Pathfinder Tales--Gears of Faith

by Gabrielle Harbowy

  He offered no resistance to the Graycloaks. They searched him, finding several coin purses with their strings cut.

  “Which one is yours, ma’am?” one of the guards asked Keren.

  “It’s not—” she started to protest, but the thief pointed one out with his chin.

  “That one. The tawny leather. My apologies, ma’am. My brother and his friends said I had to, if I wanted to run with them. They said pick her, she got no stones.” It seemed an odd thing, to confess to a gang initiation in front of the guards, but perhaps it was a lesser crime than outright assault. She wasn’t familiar enough with Absalom’s laws to know. She studied the boy’s face more closely for hints of guile or remorse. When he caught her eye, he winked.

  One of the guards pressed the pouch into her hands, and before she could find her voice to protest that it wasn’t hers, they had turned the young man, taking him away. Nothing about this made sense. Why her? Why approach her in isolation on the bridge and not in the press of the crowd? She could only think that he had wanted to be caught; he’d wanted to hand her the pouch in a bold, public way. Why wouldn’t he have just planted it on her person, if so? And the wink … the wink was so strange and brazen that already she was wondering if it had been her imagination.

  This felt very wrong indeed. She hefted the purse, feeling its weight, and listened to it jingle with coin. Maybe this was some sort of an elaborate set-up to entangle her with the true owner of these coins. There could be a mark of ownership inside the pouch. Well. She wasn’t going to inspect it out here. She set off toward the Seventh Church with purpose.

  The scents wafting from the stalls on the way back up the avenue reminded Keren that she hadn’t eaten since dawn. She had no desire for food but her hands and knees were shaking and the smell of meat made her stomach rumble. Most of the stalls had drawings of their varied goods, each with a price beside it. Keren pointed at a picture and handed over coins of her own—not from the strange coin purse—in exchange for grilled meat on a stick. Delicate spices and savory marinade couldn’t hide the gamy flavor of what Keren suspected might be camel. She ate it slowly on her way back to the Seventh Church, playing the quick fight and the boy’s wink over and over in her mind.

  By the time she arrived at the church steps, the meat was gone and she was feeling more control over her limbs again. The two guards from the previous day recognized her and allowed her through in silence. She asked the first initiate she saw to tell Yenna Quoros of her arrival. Instead of standing idly and waiting for the priestess, Keren knelt before the statue of her goddess and passed the few minutes in prayer.

  “Crusader Rhinn.”

  Keren stood. “Ma’am. Can we speak?”

  Yenna spread her hands, as if to say we’re speaking already. “What is it, Crusader?”

  “I was approached at the Starstone Cathedral, ma’am. My assailant tried to make it look like a robbery gone wrong, to make sure I couldn’t refuse this.” She held out the purse with the cut strings. “If I’m being set up for something, I would prefer to open the pouch here, with you and the goddess as witnesses.”

  Where the priestess had seemed to be humoring her a moment before, now Keren had her complete attention. Yenna’s silence stretched through several moments, and each felt as long as the Starstone chasm was wide. Then she sighed and turned. “Come.”

  Keren followed her back through the hallway to the same room they’d spoken in before. She gestured for Keren to sit and closed the door.

  Keren sat, but Yenna did not.

  “Let’s see this pouch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Keren opened the cut strings, widening the neck of soft leather, and then upended it slowly onto the writing desk. Coins spilled out, mostly thin copper coins of small denomination. They were stamped with the seals of different nations, and Keren recalled that Absalom rarely minted its own pennies, but rather redistributed whatever small coins were brought into the country by trade. To Keren’s untrained eye, there might have been enough to buy a round of ale with; certainly not much more than that.

  Yenna closed her hand around some sort of charm and murmured under her breath. She sorted through the coins, shifting them around on the desk in abstract eddies and swirls.

  Keren, meanwhile, turned the pouch inside out and examined it for odd marks. “KF. And a sunburst sword like Iomedae’s symbol.”

