Samuel wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending the night alone in this shop. It reminded him a bit too much of the burning room in Winston, and the deactivated constructs in the corner unsettled him. “It’s not my first choice, but I’ll go with it.”
“You’ll be fine.” He turned toward the door, but stopped and looked back at Samuel. “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully Atherton can help you out.” He paused and nodded, almost to himself, then left.
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
Before long, trepidation set in. Samuel had grown used to Kaleb’s company over the last several days and with that company had grown trust. Even so, the things Kaleb would not say nagged at Samuel. He just wanted the next couple of days over with. He wasn’t given time to let his mind wander as Atherton and Michael joined him in the workroom.
“Come, come, Samuel,” Atherton said. “Let me take a closer look at you.” He waved Samuel over to the angled table. “Step onto the platform.”
Samuel did as he was asked and leaned back against the surface of the table. Michael moved around to his left and turned a crank connected to the pedestal, tilting the table until he lay flat on his back and his head and limbs sank into indentations in the wood. For the first time, he noticed straps at intervals on the table designed to hold a construct in place. The idea of being strapped down, even for his own benefit, did not sit well.
Samuel turned his head as much as the indentations allowed but couldn’t see much besides Atherton moving around to his broken shoulder, his goggles lowered. Atherton wheeled over a small table with a box of instruments and a writing pad. At first he worked on Samuel’s shoulder with his fingers, tracing every dent and bend, taking note of every detail. The continued examination felt like an eternity of being measured and prodded while the artificer took notes. After some time, Samuel heard Michael speak. “What kind is he? Where was he built?”
Atherton’s only reply was to shush the boy and continue his examination. He rarely spoke, and when he did it was to himself, mumbling notes or calculations. Time crawled by for Samuel until Atherton stood, waving Michael over. Michael turned the table’s crank, returning Samuel upright.
“Sir, might I ask what you’ve discovered?” Samuel asked.
Atherton gave him an odd look that was only amplified by his goggles, which now sported a magnifying glass over one eye. He shook his head and pulled the goggles off, as if he was only just realizing he was still wearing them. “You are a mystery, now, aren’t you? Expressing genuine concern over my examinations.” He lowered his eyes and shook his head, scratching at one earlobe. “I’ve encountered many who were adept at affecting an air of concern, but never one who was so wholly convincing.”
Samuel wasn’t sure how to reply, so he made his best attempt. “To the best of my knowledge, sir, this is not an affectation. My concern, I think, is well-founded.”
“Well, to that, my concerned construct, I say the repairs are not the most complicated I’ve dealt with, nor the simplest. Getting your arm back in working order should be a simple affair, but reconstructing your shoulder so it works properly might not be so easy.”
“And why not?” Samuel asked, trying to sound more inquisitive than exasperated.
Atherton sat on a stool next to his workbench and placed a hand on his chin. “Because you are very old indeed. I’ve not seen artificery the likes of yours in a great while. The very construction of your shoulder joint is”—a hint of a smile touched his lips—“sublimely complex. It will be a challenge, but one for which I am prepared.”
Samuel felt relieved, eager for the work to be finished and to have two usable hands. “When can we begin?” he asked. “If restoring the use of my arm is a simple procedure, can we take care of that now?”
“Not yet,” Atherton said, turning back to his workbench and replacing his goggles with a pair of thin-framed glasses. “I could restore flow to your arm, but the moment you tried to move it you could do more severe damage to that shoulder of yours. No, tonight I will begin fashioning what parts I can, and we’ll take care of both problems in one fell-swoop tomorrow afternoon.” He turned back to Samuel and peered at him over his glasses. “Will that suit you?”
Samuel nodded, more than a little disappointed.
“Good,” Atherton replied. He turned back to his workbench without a word, leaving Samuel to his own devices.
• • • • •
Samuel puttered around the front shop area, examining the shelves full of materials and trying to decide what to do with his time. Michael had been sent on an errand, and with Atherton buried in a workbench and Kaleb off to who-knows-where, he was left with no one to talk to. As he walked around, he could not help but be drawn back to the corner where the half-complete constructs sat beneath the shelf of detached heads.
As he approached the dismembered limbs, he found himself less and less disturbed by them, seeing them now as mannequins or broken toys where before he had seen them as fallen brethren. The most complete form in the bunch was a headless torso with one arm and one opposing leg, which produced a short, dull, hollow ring when Samuel rapped it with his knuckle.
Above the partial construct was a deep shelf upon which were laid an array of upper limbs. Everything from complete arms to hands alone to solitary fingers were stacked in as organized a way as possible. Samuel picked up a hand from the top of the stack and peered inside the wrist, to find it hollow but for a light support structure. He wiggled the fingers and replaced the hand on the shelf.
The top shelf held his mind in rapture, some four feet long and bearing a row of seven construct heads. All similar in size, their faces and structures could not have been more varied. Some had wide, round eyes where others bore thin slits. One had no mouth at all, yet one had what appeared to be an articulated jaw. None of them had noses, however—this seemed to be a unifying design to all the constructs he had seen so far.
