Artman sent their humble letter of acceptance to the return address left on their ludicrous contract offer, and no sooner than the deadline given had come, He and Maven awoke early that morning to find a rented horse and buggy waiting to take them directly to the infamous San German Manor. It was a minor disaster trying to dress for the occasion.

The coach also carried a note stating that Artman's tools, models, notes and anything else contained in his workshop would all be moved into his new facilities, signed San German.

  It was almost shocking to leave the city, with its huddled buildings and little streets crisscrossed with alleyways like a blackened spiderweb hewn from stone. Crossing over instead to golden and emerald fields, tended by the bending forms of the labourer's, their appearances almost strange. Like stepping into another country altogether, Bright and ruled by the Sun, not the timepiece.

Artman was worrying over the gathered notes in his case and Maven had to make him stop before he spilt ink all over the page, trying to mark down some new idea he'd wanted to present to their benefactor should a chance arise.

It was a long ride, but they soon came to a large plantation house by a small lake fed by a river and dam system. Maven glanced out the window and noted the riverbed formation.

"Artman?" she opened, waiting for the head to bob up from the sea of black and white it had sunk into.

"Yes?" he replied, half paying attention.

"Look over there. Isn't that little lake interesting? It's got a funny dam on one side." She said, pointing her chin at what she meant. Artman looked up and squinted.

"I think I see what you mean. I'll bet that river connects to the main one that runs through the city." He said, before trying to wriggle back into his own stream of thought.

Maven wouldn't let him off that easily. "So, why is there a dam there? Is that how they made the little lake?" drawn out by her tugging questions, Artman took the bait.

"No, See how the river bends? There was probably an ox bow bend here at some point, then when the river shifted again-"

"It left a nice little marsh for these plantations to use as a reservoir in harsh times, then installed a dam to keep it topped off, and later added the dockside once they realised the river connection. Allowing them to ship directly to port." Maven finished, Artman's mouth opened and closed like a caught trout.

"You knew that already? Then why-"

She smiled to herself. "Sorry, but you were absolutely drowning in those papers, and I didn't have a pail of swamp water on me at the moment." Artman frowned at her and put aside his notations for a moment.

"So, just how do you know so much about the Venusta Estate, anyway? You aren't some wild mistress of secret wealth, are you?" his wagging eyebrows smacked of sarcasm.

Maven huffed, "If I was, I wouldn't waste it on the past times of dusty wizards and imbecilic trolls living in the city. I'd dream of far-off places while being married off young to some old rotten leather boot of a man, because the nobles have as much taste and tact with marriages as a pig eating gravel."

Artman grimaced, a harsh critique, or rather a scathing accusation.

"So, what did you do for the Venusta's?" Artman pressed. Maven huffed a sigh.

"I was their maid, so was my mother, Even my grandmother. We'd gossip behind their backs almost constantly. That's how I learned there are all idiots, and then-" She stopped a moment..

"Well, then you had that brief affair with the Duchess's niece and scuppered their chances at gold in the Fools Olympics. Great work, by the way. They were hopping mad for a week. Then they lost all that money in the port conflict with Grendlemire-"

"Grendlemire?"

"Yes, they'd just banned the Venusta's sole export under the order of the Bishop. Morality Crusades were brutal when the pompous louts decided selling scents had become a moral sin down the river."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"So, what happened?"

"Fired me, couldn't afford the contract no more. So Me and mine bounced around a few other places a bit, working the same jobs, before those ran out, and I landed in that barn pen you found me in. My brother wound up working in a river yard, not sure what happened afterwards."

Artman sat up a little straighter. " You never mentioned a brother?"

Maven looked surprised. "I hadn't. What about my sister?"

"Nope, never mentioned her either." Artman replied. Maven was likely the more stunned of the two.

"Well, my brother's name is Crow, and my sister's name is Maggie, short for Magpie. Mother loved birds, just glad she'd had a daughter instead of a son. She'd have named me Heron!"

Artman suppressed a laugh. "Like the stork?"

"The same. I would've named myself Swan. It would describe my beauty perfectly." She preened, trying to show off her earthly charms. Artman chuffed and turned back to his notes.

"More like an ugly toad. With that attitude, naming oneself like that ." He shot back.

