by J. S. Morin
Tobson muttered something to Sosha that Chipmunk couldn’t make out as she limped along on her crutch, trying to keep pace. Sosha traded places with the burly mechanic and took one end of the stretcher.
“Sorry ‘bout this, ma’am,” Tobson apologized on his way over to Chipmunk.
“Sorry about what?”
Tobson lowered a shoulder to Chipmunk’s midsection and hoisted her over his shoulder in one fluid motion. He took the crutch from her with his free hand. “Ain’t got time to pretend you can walk, is all.”
Chapter 2
“You may have a man bought and paid for, but you’re as good as his once he realizes you can’t get by without him.” –Kezudkan Graniteson
The lift from the trolley levels opened into an above-ground cavern of steel and glass. Pale light filtered in from the smoggy skies outside, green in hue from chemicals in the air. Gantries and chain hoists spanned the aisles between machines, all whizzing, whirring, clanking, and humming according to their multitudinous functions. Kezudkan had seen such machines before, and judged the ones in this factory to be top of the line.
“Right this way sir,” his escort said. The pudgy kuduk with the grease-stained hands toddled off ahead down the main corridor of the factory floor. Kezudkan grunted in reply and ambled along behind him. He carried his cane as a walking stick, tapping it gently on the floor in time with his stride. His joints had been better of late; the petrification of his knee was working itself loose with all the walking he’d done in the past month. He had never attributed his condition to idleness, but suspected otherwise now. He was still none too swift afoot.
“Hold up. I’m not the young daruu I once was,” Kezudkan grumbled, not caring whether his escort heard him or not. He needed neither guide nor nanny. He continued at his own pace as the kuduk left him behind.
Kezudkan peered at the workers and their projects as he passed by. They were building valves and pumps, casings and enclosures, sprockets, chains, and gears. It was hard to find good gear-makers, so the latter spoke of a quality operation—but Kezudkan had already known that. He hadn’t traveled all the way to Cavinstraw Deep in Grangia on a whim.
Near the center of the factory floor was an eye in the storm of flying metal. Desks and drafting tables clustered together with kuduk mechanics and tinkers toiling away. At the very center was a singular kuduk who looked up in calm anticipation at Kezudkan’s arrival.
This kuduk stood to greet him, and Kezudkan got his first look at the “gear-made man.” Ganrin Draksgollow stepped around his desk with one leg nothing more than a contraption of piston rods, gears, and springs from just above the knee. Kezudkan considered the troubles he’d had with his own joints and wondered which of them was the worse off. When Draksgollow held out a hand, it was of similar construction, with fine-made brightsteel fingers and sinewy cables threaded through. Kezudkan took the hand gingerly, knowing that the rock-like darru flesh of his own hand was liable to crush the delicate mechanism.
“Please to make your—oof, quite a grip you’ve got there, Mr. Draksgollow.”
“Good of you to come, Mr. Graniteson,” Draksgollow replied, a hint of a smile on his face. He was clean-shaven, which was unusual for kuduks, who regarded a lack of facial hair as a human look. Kezudkan suspected the reason when he noticed the irregular pattern of stubble—old burn wounds, he guessed. What marvelous stories the tinker must have had, to warrant such an array of injuries. Decorum alone prevented Kezudkan from asking.
“I hope my message was not too vague. I had no intention of misleading you—I just don’t have any great faith in the vaunted discretion of the cable tappers.”
Draksgollow shook his head. “Me neither. Bunch of gossiping whoresons, the lot of them. If we come to an arrangement, I’ll give you a code book that I use for my business dealings.”
Kezudkan raised a hairless brow. “Do all your clients have this code?”
“I have them printed up in pairs. I’ll just mark your name on my copy.”
“And the printer? What’s to say he can’t keep a spare copy?”
Draksgollow stared hard a moment. If he meant to cow Kezudkan, he’d need a better glare, for Kezudkan had been glared at quite professionally of late, and by kuduks better inclined to back up those glares. Draksgollow turned slightly and hollered over his shoulder. “Kep, get over here.”
