Samuel discovered he was not one to waste an opportunity, and he slipped out into the plain. He was capable of more stealth than even he imagined, and was well away from the caravan in less time than he expected. Not too far from the encampment, the land dipped into a shallow gully, just deep enough for Samuel to stay hidden from view as he moved northward.
The land rose away to the north, and every so often Samuel glanced back at the camp to ensure his exit had not yet been noticed. He moved around back of a small rise, then ascended and lay down facing the camp to watch for trouble. He thought, perhaps, he could outrun any of their guards if they tried to pursue, but he’d hoped his departure would not raise that degree of alarm.
At the eastern edge of the camp Taeman emerged from one of the larger covered wagons, followed by Hartings and another older man, a slender gentleman in a simple, distinguished robe. The artificer, still talking to the older man, turned to walk toward where Samuel had been seated. Recognition of the situation dawned, and Taeman broke into an exasperated waddle, searching. His wagon rocked back and forth with his emphatic movements as he entered, and after a moment he stomped back down his stairs to his camp, cursing. He flung something he was holding into the dirt, and kicked the barrel upon which Samuel had sat, with obvious regret.
“That’s an awful lot of vitriol from a man who was just trying to help someone out, wouldn’t you say?” The cloaked man’s voice startled Samuel. “Those are the actions of a man who just lost a prize, not a patient.”
“I’ll have to admit I agree with you,” Samuel replied, betraying none of the surprise he felt. “And he’s not raising the guards or making a fuss with the others about my absence.” He turned to the man in the cloak. “You’ve done right by me once tonight, but I don’t yet know why. The least you can give me now is your name?”
The man smiled, but kept his eyes on the camp. “Kaleb. My name’s Kaleb. Very nice to make your acquaintance…?”
“Samuel.”
Kaleb tilted his head, an amused look on his face. “How…mundane.” He turned his gaze back toward the camp, where Taeman now sat on his barrel, massaging his sore foot. Kaleb backed up and rose. “We should probably get going.”
Samuel nodded, his attention still on Taeman. The artificer turned, shouting off into the caravan, and was soon joined by a boy who came at his beckon. Samuel reached back and tapped the ground where Kaleb had been laying. “Hold on for a moment,” he said.
The boy who stood before Taeman looked to be in his mid-teens, with the solid build of a farmhand. He swiped a mop of shaggy blond hair out of his face as Taeman gestured emphatically and limped up into his wagon. Kaleb returned to his perch and the two of them watched.
After a few moments, Taeman returned and began jabbering at the boy, but neither Samuel nor Kaleb could hear what was being said. Taeman waved a letter of some sort in the boy’s face and handed it to him, wagging a finger as though imparting some stern instruction. The boy spoke and Taeman snatched the letter from his hand, stuffing it into an inner pocket of the boy’s vest. He shook a coin purse in the boy’s face and shoved that into his opposite pocket.
After a pause, Taeman threw up his hands in a shooing motion, and the boy scurried off into the camp. A few moments later he emerged on the road side of the caravan, galloping away on horseback, toward Winston.
“That can’t be good,” Kaleb said.
“I think you’re right,” Samuel replied. “It’s time for us to go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
The pair left the caravan behind and moved northeast along the road. They kept it in sight but stayed off of the main path until a bend took them around a foothill to the east, out of sight of Taeman, Hartings, and their band of merchants.
A question had been milling around in Samuel’s mind, and after several hours of walking in silence he asked, “What did you mean by mundane?”
Kaleb laughed, the first sound he’d made in quite some time. “All the intelligent constructs I’ve known—not the kind like Taeman had, but the ones who really know who they are—have absurd given names,” he said. “These aren’t always the names they’re known by, but if you ask one, it’ll be the first name they give. When I was a child, my parents had a construct. We always called him Cass, and for the longest time that’s the only name we knew. When I got older, I asked Cass if that was his given name, and he said no. His given name was Cassaemalen. And that’s one of the simpler names I’ve heard. Is Samuel short for something?”
“No, it’s just my name,” Samuel replied. “I don’t know if I had another before I awoke, but that is my name now.”
“Fair enough,” Kaleb replied. He paused, shaking his cloak free of his shoulders as he walked. His clothing was close fitting but not tight, and he wore a long dagger in a sheath at his hip. “Is it true, what Taeman said to Hartings back near the camp? That you chose your direction because you were disoriented?”
Samuel had no reason to distrust Kaleb, but had no reason to trust him either, and wasn’t ready to reveal the full truth just yet. “Not entirely, no. My choice was random, for the most part, but it was still a choice. It was not just disoriented wandering.”
“And you have no master to speak of?” Kaleb asked, raking his hair away from his eyes. “No draw to anyone? No link?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Samuel said. “I don’t feel connected to anyone or anything, and I don’t know of or remember any master whom I might serve.”
“So you’re an incon,” Kaleb said.
Another new word. Samuel felt, at some point, he had known this word but couldn’t place its meaning. He looked at Kaleb with a questioning tilt to his head.
“It’s dumb, to be honest.” Kaleb said. “It’s a simple shortening of independent construct. It means a construct is not bound to a particular master, either physically or by ownership. In some places incons are outlawed, and since the Queen Consort’s death, there has been an overwhelming amount of suspicion regarding incons.”
