The trip from upper Brooklyn down to Old Coney took usually more than an hour by even the fastest carriage, but that wasn’t accounting for the strange lunacy of NYC cab drivers, who considered speed limits a suggestion rather than a rule, and considered any space wide enough to fit them just another part of the road. The carriage seemed to fly down past the morning Brooklyn traffic as the thunder of hoofbeats filled the cabin. William quickly gave up any hope of staying in his seat at all and spent the ride clinging to the hand bar set above the door. Paicus meanwhile spread himself out on his seat, his arms braced against either wall, trying to keep from being thrown about.
He gave William a shaky smile. “I know they get a bad rep, but I always travel by Jay Bird. Fastest ride in the city! They always get me there in one piece.” The carriage gave another great jolt and his teeth clicked painfully together. “So far at least.”
William gave him a quick nod, or maybe it was that the carriage just lurched at the right time, and his eyes seemed to stray to the carriage window. “Are we even still on the road, sir?”
Paicus ducked his head. “I’m too afraid to look.” He mumbled a quick prayer and then knocked on the back wall of the carriage. “Appoline! Please do my heart a favor! I’m not as young as I used to be!”
There was a hearty laugh from outside and then a full-throated woman’s voice called out. “Haha! You’ll live, Doc! No one’s died in my carriage yet!”
“And what about under it?”
The sound of her laughing filled the car. “What’s that, can’t hear you!” Despite her words, gradually the sound of hoofbeats faded and the carriage began to slow to a more tolerable, breakneck pace. Paicus relaxed inside the cabin and let his head fall back. William even managed to lower himself back onto his seat.
“What did I tell you,” Paicus asked, giving him a wan smile. He pulled a handkerchief the size of a small towel out of his pocket and began to mop his forehead. “Safest ride in the city.”
The carriage rounded a curve, feeling for once like all four wheels had managed to stay on the road this time. “We’re coming in sight to Old Coney now,” Appoline called out again. “Just a bit longer to go!”
William rushed to the window, his eyes open wide. “Where is it?” he asked, pressing himself against the glass. Paicus smiled at him, until the lad opened up the carriage door and leaned out into traffic.
He lunged forwards, grabbing onto William’s belt. “Be careful!” The Doctor held his breath as cobblestones rushed heedlessly by underneath them, hearing only the whiz and snap of other carriages flying past. William, however could only gasp in wonder
“Oh, look at that! It’s incredible!”
Still holding onto him, Paicus glanced out caught an eyeful of Gravesend Bay, the stinking, marshy wetlands that lay at the mouth of the Hudson. “Oh yes,” he said sarcastically, “it’s a wonder what poor sanitation, stagnant water, and all that factory run-off can create when it works together. Mind you, Gravesend itself isn’t much healthier.” In spite of himself, he shivered as he stared at the cramped cluster of shacks and leaning tenement buildings that crowded the shoreline. Even from a distance, there was a squalid, almost hopeless look to the buildings, which he knew from sad experience did not much improve upon closer inspection.
He tugged at William’s belt, trying to get his attention. “Whatever you do, don’t go to that part of Old Coney after dark,” he warned. “And never without me. And never with me, if we can help it.” When he got no response from William, he tugged again. “Are you even listening to me?
William suddenly looked down at him, blinking in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir. Did you say something?”
Paicus sighed and shook his head. William turned back, still looking in wonder. “It’s just so incredible,” he breathed out.
“There’s more to Old Coney than just Maierson’s, you know,” Paicus said, but he knew it was hopeless, for rising up before them was the great Pyramid of the Maierson factory.
It was an unusual sight; as if someone had plucked a temple or pharaoh's tomb from the ancient past and placed it in the middle of a modern city. Constructed of huge black stones, the Pyramid stood more than thirty stories tall and was larger than a city block, dwarfing any other building around it. Indeed, it seemed to loom over the rest of Old Coney, covering vast swaths of it in its shadow, as great clouds of vapor and smoke drifted up out of the blunk peak, the central chimney for the Factory. Sparks of light, like fireworks, seemed to flicker and burst from the chimney, turning the smoke red, blue, green, and every color of the rainbow, as ash drifted down towards the city far below.
“I’ve never been so close before,” William said faintly, staring.
“Never? Well, we’ll soon rectify that,” Paicus told him. “Maierson’s is just the start of Old Coney after all. After the Auction, we’ll head to the clinic to get you settled, then have lunch in Grub’s, or maybe the Under Garden! They make a delicate mushroom saute-”
“I’d hold your horses on those plans, Doc!” Appoline said loudly. They both turned and looked to the front of the cab.
Jaybird cabs had no driver’s seat, nor did they need one. Instead, two great poles extended from the front of the carriage to either side of Appoline. As the huge, wooden carriage rattled and jumped, she guided it deftly, maneuvering the cab with her well-muscled arms, while below, her hoofbeats rolled like thunder. The carriage seemed to fly as she raced through traffic, faster than others pulled even by a team of horses, such was the power of a Centaur.
She tossed a chestnut colored braid over her shoulder and the leather harness connecting her to the rest of the cab jingled. Her dark green blouse, the only article of clothing she wore, bunched tightly against her chest as she pulled. “This isn’t the day to take some fresh Adam into Coney,” she warned him. “You’re liable to end up losing him, even if he’s got you watchin’ over him.”
William opened his mouth in surprise, but Paicus waved his hand quickly. “Surely it’s not that bad. I know the Auction has people riled up, but-”
“The Auction is just the start. Witch Sisters just announced they’re closing; they got bought out! And Gurgle and Plum is supposed to be next!”
“Witch Sisters!” Paicus said, stunned.
“No, Witch Sisters.”
Paicus frowned and then shook his head. “Argh, that’s not what I meant!” He sat back inside the cab, still in shock. “Witch Sisters, I can’t believe it. They’ve been in business for more than fifty years! Who bought them out?”
“Some company or other, I’ve never heard of it,” she yelled back to them, even as she cut the cab neatly through a nearby gap in traffic. There was a moment’s scream of horses, the rattle of wheels, and a curse from the other drivers, but by then she’d already carried them far down the street.
Paicus leaned closer to the window, his face concerned. “Was it another Elder company at least?”
She spit. “It was someone with money, what do you think?” She pulled the cab across three lanes and then around a fruit cart, shaking her head. “All those workers out in the street now, and today of all days.”
“What’s going on today?” William asked. Paicus frowned and then looked seriously at the young man.
“Today is the day that the Maierson’s are holding their auction,” he said simply. “They’re putting up some of the family’s things for sale-”
The cab gave a lurch. “It’s a free-for-all!” Appoline laughed. “Elder artwork and artifacts galore, all for the taking. Every collector and museum worth its paint is practically chomping at the bit to pick at the old Hag’s bones.”
“That’s enough!” Paicus said suddenly. William’s eyes flashed to the Doctor, and his face recovered slowly.
For a moment, there was nothing from outside but the sound of hoofbeats, then Appoline’s gruff voice came slowly. “Sorry, Doc,” she apologized.
“That’s alright,” he said evenly, shaking his head. He looked at William again. “People are upset,” he explained. “Madelyn Maierson’s death was a blow to Old Coney, to the entire world,” he admitted. “Her passing has left a… void that Old Coney has yet to fill.”
“Madelyn Maierson,” William said quietly. He knew only a little about her, but what he did know seemed more fiction than fact. “Did you know her, sir?” he asked
Appoline laughed from outside as Paicus’ eye grew wide. “‘Know her’? Why she was my granddaughter,” he laughed. “Well, not literally– grand-goddaughter, I suppose, would be more accurate. Her grandfather, Morgan, was a- a very dear friend.” He shook his head and pulled his brass watch from his pocket, glancing at it once more. “I’ve been friends with the family since then. Still close friends.”
William leaned closer, his face rapt. “Is it true then, sir? The stories about her?”
“Oh, what stories?”
