"Three discs. No, scratch that, four. Four and no more."
Finnian was inspecting a slightly rusted metal cylinder with a spinal tube reaching over both edges on the side. While the apparatus itself was in passable condition, the alloy used for it was highly diluted. The black coloring of lead dampened the refined coppery color and made certain rust spots more pronounced.
"Four discs?! You might as well try and pull the money right out of my pocket and see how that goes for ya." Said the large hairy brute who stood on the other side of the counter. Otherwise known as Uthrick, he was a regular customer. "That right there is a vital component in the gem distilleries. It's used in the crushers, and without it a whole machine could stop working!"
Uthrick wasn't lying, not exactly. What Finnian held in his hand was a pressure deductor used in Gemstone distilleries, more specifically it ensured that gemstones didn't explode when undergoing powderization. What Uthrick had conveniently left out was that these were in no way rare, and there were at least four in a single machine.
Finnian made a show of looking thoughtful, but also slightly doubtful. Uthrick caught the bait. "Irvin said he'd trade at least five discs for anyone who could get him parts from a distillery. Word has it he's building something for the Conclave, and they pay nicely for parts in good condition."
Finnian tapped his chin. "Five copper discs. And I'll throw in a discount for your next purchase."
The brute nodded. "Deal."
The apparatus was exchanged for four copper discs. In truth, the thing was worth closer to five, maybe even six if someone would buy into sweet talk. While they weren't rare, being caught in possession of a government employed mechanic tool would land him at least half his life in the mines. So he couldn't exactly go market price.
After Uthrick was out, Finnian locked the door and went into the back with the deductor. His home consisted of three rooms. His living space which served as kitchen, sleeping quarters, and engineering room. His outhouse, and the shop. He bent down, groaning in pain from yesterday's ordeal, and shimmied his hand under a loose plank in the floor. He removed the fake floorboard and pulled up a sack that jingled of metal. He dropped the deductor into the bag and after placing back the plank, took the sack and left.
He had two stops to make today. The first would be The Crook, the same inn he'd dropped the bag off at. Making his way through the Bowels was a simple task during the mid-day. Most people were still working in the Coal Pits or Machinery, leaving only the vagrants and powder whiffers lying on the edge to the sewer river. The tunnels were illuminated by the green light of the sludge, painting the roof and walls in a sickly color.
The space outside of the inn was destitute, and inside it wasn't much different. The stools stood on the tables and Markus was dragging a wooden barrel across the floor to the bar.
"G'day Markus! Let me lend you a hand with that." Finnian walked over, dropping his sack beside a table to help the tavern keeper.
Markus groaned with relief as Finnian assisted in dragging the large barrel over to the bar. Once there, they stood it up, and it was easily Finnian's height.
"Goldeye's Ire..." Markus cursed, wiping beading sweat away from his forehead. "Thank you Dolus." He pulled out a stool off a table and sat down on it. "I swear they just keep getting bigger and bigger every year."
"Ain't that a good thing?" Finnian took a stool as well and sat down. "Great for business and all, you're making more money by the day. A little more glitter won't be enough to break your back, right?"
Markus scoffed. "At my age, it will. Marge wants me to close up so that we can retire to the surface, she's been bugging me more than ever lately, and I'm not sure if it's because of the fumes down here or just plain old age, but I think I'm starting to get why."
"So you're just gonna quit?" Finnian remarked. "You've got at least a few more months in you before your back breaks. And even then you'd probably be able to pull more coin as an act. Just think about it, Crookback Markus slinging tankards throughout the room, come down to the Crook tonight for a crooked good time!"
Markus chuckled. "Ain't that nimble, I'm afraid. Now," He straightened, "What do you need, you don't come here for no reason."
"Well, my last job for the Conclave cost me both of my slinging knives..." He pointed to his wrists with a guilty expression and Markus cringed.