  Yenna’s lips tightened. “Kala’s pouch. You were right to bring it here. I’ll make sure it gets back to her family.” Out of the flattened pool of coins, the priestess plucked one penny, and then one more. She shifted the rest of the pile aside and set her findings down, turning them over to inspect both sides. Without another word, she swept the pair of coins into her palm and left the room with them. When she returned just a few minutes later, she was empty-handed.

  “Is everything all right?” Keren asked.

  “Those two coins have scrying spells set on them. I didn’t want to say more in their presence.”

  Keren could have carried the coin purse with her and said any number of things in front of it, in public or in private, with no awareness whatsoever that she was being overheard. “What happens to the coins now?”

  “Now, the high priestess will either destroy them, remove the spell, or use them to supply false information to their owners.”

  Keren sat back, suddenly finding herself irrationally distrustful of the remaining coins, too. “It doesn’t make sense to me, why he’d be so blatant about it instead of just planting them on me. They’re hardly effective for him now.”

  “It was a warning. They’re showing us how easily they can access us, so that we know they could do it stealthily at any time. Did he say anything to you during the exchange?”

  “Just that he’d been put up to it by older boys, and that I’d been his mark because I didn’t have the stones.”

  Something Keren couldn’t recognize crossed Yenna’s face and abruptly fell back behind her calm exterior. “Are you certain that’s exactly what he said? Stones, multiple?”

  “I…” Now that she tried to think back on it specifically, she couldn’t recall if he’d said multiple stones or if she’d just assumed it; the kind of stones mentioned in an insult usually came in pairs. “Ma’am, I’m still a target, and they mean for me to know it. I can report back to you more accurately if I have some context to work in. Let me and Zae be your eyes and ears, not just your distraction.”

  “Thank you, Crusader, but we have more experienced investigators already handling things.”

  Yenna swept the rest of the coins up efficiently and held her hand out for the pouch. As far as she was concerned, their business was concluded. Keren, however, did not agree. She found herself caught yet again between following orders that were right enough and doing what she knew was right for her. This time, remembering Evandor’s encouragement, she decided to speak.

  “And they know that, ma’am. They already know I know nothing. Today was just petty revenge, and they were willing to get someone caught just to insult me and threaten you. What happens tomorrow? They don’t seem very organized or experienced. If they don’t think I know what to look and listen for, they’re more likely to let something slip.”

  Yenna met her eyes for a long, appraising moment. “Wait here.”

  Keren watched the priestess leave. It was several minutes before she returned, her face set and hard. “You must appreciate, Crusader Rhinn, that we don’t share this lightly.”

  “I understand. I appreciate your faith and your trust.”

  Yenna turned toward the statue of the goddess and took a measured breath. Though she’d just spoken her reluctant decision to bring Keren into her confidence, she almost seemed to be looking for a sign to tell her she shouldn’t. “When your assailant remarked about stones, he wasn’t just being crude. He was alluding to the artifact we’re seeking.”

  Keren watched the statue now, too. Iomedae’s marble hands remained upon her sword hilt. Her carven expression was unchanged. �
�What is it?”

  “Lady forgive us, it’s a Bloodstone of Arazni.”

  For a moment, Keren forgot how to breathe.

  9

  CREATURE DISCOMFORTS

  ZAE

  Zae was surprised to see that the day had worn well into afternoon by the time she, Renwick, and several others emerged from the workshop. “Why the pretense with the cellar and the abandoned storefront?” Zae asked. “Why not an active tea shop?”

  “No patrons means fewer accidental injuries. And we like the air of mystery,” Renwick answered. “And the rent is cheap.”

  Rowan had appointed himself Zae’s tour guide, and he led the brief jaunt to the Clockwork Cathedral building. Between herself, the halfling, and the dwarf, Zae enjoyed the novelty of being among people all near to her own height. It suddenly occurred to her that this was what humans must feel every day, and she wished she could somehow tell them all not to take it for granted.

