by JM Guillen
There. A door.
It was old, probably from the original construction. It was the color of gunmetal and set in the far wall beneath a stairwell that led up to the gambling pits and bar. I might not have seen it if it hadn’t hung slightly ajar. I spotted the yellow light on the other side.
“Is that where they took you?” I muttered to myself as I walked forward.
I wished Wil was down here, but there was nothing for it. No raven, no sarcastic best friend, it seemed like I was in this by myself.
Turning, I strode toward the door, trying to keep my eye open for anyone who might be trying to stop me. I was quite inconspicuous about it, using my judicar training to glance about with all the subtlety of a nervous whore.
Okay, simple. I focused on the door in front of me, trying for all the world to pretend that I was right where I belonged. I walked with confidence, as if I didn’t have a concern in the world. Get to the door. Quickly get inside. That was the plan. The longer that people like Blythe had to note me fiddling about, the more likely someone would try to stop me.
I took one last look about when I got to the door, but no one was paying me any heed. Smiling, I opened the door.
A hallway. There was a guttering lantern on a small shelf to the left, next to another doorway. Ahead of me, the passageway extended into darkness.
Two ways forward. My ears pricked up when I heard voices.
Someone was talking behind the door.
In the moment, everything seemed obvious. Of course no one would simply stride into that darkness with an unconscious fighter, and obviously, the docieren required a small office, close to the fights.
That was where I would find my gentleman.
With this thought in mind, I reached for the door without listening at it first or having any thought that I could possibly be wrong. I fumbled with the latch and pushed it open.
And looked into the face of Killian Gould.
He was sitting in a small room with a passage behind him. There were papers scattered on the small desk he sat at, and he was talking with a man who was crowned with a shock of red hair.
For a moment, I froze in place, holding the door wide open. I was so stunned at Killian’s appearance that I could do nothing but stare, overcome with amazement.
The man looked as if he had aged ten years.
As I had told the man at Killian’s shop, the Coin and I were acquainted. Now, however, his eyes were red, bloodshot as if he were on a three-month bender. As I looked at him, I realized it was more than that. His eyes were crusty with a yellowed humour, dried and flaking on his face. I could see the blue tracings of veins through his paper-thin skin, and his hair had been frosted with traces of white.
Killian looked up at me. There was a placid acceptance on his face.
“Um, hello.” My eloquence, as always, served me well.
“It’s the judicar.” He did not seem at all surprised to see me, as if he had expected me all along. “Thom.”
“Well,” Jakob the Fox looked up from the papers, meeting me with eyes that were bloodshot, wide and crazed. He was cadaverously thin and had picked several pockmarks to blood on his face. “So it is.”
“I—” I looked back and forth between the two of them, completely stunned by this turn. “I was looking for someone else. Definitely not—” I cut off.
What were they doing here? Why did they both look so strange? So… ill?
“Oh, I’ll wager that to be true.” Jakob kept his eyes squarely on me, slowly crouching. Even though he was mostly behind the desk, he was enough to the side that I could see as he pulled a knife from his boot. “Thing is, you found us.”
I took a step backward, my mind reeling. I think if I had stumbled upon Rebeka herself in the small room, I would have been less stunned.
Then, Jakob leapt at me.
I would love to claim that it was judicar training or some superior reflexes that saved me, but it was actually pure animal terror. I grabbed the door, slamming it shut as hard as I could. The knife embedded in the old wood, and I heard Jakob’s cry of pain as he struck the door, head first, and went down.
Just to make certain, I opened the door again, giving the side of his head my boot. Jakob grunted, falling still.
“I expected you, Judicar,” Killian’s voice was quiet, almost haunting. “I saw you would come.” He was standing now, off to one side of the room. Slowly, as a wide grin drifted across his face, he reached for a small chain, hanging from the ceiling.
He pulled it, never taking his eyes from mine. In the outside room, the arena, there was the shrill scream of a steam whistle. It was so loud that I couldn’t help but wince.
Then, Killian released the chain, and the whistle silenced. I could hear men yelling, voices that were getting closer.
“This is where you run, Thom.” His voice was raspy and sounded old, so old.
Keeping my eyes on him, I backed out the door. I could hear the men clearer now and knew that any moment they would hurl open the gunmetal door. Then, I would face an unknown number of Blades, with no stave or raven.
It seemed that Killian was right. This was where I ran.
I turned toward the inky darkness at the far side of the hallway and pounded boots down the passage. The floor changed from stone to a metal grating, and there was a stairwell that I almost tumbled down.
Then, I heard the door slam open and the yelling of men.
That was when the chase truly began.
Artificery and Thunder
Riddling, Third Bell, Eventide
I spent about a quarter-bell slipping through the inky darkness, avoiding the men with lanterns. However, it hadn’t taken me nearly that long to get completely lost.
I really hadn’t an idea of the immense size of the structure.