“That she tricked an Ogre into marrying her and then killed him by pushing him over a waterfall? That she could catch bullets out of mid-air with her knitting needles? Or that she called down a hundred dragons to burn Atlanta right to the-”
Paicus waved his hand. “Stories! All of them. Madelyn was a very powerful witch, the most powerful maybe, but she wasn’t some mythical being.” He shook his head and pulled his bag up onto his lap. “She was a woman, she was my granddaughter, and now she’s gone,” he said simply. “And now we’re all trying to adjust to that.”
He folded his hands over his bag, frowning as he searched for the words. “Mathew, Madelyn’s grandson that is, is holding an auction today for some of the family’s items, which is his privilege and right,” he said loudly, glancing up at the window. They both heard her steady hoofbeats outside, but Appoline didn’t respond. Paicus looked back down. “Matthew is the new head of the family and company,” he admitted. “He must make the decisions that he feels are appropriate. Even if they do fly in the face of the rest of Old Coney.”
William nodded slowly, glancing at the window again. “I see. And how do you feel about the Auction, sir?”
Paicus blinked. “I wasn’t asked,” he said shortly. “I’m not part of the family after all, why should my opinion matter?”
The young man nodded immediately. “Whatever you say, sir.”
“We’re here today as impartial observers.”
“Of course, sir.”
Paicus nodded, looking out the window. “I wish Matthew all the best with it,” he said with all apparent sincerity. William gave him a careful nod.
They heard a sudden cursing from outside and the carriage abruptly slowed, coming to a halt. Paicus peered out the window curiously. “We’re not even out of Brooklyn yet,” he wondered. “What’s going on?”
William opened the door and leaned out, with Paicus sticking his head out the window on the other side of the cab. Appoline was stamping her hooves, sending sparks up as she struck the cobblestones. The carriage jolted as she dropped the wooden struts in disgust, waving a hand ahead. “Look at this!”
“Oh my,” Paicus breathed out. The street ahead into Old Coney was absolutely jammed with traffic. Fine horses pulling intricate carriages bumped and pushed against flea-beaten nags pulling gypsy cabs. Men in starched uniforms snapped their whips while drivers in shabby coats brandished clubs, pipes, and even a few jagged knives. Horses screamed, snapping their teeth together as traces got tangled together. Most of the passengers were staring out white-faced from the cab windows, but a few were leaning out, screaming and yelling with the rest, urging their drivers forward, forward. It was bedlam, complete chaos.
“Hell of a turnout,” Appoline said bitterly. She looked ahead towards the Pyramid in the distance. “At this rate, we might make it by mid-afternoon. Maybe we can bid on whatever's left. Might be a doorstop or something.”
“Isn’t there any other way?” William asked. She shook her head.
“Ocean Boulevard is the only bridge over the creek. The only one big enough to support a carriage, anyway,” she said, pointing up ahead. William squinted, seeing it in the distance. It was maybe a little larger than the word ‘creek’ might have suggested, about a hundred feet wide, but it looked deep enough and too marshy to ford. The bridge that spanned it looked old and out of repair, with bricks and loose stones falling into the water, but it seemed to be supporting the mass of carriages and horses crowded on top of it.
“I’ve never seen it this bad before,” Paicus said shakily. “Even Madelyn’s funeral didn’t draw this many people.”
“Probably ‘cause there wasn’t anything they could buy,” Appoline muttered.
“I suppose we’re just going to have to wait,” William said. He climbed back into the cab, closing the door. Paicus however, remained looking towards the bridge, his brow furrowing. William turned to him. “Sir?”
Abruptly, Paicus opened the door and sprang out of the carriage. William swung out the door after him. The Doctor marched up to Appoline, who was looking with disgust at the traffic jam. “We need to get through there,” he said to her quickly, lowering his voice.
She rolled her eyes. “Do you see a pair of wings on my ass, Doc?”
“I’m serious, Appoline.”
“So am I, look at that mess!” She waved her hand. “A greased up mouse couldn’t get through that wreck. What do you expect me to do?”
He stepped closer to her, and it was odd for William to see the huge Doctor have to lean up to speak to anyone. “Appoline, I’ve been a friend and good customer for years now, right?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, looking suspiciously at him.
“Always tipped big, knocked the mud off my boots before getting in your cab…”
“What are you getting at?”
He leaned in closer. “And when your younger sister was suffering from Strangles, did I ask for any payment?”
Her eyes closed and she groaned. “Ugh, you bastard…” She stamped her hooves, splitting a cobblestone in two without effort. “I knew you were going to bring that up someday… I knew it!”
“I wouldn’t have asked, but I really need to get to that Auction before it starts.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered angrily. She tugged on the leather traces around her vest, tightening the straps. “Get back inside,” she told him, tossing her head roughly. “Whatever happens, it’s not going to be comfortable.”
“Thank you!” Paicus called, running for the cab. “You’re a saint! A veritable saint!”
She spat on her hands, rubbing them together. “I’m an idiot is what I am.” She grabbed the two struts, squinting ahead. “I hope the rest of the Harras doesn’t hear about this,” she muttered, then took a deep breath and pursed her lips.
The sound that came out of her lips then was somewhere between a whistle and whinny. Paicus and William clapped their hands to their ears as the noise raced down the street, rattling streetlights and shaking windows. Drivers dropped their whips and reins, shouting in alarm. The effect on their horses however, was more considerable.
Almost as one, every horse on the street, from the finest of studs, with oiled coats and glossy hair, to the most dirty, scuffed nag, every one laid back their ears, eyes wide, and began to pull to the right. They screamed and stamped, tugging traces and carriages with them as they surged to one side. Drivers shouted and jumped for safety as carriages were swamped, wheels and axles breaking as they were grinded together. Paicus and William could only stare at the tremendous wreck.
“Oh no! No!” Paicus shouted. He beat on the window. “I didn’t want this!”
“Too late now!” Appoline shouted, and they were thrown back in their seats as she sprung forwards.
In front of them, all the pushing and shoving, had opened up a clear lane of traffic on the left side of the road. It was narrow, very narrow, and uneven, but it stretched down the road all the way past the bridge. Paicus and William could only cling to their seats as Appoline raced towards it.
“Hold on!”
They hit the lane like a man shoving his way through the crowd, striking elbows, arms, and legs, anything blocking his way forwards. The carriage rattled and lurched, the glass in the windows shattering as they barreled through. The door handle tore off, and then the rest of the door followed it. William covered his head with his arms as they heard the crack of wood and the shouts of people outside, almost lost in the rushing wind. Paicus was bracing himself against the walls, his eye screwed tightly shut.
“We’re at the bridge, nearly there!” she yelled back to them.
Abruptly the carriage lurched forwards and Appoline cried out. Something had struck them, but this time from behind! The cab shuddered forwards again and William clawed his way to the back window, staring out.
A strange, sleek automobile was in the open lane, racing after them. William was no stranger to the sight of a car, they’d been around for decades already after all, but they were still essentially oddities, bare-frame jalopies that rattled and sputtered down the wide streets of Manhattan, driven more for pleasure than speed. He’d never seen anything like this one however. The black metal body seemed to hug the road, the white-walled tires almost a blur. Gleaming headlights almost blinded them, looking like the eyes of a monster as the engine roared. William could just dimly see the driver, a dark, murky shape behind the mud-spattered windshield, and strangely, a flash of white, fluttering cloth on the hood, and then he was thrown forwards as the car rammed into them again.
Appoline screamed, whether in rage or pain, there was no telling, but even louder still seemed the crack of wood from the carriage. “HOLD ON!” she yelled and then incredibly, they picked up speed, rocketing forwards. Her hoofbeats were like rolling thunder as the world raced by outside the open door. Oddly, it was a much smoother ride, indeed the carriage seemed to float through the air, with the only painful lurches coming when the wheels occasionally happened to touch the ground. Still, they could hear the roar of the engine behind them as the car kept pace.
