“If you were already in Corville, why didn’t you just take it to Vermada?” Berek asked as he stepped back in front of his thugs. Samuel’s gaze drifted back to the giant goon behind Berek.
“Vermada? Would you trust Vermada, Berek? That woman would just as soon stall-wipe him and claim a faulty core as fix him, and then try to buy him off me at a loss. Besides, you know Atherton and I have a history. He owes me one.”
Berek raised an eyebrow and the two thugs exchanged a skeptical look. “Owes you one? I have a hard time believing…”
“You’d have a hard time accepting anything I say.” Kaleb cut him off. “Look, I just want to get my business done and be on my way. Do you have any reason to keep me any longer?”
Berek inhaled, agitated by the rebuff. “I suppose not.” he said through gritted teeth. He leaned in close to Kaleb’s face. “I’ll be watching you. You know I have eyes in this town, and they’ll all be on you.”
“Well, I hope not,” Kaleb said. “You have a job to do, after all, and it wouldn’t do you well to pour all your attention into li’l ol’ me.” Kaleb stepped aside and walked around the three of them. “Come on, Kares, let’s go get you fixed up.”
Samuel was still staring at the giant but was pulled back to reality by another series of snaps. “Kares! Now!” Kaleb spit. He made his way around the rowdies and fell in step behind Kaleb, readjusting his cloak.
“Karesthetinil?” Samuel asked, after they were out of earshot.
“Sorry, it was all I could come up with on the fly,” Kaleb replied. “That’s actually the name of the personal construct of the regent of Cinth. We’re lucky Berek didn’t pick up on that or we might be in more trouble.”
“Who is he?” Samuel asked.
“Second in command of the town guard,” Kaleb replied. “The smaller of his goons is Seba, and the bald ogre behind him was Cort. Not the most pleasant of people, Cort and Seba, but Berek’s a good man just trying to do his job.”
Samuel followed as Kaleb turned a corner following an alleyway that was more forest path than an actual street, winding a twisting route between a series of odd shaped buildings. “Why did he have occasion to stop you?” Samuel finally asked.
Kaleb stopped and turned. He looked up at Samuel and took a deep breath. “Look… You’ll probably run into that with me every so often,” he said, “because I’m not the most popular person in the world. Town watchmen have a problem with wandering types like me. They don’t trust anyone who won’t put down roots and believe travelers and outsiders are the primary sources of disturbances in their little towns. Berek’s no different.”
Kaleb turned and continued along his way. “That,” he said, “and he caught me in bed with his sister.”
Samuel laughed with the deep resonance of a baritone woodwind instrument that seemed to vibrate from within his chest. Kaleb stopped dead in his tracks and turned, looking incredulous. Samuel continued laughing, then began walking to catch up with Kaleb. Kaleb laughed a little himself, shaking his head as Samuel’s laughter died down.
“Will wonders never cease,” Kaleb said.
“What now?”
“Never in my life have I heard a construct laugh. I’m not sure whether or not I thought it was possible, but I never thought it would sound so…genuine.” Kaleb looked up at Samuel. “You are an intriguing mystery, my friend.”
“You needn’t tell me that, Kaleb,” Samuel replied. “I don’t even know my real name.” He knew his facial structure wasn’t capable of a smile, but he hoped Kaleb could perceive one there anyway.
At a fork in their winding path, Kaleb led them right, then left at the next. The way widened and buildings were spaced further apart, giving way to more and more trees. They hadn’t quite reached the edge of town when Kaleb stopped in front of a two-story shop building with a simple wooden sign over the large oak door that read only: Atherton, Artificer. Kaleb grabbed the heavy iron knocker and thunked it down three times.
A slot opened up just above the knocker and two eyes peered out, first taking stock of Samuel then moving to Kaleb. The eyes widened and the slot closed; locks and bolts slid free in muffled clicks. “Kaleb!” The heavy door swung inward and a boy rushed out and almost knocked Kaleb over with his embrace.
