Emissary Metal OMNIBUS 1-3

by Paton, Chris

  “I have you?” the flick of hair curling at Seffi's neck and the brief flush of red above her collar as she angled her head to look at me, stilled the air between us. Not trusting my eyes, I looked down, gripping the rail as I stared between the steps at the tables on the cellar floor far below us.

  “Yes. We are partners in this project,” Seffi's boots clanged on the step as she resumed her climb. “Until Schleiermacher says otherwise, or...”

  “Or?” I hurried after her.

  “Or you suffer an industrial accident and die,” she paused, “for the second time.”

  “I see.” Were it not for the brief display of emotion Seffi revealed on the stairs, the thought of dying for a second time might have festered. As it was I followed Seffi through the trapdoor and across the factory floor, weaving between the legs of the mammoth walkers before entering the emissary bay. Seffi nodded at the guards outside the scaffold tent, ducking her head beneath the folds of the canvas as they lifted the tarpaulin and we entered the secluded workspace.

  “Ah, the great engineer, back from the dead,” Feld let the oilskin fall over the emissary's head and clambered down from the wooden stepladder, the rungs pitted and gouged like his words. Wiping his hands in a cloth rag, he stared at me as he walked to the far wall of the tent and slumped into a canvas-webbed chair. The thin hiss of steam from the emissary's boiler rose upwards, adding to the bank of tiny clouds puffing between the rafters.

  “We don't have time for your petty jealousies, Feld,” Seffi picked up a large herringbone wrench, testing the weight as she twirled it in a casual arc above the worktable.

  “You don't frighten me,” Feld crossed his arms across his oil-smeared leather tunic. “I am senior engineer on Wallendorf's pet project. I am...”

  “Immune?” The wrench clanged onto the surface of the worktable. “For now. Perhaps.” Seffi took a step back from the table. Stopping by my side, she nodded her head towards Feld. “Beyond his words, the man is harmless,” she turned to stare at the engineer. “Gelded. Clipped. Past his prime. I wouldn't worry about old Feld. But I will hear about it if he gives you any trouble.” Brushing past me, Seffi paused at the entrance, one hand gripping the canvas. “The lodestones are in the wooden box at the end of the worktable. I will be back in the evening. Your lunch and dinner will be served here. There is a toilet at the rear of the tent.” Lifting the tarpaulin, she ducked beneath it and was gone.

  Feld hawked and spat onto the tent floor. Reaching inside his tunic, he removed a leather-bound flask, uncorked the stopper and took a long pull, glaring at me all the while. “Just one more of Schleiermacher's pet projects.” Feld tucked the flask in his pocket. “He should have her on a leash. Have you seen how the workers look at her? Eh?”

  “Well,” I shrugged.

  “Exactly,” Feld wagged his finger. “Afraid of her, they are. Afraid of her so-called wilding ways. No, there's nothing special about Seffi Achterberg,” Feld spat. “She's just a friendless whelp Schleiermacher found in the mountains, trained to fight.”

  Feld stopped talking as I moved along the table and opened the box containing one of the lodestones. The chair creaked beneath Feld as the lodestone sucked at the light from the sodium lamps hanging from the scaffold.

  “Why does that happen?”

  “I don't actually know,” I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the lodestone.

  “Well, what do you know?” Feld reached for his flask.

  “I know that there is enough iron in the atmosphere to channel the magnetic waves between the two cores of magnetite within the lodestones.” I removed it from the box and held it to the light, smiling as the lamps dimmed further and the amber surrounding the magnetite glowed like fire in my palm.

  “Iron in the atmosphere,” Feld scoffed and took another long pull from his flask.

  “In the dust and in the dirt,” I explained. “There's plenty of iron in the factory. We're breathing it now. In the country, deserts and mountains, it will be in the rocks, beneath the emissary's feet.” I looked up at the metal machine towering above me. “Is it ready?”

