《Dockers Lament》


 Chapter One

    I suppose that what makes up a human being is, at its finest mechanics, the psyche; the mind of a man is more complex than any other existing entity. At least, that is, the proposition that I had assumed and understood as truth until now.


    Upon the noon-tide of a short attendance to the closest chapel, I found myself within the presence of my friend, Ms. Werthman. There, I sat within her parlor, serving myself a cup of coffee and a small biscuit, when she came back from the interior of her home with an ornate plate for which I was to set my food. ¡°Quite surprised to see you fancying the thoughts of the priest this morning,¡± she said to me as she sat down in her white dress. The light from the wrought iron window behind her illuminated her like some sort of angel.


    ¡°I tell you it is not everyday that I do not attend.¡± My hand drifted over the dark liquid within the cup, sensing the calming warmth upon my palm. ¡°Only rarely do I ever do so.¡±


    ¡°If you consider rarely to be just as soon as last service.¡± Ms. Werthman was often one to criticize me in many different ways, though every time she did so I knew that it was in a playful way, even if I could not always outright surmise so. The velvet armchair that I had fit myself into seemed to be almost hauntingly large, forcing me to reposition myself within it on multiple occasions. Each time I did so I took in the sights of the room once more; the damp air, the skillfully crafted furniture, and the bright sunlight that cut through that dampness. ¡°I have known you to go down to the fishing wharf instead, is that not true?¡±


    ¡°You have known me for more than ten years, so why is there such a need for that question?¡± I said this in a light tone, hoping that she would not take offense to it.


    ¡°How is mother?¡±


    ¡°Same as always. You know, I never realized how needy a person could be when they have all of their simple abilities taken away from them in a mere moment.¡±


    Ms. Werthman nodded her head slightly as she looked at the cheese. ¡°Do you take care of her?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do, just as I have been for the past two years. Ever since father has been gone I have had to tend to her every need.¡± The coffee that she had provided me had a sickly taste to it, but I ignored this as I continued. ¡°I suppose soon I will be needing to get a maid for her.¡±


    Her expression turned from one of calm and somewhat content into one of intrigue and her gaze went from the cheese and up to me. ¡°Why so?¡±


    ¡°Soon, I will be heading off to college, and I, of course, will have no ability to go from there and home. Limmere.¡± Behind her I saw the bowing trees, their leaves begin to rustle back and forth almost at the mention of the place. The eye contact that she had been keeping with me broke away; most likely she was saddened by how far away it was.


    ¡°Quite the walk, is it not?¡± Calmly, she placed her right hand on the table, then she slightly jostled the handkerchief that she had sat next to her plate. ¡°I do not suppose I will be seeing you often, then.¡±


    No response came from me; instead, I sat in silence, waiting for her to pick up the conversation once more. I knew that, truly, I wished to go and continue my studies in Limmere, but I also knew that in doing so I would leave behind many of my acquaintances. And mother, of course, needed me, however I could easily be replaced by a maid, like I had said.


    ¡°For a year, then, I won¡¯t be seeing you. Not until summer comes.¡± Ms. Werthman took a sip from her drink and then placed her hands on her lap, covered with her flowing dress. ¡°Quite the wait too.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± I nodded, almost subconsciously, not really realizing that I was doing so. ¡°Letters can still be written; nothing is stopping you from taking up your pen.¡±


    She paused her breathing, holding for a moment. Her exhale was sharp and almost unnoticeable. ¡°Yes, yes¡ªI may write.¡±


    ¡°Well, if you do so, do not believe even for a day that I will not write back.¡± With my left hand I picked up my coffee and drank, while with my right I rubbed my thigh. ¡°Please, do not doubt.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I won¡¯t. By the bye, I spoke to Chester this morning, in the courtyard.¡±


    Her statement somewhat caught me off of my guard: ¡°Chester? He was released from the clinic? By the doctor¡¯s orders?¡±


    ¡°What, do you think he leapt from the third-story window? Of course, McAvoy released him. If he was still ill, why would he wish for there to be sick-men wandering the streets?¡± The way she spoke to me was almost in a playful tone, and practically every conversation I held with her usually felt the same.


    Quietly, the white curtains wavered, caught up in a slow moving breeze that had gone through an opened window. ¡°Ah. Only God knows what was wrong with him.¡±


    ¡°If McAvoy was willing to release him then he must have had some idea as to what he was suffering from.¡± She shook her head with a sense of disappointment. ¡°I said mania, though who am I?¡± Ms. Werthman must have been pondering on the idea, as we sat in our silence together for two minutes, until she reopened the conversation, like always. ¡°Is Limmere between Harthwaite and Iyesgarth, somewhere near that old fishing wharf?¡±


    ¡°As they call it, ¡®the Bend¡¯? Yes, it is.¡± The taste of the black coffee permeated my mouth.


    ¡°That is far.¡± Up from her seat at the table she went and out of the parlor, into the rest of the confines of her well-kept home. Though distant, I could still hear her voice as she spoke to me. ¡°Chester spoke something about seeing you again.¡±


    ¡°I hope that day never comes,¡± I said as I put my coffee to the side.


    ¡°His intentions seem to be far greater than mine. Ambitions, more like. And at Limmere, what do you plan to study?¡± The topic of the conversation was jumping about like a frog on hot coals; this was nothing new to Ms. Werthman, so I took nothing of it.


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    ¡°What I have been studying since my father died, I would think that you could easily come to that conclusion on your own.¡± I shifted my voice to a more sarcastic tone. ¡°It is almost as though that has become the dedication of my life.¡±


    ¡°You mean that terrible sin that you claim to be science?¡± Instantly I knew I had begun to peeve her. ¡°Why must you go about learning such a thing when you could concern yourself with much greater things? You have debts to reckon with God, you know, and the cloth would be fitting yourself.¡±


    I scoffed at the response that came into the parlor. ¡°It is science, and it is not a sin.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it is a cardinal sin. My apologies.¡± She continued to keep the level of disdain and bitterness in her voice throughout the conversation, even if it was barely noticeable. Ms. Werthman started to put away her dishes and tidy the kitchen, while I sat in silence for a time.


    ¡°Agnes, would it be rude of me to use your powder room?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t soil it, I have far too much to clean up on my own time.¡± As I walked through the dining room I caught a glimpse of her white-gloved hand pointing in the direction of the room. My eyes scoured through her home, a place that I had not seen for quite some time; the furniture was pristine, the entire ambience was elegant, and everything appeared to be free from any touch of the finest dust. The powder room was no exception. The walls were covered in a beautiful, dark, and ornate wallpaper, with a flowering design, and the floor was a bright hardwood. I found a sturdy sink, fit with perfumes atop its marbled counter, with an ornate mirror hanging just above. The sides of the mirror were made of twirling gold¡ªwell, at least a material that seemed to be masquerading as gold.


    In the mirror I saw my reflection; I have no idea how she was so willing to let me within her door, as my appearance was rugged and my dark hair was disheveled. My face was patched with thin dirt marks and my overcoat was ratty. I placed my hands on the edge of the counter; one fleshy and pale, the other metallic and golden.


