Indrá found the Cants of hovering in mind yet not sight. "Are the Cants not seen? I swear I'd read the scripts on the steel."

"You swear, do you?" Mōden offered paper and quill. "Go ahead then, write them. 'Let there be light,' is that not what you said?"

"I remember," said Indrá as he dipped the quill tip black and put it to paper.

"Well?"

"I ... can't?" The quill pattered to the blank sheet. "I've got the memory but I can't focus on it. It's like breathing. I know how but it's something—" He stared at his father. "Father, you once asked me if I understood. Is this what you meant? The Cants?"

"So you've understood at last!" said Mōden. He grinned and took Indrá in his arms. "Such is the Philosopher's bargain. It asked for flight and you delivered so flight is yours to keep."

"Then I've understood little," said Indrá, lolling in his father's grip. "And to fully understand, I'd need time I do not have."

His father pointed to the scripts and scribbles splayed about his desk. "Then make your own. I don't want to hear your excuses."

Indrá scowled. "I said nothing of the future. How's that an excuse?"

"An excuse for an excuse!" Mōden stood with Indrá in tow and marched to the stairway. "See what excuses get you, Indrá? Many strong men have ears that refuse to hear. Speak with actions and even the deaf must listen."

"Like the Cants," said Indrá from behind his father's shoulder. "Asâmbï and actions cannot lie nor be written."

"Like the Cants." Mōden climbed the stairs to their last and lowered Indrá to the floor. "For example," he said, nodding at the washroom whose door lay ajar.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." Indrá waltzed past his father and paused at the foyer. "Oh, I forgot to wash my hands after flaying the pigeons, so ..." He slammed the door shut to the fall of his father's grin. "Don't worry, I won't drain the tub when I'm done!"

=====

Weeks dripped by like aster nectar and soon the shop windows were frosted blue. A gust blew as the door opened and Joe ambled in. He had a flannel shirt under his overalls and a metal log at his waist.

"This time's m'heater," said Joe. He laid the ashen steel on the counter and rapped it with a knuckle. "No rats this time. Checked 'er myself."

"Alright. Let's take a look," said Indrá. He popped the main panel and eyed the bronze coils beneath the grate. "How's winter treating you ol' Joe?"

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Can't complain. Much prefer the farmin' season. Now 'm out there keepin' my land hale." He chuckled. "I don't much differ from that there heatin' device. Any idea what's broke?"

"Yep, capacitor's shot. I'll get that replaced for you."

"Dozen coppers?" Joe fished his pockets.

"That'll do it."

=====

"Father, why do you live so simply?" said Indrá. A disk etched crimson whizzed around the room. It curved and dipped to the direction of Indrá's finger points.

"Why don't I sell for profit? Or why do I wear cloth and not magic metal?" said Mōden, unmoved from the scribbles he yet scratched.

"Both, I guess. The former could make you a king and the latter a god."

"And why would I want either?"

"To live on a street that doesn't stink?"

"Stink keeps noisy mouths shut. I like quiet. Don't you?"

The saucer flew to Indrá's hand and dimmed of power. "I'll be quiet," he said, plaintive.

Mōden paused and looked up. "The smell's on the outside, Indrá. In here, noisy mouths can do as they please." He grinned. "But thank you."

"Mhm."

Indrá put his trinket aside and stared at the fluted ceiling. The Tome's task of late seemed to glide about the knicks and grooves.

> The second of the Philosopher's tasks takes to the world of fable.

>

> A bull of horns mighty and patience few charges a gnat in a meadow. The gnat had made a bed of its nose and the bull was full of ire. Then a passing jay ate the gnat and sod the bull's nose in guano.

>

> Build the foible of the fable. Receive a Cant that takes but one and yields an equal other.

Indrá's lips thinned and his foot tapped the floor.

The gnat sought rest. It died and now it rests forever. The bull wished the gnat to die and die it rightly did. The gnat came back to the nose in guano but to the bull it's much the same.

Indrá's footfalls sped to a steady dribble.

All who'd asked got their due. The jay asked none yet ate a meal and left eased of bowel. I ... don't understand.

"Father?"

"Yes, my son?"

"I'm heading to the market. Need anything?"

"A can of Vanilon, if you could."

Indrá donned a woolen coat on his way to the storefront. "Diet?"

"If they've got it." Mōden met Indrá's eyes halfway to the door. "Thanks, Indrá."

"Happy to help!" A creak, a clap, then a gust of chill.

Whistles and crunches and shivers abounded. Indrá had his palms tucked in his pockets and his face turned from the wind.

The fable in the meadow ... a Cant that takes one and yields an equal other, thought Indrá. The jay ate the gnat and turned it to guano. Is the answer a machine that converts? Like a stomach?

Wooden boards lined the tenements for a while and then there was glass and awnings. Indrá veered right then forward until Cornu's Foodstuffs was close ahead.

"Hey there, lil' brother!" said a man wrapped in felt. He stood on a wooden crate with his hands fanned about his mouth. "Spare a moment, ya gotta. The Governor's been lettin' spell slingin' blights in our here city. That ain't right! They ought stick to the battlefront n' keep us good folk safe."

Indrá walked past the man and entered the store.

Ugh, I lost my train of thought. Indrá hailed a boy stocking a shelf. "Hey, do you have Vanilon here by chance?"

The boy dawdled. "Yeah, we got it. Two paces to the left'll get you there."

"Thank you," said Indrá.

Oh! I was thinking about a mechanical stomach, he thought as he turned into a cooled aisle. But what are stomachs really?

He reached for a silver can with red decals.

The jay ate the gnat and loosed its bowels. It had no quarrel with the gnat nor the bull. It wanted nutrients and nutrients ... are energy.