It was difficult leaving mother at home, alone to her devices; the best that I could do whenever I left was set her in front of an open window, curtains pulled. When I would return to whatever errand had kept me from being with her I knew that even though she could not express it, she was glad to see me. I would take her out from her room where she watched out the window and into our parlor, less well kept than Agnes’. Depending on how I felt I would either entertain myself with a book or quite possibly the gazette; if something piqued my interest, particularly within the gazette, I would read it out loud to mother, in hopes that she recognized what I was saying. I would put her to bed just before the sun set, for the night seemed to trouble her.
I did all of this, that is, until three days after I met with Agnes, as that was when Izabella arrived. The evening after my visit with Agnes I had dialed her after overhearing talk of her from Mrs. Harper. Apparently, Izabella aided in helping with Mrs. Harper’s younger daughter, but now her daughter had gotten too old to be taken care of by a maid. Ironically, mother had gotten to the older age that she required a maid. Since Mrs. Harper had done away with her, I made the first thing that I was to do when I arrived home to contact her, in hopes that she would be able to help by the end of the week. Izabella herself proposed that she live with us, and I learned this to be because her only other option for housing would be to live with her father, whom she had trouble getting along with; not to mention, of course, that he lived off in Iyesgarth, far away from Lowestoft.
So, she arrived by carriage, early in the morning. Over dial she said that she would come five days after our first conversation, but she was a day ahead of schedule. When I brought this up to her, she simply replied with the phrase, “I like to be ahead of time all the time.” I would not say that she was irritating, yet often her existence would become overwhelming—thankfully, she was only there to tend to my mother, and soon I would be off to Limmere. And soon, I would be enriching myself with an education that Lowestoft was not able to offer. In preparation for my attendance I wrote a short, well-formed letter to the college, expressing my gratitude towards my acceptance and my anticipation for the coming academic year. While writing that letter I was interrupted by a call from downstairs. The upstairs is where I had set up my study after mother had become incapacitated, thus it became the only room that did not have its furniture shut off from the open air. Izabella informed me that a man was at the door speaking my name.
Down the darkly stained stairs I came, kicking up thin dust as I ran my metallic hand down the right-side railing. In order to get from the stairs to the foyer I had to pass through the kitchen, where I saw Izabella cooking something for mother and a tea kettle on the hot stove. There, in the foyer, sat upon a wooden chair, was Chester.
“I believe that the last time I saw you I told you to never step foot into this household again,” I said with a strict tone as I stood in the doorway leading into the kitchen.
“By God, that’s no way to treat an old friend!” He made motions to come towards me and embrace me, but I continued to stand him off.
I crossed my arms and tapped my left fingers upon my prosthesis. “And how were you let out of the ward?” Upon my brow I could feel my eyebrow take a mind of its own and shortly raise.
“Why, I merely came here to see how Eliza was—." Chester said, giving me a half smirk and a slight head tilt.
“She is doing fine; now, you may go.”
Chester sighed and placed his hand upon the miniature table that mother would always keep a vase of freshly cut roses on, though now I had not yet replaced them and they continued to wither away. “I paid for both a ferry and an engine fare in order to get here.”
Though it was not comedic, I laughed to myself quietly; “Why in the Hell would you need to take a ferry to get to Lowestoft? I heard you were last in Leurbost.”
“I crossed Blackmont.” He took a brief step towards me, of which I retaliated with a brief step backwards, bringing me slightly into the kitchen.
“The west engine brings you here without the need of a river crossing. Your fare would have been much less if you knew that.” With a wave of my right hand I turned around, hoping that the gesture would cause him to leave.
“You still have the same prosthesis,” he said to me. “I expected you to have replaced it with one that was less ornate and more efficient. You’ve had that for years.”
Even though inside me I knew that responding to him would only so far as prolong the conversation that I desperately wanted to be over, I entertained him. “It has served me well.” I ever so slightly rolled up my sleeve, revealing the golden arm with raised ivy leaf patterns; to some, the decorated piece may have done better in a collector’s display, not on my body.
“How did you get your hands on that?” Chester’s eyes were the kind that one could make out in the middle of the night, so piercing and sharp that they were distinguishable from anyone else’s. And so much so that they even made me feel ill.
“A metal carver in Rachdale. Though, I do not even remember the price, as my father bought it for me.” After responding to his question I caught myself, still, continuing the conversation. “No matter, now leave.” Again, I pivoted in the direction of Izabella, only to be brought back around to him by the sound of his voice.
“Were you accepted into Limmere?”
This time my will overpowered my ignorance and I was able to catch my tongue before I answered him. Swiftly I swept through the kitchen, past Izabella toiling away over the stove, and back into my office. That night, when I returned to the kitchen in order to make a meal for myself, Izabella explained to me that Chester had left the moment I had left the foyer, that he had made no other attempts to prolong our interaction.