A moment later a mechanic arrived, hands stained black with ink, not grease as Kezudkan was tempted to believe at first glance. “Boss?”
“You make more than two of any of my code books?”
“Slugs, no! Who’s sayin’ I have? This old fossil?” Kep said.
“Mind your tongue, Kep, this is a new client—maybe. He’s just being cautious. You can get back to work.”
Kep had a better glare than Draksgollow, by Kezudkan’s estimation, and used it on the daruu as he departed.
“Satisfied? Have a seat then.”
Draksgollow gestured to a steel stool across the desk from him as he resumed his seat. Kezudkan eyed it with skepticism. Few kuduks took proper account of just how much a typical daruu weighed. Though already wider than kuduks by half a measure, their rocky compositions made daruu a good deal denser. Finally deciding that Draksgollow didn’t look like the sort who took half measures in his tinkering, he settled his bulk onto the stool, gasping as the pressure was relieved from his old bones.
“So tell me a bit about this place? Why above ground for one? What experience do you have with complicated systems? Have you done work with runes? You must have had skeptics among your clients before; win me over,” Kezudkan said.
“I’ve worked with daruu before, and you’re a bit of a clean pump, aren’t you?” Draksgollow said. Kezudkan smirked. “Most of them would have bored me halfway to madness with their lineage and titles by now—”
“Oh, if you’d like, I could—”
Draksgollow held up a hand—the fleshy one. “No, no. I’m not complaining. To answer your questions, we built topside for the light. My machines guzzle spark like a human drunkard. We’ve got gas for night work and bad weather, but any spark I’ve got goes into the machines.”
“Why not purchase another dynamo? It looks like you’ve got plenty of work; you must be able to afford it.” It wasn’t always a polite topic, but Kezudkan needed a sense of the kuduk’s financial situation. He needed someone who could afford to float a bit of risk.
“If I had another dynamo, I’d use up the spark putting in more machines. More profit in that than in buying spark lights when I’ve got a perfectly good system running.”
“Fair enough. Can’t argue with higher profits.”
“As for the rest, I’ve got the best factory for custom jobs you’re likely to find. I’ve built airship parts here, and not just those ridiculous vacu-dirges you Ruttanians seem so fond of.”
Kezudkan held up his palms. “Don’t look at me. It’s a kuduk decision which airships to purchase.”
“Anyway, those liftwing airships are finicky. Shape the wing or prop wrong, they fall out of the sky. That’s why the Grangian aerial command buys from me: I don’t build anything half-arsed. They get what they put on vellum.”
“Runes?”
“Didn’t I just say I worked on airships? I don’t care how light you think you can make one, no liftwing can get airborne with a load of coal on board, or a steamer big enough to get the prop up to speed. So yeah, we do runes here.”
“Yes, but do you call in for someone to empower them, or do you have—”
“Eleven humans who can manipulate runes. Mr. Graniteson, I don’t mind questions, but you’re starting to sound like you don’t have confidence in my operation here.”
“If you’re looking for an apology—”
“I’m simply looking for an explanation, Mr. Graniteson.”
“Not here,” Kezudkan replied. “Somewhere private.”
The lower levels of the factory were more suited to Kezudkan’s taste. The walls might have been buttressed with steel beams, but
rough cut stone was all around. The tunnels and caverns had been kuduk carved, and appeared passably safe. There were gas lamps throughout, leaving the air with a heavy odor that brought back memories of a youth before the spark had spread like a plague and made the lights all sterile, with an annoying hum.
Draksgollow chased a handful of workers out of a tiny chemical etching room that had tables for Kezudkan to lay out his plans. As Draksgollow tidied up the etching plates and bottles of acids, Kezudkan picked up one of the pieces and examined the runes. They were commonplace workmanship, lacking the style and purposefulness of runework chiseled by hand. His eyes wandered the patterns, following the logic of the designer.
“These getting ready to be rolled flat?” Kezudkan asked, brandishing the piece.