  The building was enormous, and Zae could instantly see why it was often described as a mechanical centipede with a clock tower stuck on its back. It seemed perfectly symmetrical, and so huge and so intricate at the same time—gothic arches, heavy iron plates, interlocking gears—that it seemed unlikely mortal hands could have, or would have, constructed it. The mythical Assembler, builder of the cathedral, was said by some to be a construct himself. Zae found herself inclined to believe it.

  “Is there a reason why we don’t hold classes here?” Zae asked as they ascended the steps to the vast double doors.

  Renwick snorted. “We do, when we need the equipment here, but there are several reasons to do the bulk of our work off-site. You’ll see them for yourself soon enough. This building’s not exactly what you’d call hospitable to living things. No, er, comforts.”

  “He means there’s no privy,” Rowan supplied.

  “Among other things. No food preparation, no running water, no comfortable seats. No heating. It was built with machines in mind, not people. And then there are the gears.”

  A silence began to stretch out, during which Zae looked between her companions. “The gears?”

  “Easiest to explain if you see for yourself first,” Renwick said. “Rowan, it’s her first day. Don’t get her into any trouble you can’t get her out of.” They reached the first open corridor and the rest of the cognate turned down it, their receding footfalls echoing loudly in Zae’s ears.

  Rowan turned to her with a grin. “Let’s have an adventure. Here—this way.”

  At least a dozen corridors sprouted to either side of the wide hall, making up the legs of the “centipede” shape of the cathedral. Slightly offset from each other, they were more like the legs of a walking centipede than a resting one. The main hall itself was decorated sparsely with display cases that highlighted student projects and innovations. No paintings or tapestries hung on the walls to absorb the reverberations of their footfalls and voices. Between each set of legs, the main hall was segmented by high pointed arches, buttressed with ornate curls of wrought iron. At the apex of each arch was a large black gear.

  Zae felt as if she should be wearing a festive gown instead of practical leathers amid the somber grandeur. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to hold a fancy ball in the grand hall. The acoustics would be spectacular.

  Each side corridor was also segmented with bold iron arches, adding to the centipede illusion. The corridors were lined with doors, and when Rowan picked a corridor and made for the handle of the second door on the left, Zae couldn’t tell if he’d chosen it deliberately or out of sheer randomness; there was nothing that, to her eye, served to visibly distinguish one from the next.

  Inside was a workroom. All white, it had a high ceiling that gave the space a large and airy feel, despite a lack of windows. About a dozen workers sat on high stools at long tables. Some sketched with parchment and charcoal pencils, while others soldered and still others assembled parts. It looked more like a factory than a class.

  A halfling in a white smock lifted a hand in greeting when he saw the pair of them at the door. “Come in, come in! We’re working on our group project: a self-propelled ballista bolt. Today we’ve got two groups working on assembly of our prototype, and one group drawing schematics for a launcher.”

  “Isn’t there already a launching device for ballista bolts?” Rowan asked from the doorway. “It’s called a ballista?”

  The instructor waved his hand dismissively. “What cognate are you from?”

  “Alive and Ticking,” Rowan answered.

  “Ha! You dear souls from the Bandage Brigade clearly don’t know anything about weaponry. Ballistae are heavy, ungainly things. What happens if you need to launch a bolt and you don’t have a ballista nearby? No, our launcher will simply hold the bolt in one place so that it doesn’t slide off course while it launches itself. A folding device, able to withstand the force the bolt will exert when it fires. It’ll revolutionize warfare as we know it!”

  Rowan said some faintly encouraging words of parting and retreated to the corridor. “It’s an academy first and foremost,” he reminded Zae. “We’re encouraged to find new ways of doing things.” Still, he didn’t look as though he had much faith in the ballista-less ballistae. “Those were the Bronze Bombers you saw in there. Obviously, they’re dedicated to projectile weaponry.”

  “He called us the Bandage Brigade?” Zae asked.

  “That’s what most of the other cognates call us. We also serve as the first aid squad for the whole of the academy. In fact, I’ve got a shift tomorrow night if you’d like to volunteer with me.” They returned to the main hall and Rowan led the way down the center.

