I sighed. “I make no excuses for the wretchedness of my actions, sir. I am scrapping my best friend's career. I am ruining his reputation. I am destroying any respect his peers hold for him. I may even be casting him into the gutters—”
Waller's face perked and his smile widened with each new description of Devin's horrible futures. I felt like I was reeling in a wire tangled among bits of machinery, but now it had burst free and whipped around the spool of its own accord.
Be careful this plan doesn't smack you in the face, I thought.
“Yes,” he murmured. “That's just . . . awful. But it's for his own good, you say?”
“Surely, a journeyman such as yourself with methods not available to a lowly apprentice,” I placed a hand on my chest, “could find a way to insert himself into such a committee? For the good of the guild?”
“Yes, for the good of the guild,” he murmured, patting me on the head. “Thank you, Drusilla. I shall take your comments under advisement. You've given me much to think about. I just may help Devin after all.”
Devin found me later sitting with my head buried in my hands against one the steam-powered lathes. I usually found the rumbling of the machine soothing, but not today. For a moment, my old friend rose to the surface out of reach of whatever internal monsters kept him chained deep inside himself. For the first time in days, he seemed almost human again and my heart shattered.
“Still angry? I'm sorry I made you run off earlier,” he said, peering at my hunched shoulders. “I know you were just trying to help. I do appreciate it . . . even if I don't always say so at the time. You're a good friend, Dru.”
I said nothing, body stiff as he wrapped me in a short hug, waited a moment for a response, and then walked away. Oh, Devin, you poor soul, I thought. You were always so good at reading machines. When will you understand those who build them? The five gods as my witness, I swear you always say the wrong thing—
Even as the pieces of my heart lurched at the thought of my impending treachery, the word 'witness' slammed through my mind like steel pressed beneath a drop hammer forge, squashing my grief into something soft and malleable.
There was one final way I could 'help' Devin. Guildmaster Huron would be looking to find character witnesses for each prospective candidate. A tear rolled down my cheek. The guild would need true friends to lay the true natures of those people bare before their committees. And who knew Devin's foibles better than me?
I felt the cold ghost of his embrace wrap around me, squeezing, and finding no response. I clasped my shoulders and shivered.
11. DEVIN, YEAR 491
Devin shivered in the early morning chill. Today was the day. Yet as the day of the evaluations had approached, he had wound himself tighter and tighter. Mage attacks were on the rise and Black Guards patrolled the streets with constant vigilance. He could not help the creeping feeling that every guard in every alleyway was secretly searching for him.
A few guards lounging on street corners had been bad enough, but now they were everywhere. And they kept increasing their patrols with each passing day.
Then the day of the evals finally arrived. He left that morning without indulging his sister's pleas for their customary magic demonstration. It didn't feel like a game anymore.
Devin clenched his fist as he peered at a nearby Black Guard, who smiled and waved. The time for magic demonstrations is past.
Yes, the mage cried. Now is the time for action. Why lift tiny rocks when you can demolish cities? The Black Guards will never find you if they're buried under rubble.
Not today, the artificer grumbled. This is a glorious time celebrating the ascendency of the machine. His machine and the knowledge and craftsmanship that created it. Magic would only sully such a triumph.
Devin agreed with the artificer and the mage fell into a silent huff. Gritting his teeth, the young artificer smiled and waved at the guard before continuing his morning commute to the Guild Hall. He glanced at the mansions in the east. Tonight, he moved one step closer to those glorious palaces. Some day when he belly-crawled to fix the boilers in those old houses or repaired one of the antique clocks, they would be his boilers and his clocks.
As Devin approached the hall that morning, something picked at his brain. An oddity. He peered at the gates. Drusilla was missing. He blinked. Has she fallen ill? he pondered. Is she still upset with me?
Wondering how he could make amends, Devin entered the hall and was ushered into one of the side rooms by an officious-looking journeyman where Guildmaster Huron and several others were waiting. The crammed room smelled of sour breath and sweat.