Kaleb laughed and returned the hug. “Nice to see you, too, Michael.” Michael stepped back and clapped Kaleb on the shoulders. He stood a few inches less than six feet tall and still carried an awkwardness about him, but his upper body was powerful, although not overly thick. His crop of ashy brown hair fell about his face and covered his ears, but only just. If he’d needed to shave, it didn’t show, and his eyes were bright and enthusiastic.
“Michael,” Kaleb said, “I’d like you to meet Samuel.” Samuel was surprised at the use of his real name, but did not betray his feelings as he held out his hand to Michael.
Michael took his hand and, without a word, turned it palm up and began examining it. He held Samuel’s wrist and began tracing the lines of the plates and joints in his hand with his fingers. Samuel looked up at Kaleb, who sensed his confusion and made a gesture that said just let him be. Michael turned his arm over again, examining the back of his wrist and his arm up to the elbow. He didn’t even look up when he began to speak.
“The craftsmanship is amazing!” he said, clearly excited. “I mean, he’s gotta be ancient! The joints are old-style flex segments with protective plates. Nobody builds constructs like this anymore.” He turned back to Kaleb. “Where’d you get him?”
“Michael?” Kaleb gestured toward Samuel.
“Oh!” Michael turned and shook his head, as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, Samuel. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Michael, Atherton’s protégé.” He offered a quick and shallow bow. “I get a little caught up when I see a new style of construct sometimes. I apologize.”
“No harm done, Michael,” Samuel said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Michael paused, tilting his head ever so slightly, then turned toward the door. “Come in! Come in!” he said to the both of them, and headed back inside. Kaleb gestured for Samuel to follow and fell in step behind him, shutting the door as they entered.
The shop was larger than Samuel expected and quite cluttered. Floor to ceiling shelves covered the walls, every shelf filled with the staples of Atherton’s trade. The majority housed raw materials, everything from stones to blocks and planks of different colored wood to sheets of various metals. In one corner hung an array of implements, across from which were stacks and shelves of limbs and parts of constructs, topped by an entire shelf of heads in various states of completion. Next to this area stood a completed shell, as tall as Samuel but not as bulky, and not yet active. This section of the room was eerie to Samuel, and he had to look away.
What had seemed, at first, to be jumbled clutter was, in reality, meticulously organized. Although every shelf was filled—sometimes overfull—and there were stacks of raw materials on the floor, Samuel noticed everything had its place. There wasn’t a speck of dust in the entire room.
At the rear, heavy hinges supported a large door of solid iron. To its right sat an L-shaped bench behind a large table, looking almost like a booth in a tavern. On the left side of the door were two heavy stone slabs laid out in the same configuration as the benches they opposed. Michael gestured for Samuel to have a seat on one of these slabs, and Kaleb took a seat next to him.
“I’ll go get Atherton,” Michael said, his smile beaming. He turned a heavy latch on the iron door and leaned into it, pushing it open with some effort. Its hinges produced an echoing creak and he stepped through, latching it again from the other side with a loud clang.
“That seems excessive,” Samuel said, gesturing to the door.
“Remember what I told you about what happens when a core cracks?” Kaleb said. Samuel nodded. “A lot of artificer’s workshops are armored—from the inside. It’s mostly to protect customers who happen to be in the building in case…something goes wrong.”
<
br /> Samuel nodded his understanding. He thought back to his birthing chamber in Winston, noting it was not armored in this way. “Are all artificer’s shops built like this?” Kaleb knew very little of Samuel’s origins, so Samuel hoped the question would come across innocuous.
“No, not by far,” Kaleb replied. “A lot of artificers can’t afford this kind of modification. The smaller shops that focus on repairs don’t always need this kind of protection either, since they usually won’t be going anywhere near a construct’s core.” He chuckled. “Atherton’s skill with constructs makes him the least likely to make a mistake, yet it draws a client base that demands these sorts of protections.”
“How long have you known him?”
Kaleb took a long breath. “A long time. Atherton was our family’s artificer,” he said. “Not like a private contract, or anything, but my father knew him and trusted his work. I met him a few times as a kid, but didn’t get to know him until I was out on my own. I worked for him for a short time, doing a lot of the same things I’m sure he has Michael doing, but I had neither the talent nor the patience for his line of work. I wanted to be out there, not tied down to any one place.”