"I can have them replaced by tomorrow. I will warn you though, the quality of the newer ones have gone down. The smiths don't want to admit it but the shortage in workable iron last year has sorely affected the quality in black market tools."
"Yes yes, that's fine. So long I have a new pair as soon as possible. How much will they cost me?"
"One silver."
Finnian stared at Markus lost for words. Finnian tried to use his mind to trick himself into thinking there was a playful smile on the tavern keep's face. But there was no such thing, his expression was stern and unflinching.
"You're kidding. Please tell me you're joking." Finnian said. "That's almost twice the original cost from two years ago, four times the price since five years!"
Markus rubbed the back of his head. "I'm sorry Dolus, I don't make the prices. Something's happening up above, something's been happening for some time, and the demand is getting bigger but production is slowing down. I've heard, and this is just a rumor, that a majority of the Conclave is moving their forces to Askelan."
Finnian frowned. "You think this is the doing of the Light Eyes? The Theocracy finally moving in and seizing control?"
Markus looked nervously to the door and then back at Finnian. "Maybe. I'm probably not your best bet to ask, though. I've only heard bits and pieces from those coming in. You might want to ask Rolan."
Finnian nodded. This was expected, but bad news. The Theocracy had slowly but steadily been making advances to acquiring positions of leadership within the industrial cities during the past decade, and while the changes had been few, they were clear. The arrival of Copper Eyes had seen a majority of the original city administration re-organized, and an overall increase in Weavers, as proven by the presence of five Dusters yesterday rather than the usual four.
Seeing Markus tense up, he switched the subject. "What about Milly, have you heard from her yet?
The aging man's expression turned to doubtful sadness and Finnian immediately knew something was wrong. "What happened?"
"Two of the dusters chased her down into the Bowel's trash separation. While trying to escape she was forced to take a dangerous route, if the compactors had activated we'd be reading in the news article about a gemdust explosion." He turned thoughtful, going over something in his head.
"But?" Finnian asked the silent question.
Markus looked up at him then, fear in his eyes. "The dusters, they took her arm. They didn't blast her with wind or trap her, they cleaved her arm off with string in a failed attempt at taking her head."
"What!?" Finnian leaned forward. "That's against Weaver regulations, no matter how many bags we take they've never been allowed to cross that line!"
Markus nodded gravely. "Something's happening, Dolus. Something we ought to take note of. I'll get you a new set of daggers, but I doubt the Conclave will employ you anytime soon. Now, unless there's any gossip you feel in need of spilling, I need to start up the stew."
Finnian shook his head. "I'll be out of your hair. Thank you Markus, I'll see you again when I'm in need of subpar provisions."
"Goodbye and good luck, Master Dolus."
Finnian grabbed his sack and continued his daily venture. He wanted to check in on Milly but knowing Malorie she was likely well taken care of. Finnian had a broken bone problem he needed to fix first.
And so, with a pep in his step, he made for the seaside district.
----------------------------------------
"Now, I understand that you are excited to explore the city, Madame Arcwood. However, if I may inquire, what exactly is it that drew you to the docks so soon?" Viktor Lemont asked with a poorly concealed displeased expression. He was looking out through the carriage window.
"Well, for one I thought to see the beautiful shores you have here. The view of the light blue water and trees from my suite is quite astounding, but nothing beats seeing it up close." She began, "We don't really have these kinds of vibrant colors in the mountains, you see. Back home it's all gray and dour and unimaginative. Oh just thinking about home sends shivers down my spine." She shook her shoulders slightly.
"I'm thrilled that you're finding your stay here sufficiently engaging." Lemont turned and smiled. "I can have it arranged for you to take a boat out to our fishing hamlets if you'd like. The views out there are just breathtaking."
"I most certainly will take you up on your offer." She began. "However, I must confess. The rich views are not the sole reason for our being here." She leaned in, feigning a stage whisper. "My brother told me that one of the curios that are to be sold at the auction is being kept down here, and if possible I'd like to get an early peak at it."
