1
Milo Mooney had the perfect life.
At nineteen-years-old, he was an apprentice to one of the city’s best clock makers, Master Fed Sunderland.
His fascination with clocks had started after a visit to the Dwarven Museum where fragments of the ancient race were presented for visitors to feel awe at the mystery of the purpose of some of the more technical machines on display. From this fascination, a new obsession had grown in him.
An obsession with dwarven machines.
In the city there were still a small number of constructs active and functioning.
A couple worked the streets, keeping them clean.
Another patrolled aimlessly, its slow plodding steps making pedestrians scurry out of its path while its giant head stared coldly through a single red gem inside its face.
There was even one which cleared the sewers of large debris and kept the canals unblocked. This one was the cause of many signs around the city warning people of getting too close to the old dwarven machines.
Because sometimes they would target anyone foolish enough to get too close.
Death always followed.
On his days off, Milo would seek out one of the constructs and follow it. He studied the way it moved, hoping to understand its construction, guessing at its internal structure.
Most of his guesses were likely wrong. But it didn’t stop him from drawing his own plans of how he thought they functioned.
His desire to understand these mysterious machines had led him to study clocks, which he saw as the nearest humans had come to imitating ancient dwarven machines. While not even close to anything the ancient race had created, they were still an engineering marvel which challenged Milo.
And, sometimes, one of the older wealthy families had an old dwarven clock which needed fixing or maintaining. Which was always an adventure. They could have small traps in them which triggered blasts of electricity that could numb a clocker’s arm for days.
Where most clockers were reluctant to touch them, Milo was eager to pull them apart. Their internals weren’t anything like the golems, he knew. But they were still fascinating.
He pulled his first clock apart when he was only eight years old.
As soon as he was old enough to seek an apprenticeship, he’d sought out Master Sunderland. As a skinny little fifteen year-old, he’d pleaded his case and won a spot among the old artificer’s initiates.
In the following four years, he’d impressed the old man and become one of his most trusted apprentices. He got to work on more complex creations and was starting to make a name for himself among Master Sunderland’s customers.
It was almost time, he thought, to head out and open a shop of his own. He already had a small sum saved for it. In a year or two, he’d be ready.
He was bent over the workbench, eyeglass in place, absorbed in fitting the escapement of a small mantel clock when the mages arrived.
He didn’t hear them come into the workshop.
He didn’t register Master Sunderland’s voice drop into an uncharacteristically submissive tone. A tone most people used when speaking to mages.
After all, it was best to be polite to someone who could blow your head off with a fireball.
“Milo?” the old man’s voice cut across the room.
Milo didn’t look up as he set a cog in place and twirled the screwdriver in his fingers to lock it in. “Hmm?”
“You can put that down for now,” he said. “These gentlemen are here to see you.”
Lifting his eyeglass, Milo looked up.
He saw the two mages. One tall and skinny with a mean twist on his lips. The other short and round with a face that had seen some terrible things and wasn’t eager to see any more.
Milo’s mind was still on his work, so he struggled to understand why they were here. “Me? Do you need a clock made?”
The tall one rolled his eyes while the short one let out a good-natured snort. “Naw, kid. It’s testing day, see?”
“Already?” Milo frowned.
“You know how these things are,” the short one said, spreading his hands. “We gotta test you.”
“But I was tested only a couple of months ago. I thought you only did it once a year. It hasn’t been a year yet.”
“We’re in the area testing everyone who needs it. Law says you gotta be tested until you’re twenty. Doesn’t say it’s only once a year.” He looked like he’d said it more than once today. “You don’t want to break the law now, do ya?”
“No, sir.” Milo let the frown go and picked up a rag to clean his fingers of grease.
He glanced at Master Sunderland, who gave a small, helpless shrug.
The old man looked almost apologetic.
Resisting the urge to sigh, Milo shrugged back. He’d been tested enough times before. It was nothing.
“Might as well get it over with, Milo,” Sunderland said quietly.
“Alright,” Milo said. He started rolling his sleeve up.
The tall mage dug into his satchel and pulled out the testing device.
It didn’t look like much. Just a small round crystal with a steel needle fixed to one face using some copper wires which were attached to small pins drilled into the gem.
The idea was it would test his blood for trace amounts of mana which made the crystal glow blue. If his blood could store mana, then he was a mage. Simple as that.
It had stayed dark every time since he was ten years old.
He had no reason to believe today would be any different.
“How long you been a clocker, kid?” the short one asked. He didn’t sound too interested. But he was making an effort to be polite.
“It’s my fourth year.”
“You like it?”
Milo grinned despite himself. “What’s not to love?”
The tall one snorted. “Fiddly little things, clocks. I’d lose my mind looking at all them itty biddy wheels all day.”