“I left porridge in the ice box if you wish to heat it, but I doubt it will taste any good,” she said to me after her explanation. I saw the tail of her dress lift up ever so slightly as she passed through the doorway into the anteroom to the stairwell, and once she was upstairs I did just as she had suggested. Unfortunately, she was right: the porridge was lacking in taste, yet I still ate it.
From the start of the next morning it would be a month until I would start my year in Limmere, and yet I made little attempts to enjoy my lasting time within Lowestoft. I only saw Chester one more time between that morning and my arrival at Limmere; this was, once again, against my own accord. It was near the engine station of Lowestoft, beside the forever-stretching rails. With me I held a briefcase and upon my back I wore my overcoat. There seemed to always be a sort of winter spell that was cast upon Lowestoft, as no matter what the ambient temperature was within the cities and towns that surrounded it, it was consistently colder.
I was minding about my own business, hoping to get to the engine station before I missed the time allotted on my ticket, when I was stopped in my tracks by Chester, in a similar outfit and carrying a similar demeanor to when he arrived at my front door. It was unlike me to be taking the engine to Iyesgarth, and frankly it was unlike me to travel to Iyesgarth in the first place. However, I had to take a trip there in order to retrieve a set of notes from an old colleague that I had not spoken to in a while; he dialed me the day before, so that night I planned to go there. Though again, I was halted in my path by Chester, who stood on the short stone steps that crept up to the engine station. His facial expression told me that he had no plan of moving from where he was and that I would either have to ignore him or force myself to hold a conversation with him.
It started with a simple “Hello” from him, but it quickly evolved into more than that as I made a feeble attempt at trying to maneuver myself around him. He took a slow chase after me, as I was not walking at that fast of a speed in the first place, though he quickened his pace as I got closer to the top of the steps. With a short jump he arrived at the top platform before I did, he turned on his heel and put his hand to my chest, causing me to stop and teeter at the edge of the top step. “Why do you still try to avoid me?”
Like always, my eyes made no contact with his; my grip upon the handle of the briefcase tightened and my mind raced. “I have to get to Iyesgarth, so please allow me to pass—."
His hand upon my chest turned into a clutch on my undershirt. “Why do you still try to avoid me, Irwin?”
The pace of my breathing quickened as I finally regained control of my footing on the step. With my right arm I gripped his hand that held tightly onto my white shirt and squeezed; his stare turned colder than it was before, yet I knew that the pinching of metal would soon cause him to release me. Chester stepped away from me and coddled his hand. “You almost broke a knuckle,” he said with a temper.
“Good, then maybe this time you will listen to me.” My hand returned to my waist pocket. “I have a meeting at Iyesgarth, and I can not be stopped by the likes of you.”
“The engine has already come and gone, your watch must be slow.”
Instantly more upset was compounded on the original annoyance that Chester had sprung within me. “Damn it—well then, I will be taking the next engine.”
“Then you have time to talk.” I continued to keep away from him yet he also continued to try to interact with me. As I stood by the edge of the station’s platform, looking down at the metal rails, he took to standing to the left of me. He did not say anything to me but only stood there; his presence made me uneasy, as I still believed him to possibly be unwell.
After ten minutes I sat upon a wrought iron bench that sat in front of the station-house, while Chester still waited where he had put himself. The sun hung itself above a small crested hill upon the horizon, and I embraced its warmth as I held the briefcase to my stomach. Then, with twenty minutes of waiting passing as though it were a day, the scream-like horn of an engine came down from the eastern rails of the platform, followed by the tumbling engine coming down and resting itself akimbo to the terrace. Once it arrived I passed by yellow-papered ticket to the engineer; although I had missed the original engine that I was assigned upon my ticket, the policy was set to where so long as there were open seats upon the next engine, I would be able to ride it.
I entered the gates of Iyesgarth, greeted by the sights and sounds that I often would not see within Lowestoft. It was true that Lowestoft had a high population, but that never meant that it was advanced in any definition of the word. Within Iyesgarth I saw above me capital flags flying, each street moved with various types of people, and the cobbled streets were constantly cleaned for fear of rubbish tarnishing the city’s appearance. Carriages far more decorated and pristine walked down the streets as well, while men and women alike walked about in lavish outfits; women holding their parasols and men wearing their hats. I somewhat appeared to be out of place there, however, unless someone specifically focused upon me they would have never thought any different. My colleague, Beau Morris, kept to himself in the top story of a butchery. According to him, the dues upon his flat were affordable, and he only needed so much room to be pleased. While walking through the main streets of Iyesgarth I took in the fresh air, although due to the engines and machines that ran amuck throughout the city the air sometimes was sullied.