Draksgollow grabbed a work log and scanned it. “How’d you—well, of course one of your kind would be able to read them. They’re for a new airship. They need the lightsteel to be hair-thin. Runes will get flattened out in the rolling process, then they’ll get new ones to strengthen the material after it’s formed.”
Kezudkan nodded absently and fished inside his coat pockets. He withdrew a folded wad of papers and opened them in the spot Draksgollow had cleared. They were hand drawn in a tidy, efficient script, but what drew Draksgollow’s eye were the diagrams. Kezudkan smiled as he watched the kuduk tinker’s eyes widen as he browsed the documents.
“What is all this?” Draksgollow asked.
“The key to our fortunes. Unlimited wealth and power.”
“Cut the rat-baiting. What does it do?”
Kezudkan leaned in close. “What would you say if I told you there were other worlds besides Korr?” he asked.
The tinker’s face twisted into a scowl. “I’d say I’ve wasted my morning. Good day to you, Mr. Graniteson. Find someone else to buy your bunk.”
Draksgollow moved toward the door, but Kezudkan’s cane swung up and barred his path. The tinker tried to push past, but the cane barely budged. Old though the daruu was, the strength of the stone still resided in his muscles. He lacked what little grace and agility he had as a younger man, but holding his ground was no trouble at all. Kezudkan stepped in front of Draksgollow, interposing himself between the tinker and the rest of his factory.
“Not so fast, Mr. Draksgollow. Your cable said you’d be willing to hear me out, and you’ve barely heard the first words I’ve uttered.”
“I’ve got near to a hundred men—”
“And all I’d need to do would be to grab hold of you and squeeze,” Kezudkan countered. “But let this not devolve into childish threats. You said you’d listen and I intend to hold you to that promise. If I don’t convince you, then I’ll be on my way and waste no more of your time or mine. I came to you because I heard you were the best, not the only.”
“So what, you want me to believe that there are other worlds out there among the stars? I’ve heard the astronomers’ guild’s nonsense before. Even if there are, I don’t see that airships are quite ready to get there yet.”
“I’ve seen them.”
“Seen what? Other worlds? What sort of telescopes are those nutters building these days?”
“I’ve seen another word. Through this.” Kezudkan jabbed a finger at the papers spread on the desk. There, sketched in pencil, was a rendering of an archway, studded with bulbs and coils, webbed with wires. Draksgollow leaned over and looked to the page, then up to Kezudkan’s eyes, as if searching to see whether there was any madness in them.
“You built one?”
“You must have heard the rumors from Eversall. That little debacle was my tinker slave! He built the first one and destroyed it. Somehow he must have brought allies from another world, because there were no hidden tunnels to my home, as they claimed. You kuduks just can’t understand; I’d have known if the stone around my estate was breached.”
Kezudkan paused a moment to catch his breath and regain the dignity he had entered with. Draksgollow leafed through the papers on the desk. “This doesn’t look like enough to build much of anything. And this writing is nonsense.”
“It is, and it isn’t. These are copies of copies. I have a whole book that goes into how to build and use it. If you and I come to an agreement, I can supply all that you need, including my notes on the little I have gathered of the text. But let me assure you: there is enough there to build one and make it work.”
Draksgollow shook his head, as if to clear it. “Wait now. What good is this machine? What’s on these other worlds that’s worth the trouble? That thing could take weeks to build.”
Kezudkan raised a brow. He had expected even longer than that. When he didn’t answer immediately, Draksgollow pressed on.
“Your message said a contingent build, so this thing has to earn its keep and then some. How much are the astronomers willing to pay for something like this?”
“Oh, who cares about them?” Kezudkan replied. “There are at least two worlds out there identical to this one, and there are ore veins ripe for the picking with no quibbles over claims and rights, no guessing, no geologists to hire. Gold, silver, platinum, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, all waiting for coordinates and a strong arm with a pick.
“I’ve seen it. The machine can take us there.”
Draksgollow stared for a moment, eyes flitting about. Kezudkan had seen the same from Erefan on occasion when he was puzzling something out in his head. It must have been a tinkers’ trait.