    Out I came, back into the maw of the elaborate home, and I encountered Agnes sitting sheepishly at the dining room table. ¡°Walnut; I bought it from an exquisite man I met when I was in the capital.¡±


    ¡°And how did you get it here?¡± I looked at the pearly, linen tablecloth that she had covered the table with.


    ¡°By horse, I believe. Or was it by engine? Or maybe it was by engine and then horse?¡± She spoke as if she was ignorant of the sort of thing; she was not ignorant, yet she acted like a dame who knew nothing of her own existence.


    Finally, I finished off the rest of my coffee that she had brought to the dining room table. ¡°Engine, most likely. They have been appearing all over the countryside lately, have they not? I do not suppose that one will be brought to Lowestoft; and if one was, then maybe I could take my mother about much easier.¡±


    ¡°Is she still bedridden?¡± Agnes¡¯ eyes stared directly into mine¡ªI found it hard to stare back at her.


    ¡°Yes, she is, but Roy has made her a fine invalid chair. It makes it easier for her to go out in the garden, and I have brought her into town with it once before.¡±


    ¡°Roy of Iyesgarth? Roy Loughty? Is it that carpenter boy?¡± She took off her gloves and put them on the table.


    ¡°Indeed, Roy Loughty."


    ¡°I used to be mashed over him, you know.¡± A smile quickly crept on her face as she reminisced about her child-self.


    I thought this to be ridiculous; of all the times I had seen her in his presence I believed her to be annoyed by him. ¡°I always thought you were peeved by him. You told me so, even; you told me that you wished he were to leave Lowestoft and go on his merry-way about this earth, never to set eyes upon you again.¡±


    ¡°I may have said that, but that was quite the opposite of what I wished to happen. And, of course, that is what we all did; move out of Lowestoft and establish ourselves in the other cities. Aside from you, that is.¡± Her smirk went away as swiftly as it came, and she finally broke her stare away from me. ¡°Agnes Loughty, I even called myself.¡±


    ¡°It was true to me that you fancied me instead,¡± I said, hardly sealing away my laughter behind the empty cup that I still clung to.


    ¡°My own cousin? What a horrible thought!¡± Agnes was somewhat disgusted by the notion. ¡°But Roy moved out and into Iyesgarth.¡±


    I felt my head go up and down in agreement as my gaze stayed transfixed on the wooden table top. ¡°And he has made quite a name for himself there, as I have heard. He has even been called ¡®the Carpenter of Iyesgarth¡¯, so one can assume that he must have some sort of fame over there.¡±


    With her gaze no longer stuck on my eyes, she looked over at the brazen clock that hung upon a papered wall. Agnes tapped the cup she held, then turned away from me and sighed a short breath. ¡°Well then, I am sure you have other things to tend to.¡±


    I did, and they had somehow slipped my mind, even though that morning, before I had attended the chapel, I had done everything to try and keep the thought it. My feelings were mixed on whether or not I should leave; I enjoyed Agnes¡¯ company, and it was a rare occurrence in the first place for me to see her on a day like that, however still, I had things that I needed to tend to, like she said. Before I left my mind wandered off and to her piano, and I sat on its bench for half an hour as I peered at the ivory keys.


    ¡°You played, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    From my mouth, against my will, I confirmed her question. ¡°Yes, I did; of course, that was when I was much younger. It has been years since I touched one. Before mother was how she is now she taught me, but now that old thing has been put away under white sheets. And before she completely lost it she covered almost everything upstairs in that same kind of cloth. What do you make of that?¡±


    By then Agnes had finished putting away all of the cutlery that she had washed. ¡°I make nothing of it. The doctor told you that she was slipping away from herself, and that must have been a symptom. Simple as that. It is sad to say that all of that beautiful furniture has been covered though.¡±


    A simple nod came from me.


    On my walk home I was met with the warm summer sun¡ªLeurbost, once a subset of Lowestoft, a farming villa turned ¡°noble¡± safe-haven, rarely saw a summer day where there was no brilliant sunshine. I kept my hands tucked away in my trouser pockets, with my thumbs sticking out. The cool breeze that had graced Agnes¡¯ parlor made itself much more comfortable out in the open, and it calmly blew across my white under shirt. The gravel path that stretched up over a short hillock and to Agnes¡¯ house was very well worn; before she owned it, the house would get many guests that traveled by carriage and horse, but now I was one of the sole visitors.


    The leaves trembled as my eyes shied away from the golden light. A twenty minute walk would take me down and out of the burrow, and along that walk I would pass by the chapel that I attended that morning. I doubted that Agnes knew I had taken a short engine ride into the outskirts of Leurbost. If she had known she most likely would have made attempts to reimburse me, even though it was twenty or so marks, something that I could make a hundred-fold of in a day¡¯s work. Truly, engines had been appearing throughout the major cities and some of the countryside, making them commonplace. Originally, many people had been worried of the possible risks they could bring within the industries, possibly turning travel by horse antiquated and obsolete. When it came to long distances, an engine would be the best option, and not every common man could afford a carriage, let alone the horses to pull it. Almost always I chose to go by foot, but again, it would have been foolish to not take an engine from Leurbost to Lowestoft if I could easily afford it.

 Chapter Two

    It was difficult leaving mother at home, alone to her devices; the best that I could do whenever I left was set her in front of an open window, curtains pulled. When I would return to whatever errand had kept me from being with her I knew that even though she could not express it, she was glad to see me. I would take her out from her room where she watched out the window and into our parlor, less well kept than Agnes¡¯. Depending on how I felt I would either entertain myself with a book or quite possibly the gazette; if something piqued my interest, particularly within the gazette, I would read it out loud to mother, in hopes that she recognized what I was saying. I would put her to bed just before the sun set, for the night seemed to trouble her.


    I did all of this, that is, until three days after I met with Agnes, as that was when Izabella arrived. The evening after my visit with Agnes I had dialed her after overhearing talk of her from Mrs. Harper. Apparently, Izabella aided in helping with Mrs. Harper¡¯s younger daughter, but now her daughter had gotten too old to be taken care of by a maid. Ironically, mother had gotten to the older age that she required a maid. Since Mrs. Harper had done away with her, I made the first thing that I was to do when I arrived home to contact her, in hopes that she would be able to help by the end of the week. Izabella herself proposed that she live with us, and I learned this to be because her only other option for housing would be to live with her father, whom she had trouble getting along with; not to mention, of course, that he lived off in Iyesgarth, far away from Lowestoft.