Devin glanced around at his black-capped companions. The eval candidates, he realized.
Huron bestowed a warm grandfatherly smile upon them. “Another year, another evaluation. I feel the need to warn each crop of prospective journeymen.”
“Warn us, sir?” one of the apprentices asked. “Why? We've had this date circled in our minds all season. We've been prepping for—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Huron said. “I am not here to warn you about that. It is the time before the evals that concerns me. You may lose focus. You may find your mind wandering these halls without you today . . . rather messy if you're manning the drop forge.”
We chuckled nervously. Then most of us shrugged. Accidents happen in this business.
“There's no maybe about it,” Huron said, his eyes sweeping the room. “You will have a terrible time concentrating on your jobs or studies at some point today.” He made an abrupt, dismissive gesture. “Do not worry about completing such menial tasks. If you feel yourself sinking into dark thoughts, drop everything. Seek out one of your companions here in the room today. Let them share your disquiet, ease your burden by assuming some of it themselves. I assure you, everyone suffers this. Do not force yourselves to suffer alone.”
One of the other apprentices raised his hand. “But Journeyman Druge raises a fuss if one of us leaves without—”
Guildmaster Huron gave a short bark of laughter. “He will not fuss today. Not for this. Not for you. Any further questions?”
The apprentices all shook their heads, somber. Devin glanced around the room again, wondering who among them would come crying to him for help. He started composing the appropriate speech and selecting kind words to allay their fears.
Huron smiled as he ushered them from the room. “Remember, this is not a competition. Whether you succeed this year or not, you are your own sole competitor. Tonight should be an evening of camaraderie, so relax and let the time approach as a drifting feather, not a swinging hammer. Go and be at ease.”
The night arrived and surprisingly none of Devin's companions had sought the comfort of their most masterful apprentice. That stung a bit, but he suppressed the feeling of unease. As Guildmaster Huron had said, this was a night for camaraderie.
Devin wore his finest blackened leather shoes, good slacks, and starched, silver shirt when he brought his family to the Guild Hall that night. The old building was festooned with decorations: colorful buntings hung from the arches and new inventions on pedestals lined the hallways. The entire guild was on display that night and the crowds gathered from across the provincial capital. Guildmaster Huron and several of the other masters stood in the atrium of the building shaking hands and welcoming the citizens of the empire while journeyman directed small groups past the displays toward the auditorium, explaining various designs and inventions.
Fresh-scrubbed apprentices hawked cold drinks and crunchy snacks from vending stalls nestled between each display. Devin grinned when he saw Drusilla manning one of the stalls and waved, but she refused to meet his eyes.
I can't think about her right now. The evals. Focus on the evals. Devin made himself laugh when Misera yawned while Journeyman Fontaine droned about this or that display. Finally, the man led Devin's family to their seats. They were in the middle of the giant auditorium. The semi circular raised seats faced a stage where two tables were set at 45 degree angl
es so as to face each other and the audience. Devin kissed his mother and sister and then went to take his place on the stage.
A banner with the guild's insignia, a white fist wielding a ball peen hammer over a black cog, hung mounted as a back drop and gave a little flutter as apprentices, journeymen, and masters crossed the stage to sit in the first tier of rows. A mixed panel of twelve masters sat at the left stage table while the eval apprentices sat at the right table. By ancient right, anyone sitting in the audience could ask questions of the apprentices, but the panel's questions tended to be more strenuous.
The first part of the evaluation was something of an entertainment and always open to the public. Devin took his place beside the five other apprentices at the right table. He frowned at the empty chair next to him before looking up and waving at his sister and mother. Misera jumped up and down while his mother restrained the girl and waved back. Devin also noticed several industry factors and government officials. The province's magistrate was even in attendance . . . surrounded by Black Guards. Devin tensed and then made himself relax. They were just sitting there. They weren't really here to spy on him.