Samuel nodded. “In truth, I don’t know if that’s what I am or not. Maybe I have a master. Maybe I’m linked to someone and I just don’t know how to identify it.”
“Now you’re just spouting the excuses Taeman made up for you,” Kaleb replied. “If you were linked, you’d know it. It’s undeniable and unmistakable.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“That’s how links are designed, Samuel.” Kaleb said, hiking up the straps of his travel sack on his shoulders. “The whole point is both control and ownership. Ensuring the creation remains subservient to its creator. There are entire sects that believe constructs to be an abomination already, even with links in place.”
If what Kaleb had said was true, then protecting his own independence was even more important to Samuel now than it was back in the merchant camp. “If I am what you claim, I’m in even more danger than I may have realized. How can I even get into Morrelton?”
Kaleb tipped his head back and forth, as though formulating an idea. “I can cover you there,” he said. “I can pose as your owner, taking you into town for repairs. We’ll say…” he paused, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “We’ll say you were hauling some building materials for me and took a long fall that crushed your shoulder. How did you get damaged, anyway?”
“Another mystery. It was like this when I woke up.”
Kaleb shook his head. “Where in the Vells did you come from?”
“I wish I knew.”
They walked in silence. After a while, Kaleb began to drop behind, unable to hold to Samuel’s pace. At one point, Samuel heard him stumble and turned to see Kaleb had fallen even further behind than Samuel realized. He looked exhausted.
“Samuel, I need to stop,” Kaleb said. I know you can keep moving, but I haven’t slept in almost two days.”
Samuel experienced a moment of unexpected indecision. As much as he appreciated Kaleb’s help back at the caravan, his trustworthiness still had not been p
roven. If the world were as dangerous for an incon as Kaleb had made out, maybe this was a chance for Samuel to take his leave.
As though reading his thoughts, Kaleb spoke. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can help you in Morrelton.” He moved to a large rock at the roadside and sat, lowering his head in exhaustion. “I’ll get you to an artificer who can help you with your repairs. If you still don’t trust me, we can part ways there and you can have a nice life.”
The offer seemed genuine, and Samuel couldn’t deny the benefit of having Kaleb as a companion, if he stayed true to his word. “I don’t even know why you’re helping me, Kaleb.”
Kaleb smiled in his disarming way. “I’m intrigued by you, Sammy.”
“Samuel.”
Kaleb raised his hands in a mollifying gesture. “I don’t know who or what you are, but there’s something about you that feels interesting. Important.”
“Don’t you have your own life to attend to?” Samuel said, not wanting to forget the decision at hand.
“Honestly?” Kaleb leaned backward, stretching his back muscles, to the sound of several pops and creaks. “Not really. This is kind of what I do. I prefer not to take root in any one place for long. I’ve been all up and down this region and I was starting to get bored until I met you. I want to see where your story takes you.”
Samuel wasn’t sure if this explanation helped to build any trust, but at least it was reasonable. His decision was made, but he felt the need to reinforce his feelings with Kaleb. “If you betray me, I’ll kill you.” He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of killing, but he was hoping the simplicity of the statement would carry the desired intimidation.
“I have no doubt,” Kaleb said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
Kaleb opened his bleary eyes to a shaft of sunlight breaking through the tree limbs onto his face, and judged he had slept a little less than four hours. They had camped a short distance from the road, tucking themselves into the tree line. It was just after dawn, and soon there would be traffic on the road, Kaleb and Samuel included.
The morning felt colder than the night, but perhaps that was just the adrenaline wearing off. Sleeping on the ground always leeched some of the heat from Kaleb’s bones, even through his wool cloak. The hulk of a construct he’d thrown in with sat against a nearby tree, facing the road and keeping watch. At any time during the night, Samuel could have left him there. Something about this construct struck him different than all he’d known before and, although he couldn’t put a finger on just what it was, he felt something strange and special and frightening.
Kaleb always fed off of that feeling. He always preferred not knowing over knowing, the thrill and mystery of what comes next. It had been a long time since he’d been still for long, and even that stint wasn’t of his own accord, strictly speaking. In spite of all his travel and adventure, he’d begun to feel bored. Not anymore. This one’s got a ring to it.
Samuel turned his head to his waking companion, standing and shaking out his own cloak. “Can we get on the move?”
Was he anxious? Yet another trait of this construct that defied his kind. Of the constructs Kaleb had known, many were well-experienced—some almost a hundred years old—but none had been as gifted at simulating emotion as Samuel. Or was it something more? He’d encountered constructs who’d learned how to imitate emotional responses, and were even adept at understanding when those responses were warranted. With Samuel it felt different, genuine. But that’s impossible, right?
Kaleb stood and shook the leaves and needles from his cloak, smoothing it out and pulling it tight around his shoulders as a shiver ran through him. He took a step and felt a twinge in his left thigh; he must have slept on a rock during the night. The knot in his leg groaned at him and he winced. Not the prime way to start a day of walking.