"Oh? Well that's a most cursory brother you must have to be able to get information like that from across the continent." Lemont said in a lightly sarcastic manner.
"He has his ways of getting information, not that I know what those ways are, of course." Both of those things were lies. She turned to gaze out the window. Her view from inside the carriage was mostly obstructed, all she saw was a slightly dirty stone street and light gray walls. Her intel was clear. The item she was in search of was a spherical object that would fit in a pocket or closed hand. Also described as blue in color, neither of those things really helped her much. She'd been told of at least two confirmed auction item locations, with a potential three more.
The horses in front neighed and grunted, their hooves clopping heavily against the ground. The carriage came to an unfitting halt. Camilla knocked thrice on the ceiling. "Chauffeur, is something amiss?"
"Aye Madame. Mid-day traffic's got the streets ahead all packed. We'll be here for a while, but it should let up soon."
"Don't worry about it, we'll go the rest on foot. Find somewhere to park nearby and we'll find you once our business here is concluded."
"Very well." The chauffeur responded.
"Oh no, I forgot to pack the traveling boots!" Lilin panicked. She reached up from beside Camilla where she sat and searched through the case holders.
"Don't worry about it, Lilin. We'll just have these ones cleaned when we're back in the suite." She calmed her stressed servant. "Besides, they're just a pair of boots."
"Her ladyship must always wear befitting footwear, otherwise she could trip or bruise her feet!"
They made to leave the carriage. Lemont exited first, followed by Lilin and then Camilla. She noted him taking Lilin's hand and helping her down the steps, smiling all the while.
"We'll be back within three quarters." She told the chauffeur.
"Aye Madame, I'll be here."
"So," Began Lemont. "Where to now?"
"Well, that's just the thing. I have absolutely no idea." Camilla smiled sheepishly. "My brother told me that the location belongs to a wealthy copper eye, in the gated area of the docks." She made a show of looking around. "Unfortunately, I'm not well versed in these streets."
"Ah, you're speaking of Bermand Sublime. I suppose it would make sense for him to be holding one of the items." Lemont looked thoughtful. "His estate is about ten minutes from here. Shall we?" He swiped one hand down the walkway in a humorous fashion. Lilin giggled, and Camilla smiled. "Lead the way."
While the vibrant colors of the dockside matched the ones of the upper city, they were very much muddled in comparison. The entire place stank of fish both fresh and rotten, but the pronounced smell of salt permeated both. Camilla couldn't help but spot all of the stained puddles of muddled green or brown and something rouge red.
Workers wore fishermen's clothes or uniforms of manual labor, rough faces and hairy heads. It was a stark contrast to the pristine towers and boulevards up above.
"So, who is this Bermand Sublime exactly? I know the names of some of this city's coppers, but Bermand doesn't ring a bell." She asked Lemont.
"Bermand Markaat Sublime is the son of Vimar Markaat Sublime, who moved to Skor roughly fifty years ago as the ocean industry seemingly wasn't performing very well up in the regions of the Theocracy," Lemont spoke as if he'd recited this before. "Bermand is a very welcoming man, he oversees the fishing operations for our city and provides the people with the necessary equipment from his tailors and factories."
"A copper specializing in fishing? No wonder I've not heard of him." Camilla risked the slight. "I've met many coppers in my time but I wouldn't have expected one to work in this department."
Lemont flinched slightly. "Yes, it is quite a surprise to many others too. But trust me, Bermand is a lovely and sociable fellow. He cares greatly for his trade and, if you'd ask my opinion, the quality of the fish has greatly increased since he took over the reins from his father."
"Then I look forward to meeting him."
They reached the docks and Camilla looked out over the sea. The water was a cerulean blue, and tall lively palm trees with leaves of veridian green stood on the shore. The gentle breeze caressed the sandy shores and the sun spawned flickering glittering stars on the soft swaying water. Birds both croaked and sang, and small rowboats with fishermen swam in between the thousands of isles both close and distant.
