The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2), page 32
“Is it better,” Elia asked, “if he’s turned traitor for something he cares about, instead of doing it for money?”
“Probably not,” Lundin admitted. “But, for almost the first time since I met him, I’m really curious about what’s going on in Willl’s head.”
The back wall of the box resounded with three thumping sounds. The driver’s age-lined face appeared in the open panel. “Finish up there,” she said, taking stock of the remaining food. “More ground to cover.”
Lundin tried to eat at the pace he wanted to, to slow down their trip and buy the search parties that much more time. But it was seriously hard to not feel a little rushed when the ‘naut had the bad manners to stand in the doorway, blocking some of that late morning sun with his broad-shouldered body. Little black flies sank lazily through the grating in the ceiling, and had trouble finding their way back out. Lundin slapped one against the floor, and the ‘naut raised an arm disapprovingly at the sudden movements. “Sorry,” he said despite himself.
It was all too soon before the loaves were gone, the salty, crumbly beef was safely stowed in their bellies, and the door was locked back into place. Their box felt pitch-black now, even with the sunlight from above, and the noisy rattling of the lock made their spirits sink. As least they couldn’t hear the whining wings of the flies anymore once the engine thrummed into action again. With that bone-shuddering vibration they were getting painfully familiar with, the vehicle started trundling its way through the forest to wherever in the eight Spheres they were going.
Keeping a conversation going over that steady racket would have been impossible, even if they’d had much to say. Elia curled her legs close to her body and turned her face to the wall, trying to rest. Martext lay on his back with his eyes open. One of the flies was fascinated with Lundin’s ear. He brushed it away for the fifth time and reached a hand up to the ceiling. Without straining, he could touch it with his fingertips from his place sitting on the floor. They passed through shadows in the outside world, and the sunlight flickered like a candle through their hole to the sky. Lundin’s eyes went unfocused as time stretched on.
So you’re going to wear one of the suits?
His mother wiped her hands on her blouse, turning away from the stew. The sweet stink of turnips was still filling the kitchen, even though she’d put a lid on the bubbling pot. Lundin shifted his weight, sitting at the well-worn family table, and shot a glance over to his long-faced father.
Like he said, he’s going to be a technician, his father said, swallowing the ends of his words as voraciously as ever. ‘Technician’ had no chance past syllable one; the rest of the word was gulped down, leaving nothing but mumbling crumbs behind. Between his father’s weak voice and his mother’s increasingly bad ears, watching them try to understand each other was a barrel of laughs, if you liked that sort of thing.
Well, why’d you say ‘Petronaut,’ then?
That’s what they call their technicians, too. Uh. Anyone who works in a squad can go by Petronaut, Lundin explained, as she ripped through the soup with a wooden spoon, stirring out her frustration.
What’ll you be doing?
I. I don’t know. It depends on the squad I get for my apprenticeship—
Well, the Cavaliers are the best. They’re always the most upstanding. You want to be a Cavalier, right?
I just, I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see—
Speak up! Spheres, you’re worse than your father.
He said, ‘we’ll see,’ his dad said, raising his voice for ‘He said’ and trailing to a croak by ‘we’ll see.’ Lundin’s mother went back to her stirring with a vengeance, and his father sighed, leaning back in his chair.
Will they pay you? he said.
Lundin looked at his father. The balding man’s face was mostly blank, as per usual. Yeah. It’s, uh. It’s a career.
Enough to support a family?
…A small one, someday, maybe. I mean—
So what’ll you be doing? his mother said with a frown, turning back around.
Something I love, all right? You’ll never understand any more than that, so let’s just drop it!
He was on his feet, somehow. His father’s mouth and eyes widened at the same rate. A pseudopod of stew dangled off the edge of his mother’s spoon, dripping towards the floor.
Well, his mother said, showing her teeth in something that was not a smile. If we won’t understand, Horace, I guess we should drop it. As least you know exactly what you’re getting into.