    So, she arrived by carriage, early in the morning. Over dial she said that she would come five days after our first conversation, but she was a day ahead of schedule. When I brought this up to her, she simply replied with the phrase, ¡°I like to be ahead of time all the time.¡± I would not say that she was irritating, yet often her existence would become overwhelming¡ªthankfully, she was only there to tend to my mother, and soon I would be off to Limmere. And soon, I would be enriching myself with an education that Lowestoft was not able to offer. In preparation for my attendance I wrote a short, well-formed letter to the college, expressing my gratitude towards my acceptance and my anticipation for the coming academic year. While writing that letter I was interrupted by a call from downstairs. The upstairs is where I had set up my study after mother had become incapacitated, thus it became the only room that did not have its furniture shut off from the open air. Izabella informed me that a man was at the door speaking my name.


    Down the darkly stained stairs I came, kicking up thin dust as I ran my metallic hand down the right-side railing. In order to get from the stairs to the foyer I had to pass through the kitchen, where I saw Izabella cooking something for mother and a tea kettle on the hot stove. There, in the foyer, sat upon a wooden chair, was Chester.


    ¡°I believe that the last time I saw you I told you to never step foot into this household again,¡± I said with a strict tone as I stood in the doorway leading into the kitchen.


    ¡°By God, that¡¯s no way to treat an old friend!¡± He made motions to come towards me and embrace me, but I continued to stand him off.


    I crossed my arms and tapped my left fingers upon my prosthesis. ¡°And how were you let out of the ward?¡± Upon my brow I could feel my eyebrow take a mind of its own and shortly raise.


    ¡°Why, I merely came here to see how Eliza was¡ª." Chester said, giving me a half smirk and a slight head tilt.


    ¡°She is doing fine; now, you may go.¡±


    Chester sighed and placed his hand upon the miniature table that mother would always keep a vase of freshly cut roses on, though now I had not yet replaced them and they continued to wither away. ¡°I paid for both a ferry and an engine fare in order to get here.¡±


    Though it was not comedic, I laughed to myself quietly; ¡°Why in the Hell would you need to take a ferry to get to Lowestoft? I heard you were last in Leurbost.¡±


    ¡°I crossed Blackmont.¡± He took a brief step towards me, of which I retaliated with a brief step backwards, bringing me slightly into the kitchen.


    ¡°The west engine brings you here without the need of a river crossing. Your fare would have been much less if you knew that.¡± With a wave of my right hand I turned around, hoping that the gesture would cause him to leave.


    ¡°You still have the same prosthesis,¡± he said to me. ¡°I expected you to have replaced it with one that was less ornate and more efficient. You¡¯ve had that for years.¡±


    Even though inside me I knew that responding to him would only so far as prolong the conversation that I desperately wanted to be over, I entertained him. ¡°It has served me well.¡± I ever so slightly rolled up my sleeve, revealing the golden arm with raised ivy leaf patterns; to some, the decorated piece may have done better in a collector¡¯s display, not on my body.


    ¡°How did you get your hands on that?¡± Chester¡¯s eyes were the kind that one could make out in the middle of the night, so piercing and sharp that they were distinguishable from anyone else¡¯s. And so much so that they even made me feel ill.


    ¡°A metal carver in Rachdale. Though, I do not even remember the price, as my father bought it for me.¡± After responding to his question I caught myself, still, continuing the conversation. ¡°No matter, now leave.¡± Again, I pivoted in the direction of Izabella, only to be brought back around to him by the sound of his voice.


    ¡°Were you accepted into Limmere?¡±


    This time my will overpowered my ignorance and I was able to catch my tongue before I answered him. Swiftly I swept through the kitchen, past Izabella toiling away over the stove, and back into my office. That night, when I returned to the kitchen in order to make a meal for myself, Izabella explained to me that Chester had left the moment I had left the foyer, that he had made no other attempts to prolong our interaction.


    ¡°I left porridge in the ice box if you wish to heat it, but I doubt it will taste any good,¡± she said to me after her explanation. I saw the tail of her dress lift up ever so slightly as she passed through the doorway into the anteroom to the stairwell, and once she was upstairs I did just as she had suggested. Unfortunately, she was right: the porridge was lacking in taste, yet I still ate it.


    From the start of the next morning it would be a month until I would start my year in Limmere, and yet I made little attempts to enjoy my lasting time within Lowestoft. I only saw Chester one more time between that morning and my arrival at Limmere; this was, once again, against my own accord. It was near the engine station of Lowestoft, beside the forever-stretching rails. With me I held a briefcase and upon my back I wore my overcoat. There seemed to always be a sort of winter spell that was cast upon Lowestoft, as no matter what the ambient temperature was within the cities and towns that surrounded it, it was consistently colder.


    I was minding about my own business, hoping to get to the engine station before I missed the time allotted on my ticket, when I was stopped in my tracks by Chester, in a similar outfit and carrying a similar demeanor to when he arrived at my front door. It was unlike me to be taking the engine to Iyesgarth, and frankly it was unlike me to travel to Iyesgarth in the first place. However, I had to take a trip there in order to retrieve a set of notes from an old colleague that I had not spoken to in a while; he dialed me the day before, so that night I planned to go there. Though again, I was halted in my path by Chester, who stood on the short stone steps that crept up to the engine station. His facial expression told me that he had no plan of moving from where he was and that I would either have to ignore him or force myself to hold a conversation with him.


    It started with a simple ¡°Hello¡± from him, but it quickly evolved into more than that as I made a feeble attempt at trying to maneuver myself around him. He took a slow chase after me, as I was not walking at that fast of a speed in the first place, though he quickened his pace as I got closer to the top of the steps. With a short jump he arrived at the top platform before I did, he turned on his heel and put his hand to my chest, causing me to stop and teeter at the edge of the top step. ¡°Why do you still try to avoid me?¡±


    Like always, my eyes made no contact with his; my grip upon the handle of the briefcase tightened and my mind raced. ¡°I have to get to Iyesgarth, so please allow me to pass¡ª."


    His hand upon my chest turned into a clutch on my undershirt. ¡°Why do you still try to avoid me, Irwin?¡±


    The pace of my breathing quickened as I finally regained control of my footing on the step. With my right arm I gripped his hand that held tightly onto my white shirt and squeezed; his stare turned colder than it was before, yet I knew that the pinching of metal would soon cause him to release me. Chester stepped away from me and coddled his hand. ¡°You almost broke a knuckle,¡± he said with a temper.


    ¡°Good, then maybe this time you will listen to me.¡± My hand returned to my waist pocket. ¡°I have a meeting at Iyesgarth, and I can not be stopped by the likes of you.¡±


    ¡°The engine has already come and gone, your watch must be slow.¡±


    Instantly more upset was compounded on the original annoyance that Chester had sprung within me. ¡°Damn it¡ªwell then, I will be taking the next engine.¡±


    ¡°Then you have time to talk.¡± I continued to keep away from him yet he also continued to try to interact with me. As I stood by the edge of the station¡¯s platform, looking down at the metal rails, he took to standing to the left of me. He did not say anything to me but only stood there; his presence made me uneasy, as I still believed him to possibly be unwell.