Then the open, flashing blur outside the door changed, going from light to dark. Smooth, black stone was racing beside them, filling the world. “The Pyramid!” William yelled.
There was the sound of splintering wood as Appoline called to them, “Here’s the square!”
And then the carriage rolled.
William and Paicus were flung out of their seats, thrown to the side of the cab as it dipped suddenly. The walls suddenly became the floor and ceiling and they were thrown about like rattling pins. The Doctor fell on top of William, squeezing the breath out of him, but sparing him from the shattered glass and wood that rained down. Outside, they could hear Appoline screaming, a shockingly animal sound, over the grinding tear of wood. The carriage rocked a final time and then went still.
For a moment, they were both too stunned to move. They lay in splinters and shattered glass, William’s hands wrapped around his head, and the Doctor leaning over him. Outside, they could hear the sound of Appoline cursing up a storm, a mix of Greek, English, and what must have been her own native tongue, her teeth biting the air. Sunlight shone through from the open door, now over their heads. Faintly, they could also hear a roaring sound too in the back, almost like the sound of the ocean. They weren’t that near the coast, were they, William wondered, his thoughts dull and clouded.
Then a brassy voice called out to them. “Whoa there! Get her clear boys! Get her clear! Leave the carriage to me!” The voice was loud, sounding tinny and amplified, as if speaking through a megaphone. Then the carriage jolted again. “Hold on in there!”
William and Paicus could only brace themselves as abruptly, the carriage started to move once more. They felt themselves rising up, the entire cab lifting off the ground and then slowly starting to roll. Glass and wood rained down once more as the carriage slowly righted itself. With a thud, it settled back down on the street, with Paicus and William lying prone on the floor.
“Everyone all right in there?”
Paicus groaned and pushed himself to his knees, glass falling off his jacket. He coughed and looked around. “William?
William gave the Doctor a smile. “You were right, sir.”
“Oh?”
“We arrived in one piece.”
The Doctor blinked and then chuckled. “Haha, yes.” He burst out laughing. “Fastest ride in the city indeed.”
There was a stomping sound from outside, like metal striking stone. “Laughter inside, I suppose that’s better than screaming.” The light outside the door dimmed and a metal face filled the frame.
For a moment, William thought it was some sort of mask, hammered out of bronze or iron, an artist’s rough impression of a working man. He had round, full cheeks, a blocky beard, blue-glass goggles for eyes, and a dented, slightly rusting cap on top of his head. His mouth even hung open, a black metal gap with a small circular grill in the center. Then to William’s astonishment, there was a moment’s burst of static from the mask’s grill, and the voice they’d heard from outside boomed now inside the cab. “Is that you, Doctor Paicus?”
Paicus waved his hand, wincing slightly. “Yes, ow. Good morning, Albert.”
The blue-glass goggles flickered open and shut like windows and the voice boomed again, making both of them wince. “And good morning to you too! What were you thinking driving up like that? The both of you almost crashed right into the front gate! I’ve never seen such a wreck!”
The Doctor coughed and shook his head. “It wasn’t by choice, believe me!” He seemed to gather himself and looked up at the metal face. “Is anyone hurt? How is Appoline?”
The face pulled back through the doorway suddenly. “Well, see for yourself! Just a moment–” There was a sudden wrenching sound and half the carriage roof suddenly tore free, lifting several feet off the frame. Paicus and William found themselves blinking in the morning sunlight. “Come along now. Let’s get you out of that wreck.”
A huge figure, taller even than Paicus, stood holding the roof above them with one hand, as easily as a man might lift a thin sheet of wood. The metal mask beamed down at William, and the figure extended his other arm, waiting.
William hesitated. “Come along, come along,” he said impatiently. Summoning up his courage, William took his hand and started to step down out of the ruined carriage.
At that moment, one of the wheels snapped and the edge of the carriage sagged downwards. William grabbed hold of one of the metal fingers reflexively, trying to keep upright and he felt something snap as he stumbled to the ground.
“Hey, you big, metal bastard!” Appoline yelled nearby. Their carriage had come to a wreck in the middle of a large open square. Appoline lay nearby, the leather traces of her harness still hopelessly tangled up in the wreck. Battered and bruised, one of her legs was twisted underneath her. She tried to stand, cursing and swearing, but she could put no weight on her damaged leg. Goblins, all wearing faded blue uniforms, were scrambling around her, working fiercely to cut her free.
She shrugged off their help and fixed the huge metal figure with an angry glare. “Stop tearing up my cab!” she yelled, shaking her fist.
The metal figure looked at the shattered roof, still supported in one of his hands, and those strange goggles clicked open and closed once again. “Sorry!” He lowered the roof of the cab back in place, but it sagged and collapsed further as soon as he let go. “I’m afraid there’s not much left to tear. Don’t you worry though, we’ll get it fixed up.”
He stood tall then and whistled, not by putting his fingers in his mouth, but with steam shooting out from underneath his cap, as if he were a boiler. Before William could blink, more Goblins in blue began to rush in, and more besides.
“Let’s get these wrecks cleared out now! C’mon! No delays! Clear the square and let’s get the guests moving again!”
The workers gave an answering cry in unison. Appoline tried to push them off, but she winced and sagged back down, her face suddenly pale. As the Goblins finished cutting her free, Elves were busy tending to her leg, wrapping and splinting it, while two large Trolls hurried over with a stretcher. Workers started to swarm the carriage, sweeping up the shattered pieces of wood and glass, and calling over wagons to haul away the larger pieces.
William blinked, finding it all a bit strange. He’d never seen so many different types of Elders before. There were Elves and Goblins of course, they were a common sight in the City, usually doing odd or menial jobs, but huge, lumbering Trolls, clad in patched blue overalls were another story. He saw Naga as well, humanoid figures with dark, scaly skin and snake-like eyes, working side by side with feather-tufted Avains. Halflings scurried about with brooms while Dryads with long, branch-like legs and arms used their own bodies to sweep up the square. William watched them all, suddenly bemused with the realization that he was the only Human in the crowd. Or very nearly.
In the center of the square was a tall stone monument, an obelisk inscribed with runic writing. It looked like it had stood for years, but now it was leaning and badly cracked, no doubt caused by the car that had plowed into the base of it. It was the same car, of course, that had chased their carriage into the square and now it lay smoking and wrecked among the broken stone base of the monument. A pair of white flags hung limply off the hood and wheels hissed out air. Workers were slowly approaching the wreck, unsure of what to make of it, when suddenly the front door fell open. A burly, broad-shouldered man, clad all in black driving leathers, stepped out. He was battered and bleeding, the glass on his goggles cracked, but he stood there calmly for a moment and then nodded crisply to the circling Elders. He turned cleanly and marched to the back of the car, laying hold of the door handle. After struggling for a moment, he wrenched the back door open and saluted.
Two men fell out of the car, almost on top of each other. The older man, white-haired and frail, lay almost insensible on the stones, crying out weakly, while the younger tried to scramble to his feet, trampling over top of his comrade. “Let me go! Goddamn you!” the younger man yelled, almost frantic as he tried to crawl away, but his legs were helplessly tangled up in the older man’s body, and all he did was fall face first on the cobble-stones. He was up in a flash, crawling forwards as fast as he could, leaving his companion behind. The old man lay there, crying weakly, as the driver waited, still holding his salute.
“Wait! Dammit, let me down!” Appoline was yelling as the Trolls carried her away. She was leaning out of the stretcher, her arms reaching hungrily towards the Driver. “You Malaka! Just wait till I get my hands on you!” She continued to curse him in Greek, then lapsed into what must have been Centaur, her voice rising up into a braying scream that chilled William to the bone. Despite all of that, the Driver stood still, holding his salute as she was carried past him, her hands flailing through the air mere inches from his head, not moving a muscle.