"Oh my..." She whispered in awe.
"It's beautiful, isn't it." Lemont stepped up beside her. Camilla heard Lilin gasp as well.
"Truly." She wasn't lying. The view wasn't grand, it wasn't majestic. But there was a harmony in the verdant views, the simplicity of nature's beauty. The way the light blue waves ate away at the sand and then the stark green grass. The way the light bounced off the ocean to paint the sun a quivering symbol all across the water. And the active fisher folk who no doubt went here and did the same thing on a daily basis. "Do you ever think they get bored of it? The fisher folk, I mean."
"Maybe. Some probably do," Lemont said with a calmness in his speech. "But most of them likely don't. I've spoken with some of them myself over my time. The art of the harpoon is as much a way of life for them, as courts and carriages are for us."
Camilla shook herself from the sight. "My apologies, let us make haste. Master Lemont, please continue leading."
They returned to their stroll, moving back to walk alongside the buildings. Soon the ocean view faded from sight, replaced by rock and stone and glass. As much as she hated to admit it, Skor wasn't as bad as she had anticipated. The people that walked the streets were men and women, like those she was used to. It was a bit on the dirtier end when it came to keeping the streets clean, but she also couldn't fault a city aimed at productivity and efficiency for a slight mud stain here and there.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Tell me, Master Lemont. Is the city really as pretty all around?"
"Unfortunately, while I want to say that the city is only full of the most clean and hospitable alleys, that is not the case," He said. "We do our best to maintain health and cleanliness up above the middle layer. But down below it's different. Filth. That's all there is down there." The lines in his face shifted. 'Anger? Resentment? Disgust?' Camilla pondered his visage.
"Alas, we attempt to maintain an annual cleaning operation in the lower levels of the city. However, it's a challenge to be sure. Partly due to the nature of the work conducted, of course, but also because of the sheer level of activity and people. It has become nigh impossible to soap and rinse those who do not wish to seek better conditions, instead wallowing in their own pits of piss."
"I see," Camilla said with indifference, careful not to display any outward emotion. "This is a matter you are more entwined with, I take it?"
"My apologies, Madame Arcwood," He said with sincerity. "We shan't discuss such topics when out in a beautiful place like this. Even less should we waste your time speaking of this city's failures. You're here to enjoy your time."
"Oh no Master Lemont, I'm more than happy to-" She was cut off as she felt someone bump into her from behind. She staggered to the right, leaning up against a wall. Her eye caught the silhuette of a black robe and cloak discolored by mud and waste into a green & brown piece of cloth.
"Madame Arcwood!" Lilin rushed up to her mistress's side.
"Watch it, Vagrant!" Lemont's voice came a second later, anger clear in his pitch and tone. The dirty figure had seemingly bumped into him too.
"I'm so sorry, good and esteemed folk of the city!" The hunched man turned and bowed roughly, staggering over his feet and clutching a sack over his shoulder and an arm around wrapped around his chest. His face was hidden by the sodden hood, and Camilla immediately knew that he had had a purpose to this little mishap.
"Please accept my apologies, I was just on my way to the slaughterhouse, you see. I'll be on my way now, forgive me, please." The man staggered back around and walked more hurriedly away from them, disappearing into an alleyway ahead.
"Filthy vagabond." Lemont uttered the words in a low voice that he'd probably only intended for himself.
"Madame Arcwood, your dress!" Lilin examined Camilla's gown. It now brandished a hand-sized brown stain. Lemont saw this stain and his frown turned into a scowl in an instant. "I'm so sorry Madame, we'll summon cleaners as soon as we return to your Suite."
"Oh don't fret it." Camilla said while Lilin tried to pick away bits of mud. "My dress should be the least of your worries. You should consider looking through your pockets."
Lemont looked confused for a moment, then realization, and he plunged his hands into his pants pockets. He groaned and then looked in vain towards the alleyway the thief had disappeared into.