  “Of course it is,” Feld tottered to his feet. “While you were busy dying and being dead, some of us were working.” Walking to the table, Feld pushed me to one side. Brushing a space between the tools, screws and bolts on the work surface, he moved a second wooden box into the space he had cleared. “Schleiermacher had his mongrel save your research notes before the fire. I built this from the plans you had for the spider controller. The design is crude, but...” Feld caught my eye before turning away, “interesting. This,” he opened the box, “is an improvement.” He took a step backwards, his eyebrows raised, urging me to look.

  As I leaned over Feld's controller, I made a mental note to forgive the engineer for at least some of his animosity. The wooden box had a central housing of a copper nest and brass clasps for the lodestone, levers for changing the polarity of the magnetic charge and a brass cranking handle housed in a snug fitting inside the lid.

  “Here,” Feld reached past me and tugged the handle free. “Push it in the side,” he spun the box ninety degrees on the smooth surface of the worktable. “Crank it twenty or thirty times for a good charge. Go on,” Feld pushed the box towards me.

  Placing the lodestone into the copper nest, I secured it with the brass clips, gripped the side of the box with my left hand and turned the cranking handle with my right. The lodestone glowed brighter with each turn of the handle, specks of amber fire reflecting in the engineer's bacchic eyes as he peered over my arm.

  “It's working,” I turned the handle faster. “Look how the lodestone glows, feeding off the charge.”

  “Yes,” Feld rested his hand on my shoulder, our rivalry forgotten in the shared euphoria of the moment when science and engineering meet, merge and unite. “This might work.”

  “What did you try before?” I let go of the handle, letting it spin of its own accord.

  “Oh,” Feld let go of my shoulder, steadying himself with a hand on the table as he reached for his flask. “Copper wires and,” he took a pull. “It doesn't matter.”

  “Where is the second lodestone?”

  “In the emissary. I put it there just before you came in.”

  Powered by the current cursing along the copper-wired nest, the lodestone released the light absorbed from the lamps and the tent brightened. Turning away from the table, I crossed the floor to the emissary. Hauling on the line snaked through the pulley in the scaffold above, I pulled the oilskin covering into the rafters, exposing the head of the emissary, its face glowing – fired with amber.

  “Look, Feld,” I stared up at the emissary. I could feel my cheeks flushed with pride, glowing in the amber firelight. Tying off the line, I rushed back to the table and picked up the controlling box.

  “Careful, lad,” Feld reached for the box. “The emissary is a lot more complicated than your spiders.”

  “I know what I am doing, Feld.” I shrugged the controller free of the engineer's grasp. Supporting the box with one hand, I reached inside with my right hand, gripping the lever between my fingers and thumb.

  “The controls are very sensitive,” Feld cautioned. “And the emissary has a full head of steam.”

  Ignoring Feld, I tweaked the lever, grinning as the emissary bent forwards, the magnetite core in its head attracted by the magnetic pull of its mate.

  “Reverse the charge,” Feld reached for the controller. “It's too heavy. Unbalanced.” Pulling the controller from my hands, Feld pushed me to one side. The light dimmed as the torso of the emissary, free of its massive arms, toppled forwards, obscuring the light as it crashed on top of Feld, crushing the engineer beneath the smouldering globus tank.

  Gears in the emissary's neck whirred as it turned its tiny head towards me, attracted to the magnetic pull of the lodestone as the controller tumbled out of Feld's grip and onto the floor between us. Oblivious to the arrival of the guards, or their shouting, I stared into the emissary's f
ace, caught in the glare of its fiery eyes until Seffi entered the tent. Slapping me in the face, she shook me out of my stupor and pulled me to my feet.

  I watched as the guards coordinated a team of blindfolded workers, as they heaved the emissary onto its feet and dragged Feld's broken form out of the tent.

  The lighthouse glare of the emissary lit the workspace with searchlight intensity, picking at the bones of the herringbone wrenches, stripping the flesh from mine. Seffi steered me from the tent and into the emissary bay, severing the amber glow connecting us with the tails of the canvas door. She guided me to the Wallendorf hospital wing, the workers carrying Feld's inert body on a stretcher before us.