“Yeah, we can get on the road,” Kaleb said, shaking out his left leg. “On foot, Morrelton is a few days northeast of us, at my speed. If we come across an opportunity to acquire a horse, we could cut that shorter.”
Samuel pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. “I’ll leave that to you. I’m in no need of a mount,” he said, as he turned and headed toward the road. Kaleb limped behind, unable to tell if Samuel’s comment was an attempt at deadpan humor, or just plain deadpan. Everything about this construct bucked the norm—speech patterns, movements, mannerisms…the fact that he even had mannerisms. Even his walk was more fluid and natural than most he’d known, not the heavy, clomping gait of the rest.
Kaleb finally caught up, dreading the pace he knew Samuel would set. “Hey, slow down a bit.” His conditioned response to constructs stopped him short of cracking a joke about not being a machine. In his experience, a sense of humor was something constructs failed even to emulate, much less actually possess. With Samuel, though, this was something he would have to test. Samuel slowed, but only a little, moving forward with purpose.
“How much do you know about this town Morrelton?” the construct asked.
“A bit,” was Kaleb’s noncommittal reply. “I’ve been through there quite a few times. It’s surprisingly large for its location, tucked back into the woods in the foothills. Its origins lie in iron and copper mining, but it’s become a sort of haven for artificers.”
Samuel might have seemed contemplative, if he’d stopped walking for even a moment. “How much do you know about constructs?”
The question struck Kaleb as odd, a construct asking about its own kind. Even after a full wipe, constructs usually retained that sort of information. “My family owned a couple when I was younger. They were mostly caretakers in my father’s house. That’s why I suggested we head to Morrelton, actually. An artificer there apprenticed under the man who built one of our family constructs. I’ve known him for quite some time.”
Kaleb wasn’t sure whether he heard, or merely projected, Samuel’s grunt in response, but that grunt was the last thing Samuel said for most of the day. The road wound along the hills, creeping closer to the mountains. Thin clouds leeched the color from the sky, casting the world in cold and grey, but at least it was bright and dry. As the day wore on, the trees around them crept closer to the road, until they were no longer traveling near the forest but through it.
Kaleb spent most of his life walking, but the pace Samuel set was relentless and constant, even for him. As the road began to ascend into the foothills the pace didn’t slow, and Kaleb’s stamina began to ebb. There had been little to no discussion at the beginning of the day, and toward the end Kaleb was too exhausted to walk and talk at the same time. Kaleb could only convince Samuel to take a break if it was absolutely necessary, which extended only to gathering water and urinating.
This might have been the least prepared Kaleb had ever been for a journey. They lucked upon another small merchant caravan toward the middle of the day, where Kaleb was able to acquire some provisions: water for his waterskin, a few bread rolls, a block of cheese, and some dried meat. The trip to Morrelton was short, so he didn’t need much, but he wasn’t sure how much sway he’d have with Samuel over the next few days, so he stocked up.
When nighttime descended, Samuel agreed to settle down and camp. Kaleb built a fire. The darkness brought with it a chill breeze and an unwelcome temperature drop. Samuel seemed uncomfortable and had asked if the fire would draw unwanted attention, but Kaleb assured him this trade route was traveled enough that small fires and encampments were commonplace and no one would even turn an eye. Besides, most everyone chose to travel during the daytime and camp at night, so it was unlikely anyone would even come across their camp. In spite of this, Samuel seemed to keep a fair distance from the fire itself, leaning against a tree just at the edge of its ring of light.
Once their modest fire was self-sufficient and Kaleb gathered enough fuel to keep it for the night, he tore off a hunk of bread and began picking at it by the fireside. “So,” he said, “you really don’t remember anything beyond a couple of days ago?
”
Samuel turned away from watching the road and shifted against the tree to face the fire. The firelight danced in coppery reflections about his face, cut by the low blue-green luminance of his eyes. “Nothing,” he replied. “There are moments when I think I’m remembering something. But nothing that seems real. Nothing useful.”
Kaleb marveled at the description, but didn’t let it show. Memory wipes for a construct were not unheard of, but they were not commonplace. If there was a change of ownership for a construct, many, unlike Taeman, felt their experience was important to their value. Loyalty was rarely an issue with constructs if a link was instituted, so memories carried more benefit than detriment. “Sounds like an incomplete memory purge of some sort. You’ve obviously retained some knowledge; your language is complete and you know more than just basics, so there’s something going on inside.” He pulled out his knife and sliced off a small bit of cheese, which he paired with some bread and popped into his mouth.
“As we walked,” Samuel continued, “I’ve searched inside me for any sort of feelings,” Kaleb started at the use of the word and forced himself to continue chewing, “or experiences that could help me understand where I came from, but I’m finding nothing.”
Kaleb swallowed and shook his head. “I’m not even sure where to start, Samuel.” This wasn’t like any purge he’d ever seen. To build up this much knowledge in a construct after a purge would take months or even years, and an artificer with greater skill than any he knew. The way Samuel acted, the things he said, the way he spoke… These were things built of experience, not teaching or implanting. Samuel’s mind was not wiped, it was repressed. “Atherton may be able to help. If nothing else, he can get that arm working again, and then we can try to figure out who you are.”
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