    After ten minutes I sat upon a wrought iron bench that sat in front of the station-house, while Chester still waited where he had put himself. The sun hung itself above a small crested hill upon the horizon, and I embraced its warmth as I held the briefcase to my stomach. Then, with twenty minutes of waiting passing as though it were a day, the scream-like horn of an engine came down from the eastern rails of the platform, followed by the tumbling engine coming down and resting itself akimbo to the terrace. Once it arrived I passed by yellow-papered ticket to the engineer; although I had missed the original engine that I was assigned upon my ticket, the policy was set to where so long as there were open seats upon the next engine, I would be able to ride it.


    I entered the gates of Iyesgarth, greeted by the sights and sounds that I often would not see within Lowestoft. It was true that Lowestoft had a high population, but that never meant that it was advanced in any definition of the word. Within Iyesgarth I saw above me capital flags flying, each street moved with various types of people, and the cobbled streets were constantly cleaned for fear of rubbish tarnishing the city¡¯s appearance. Carriages far more decorated and pristine walked down the streets as well, while men and women alike walked about in lavish outfits; women holding their parasols and men wearing their hats. I somewhat appeared to be out of place there, however, unless someone specifically focused upon me they would have never thought any different. My colleague, Beau Morris, kept to himself in the top story of a butchery. According to him, the dues upon his flat were affordable, and he only needed so much room to be pleased. While walking through the main streets of Iyesgarth I took in the fresh air, although due to the engines and machines that ran amuck throughout the city the air sometimes was sullied.


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    There I came upon the building of the butcher. I came to the realization that I would have to enter the lower floor in order to get up to his flat; there was no outer stairwell that would take me to my destination. The butcher took me to be a prospective customer, so I had to turn him down and explain my reason for being there. Somewhat begrudgingly he directed me to the steps that led me to Beau¡¯s. Even before I could wrap my hand upon the door once it was opened. I had not seen Beau for almost two years, but his appearance did not change in any way. Like always he still had his cap on, his weathered tan jacket, his gumboots, and his hands covered in the stains of black oil grease.


    In some way that I have no idea how, Beau had come across a set of notes that belonged to an old alchemist that I can not remember the name of. I say this to outline the fact that Beau was the creator; he worked for an engine company, building and operating the things all across the country, yet when he had time to himself he would be almost always found within his flat tinkering on some contraption that I had no wits about whatsoever. Through this we contrasted. Using the simplest terms one would call me an alchemist, though I was, instead, truly a chemist. Since we first met in our primary years of schooling, Beau and I had been companions. Four years ago, like all of the others, he moved out of Lowestoft, while I stayed behind to care for my mother.


    All across his room I noticed sheets of paper lying about, with scrawled notes and diagrams, all which made no sense to me. While Beau worked with gears, pipes, and steam, I bothered myself with mixtures, elixirs, and powders. And intermixed with all of these blueprints and confusion were mechanical pieces that I had no idea of their functionality.


    Though I had originally planned to retrieve the notes and be on my way¡ªwhich were placed in a somewhat neat stack upon a coffee table¡ªI decided that, since I had the time, I would sit down with him for a moment.


    ¡°What do you make of the dragon?¡± he asked, holding a tin cup in his hand.


    I raised my brow, obviously confused by his question. ¡°In what way?¡±


    With both hands now he held the cup as he leaned forward and slightly away from the wooden chair he had sat on. ¡°Of the west, Bengrad. What do you make of the dragon?¡±


    Usually I made my attempts to stay away from political matters, other than those that were mentioned in the daily gazette. I was a man of science and research, and of all things, chemistry, not the political world. But concerning this matter, it was hard for one to completely avoid. ¡°Do you mean Fitzpatrick? The king of the west?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I mean King Frederick.¡±


    ¡°Nothing that any other man would make of him. An enemy to us, but kept to himself and his own country as of now.¡± It appeared to me that this did not satisfy Beau¡¯s question.


    He looked at the coffee table that stood between the two of us, I on a blue settee and he on his chair. ¡°The chancellor seems to think differently, and as I understand it would be in his best interest for us to think differently as well. You know, he has a son that is just about the same age as Frederick?¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± I asked, lacking interest in the conversation. ¡°Well then, they ought to meet.¡±


    Beau laughed to himself. ¡°What a day that would be.¡±


    ¡°Do you not think they would get along, Razenbach¡¯s son and Frederick?¡± I said as I eyed his tin cup.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why they would. The one utterly hates the other¡¯s father. That would be enough to halt the creation of a companionship.¡± His statement was spoken in an off putting, matter-of-fact way.


    ¡°There is no rule saying that Razenbach¡¯s son must stick with the same political leanings of his father, is there? Soon it will not be too long until he will no longer be the chancellor; then it will be another man that will have to deal with Frederick Fitzpatrick¡¯s antics.¡± I turned to the window where I saw the sprawling cityscape that was Iyesgarth, with its billowing black smog contrasting the light clouds and blue sky that was hidden away in the background.


    ¡°And when you complete your studies, as I assume you have been accepted into Limmere, do you plan to work for the state like a dog, under the watchful eyes of ¡®Bach and his men?¡±


    I squinted my eyes, giving Beau a disappointed look. ¡°You believe I would do so?¡±


    His response was one that I never would have expected him to respond with. Since the very moment that the both of us were on our own and no longer dependent on our families, Beau constantly had opposing thoughts against the state and any sort of institution that was put in place by it. Even more, he was opposed to general dictum given by instructors and oftentimes common adults. ¡°If you did, you would be paid handsomely.¡±


    ¡°Since when have you been a supporter of the state? I firmly remember you dialing me the night that Razenbach became chancellor and rising quite the storm.¡± I rested my right hand onto the settee¡¯s cushion below me. ¡°And now you sit here proposing that I work for the state?¡±


    His tin cup made its way to the table, allowing him to place his hands on his knees. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the worst of ideas. Like I said, you would be given good pay; and even if I despise the state that does not mean that I don¡¯t think my comrades should be affiliated with it.¡±


    My head titled at the last phrase, perplexed by his reasoning. ¡°No, I have never and will never think of ever working for the state.¡± With my left hand I held tightly onto the alchemist¡¯s notes, and my eyes left Beau and traveled to the pages. ¡°The knowledge that I learn and gain in my studies will not be handed back over to Farenzo. And what of your work? You could be paid a great deal of money if you were to be successful in your aspirations.¡±


    Beau gave me a sly, thin smile as he placed his stained palms together. ¡°If I were to create this machine then it would be used only for war. I wish for them to have nothing to do with it, and yet I know I¡¯m a fool for believing that it will ever be different. I don¡¯t believe many have even thought to tame the sky, and it is my wish as well that it is kept that way.¡±


    ¡°Do you suppose that if the state were to get their hands on your invention then they would use it to go to war with the west?¡±


    Beau responded with a staunch no. ¡°If they did, then they could go to war with anyone they wanted. But Farenzo has not been at war with any country for more than forty years, far before we were even born. The last time Farenzo waged war against another country was with Arabore, and now it is a flourishing colony.¡±


    ¡°Still, you know the things that we had done within Arabore,¡± I said with a silent voice. ¡°That is not to say that we were the only ones who were in the wrong, but the state will stop at nothing to protect itself.¡±


    ¡°And the sins of the father will be brought down upon the sins of the son.¡± The somewhat-smirk that Beau had given me had now turned into a legitimate smile. ¡°You and I both know that this country adores ¡®Bach, and he will be chosen as chancellor for a third time. Then, once his son is of age, he will take the seat for however many terms Farenzo decides. You saying something about a new man taking ¡®Bach¡¯s place is plain foolish and you know it.¡±


    And Beau was right. It was true that as a whole, Farenzo adored Razenbach, and it seemed as though there was not even a chance for Razenbach to lose his chance at taking another term as chancellor. Though I hated this fact, it made it no less true.