Stumbling in the dark had led me to two more staircases, all constructed of that same grated metal. Occasionally, there was one of those barred windows that let in filtered light from some street-level gaslight high above, but those were rare. Fortunately, the men seeking me all had the good sense to carry lanterns of their own, so I could see them coming from a league away.
The deeper I went, the more the low roar of the Er’meander River sung against the buildings’ moorings. I had known part of the structure was beneath the river, but hearing it was another thing, a visceral sound that was terrifying and exciting all at once.
“’E ducked down this way, didn’ ’e?” That was the Terrier. Not that I knew the blasted man’s name, but he was the only one of the lot that seemed to be even remotely capable of following me down here.
Therefore, I had decided he must have one hell of a nose.
The thing about it was, he was right. We were dancing around what seemed to be an innumerable amount of cylindrical vats, all bronze or inoxydable steel. Every few feet there was a row of steamwork engines, constructed mostly of iron cogs and flywheels.
It made for quite the labyrinth, especially considering that some of the vats were toppled on their side. I assumed that had happened when whatever liquid reagent they held had been dumped out, but some of the tanks were still upright, and sounded full when gently rapped upon.
Quietly as I could, I sprinted ahead, dodging the light from a second group. I had to keep the running to a minimum, of course. Not only did it increase my chances of tripping myself up, but my lungs really couldn’t handle long runs. Therefore, it was a balance.
I had no misconceptions about what was on the line here; after all, the Blades had already tried to kill me three times. Now that I was in one of their holdings, with no one around to see, the choice was clear.
If they caught me, it would be too easy.
“Marcus!” One of the men called from what sounded like quite far back in the room. “I’m turnin’ the crank. Blythe’s word on it!”
I had no idea what that meant, beside the idea that Blythe knew I was here. After a few moments, there was a crackling sound, punctuated with several loud pops from overhe
ad. Startled, I crept to the side of the room, pressing myself against the wall, next to some dilapidated machinery.
That was when I heard the soft, murmuring hum.
It seemed to come from all around me at first, a quiet vibration that sang in the metal at my feel. Slowly, inexorably, an odd blue-violet light dawned on the far end of the corridor.
They wouldn’t dare. The thought was wild in my mind, rambling and mad. Still, it seemed as if no matter what I thought of the idea, the Blades did, in fact, dare.
They were firing the Coilwerks artificery.
As I watched the glow creeping across my skin with fascinated horror, there was a low rumble that growled through some of the nearby machinery. It gurgled, as if pumping stagnant sludge through its workings, but then began to chug slowly along.
The entire construct looked to be iron and inoxydable steel, with a flywheel in the far side. There was a small container at the bottom—something the size of a jelly jar—holding a thick, bluish liquid.
As I watched, the liquid began to boil all in moments. Its steam was funneled back into the device.
A scent akin to spoiled milk began to fill the air.
On top of the device, there were four glass constructs, each of a different shape and size. One of them was cracked open, but the others were whole, and were filling with a light blue gas. As I watched, the three pristine glass containers sparkled within, tiny fireflies floating, setting the gas alight. They began to emit a spectral, cool light.
They weren’t the only ones either. I could see several more of the machines, scattered across the room, whirring to life and emitting the ghostly blue glow.
Soon, there would be nowhere to hide.
I crept behind the machinery, hoping to find some shadows there, when I found a small access panel. Hope sparked at the sight. Maybe if I could jiggle the thing open, I could gum up the machinery. If this one was dark, I might have a shadowed place.
“No luck.” I cursed softly as I saw the fastenings on the panel. I needed at least two sizes of wockl wrench to get the thing open. I peered closer. Perhaps I could pry at—
“Couldn’t get past us, could he? Only the one way out.” The voice was remarkably close, and I froze, not wanting to turn around.
“We can be patient.” There was a soft, satisfied chuckle. “More of us, after all. I don’t think that our judicar guest is going to see the light of day.”
Slowly, I turned, trying not to draw any attention to myself. I was wedged behind the machine quite far, if either of them turned my way, I truly had nowhere to run.
Two of them. They weren’t far away, but they were facing away from me, looking down one of the other passageways between the large canisters. The light they were carrying seemed quite bright, far brighter than the lanterns that they were using previously. One of them turned to continue walking to my right, and I got a glimpse of what he was carrying.
I had never seen anything like it.
It was a thick wooden rod, something a little shorter than the length of a man’s arm, with clockwork gears embedded along one side. There was a metallic cap and three tines on the top. They were not arranged like a trident, instead having an almost pyramidal structure to them.
The device was whirring, one of the tines spinning and vibrating in place. Between the three of them was a spark of that violet fire, quivering like a candle in the wind.
“What do you think he did?” One of the men, the one bearing the rod, took two steps closer to me, still not looking in my direction. He held the rod close to the machine I was hiding behind, positioning his spark close to one of the glowing shapes. As if in an echo, the glow on the end of the rod that he held grew brighter as it got close. Then, the two pulsed, and a spark leapt from the machinery to the rod that the man carried.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” The other voice sounded weary. “Blythe wants him. Alive. That’s all that concerns me.”