Once she was safely carried clear, William watched the other workers rush to the car, picking up the still comatose older man and moving him to another stretcher. The rest stood scratching their heads, unsure of how to handle the strange automobile. The Driver was no more help towards them than he had been to his passengers, he simply folded his arms crisply and stood beside the wrecked car, as if waiting for orders. As the workers drew near, one of the small white flags fell from the hood and fluttered to the ground. A Goblin bent to pick it up, but then drew his hand back in an instant, his breath hissing out in fright, as if he’d almost picked up a snake or a red hot coal. William could just barely see the logo on the flag, a pair of crossed hammers all in black. It seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t think of why.
Still marveling at the strangeness of the day he found himself in, William stepped away. He realized suddenly that he was holding something hard and metallic in his hand. He opened his palm to see that it was a small metal object: almost like a thin, segmented cylinder, about an inch in diameter. The metal was battered and a bit chipped, showing signs of great use, and had two joints of articulation, almost equidistant from each other, that allowed it to curl and bend. The wider, broken off portion sparked slightly, emitting a crackling ozone scent, but the opposite, slightly thinner end was more curious. One side was smooth and flat, with a polished patch of metal, while the other side was rougher, the metal scored with curling lines and swoops to give it grip. It almost looked to him like–
He abruptly jerked back, dropping the metal finger. It bounced and rolled off his shoe, disappearing under the wreck of the carriage. There was a sound over his head and he looked up directly into those blue-glass goggles again.
The huge, metal man stared down at him for a moment, then his head dipped, looking underneath the wreck. “I don’t suppose you saw where that went, did you? It’s so hard to find spare parts on the surface.”
“No, I’m afraid I dropped it,” William stammered. He couldn’t keep from staring at the man’s metal hand. The smallest finger was missing, in its place there was only a blank and empty socket, sparks crackling off the end. “I’m so sorry!”
The metal figure rose back up in a jerking, odd motion - stop and go. “Oh don’t worry about it,” he sighed with a great breath of steam. “No harm done. To tell you the truth, It’s been wearing terribly, I’m surprised I didn’t lose it sooner.” He turned from William and extended his free hand to help Paicus step down out of the carriage. “Don’t worry, the Kobolds will find it eventually.” He let out a sudden double-burst of steam, making William jump. “They find everything eventually, even things that aren’t lost to begin with!” his voice boomed, and William realized he was laughing.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said carefully, not knowing where to start, “but… What are you?”
The ten-foot tall metal man turned, looking back at him in surprise. His eyebrows rattled as they climbed up with a clanking sound and he let out another double-burst of steam. “What am I? Why, it’s it obvious?” he laughed. “I’m a Dwarf!”
William swallowed. He could only stare at the hulking figure above him. “A dw-dwarf?!”
Paicus grunted as he stepped down out of the carriage. He looked bruised and still a bit shaken, but otherwise unhurt. “Albert is a Deep-Dwarf,” he clarified. “He’s one of the living, metal men from Oroborus, probably the only one residing permanently on the surface, as far as I know. And thank God for that. It’s hard enough dealing with just him, can’t imagine what it would be like with more stomping around.”
Albert let out a steamy laugh. “One dwarf is all you need!” he boasted. “I’m the perfect mechanism of engineering knowledge and skill; teacher, tool, and craftsman all rolled up into one.” Gears whirled loudly in his body as he bowed, one arm still raised lifting the carriage roof.
Paicus rolled his eye and started to limp away from the carriage. As he passed, Albert bent down closer to William, winking. “Don’t blame the Doc,” he whispered to him, or as close as someone whose voice voicebox was a megaphone could get to whispering. “I think it’s because he just doesn’t like not knowing what makes a person tick on the inside.” He laughed again. “Even after I’ve offered to open up my hood and show him!”
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William smiled quickly, a little afraid of not agreeing with the huge metal man. “I’m a doctor as well, you know.”
Albert blinked in surprise. “Oh, well I’ll try and not hold it against you,” he laughed. He carelessly dropped the roof of the carriage behind them, making William jump and sending wooden splinters and fragments flying into the air.
“Is this your first time visiting Maiersons?” he asked, motioning for William to follow.
“Yes. It’s my first time in Old Coney at all.”
“Ha! Well then you’ve come on the perfect day!” Albert swept his arms wide, his voice booming out over the square. “Today Maierson’s is opening its doors for the first time in forever! Artifacts and treasures from around the world, all for display and sale! Goblin armor and helmets! Elven art and jewelry! Bones from some of the rarest and deadliest creatures in the world! All that we ask is that you remembered your checkbook!”
“Albert, please!” Paicus protested. “We didn’t come to bid–”
“Oh, I know a penniless, old grump like you won’t have any fun, but why deny the lad? This is the chance of a lifetime!” He motioned to the far end of the square, and a large brown-stone rising up before them. “Maierson’s awaits!”
William’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the house. It wasn’t as large or as grand as some of the brown-stone’s he’d seen in the better neighborhoods of Brooklyn and the Upper East Side, but none of those had had astronomer’s observatories on their rooftops, or glass-walled conservatories on the second floor, crawling with vines and other plantlife, or menacing gargoyles on the building eaves, leering out over the square. William thought it the most incredible building he’d ever seen, second only perhaps to the looming pyramid that rose up behind it, and he was clearly not the only one. There was a line of carriages in front of the house, stretching out of the square, and as they deposited their guests, they all stopped to marvel, staring upwards.
Albert’s eyes twinkled as he saw William’s face. “Truly a marvelous sight, isn’t she?” he boasted. “It’s hard to say how old it is, so many generations of Maiersons have come and gone, leaving their stamp on the old girl–”
“Morgan had her built,” Paicus said dryly, limping behind the pair. “She’s sixty years old, give or take.”
Paicus hissed steam at him. “Please! I’m trying to educate him! Don’t muddy him up with facts!”
There was a roaring sound again, coming from behind them, and William turned, distracted. “What’s that?” he asked
“Nothing! Pay it no mind,” Albert said quickly, but Paicus had heard it too. He turned, his eye scanning the square, and his jaw dropped.
“Good Lord!”
The far side of the square had been cordoned off, all side-streets and exits blocked by overturned carriages and barrels. It was a crude and rough barricade, manned by even more blue-clad workers, clutching hammers, shovels, and other make-shift weapons as they stood and crouched behind cover. Even from where he stood, William could see how tense and nervous they were, and for good reason, for on the other side of the barricades was the mob.
A vast sea of Elders seemed to be creeping into the square, pushing and shoving their way in from the side streets and alleys. It was impossible to tell how many, it looked to William like all of Old Coney had been emptied. Banners and flags were knocking against each other as they were carried forwards, some groups were singing at the top of their lungs, others waved signs and shouted. At the front of the crowd, it seemed the most chaotic, people were throwing stones and bricks towards the barricades, trying to shove their way through. And of course, the workers were pushing back, swinging their tools with abandon. It was a full-on brawl, occurring not a hundred yards from the main gate where the guests were entering, oblivious to the chaos.
“This is- This is madness!” Paicus cried, limping forwards. “Albert, you have to stop this!”
The huge metal man folded his arms, the blue of his eyes shifting abruptly to orange. “And let them win?” he asked angrily. “This is our day! Our chance to save the Factory! I’m not going to let a few malcontents–”
“Albert, it’s half of Old Coney!”
“They’re outside agitators!” he said stubbornly. “Anyone who’s truly a part of Old Coney is right here, with us!”
If they were from the outside, William couldn’t tell. All he could see was Elder against Elder, those on one side of the barricades and those on the other. The Doctor however looked in a rage, more angry than William had ever seen him. He pushed against Albert, forcing even the bulky metal-man back.
“Where’s Matthew?” he demanded. “Has he seen this? Does he know?” His shouts startled the nearby carriages, depositing guests at the door, and the drivers cracked their whips, trying to bring them back into line.
Albert stumbled and then rose up to his full height, towering over the Doctor. His engine roared, gears whirled like mad inside him, and his eyes shifted from orange to angry red. His hat abruptly lifted like a valve off the top of his head and steam poured out, rising up like out of a smoke-stack. “Of course, Matthew knows!” he boomed.