    Beau continued: ¡°Yet, of course, if Fitzpatrick makes any sort of move against us, I don¡¯t doubt that ¡®Bach wouldn¡¯t retaliate. The conflict¡ª."


    Almost instinctively, I interjected. ¡°War¡ªit was a war.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the war in Arabore was started because of the moves that they had made against our southern front. As far as my knowledge takes me, Razenbach hopes to hold our borders with an iron fist, just as strongly as he hopes to hold his current position.¡± His attention was taken away from the conversation for but a moment when there was the sound of a motorized-carriage''s horn beeping outside. ¡°It baffles me as to how the west allowed such a young boy to become king.¡±


    ¡°Monarchy¡ªit was his right to take the crown, he just so happens to be at that age. I doubt they are permitting him to make decisions on his own accord. He must have some sort of advisor, would you not think?¡± I repositioned myself upon his settee as I felt the anchoring-plate of my prosthesis become uncomfortable.


    ¡°I know all of that; doesn¡¯t change the fact that he is unfit to be king of a whole damned country.¡±


    ¡°And what has made you so interested in the affairs of ours and the nations of others? It is frankly unlike you to be so distressed by such happenings.¡± This was true, of course. Like I said, Beau had constantly had an opposition to the state and government, yet he appeared to never have any interest in their actions unless it directly interfered with him or his occupation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been reading,¡± he said as he stared at my right arm.


    ¡°Your fool¡¯s errand.¡± I snickered lightly at my own statement, and it seemed to thankfully lighten the conversation.


    Beau gave me more of a jovial smile. ¡°Of course you would say something like that,¡± he said under his breath as he now held onto his tin cup once again. ¡°How is your arm working for you? Do you need me to take a look?¡±


    I simply gave him a negative shake of my head. ¡°No, it is fine. I have been able to move it just as well as I had the day I got it.¡±


    ¡°Soon it will tarnish, and what it does is dial me so I may polish it. I have always wanted to lay my hands on such a special piece. I can¡¯t even begin to imagine how much your father paid for it.¡± Beau did not break eye contact with my arm, even though half of it was hidden underneath my sleeve. In a smooth motion, Beau came up from where he was sitting and approached his window; after a mere moment I joined him, looking out at the urban sprawl that was Iyesgarth. The houses were relatively greater in comparison to those within Lowestoft. Many of them were in the style of cottages, fit with tan or beige walls and dark brown supports. From almost every brick and mortar chimney was coughed up gray smoke from the bowels of a burning fire. ¡°What do you plan to do with those notes?¡±


    I noticed that my grip on the papers was stronger than before, and that I had taken them with me to the window. ¡°I have yet to see. In Limmere I may be able to make use of them, adding on to my curriculum. I have such an expansive collection of the notes and works of varying chemists that I so easily get lost in my study.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nothing new. I remember a specific time when I and other boys were going down to the stream and you decided that you wanted to stay stuck up in your study.¡± Beau was now looking down at the common-folk walking up and down the street below. ¡°That was before you lost your arm, of course.¡±


    In my silence I agreed with him. I did not need to make any verbal response.


    ¡°I remember when you came to me, blood covering your hand. You told me that you had done something terrible, something that you could never undo. You called it a sin. I remember when you came to me you had tears in your eyes, streaming down your face, falling down to the grass. And it wasn¡¯t just your shirt that was covered; your entire chest was, it all coming from your right arm, where you gripped your shoulder. It was awful.¡± Quietude was set between the two of us as Beau¡¯s voice drifted off. I was leaning my head against the side of the window, now close enough to the glass to the point where I could see my fate reflection drawn out upon the outside world. I realized that I had been holding tightly onto the shoulder of my golden arm, pulling at the shirt that covered it.

 Chapter Three

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for speaking of it,¡± he said as he held the door ajar for me to exit.


    ¡°It is quite alright; it was years ago, it does not matter so much to me as it used to.¡± I faced the entrance to his home, now standing at the top of the stairs that descended down to the butcher¡¯s shop. ¡°It is not just a faint memory: no more, no less.¡±


    With a short nod I was sent on my way, notes in my hand, and I waved off the butcher upon my exit. Into the streets of Iyesgarth I went, once again easily assimilated into the constant motion upon the smooth stone. There was no need for me to stay in Iyesgarth any longer, so I left the city via the same route that I had come. When I arrived at the engine station I bought a return ticket, and in less than an hour my engine arrived and I boarded. Unlike many of the engines that I had been on once before, this one was most definitely of higher quality; I came to discover that it was owned by the West-Engine Company, of which Beau worked for. Beau was commissioned on multiple occasions by the companies to aid in the design of specific models of engines, so one could assume that the one that I was riding on could have partially been designed by Beau.


    The majority of engines that traveled across the vast plains of Farenzo were never carpeted, nor were any of their benches gilded with gold, but of course the more likely outcome was that they were painted to look gold like many of the other things through Farenzo. It was interesting to see the floors covered in ornate green carpet, the sort of carpet that one might say in a state building, possibly at the capital.


    I took my seat at a four-person table. There were only three other people in the room with me, but I paid not much attention to them. Instead, upon the table I layed out my newly retrieved notes, pouring my current free-time and total focus into them; though the edges were frayed and somewhat torn, the information that they contained had not diminished in value at all. They spoke of the principals, of things that I already knew. However, their major focus was upon the concept of manipulation of material, a core belief of alchemy. A chemist knows that material can not be made, and equally nor can it be destroyed, yet an alchemist persists that one material can easily be transformed into another without the use of elixirs and energies. To me, this was simply preposterous. That did not stop me from falling into the deep spiral that is the dogma of alchemy, though, as I had once before when I was in my adolescence. The ability to change tin or lead into something as valuable as gold and silver were a siren¡¯s call, something that quite literally would endure any man who learned of it.


    As the engine went along its track flashing colors of green, white, golden yellow, and blue passed by me on my right. We were travelling through the backside of Farenzo, where rolling hills of green and flaxen high-grass grew wild. There was not much of those lands that had been touched by the industrialization and engineering that had gone on in cities like Iyesgarth, but even though Iyesgarth had seen the touch of soot that did not mean that it lacked the beautiful skies that persisted throughout almost all of Farenzo. Littered throughout its countryside were small farming homes, some instituting wheat fields.