“We won’t find him standing around yapping.” The first man, the one with the rod, pulled it back. It faded a touch as it moved away from the machinery, but I thought it was brighter than it had been before. “Let’s get this done. I got me a lady waiting upstairs, and I don’t know how patient she’ll be.”
“She’ll be as patient as you pay her to be,” I could hear the chuckle in the other man’s voice. “But I agree, let’s get this done.”
The first man nodded, making a somewhat stabbing motion with the rod as they walked away.
I had no doubt that whatever the effects were of being touched by that violet luminescence, I wanted no part of them.
In older times, the artificers of Teredon discovered and toyed with several different kinds of plasm that were lost to us today. The stories of some of their effects were chilling, and I was quite surprised to see the members of some second-tier guild wielding that technology like it was nothing more than a torch.
Ely would have said they were idiots.
I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore and then I slipped out from behind the machinery. They had strolled to my right, therefore I took one long glance in that direction, making certain they were still walking away before turning and darting to the left.
I wouldn’t be able to hide much longer. I either needed to find the stairwell back up or find a place to make my stand.
Passing several of the small engines that held glowing lights atop them and the keening sound continued in the near distance. The lights seemed to grow brighter in concert, connected by artificery I did not grasp.
I was more than half afraid that the building would collapse in on itself, the metal bent and broken by forces I didn’t understand.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t actually know much about how the Coilworks had functioned or what Gyro-resonance actually did. Like most citizens of the Warrens, I simply knew the rumors and whispers I had heard for most of my life.
I wondered how much the Blades knew about it. Obviously enough to feel comfortable throwing the switch on the machines, but did they really understand how all this artificery worked? Were we in danger of the entire building exploding in violet smoke and leaving thousands of dead fish in the river?
It didn’t seem to matter just now. Apparently, the Blades thought that catching me was important enough to risk whatever the consequences might be.
That was a chilling thought.
I passed another stairwell going down and chose to ignore it. I knew that the lower I went, the more likely it was that I was actually below the river. Presumably I was near its surface now, although I truly had no way of knowing. Only the occasional glow of outside gaslights told me anything at all about where I was.
I passed several small doorways, one of which stood askew. I peeked inside to see a room of gears and switches, controls that had long lain dormant. For a nonce, I considered ducking inside, as it was dark, but then I realized the folly of that move. If one of the Blades chose to poke his head inside, there was absolutely no way out.
Still, when I heard voices echoing from my right, I considered it for a long moment. Instead, I sprinted forward, ducking between two of the large canisters.
As I slipped through the shadows, I looked for a weapon. Anything would do—a length of pipe, even a chain. When I finally saw an old greatwrench, half hidden beneath the shadows of some boxes, I couldn’t help but grin.
“Good morning.” I spoke softly, crouching in the shadows and picking up the wrench. It was far heavier than my stave and far shorter as well. However, it was far better than the spit and nothing I had been planning on ambushing some of these gentlemen with only a few moments before.
As I hefted it my hand, the beginnings of an idea, crazy though it was, began to take shape in my mind. A wild grin danced at the corners of my mouth.
I was on their territory. There were more of them, and they knew the building.
But apparently not well enough to wander it in the dark. They wanted it to be light in here, badl
y enough to risk the artificery.
That was the plan, then. If those spark-lights of theirs somehow fed on the plasm in those engines, then I needed the engine’s lights to go dark.
I hefted the greatwrench in my hand.
I wasn’t out of this yet.
2
I spent quite a bit of time contemplating the glass light before I shattered it.
As I said, the Eld Teredi knew all manner of arts lost to us now; things that were fairly commonplace before the Shroud fell. In the darkened days that followed, man was lucky to find food and shelter, much less have time to record and study some of the more arcane and technological disciplines.
There were records, of course, tomes and tomes of them kept in the Library of Ægedas. It was general knowledge that when the Scriveners came to understand some new lore that was actually old lore, these disciplines would pass into the hands of the appropriate guilds for study and improvement.
In practice, however, many of these disciplines were not as useful as they had once been. Teredon and her outliers were territories entirely surrounded by the Shroud and the raging fury of terrible gloaming storms. Keeping our people fed, happy, and safe from the contagion brought by those storms was our primary focus.
All of this was why, even though I had a good education, I was staring like a loon at the glowing construct, uncertain what to do.
This could be a galvanic plasm for all I knew, some sharpened energy that would char my flesh or have a harmony with metals. Simply the way it had behaved when echoing the spark on the end of the rod that the Blade carried told me it wasn’t anything typical, and the Teredi mindset on such things was usually quite cautious.
“Unless you’re a Twilight Blade, apparently,” I muttered, gently tracing my fingers along the surface of the glass. It was cool to the touch, almost painfully so, which surprised me. Inside the construct, I could see a veritable maze of sparking copper wires. Jutting up from these, there were a series of three filaments; one of them was vibrating quite quickly.