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There I came upon the building of the butcher. I came to the realization that I would have to enter the lower floor in order to get up to his flat; there was no outer stairwell that would take me to my destination. The butcher took me to be a prospective customer, so I had to turn him down and explain my reason for being there. Somewhat begrudgingly he directed me to the steps that led me to Beau’s. Even before I could wrap my hand upon the door once it was opened. I had not seen Beau for almost two years, but his appearance did not change in any way. Like always he still had his cap on, his weathered tan jacket, his gumboots, and his hands covered in the stains of black oil grease.
In some way that I have no idea how, Beau had come across a set of notes that belonged to an old alchemist that I can not remember the name of. I say this to outline the fact that Beau was the creator; he worked for an engine company, building and operating the things all across the country, yet when he had time to himself he would be almost always found within his flat tinkering on some contraption that I had no wits about whatsoever. Through this we contrasted. Using the simplest terms one would call me an alchemist, though I was, instead, truly a chemist. Since we first met in our primary years of schooling, Beau and I had been companions. Four years ago, like all of the others, he moved out of Lowestoft, while I stayed behind to care for my mother.
All across his room I noticed sheets of paper lying about, with scrawled notes and diagrams, all which made no sense to me. While Beau worked with gears, pipes, and steam, I bothered myself with mixtures, elixirs, and powders. And intermixed with all of these blueprints and confusion were mechanical pieces that I had no idea of their functionality.
Though I had originally planned to retrieve the notes and be on my way—which were placed in a somewhat neat stack upon a coffee table—I decided that, since I had the time, I would sit down with him for a moment.
“What do you make of the dragon?” he asked, holding a tin cup in his hand.
I raised my brow, obviously confused by his question. “In what way?”
With both hands now he held the cup as he leaned forward and slightly away from the wooden chair he had sat on. “Of the west, Bengrad. What do you make of the dragon?”
Usually I made my attempts to stay away from political matters, other than those that were mentioned in the daily gazette. I was a man of science and research, and of all things, chemistry, not the political world. But concerning this matter, it was hard for one to completely avoid. “Do you mean Fitzpatrick? The king of the west?”
“Yes, I mean King Frederick.”
“Nothing that any other man would make of him. An enemy to us, but kept to himself and his own country as of now.” It appeared to me that this did not satisfy Beau’s question.
He looked at the coffee table that stood between the two of us, I on a blue settee and he on his chair. “The chancellor seems to think differently, and as I understand it would be in his best interest for us to think differently as well. You know, he has a son that is just about the same age as Frederick?”
“Is that so?” I asked, lacking interest in the conversation. “Well then, they ought to meet.”
Beau laughed to himself. “What a day that would be.”
“Do you not think they would get along, Razenbach’s son and Frederick?” I said as I eyed his tin cup.
“I don’t see why they would. The one utterly hates the other’s father. That would be enough to halt the creation of a companionship.” His statement was spoken in an off putting, matter-of-fact way.
“There is no rule saying that Razenbach’s son must stick with the same political leanings of his father, is there? Soon it will not be too long until he will no longer be the chancellor; then it will be another man that will have to deal with Frederick Fitzpatrick’s antics.” I turned to the window where I saw the sprawling cityscape that was Iyesgarth, with its billowing black smog contrasting the light clouds and blue sky that was hidden away in the background.
“And when you complete your studies, as I assume you have been accepted into Limmere, do you plan to work for the state like a dog, under the watchful eyes of ‘Bach and his men?”
I squinted my eyes, giving Beau a disappointed look. “You believe I would do so?”
His response was one that I never would have expected him to respond with. Since the very moment that the both of us were on our own and no longer dependent on our families, Beau constantly had opposing thoughts against the state and any sort of institution that was put in place by it. Even more, he was opposed to general dictum given by instructors and oftentimes common adults. “If you did, you would be paid handsomely.”
“Since when have you been a supporter of the state? I firmly remember you dialing me the night that Razenbach became chancellor and rising quite the storm.” I rested my right hand onto the settee’s cushion below me. “And now you sit here proposing that I work for the state?”
His tin cup made its way to the table, allowing him to place his hands on his knees. “It wouldn’t be the worst of ideas. Like I said, you would be given good pay; and even if I despise the state that does not mean that I don’t think my comrades should be affiliated with it.”
My head titled at the last phrase, perplexed by his reasoning. “No, I have never and will never think of ever working for the state.” With my left hand I held tightly onto the alchemist’s notes, and my eyes left Beau and traveled to the pages. “The knowledge that I learn and gain in my studies will not be handed back over to Farenzo. And what of your work? You could be paid a great deal of money if you were to be successful in your aspirations.”
