Chapter Fifteen: “From the Rubble”

Markus shifted in his seat at the table, trying to find a way to sit with both of his legs off, but comfort escaped him. On the far side of the common area, Jasyn and Torbit pored over the notes and both of Markus’s legs. Yesterday, they had allowed him to trade them out, but today they were rather insistent on having both at the same time. As a result, Markus was confined to his chair unless he felt like begging Gavrial to carry him to the couch or a bed. As that was hardly an option, he shifted and tried to not fall out of his seat.

It had been three days since they had bargained the notes on cyborgs away from the rebels. The first day, Jasyn had disappeared back to the Meisters’ Guild, both so that he would not be missed from his normal duties, and also to enlist the aid of Torbit. That night, Gavrial had gone out and brought them back, and they had started to figure out a way to fix Markus’s damaged knee. For his part, Markus lingered nearby, presumably to answer any questions the meisters might have, although more often than not he simply had no clue what they were even asking.

The rest of the gang, though, spent the days and nights combing the city for any clue of what might have become of Kira. There were numerous thieving gangs all over the city, all of them with their own unique webs of contacts and corruption, and Bryon seemed to know them all. Surely, he reasoned, one of them might have a contact who would know about a secret military operation to kidnap a fellow thief.

So far, though, the search had proven futile. Every night, just after dinner, the gang shared their fortunes, and each night they went around the table, slowly shaking their heads, and Bryon crossed off another name from the list he had drawn up. The next day, just after breakfast, he would give each member another short list of people to seek out and ask.

Across the table, Gavrial looked up from his stew and growled. “Out with it then. Three days of searching, and nothing yet. Does anyone have even the faintest clue?”

Silence answered him as the rest of the gang stared into their bowls.

“Just great,” he said. “Three days, and Markus let the best lead we had get away before we even started.”

“She didn’t know anything,” Markus said. “This may surprise you, but nobody in the military tells anyone anything.”

“Except now she knows we are still alive,” Margot said. “How long until the military comes for the rest of us?”

“She hates Hares,” Markus said. “So why don’t you stop trying to blame everything on me and start trying to figure out a way to find Kira?”

Gavrial sneered but only turned his attention back to his stew. Next to him, Vlad looked up.

“I heard something interesting today,” he said.

“About Kira?” Gavrial said.

“No,” Vlad said. “But interesting nonetheless. I heard it yesterday from one gang, but then again today from two others, so I think it is more than just a rumor.”

“Well,” Bryon said. “Out with it.”

Vlad took a spoonful of his stew before he continued. “The day we were attacked, there was a break-in at a factory. The constables made a very big deal about it. Apparently, it was supposedly an operation of some size.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Margot said. “It’s even in the papers.”

“Yes, it is,” Vlad said. “But what isn’t in the papers was that it was no gang that broke into that factory.”

Markus furrowed his brow. “Don’t tell me that was a military operation, too.”

Vlad laughed. “No, not military. I’ve heard from thieves that have contacts inside the factory that it was a single man, covered head to toe, with a shockrod.” He hesitated. “They also say bullets did not touch him. He ransacked the offices and somehow managed to destroy a fairly large bit of the factory by upending a vat of molten steel.”

Jasyn put down the bit of leg he was looking at and walked over. “You saying that fellow you claim has a working shockshield was at this factory?”

“That is what the streets are saying,” Vlad said.

“I wonder what he wanted there,” Markus said.

“Which factory was it again,” Jasyn said. “The one that got hit?”

Vlad scratched his head. “The Broncut, I think. A massive mix of two factories, one that makes steel, one that makes bricks and mortar.”

“And is owned by Lord Davis,” Jasyn said. “And that Tesma and Qristina had allocated with fifteen more meisters a bit ago for seemingly no reason, at least not that they would tell us.”

“I bet Lector went there to find out,” Gavrial said.