“Where is he then?”
“Inside where she should be!” He slammed his hat back down on top of his head and his eyes shifted back to orange. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone has to maintain order out here!” he said, little wisps of steam still leaking from his head. He waved his hands at the carriages and workers, reassuring them.
“Everything’s fine, don’t mind us. Maierson’s welcomes you to Old Coney today! Please proceed inside and enjoy all the lovely hospitality.” He stomped away from them back towards the square, shouting order to the workers, leaving Paicus standing there helplessly.
“Doctor…” William said, unsure of what to do. The Doctor flinched, looking around quickly.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, his chest heaving. “I had no idea– Oh, I shouldn’t have brought you today…”
William shrugged. He stepped forwards and placed his hand on the Doctor’s arm. “But you did, so what can I do to help?”
Paicus sniffed loudly and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, along with a generous portion of glass and dust. Giving up, he stuffed it back inside. “Thank you, William,” he said gratefully. He sniffed again and then set his jaw. “I need to go see Matthew,” he said finally. “This whole Auction business has gone too far already. He has to see reason!”
William nodded slowly, but he couldn’t help but ask. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand, sir? I mean, why are you, why is everyone so upset about the Auction?” Paicus’ answering frown was so severe that William couldn’t help but step back. “I’m sorry, sir, I just don’t understand…”
Instead of being furious however, the Doctor only sighed, looking pained. “Well, it’s not so easy to explain,” he said slowly.
“They’re his things, aren’t they? His family’s, in any case?”
“Yes,” he said, hesitating. “And no. It’s difficult to explain…”
A loud voice cut through the noise of the carriages and guests. “Doctor Paicus! Doctor Paicus, is that you!”
Paicus rolled his eye and gestured quickly to William. “Ah, not now! Quickly, let’s get inside. I’m really not in the mood for any more interruptions today.” He started to push him forwards, towards a gap in the carriages.
“Doctor Paicus!”
They darted in front of a waiting horse, causing it to snort and nearly buck, and then Paicus was shoving William up the front steps, workers and valets jumping out of their way. They were nearly at the door when there was a sudden beat of wings and a woman landed in front of them. Or at least, she least looked like a woman. Her body was covered in soft white feathers, except for a golden ring that circled her face, and she wore a heavily stained nurse’s smock. William skidded to a stop, stunned at the sight of her, but she shoved him aside without a word and stared angrily down at the Doctor, who flashed her a guilty look.
“Why Pol! Good Morning! I didn’t know you were there,” he lied quickly. “What brings you out here today?”
Pol was perhaps the angriest person that William had ever seen. Tufts of white feathers arched sharply above her round, black eyes, making them look even huger, if it was possible. Her wings trembled behind her with agitation, each feather standing out sharply. “I’m doing your job, that’s what I’m doing!” she snapped. The hook of her golden beak gleamed sharply as her head tilted this way and that, as if she were sizing the Doctor up for a meal. “I sent you three wires, didn’t you get any of them?”
He winced. “No, sorry, I was working a double-shift at the Hospital–”
She shrieked for a moment, a sound William felt in his bones. “You told me you weren’t going to do that anymore,” she snapped.
“Well, I definitely won’t be anymore, I promise,” he told her, giving William a quick warning look.
She clicked her teeth together and grabbed hold of the Doctor’s hand, yanking him back down the stairs. “Well at least you're here now anyways. C’mon! There’s more work than we know what to do with!” Unsure of what else to do, William followed after them.
“Yes, well, actually–” the Doctor stammered, looking back at the house.
“We don’t have much room to work with, unfortunately,” she said over him, pulling Paicus past the line of carriages and towards the side of the house. “I tried to get them to let me set up inside, but did that snake even consider it? No! Too disruptive to the guests, I imagine.” She shrieked again, the feathers on her head ruffling.
She led them to a small garden, off the side of the house, where William was surprised to see that a rough clinic had been set up. Men, women, and children lay on cots or the grass, moaning as a few (very few) workers tended to them as best they could. He noted in passing that the clinic was open to all; Maierson workers sometimes lay side by side with protesters, all arguments apparently forgotten for the moment. He also couldn’t help but notice that their supplies were incredibly limited; torn up rags, bits of broken up signs reused as splints… He’d seen better stocked broom closets in the hospital.
Pol thrust a spare smock at Paicus and then started to roll up her sleeves. “I’ve sent Bogrie back to the clinic for more… well, more everything! I’ve got no idea when he’ll be back though, or even if he’ll be back with that riot going on out there.” Her head seemed to be in constant motion as she spoke, shaking and moving this way and that, turning to watch a nurse apply a tourniquet to a leg, then back to Paicus, all without pausing.
“I need to get you started immediately, Doctor” she told him. “Most of them just have bruises or minor cuts, but are few are much more serious-”
“Yes, yes,” he said, throwing up his hands. “And I’ll be out here as soon as I can, but I have to speak to Matthew first-”
“Matthew!” she snapped, her teeth clicking together. “What does that fool of a Maierson matter! He can’t stop what’s going on today!”
The Doctor was shaking his head though. “No, I must try. Matthew’s a good boy, he’ll see reason.” He started to edge back towards the front, but Pol grabbed his arm.
“Doctor! I can’t handle this place alone! I need your help!”
Paicus’ eye flashed to William and he suddenly had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“William can help you!” Paicus said brightly, looking over Pol’s head. “Yes, he’s an excellent young doctor, trained him a bit myself.”
“Uh, yes, I-” William stammered, when Pol suddenly turned to look back at him. That is to say, her head turned, swiveling almost completely over her shoulders to stare at him. Fine, white feathers, as delicate as a puff of air, ran up from the neckline of her smock to her huge, black, round eyes. William found himself lost for a moment, staring into those eyes, and he struggled to speak.
“Uh, uh, good-good morning.” The most lovely golden circle of feathers ringed her face, almost like a halo. She was a dove, he thought, an angel made flesh.
Pol looked at him with open disgust. “Him? Have you completely lost your mind? I need help, not some useless gawker!”
William’s mouth snapped closed with a start and he flushed. “I am a doctor,” he snapped, perhaps a little more forcefully than he’d intended. She turned towards him, her feather ruffling, and he noticed for the first time how sharp the nails at the ends of her fingers were.
“Oh, you’re a doctor!” she told him, her voice climbing effortlessly. “So of course you know all about Elder medicine do you? How a Goblin differs from a Human, or an Avan, or even an Elf?”
“Well, no,” he was forced to admit, “but-”
“-But he’s eager to learn,” Paicus said, stepping in between them. “He’s already agreed to work with us at the clinic for the next few weeks and I’m sure there’s much you’ll be able to teach each other.” Nodding quickly, he pushed the two of them together and started to edge back towards the front gates
“Doctor!” they both yelled.
“I’ll be out as soon as I can,” he promised. “Just start without me. All medicine is basically the same anyways, you’ll do fine!”
“No, it’s not!” they said in unison.
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “But try anyways.” He had one foot out the garden already. “I’ll be back as soon as I can! Pol: listen to William! He’s a wonderful young doctor and knows what he’s doing! Will: listen to Pol! And try not to kill anyone!”
He left them there, staring dumbfounded, as he ran for the main gates. “Oh, Matthew, where are you?” he cried aloud
Inside the great Pyramid, Acting Foreman Dwyer was asking himself nearly the same question. The catwalks rattled under his boots and workers leapt aside as he passed, standing at attention, but he barely gave them a nod, his head always on a swivel, his wizened eyes sweeping the floor. How hard could it be to find the only other Human in the building, he asked himself.
Pretty damn hard actually, it turned out. Of course it didn’t help that a body could search a whole day in the Pyramid and not even cover half of it. And that was if the building was empty and quiet, which it never was.