Beau gave me a sly, thin smile as he placed his stained palms together. “If I were to create this machine then it would be used only for war. I wish for them to have nothing to do with it, and yet I know I’m a fool for believing that it will ever be different. I don’t believe many have even thought to tame the sky, and it is my wish as well that it is kept that way.”
“Do you suppose that if the state were to get their hands on your invention then they would use it to go to war with the west?”
Beau responded with a staunch no. “If they did, then they could go to war with anyone they wanted. But Farenzo has not been at war with any country for more than forty years, far before we were even born. The last time Farenzo waged war against another country was with Arabore, and now it is a flourishing colony.”
“Still, you know the things that we had done within Arabore,” I said with a silent voice. “That is not to say that we were the only ones who were in the wrong, but the state will stop at nothing to protect itself.”
“And the sins of the father will be brought down upon the sins of the son.” The somewhat-smirk that Beau had given me had now turned into a legitimate smile. “You and I both know that this country adores ‘Bach, and he will be chosen as chancellor for a third time. Then, once his son is of age, he will take the seat for however many terms Farenzo decides. You saying something about a new man taking ‘Bach’s place is plain foolish and you know it.”
And Beau was right. It was true that as a whole, Farenzo adored Razenbach, and it seemed as though there was not even a chance for Razenbach to lose his chance at taking another term as chancellor. Though I hated this fact, it made it no less true.
Beau continued: “Yet, of course, if Fitzpatrick makes any sort of move against us, I don’t doubt that ‘Bach wouldn’t retaliate. The conflict—."
Almost instinctively, I interjected. “War—it was a war.”
“Yes, the war in Arabore was started because of the moves that they had made against our southern front. As far as my knowledge takes me, Razenbach hopes to hold our borders with an iron fist, just as strongly as he hopes to hold his current position.” His attention was taken away from the conversation for but a moment when there was the sound of a motorized-carriage's horn beeping outside. “It baffles me as to how the west allowed such a young boy to become king.”
“Monarchy—it was his right to take the crown, he just so happens to be at that age. I doubt they are permitting him to make decisions on his own accord. He must have some sort of advisor, would you not think?” I repositioned myself upon his settee as I felt the anchoring-plate of my prosthesis become uncomfortable.
“I know all of that; doesn’t change the fact that he is unfit to be king of a whole damned country.”
“And what has made you so interested in the affairs of ours and the nations of others? It is frankly unlike you to be so distressed by such happenings.” This was true, of course. Like I said, Beau had constantly had an opposition to the state and government, yet he appeared to never have any interest in their actions unless it directly interfered with him or his occupation.
“I’ve been reading,” he said as he stared at my right arm.
“Your fool’s errand.” I snickered lightly at my own statement, and it seemed to thankfully lighten the conversation.
Beau gave me more of a jovial smile. “Of course you would say something like that,” he said under his breath as he now held onto his tin cup once again. “How is your arm working for you? Do you need me to take a look?”
I simply gave him a negative shake of my head. “No, it is fine. I have been able to move it just as well as I had the day I got it.”
“Soon it will tarnish, and what it does is dial me so I may polish it. I have always wanted to lay my hands on such a special piece. I can’t even begin to imagine how much your father paid for it.” Beau did not break eye contact with my arm, even though half of it was hidden underneath my sleeve. In a smooth motion, Beau came up from where he was sitting and approached his window; after a mere moment I joined him, looking out at the urban sprawl that was Iyesgarth. The houses were relatively greater in comparison to those within Lowestoft. Many of them were in the style of cottages, fit with tan or beige walls and dark brown supports. From almost every brick and mortar chimney was coughed up gray smoke from the bowels of a burning fire. “What do you plan to do with those notes?”
I noticed that my grip on the papers was stronger than before, and that I had taken them with me to the window. “I have yet to see. In Limmere I may be able to make use of them, adding on to my curriculum. I have such an expansive collection of the notes and works of varying chemists that I so easily get lost in my study.”
“That’s nothing new. I remember a specific time when I and other boys were going down to the stream and you decided that you wanted to stay stuck up in your study.” Beau was now looking down at the common-folk walking up and down the street below. “That was before you lost your arm, of course.”
In my silence I agreed with him. I did not need to make any verbal response.
“I remember when you came to me, blood covering your hand. You told me that you had done something terrible, something that you could never undo. You called it a sin. I remember when you came to me you had tears in your eyes, streaming down your face, falling down to the grass. And it wasn’t just your shirt that was covered; your entire chest was, it all coming from your right arm, where you gripped your shoulder. It was awful.” Quietude was set between the two of us as Beau’s voice drifted off. I was leaning my head against the side of the window, now close enough to the glass to the point where I could see my fate reflection drawn out upon the outside world. I realized that I had been holding tightly onto the shoulder of my golden arm, pulling at the shirt that covered it.