"If you ask me, this should be our punishment for our lack of attentiveness," Camilla said in a half-joking manner. But Lemont, despite his seeming ease to align his mood to those around him, only gave a half-hearted "Perhaps." in response.
The rest of the way to the gated home of the Markaat went quickly, and no more ill transpired. It was a large three-story building and the city's equivalent of a mansion. The double doors were made of wood the color of deep mahogany, and golden ring knockers hung from them. Lemont went up and knocked once, then twice, then three times. Six times in total, the standard for a noble visit.
She heard the creaking of a lock, and then the door cracked a jar to reveal a balding man with a finely trimmed and groomed mustache. He peered out over the three, quickly recognizing Viktor Lemont. "Good day to you sir and ladies. What errand do you have with the Lord Sublime?"
"The lady here, Madame Camilla Arcwood has expressed interest in meeting with the Sublime. I'm afraid we come unannounced, so if the lord is busy then we shall be on our way." He said, and Camilla shot him a glance. Was he scared?
"Well..." The butler looked over the trio. "I do believe Lord Markaat is caught up in some business documents at this time. I can leave a note to him and he'll be back with you within the week. Shall I leave it for the Lemont house?"
"Yes, that will be quite fine. Thank you Ulysseus."
"Very well, good day to you, and apologies that you came out all this way out for nothing."
"Wait!" Camilla grasped the door rim before it had time to close. Ulysseus looked at her, perplexed.
"I have been told that the Master Sublime is in possession of a most extraordinary object. One that, if it is true, will be sold at the coming auction." When Ulyssues didn't close the door, she continued. "If possible, I would like to get the chance to examine this object firsthand, before the action takes place."
The butler looked at her in a new light. Inquisitive, his stare was piercing and demanding. It searched every bit of her for something he could use. When he was either satisfied or dissatisfied with the results, she couldn't really tell which, he stepped back and opened the door fully.
They stepped inside into a widely furnished foyer. Red tapestries and banners hung from indoor balconies and the carpet was a lush rosey color. The butler gestured for a set of chairs that stood against a stone pillar. "Have a seat, the Master Sublime will see you shortly." He said before heading upstairs, leaving them in the quiet with only the light whisper of yells and wheels from outside seeping in through the heavy doors.
She went over and sat down in one of the lush cushioned chairs. Lilin followed and opted to stand beside her instead of sitting. Camilla was acutely aware of Lemont's gaze upon her as he too took a seat. "You are quite the outgoing woman I dare say, Madame Arcwood."
She smiled mischievously. "Never mistake me for someone who settles for enough, Master Lemont. When a lady wants something, a lady gets something." But she also knew there to be an undertone of frustration to Lemont's words. An unspoken question. "What are you doing, are you insane!?" And she couldn't blame him. The Light Eyes of the Theocracy were renowned for two things. Their inhuman strength and ability to surpass expectations and goals. And their lack of patience for lesser people and things that intruded on their schedule.
They didn't need to wait long as soon came heavy footfalls down the stairs. Each of them looked up to see a tall and broad-shouldered man dressed in ultramarine blue clothing walking down the steps. His hair was tied into a bun behind his head but the most striking detail was not what he adorned, it was his eyes. They were a brilliant copper, and they sparkled when facing the electrical light. Deep and metallic they appeared durable, unflinching. But unlike most copper's his smile was not condescending. It was warm. Genuine.
"Ah, Viktor Lemont. What a pleasure it is to see you again, and so soon!" He said when he was halfway down. Viktor Lemont straightened to his feet like an arrow and bowed to the Copper.
"Lord Markaat Sublime, I apologise deeply for the mid-day disturbance." His words bore a forced calmness that he likely did not possess.
The larger man waved his hand in a gentle dismissal. "None of those formalities in here, you and I have a shared interest, and you are a guest of my house. Please, Bermand will do."
