Chapter Seven
Silas looked around his dining room, amazed at the amount of sound and bustle. Used to a solitary life, this was most unusual, but cogblast it, he liked it.
Nelson had surpassed himself, and even now was ferrying in a few more pieces of toast for the hungry crew.
Hiram, of course, always enjoyed a large breakfast, and he himself wasn’t averse to fueling up for the day with eggs, bacon, toast, or whatever was at hand.
His food source always kept him supplied, so there was plenty for everyone on this particular morning when he had a full table.
The chairs were filled...on his right was Thea, and on his left, Mrs Sinclair. Gen sat between her and Hiram, laughing and apparently having the time of her life. The happy breakfast was certainly a lovely way to kick off the day. But time was passing, and he knew they must be off shortly.
“Hiram,” he said, attracting his friend’s attention. “It’s getting late.”
“Well, bless my gears, it is indeed.” He glanced down at Gen, who was chuckling at his words.
“All right,” announced Silas. “Here’s what I suggest. Mrs Sinclair and Gen can certainly stay here, with Thea, while we sort everyone out. Hiram and I have to go to the Forge, because we have a lot of work ahead of us before it closes for Christmas.”
“That machine,” grunted Hiram.
Silas nodded. “Yes, that machine.”
“Which one might that be?” inquired Thea politely, sipping her tea and glancing at him.
He sighed. “The one that has failed, and is crucial to our production.”
“Oh, dear.” She put down her cup. “Silas, if I might accompany you...I have been told I have an ability with machines, and I would be very willing to help...”
Silas smiled. “That is very kind of you, Thea, but I don’t think...”
“Come now,” she urged sweetly. “If this machine is as crucial as you say, surely any offer of assistance would be welcomed? And remember, I did fix Thim.”
“She did, Mr Silas,” agreed Gen. “And look at it now...”
Thim trundled over to Silas, nudged him with a clawed arm, and fixed its slightly crooked gaze on his face.
“It’s worth a try, Silas,” offered Hiram. “The unit is nearby, and Miss Thea looks as if she could reach places we can’t...”
“Will you and Gen be all right here alone for the day?” He glanced at Nelson. “I am sure you’ll be well looked after, between Nelson and Thim...”
His tickerkin gave him a slow blink, a sure indication that he was in favour of whatever question was under discussion. “I believe we shall be quite comfortable, sir. You need not concern yourself with that matter.”
“Mrs Sinclair,” he began.
“Please, Mr Gray, call me Lyra? I believe our situation negates any social requirements, don’t you?”
“And it’s such a pretty name,” smiled Hiram. “We shouldn’t let it hide behind restrictive rules.” He paused. “Lyra.”
Amused, Silas watched his friend’s gaze as it rested on the young woman and her child. There was something there he’d not seen before. Tenderness.
Well, well.
“I’ll get my coat.” Thea rose from the table. “I’ll be no more than a moment.” She hurried away.
Silas looked at Hiram. “It would seem we have an extra hand, then.”
“Can’t hurt,” he answered. “We’re hoping for a miracle, Silas. You know that. So at this point, I’d accept help from Old Brass himself if he offered.”
“You have a point.” He stood. “I suppose it’s time for us to head out.” His gaze rested on Gen and her Mama. “I know you will be safe here, Mrs... Lyra,” he smiled as he corrected himself. “If there’s anything you need, feel free to ask Nelson. He can answer all your questions.”
“You are so kind,” she replied quietly. “I accept your offer of shelter most gratefully. But we must discuss it more fully when you return.” A quick sigh punctuated her words. “We cannot stay here indefinitely.”
“Don’t worry,” Hiram said gently. “There’s time enough to work it out. And we will. We’re pretty smart people, with our cogs and gears all running like clockwork. Am I right, Gen?” He grinned.
She nodded back. “Indeed you are, Mr Hiram.”
“Well then, I’ll grab my coat.”
Thea was at the door of the dining room. “I’m ready, Silas.” A small, well-used work-satchel hung over one shoulder, the leather nicked at the corners and the clasp polished smooth by use.
“We do have tools at the Forge, you know,” he commented, charmed by the satchel, but doubting it held anything useful.
“I’m sure you do.” Her chin went up, and her voice cooled. “However, I’ve found one achieves much more in less time when working with one’s own familiar instruments.”
“Can’t argue with that, Silas.” Hiram thumped him on the shoulder with a grunt. “Time to be off.”
“There is no excuse for being late.” Thea walked to the door, opened it, and looked back over her shoulder. “Well, gentlemen, shall we?”
*~~*~~*
As the little party left Silas’s home, and began the walk to the Forge, Dorothea found herself getting more and more excited.
The lane turned to a worn brick road, well-lit, passing the Trammelbuggy Depot and sloping steeply downward to a large set of stairs, at the bottom of which were brighter lights and more noise.
Dorothea followed Silas onto a small terrace at the bottom and forgot, for one stunned heartbeat, how to breathe.
She should have been frightened. Instead, she was enraptured.
The Forge was not a room, it was a world.
It ran on and on until distance swallowed it, and it rose upward in vast, shadowed tiers, as if Arcvale had hollowed out the earth and built a cathedral inside it.
