“Just what is it you need four thousand sovereigns for?” Stefan asked.

“Only three thousand today.”

Stefan tilted his face to look at the ceiling and took a steadying breath. “Young master, I had hoped you would bring stability to our finances.”

“And I will.”

“I ask again, what do you need the sovereigns for?”

Dellen hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’m working on a project that I believe will benefit the family greatly. I cannot share the details yet, but I assure you it is important.” A flashback of dodging a charging body in the ring came back to him.

Stefan leaned back in his chair, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. “While I understand and even applaud your desire to help the family, it is my responsibility to ensure the financial stability of the estate. Three thousand sovereigns today… that will put a significant strain on our resources.”

Dellen met his steward’s gaze, his voice firm. “I understand the risk, Stefan, but I believe in this project. I wouldn’t be asking for this money if I didn’t think it was necessary.”

The steward rubbed his temples. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot conceive of how to find three thousand sovereigns on short notice, perhaps within two or three weeks, but in a day?”

Dellen forced a smile, “You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Stefan exhaled again. “Indeed, twenty years ago, the Northcotes could have fronted such a sum for an extravagant party, but time marches on. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have work that I must do.”

“Actually, there is. I want a better understanding of the family’s holdings. I need to sit down and go through the books later this evening. Can you prepare a summary so that I don’t need to ask you for every little detail?”

Stefan rubbed at his eye. “Certainly. Can it wait until morning?”

“Yes.”

After leaving Stefan’s office, Dellen went to the Northcote family library, a grand room filled with towering bookshelves and faded plush seating. The scent of leather and parchment filled his nostrils.

Dellen approached a section of shelving devoted to family history and scanned the spines for one that piqued his interest.

“What are you doing?” Gilgamesh asked.

“Trying to understand who I was and what I came from. There must be people in this city who knew me better than I know myself.” Dellen brushed his fingers over the tomes in front of him. “I’m trying to change that; it’s not like I can just ask someone about myself. Who was I even close to?”

He eventually chose a book detailing the lives and exploits of his ancestors over the past several generations. Settling into a comfortable armchair, he read. Hours flew by as he flipped through the pages, detailing the rise and fall of the Northcotes, absorbing the stories of those who had come before him.

The pages painted a picture for him of determined men and women who didn’t let the eddies of fate slow them down.

“I need to talk to Harlan again,” Dellen said.

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“Why? You don’t have the money; he’s not going to build it for free.”

Dellen nodded, “That’s true, but I don’t need him to build it for free; I need a sparring partner. At the very least, he should be able to recommend someone to teach me.”

Taking a carriage, Dellen arrived at the Artificer’s Anvil and sought Harlan out.

Harlan was hunched over a workbench, carefully examine a complex mechanism. He noticed Dellen’s approach with a grin.

“Ah, there you are; glad to see you again. I hope you’ve brought good news?” Harlan said, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag.

Dellen shook his head. “I need another few days.”

“You and every other boxing hopeful I’ve met,” Harlan said. “Maybe you should see if you can make a name for yourself without a frame. Those frames aren’t all that common, you know. How well do you know how to fight?”

“Not as well as I’d like.”

Harlan glanced at Dellen’s hands; it was evident that he could tell steelskin from flesh at a glance. “You know, I may have a few suggestions for you.” He rubbed his chin. “Not that I understand why a lord like yourself wants to do this, but that’s not my concern, is it? Silas Blackwood, Miranda Gallows, and Armand Duval.”

Dellen paused for a moment, “Harlan, do you happen to know if any of these instructors has an affinity for Electrical Aether?”

Harlan thought for a moment. “Yes, now that you mention it, Miranda Gallows.”

“Thanks, then I’ll go see Miranda first. Where might I find her?”

“Last I heard, she was running ‘Gallows Gym’ in the industrial district. It’s not far from here. Just head east on Charing Street until you reach a brick building with a sign depicting a lightning bolt striking a pair of boxing gloves. Can’t miss it.”

Goal in mind, Dellen thanked Harlan and left the workshop.

The streets bustled with workers, and in this district, the air smelled of coal and oil. Following Harlan’s directions, he walked along Charing Street, noticing that the buildings became larger and more imposing as he ventured deeper into the district. Eventually, he spotted the sign Harlan had described, a lightning bolt striking a pair of boxing gloves. Gallows’ Gym.

The building was small, a pygmy surrounded by giants, constructed of sturdy brick and iron, and exuded an aura of no-nonsense practicality. He pushed open the heavy door, and the sounds of grunts, thuds, and the occasional clang of metal on metal greeted him.

Inside, the gym was dimly lit, illuminated by flickering gaslights that cast dancing shadows on the walls. In the centre of the room was a spacious training area surrounded by equipment, from punching bags to weights. Men and women practiced, faces set with determination, bodies slick with sweat.

Dellen looked around. “Can anyone tell me where to find Miranda?”

He was pointed to the back of the room. There, he saw a fast-paced sparring session between a burly man and a woman he presumed was Miranda. She was tall and lean, with a cascade of dark hair tied back in a tight braid. Her eyes were sharp and focused, and her movements fluid and precise.

Dellen approached and saw she wore a badge on her sleeve indicating her affinity. It had to be her. He waited for them to finish their match, but she must have sensed him because she stopped sparring and turned to face him, eyes narrow with guarded curiosity.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Her tone was less helpful and more suspicious.

“Harlan told me that I should come here and find you.”

“Hmph,” She snorted, relaxing a bit. “Haven’t seen him in years.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and squinted at Dellen. “Now, why would Harlan be sending you to me? Interesting.” She walked over to and around Dellen. “What were your dealings with Harlan?”

She looked at the man she was sparring with. “Let’s take a break.”

“He’s building me a frame,” Dellen said. “Eventually.”

Miranda’s face twisted into a smile. “A frame, for you?” She laughed and reached out to shake his hand. Her fingers wrapped around his own. “Your hands are too soft, and you don’t have a scar on you. Do you even know what pain is?”

She pulled him close, and looked him in the eyes from inches away. “Ever been hit so hard your ribs squeak?”

“I think you’ll find my hands aren’t soft at all.” Dellen said, his voice low but firm, “And I know more about pain than almost anyone you’ve ever met.”

Miranda squeezed his hand again, and she frowned. Then she looked down at their grip. “Is that steel?”

“Yes.”

“How far up does that metal go?”

“Not very,” Dellen admitted. “Just to the elbow.”

“Still.” She said, tapping her chin. “I don’t usually take on new students, but you have me curious. Men who look like you don’t usually end up in places like mine; why do you want to box?”

Dellen looked her dead in the eyes. “Thaddeus Valtair recommended it.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “And you’re telling me, just like that?”

“Should I be keeping it a secret?”

Miranda gave him a crooked grin. “I do like a dedicated student, so long as they can pay. How’s your combat Aether?”

Dellen grimaced. “Poor.”

“We’re going to need to work on that. First, though, what’s your name?”

“Dellen Northcote.”