Kaleb seemed in a nostalgic and amiable mood, and Samuel had a great many questions to ask, but they were both distracted by the creak of the iron hinges as Michael returned. An older man followed close behind, the sleeves of his brown shirt rolled up to the elbows, his arms covered in grime. Wispy grey hair stood out from his head, escaping from beneath the strap of a pair of large, leather-rimmed goggles. Craggy wrinkles around his mouth and forehead told the story of his long life. The removal of the goggles revealed hard eyes buried in a stern visage.
“Atherton!” Kaleb said, standing to greet the old man. Samuel stood as well.
Atherton shook Kaleb’s hand, but his austere posture remained. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” His voice was gravelly and carried an authoritarian air.
Kaleb stepped aside and gestured to Samuel. “This is Samuel. He’s got a bit of a problem, and I knew no one better to go to than you.” Kaleb turned. “Show him your shoulder…”
Samuel unpinned his cloak and turned his damaged arm toward Atherton. The artificer removed Samuel’s sling and grabbed the lifeless arm, turning and twisting and running his fingers over the disfigured plates where the arm joined Samuel’s torso. Partway through his silent examination, he spoke to Kaleb without diverting his attention.
“It’s fixable,” he said. “It may take as much as two or three days to fashion the appropriate parts, but correcting the flow and getting the arm working won’t be a problem.” He paused, casting a critical eye on Kaleb. “Where did you happen upon this one?”
“Along the way, just outside Winston.” Samuel was again surprised by Kaleb’s honest approach. “He had come into Taeman’s possession and I…acquired him.” This time, his words had been carefully chosen.
Atherton raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question. “Well, better in the possession of any slump, than herded by that cretin,” Atherton said, his voice low. He paused, then: “Can you afford this repair, young man?”
Kaleb nodded. “I have business in town, after which I’ll be able to afford it.” He smiled. “As long as you don’t try to overcharge me.”
Atherton scoffed and shot Kaleb a look. Samuel couldn’t tell if the look was genuine disdain at the audacity of Kaleb’s comment, or an attempt to play along with the joke. Samuel wrote it off as the latter. “You know my fees, young man. I’ll expect payment on delivery.”
“You got it,” Kaleb said, smiling. He turned to Samuel. “You’re in the hands of the best artificer I know, my friend.”
Atherton stepped aside and conversed with Michael, who then broke away and approached Samuel. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the workshop.” Samuel looked toward Kaleb, who nodded a go ahead, so Samuel let Michael lead him through the large iron door into the back area of the artificer’s shop.
In the smaller workshop, the organization of the front area gave way to a more cluttered arrangement. Workbenches filled the room’s periphery, separated into several stations, each with its own array of tools and focused purpose. Surfaces strewn with parts of deconstructed constructs in the midst of repairs again gave Samuel a disquieted feeling. In the corner nearest the door, several complete or nearly complete constructs, either stood or sat on the floor, but none of them were active.
Samuel noticed the entirety of the small room was encased in metal. Most of the walls were covered in iron sheeting, but in some parts the iron gave way to copper or bronze or even steel. Even the ceiling was armored, the metal plates held up by extra-heavy beams that made the ceiling feel lower than it actually was.
Michael led Samuel to another stone bench along one wall and gestured for him to sit, then moved away to one of the workbenches, rifling through a stack of papers until he found what he needed. Samuel could hear Atherton and Kaleb talking outside the door, but couldn’t make out what they said.
“Where are you from, Samuel?” Michael asked, scratching something down with a pencil.
Samuel wasn’t sure how to answer. “Winston, I would say.”
“How long have you been active?” he asked, his tone oddly clinical.
“Four days,” Samuel replied. Michael stopped writing and looked at him quizzically. “I don’t have any recollection prior to four days ago.”
“All right,” Michael said, shaking his head and returning to his writing. “Complete wipe, I guess,” he mumbled as he wrote.