Have things gotten so bad? Did they truly fear a mage attack here in the heart of the guild? Devin took a deep breath. It's all right. I'm just another evaluee. Just another artificer. They're not here for us. It's just nerves. Oh, let's just get to the back room and the second part of the test already. Devin could see his invention sitting on a plinth in the hallway for all the citizens to gawk, waiting to be exhibited to a smaller, select panel comprised of one master and three journeymen. That's the real evaluation. The rest of this is just a meaningless spectacle.
Master Huron coughed as he stood and raised his arms. His official white robes bunched up around his elbows. “Settle down everyone. Quiet, please. It gives me great pleasure to begin another round of the Artificer's Guild Journeymen Evaluations where we take our finest apprentices and test their mettle. Who will bend and who will break?”
A polite titter went through the audience.
“Ha ha, yes,” Huron continued. “A quick reminder of the rules. Any apprentice may attempt to answer any question he or she so chooses. A question remains on the table until it is correctly answered to the panel's satisfaction. A correct response adds five points to an apprentice's score while an incorrect response deducts three. Each apprentice must score a minimum of 55 points to pass this portion of his or her evals and to the winner of course go the bragging rights.”
The audience cheered. Some stomped their shoes and leather boots on the hard masonry floor.
“Tonight, we will be evaluating Apprentices Felius, Jora, Kory, Sinon, Meril, and Devin.” Master Huron gestured to each apprentice who each stood and bowed in turn. “Unfortunately, Apprentice Holt was struck by a bout of flu and cannot be with us tonight. We all pray to the five gods he will recover and join us again soon. Now,” he smiled at the audience. “Let's spare the more difficult questions for now. Who would like to start the gears turning? A fellow apprentice, perchance? Come now, don't be shy.”
After some giggling and shuffling from the first row, someone finally raised their hand. Devin snorted. Nobody in the history of the guild ever actually failed the first part of his evals. Let's get on with it already.
“Yes, Apprentice Trond?” Huron asked.
“Wh . . . the . . .fourth . . .mix,” Trond muttered.
“Speak up, lad,” Huron said. “I don't think the lad sitting next to you heard that little squeak.”
The apprentice took a deep breath and bellowed. “What's the Fourth Law of Gear Ratio Dynamics?”
“Oh,” Huron chuckled. “Good first question. Well, ladies and gentlemen?” He turned to the evaluees. Devin was still reciting the gear laws when Felius slapped the table. “Yes, Eval Felius?”
Felius stood and recited, “For any two interlocking gears, the velocity ratio is equal to the inverse ratio of the diameter of their respective pitch circles, sir.” The panel of masters nodded and clapped. The audience roared.
“Most excellent,” Huron clapped. “Hmm, I'd like to field our next question if the audience would permit a small indulgence from an old man?”
Everyone smiled and clapped. A few of the apprentices sitting in the first rows whistled before getting slapped down by neighboring journeymen.
“Hmmm, a tricky one. The two base elements copper and zinc comprise which alloy?”
Half the audience and every guild member among them groaned in unison as the evaluees stood as one and slapped the table. Devin smiled as the six part chorus roared, “brass!”
Huron chuckled. “Fast reflexes and quick wits, the lot of you. Five points for everybody.”
The whole room cheered and ballyhooed. As the evaluees resumed their seats amid the quieting furor, an older woman from the audience stood and waved her hand. Every apprentice at the table grinned as Jora muttered dark oaths and placed her head in her hands.
Must be a mother or an aunt, Devin guessed, thanking the five gods his mother had more decorum and would hopefully keep a strong grasp on his sister.
Huron smiled and gestured to the woman. “Yes, madam?”
“I have a question for yon lads and lasses.” Her voice quavered, “What is the melting point of iron, eh?”
Devin sighed and kicked the table leg. Two more hours of this . . .He scanned the first few rows of seats. And still no sign of Drusilla.