Three floors below him and seven above bustled with activity. He could hear the songs from the bellow workers, deep underground in the sub-basements; the air they pumped carrying their voices up out of total darkness, feeding the Forge. The huge, cylindrical blast furnace pulsed with life as the air rushed into it, roaring and sending out a wave of heat that tingled with magical potential.
Rising up more than two hundred feet in the center of the building, the Forge was the heart of all activity in the Pyramid. At the base, rusty chains and winches howled as the material bins were raised up to the fuel chutes at the peak, workers rushing about on the precarious tracks with abandon, sending dust and loose stones rattling down to the far below floor. As the minerals and metals poured down the chutes, the Forge seemed to groan, speaking with a voice like some great totem to a pagan god - angry and always hungry. More workers rushed about tending to the great machine with the devotion of priests, maintaining an ever present vigil on the dials and gauges ensuring the fires within remained under control. Those fires powered everything in the Pyramid, from the seven production lines (three still in operation) to the lights, lifts, stirrers, stamp presses, and molding stations scattered around the factory. And above them all, great spouts of sparks and smoke rose up to the open peak in the ceiling, blotting out the light till the world outside seemed like a distant dream.
A body waved below him and Dwyer’s eyes snapped down. “What is it?” he yelled, bellowing to make himself heard.
“We’re running low on limestone!”, a sweat-soaked, filthy Goblin yelled back up to him. “Ahn and Twen lines are both pulling second grade steel now; if we don’t get more we won’t be able to finish today’s production! Where’s that last shipment Gypsum promised us?”
Dwyer leaned over the railing. “Delayed” The Goblin swore. “Make do with what we have,” Dwyer told him. “Use the dust, turn the bins over and shake them if you have to! Just make it last until tomorrow! It’ll be here by then!” He paused and then added. “Have you seen Matthew?”
The Goblin shook his head, already turning away, and Dwyer grunted in frustration. There was a yell from the side and he turned to see a huge Centaur wearing a Maierson apron waving him down from the loading bay doors.
“Who’s in charge of all these wagons in the loading yards?” the Centaur shouted. He was red in the face and stamping his hooves. “They’re not our usual people and no one’s giving me a straight answer!”
Dwyer threw up his hands. “Not my department! They’re something to do with the Auction today. Just work around them. Hey, have you seen-” but the Centaur had already galloped off. Dwyer cursed again, looking out once more over the factory floor. Still no Matthew, but his eyes did snap to another worker, staggering from the extraction and milking pens. He was a huge Half-Man with broad shoulders and a large shaggy head with a large brass ring strung through his nose.
“Hey! Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!” he snapped, pointing his finger. The Half-Man staggered to a halt and stared dully up at him. Running up and down the left side of his face were more than a dozen long, blue-shaded quills, stuck deep into his skin.
“That’s company property there!” Dwyer reminded him. “Get someone from Ingredients to pull those out and then get your ass to Medical!”
The Half-Man blearily nodded and began stumbling back the way he came. Dwyer nodded, sweeping the floor for anything else that could be wrong, but all he saw was hurrying bodies. At any one time, there were more than three hundred jobs that needed to be done, and with the Auction this morning, they were at less than half-strength to begin with. He watched workers race across, pushing fully-laden carts and wheelbarrows, calling out to those in front to make way, while huge chemical vats bubbled and frothed unheeded in the background. Even the floors above him were in full swing, from the printing stations all the way up to the specimen cages high in the rafters, where phoenix feathers and harpy poison were just a few of the ingredients gathered daily.
Dwyer's hands tightened on the railing as he stared out over the floor. Maierson’s wasn’t just an assembly line, it was a printing press, a zoo, a chemical plant and a fire-works factory, all under one roof. And with only him to watch it.
“Dammit, Mattie, where are you?” he muttered.
He turned back around and jumped to see a young Elf in glasses standing just behind him. A cute looking young girl with small pointed ears, she clutched a clipboard to her chest and bobbed her head up and down nervously at him, her gaze fixed somewhere at shoe level.
“Um, Mr. Dwyer, sir, sorry to disturb you,” she said in a rush, her words almost tripping over themselves. “I’m Taffi, Apprentice-Mixer at Alchemical Station 9. Um, we’ve got a bit of a problem. Well, not so much a problem as a catastrophe, really, you could say…”
He shook his head and fished a pack of pale blue cigarettes out of his uniform pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and lit the end with a snap of his finger. “Get on with it, Taffi,” he grumbled.
“Right, yes, sir,” she said weakly. “Well, um… We’re out of Tarberry juice for the Glue-Pot contract and-”
He coughed abruptly, letting out a burst of thick blue smoke. “The Glue-Pots! God, and of course the contract for those is already past due…” It was hard to tell, but it looked like she gave him a small nod from behind her clipboard. “Why wasn’t anyone keeping track of our inventory?”
“It’s not our fault!” Her arm quivered as she held out a carbon sheet to him. “The logs said that we had another barrel, but when we opened it up, it was filled with sea-water.”
He grunted again. Either mislabeled or stolen, he thought, the latter being the most likely. He sighed and let out another plume of smoke. “Send a runner to Bugend’s-”
She coughed slightly and took a step back. “I already did.”
“What’s the problem then?”
She took another step back. “Uh, ah, they said they’re um… not taking any more payment on credit.”
“Credit?! How dare they!” he raged. “We’re Maiersons! We don’t buy anything on credit!” He hit the railing with his fist and she yelped, hiding behind her clipboard again. He stewed for a moment, then swore. “Just tell them we’ll pay them back when we have the money!”
“But… ah, we don’t have the money…”
He waved his hand towards the far wall. “Didn’t you see those carriages lined up around the block? They’re the money! Just tell Bugend to be patient - and to send us a new barrel!”
“Ah, ye-yes, sir,” she said miserably When she lowered her clipboard, her face was strangely changed. Her front teeth were more pronounced, her pointed ears longer and slightly drooping, stuffed with fine, downy hair that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She scratched at her cheek and he noticed a dark mole under her left eye that twitched every time she blinked. He looked away uncomfortably as she stared at her board.
“I’ll talk to them again,” she mumbled. “See if I can get them to reconsider. My friend's cousin works for them, maybe I can call in a favor…” She noticed him looking away. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat roughly and touched the side of his face lightly. “Your Glamour, eh…” Her hand strayed up to her own face and then she gasped, comprehension dawning. As she tucked the clipboard under one arm and brought both hands up to her face, he turned pointedly away, looking at the factory floor. When he heard her paging through the clipboard again, he risked a look back.
The fresh-faced girl from before was back in place, her ears were now pleasingly bare, her overbite gone, and her skin clear. He nodded to himself. It wasn’t that he had anything against Elves, after all, he just preferred that they didn’t look so much like… well, Elves.
“In the meantime,” she was asking, “what do you want us to do about the Glue-Pots? We’ll have to miss the contract by another day if I go back to Bugend’s.”
“We’re going to make a substitution,” he told her.
“For the Tarberry?” He nodded. “And what are we using?”
“Cement.”
She stared at him. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me,” he told her. “Use Cement mix. A spoonful in each pot and they’ll be set in an hour, ready to ship. No one’ll be the wiser.”
“We will!”
He started to walk down the catwalk, but she followed him, unwilling to let it drop. “I’m being serious!,” she protested. “It’s not an approved ingredient and there’s a certain standard of quality that we have to maintain. We can’t go around selling Maierson Magical Glue-Pots if people find out the secret ingredient is cement mix! It’s.. Well, it’s not very magical!”
He waved his hand. “People won’t expect anything from us if we can’t get our products to market in the first place.”
She frowned, looking uncomfortable. “I’d still prefer to miss it for just another day, if it means we can deliver a quality product.”
“We’ll deliver a quality product next time,” he told her. “This time however, we need to get paid.”
She opened her mouth again, but there was a shout from further down the line and he held up his hand. People were running towards something below them, which was never a good sign in the Factory.