Bryon stroked his thin beard. “Jasyn, I’d imagine Lector would have known about the strange allocation?”

Jasyn nodded. “I didn’t tell him, but I’m sure there are more meisters than myself that leak him information. I still don’t think he’s this shockshield man of yours.”

“And why would you say that?” Markus said.

“Because I don’t think he has a shockshield,” Jasyn said. “I still find it hard to believe that there is a working one at all.”

“Seeing is believing,” Gavrial said. “Now don’t you have a leg to finish fixing?”

Jasyn harrumphed. “I’m actually done. Torbit is just putting the last bits back together.”

Markus sat up straighter, despite how unbalanced it made him feel. “Done? Really?”

“Yeah really,” Jasyn said. “You didn’t make it easy on us, having to keep with the blindfolding and leading us about each time we needed to go get something.”

“Not our home,” Bryon said. “We didn’t make the rules.”

“I understand,” Jasyn said. “I just wanted you to appreciate this wasn’t easy. The notes were obviously done by someone who wasn’t quite sure of what he was talking about. Either that or Lector gave us a faulty copy anyway. And it isn’t like Torbit or I have any experience with silver, and—”

Bryon waved him off. “We get the point. You’re a miracle worker that is unappreciated in your time. Now, are you going to put my lockpick back together or not?”

Jasyn frowned but nodded and turned back to the table. “Unappreciated is right. Phaw. Gavrial, bring Markus over here.”

Gavrial picked Markus up and carried him to the other table where Torbit had just finished putting the protective plates on the second leg. At Jasyn’s grunted directions, Gavrial put Markus down, and the two meisters went about reattaching the legs. When they moved away and nodded, Markus took a deep breath and turned the valves on his thighs.

Even as they warmed up, Markus could tell the damage had been repaired. It no longer felt like there was a hole in his knee, and after about a minute, he was ready to stand on his own. He looked down at his leg in wonder.

“You know, I never had a full understanding of what these legs gave me,” he said. “After I was hurt, I didn’t wake up again until after I’d been reclaimed. But after even a few days of not having them . . . I can see the appeal.”

Gavrial sneered. “You saying you like being a revenant?”

Markus turned to him. “It’s better than not having legs. Wouldn’t you think?”

Gavrial looked down at his own legs for a moment then shrugged and walked away. Nearby, Jasyn grunted and pulled something in a sack from under the table.

“Can you tell a difference?” he said. “I’ll be honest, I don’t think we had a chance in Hell of fully replacing what was damaged, but I’d like to think we did a fairly good job.”

Markus closed his eyes and focused on the feeling coming up from his legs. Yes, he could tell a difference. He did not have all his original strength back, but it was almost there. Enough, at least, that he had to really focus to tell.

“I think you did, too.” He pointed at the sack. “What’s that?”

“Ah, well,” Torbit said. “I heard you grumbling yesterday about how you can’t get as hot a steam as you’d like using a candle, so, well . . . .”

Jasyn pulled a small contraption out of the bag. “It’s a self-contained coal-gas burner. There are places all over town you can fill it up cheap, and it burns clean and hot. We even fixed up a nice, airtight boiling chamber for you.”

Markus took the boiler and looked it over. The valve was well made and looked like it would fit his hose perfectly. “This is amazing. I won’t have to turn off my limbs at night anymore, or worry about running out of steam on a long job. Thank you.”

“Well, it isn’t exactly a gift,” Jasyn said. “Think of it as an advanced payment for me to look you over some more. I wouldn’t mind making my own notes on the Secret of Silver.”

Markus sighed. “I’ll think on it. But right now, I have other matters to attend to.”

“Of course, of course,” Jasyn said. “But once things settle down . . . .”

“I’ll think on it,” Markus said. “Once things settle down.”