She mocked offense. "Why, you must be ill, delusional! Sick with Envy to the point of lunacy!" Artman snuffed her rebuttal.

"And you must be blind to think you're that pretty." He muttered. Maven ignored the last comment and laughed back into her seat. Glancing back out the window to see more of the road ahead.

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  The journey stretched ahead for hours. Artman had resumed tinkering with his designs as they rode, muttering in equations about flow of force, angles of attack and conservation of intent, or amplification of certain shapes. He was about to pen down a suggestion for a new improvement he could make to the sigils on the left elbow when he heard a strange rumbling sound.

Looking up from his pages, he smiled as he saw Maven passed out in her seat, snoring loudly with her head thrown back in the seat and a curl of her own dark hair dangling just at the opening of her mouth, tickling her bottom lip.

Artman smiled and turned back to his notations, hoping to dig into some new little detail of his construct. He then noticed them coming to a slow crawl. They were approaching another one of the noble manors, though it seemed more appropriate to call it a palace.

An iron gate and high stone walls, decorated with statues of a style harkening back to classical antiquity, of women bathing and men of demigod strength raising sword and spear against each other in contested mortal combat. They equally decorated the archway, wreathed in scenes of reclining gods and goddess with their cherub angels, serving and drinking the merry wine of celebration while dining on the sacrifices of the mortals below.

The gate swung wide, and a permitted them passage. Artman gently nudged Maven awake and give her a chance to make herself half presentable from the long wagon ride. She woke with a startled expression and spat out a lock of her own hair. Artman offered a single sentence explanation.

"We've arrived."

Maven's eyes widened a little before she started fussing over her hair and dress.

"Quick, fix yours self, you have ink on your face." she quipped, before trying to comb back the mess of dark velvet brown that had turned into a disheveled mess on the ride over. Smoothing out the creases on her simple blue dress as she pinned everything back into place.

Artman spat into a handkerchief and gave his face a quick wipe down, and wasn't that surprised to find a streak of black came off with it. After a moment, he guessed at having gotten it all, and waited nervously.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside a lavish mansion, built like an imposing temple for the gods of an ancient empire, with tall colonnades of white plaster contrasted by brilliantly painted murals and a brass door that shone like gold in the late sunlight.

He heard Maven gasp a little before hearing her whisper.

"This is old man Herod's house. I can't believe he let it go." Artman wanted to ask, but there was a rap at the door of the carriage and presumably the staff collecting outside. Artman reached for the handle, only for some outside presence to get there first.

Artman kept his hand back enough they did not tear it off, and it did not pull out him of the carriage either. Instead, there was an awkward moment of him staring blankly at whatever was gathered beyond the door.Standing at the head of the line was the ever judgmental, Fawkes Dusan, dressed to the nines as usual. Behind him stood a small row of five men in pink suits to the right of Dusan, and three women in green to his left.

"Ah, Mr.Wolfram, excellent to see you. Made good time, I trust?" the man servant bellowed. Artman tried to stand and bumped his head on the carriage roof. He gave a curt smile and stepped down from the carriage body.

"This way sir, San German is eager to meet with you." he then spotted Maven emerging from behind him in the carriage, and Artman watch his face curl slightly again.

"And this is your-" Dusan starting a question Maven gladly answered.

"Assistant, I am Mr.Wolfram's Workshop assistant."

"Oh course." was the polite answer. "Mavis, was it?"

"Maven. Maven Glasswood." She answered flatly.

"Of course, a pleasure. Now, if you will follow me, these good men will unload all your equipment and move it into your new workshop on the grounds, and the ladies will show you to San German, who is waiting in the Fourier." Dusan motioned, and they respective groups stepped forward.

A petite, smiling girl in her green uniform blouse greeted them.

"Sir wizard, Ma'am, if you will follow, me and the girls will show you to San German and then the Workshops afterwards. This way, please." She turned and started walking. The others closed in on the side to form a procession into the house.

The massive engraved brass doors opened without hands as they approached, the twin engraved figures of ancient gladiatorial warriors stepping aside to let them pass, without interrupting their eternal duel.

And with this threshold crossing, Artman and Maven prepared themselves to meet the strange and powerful San German.