“Just get it done,” he told her as a siren started to wail. “And talk to Bugends. Tell them we expect a new barrel of Tarberry by tomorrow morning! And let them know that Maierson’s doesn’t need to buy anything on credit!”
She threw up her hands in frustration behind him, but Dwyer was already running. He pounded down the catwalk, following the sound of voices below him. The whole Factory seemed in an uproar now, people were calling and shouting, ever far up above them in the swaying Inscriber lofts, workers were gazing down, trying to see what was the matter. Then he heard a sound, or rather a lack of a sound, that made his Foreman’s blood run cold. The Twen line below him slowed and then shut down, stalling out.
Delay! Lost Profit!
He picked up the pace, sprinting now. Up ahead was Sorting Station number Four; normally the massive machine would be humming day and night, taking parts and pieces from the materials lines on the upper floors and dispersing them on the multitude of tributary lines and their assembly stations below, just another step on their way to becoming finished Maierson products. Now though the sorter was still, steam hissing out from pipes held together with wire and rope. Piles of parts from the assembly lines had started to accumulate at the mouth of the sorter, and a few workers were trying to shovel them aside. “What’s going on?” Dwyer yelled, but they waved back helplessly.
He leaned over the edge of the catwalk and saw a crowd gathered around the base of the sorter, where an access panel was hanging open. Cursing aloud, he slipped down a ladder with practiced speed and started to push his way through the group, forcing himself to the front.
Another Elf, Cherwood, was kneeling in front of the open access hatch, but at least he was a welcome sight. “What’s going on? Why’s the line down?” Dwyer barked at him.
Cherwood gave him an unconcerned nod. His attention was on something in his hands, a mechanical dial that he was assembling. It was a complicated piece of machinery, full of delicate moving parts, but his large, oil-stained fingers moved with skill and deftness, sliding each tiny piece into place. “Hey Dwyer,” he said in a dull, monotone voice, not bothering to look up. “Timing’s been off in Sorter Four all morning, probably a bad motivator. It jammed up a few minutes ago, had to shut the line down.”
Dwyer stared at him, his lips twitching in frustration, but he forced himself to take a breath and speak calmly. “How long before it’s up and running?”
The Elf scratched at his rough, stained beard. As far as Dwyer could remember, Cherwood never used Glamour, though he doubted that even it could’ve done much to help him. As chief mechanic to the Factory, it was rare that Cherwood wasn’t filthy with oil, ash, or dust, and there always seemed to be a spot on his uniform smoldering. He tucked the re-assembled dial into a satchel that hung off his wide stomach and shrugged finally. “I dunno. That’s a tricky repair, easier to just replace. I’d have to take a look at it first though.”
Dwyer waited a moment, but no further action seemed to be forthcoming. “Well, why haven’t- I’m sorry, do you all have nothing BETTER TO DO?” he snapped, spinning around and shouting at the crowd. They scattered, vanishing into the smoke of the Factory and he felt a tiny bit better. “Now,” he said, focusing on the Elf, “why haven’t you gone in there and taken a look?”
“Matthew told me not to.”
Dwyer blinked. “Matthew? Why did he-” He stopped and dropped down in a squat, peering into the access panel. It was pitch black inside, and just wide enough for a man to crawl through.
“Matthew? Matty, are you in there?” he called out.
There was a moment’s pause and then a voice shouted back to him. “Just a sec!”
Dwyer cursed and gave Cherwood a nasty look. “I told you not to encourage him.”
The big Elf raised his hands helplessly. “He wanted to help.”
“And I want to get us out of the red!” He dropped down to his hands and knees. “Gimme a lantern.” Cherwood handed him a small tin case, holding a glass ball inside. Dwyer gave the case a firm shake, and it began to glow for a second, small dots beginning to swirl around inside of it, then it winked and went out.
He held the tin case up to his face. “You can be replaced with a light bulb, you know that?” he growled. After a moment, the small dots began to swirl again, faster and brighter this time. “Better.” He clipped it onto his belt and got down on his hands and knees, wincing slightly as his palms came in contact with the hot stone floor. Moving awkwardly, he crawled into the access panel and began to move forwards.
The sounds of the rest of the Factory seemed to immediately fall away as he crawled through the tight, dark tunnel. It was rough going, with parts and wires sticking out from the walls, snagging on his elbows and feet as he inched forwards. Much of the Sorter innards also showed signs of being jerry-rigged by Cherwood and his assistants, and he was nervous every time he had to pass under a pipe or manifold held in place with knotted rags. For the first time, he regretted not approving more replacement parts for the Sorter, and though he’d never have admitted it, he was glad, for the moment, that all that machinery above him was shut down.
Suddenly there was a blank wall in front of him. He blinked, looking left and then right, and found himself staring at a small open space in front of the timing belts, with just enough space for someone to kneel. The machinery had been partly disassembled, with a slim figure bent over the remains. “Matthew?” he called
The figure flinched, bumping his head against a pipe above him and knocking free a burst of steam that filled up the small space. “Ow, ow, ow! Just a sec!” he yelled, thrashing around. “I can fix it!” He grabbed hold of something and there was a brief sizzling sound, accompanied with a cry of pain. Dwyer crawled forwards and tightened a shut-off valve, cutting off the flow of steam.
Gradually, the space cleared and he could see Matthew rocking back, blowing on his hands. “Sorry,” he apologized, giving him a nervous laugh.
The new CEO, Chief Wizard, and owner of Maierson’s Magical Miracles was a thin, frazzled young man, with sallow, dark skin and hollowed cheeks. His eyes darted nervously around, glancing quickly at Dwyer and then away. “Did Cherwood send you in here?” he asked. “He didn’t need to do that, I think I’ve almost got it.”
“No harm in checking,” Dwyer told him, trying to keep his voice light. The small space was piled up with parts from the timing mechanism, screws and washers rolling around the floor or stacked on top of a few stained sheets of paper, crammed full of tightly packed writing. A huge manual was cracked open by Matthew’s knee, showing a labeled diagram of the sorter. “Having trouble?”
Matthew’s jumped again, banging his head off the top of the machinery above them. “Ow! What? Oh, no! No! I think I’ve got it now.”
“Uh huh,” Dwyer muttered. Matthew was bent over something on the floor, his elbow dragging slightly as he worked, poring over something. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, or at least, it had started the day that way. Now it looked so bad that even Cherwood wouldn't have used it for a rag. The same could be said for his hair, whatever pomade he’d used hadn’t been able to stand up to the heat of the factory, and his head resembled a filthy haystack. He didn’t seem to notice, however, or care. All his focus was on his work, glancing from the floor in front of him to the sheets of paper.
Dwyer pulled himself a bit closer. He could see the exposed timing belts now over Matthew’s shoulder; the heavy leather was old and cracked, the edges slightly fraying. What was more concerning though was the spinning set of concentric circles, the largest no wider than his palm. The circles revolved around each other in the middle of the mechanism, suspended in place between two iron posts.
“Damn! It is the motivator,” he swore. He could see how some of the rings were spinning too fast, others too slow, throwing the timing off for the belts. He grimaced and shook his head. “We’ll have to replace the whole damn thing.” He started to shuffle back. “C’mon. We’ll let Cherwood know.”
Matthew didn’t move however. “That’s expensive though, right?”
Dwyer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very,” he agreed.
“Well, um, maybe we won’t have to do that.”
Dwyer looked up nervously. “What’s that now?” He crawled forwards a bit more.
Matthew was still bent over the floor, working intently. There was a stub of chalk in his hands, runic chalk, Dwyer saw with some surprise. It was worn down almost to a stub, and his hands and elbows were caked with thick white dust.
“Oh no, Matthew,” he said, his jaw dropping. “You’re not trying again, are you?”