“Deal.”
Chapter 3
“Some folks like to take shortcuts through other people’s hard work. I have no sympathy when they get what’s coming to them.” -Cadmus Errol
The foothills of central Khesh were always cooler than the lowlands. The Dragon Fang Mountains gave up their winters slowly, and the pervasive chill of the glaciers seeped into the surrounding hills. Even once Madlin Errol and her companions found themselves north of the year-round ice, the rolling hills continued to present a favorable road over venturing into more heavily settled lands.
She had started her journey with a company of fifty men, armed with rifles. She returned from her business in the southern half of Khesh with only five plus her two new companions. Jamile was along as well, of course, but Madlin had ceased counting her some time ago. She had become like a puppy or a younger sibling—though Jamile was two years Madlin’s elder, her presence was expected.
Some part of Madlin believed that she was safer with the two Veydran twinborn for her protectors than she had been with fifty one-worlder riflemen. The rest of her worried that the two were a greater danger than anything that might threaten from the road.
Madlin rode with Dan in one of the middle wagons. Throughout the trip they had kept up a mutual pestering of one another. The boy warlock was every bit the brash adolescent when he wasn’t reminding her that he could reduce them all to ash if he sneezed too hard.
“I keep telling you, you’re not ready.”
Madlin gritted her teeth. “You last told me that two days ago, and I’ve been practicing. I’m ready for more.”
Dan put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyes. “Let me see if I can explain this better. Imagine I’m a butcher’s boy, or a stable-mucker, anything but a tinker.”
“A warlock?”
Dan gave her a condescending frown, but continued on. “Fine, a warlock. Imagine I’ve been tinkering on the side with mousetraps; good enough that I’ve even caught a mouse or two. Now, show me how to make a gun like yours.”
Madlin pulled her pistol from its holster and held it up between her and Dan. “There’s no way you could make this. This is worlds harder than rune-carving.”
“Piss off! You’re not talking about rune carving; you want to cast spells,” Dan said. “That’s harder than your steel-whittling.”
“How hard can it be, if a kid your age can do it?” Madlin clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.
Dan glared at her, unblinking, unflinching. The only movement in his face wa
s the slight flaring of his nostrils as he breathed. “Plenty,” he answered at length.
“Aether is dangerous,” said Dan. He turned and looked off toward the Dragon Fangs. “Those words and gestures form a pattern in your mind as you focus on them.” Dan held out a hand, palm upraised, and a shimmering sphere appeared above it. “With practice you can form the same patterns entirely in your head. Form them incorrectly and something unintended will happen.” The sphere exploded, and Madlin yelped, diving for cover behind a sack of pumpernickel loaves. When she felt no pain, heard no aftermath, Madlin looked up to find Dan smirking at her.
“That wasn’t funny,” Madlin said. She sat up and brushed her jacket clean of burlap strands.
“Magic’s not a funny business, but that doesn’t mean you can’t laugh about it. My uncle Rashan killed a lot of people with his magic, but he still jested with spells.”
“I just want to find a way to get my collar off.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s got to be pretty annoying,” Dan said flippantly. “Can’t you just tinker it off? Seems easier than asking me how to magic it off.”
“If I break the runes, the spikes on the inside will reappear and cut my head off. With the runes intact, I can’t so much as scratch it. I don’t know any way to ‘tinker’ around that. I need some sort of magic. Make it bigger so it can fit over my head. Make my skin hard as diamond. Isn’t there anything that can do that?”
Dan nodded. “Sure, you’d just kill yourself trying it.”
Madlin let out a beleaguered sigh and collapsed back into the wagon. She looked up into the canvas ceiling above and wondered what she could say to convince Dan to teach her.
“I’ve heard that heat makes metal expand,” Dan offered. “Can’t you get to a forge and just heat it up enough to pull it off?”
And melt the thing in the process? I’d burn to death before it got halfway hot enough. She didn’t bother voicing her objection. She gave up and listened to the clop of horse hooves and turning wagon wheels as they meandered toward civilization.