* * *

The near week since the fire had done nothing to lessen the stench in the burned out ruins along Logain street. Near the corner of the wreckage, a group of meisters were working with a large, ponderous contraption that was picking up wreckage and dropping it into large bins that could be drawn away by teams of horses. They paid little attention to the people walking along the street, and only gave a cursory glance to the occasional opportunist that was picking through the rubble.

Markus stepped around the remains of what had been his home. Any access to The Hole itself was lost, and he could barely even tell where stairwell had been for all the debris that filled it.

He turned to Vlad, who was looking at a dinged and charred spittoon he had found. “Think there’s any chance The Hole wasn’t destroyed in the collapse?”

“It actually fared rather well,” Vlad said. “The roof in the Urchin’s quarters fell in some, but nothing impassable.”

“How do you know that?” Markus looked back at the stairwell. “The stairs are completely blocked off.”

“Gavrial and I went in through the escape tunnel,” Vlad said. “Managed to get a few things we had left behind in the rush, like most of Gavrial’s guns.”

Markus grunted. The sheer devastation of the fire had made him forget about the tunnel. What else was he letting slip his mind? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had seen worse than this in the war. It was nothing, just another gutted out bit of town. He opened his eyes, and he looked around the rubble again.

The fire was obviously arson, and it had started in this building. Doubtless, the soldiers had set it, if the news story he saw about Sunset House sacking a constable chief over the fire were true. That probably also implied that the constables had been duped in their deal with the military. That, or more likely they had no idea the soldiers were there.

Which was why they had started the fire: to confuse the constables and hide their own presence. That also meant they probably had not gone out the front door when they had Kira. Markus sprinted over to where the building’s back door had been. Here, one could barely tell where the building had stopped and the alley started, and Markus swore.

“What’s the hurry?” Vlad hopped over a pile of rubble and came to a stop next to Markus. “You were moving like Praedin was right behind you.”

Markus shook his head. “I just though I might have realized of something, and I hoped I might find a hint about Kira over here.”

Vlad stooped down and stared at the charred bricks. “Why here?”

“The soldiers probably took her out the back,” Markus said. “I thought, well, maybe there would be a trail.”

“It was a pretty bad fire,” Vlad said. “And a week ago besides, and slum dwellers have been picking through this wreck the entire time looking for anything worth something. If there was a trail, I don’t think it would have lasted, yes?”

“Yeah, you’re probably—”

“Oh!” Vlad picked up a brick from the rubble and turned it over in his hands. A big smile crossed his face, and he stood up, still looking at the brick as if he had found a nugget of gold.

Markus walked around to get a better look at the brick. “What, is there a trail?”

“I’ve been looking for this!” Vlad said.

“But, what is it?”

Vlad looked up at him. “It’s a brick.”

Markus sighed and turned back towards the street. “I’m glad you found it.”

Back at the street, he looked around and found himself staring at the meisters. There was something off about them, he realized. Their clothes were cut oddly, with coats that were tight across the chest and flared out around the hips, and they all seemed unusually pale. He looked back to see Vlad walking up, still turning the brick over and over in his hands.

“Vlad, do those meisters seem strange to you?”

Vlad looked over at the men. “Those aren’t meisters.”

Markus looked back at the men. “What do you mean? They’re using a strange piece of machinery that they have to stop and fix every couple of minutes. That seems like a meister to me.”

“They aren’t wearing bracers,” Vlad said. “See? Not meisters. At least, not Sentatian Meisters.”

Markus looked closer and noticed that Vlad was right. The men’s forearms were bare. “That’s strange.”

“Maybe the guild was running short, or refused to do scut work like this. Who knows?”

Markus shook his head and looked around again, hoping something might jump out at him, some clue that the others had missed. As he looked around, he saw Father Morgan walking across the street towards him. Markus waved and went to meet him in the street.

Morgan paused and flicked an eye to Markus’s leg. He had not been in the nave when Markus had been speaking to Megyn, but she had hardly been quiet in her accusations.