    Though I thoroughly understood and enjoyed the scrawlings on the notes, I believed it to be nonsense. The transformation of one material to another without any outside force but the willpower of a human being was, quite frankly, ridiculous, and I had no reason for even the slightest of moments to believe in it. When I was to arrive at Limmere and begin my studies I hoped to further disprove this idea and in turn, broaden the span of chemistry in such a way that we would be able to understand the world around us. Fantastical propositions such as alchemy was something that was only to be kept within a fairytale, along with anything else of the same nature.


    I stepped off of the steps of the engine and onto the stone platform around the hour of one. Then, I entered my home at half the hour, to which I saw Izabella sitting within my mother¡¯s room. Mother layed upon the bed, without a motion, just as she always had. The feeling in the room, though, was somber and silent. Upon my entrance to mother¡¯s quarters Izabella instantly stood to her feet, folded her hands, turned in my direction, and bowed her head. She made no sound, said no words, but simply avoided peering upon my expression. Still with me I held the notes from Beau, which I then dropped from my left hand, scattering them about the hardwood floor.


    Tinseling light poured in from the window, with the white, thin, flower-patterned curtains drawn. I saw the dust particles, light as feathers, bouncing floating about, suspended in the air without a human care. I saw the smoothly layed covers, the glass with crystal-clear water sat on the bedside table, and the aged photo of my father, mother, and I, standing in front of our countryside home, away from all of the short lived bustle of Lowestoft. I said no words, thought no words, only mere emotions that spun webs throughout my mind.


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    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Izabella¡¯s two words split a headache through my mind. Hurriedly, I picked up the mess of papers that I had made on the floor, then departed from the room and to the front stoop of the home. The streets of Lowestoft were abandoned, as they often were during noontide. Behind me were the faint steps of Izabella as she approached me. ¡°It happened this morning, not too long after you left. I would have dialed, but I didn¡¯t know where you had gone, and I didn¡¯t know if they had something to dial in the first place¡ª."


    From within my metal and flesh hands I replied, face covered: ¡°No matter. It was bound to happen one day. God chose for it to be today of all days.¡± No bird sang, nor did the wind blow, nor did a carriage ride past with a whinnying horse. I could have sworn that I heard the sounds of my tears as they hit the oaken stoop. ¡°Do you think that God wished for her to go, or his hand was forced to take her away?¡±


    At that moment, I knew not as to why I had asked Izabella such a question; barely did I know her, and soon after I had fully absorbed the situation I would have to do away with her.


    ¡°Mr. Larkin, I don¡¯t have an answer.¡±


    My hands shifted away from my face and went to my sides. ¡°I did not expect you to.¡±


    The morning thereafter I had already sent Izabella home, and in a short amount of time I would be off to Limmere. Because of this, I would have no one that would be able to look after the home unless I wished to pay someone to do so; I decided upon leaving the home in the state that it had been since the death of my mother. It would not be abandoned, as I hoped to often return to it on the times that I had breaks from my learning and when it was most convenient for me, and knowing Lowestoft it would be unlikely if anyone were to even think of entering the home illegally. And as for the remainder of my time in Lowestoft, I retreated to my study, much like how I did when I was young, according to Beau. There I arched myself over writings and manuscripts, absorbing as much knowledge as I could, scribing and rescribing the things that I read, in the hopes that I would be able to retain the knowledge at the beginning of my learning. At night, all I could think of was college, as though it were my love. In simplicity, I had become obsessed. Not a moment went by that I did not think of the potential halls I would be walking down, the libraries of infinite knowledge that would be at my disposal, and the resources that I could use to discover reality.


    No one came to my home other than the coroner, whose visit was maddeningly short. I asked for her to be buried, and I was the only one to attend the funeral other than those who orchestrated it. After that, I had become a full hermit, leaving the house only if I was forced against my will; and of course, that sort of instance never came. Days of beauty and warmth went on in the surrounding country, but I continued to scrawl and read by candlelight. Oftentimes, as I sat in my darkness, I felt the anchoring-plate of my arm ache. I avoided any sort of acknowledgement of it however. If I did not pay heed to it, it would go away on its own. It was more or less the feeling of an irritation, an itch within the flesh that I could only cure with something of the likes of a needle, so I did not take to doing so. The only needles that my mother once carried within our house were those for sewing, not for anything medical related.


    In the quiet hours of the night I could find no slumber. My eyes were pried open by some unseen force, for whenever they would close for but a moment I would find them burning from the open air as I stared above into the plaster ceiling. Darkness knew I, and I knew darkness. Because of this, I would leave from my bed and enter, once again, into my study, as though I had not been there in the sun-filled hours of the day. My body required being there at all times, and when I did not give it what it needed, I would be forced to listen to the prattlings of my eternally-stretching mind. To me, the sunlight was a sickness, and shutting it away was the cure. And if I held the ability to go back and change what I had done with my fleeting days within Lowestoft, I would do so.


    Once the month had passed, an engine in Lowestoft¡¯s station was soon to meet me. I had dialed the West-Engine Company in order to bargain upon a deal for a ticket to Harthwaite. Since Limmere was within a relatively small city, there was no station within a considerable distance. Therefore, I was forced to buy a ticket to Harthwaite, north of Limmere, and from there I would take a carriage ride to the city that Limmere nested itself within, Ascott. A hostess on the other end of my dial to the West-Engine Company allowed me to purchase my long-distance ticket for half of the price after much discussion interlaced with desperate convincing. By that time, the money that the state paid my mother for my father¡¯s service had been cut. I no longer had a steady inflow of money, thus forcing me to use up much of the money that I had saved years before. I could not bear to spend a great deal of money on such a ticket, as the farther the distance of an engine-trip went, the greater the price compounded.


    On the day that I had gone to the station the weather was bleak; much of the anticipation that I had for the past month or so about going to Limmere had turned into fear. Even with the prospect of gaining knowledge during my stay there, I had no other plans for what I was to do when I left years later. The fear manifested itself gradually, and it blossomed into its greatest form as I sat upon a wooden bench on the left side of the engine. How terrible I felt as I sat alone at the engine-window.

 Chapter Four

    I entered the city of Harthwaite by engine at noon with the sun high above me, engulfing all of Harthwaite. Behind me, passengers of the engine spilled out onto the platform; Harthwaite was constructed in such a way that the station was almost directly in front of the main entrance to the city. Harthwaite found most of its similarities with Lowestoft, yet it still was somewhat advanced in the way that Iyesgarth was. Throughout my life I had already seen much of the majesty that Farenzo had to offer, but when I came into Limmere I was awestruck by its complexities, though I had not yet arrived.


    Within Harthwaite and its flat-stone streets, unlike Lowestoft which held terribly worn cobbled paths, I found a wrought-iron carriage and horse accompaniment. To the driver I passed coinage along with a short phrase explaining that I was on my way to Limmere. His response was not one that I had expected:


    ¡°Quite the way away, is it not? Ye¡¯ll be in here for quite some time.¡±


    By the time he said this I had already made myself comfortably placed myself down in the caged seat behind him. ¡°I know that,¡± I said coldly.


