Chance couldn’t help a faint smile. “So, that’s what Ashworth meant,” he mused, and his eyes closed for the last time.
Epilogue
It’s clear to me now that the only thing I leave behind is a broken world, and my part in breaking it.
— Excerpt from Mechanarcissism
S toddard trudged down the narrow lane with determined, yet unfamiliar, steps. Though he wore the typical costume of a Basin-dweller, he’d not been this far from the Spire in years. He had to trust his gut and let the general flow of the crowded street guide him in his search.
He walked in silence, even as the streets around him buzzed with ruckus celebration and revelry. Men and women abandoned all pretenses of concern or responsibility as they flung themselves about wildly—drinking, dancing, and debauching.
Stoddard, however, felt none of the celebratory contagion which had spread through them, moving them to sudden outbursts of felicity. Despite the changing times, they were otherworldly to him in their blatant disregard for propriety.
But then, unlike the Septigonee’s Day celebrations from before, this wasn’t just a momentary lull from the routine misery. This was a celebration of their fortunes turning for good.
Nothing could have contained them if it tried.
Spotting a promising establishment tucked neatly away, he crossed the street, almost being trampled by an impatient carriage carrying a collection of inebriated youth. Patrons exited with heavy and unsure steps, their tongues rolling loose in their mouths.
Exactly the kind of services Stoddard was looking for.
Slipping through the door, he was assaulted by the pub’s ripe flavor. The room was stuffy and cluttered. Some attempts had been made to spruce it up, but the general atmosphere remained unsavory. People crowded together, bumping up against one another as their boisterous conversations spilled over and mixed in the slurry of smoke and soot which hung in the air.
Stoddard was careful not to disrupt the pockets of patrons as he swam through the thick air, keeping his gaze low to discourage any spontaneous conversations which might arise.
At the bar, he snatched a vacant seat. Casting a glance from side to side, he swept the room once for signs of familiar faces, but none were to be seen. It was unlikely anyone would recognize him in this part of the city.
He allowed himself to relax.
“Be with you in one moment,” the man behind the counter said as he finished up with another customer who was counting out an odd number of coins.
Stoddard didn’t mind the moment to settle in. It felt like months since he’d truly been able to breathe. Everywhere he went nowadays he felt severe, probing eyes on him.
He rubbed the top of his gloved hand nervously. He never thought he’d regret so much his once affiliation with the meritocracy.
“Sorry for the wait,” the barman said, squaring off with him. “I’m not sure our paths have crossed before. Blake Bracken is the name. But, call me Blake, your eager and willing host. Now, what can I do for you on this fine day?”
“Just a drink,” Stoddard said. “Whatever you have on hand. It’s not really meant for a celebration.”
“I’ve got something for most men’s taste,” Bracken said. “However, by the look of you... perhaps you’d enjoy something a bit finer?”
Stoddard head snapped up, his body rising from the chair reflexively.
“Don’t worry,” Bracken assured him in friendly tones. “I won’t make any trouble for you. I’m not above old gentlemen types like yourself coming through my doors. A man is a man as much as a drink is a drink in my books.”
“Thank you.” Stoddard settled back into his seat, though his nerves remained on edge. If the barman was able to pick him out from among the crowd so easily, he worried who else might. Perhaps his guise wasn’t as common as he’d supposed.
He cast a few wary glances at the patrons nearby, but none of them seemed to pay him any mind. They were buried too deep in their drinks.
“How about a brandy?” Bracken asked.
Stoddard nodded and Bracken poured him a clean glass. Stoddard laid out a few coins on the table, a faint winding and grinding of gears heard as he did so. Bracken’s eyebrow raised, but Stoddard withdrew his hand quickly and took the glass with his other.
“So, what brings you to this part of the Basin?” Bracken asked. “On a day like today, no less.”
“Does a man need another reason than a drink to visit a pub?” Stoddard asked.
“I suppose not,” Bracken said. “Take no offense to my asking. To be honest, it’s refreshing to find a soul who still has some decency in their demeanor. Ever since that bloody uprising, men have gotten heads the size of blimps—even if their pockets ain’t holding but thick air. But, I understand that you’re guarded. Can’t say I envy your type these days.”
Who was this man to speak so boldly? Stoddard wondered. It reminded him a moment of—
He shook his head and polished off his brandy in a single motion. He didn’t want to think about the old world. Those memories haunted his thoughts in his every waking moment. Not today, he told himself. He was determined to be free of them for one day.
He passed the glass back, and Bracken refilled it. Again, the sound of gears could be heard faintly as Stoddard took it back.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Bracken continued, glancing at Stoddard’s hand curiously. “I’m no worse off, now that the common man has got a share in what the meritocracy was holding onto. Lot of wealth to distribute, and I can’t complain about my cut. Keeps my baby’s walls standing tall,” he said, gesturing to his establishment.