The taste of that turnip stew was thick in the back of his throat. Lundin wiped his eyes discreetly with his knuckles, turning his head away from Martext. His parents were still back in Bohock district, not that he’d seen them in months. And ‘Lundin’s Jewelry & Clockwork’ still attracted the same masochistic clientele; lesser nobles who’d bring their pocket watches to the cheapest repair shop in Delia, gambling that their timepieces would be in the lucky 60% that didn’t break further the instant his father touched them; and crafty hagglers who had figured out that the best way to get a good price out of his mother was to make her mad. “You think that’s all that necklace is worth? Well, just put your coins down and take it, brigand,” she’d snarl, stomping to the office before they even paid. How she used to yell at the apprentice jewelers doing their piece work in the back room! It only got worse when her ears started to go and she couldn’t hear if they were apologizing or not.
Lundin had traded life in Bohock for the ‘naut workshops without a moment of regret. Now he and his team were locked in a black box rolling through the forest, facing dungeons, torture, and death at the hands of who knew who. Funny thing is, Lundin thought, hugging his knees to his chest, back then, I really did think I knew what I was getting into. Well, if I never make it back, at least I’ll never have to admit to my folks I was wrong.
Lundin brushed a fly away from his ear as the treader rolled on. “That sounded more comforting in my head,” he muttered to himself.
“Out.”
They blinked as the panel swung open. Sir Ulstead’s eyes were shining, uncanny and gold, brighter than anything else in the world outside the box. He stepped out of view, leaving them a wide-open portal for the first time in a full day.
Martext coughed with juicy vigor. Lundin shuffled to the open door, placing a hand on the edge. His back was laced with pain from being bent double for so long, and his throat was burning. They’d drained the jug of tea hours ago, and it hadn’t been replaced.
Still, starting about an hour ago, they’d had a sense that the journey was winding down. The engine had slowed to a soothing purr and the machine had stopped moving. There’d been an endless series of rustling noises outside, like a pile of leaves or kindling being shoved aside one handful at a time. Then the box had lurched forward again, and almost immediately begun a precipitous decline; not down a hill, but a stomach-turning corkscrew of a descent, a downward spiral so regular and so long that it had to be human-made. The light had changed significantly from the dusky colors of early evening to the sharp, sporadic white of what looked like an occasional gaslight. And the sound of the treads against the ground had turned closer to carriage-wheels on cobblestone than a sleigh on new-fallen leaves. The muscular echoes of the treads and the engine had been unbearably loud.
“Are we underground?” Elia had shouted, fighting to make herself heard. A brief window of gaslight had shone across her face. Lundin had shrugged, keeping his mouth closed to avoid being sick.
Well, wherever they were, it certainly wasn’t outdoors. Lundin peeked his head out of the box. To the right was a long hallway, with clean-burning lanterns hanging in wall sconces every four meters or so. White stone buttresses kept the low ceiling off their heads. To the other side was a whole array of machine shop paraphernalia, most of which was unfamiliar. A ‘tum-powered grinder for making obscenely-sized gears; sprockets and sledges; metal pans and small furry filters; and loose rectangular plates a dozen centimeters wide and nearly a meter long that, a quick glance down at the vehicle confirmed, made up each segment of the treads that had carried them so successfully through the forest. There was an open space in the middle of the stone floor that was about the same footprint as their vehicle. The stables, he thought wryly.
Willl with three L’s and the driver were nowhere to be seen. Nor was anyone else, for that matter. There had been a long period of time between when the engine had finally turned off, after the long corkscrew down, and when the ‘naut had actually opened their door. During that time, there’d been the noise of hinges and slamming from the driver’s cabin up front, and footsteps echoing in the stony hallway. Who knew where the woman and the one-time Civic had gotten to by now.
Lundin stepped out of the black box and raised his arms high, gasping at the pain the stretch caused. He froze with his arms in the air when he caught sight of the wolf-faced ‘naut standing nearby, just at the rear corner of their black box. For once, the man wasn’t pointing a gun-arm at him, but Lundin still felt like their relationship had a lot of growing to do before he could call it comfortable.
He swallowed. “Where are we?”
“Bring them out.”