“No, it’s okay!” Matthew promised, giving him a frantic smile. “I think I’ve got it this time!” He shuffled over slightly and Dwyer saw what he’d been working on. A complicated chalk pattern had been scratched into the metal floor, a runic formula. “I’ve got some of Gran’s notes here,” he told him, lifting a few sheets of paper up, and inadvertently spilling them about the small space. “Sorry-sorry about that!” he said, scrambling for them. “Uh, she says, uh, here,” he stammered, grabbing the right paper, “that you can reset the timing without having to replace the motivator. Look for yourself.”
Dwyer frowned as he took the wax sheet. It was tracing paper, a common aid for drawing out complicated runic formulas quickly and easily. He recognized Madelyn’s tight script right away, but the sheet itself was nearly incomprehensible. It looked like scratch paper, something she’d used to work out the formula on, with many symbols crossed out and re-written, multiple times. It was hard for him to tell at all what was part of the final formula and what was not.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“I’m sure! I mean, I think so.” Matthew sat back up, chewing on a ragged fingernail for a moment. His eyes looked a bit frantic, and he snatched back the paper, glancing from it to his design. “I sketched it out, just as it shows. It should work…” His voice trailed off, looking suddenly uncertain. “What do you think?”
Dwyer stared at Matthew’s formula. The linework was sloppy. Some of the joints were disconnected and he could tell in a glance that Matthew hadn’t properly measured the angles. There were more than a few messy smudges on the formula as well, where he’d made a mistake, and instead of carefully obliterating the incorrect symbol with water or solvent so as to leave no trace, he’d just brushed the chalk away and drawn over it. It was the kind of work that Dwyer would’ve canned a fifth level Inscriber for on the spot.
But Matthew was his boss. So instead, he said, “That’s a really nice looking formula you’ve got there.”
The boy almost wilted with relief. “Do you really think so?” he asked gratefully.
“Oh, yes. I can tell you put a lot of work into it.” He forced himself to smile. “Why don’t we let Cherwood take over though? You’ve got an Auction to run after all.” Matthew’s grateful look vanished as he flinched, almost banging his head again on the ceiling.
“Oh! Don’t worry about that!” he said, inching away. “I’d hate to bother Cherwood about this, he’s got so much else to do.” He swallowed heavily, his eyes growing wide. “After all, I ought to be able to do this myself, right? Everyone expects me to be able to do it.”
Dwyer started to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Well, Matthew… It doesn’t hurt to let Cherwood take over some tasks…”
Matthew shook his head fiercely. “No-no! I think I’ve got it here.” He swallowed again and set his jaw. “I can do it.”
Before Dwyer could stop him, he reached past the timing belts and yanked out the motivator. Free from the machine, the rings slowed and then went still. He put it down on the floor, in the middle of his chalked out formula, and then he placed his hands on either side.
Dwyer felt his breath catch in his throat. He should’ve stopped it there, he knew; grabbed the boy’s arm, pulled him back, but he didn’t. He’s a Maierson, he thought. Maybe he could do it, after all.
Matthew closed his eyes and went still. The light from Dwyer’s lantern winked out.
In front of them, the chalk formula began to glow. The light spread out from Matthew’s palms, running down the chalk lines like a current along a wire, branching out as it touched each symbol. There was an almost audible humm in the air and Dwyer felt the hairs on his arms start to curl. In the middle of the diagram, the motivator rings quivered- once, then twice. They started to spin, slowly at first, but picking up speed.
“You did it,” Dwyer breathed out. The rings were spinning symmetrically. Matthew’s eyes opened wide.
POP!
Half of the formula abruptly shorted out around his hands.
CRACK!
Sparks flew in the tiny space, arcing up from the chalk symbols. The motivator rings seemed to flinch, twisting and shuddering. The air tasted suddenly of ozone as the chalk began to boil. Dwyer grabbed Matthew’s shoulder and yanked him backwards, pulling him down the narrow shaft, as behind them the formula continued to crackle and smoke.
Ten seconds later, Dwyer emerged out of the smoke filled access hatch, tugging Matthew out by the scruff of his jacket. He helped him over to the catwalk ladder, both of them struggling to breath as smoke poured out of the Sorter. Above them, flames poured out of the top of the machinery, as workers began to throw sand buckets on the blaze.
Cherwood knelt down beside Matthew and started to knock the stray embers off his jacket. “Was it the motivator?” he asked, curiously.
“Yep,” Dwyer hacked. He collapsed on the floor against the ladder, looking up at the smoking machinery. A pipe held up by a wooden joist collapsed as the flames reached it, sending workers running. “I want it back up and running before the end of the day,” he told the Elf.
Cherwood glanced over at the still burning machinery. “Right,” he sighed.
Dwyer waved his hand. “I’m being serious: order whatever replacements you have to- I’ll approve them.” He hesitated then. “But only what you absolutely have to. And no overtime!”
Cherwood watched another pipe collapse. “I’ll get right on it.”
“I’m sorry,” Matthew’s voice came softly. He sat up slowly, the back of his jacket still smoking. They could see tears running down his face, cleaning the soot off his cheeks.
He looked helplessly at the fire, shaking his head. “I almost had it for a second, but-”
“No, Matthew,” Dwyer said. “It’s my fault. I distracted you-”
Matthew’s hand jerked out, gripping Dwyer’s sleeve fiercely. “No! I couldn’t do it!” he almost screamed. “I messed up the formula! I-” He seemed to deflate, losing his grip and falling back to the floor. “Just like I always do.” Tears were running freely down his face now.
Dwyer opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of what to say. Cherwood looked down uncomfortably, pulling another broken widget from his bag as if by instinct and beginning to reassemble it in his hands.
Finally, Dwyer shrugged. “It’s a difficult repair, Matty,” he told him, trying to sound chipper. “And it’s not your job to-”
“It is my job though!” Matthew said, his voice near breaking. “Gran was able to do all this, run the factory, manage the books, fix anything-” He stared upwards, his eyes going to the open peak, high above them. Smoke from the fire was already drifting up towards it, joining the rest of the plumes rising up from the Forge and disappearing to the outside. “She did everything and I can’t do a single thing…”
Dwyer bent down closer towards him. “You’ve only been in charge for six months,” he reminded him, patting his shoulder. “You’ve got to give it time.”
Matthew sighed, continuing to gaze upwards. “Maybe,” he said, his voice trailing off.
There was a small sound behind them, like a throat being cleared and Dwyer turned. A Goblin stood a few feet away, holding a clipboard filled with yellow carbon sheets. He had a pen in one hand and was looking towards Matthew expectantly.
“What’s this?” Dwyer barked. “Now isn’t a good time.”
The Goblin flinched, almost looking like he wanted to turn and run. “Sorry, sir! It’s just- I’ve got some invoices.” He held the clipboard far out towards him. “I need Mr. Maierson’s signature-”
Dwyer snatched it up quickly. “We’ll deal with it later,” he told him. “Now get lost.”
The Goblin did, in a flash. Dwyer shook his head, turning away, when he bumped into another Goblin standing there, holding a near identical board. He blinked, thinking he was seeing double, but this Goblin was bigger, stronger, his uniform almost sizzling from the heat of the Forge.
“What is this?” he asked, then grunted as the Goblin shoved the board into his gut. It was crammed even thicker with the fluttering, yellow sheets.
“Albert approved these last night,” the Goblin rumbled. “It’s new parts for turning up the Seofon line. Need your signature.”
“Seofon?” Dwyer frowned. “That line hasn’t been in operation for decades! It’ll take a fortune to get it back up and running!” His eyes widened as he flipped through the sheets. “What’s Albert thinking?”
The Goblin shrugged. He tapped the bottom of the paper with a soot black finger. “Just have him sign here,” he told him flatly and then started to walk away.
“Just wait a minute!” Dwyer said, still trying to make sense of what he was reading. He started after the Goblin, but he didn’t get far. Popping up in front of him was a Halfling, carrying yet another clipboard.
“Good Morning, sir!” she squeaked. “If I could just get Mr. Maierson’s signature-”
Matthew gave a loud sigh behind him. “We don’t have the time,” he moaned.