    Like he had said, the drive from the inner-mouth of Harthwaite to its far-reaching exterior was long and tiresome, and then from there to Ascott would be an even greater journey, but I had already waited a great time in order to be accepted to Limmere. Even moreso, I had already waited even longer to be able to begin my journey to the college. To me, waiting mattered not. Upon our exit from the thin outskirts of Harthwaite the sky became sullen, a twisting expanse of gray matter. Once or twice the horse refused to go forward, yet this was overturned by the coach who forced the steed to go on its way. Rain tapped the top of the carriage as the coach pulled his cap closer to his face and his collar closer to his neck; since the windows were bent out of wrought-metal wire, there was no glass that was held within their empty spaces. Water slipped through those gaps and found its way onto my brown coat. Throughout the entirety of the journey the shrill sound of the wheels turning over themselves could be heard, paired with the stone of rolling stones and clogged dirt being crushed below the carriage¡¯s weight.


    Ascott itself was nothing to spit at. A depressing town that once used to stretch its arms quite far; now it was in disarray, a husk of its former self. I understood now why people usually only referred to Ascott as Limmere itself or, rather, ¡°the slums of Harthwaite¡±. One would think that such a town would be more refined and dignified if it harbored such a prestigious school within it¡ªnot so it would seem.


    After what truly was a long ride, the coach stopped. He pulled his hat closer to his face once more as I stepped down the short metal steps, onto the now rain-soaked ground. All about me there was fog, but high above it I saw some sort of stonework-erection which I could barely even make out. With me I held my luggage which I had placed at my feet during the carriage ride. The coach spoke to me, saying, ¡°Off to Limmere ye go then, followin¡¯ that belfry peekin¡¯ above the mist. The path may seem hardly visible, but that¡¯s only ¡®cause the college has been here for years. What did you say yer name was, sir?¡±


    I made no effort to look back at him; instead, I replied as I faced the dense, whispering fog. ¡°Iwrin¡ªIrwin Larkin.¡±


    ¡°Well then, Mr. Larkin, I hope ye the best of luck with whatever affairs you have.¡± And with that, I stood silent as the fog bit at my ankles and boots. Like the tendrils of some sea creature, it wrapped around my legs and arms, about my waist, void of any force. My grip on the handle of my luggage tightened as I made my way forward, towards what the coach called a belfry. As I went on my way I came to the realization that I had no idea of how to prove myself to be enrolled in the college other than my name and my government identification. I did not bring with me my letter of acceptance. Above me I saw no sun; instead, I saw ever present fog which brewed in the air. I believed myself to have entered a courtyard, as before me now was a knotted tree, with low-hanging bows and sparse leaves, and on the ground it sat within a stone-crown. With not but a few strides beyond it, I was greeted with great stone steps, which lead up to darkly stained doors which instantly beckoned me the moment I laid eyes upon them. They were already slightly opened, so with a deeply held breath I slipped through the thin ajarment, entering into a decorated hall. My footsteps echoed throughout it like a chamber of glass; the walls were made of similar wood to that of the steps, but it was the sort of room that you would expect to see in the house of a noble, far above the likes of Agnes Werthman. Though still the papered walls were dingy and worn; the coachman was right, for Limmere had been established many years before. A staple of the greater community, hidden away in the Harthwaite-Ascott-countryside.


    I stowed my valuables and was there for a month¡ªnot a month explicitly within my dormitory, no. I stayed on the grounds of Limmere on a month before I exited for the first time, and that was simply only to wander off to wander past the grand-lake that sat in the rain-shadow of Limmere and into the outer-rim of Ascott. Bound in old leathers I took with me I forced myself to slug through muddied streets in paths drawn out by months and years of repetitive walking feet and drawing carriages. After three months at Limmere¡ªtwo months after my first expedition out of its walls¡ªI published my initial work: A Treatise on Modern Thaumaturgy, I. W. Larkin. To my surprise I was given subsequent recognition from multiple scholars such as myself within Limmere. Because I was there on a self-lead scholarly expedition I had but one class to attend and the library and all other resources the college had to provide were at my disposal, a notion which I almost abused. Never before had I ever seen such collections of vastly different works, and their stockpile of books and tomes on the practices of contemporary alchemy was engrossing.


    The first letter I received within my first year of Limmere was from Ms. Werthman, now two months after my first publishing; I was violently taken out of my studies by a racking at my door only to be met with the unkempt message-courier behind it.


    Dear Mr. Larkin,


    I hope that this letter finds you well¡ªand just as so, I hope that Limmere has been treating you well. I heart tell of a little work published not but a week ago by an I. W. Larkin. It was Chester who told me, of course. If I can, I will pick it up, but you know that your studies involve nothing that will enchant me.


    Pray, do tell, is it as beautiful as everyone says it is? I¡¯ve been to Harthwaite once, and never did I step foot near Limmere; I was far too young, I had no interest.


    You fancy that I have contracted for an extension to be put out of the parlor, a second wing perhaps. I visited Mrs. Harriet a month ago¡ªshe has the most beautiful manor¡ªand I fell in love with what she called her salon. A glorified solarium is what it was, but the eastern sun in the morning was tantalizing. When it¡¯s finished you¡¯ll have to see the new wing for yourself.


    Do treat yourself kindly, I can¡¯t have you becoming ill.


    Cordially, Agnes C. C. Werthman.


    My second letter came not but a short week later, by the same weathered hands of the same courier-boy. It was from a name that I had heard many times before, yet a name that I never wanted to associate myself with. Before, never had I spoken to him nor reached out to him according to my own will; to me, he was a pretentious, self-righteous bastard who wanted nothing but his own desires and was shorn of all assortments of empathy. That is not to say, however, that the words within his letter did not peak my interest, that they did not lay within the depths of my mind as I slept five nights thereafter and whispered and mumbled until I was forced by a hand that was not my own to blot ink with my pen and write him back. Yes¡ªof course I had written Ms. Werthman back, I wrote her back immediately after reading hers, though it was a brief scrawling as I had other matters to attend to. Yet his letter brought from within me a deepest desire for further inquiry.


    I. W. Larkin,


    I write to you this night with fervor. I have put down your A Treatise on Modern Thaumaturgy almost a minute before now. I broke my first quill and spilled my ink across my varnished table and paper on my first attempt at writing this letter. Because of that, I will be making this one brief so that I do not have to tire my hand. I invite you to come to my manse, near the sea coast, by Sablecroft. I invite you to come on the 25th of the coming month. I wish to discuss what you have written and offer to you a venture that I would think of you foolish if you were to deny. No need to write me back. If you do not arrive I will take it that you have denied yourself of this potential.