Above her, cogs the size of carriage wheels turned with an unhurried, inexorable patience.
Great chains climbed into the darkness. Wheels meshed with wheels, and the whole place moved as one. ..slow, relentless, alive.
Down below, the light was all fire and iron.
Forges glowed like captured sunsets. Sparks spilled and skittered across the stone in bright, fleeting constellations.
The air tasted of heat and metal and something sharp that made her eyes water.
It hummed through her boots, through her ribs, until she swore she could feel the Undercroft’s heartbeat inside her own.
Up to this moment, she had lived under restrictions, rules, and regimentation. Polished, proper, suffocating. Here, nothing was polished. Everything was powerful. Everything was possible.
And Dorothea, dumbfounded and thrilled, realised she was looking at the kind of wonder she’d only ever been allowed to imagine.
“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Silas was watching her face.
“It’s...it’s...magnificent,” she whispered, unable to drag her eyes away from the wondrous scene before her.
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” He smiled. “It becomes routine after a while, but yes, it has its own unique kind of magic.”
“Indeed, it does.”
“Come on then. Let’s go down and make some of our own.”
He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead her down a long set of curving stairs until they reached the bottom—and the Forge.
It wasn’t as loud as she’d expected, although there were plenty of noises everywhere. Steam hissed, gears locked and parted, and voices shouted loud over the songs sung by the machines.
“Over here,” called Silas, tugging her along with him. “My office...just up here...”
She found herself on one side of the Forge, where niches had been cleverly incised into the rock, and shaped into small rooms. Several were occupied, but he led her to the largest one at the end.
It was, oddly, quieter than she would have expected.
But she knew that sound could be both unpredictable and manipulated.
Questions flew helter-skelter through her mind, but before she could ask them, reality intruded.
“I’m off,” said Hiram. “You want me to have them bring over that coggleblasted clock-sick Mistletoe machine on my way?”
Silas shook his head. “We’ll go to it, I think. Get the overall picture first.”
“Right then. I’ll see you both later.” He nodded to Dorothea. “Be careful now. Some of these things bite.”
She laughed. “I’ll watch my fingers. Bye, Hiram.”
Silas beckoned her to a massive table. “This is the layout of the Forge,” he gestured to a map on one side. “But what we’re going to be doing today is trying to repair this...”
The blueprint was huge, no doubt about it.
But instead of astounding her, it entranced her.
It took no time at all for her to remove her jacket, hang it absently beside another, and then hurry back to the table.
Fascinated by the Mistletoe machine’s blueprint, she found a footstool and promptly jumped up onto it to get a better view.
Her heart thundered. This, she knew, this was what she had always wanted, and what she knew she was born to do.
“D’you have a blueprint-rover?” She called out to Silas, not moving from her spot.
“Coming up.” Within moments he was beside her, passing her a large circle of magnifying glass that had small wheels rotating freely around the edge. She could slide it wherever she needed a closer look.
“Ah,” she sighed, nudging it across the vellum. Its little wheels whispered as the lens sailed over the inked lines. “Wonderful.”
Silas shook his head with a laugh. He’d never imagined a woman like her down here, and couldn’t ever have envisioned her bent over his huge table, lost in the minutiae of a complicated blueprint.
But then again, he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined someone like Thea.
“This machine is astounding,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder with a glance at Silas. “And it’s old too, isn’t it? Some of the fittings and connections look as if they were created a hundred years ago.”
“You’re right,” he confirmed. “It’s one of the first designs for creating something that was simply for pleasure.
Stories abound, some say it was a whim, others that it was a wager between two engineers, and still others say it grew by itself.
But as soon as the materials were fed in?
Mistletoe appeared. And you’ve seen the results every single year. ”
“I have,” she nodded, still leaning over the slightly wrinkled blueprint.
“Everything I’m looking at seems impossible, almost as if it absolutely shouldn’t work at all, and came to exist from an assortment of gears, wheels, tubes, steam pumps.
..whatever...just thrown into a forge and mixed with a magic potion. ”
Silas had to laugh. “You’re not wrong.” He leaned over next to her and pointed to the very top of the aging vellum. “See this?”
“I can barely read it,” she said, squinting at the faint writing.
“It’s the crest of the Arcvale Clockworks and Foundry.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “The company that made the massive Arcvale clock? The one on the sixth-level obelisk?”
“That’s the one.”
“It dominates the entire city,” she said, shaking her head.
“And to think it all started here...oh, look, beneath the crest it says The Mistletoe Engine.” She carefully touched the crest. “This is a piece of history, as well as a blueprint. And it makes it all the more important that we repair that machine.”
Straightening, she squared her shoulders. “Lead me to it, Silas. I want to touch history, as well as see if it can be brought back to life.”
“This way.” He led her toward a passage that took them away from the central Forge.
She walked beside him, and he could almost see her quivering with excitement.
He wondered if she’d realised that her words about the clock had provided one more confirmation of where she was from.
The Renslows would know about the Arcvale wonder and the obelisk.
Not many folks on the sixth level even knew it was there.