Finally, after an endless round of questions, every evaluee had attained the requisite 55 points on their ledger to advance. Devin missed first place to Felius by a four point margin. The apprentices all held hands and bowed to a thunderous audience applause. Then as a group they left and filed backstage where a journeyman was waiting for each of them.
Devin took several deep breaths as one of the journeymen led him down the hallway. Devin thought he recognized the man, but everything was passing in a blur. This is it, he thought. This is the real test. The man led him to a small room with a long table and his invention resting on a chair facing the table.
“Be seated, please.” The journeyman gestured to the lonely seat. “Your committee will be here shortly.”
Devin set out four copies of his device's basic schematics on the table and then cradled the dragon flamer in his lap. His arms could almost stretch around the large ovoid steel tank and the nozzle apparatus attached to it was the length of his arm. He rested his cheek against the smooth, cool steel as the dragon oil sloshed around inside.
I can do this. Just another round of questions and a short demonstration. I am ready. I am in control. Time passed and Devin began to fidget with the nozzle and adjust the straps on the tank that transformed it into a metal satchel. He resisted the urge to pressurize the fuel prematurely. Not a problem. They're probably still mingling with the government officials from the audience.
Master Huron finally entered the room carrying a stack of papers. “Sorry for the delay, m'lad. Had to arrange a last minute substitute for your committee. Hard finding designated volunteers at this late hour . . . harder still to tear hungry journeymen away from that buffet table. But I found one. Surprising, really. The fellow leaped at the chance.”
The journeymen should leap after all the assistance I've provided solving their stupid, little problems and fetching their assorted junk, Devin thought. At last, the recognition I deserve.
“You should feel honored one of your future peers values you so highly, Apprentice Devin. And now, we're almost ready to begin. I'm greatly looking forward to seeing what your invention can do.” Huron smiled as he said it, but the phrase felt rote and tacked on. He seated himself at the center of the table and adjusted his robes. He called toward the door, “The evaluee is quite ready. You may enter.”
Two apprentices came in wheeling a giant cart between them bearing the large, brass puzzle box. They set it behind Devin's chair and levered a pair of mechanized chocks to lock the cart's wheels.
“Can you feel it looming over you? It's meant to
loom. Ah, traditions,” Master Huron sighed. “Thank you, m'lads. Someone will come get you to come get that for the next session when we're done with it here. Run along.”
As the apprentices left, Journeyman Gordon walked into the room, silver robes swishing. He ran a light hand over the steel tank nestled in the apprentice's arms, smiled, and rapped his knuckles on the steel. Gordon nodded as he passed. The apprentice nodded back. Have I ever said more than three words to Gordon in my life? Devin asked himself, mentally shrugging. He seemed to like the looks of the flamer at least.
“And I thought we should invite at least one expert on comparable technology to your invention,” Master Huron said. “Oh, here he is, now.”
The next person marching through the door was Journeyman Higgins. Devin felt a slight twinge as the man lifted the nozzle out of Devin's hands and clucked reprovingly. “Interesting parts, Apprentice. They seem somehow familiar.” He gave Devin an ambiguous smile and took his seat.
How much does he know? Devin wondered. And how much does he care?
The welded grin on the face of the next journeyman was not ambiguous in the least.
“Ah, Journeyman Waller. Good of you to volunteer when we're one short,” Huron waved to the last empty seat at the end of the table. “Haven't seen you in days. Is the new lab space not to your liking?”
Please stop talking, Master Huron. Devin clamped his lips as he welded his own fixed smile.
“Oh no, sir,” Waller's eyes could have etched steel, but his voice was tight and controlled. “I adore my new lab space.”
“Not much of one,” Gordon sniggered.
Shit, Devin thought.
“You found another place for all those brooms and dustpans, I hope?” Waller glared at his fellow journeyman before turning back to Master Huron.
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