Camilla was shook by the Copper's easy welcome. It was unlike those of his kind. To show courtesy, she followed Lemont's example and stood up to bow. "I am Camilla Arcwood, Tradeswoman of the Eastern Mountains and the true culprit of this interruption. Thus, it is my place to apologize for the intrusion," She bowed her head respectfully. "Please do not put the weight of blame on my companion and guide's back."
She felt Bermand looking down at her, his gaze far heavier than that of the butler. "Yes, I was told by Ulysseus that it was actually you who made the inquiry. Oh don't stand bowed like that you two, you'll become a hunchback far too early in your years. Stand straight."
They straightened and looked at the Bermand. "This visit is actually quite convenient, Viktor. I would like for you to come by in two days, as I have some matters I need to discuss with you. For now, however, stay here with Madame Arcwood's servant girl. Hello, by the way." He waved to Lilin who bowed lightly. "Madame Arcwood, please come with me." He turned around and gestured for her to follow. She did.
They went up the stairs and to the right, into a bulb-lit hallway. She walked behind Bermand, who walked elegantly with his hands clasped behind his back. His easy and warm attitude had been subdued and replaced with a wrought focus. They walked only a few minutes before stopping by a door that looked the same mahogany as the entrance. Bermand opened the door and waved her in before closing it.
It was a lightly furnished library. The couches were a deep ruby red with gold lining, and there was a study desk at the far end of the room and a bookshelf twice her height beyond. "Have a seat." He gestured, and she did. Sitting down in one of the plush couches, he chose one to her right. She instantly felt a tension settle into the room—an iron weight twice or thrice herself landing on her shoulders—it crushed her further into the chair, despite there being no physical force.
Bermand crossed one leg over the other. "There are scant few people that I trust with what items I keep in my collection. Fewer are those I trust with what items I intend to get rid of," He leaned forward, his metal gaze fixed on her own. "How do you know that I keep one of the items to be sold at the auction, and who told you."
Camilla played into her role. In a situation like this, it truly had to seem as though her life depended on her answer. And it did. She shrunk back into her chair slightly, shuffling nervously. "My brother, who much like myself is an established trader from the Eastern Mountains, is in search for of a specific trinket. He intercepted the original trade between you and the Conclave, and tracked the items transported here."
He continued to look at her with a killing intent for a few more moments before nodding simply. The tension in the room evaporated, dispersing into the cool air. "Very good."
She looked at him in astonishment. "You believe me?" She asked, to which Bermand smiled sheepishly.
"The only other person in this household that is aware of the object is Ulysseus. But in truth, he is also the only other person in this household besides myself, since my father's passing." He got up and walked to the middle of the room in front of her. Then he bent down and lifted a loose plank that she hadn't spotted. Lifting up a small box, he placed the plank to the side and the container on the coffee table beside his own couch. Camilla drew herself closer.
"You just keep it here? In your study? No safe or lock or hidden traps?"
He looked at her, that sheepish grin still plastered on his face. She couldn't lie in that he looked quite handsome. "I keep my other things somewhere else. The things I actually care about. No, this thing isn't here to stay. In fact, it will be somewhere completely different after you leave." He gestured for her to come closer. "You are the one who wanted to know, so open it."
She reached out her hand tentatively. Could this be the object that I've been looking for? Already? Putting one hand on the lid, she carefully lifted it. It fell over but still connected to the hinges, and then she looked inside. It was wrapped in a light white silken handkerchief. It was spherical and small. Small enough. Putting one hand on the light drape, she tugged at the fabric and pulled it off.
It was beautiful, a perfectly shaved and round crystalline orb. The way the light of the room sparkled off of it gave it a depth unlike anything she'd seen this side of the world. She knew what the object was right away, and unfortunately, it wasn't blue. Instead, it was a lively violet, a magical beauty that was as rare as it was taboo. And it disgusted her to the very core.