One head in particular caught his attention; its eyes were similar to his own but the rest of its face was much more angular, all sharp edges and menacing features. The mouth was turned down into a semblance of a scowl, and two rows of rivets ran diagonally from the corners of its mouth and met at around back of its bronze domed skull. From the back of the head where the rivets met to the middle of the forehead ran a thick metal fin, a sharpened edge along its top, a hand’s width tall at its uppermost point. The whole of the head was dinged and battered, indicating it had served its construct for a great many years.
He held the head in his one good hand, supporting it just behind the jawline. “I wonder what happened to you,” Samuel said to the skull. “What was your name? Where did you come from?”
Samuel couldn’t help himself. “I’m from the same place you are!” Samuel said, lending his voice to the skull as he tipped it up and down with the cadence of his words.
“Do you think we were friends, once?” he asked the head.
“Of course we were!” The skull tilted back. “Of course, all these people will tell you constructs don’t have friends…”
“True enough.” Samuel said. “I guess I’m the only one.”
“Well, make that two of us, then!”
A snort from the other side of the room startled Samuel out of his conversation, and he flinched in surprise. Michael was standing near the front entrance, shuddering with laughter. Samuel replaced the head on the shelf and took a step back. “Sorry you had to see that,” he said. “Do you think it’s possible for a construct to go insane?”
Michael wiped tears from his eyes and reined himself in. “Oh, wow, Samuel. That might be one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. And never in my life have I—”
“Seen a construct get startled?” he asked, cutting Michael off. “I know, I’ve heard this one before.” He felt the snip in his voice and regretted directing it at Michael. He took a seat on the granite bench. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean it to seem like I’m upset with you.”
Michael was still smiling, shaking
his head as he approached and sat down on the other arm of the bench, leaning against the wall. “Don’t be. You have no idea how exciting it is for me to see a construct that behaves like you. When old farts like Atherton are talking about how different you are, you know something’s going on. I only hope I can help you figure it out.”
“I appreciate that, Michael.” He paused, trying to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say. “Truly. It’s not an act or a calculated response.”
“You know,” Michael replied, “somehow I know that. I just…know it.” He smiled. “And don’t worry about Atherton’s predictions on your repairs. They won’t be that difficult. He’s always overly conservative when he gives out estimates, to keep expectations in check.”
Samuel nodded. In truth, that did make him feel a little better.
Michael leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees to support his weight. “Are you frightened? To figure it all out, I mean?”
Samuel leaned back. “Not even a little bit. I just want to know, so I can figure out what to do next. I feel like I’m stuck in a void until I can put this one thing behind me and move on with whatever comes next.”
“Well, let’s start by getting that arm moving again. That’s gotta be annoying.”
“You have no idea.”
“Actually, I do,” Michael replied. “When I was younger, I was cleaning the shelves in here and a stack of legs came tumbling down onto me and broke my right arm. I was in a splint and a sling for a month.”
“Okay, then,” Samuel said. “Maybe you do know how I feel.” He paused, searching for a question. “Michael, I know you’re just an apprentice right now, but can you tell me anything about where I might have come from?”
Michael took a deep breath and looked Samuel over, evoking Atherton’s manner now that he was in examination mode. “Well, I can’t pin it down for certain, but I’d put down good money you were constructed in one of the southern cities…maybe Padorean or Balefor. You’ve had a lot of replacements over time, though.” He leaned in and pointed to plates on Samuel’s upper leg and the side of his torso. “These two look to be somewhat recent, probably within the last year. And I can tell you’re very old…I’d say over a hundred years. I’ve seen more recent constructs that kind of look the same style as you from those cities, but simpler, more streamlined. You…You’re an antique.”
• • • • •
Samuel and Michael conversed for quite some time. Samuel learned about the southern cities and the constructs that dwelled there. Michael told him in the metropolis of Balefor, constructs were not as common any more as they were in Morrelton, and were only found in the most affluent households. "Many regulations and restrictions govern construct ownership," Michael said, "and even more on their creation." Smaller artificers left the city and set out for other, more amiable places, not long after the time Michael believed Samuel to have been created. Their conversation then meandered to other topics, like how Michael was enjoying his apprenticeship, how he came to know Atherton, and how both of them knew Kaleb.
“I see the way Atherton looks at Kaleb when he comes around,” Michael said, turning his eyes to the floor. “Every once in a while, I see the old man shake his head when Kaleb leaves, or make other little gestures. I think he’s disappointed, like he feels Kaleb could’ve done something better with himself. Now, Kaleb only comes around once in a long while. This is the first time we’ve seen him in months.” Michael leaned forward onto his knees again. “Sometimes I wonder if I can ever live up to whatever it was Atherton saw in him. I feel like I’m always a step behind.”
Samuel let the silence float between them, not knowing much about how to console someone feeling sorry for themselves. He broke the silence with the only piece of relevant information he could remember. “I can’t tell you what Atherton thinks, but I can tell you Kaleb thinks the world of you. He thinks you’re going to be great someday.”
Michael’s face brightened and he came out of his slump. “Did he say that?”
