A bell tinkled overhead as Frederick opened the workshop door. Isaac, Mark, and Svarja followed, the bell tinkling again as the door closed behind them.

"Be with you in a minute!" called out a deep voice from further in. Frederick stood patiently while his three escorts looked around at the densely packed shop, shelves lining every wall from floor to ceiling with boxes stacked high forming a maze. Several thick tables littered with tools and strange contraptions of wood and metal were positioned wherever space would permit them.

A man in his forties or fifties limped into view. "Oh, Frederick!" he cried out. "Owen!" Frederick replied, picking his way through the obstacles. The two men greeted each other with a short embrace and pats on the back.

"Friends? Or Employees?" Owen said, gesturing at the group standing by the doorway.

"Ah, yes. This is Isaac, former shield-bearer of Wollema; Mark, former gunner of Osterval; and Svarja, warrior of the north," Frederick said, pointing at each person in turn.

"A pleasure to meet you all." Owen stated with a nod.

"Isaac, Mark, Svarja: this is Owen. Caller, Inventor, and the finest maker of toys for unappreciative noble children to break in all of Wolleton."

"I haven't made toys in years, Fred," Owen said with a shake of his head and rolling his eyes, "Though I might have more time to work on my own projects again soon now that the war is over."

"So are you finished your job with the northmen?" Owen asked, leaning against a table.

"Not yet, I'm just stopping to stock up before we make the last leg of our journey. Figured I'd have a better chance of actually finding supplies here."

"Oh, probably, but it'll cost you."

"Correction: it'll cost the crown. Any reasonable expenses will be covered once the job is done."

"On the way in we saw some wagons in the fields spraying water on the crops, were those your doing?" Frederick asked, picking up a dust-covered miniature wooden sword.

"Sort of," Owen replied, "I improved an existing pump design and altered the nozzle so that the water would come out as fine droplets instead of a harsh jet. Easier on the plants and the soil that way."

"We also saw an airship above the city on the way in, did you have anything to do with that?" Isaac asked, curiosity overcoming him.

"Oh, I think every laborer, craftsman, and Caller left in the city worked on that!" Owen said with a laugh. "That big bitch took up far too much of our time for far too long, kept us from other, more practical tasks and then the war ended before it even took flight but our wise leaders are determined to see the project finished, even if the resources and manpower could be better spent elsewhere."

"The original airships used at the end of war were little more than a wooden platform chained to the bottom of a balloon," Owen continued after pulling up a stool to sit on. "They could carry a few bombs but were still pretty useless, not to mention dangerous. Completely at the mercy of the wind to blow it in the right direction. A Caller could make it float higher by causing the flames to burn hotter and heat up the Aether bag but that was it. This new ship, and the others they're building, they have rudders to steer and screws that can push them through the air, even flying against the wind."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Aether? What's that? A Caller friend of mind told me balloons use hot air, like sky lanterns." Isaac asked.

"Oh, the balloons we captured from the Tarids used hot air to float but hot air doesn't provide nearly enough lift to be practical for anything other than simple reconnaissance balloons with a couple of people in a flimsy basket. These new ships use Aether, a gas of some sort that skilled Callers can extract from rotting plants and animal carcasses. Produces incredible lift when heated, highly toxic though. You do not want to breathe it in, I can assure you. They're building a whole town a few miles east just to produce it without risk of killing the entire city if there's an accident."

"Sounds like the crown has a lot going on these days." Frederick said, still idly turning the wooden sword between his fingers.

"Oh, they do, they do." Owen replied. "Lots of change, we could be entering a very exciting age if starvation or plague doesn't take us first."

"Oh! Before I forget, I have your commission ready," Owen said as he straightened up and limped into the back of the workshop. A moment later he reappeared carrying a long gun, handing it to Frederick.

"Impressive workmanship, Owen," Frederick said he took the weapon from the inventor, turning it over in his hand to examine the intricately carved symbols in the barrel and stock. "How many shots is the reservoir?"

"Oh, one." Owen said with a grin. Frederick raised an eyebrow and cocked his head but was unable to speak before Owen continued. "See this handle here, on the side? Here, let me show you," he said as he took the gun back from Frederick. "Pull this all the way back until you hear a click. This both compresses the air into the reservoir and allows a single bullet to drop into the chamber from the attached hopper, or you can put a bullet in directly in the chamber if you remove the hopper, then slide this back to the front. Then all you do is pull aim and shoot."

"One round, though? The tanks of my current guns are good for twenty."

"Oh yes, but how long does it take to replace a tank once one is empty? And how long do you have to spend with the pump to refill them?" Owen asked. He patted the stock of the gun as he continued. "Each shot from this gun is as powerful as the last, you don't need to worry about running out of air in the middle of a fight. And best of all, the barrel of this gun has grooves that spin the bullet as you fire, makes it fly further and more accurately than the smoothbore guns you have now. Trust me, what you lose in a few rounds per minute you more than make up for in accuracy, power, and reliability."

Frederick nodded and held the gun up, turning it over as he resumed inspecting the weapon.

"One additional benefit is that you only need to pressurize the chamber right before you take the shot," Owen began, "unlike the tanks you have now, which need to be pressurized constantly. Less strain on the seals this way so it should be less prone to failure."

Frederick and Owen continued to discuss the operation of the gun, its construction and maintenance. Isaac, Mark, and Svarja wandered the front workshop as the two older men conversed. The trio bent over to examine delicate mechanism of brass, copper, and polished wood. Some of the items appeared to be dusty and half-finished children's toys, others were abstract devices whose functions could only be guessed at.

"Oh, you'll have no luck finding accommodations in the city these days," Owen said as he and Frederick made their way back to the front of the shop. Isaac and Mark turned to face the two older men while Svarja carefully placed a contraption of metal gears on the table behind her back, moving her body to block Owen's view.

"Every place in the city is rented beyond capacity, the only empty rooms are the ones charging exorbitant rates that only the wealthiest could afford. Assuming you don't feel welcome in the Gold district you can just stay with me."

"Are you sure, Owen? I'm sure we could find an inn or even a tavern with a common room-"

"Nonsense, those places ae filled with bugs and disease. No, I have sofas we can sleep on in the den, and your northern friend can take my room."

Svarja blinked in confusion, stepping away from table. "Why would I sleep in your room?"

"I assume that a lady would want privacy."

"Lady?" Svarja said with a laugh. "Do these look like they belong to a Thane's wife who has thralls to do her work?" She asked, holding up her calloused hands. "No, I will sleep where my companions do. Besides, I couldn't sleep in a strange bed by myself, it'd be too quiet."

"Oh, very well," Owen replied. "I'm done working for the day, let's head upstairs. We can have a drink until my cook arrives to prepare supper."