Edmund’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he shook his head. “No, no one goes under the city.”

Dellen was too tired to react, but he couldn’t help but wonder that a day of saving people and watching others fall to their deaths, and somehow, the chasm still held a potent fear for Edmund.

“It’s too dangerous,” Edmund said, “The city is falling apart; what would stop a cog from falling onto us?”

The two men locked eyes.

Dellen’s determination was unwavering. “We have to try. What if it was you, hanging there, hopeless? Wouldn’t you want someone to come looking?”

Edmund hesitated, eyes filled with fear and doubt. “Yes, my lord, but we turn back if things get too dangerous. Promise me.”

Dellen gave him a solemn nod. “I promise.”

Edmund brought the carriage around, exploring the underside of the closest near-vertical cog. The sight waiting for them wasn’t one of hope, but of destruction.

The underpinning supports of Copperopolis were usually hidden by the vast cogs placed atop them and the day-to-day movements of the city, but with dozens of major cogs fallen and as many tilted at inclines too steep to walk, the vast network of beams and supports hidden by the bustling city, were laid bare.

The light-swallowing abyss below seemed to mock the survivors, threatening to consume the remaining cogs. For a moment, Dellen understood Edmund’s fear of the darkness.

The support structure of the city was immense, in some ways dwarfing even the cogs that rested upon it. Beams as long as the city crisscrossed the darkness, their sheer size a wonder to behold. Anchored into the rock walls around the chasm, these supports formed the web that had held Copperopolis aloft for centuries. A single beam of metal extended from the supports down into the darkness, like the stem of a titanic flower.

As they surveyed the destruction, Dellen spotted a cog that had, against all odds, fallen directly onto the supports instead of plummeting into the abyss below. The massive gear lay precariously balanced across the beams, its immense weight threatening to buckle the strained supports beneath it. Not a single building stood on its surface. Foundations either stood alone, without a trace of the structure they had supported, or buildings were flattened as though punched down by the hand of a titan.

They continued their search; Dellen saw the damage done to the support structures everywhere. Some of the beams were bent, twisted or buckled under the strain of holding up the remaining cogs. In certain areas, the anchor points that secured beams to the rockfalls had cracked or broken loose, showing just had far into the stone face the anchors ran.

Dellen couldn’t conceive of how metal beams so large could ever have been smelted.

“How could anyone have done this?” Edmund said softly, breaking the silence.

“I suppose they must have mapped out the supports, then over days or weeks placed the explosives with timers attached,” Dellen said.

“Who would think to dare the dark places under the city? They are all but forbidden.”

“Someone desperate or malicious,” Dellen said, still trying to think of anything he could learn to help him prevent the attack in another loop. “We need to check the underside of Aurum Heights.”

“The cog you live on?” Edmund said with a furrowed brow. “But why, my lord?”

“When I go to sleep tonight, I want to know that there isn’t a malfunctioning bomb waiting to detonate.”

Edmund blanched. “We should also check beneath Green Tide.”

“Of course,” Dellen said. “Not that I think either of us will sleep well tonight, but it would be good to have one less worry.”

An hour later, they hadn’t discovered further sabotage or survivors, Dellen decided to return to House Northcote. “Take me home.” He said to Edmund. “You’re welcome to stay at the estate if you wish.”

Edmund wasted no time pointing the carriage’s prow skyward and climbing.

Tens of minutes later, they approached Aurum Heights and House Northcote’s estate. There were dozens of people outside of the gates. “Land outside the gates,” Dellen said.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

With a whine of its engines, the carriage touched down nearby the crowd. Dellen hopped out; up close, he could see that every single person seeking refuge was one of the survivors he’d rescued. Some huddled together, leaning on each other for support, while others sat on the ground, staring blankly. “I’m sure you’re all tired and hungry; join me inside for a meal and as many beds as I have to spare.”

Expressions on the faces of some of the survivors began to change. Tension and despair lessened, leavened with hope.

“Open the gates.” Dellen said, “I invited all of these people here.”

A footman stood just inside the gate and stared at Dellen, mouth agape. “All of these people, my lord?” He looked at the crowd, many times larger than the estate staff. “All of them?”

“All of them,” Dellen said. “Today is a day to cleave together.”

The gates clanged open.

Nodding gratefully, the survivors began to make their way towards the entrance of House Northcote, helping one another as they limped or staggered through the gates.