  Chapter 7

  Feld was dead. I listened as the tail of the doctor's gown swished across the tiled floor, slowing as he reached the doorway and placed his hand on my shoulder. His heels twitched as he waited for me to look up. Shoulders slumped, I stared at them, closing my eyes as he began to speak.

  “Feld is dead.” The doctor squeezed my shoulder. “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Seffi pushed off from the wall against which she was leaning. “He heard you.”

  I listened as she padded across the floor and stopped by my side. Tilting my head to my left, I peered around the doctor's waist and stared at the corner of the hospital bed upon which Franz Feld lay. I had seen several dead bodies over the years, mostly those of waifs and vagrants floating in the Frankfurt sewers, but this was the first time I had been directly involved in someone's death. I didn't like the feeling, nor did I realise it would get worse with each subsequent death I could trace to my own hands. I hung my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “If we are finished, doctor, I will take him back to his workstation. We need to tidy up.”

  “Yes, of course. There is nothing more to be done here.”

  I flicked my eyes open at the sound of the doctor's gown swishing once more as he walked away. Seffi tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to follow. I stood up, straightened my tunic and fell into step behind her.

  “Feld was a good engineer,” Seffi waited for me to catch up. “But you needn't mourn him for long, Karl. He didn't like you. You knew that, right?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “But there was a moment when...”

  “A moment?” Seffi laughed. “Everyone has their moments, but he was a miserable sod, and a pain to work with. Just ask Schleiermacher.” With a hand gripping my elbow Seffi steered me out of the hospital ward and along the corridor towards the emissary bay.

  “It doesn't make it easier knowing he didn't like me. I am still responsible for his death.”

  “An industrial accident, Karl. And, from what I understand, it wouldn't have happened had you not made some progress with the emissary.”

  “Progress?”

  “It moved, Karl.”

  “And it hasn't before?”

  “No,” Seffi laughed again. There was a bitter edge to the sound – a sadness.

  I stopped at the entrance to the bay. “Feld said something about you before he died.” Seffi waited. Her brown eyes steeled. “Actually, it was something he called you.”

  “Careful now, Karl.” Seffi held her arms to her sides, her palms flat, her fingers straight.

  “He called you friendless.” I paused, surprised at my audacity. “I just wondered if he was right?”

  The cracking of Seffi's knuckles as she squeezed her hands into fists reminded me of the riflemen firing their muskets the day the president was sworn in as the leader of the German Confederation. I tensed my body in anticipation of her response.

  “Feld is dead, Karl. I have no use for dead men's words. We will not speak of this again.”

  “But what he said...”

  “Karl,” Seffi raised her right hand, her index finger extended, straight, sharp. She pressed it into my sternum. “Don't...”

  “I am lonely, too, Seffi. I have been for some time.”

  Her finger pressing into my tunic, Seffi paused. Stabbing each word into my chest she said, “I don't care, Karl.” Her lips paled as she pressed them together. “And neither should you.”

  “But, Seffi,” I rocked back onto my heels as she removed her finger.

  “No. No more,” she shook her head. Turning on her heel, Seffi strode towards the emissary tent. I hurried after her.

  Inside the tent, the guards were untying the ropes they had used to hoist the emissary onto its feet. A team of three workers were busy attaching the emissary's right arm. They looked up as Seffi let the canvas door fall closed behind us. The emissary's head was angled downwards, as if it was watching me, the lodestone still glowing from behind the cross-hatched faceplate.

  “They have been cleared?” She pointed at the engineers.

  “Yes,” the head guard nodded. “By Herr Schleiermacher himself.”

  “Fine,” Seffi glanced at me before turning back to the guard. “He is to work here for the remainder of the day. As soon as they are finished,” she pointed at the engineers, “you can send them out. I will have someone send Karl his dinner, and I will be back to collect him at the end of his shift.” Stepping around me, Seffi paused at the door. “He doesn't leave. Understood?”

  “Ja,” the guard nodded. “He doesn't leave.”

  Lifting the canvas, Seffi stepped out of the tent and was gone. I hovered by the side of the worktable until the engineers were finished. The guard stared at me as I picked up the controller, but it was the emissary's gaze that I felt pricking at my skin.