“Cogs,” Milo corrected him gently. “And you get used to it after a while. It’s kind of peaceful, actually. And it gives you something to think about, you know? Like, how the dwarves built all their machines?”
“Ah.” The short one gave a slow nod. “One of them dwarf fanatics, yeah?”
“I guess so.” Milo shrugged. Then he remembered something. “Say, you live in the Dwarven Keep, right?”
“We call it the Academy,” the short one said. “It’s ours now, after all. We don’t dwell so much on the past. A man should look to the future, I think.”
“But there’d be some interesting artifacts in there, right?”
“Nah.” The short one shook his head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but there’s not much to the Academy. I suppose a room turns up now and then. They’re always empty though. Looted a long time ago, I reckon.”
“That’s a shame,” he said.
The tall mage reached for Milo’s arm. His long fingers were cold as they closed around Milo’s forearm.
“This’ll pinch,” he said. “And you might feel a little queasy. Try not to vomit on my shoes if you do, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Milo said.
He turned his head away as the needle went in.
“Don’t like needles, kid?” The short one smiled at him, amused by Milo’s wince.
“Not really.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Ah, you’re both just a couple of babies,” the tall man said. “There’s bigger needles than this itty bitty thing.”
Milo felt a sudden wave of warmth as the crystal tested his blood.
Then he heard Master Sunderland pull in a sharp breath.
The old man was staring at the crystal, and the crystal was glowing. Milo looked down and his jaw dropped open.
“What?” His voice came out with a croak of horror.
“Congratulations, kid,” the short one said. “You’re a mage.”
“No!” Milo pulled his arm back and stared at the crystal like it was a snake which had just injected its venom into his arm. “No, I can’t be. There’s something wrong with it.”
“Looks clear enough to me,” the tall one said, examining the crystal from his side. “Bright blue means your mana’s true.”
“You don’t understand.” Milo looked at Master Sunderland. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Tell them. I’ve been here four years. I’ve never cast a spell in my life. I don’t know the first thing about magic. And I don’t want to know! There’s gotta be a mistake. I can’t be a mage. I can’t!”
“Milo…” The old man swallowed. “You’ve been a good apprentice…”
The old man’s words cut deeply into Milo’s heart.
“Test it again.” Milo thrust his arm out and shook his head. He could feel something hot and tight rising in his chest, and he hated it. “You’ve gotta test it again. With a new crystal. Because I’m telling you, I’m not a mage.”
“The crystal doesn’t lie,” the tall one said. He was already cleaning the device. “You’ll receive your Summons before the end of the day. Report to the Academy within three days. If you don’t, an Acquisition Order gets issued to the authorities.”
“You don’t want that to happen, kid,” the short one said. There was a note of sympathy in his voice, but that only worked to make Milo more upset.
“This can’t be happening,” he groaned, holding his chest with his hand. “I’m a clocker. I like making clocks…”
“Magic can be fiddly too, kid.” The short one scratched his chin. “Who knows? You might be good at it.”
“Ain’t got much mana in him, though,” the tall one said. “Even with a core, I reckon he’ll struggle. He’s barely rating as a one. He’ll never make it to two.”
“Well,” the short one gave Milo an awkward smile. “Just do your best.”
Milo stood there with his hands at his sides and tried to breathe properly. He looked from one mage to the other in disbelief. “I don’t believe this.”
“Look,” the short one said, his voice dropping to something almost kind. “I know it’s a shock. But most people would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Being a mage ain’t bad, see? It’s a good life. Sometimes.”
“But I already have a life,” Milo said. He knew they weren’t listening. Knew nothing he said would change the inevitable. But he still felt compelled to try. “I’m a clocker. That’s what I am. What kind of mage am I gonna be?”
The tall one shrugged. “With your mana? Probably be just a lackey, kid.”
“Lackey?”
“Know how to sweep a broom?”
“Don’t listen to him, kid.” The short one shot his partner a withering look. “There’s plenty you can do. You’ll see.”
Milo’s eyes were burning as tears pressed against his eyelids.
He pressed his lips together hard and looked down at his workbench. The half-finished clock sat there with its gears laid out in order, waiting for him. But he had three days to report to the Academy.
How would he finish it now?
As though reading his mind, Master Sunderland put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Milo,” he said softly. “Jerrod can finish it up for you.”
“But…” He gulped on the lump in his throat. “But, I can… I could…”
“It’s alright.” The old man’s voice was gruff. “There’ll always be a place for you here, Milo. Maybe one day…”
He meant it kindly. Milo knew that.
But he also knew it wasn’t true.
Mages belonged to the Republic. Every mage, from the most powerful battle-caster to the weakest, was destined to serve the Mage Court from the moment mana was detected in their blood.
There were no exceptions.
With one painful thrust of a needle, his perfect life was over.