“What do you hope to accomplish?” Gilgamesh said. “How much time could there possibly be left in this loop? What good will this do? You should be spending your time trying to prevent it from happening again.”

Dellen lowered his voice to a murmur. “You want me to spend a thousand loops ignoring people when they’re hurt? That could be over a decade. How long would it take for it to become automatic even after the loop ended? No. I can’t afford to walk down that road.”

Inside the house, Dellen took charge, barking orders out to his staff. “We’ll need to set up the grand hall as a dining area. Lay out the long tables and bring out every chair we have!”

In the pantry, Dellen and several of his staff worked together to gather whatever food they could find. Loaves of bread and all of House Northcote’s supply of fruit was sent to the grand hall. The chefs prepared to feed the small army Dellen had invited in.

The great hall began to take shape; servants bustled around the room, lighting candles and oil lamps to chase away the shadows that clung to the corners.

With the dining area set up, Dellen turned his attention to finding sleeping accommodations for the survivors. He directed his staff to scour the house for whatever blankets, pillows, and mattresses could be found, creating makeshift beds.

Stefan stormed into the grand hall, surveying the scene with a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. He approached Dellen; his brows furrowed with concern. “My lord, what are you doing? Are you trying to ruin House Northcote? We cannot afford to take in all of these people.”

Dellen met Stefan’s gaze, his expression resolute. “Stefan, these people have nowhere else to go. Their homes and livelihoods have been destroyed. As a prominent family in Copperopolis, it is our duty to support those in need during a crisis.”

Stefan hesitated. “I understand your intentions, my lord, but we cannot possibly accommodate all these people for an extended period. Our resources are already stretched thin.”

Dellen’s voice softened but remained firm. “I’m not suggesting we house them indefinitely. For now, we must do what we can to help. We have food, shelter, and the resources that can make a difference in their lives, if only for a short time.”

Stefan wavered, looking torn but not entirely convinced.

Dellen thought of his winnings from boxing. “I have a small quantity of funds separate from the house accounts. We’ll draw on those for now.”

Stefan’s aspect brightened immediately, and the look of conflict on his face disappeared. “Well, my lord, that does change matters.”

“Excellent,” Dellen said. “I would like you to organize this. As my steward, you know far better than I how to mobilise our resources in short order.”

The following morning, House Northcote was a hive of activity. Staff and survivors alike did their part to see everyone fed. Dellen left the estate after giving Stefan instructions to find out what people had lost and what skills they possessed.

Dellen was headed to check on Miranda. Once again aboard Edmund’s airship, he flew over Copperopolis. Somehow the damage looked worse a day later. The city was still almost entirely stationary. The complicated dance of cogs required constant movement. A very few pieces of isolated gearwork functioned atop their cogs, however, every cog was either missing, tilted, or producing horrific groaning noises as it tried to spin, and the teeth it was supposed to mesh with were stuck in place.

Dellen scanned the city beneath them as they flew, looking for the cog where Gallow’s Gym stood, The Industrial District. It was challenging to find; with all the missing cogs, the city was in a new configuration unfamiliar to both Dellen and Edmund.

Their search continued, but Dellen’s spirit sank. The harder he looked, the more certain he became; the Industrial District was gone.

The explosions had gone off in the day; there was no reason to think that Miranda would have been anywhere else. Unless the cog had tilted for a while before it fell, there’d be no reason to believe she could have survived.

Even if she had, Dellen didn’t know which cog to look for her on. He had no idea which cogs the Industrial District had been close to when it all happened or, if she’d climbed to safety, which cogs it would have been close to then. There was no easy way to find her.

“I guess sending notes to the papers didn’t help,” Gilgamesh said.

“What?” Dellen said, distracted, “No, I suppose not.”

“Maybe if you give them more specific leads?”

“Like what?”

“Why not go to the papers and ask?” Gilgamesh said.

Dellen stared at Gilgamesh for a second. The idea was pleasingly direct. “Yes.” He said. “Let’s go to the papers.” The more he thought about it, the more the idea pleased him. Someone had set off those explosions; someone stood to benefit, though he couldn’t see how. His contacts in Copperopolis were still lacking, but maybe the ferrets working at the newspaper would already have an idea of who stood to gain from a disaster and if anyone was taking the steps necessary to benefit.

“Which paper, my lord?”

“Did you notice any of them with offices on a cog that’s still standing?”

“Yes, my lord, the ‘Copperopolis Chronicle.’”