“It doesn’t look like it’s done much...” Stoddard trailed off. It wasn’t wise to criticize his host, but he was growing comfortable with Bracken’s openness. It was refreshing.
“No offense taken,” Bracken waved dismissively, discerning his thoughts. “I know she ain’t pretty. Things may have improved some, but that isn’t a reason to get a high brow. That type of thing has gotten to men’s heads. How long will it last, I wonder? It’s difficult to say. Fortunes are always turning, and can only be divided so many ways. That’s the tricky thing with fortunes: sooner or later, everything runs out.”
“I suppose.”
“Between you and I,” Bracken said. “I’d have been just fine if things had stayed the way they were, and the meritocracy was still in power. World was simpler then. You knew who a man was when he came through your door. And, more importantly, so did he. Everyone’s so blasted eager these days.
“But here I am rambling about my own affairs. What of you? How’s fortune favored you this past year?”
Stoddard looked deep into his brandy. “I honestly can’t say.”
“Well, I assume if you’re still around then you’re through the worst of it,” Bracken said. “Can’t say I agree with all the changes which have come about, or the treatment of the gentlemen of the old world. But, someone’s got to pay, I suppose.
“To think they got by on a fluke,” Bracken chuckled to himself, though he didn’t seem amused. “I’m not much of a gambling man myself, but, if I was, I would have liked to have put my money on that day. Navy repelled by Selaria. A hurricane blowing in from the sea. And all the while, the revolutionaries seizing the moment like it was a gift from Septigonee herself. Never would have expected it. If there was ever a coincidence, that wins them all. Or are you the kind who believes in fate?”
Stoddard breathed a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if I believe anything anymore.”
Just then, a man fell backward and bumped into Stoddard’s chair. Stoddard turned to avoid being shoved, his drink sloshing up over the lip of the glass and splashing on his gloved hand.
“Watch it now!” Bracken scolded the man.
Stoddard was already up. He’d shoved the man back and, in a swift motion, removed his glove before the liquid could soak in. There, in plain sight of all present, Stoddard’s hand lay exposed. It glinted in the artificial lights. Across each di
git ran thin metal frames. Each bent as naturally as a hand of flesh might as he examined it to ensure that each were still dry. As his hand moved, the clear sound of winding gears and the clicking of tiny levers could be heard in the silence which had fallen on the pub.
Stoddard sighed in relief. None of the liquid had gotten through the glove.
Only then did he remember his audience. He glanced about him, his gaze meeting the shocked looks of the patrons as they stared at him with a blend of awe and horror.
Shoving his hand deep into his coat pocket, Stoddard dropped a few more coins on the counter and pushed roughly through the crowd. Without a word, he hurried through the door and down the street, eager to leave the place behind.
“Did you ever see a thing like that?” someone whispered after a few seconds.
“Never in all my days,” Bracken said.
ENJOY THE BOOK?
Thank you for taking the time to read my debut novel, Aether Spark! It’s been quite the journey writing it, and a thrill sharing it with you.
I know, you likely have many questions left unanswered. Trust me, it drove me crazy that I couldn’t fit it all into one book. Like what becomes of Rhett without Chance? How did the world change after the meritocracy fell? And does Stoddard ever get his comeuppance? There’s much more to discover, and plenty more misfortunes to brave as the story continues in the next gripping installment:
Aether Construct: Book Two of the Clockwork Calamity
I’d love to hear your feedback. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this book, on Amazon, or on Goodreads.com. Indie authors like me work hard to create stories for you to enjoy, but our success is in large part due to our readers. When you review your favorite authors, you help ensure the release of future books.
And, if you’d like to send feedback directly to the author, please visit www.nicholaspetrarch.com/contact.
Thank You to my Patrons!
This book was made possible in large part because of my patrons over on Patreon. They generously helped offset some of the production costs and improve the overall quality of the publication.
Special thanks to:
Amanda Rasmussen
Jared Peiffer
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Without all of you this book would never have turned out so well.
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About the Author
Nicholas is an indie author raised in the sylvan mountains of Pennsylvania, currently residing in the rocky hills of Utah. Married to his muse, Nicholas writes science fiction, fantasy, and other stories with a fantastical element.
A late bloomer to the writing scene, Nicholas dabbled in high school and college writing poetry, short fiction, and starting the occasional novel. The thought of making writing a lifetime pursuit, however, remained aloof until a singular conversation with Orson Scott Card at graduation when his professional ambitions turned toward storytelling.
The road to authorship took some time, sifting through the slew of good and bad advice that exists on the internet and struggling to support himself while he studied. Another chance encounter in the throes of this struggle, this time with Brandon Sanderson, set him on the journey of completing his debut novel, Aether Spark.
When it came time to choose a publishing option, Nicholas opted to take the indie route for the opportunity it provided to learn the many aspects of writing and publication—taking it as a personal challenge to pave a way in which future writers like himself can find success in their own writing endeavors.
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