Her disappointment must've been evident on her face. "I assume you've come all this way for nothing, then?" Bermand Asked.
"Yes, I'm afraid so." She laid the cloth back over and closed the box. "This here is an ornamental globe used in the worship of the dead gods. By the looks of it, it was created during the early stages of the Adelsten Theocracy. The mere possession of this object in certain parts of the world is a crime against their law."
"Thank the crown we're not under their law, then." He said, blowing away almost all good will he'd earned thus far with those simple words.
She stood up. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, I mean it. I've disturbed your quiet and your work for little more than to look at a shiny ball." She bowed. He waved her concerns away.
"You brought me Viktor, so you've helped me some. Allow me to show you out."
When they returned to the foyer, Camilla quickly spotted Lemont and Lilin speaking animately and laughing together. They stopped as Camilla approached but Bermand refrained from following, instead standing back at the top of the stairs. Lemont and Bermand seemed to exchange some silent understanding before he turned back and walked into the hallway.
"Did your adventure prove fruitful, Madame Arcwood?" Lemont asked.
"No, not at all, unfortunately." She sighed heavily, wiping imaginary sweat away from her brow. "The only thing that I've come to realise is that I'm craving a hot bath and scrub."
"I'll prepare you a tray of pastries and fruits, would the lady care for some wine while she bathes?" Lilin asked as they made for the door, escorted by Ulysseus.
"Yes, Lilin, that would brighten my day with a whole new sun."
----------------------------------------
Finnian knocked heavily on the door. The alleyways of the fishing docks were cold and wet, uncomfortable. He felt water dripping from the roofs above down on him, and the sun barely broke through the covering of the shingles, leaving him in an early dusk. He heard latches on the other end become undone and then a small window unbolted in the top middle of the door. Two green eyes peered out at him, then the hatch shut again and more sounds of unbolting came. Finally, the door opened wide.
"Finally, I was beginning to think you'd finally let me drown in this shit hole." He entered and closed the door behind him, redoing all the locks while the other man walked away.
"Bone-Growth's over in the kitchen, small yellow bottle." Came the rough raspy voice of Daymen.
"How'd you-" He began but cut himself off. "Oh why do I even bother, there's nothing you don't know at this point." He sauntered over through a dilapidated wooden arch. Entering the kitchen, he bent down to one of the cabinets and opened it. After looking around for a few seconds, he grinned and reached in, grabbing the bottle and standing back up. Uncorking it he downed the whole thing and tried not to spew it all back up. The liquid tasted like piss smelled.
"Don't empty your guts out on my floor!" Daymen yelled from the living room.
"No worries there old fart, nothing to be emptied." He put the now empty bottle on a counter and then walked through another arch into the living room. Daymen sat in a chair that had gone from brown to green to gray, and the fact that it still stood amazed Finnian. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two silver coins, slapping them down on the table in front of the old man. "This should keep you fed for the next week."
Daymen scowled. "I don't need your charity."
"And I didn't need yours, but you gave it to me anyway and now look where we are." Finnian walked over to a table and, finally being able to unmount his sack, poured the metal contents out onto the table. His shoulders felt relief like he'd been given a fresh massage. In front of him now laid what to most looked like a random pile of metallic scrap. But to him, it was half a decade's worth of work.
"Still working on that machine?" Daymen asked. "Even after all these years, you still work on that damned thing like it's going to change anything?
"This machine will change nothing." Finnian picked up a small metal tube and inserted it into a socket. He heard the satisfying sound of air hissing and a soft blue glow following that. "I will be the one changing things, this pile of scrap will just be helping me accomplish it."
The old man scoffed."You place the future of your life in the hands of a tool you're creating to chase a ghost that long since abandoned you. When is this nightmare of yours going to end, when are you going to let go of this farce of yours and make use of what you have been given."