“He wants you too,” Lundin said, leaning into the box with an arm on either side of the portal. Elia was kneeling close to the door, and Martext had leveled himself to a sitting position. His dark face wasn’t looking good, from the little the obstructed gaslight would let Lundin see. “Are you okay to move, Martext?”
“I just need a little water.”
“We need some water,” Lundin related to the hulking ‘naut.
“Out.”
“Big guy couldn’t be bothered to bring us some water?” Martext groused, keeping pace stiffly with them down the hallway. If the ‘naut shepherding them forward had heard, he didn’t bother to respond from his position a few paces behind them.
“Guess he’s busy,” Elia said, taking in the white stone passages. Martext’s dress shoes scraped against the hard floor, sounding thin and out of place in the austere caves. Lundin’s slippers and poor Elia’s bare feet made no sound at all.
She tapped her knuckles against a buttress as they walked past. “Konkrii.”
Lundin looked at her blankly. “It’s a sort of pourable stone,” she whispered. “We played with it in Masonry and Materials. Delian architects don’t like it, but some cultures use it everywhere.”
“Like who?”
“Well, uh, it’s all over the place in Svargath…”
The hairs on the back of Lundin’s neck went all tingly. His mind flashed back to their first day at Campos. “Didn’t Willl say his family was from Svargath?” he said.
Elia blinked at him. Her eyes went as wide as her trapezoidal lenses, and she and Martext looked around the hallway with a great deal more urgency.
Lundin cleared his throat and looked to the wolf-headed ‘naut at their backs. “Excuse me. Where did you say we were?”
Sir Ulstead stared down at him. Lundin was sure he was imagining things, but he felt decidedly warmer the longer those golden eyes stared at him. He flashed a nervous smile and turned back around.
“Could we really be in Svargath?” Martext said, leaning in close to Lundin’s shoulder. “I didn’t think Campos was close enough.”
“We drove for a full day. Who knows how fast we were really going?”
“But the Flinthocks,” Elia said. “There were ups and downs on the trip, yeah, but it didn’t seem like the elevation got nearly serious enough to take us through a mountain range.”
“What if Svargath has their own version of Fort Campos, on our side of the mountains?” Lundin said. He pointed down at the ground, his finger bobbing up and down repeatedly.
“Spheres! I don’t know anything about Svargath, except that they use konkrii,” Elia whispered, her voice picking up speed.
“And that they don’t believe in Spheres,” Martext said, risking a look at the ‘naut.
“Well, whoever these people are,” Lundin said, trying to put calm in his voice, “we know that they’re gadget-heads, just like us. Their suits? That vehicle? That machine shop behind us? These people are just as good at engineering as anyone in Delia.”
“That scares the flames out of me.”
“Well, yes. But,” he said, raising a finger and trying to keep his voice down. “It means we’ve got something we share. Ulraexi Pillok Mentatum Est. They believe in the power of the mind. Maybe if we use reason, we can find some common ground.”
“You really think so?” Elia said.
“Reasonable people don’t attack an Army base to kidnap four civilians.”
“Fair,” Lundin said, rubbing his bare arms. It was chilly down here in just an undershirt and his thin dress slacks. Martext coughed after making his point. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his steps were looking more labored. Elia caught him looking at Martext, and the two of them shared a concerned glance.
“How much further?” Lundin called out, trusting his voice to carry behind them. He didn’t much want to lock eyes with the ‘naut again.
“Stairwell on the right.”
Lundin squinted down the hallway. Just at the edge of his vision, it looked like there was a pair of lanterns flanking a opening on the right. This place goes on and on, he thought. It would be another minute or two of walking before they actually reached the stairwell, and it felt like they’d left the vehicle behind them long ago.
A thin breeze made the hem of Elia’s yellow dress ripple. They looked to the left, and, between two buttresses, saw another hallway pulling away with lanterns as far as the eye could see. “Sweet Spheres, there are more of them,” he breathed. “What kind of investment does this look like to you, Elia? Is this konkrii expensive to make?”
“Laying it like this might take years,” she said, very quietly. “And if that corkscrew we rode down was a konkrii ramp, which would make sense for the load required, that’s a fortune to design and execute.”