“I see you are well,” Morgan said. “I was worried, when I saw the fire.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come see you sooner, Father,” Markus said. “I’ve been rather busy. A friend went missing just before the fire, and I’ve been trying to find her.”

“I wish you the best of luck.” Morgan reached inside his cassock and pulled out a folded envelope. “I actually have a message for you, as it happens. From Megyn.”

“Megyn?” Markus took the letter and opened it. It was short and to the point. She wanted to talk to him, and gave a list of places and times where she would be over a period of several of days. The time for today was in about an hour, in a park just off the Scent District in Uptown.

“Thank you,” Markus said. “She gave this to you, what, two days ago?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “She seemed rather conflicted over it, though.”

Markus nodded and put the letter in his coat pocket. They stood there for a moment, looking at each other, and Markus sighed.

“Father, I’ll understand if you’d rather I not come back, all things considered.”

Morgan shook his head. “I’d not turn a man away because he walks with a cane. You are still welcome in my congregation, Markus.”

Markus breathed a relieved sigh and nodded. “Thank you, Father. I’d even take you up on it, but I need to get moving.” He patted his coat where the letter was.

“I won’t keep you. Be safe, my son.” Morgan smiled and turned back to the church and Markus walked back to Vlad.

“I need to go over to Uptown,” he said. “And I should do it alone. I’ll see you back at the Aviary?” Vlad nodded absently as he looked at his brick, and Markus left him there.

* * *

Qristina looked up from her desk when the novice knocked on her door. The boy flinched at her gaze, and she sighed and waved him in. Some days, she grew tired of being thought of as the dragon lady of Tesma’s tower.

“What is it?”

The novice squeaked at her tone. “Meister Smyth is here to see you, ma’am.”

She closed the report she had been reading. “Show him in.”

The novice bobbed his head and ducked out of the office. A moment later, Jesie Smyth walked in and sat down across from her. She settled a glare on him, and he shifted uncomfortably. There were times she did not mind having her reputation, either.

“What do you want, Jesie?”

Jesie cleared his throat and purposely readjusted himself to a more comfortable position. He might be intimidated by her, but he was also quite sure of himself, especially since he was only one rank below her.

“I was dismissed from my post at the Choppery,” he said. “The manager refused to tell me why. I was curious if you might know.”

“Dismissed? She said. “Did you bed old Corpening’s daughter and he find out?”

“No, I have higher standards than you,” he said. “This was completely unforeseen.”

She clinched her fist but let the insult go unanswered. “And what exactly are they going to do without their master meister? Pray to Troena that the machines will stay working?”

He leaned back. “So you didn’t know about this?”

“No, and it had best not be your fault,” she said. “The Choppery is one of our largest accounts. My father will be ill pleased if you have ruined that for us.”

“They’ll need meisters one way or the other.” Jesie stood. “Let me know when you have riddled out what is going on in their empty heads.”

Qristina frowned as he left and only waited long enough to be sure that he was gone before she followed into her office’s antechamber. The novice sat behind a heavy desk, looking over ledgers. He looked up with a flinch when Qristina cleared her throat.

“I’m going for a walk. Inform anyone that comes calling to try back later this afternoon.”

The novice nodded, and she walked out of the offices and to the stairs. Soon, she was crossing the courtyard, leaving a trail of mutters and knuckled foreheads in her wake. When she entered the offices located near the gate out to the slums, she had probably started half a dozen rumors about who was about to face her wrath and how many heads would roll.

Inside the office, an immediate hush fell over what had been a fairly loud din of work, and Qristina marched up to the tall, front desk, passed a line of couriers that had been patiently waiting.

“Has there been a work order from the Choppery today?”

The man behind the desk swallowed hard and shook his head. “No, Meister.”

“Yesterday?”

He looked around, almost as if he was considering running away rather than facing her questions. “No, Meister.”

“I want to see the intake ledgers for the last week,” she said. “Now.”

He bobbed his head. “I’ll fetch them.”