"I am making use of what I have been given. I am chasing no ghost, I am chasing those who turned their back on me for no good reason other than doubt." He attatched the metal cylinder he'd bought earlier from Uthrick and flipped a small switch. A blast of warm mist spewed out from a pipe right at his hand and he whipped it back exclaiming in pain. "Damnit. Stupid thing. Knew I should've gone for something more expensive."
"Idiot." Daymen half-whispered.
Finnian turned around and sneered, but quickly resumed his work. "Something's going on out there in the city old fart. The amount of dusters has increased and the prices have gone up again. I'll bet five silver that the Theocracy will have seized control by next Summer." he spoke as he tinkered with the damage.
"Theocracy is already in control, they have been in control for the past seven years since the closing of the Waygate." Daymen groaned as he stretched his arms into the air. "It's just a matter of time before they make it public, but once they do, there'll be no denying their holy scriptures and sanctimony."
"And here I thought you were one of those that worshipped the Stone Crown, you and all your prayers." He commented.
Daymen spat on the floor. "I'll worship no Rhinestone God in my life. The thing that sits upon the throne is no god, it is a terrible creature playing pretend." He sipped from a glass of water standing on a table beside him. "But those of the Theocracy are too blind to see that. They are too absorbed in the idea that their leader was somehow chosen by an ancient and archaic power to rule over the world in all its glory. Bah."
"Then what'll you do, run off to some distant island in the deep seas where they still worship the dead gods? Finnian screwed on two bolts.
"I'll stay here, there's nowhere to go for an old man like myself anymore." His words had the finality of time. "I've done what I can, I'll do what I can do, but my aspirations will only lead to further damage to both myself and others at this point. No, I'll remain here."
"That's not the spirit I'm used to, you were all about rising above the rest and never giving up."
"I'll still tell that to those who can achieve such things. But me? I've achieved what I want. I'll not jeopardize myself any further."
There was a momentary silence before Daymen asked the dreaded question. "And what will you do?"
Finnian flinched and stopped what he was doing, and then he answered. "You know what I am doing already."
He heard Daymen rise to his feet, and turned to face his savior. He was tall for his age and stood upright. His head was bald and his face bore both wrinkles and scars. His hands bore the many calluses of a worker, and Finnian knew that if he wanted he could squeeze the life out of him in a blink. They stared at each other in that dense silence, the only other noise being the creek of the roof above and the distant sound of the alley outside.
"I did not save you so that you could run right back to those who left you to die." Daymen snarled. "You can do more than this, your life can be spent doing better. You still have one of your boons from the stone god, use that boon and do something with your life while you still can." His face became somber, pitying. "You walk down a path by the whims of a grudge spawned by those who think you dead and no longer care. You have everything to look forward to! You're healthy, you're young, and you have a future!" He threw his hands out to his sides. "Why do you choose to pursue this dark desire when you know yourself that you may easily move on from what has transpired."
Finnian stared at the man, his heart racing, his thoughts racing. He clenched his hand and unclenched it, feeling his tendons tense and loosen. A part of him knew Daymen to be right, a part of him would always know, and had always known. But that knowledge was deep down a pit he'd long since forsook.
"Please Finnian. Just stop this."
Finnian looked away from the old man's eyes. It hurt too much to look at them, it hurt him in a primordial place that he seldom felt anymore. Guilt, that was what he felt.
"I'm sorry gramps." He turned back around to his machine, flicking another switch. This time it made a satisfactory click, and Finnian gasped in relief. He knew that Daymen could stop him at any point, all he'd need to do was take the machine and throw it against a wall, or the floor, or at him. But he didn't, Daymen couldn't do it. And so he sat back down in his chair as Finnian inscribed the first name onto a small glass panel using a pen with a sharp crystal edge.
"Cassius." Read the first name. The first of five.
"I have to do this, Daymen." Finnian didn't turn around as he spoke. "I just have to. I'm sorry."
And Daymen's response was both calm and sad, filled with a grief deeper than a person should possess. "And I'm sorry that I couldn't do better."