“An advanced underground Svargath fortress, somewhere on our side of the mountains,” Martext said, his voice rough. “That’s something to celebrate.”
Ulraexi Pillok Mentatum Est. Ulraexi Pillok Mentatum Est. He kept the mantra going in a vain effort to keep his heart rate down as they approached the stairwell. The twin lanterns left weird, stark shadows on the white walls, and the ‘naut’s heavy boots behind them seemed to be getting louder. The stairwell went up about two dozen stone steps, with the only light from the lanterns at the bottom. An arched wooden door was barely visible at the top of the staircase, with a thin crack of light coming from the seam between the two door panels.
Whoever’s up there, you’ll be able to reason with them. You’re the leader. You’ll keep your team safe.
“Senior tech?” Elia said in his ear as they stood at the base of the stairs. “I miss home.”
Lundin looked back at her with all the warmth he could muster. “We’ll get back there, Elia; one way or another.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded, at least pretending to be comforted. That was a good thing, because as soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized what a bad choice they were. One way or another… maybe as cripples; maybe in caskets; maybe catapulted over the city walls one body part at a time…
Lundin blew all the air out of his lungs in a rush and took the first step up the stairs. Over Martext’s half-hearted protests, he put the man’s arm across his back and pulled him up so they were shoulder-to-shoulder on the same step. Elia supported the injured tech with a hand on the small of his back as they made their way to the top. Lundin made the mistake of looking down at one point, and saw Sir Ulstead’s glowing eyes a few steps behind them. He muttered encouraging nonsense to Martext and kept his eyes fixed on the next step in front of him. The air warmed up as they made their way towards the wooden door. Lundin winced as Martext squeezed his aching back a little too hard, and looked up. The door was comfortably sized for the giant ‘naut below them, made of plank after plank of dark brown lorsh wood. There was no visible handle on either half of the door.
“Knock,” said the ‘naut.
There wasn’t anything else to be done. Lundin held his breath, raised his left hand, and knocked on the door.
Nothing happened for a long moment; long enough that he considered knocking again. Then there was a scraping sound as a deadbolt was raised out of place. With a squealing of metal hinges, both halves of the door swung away from him. Lundin caught a quick sight of a square room with an ornately paneled window before the hands took them.
There were at least two hands on either of his arms, propelling him through the tiled room. Martext was pulled out of his grasp, and he called out wordlessly, looking over his shoulder. A quartet of soldiers in red leather pulled the tech to the side of the room, quickly but not violently, as a gray-haired woman in the light blue robes of a master of physic came gliding towards him. Elia was pulled into view through the doorway with an escort on either arm as well. “What are you doing?” Lundin shouted as his handlers marched him up a short staircase to a much narrower hallway, leaving Martext behind. Elia was squirming in her escorts’ arms as they half-dragged her behind him. The two of them were being kept together, at least; but a glance to the impassive men and women on either side of him didn’t give him much confidence in the tender ministrations their master of physic might be attempting on Martext at any moment.
The hallway was composed of rounded dark gray stones, with none of the exotic sleekness of the konkrii construction underground. It looked positively ancient, in fact, like an old warlord’s keep in the days before city-states and artillery. Wooden doors showed up sporadically along the walls, with curved tops and thick brass rings for doorknobs. Tapers in hurricane lamps lit the way here, without a gas lantern in sight. What is this place?
One of his silent entourage swung a door open, and the others quickly hustled him inside. A single candle and moonlight through a pair of windows far overhead gave the room its only dreary illumination. “Who are you? What is this place?” he said—to the air, apparently, as none of the red-brown soldiers had the slightest inclination to talk to him or even look him in the eye. They retreated as quickly as they’d dropped him off. Moments later, another pair brought a thoroughly wild-eyed Elia into the room. She rubbed her arms as they let her go, with dull red fingerprints against her skin where they’d been grabbing her. As that pair left, they slammed the door shut. An all-too-familiar sound of rattling locks on the outside made their hearts sink, and then there was only the sound of footsteps moving away.