As he slid off his chair and moved into a back room, Qristina looked at the line of couriers. It seemed rather pathetic, only three men and a woman. None of them had Corpening’s crest on their arms, so she did not bother to ask if any of them were carrying such a work order.

After a few minutes, a woman came out from the back room and opened the drop bar in the counter. “Please, meister, this way.”

Qristina followed the woman and wracked her mind to remember her name. Kait, that was it. Kait Ortil. The stout woman was not a meister, but had worked with the guild as a bookkeeper and accountant since before Tesma and Qristina had been there.

“I’m sorry that my inquiry made it so high,” Kait said. “I only meant to see if anyone else had noticed.”

“Inquiry?”

Kait turned and furrowed her brow. “You mean you aren’t here about the inquiry? Oh. I’m sorry, Meister. When you asked to see the ledgers, I thought . . . .”

Qristina huffed and crossed her arms. “Well, I’m here now. What are you inquiring after?”

Kait gave her an apologetic smile and gestured inside an office. There, sitting on a desk, was four ledger books, each with a day of the week written across the front. She picked one up and flipped to the end. There were no entries for the last date.

“What is this about?” she said.

“Orders have been coming in slow,” she said. “I thought, what with the fire, that we might become overwhelmed, but instead we have barely had any. My inquiry was just to see if the Masters might have an idea.”

“You were right to inquire.” Qristina checked the other books, and they were just as Kait had said. “This bears looking into. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Kait smiled and gave a small curtsy. “My pleasure to serve, Meister.”

Qristina closed the books and left without another word. It was a mystery, and if there was one person she would guess to be at the center of it, it would be Jasyn. With her face likely as grim as a thunderhead, she stormed off to the millhouse.

* * *

Markus walked along the path of the park and looked around for Megyn. He was a bit early, at least according to the time in her letter, but he wanted to make sure he did not miss her. Provided she had not since changed her mind.

Of course, for all he knew, this was the trap he had thought the church might have been. She knew he was a revenant now, and like any soldier who had fought in the war, she had plenty of good excuses to loathe him for it. Could he be about to share the same fate as that dockworker who had crossed Megyn’s path?

A nearby clock tower rang the hour, and he took a deep breath. If she would be there, it would be soon. He found a bench in the middle of the park and sat down. A seated man was less threatening than a standing one.

He only had to wait for a few minutes before the familiar, cloaked woman was walking down the path. She stopped when she saw him, looking at him from the shadows of her hood. After a tense moment, he stood and walked over to her.

“You wanted to see me?” he said

She took a slow step back from him. “Who are you?”

“I’m who I’ve always been, Megyn,” he said. “A silver spike that was always there doesn’t make me suddenly different.”

“You told me you were at the Battle of the Sorden,” she said. “I pulled your record. You weren’t even near it.”

“My record also probably says I escaped without so much as a scratch,” he said. “Instead of saying how both my legs and my arm were blown off.”

She looked him over, as if trying to envision what was brass and what was flesh. “How did it happen? How did a Sentatian become a revenant?”

“I was a spy,” he said. “For us. When I joined, it was before the war, but they were already planning for it. They sent me to Adervyn to enlist in their army, get up as high as I could. So I was in their army when they started Reclaiming soldiers. So yes, I was at the Battle of the Sorden, but on the other side.”

“So you are one of the demons,” she said.

“I am a soldier,” he said. “All of the halfmen were. Soldier’s given a poor deal and fighting for their country. Do you think I wanted this done to me? This happened to me while I secretly fought for Sentat, and what do they do? Bury what happened like a dirty secret and leave me to rot on the other side.”

“So what now?” she said. “You’ve come back to Tijervyn, where you aren’t wanted, to do what? Get revenge?”

“What have I done that is vengeful?” he said. “I’ve become a thief because thieves are the only ones willing to tolerate me, and those only grudgingly. And right now, I am trying to save my friend, and I need your help, Megyn.”