“Yes, he did,” Samuel replied.
Michael pulled his feet up onto the bench and rested his chin on his knees, his smile beaming from ear to ear. They heard the ring of the latch and the door to the workroom swung open. Atherton stepped out and closed the door behind him.
“Time to turn in, Michael,” he said. “We have a lot of work in the morning.”
Michael stood and nodded to Samuel. “Thanks, Samuel.”
“You’re welcome,” Samuel said. Michael made his way around the corner and up the stairs.
“He’s very taken with you, you know.” Atherton said. “All the mystery and the secrecy. He wants to help you.”
Samuel turned to the old artificer. “I know. He’s a good kid.”
“Yes, he is.” Atherton replied, his demeanor hardening once again. “And it will stay that way. I don’t know what you and Kaleb are into, nor do I care to know. But Michael has a bright future, and I won’t have him running off like—running off and wasting it. I’ll repair your arm, and I’ll have you on your way. Don’t drag him into this, do you understand me?”
Samuel sat, stunned and unsure what to say. “Of course, sir. I had no intention of—”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.” Atherton cut him off. He took a breath before continuing. “I’ll have most of the parts fashioned by mid-morning and be able to begin work tomorrow mid-day. As I’m sure you are aware, I do not fashion quarters for constructs, so you will have to stay down here tonight.”
“That’s not a problem,” Samuel said. “I’ll try not to make a nuisance of myself.”
“See you don’t.” With that, Atherton turned and followed Michael upstairs.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
* * *
Samuel spent most of the night in quiet contemplation, trying to reach into the recesses of his mind for any clues to his situation. He hadn’t thought to ask Atherton about the marking on his shoulder, but made a mental note to ask him tomorrow during the repairs. Aside from that one thought, nothing he did penetrated the time before he was born to fire. Above all else he wanted to know how he came to be in that room in the first place, and whose blood had stained the floor where he awoke. He pulled his cloak down from where it hung near the bench, reaching into the inside pocket for the serpent ring.
He sat on his bench with the ring around the tip of his wide middle finger, examining every detail he could make out in the dim lamplight. On the face of the ring in gold were two winged serpents, facing each other, their talons digging into one another’s hides, their tails wrapping around the outsides to form the edges of the relief. In each serpent’s eye gleamed a tiny cut gem, one black and the other a translucent red split by a vein of milky green. Beneath the relief, the ring itself was cast of a single piece of silver with a hole wide enough for two fingers, attached to the gold face by a complex setting. Inside the ring, Samuel saw fine grooves that may have once been an inscription, but had long since worn off. As beautiful a piece of work as the ring was, it still triggered no clues or memories for Samuel.
A noise from the stairwell drew his attention. Flickering light painted the floor from behind the archway leading to the stairs. Samuel stuffed the ring back into the cloak pocket and leaned back as Michael entered the room carrying a small candle on a dish. His hair was tousled, and he was still in his nightclothes. He made his way to the back of the shop and sat in the same spot as earlier, setting his candle down on the bench next to him.
“Can’t sleep?” Samuel asked.
“Nope,” Michael replied. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and Kaleb, and everything.” The boy paused before continuing. “I mean, why would someone get rid of all your memories? What use would you be to anyone then? It would take months, or years, to rebuild knowledge like that, even with Atherton’s skill.” He shook his head, once again pulling his knees into his chest and resting his head on them. “Have you and Kaleb been traveling together long?”
“Not too long, by you
r standards,” he said. “But nearly my entire life, as far as I know.”
Michael laughed. “How is he doing? I mean…” Michael trailed off, looking thoughtful. Samuel waited for him to finish. “I mean, people say things. To some people around Morrelton, Kaleb doesn’t have the greatest reputation.”
The boy’s question bothered Samuel, but he put it away for the time being. “He helped me when I needed it,” Samuel said. “I wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice by leaving Taeman’s caravan, but after hearing Atherton’s comments, I’m convinced Kaleb helped me out of a bad situation.”
“Taeman’s a sleaze,” Michael said. “The way he treats his constructs is awful.”
“Now I know why Kaleb has so much faith in you, Michael.” Samuel said, bringing a smile to Michael’s face. He stood to replace his cloak on its hook. “I’m glad to know you’d never treat me that way.”
“Never!” Michael exclaimed, then settled back down with his chin on his knees. “It’s hard for me to believe any… …such a terrible… …considering… …amuel?!”
The room wavered in Samuel’s vision and then was gone, leaving nothing but blackness.
• • • • •
Trapped. Nowhere left to run, nothing left to do but wait. The doorknob turns, but the deadbolt prevents the door from opening. An angered, guttural scream from the hallway precedes a hard thump on the door. The jamb cracks, but does not give way. A wordless growl, another scream, and the door bursts inward, splintering the latch and frame.
Before him stands a boy in his teens. His shaggy blond hair is wet and clings to the sides of his face, his countenance locked into pure rage. He labors for heavy breaths. A dislocated right shoulder lends an odd cant to his arm. Tears stream down his face from bloodshot eyes.
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