“What are you writing?” Samuel asked.
“Filling out an invoice,” Michael said, still not looking up. “Part of my duties as Atherton’s apprentice is doing all his paperwork and bookkeeping.” He smiled. “Good thing, though. This whole place’d fall apart if the old man was doing it for himself.” He set down his pencil, then came back over to Samuel.
“You’re very inquisitive for a construct,” he said. “You’re not like other constructs Atherton works on, or I’ve seen around.”
“I’ve been told that a lot recently,” Samuel replied in a good-natured tone. “I’m not too sure what’s going on. I’m hoping Atherton might be able to help figure out where I came from. Before four days ago, I mean.”
Michael sat down next to him, looking up into his eyes. “You’re fascinating, you know,” he said.
“How so?”
“I don’t know. Just…different. I feel like I could sit here and talk with you like an old pal.” He shifted his position. “You feel more…real than other constructs, you know? I don’t know, maybe I’m just being foolish.”
Samuel found he rather liked Michael. He was young and intelligent, and carried himself well. “You’re not being foolish. I’m glad to know I’m different. I’m very curious to know why I’m different, but glad nonetheless.”
“You really don’t remember anything past four days ago?” Michael asked.
“No,” Samuel replied. “Not a thing.”
“That’s just…strange," Michael said. "Even if someone had wiped your core, they'd normally leave a base behind—something worked into your core before you were activated. A construct should be able to tell when they were activated no matter what someone has done to their core. I mean, you’re clearly more than four days old, so why can’t you remember when you were activated?”
Samuel thought about it, but didn’t respond. The silence hung about them for a moment before he spoke. “How long have you been Atherton’s apprentice, Michael?”
“Quite a while,” he said. “I did odd jobs and errands for him when I was a little kid, and he took me on as an apprentice when he felt I was old enough.”
“I think he made a good choice,” Samuel said.
Michael gave him an odd look, but then replaced it with a smile. “Thanks.” He looked like he was about to continue, but Kaleb entered the room.
“Go talk to Atherton,” he said to Michael, nodding back toward the door.
&nb
sp; Michael got up and headed out, grabbing the invoice along the way. He turned back and said, “I’ll talk to you more later, Samuel,” then stepped out of the room.
Kaleb sat down next to Samuel. “What do you think of the place?” he said.
Samuel looked around the room again, taking note of the large table in the center which, at the moment, was tilted up at a steep angle. He looked closer and saw the pedestal upon which it stood hinged, allowing the table to be brought down flat. The bottom was edged with a shelf where a construct could stand in its upright position and be lowered for repairs.
“It’s a shop,” Samuel said simply, and Kaleb laughed.
“Thank you for that astute observation, professor,” he said. “Atherton and Michael will take good care of you, and get that shoulder back in working order. They might even be able to help identify where you came from. Atherton’s knowledge of construct history is pretty deep. He might even be able to tell you who built you.”
This made Samuel feel hopeful, but he was still hung up on an earlier statement. “What do you mean, they’ll take good care of me? Are you going somewhere?”
Kaleb nodded. “Since I’m in town, I have some business to attend to. If all goes as planned, it’ll only take me a day or so, but I might not be back for a couple of days.”
“What sort of business?” Samuel asked.
Kaleb lowered his head and took a breath. “My own,” he said. “Don’t press this one, Samuel. It doesn’t much concern you, and I don’t really want to talk about it, okay?”
“All right,” Samuel replied. He was having trouble containing his curiosity at this point, but he wanted to respect Kaleb’s wishes. Something about his tone worried Samuel, though.
“Look, ask Atherton whatever you want. I’ve told him the basics of your situation, and he will help however he can. You can trust him. Michael, too.”
“I like Michael,” Samuel said.
Kaleb smiled. “Yeah, he’s a good kid. Atherton picked well with that one. He’s gonna be a damned fine artificer one day. Really smart.” Kaleb stood. “One thing, though…Atherton doesn’t have any sort of quarters for constructs. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it, but he’ll probably just leave you in here overnight.”
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