  As the last of the bolts securing the emissary's arms were tightened, the guard ushered the engineers out of the tent and followed them into the bay. I waited until the canvas door was closed, the hem rasping across the stone floor, before walking over to Feld's chair and slumping into it. The emissary's head clicked as it turned to follow my movements, attracted by the magnetic pull of the lodestones.

  “It's just you and me then.” I leaned back in the chair, resting the controller in my lap.

  The emissary dipped its head.

  In one of my more precocious moments, in the middle of Professor Hyperion's class of magnetism, I had argued in favour of an obscure and widely ridiculed theory that birds could see magnetic waves. Professor Hyperion had lead the charge of laughter, pinning me to my seat like a specimen ripe for disection, with riposte after riposte of slants and jests. He encouraged my classmates to trample upon my unfortunate choice of theoretical foundations upon which I proposed to build my own research. They needed little excuse. But I remembered the day, not with embarrassment, but for the clarity and focus it instilled in me. Under the enduring gaze of the emissary, I was reminded of the birds, and that highly improbable theory I had so stubbornly defended.

  “I wonder.”

  Standing up, I walked to the table, the emissary clicking its head to follow the controller. I placed the controller on the table, opened the lid and reached inside to grasp the levers between my fingers and thumbs.

  “There must be some point at which the magnetic field is balanced, neutral.”

  I sucked at my teeth, the air escaping between my lips with a smacking sound as I moved the levers forwards and backwards, shaping the invisible field, envisioning it in my mind and mapping it as I experimented. The emissary rocked its head back and forth as if connected to the levers with an invisible wire.

  “There,” I shouted as the emissary's head hung stationary for a moment before tipping forwards, attracted by the positive polarity of the lodestone's magnetite core. “Steady now, Finsch.” I pinched the levers back and forth, each movement requiring more thought than muscle.

  The emissary, for its part, obeyed each command with nothing more than a click of its neck, and a thin whistle of steam from its boiler. I stopped to map the field of magnetic influence on a scrap of paper, sketching onto the surface of the table when the paper proved insufficient.

  The controller I had designed for my spider allowed for a varied range of movement with the lifting and pressin
g of each lever. I wondered just how closely Feld had followed my plans. Holding my breath, I pinched the top of the lever on the left and teased it upwards.

  “Hah,” I yelled as the emissary lifted its left leg, bending at the knee. The emissary wavered and I let go of the lever for fear of being crushed like Feld beneath one thousand pounds or more of metal and steam. The emissary wobbled for a moment and was still.

  “Aren't you clever, eh?” I rocked the emissary's head back and forth in agreement.

  Dinner arrived, the smell of curried sausage creeping around the canvas door as the guard entered. I removed my hands from the levers and stepped away from the controller for fear of causing another industrial accident. The guard studied my face as I received the plate.

  “Everything all right, Herr Finsch?”

  “Yes. Everything.”

  The guard looked up at the emissary. With a quick glance at me, he left the tent.

  Carrying the plate over to the chair, I put it down on top of a crate and returned for the controller. The emissary twitched at the shoulders, shuffling its feet and shifting its stance as I experimented with the levers until the emissary was as close to me as I dared have it. Placing the controller at my feet, I imagined the emissary salivating as I ate my sausage beneath its massive frame.

  “Smells good, eh?” I reached down and twitched the levers until I was satisfied the emissary agreed with me.

  I spent quite some time under the watchful gaze of the emissary. I no longer regarded it as a monster, nor did I think of it as a machine. While I could not claim to have designed it, I did feel a connection that reminded me of the feeling of kinship. I pondered over that as I teased my tongue around a morsel of meat stuck between my teeth. For the first time in a long time, I wondered at the idea that perhaps, in a strangely mechanical way, I had found a friend. As I freed the meat with my tongue, I felt the overwhelming urge, secret or not, to share my success with my colleagues. To revel for just a moment, in that feeling of pride and invincibility that comes with a job well done.