“My help,” she said. “You want me to help a thief to save a thief?”

“I want you to help save a woman who is only trying to be free, to not be forced into a life she didn’t want,” he said.

She chewed her lip then nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out. Kira Jons, you said?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Megyn.”

“We’ll see.” She turned and left, not even pausing to look back once.

“Thank you all the same,” he muttered.

* * *

Qristina let herself into her father’s office without knocking. He, at lest, was there, as opposed to Jasyn, who had been absent from his post. Tesma looked up from where he was hunched over a large device that took up most of the room in his work area. The irritation left his face when he saw her, but was replaced with annoyance.

“Yes, daughter?”

“We have a problem, father,” she said. “Did you know that there have been nearly no new work orders these last few days?”

“The meisters must be doing better work than usual,” he said. “If nothing is breaking. We might want to talk to them about that, yes?”

“It isn’t that the meisters have suddenly become competent,” she said. “Corpening dismissed Meister Smyth today. I investigated, and it seems he was replaced.”

Tesma looked up and then over towards his work bench. “Replaced?”

“Yes, there is a sudden deluge of non-guild meisters in the city.”

“What few nobles think to save their money by contracting with this rabble will quickly learn what they have lost from leaving the Guild,” he said. “There will always be charlatans that pretend to our knowledge. Any that are worth their salt will apply to the Guild, and the rest will cast off.”

“You seem so sure of yourself, father,” she said. “But this is no natural wax of hedge-meisters. It seems they all appeared here rather suddenly, by way of an airship from Voxfeld. And they are backed by a noble.”

Tesma scowled. “Jaeger again, is it? I shall have to have the prince put him more firmly in place.”

“House Kanadis, actually.” The name came as more of a swear from her mouth. “That chit of an heiress apparently made a good many friends amongst the Voxfeldian meisters and has promised them good work here in Tijervyn.”

Tesma made a low sound in his throat and walked over to his workbench. He picked up a new prototype shockrod and looked out the window, towards the castle. “She, we cannot touch. But perhaps we can teach some of these interlopers a lesson.”

“I see you truly appreciate this threat, then,” Qristina said. “But, if I might, father, force is not the best course. Even if we hired out a gang of thieves to arrange accidents, that would not end the problem. She could bring in more meisters, and they would only be scared away if we made too obvious a move in killing them.”

“Lector and his small band of traitors are bad enough in this city.” Tesma walked back to the device he had been working on. “I will not have order wrested from me, not when I am so close. How, though, daughter, do you propose to rid ourselves of this problem?”

“I will handle it, father, with your permission to act in the Guild’s name,” she said. “We will need to play their own game, and you never were that good at doing things indirectly.”

His eyes flared for a moment, but then he closed them and nodded. “Qristina, for once you speak wisely. Very well. I entrust this to you, daughter. Do not disappoint me.”

Qristina contained her rage and nodded. “Then I shall take my leave, father. I imagine I will have some letters for you to sign before it is too late. I trust you will still be here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Go now.”

He was back stooped over the device before she was even out the door. As she walked down the hallway, she reached into one of her pockets and pulled out the small gear she had found several days ago. The craftsmanship was undeniable, despite the damage. They had nothing like it in the Guild, of that she was sure. And yet, there it had been, lying in the hallway.

She had ruled out telling her father. He would recognize it far more quickly than she had. And he hardly needed to be worrying over the cyborg that was in the city, and apparently was breaking into the guild, besides. She would handle that, just as she often handled many of her father’s problems that he was too narrow-sighted to even see. He told her to not disappoint him, as if she had not been the one to orchestrate his raise to power to begin with.

She pocketed the gear. That could wait, especially since the cyborg was apparently injured, if the gear was anything to go by. Now, she had to plan her next move against the northern upstart. She returned to her office and sent the novice to make her some tea. It would be a long night, she suspected.

 

Story by Richard Fife | Art by April Herron