  “And these groups work in here even though the cathedral is so inhospitable to living people?”

  “Not so much inhospitable as it is completely indifferent. The large equipment is here. That’s a compelling reason. But also, some cognates’ work is more, ah, volatile than others. I’m sure you can imagine what would happen if your neighbors found out that you were building giant flying harpoons in your drawing room.”

  “Building and testing.” Zae laughed. Canine surgery in the kitchen had gone over so well, the gnome could only imagine Keren’s reaction to giant harpoons. “So the cathedral is safe and relatively explosion-proof?”

  “Yes. Anyway, here we are at the Siren’s Song cognate. Mechanically produced music is their interest. I won’t open the door because they’re very friendly—and trust me, you don’t want to linger—but they’re another example of a group that couldn’t stay too long in one place without certain … isolating qualities.”

  “Well, you can’t just dangle it in front of me like that!” Zae reached for the door handle herself; Rowan stepped back, covered his ears, and didn’t try to stop her. As soon as the door was merely cracked ajar, the plink-plink-plink of music boxes assaulted Zae’s ears. She had never thought to weaponize a music box, but if she were ever to need to, the current out-of-tune jangling of discordant melodies in competition with each other would have been the optimal way to attack. Rowan started to say something, but Zae shook her head; she couldn’t hear him over the cacophony. He staggered forward and pushed the door shut with his weight.

  “Soundproofing,” he said. “It certainly works, doesn’t it?”

  Zae’s ears rang. The sudden silence of the corridor felt as much like overbearing pressure on her eardrums as it did relief. Without another word, they returned to the main hall.

  More staggered corridors, with no sense of what might be happening behind the many serene-looking doors. “Do all the cognates work here, at least part time? Are there assigned rooms?”

  “Most of them at least dabble here, but some are better suited to special environments. There’s a water cognate that meets down in the Puddles—you’d be surprised the aptitude the gillmen have for engineering—and they build strictly water-useful devices, so there’s no point for them to meet this far inland.”

  Zae pondered that as they walked. “These corridors
all run straight off this central centipede-body?”

  “Only for a ways. Then most of them turn, some of them branch cul-de-sacs and dead ends, and a scant few of them lead into each other where it shouldn’t seem to be possible. Oh—” he pulled at her arm. “Look!” A sound that she had mistaken for her own heartbeat pounding her ears, after the music room, turned out to be the footfalls of a rotund metal construct about the size of a housecat. This, like the message-construct that had delivered her acceptance letter, was exactly the sort of thing Appleslayer would see as a toy built just for his amusement. In her mind’s eye she could see the dog tossing the construct in the air and skidding across the marble floor after it.

  “They’re cleaners and errand-runners. Like messenger pigeons, except that they remove debris instead of creating it.”

  Zae’s fingers twitched. “How interesting! And they’re fully automated?”

  Rowan laughed and pulled her by the hand. “No taking apart the Thumpers. We call them that because of the noise they make when they walk. I don’t even know if they have another name. Come quick, now. You’ll want to see this.”

  The halfling took off at a sprint and Zae ran after him, nearly colliding when Rowan came to a halt. She turned to follow his gaze and found that the side corridor was completely shut off by a large iron grate. Or—not a grate. A gear. “Is this what I came quick to see?”

  Rowan made a playful face at her. “We’re a few moments early, but that’s better than being late. You never want to be late in this building.”

  Zae put that advice away for later. The giant gear was moving, beginning to rotate aside at a stately pace, with far more grace and less noise than Zae would have expected. She watched it disappear into a channel in the side of the doorway and then reappear at the top of the arch.

  Then people, six of them at Zae’s quick count, shambled out from the arch. “What…?”

  “If a gear seals off a corridor, it can be sealed off for minutes or for days. There’s no teleporting, no dimensional doors, no long-distance cries for help. The building is explosion-proof, both physically and magically. When a gear is down, there’s no alternate way in or out, and you have no supplies but what you bring with you. Learning the timing cycle of the gears is what graduates a novice to become an advanced student.”