. “It’s got its own reservoir of ink built into the grip. When the reservoir dries up, you just unscrew the top, pull it out, refill it, and you’re back in business. You won’t ever have to stop writing to dip your pen in an inkpot again.”
Virgil hesitated, double-checked that the archive was empty accept for the three of them. He sighed. Folded. Took the pen.
“I want the Milonok report right here next to Valgance’s tomorrow morning,” Virgil said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Plus those schematics you owe me. Both copies.”
“I’ll give you three copies,” Alexis agreed, beaming. “Plus the schematics for the pen.”
Virgil shook her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Vylis. Wait here.” He scurried off to the back room, clutching the fountain pen like a child with a brand new toy.
“I don’t like how you handled that…” Toren grumbled. “We shouldn’t be doing this. And I don’t appreciate you using my balls as collateral, either.”
“Oh, what do you care? You’re not using them.”
“I plan to!” Toren shot back, insulted.