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    Ludwig Elemier Byrgenman, Count of Limdol


    Many find geography and toponymy to be rather daze-inducing, pushing one into the calm hands of slumber¡ªI, on the other hand, find it to be quite the opposite. Limdol was once known as the realm of witches, a place where wayfaring men would be stolen away in their travels guided by moonlight. I knew of two tales of some sort of coven within the forests of Limdol that came out when the moon was full¡ªor, perhaps, rather it was when there was no moon in the night sky at all¡ªand would perform rituals of the dark arts under shaded trees. I reckon it, instead, to be that the forests of Limdol are maze-like. It is ridiculous to even call Sablecroft a part of Limdol, for it is on the far reaches of the region, on the shore. The town of Sablecroft is older than Limmere, it would seem. A fishing hamlet that has yet to see the changing tides of industrialization; that is what I¡¯ve been told, never have I stepped foot in it. Never have I stepped foot in Limdol either, yet now, so curiously I found myself with the desire to do so.


    Still, it was Ludwig. Originally, I would have thought of it as a terrible, disgraceful, and may I even say abhorrent idea to speak with the likes of Ludwig Elemier Byrgenman, ¡°Count of Limdol¡± as he called himself; what of Limdol is there to be a count of? Nothing but bogged-myres and rotten stink. And flies, too, most likely. Though Limdol was not at all far from Limmere¡ªAscott, I should say¡ªand I supposed that it would not be dreadful for me to leave the campus once more, to breath in fresh air, air not damp yet dry, and too awfully cold. The college was beautiful, a monument to human architecture and intelligence, not at all an eyesore. It stood as an impeding figure over all of Ascott and even some parts of Harthwaite, ever-present in the distance, however it was fairly aged and much like a human, it had begun to show its seniority.


    I dialed the Harthwaite dial-registry from a commoner-biphone placed within one of the studies to ask to be connected with the Sablecroft dial-registry. The device was unlike any other I had used before; I could not tell if it was primitive or novel, sleek and wooden yet artisan decorated with gold plated fixtures and swirling, botanic designs. To my surprise, Sablecroft had no dial-registry¡ªI asked the kindly voiced woman on the other end how they made connections by wire and she explained to me that there are only a few amount of biphones in Sablecroft that there was no such need for a registry. Even though I was severely disappointed I thanked the lady, placing the biphone on its holder with a stout sigh I wiped my brow. It made sense, as perhaps Ludwig did not have a biphone for himself. If he did he would have called me instead of writing a letter. Yet, if he truly did have a biphone then he would not have called me because there was no feasible way for him to have known that he would have to call Limmere, and even if he did he would have to request for a courier to fetch me.


    I dialed again.


    ¡°Where would you like to be connected?¡±


    It was in my best interest to not interrupt her yet my desire to speak was difficult to keep contained. Not even before she could finish the last word I overlapped her speech. ¡°Yes¡ªI received a letter from a one Mr. Byrgenman, yet it has no address that it was sent from. I was wondering, perhaps, if I could obtain that from the registry.¡±


    Being a registry-clerk was fairly complicated, or so I assumed. From what I knew, one would have to consult the contents of varying books and volumes, all which held within them numbers, addresses, names, titles, acting as a roadmap for wherever the client needed to go. ¡°Mr. Byrgenman,¡± the clerk said curtly. Even over the semi-raspy ring and buzz of the wire I could sense ice in her pattern. ¡°You wish to confer with Mr. Byrgenman?¡±


    ¡°Indeed I do.¡±


    She took me as a fool. ¡°Excuse me sir, but I¡¯d think that a gentleman dialing from¡­¡± she paused as I heard the noise of turning paper, ¡°¡­ Limmere¡ªah, Limmere¡ªwould know that consultation with Mr. Byrgenman requires prior appointment? Don¡¯t mistake me, though, as I¡¯m not his steward.¡±


    ¡°I know this¡ª.¡± I had picked up on her terse attitude. ¡°I know, miss. But do you not even have the address for him? For Mr. Byrgenman, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I can retrieve the numbers for those in neighboring towns, like Iyesgarth and Ascott; but like I said prior, Sablecroft has no registry. And it¡¯s not in my jurisdiction either. It¡¯d behoove you to, instead, dial Iyesgarth¡¯s registry.¡± I could hear the tapping of fingers on her wooden desk¡ªeither that or the copper wire had frayed somewhere along its long journey.


    ¡°Is Iyesgarth in the same partition as Sablecroft? I thought they were far spread.¡±


    Her hesitation made my belief in her response unstable and, therefore, ever so doubtful. ¡°I would have to take out my map to give you that answer. Do you wish to be connected with Iyesgarth? Would that settle your troubles?¡±


    Off putting. ¡°Yes.¡± A bitter taste in my mouth.


    ¡°A moment.¡± After twenty-two seconds of utter silence save for the static of the wire I was greeted with a kinder, more soft-spoken woman.


    ¡°Good afternoon sir, where would you like to be connected today?¡± Since Iyesgarth was an industrial hub, an epicenter of change and technology, there were multiple clerks within the dial-registry. I could hear them babbling in the background even through the poor microphone on the clerk¡¯s end, even the turning of papers and whisper-shouts.


    ¡°I was wondering if I could obtain the address for a Mr. Byrgenman of Sablecroft?¡¯


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯ll get that for you. Do you mind holding for just one second?¡± I heard some unidentified shuffling noise.


    ¡°Not a bother.¡±


    A pound as I believe she had set down a worn registry book on her desk. ¡°And give me a moment, what was the name again?¡±


    I cleared my throat, my eyes fixed on the wet stones of the floor. ¡°Mr. Ludwig Byrgenman, of Sablecroft. Ludwig¡ª,¡± I looked down at the letter I clutched in my hand, now realizing how tightly I had gripped the paper, crinkling its pale form,¡°¡ªElemier Byrgenman. Of Sablecroft.¡±


    ¡°Gotcha¡ªright here!¡± I could hear her smile. ¡°0001 Thistlesprout Lane. Looks like he¡¯s the only one on that drive.¡±


    Now I sighed with relief. ¡°Perfect, thank you.¡±


    ¡°You have a great rest of your night¡ªor, I mean day¡ªsir!¡± And with that a ring of the cancellation of our wire-call.


    Swiftly, I rushed to my dormitory where I scribbled down the address on the letter he had sent; it would have been wise of me to bring with me materials to write with. My fingers felt as though they were not sewn upon my palms, and instead they were of their own volition, whispering away in their own dance as my mind occupied itself on a million things that I lacked the ability to distinguish. It was rather interesting how I could think of my desired interest spawned from the sparse-worded letter along with my projected travel to Sablecroft; even then I could also balance these two thoughts with my questions of Byrgenmans intentions, his reasons. Indeed, I thought, why me? My prattling, internal voice was nonsensical in its attempts at logical strategy and yet, still, I found myself with such a yearning to hear the elusive Ludwig Elemier Byrgenman explain his¡­ intended practice.


    Whatever it was, it had caught my interest in the utmost manner. He had captivated me and clearly, I did not believe that there was going to be anything that would halt me from pursuing such an endeavor. No hurtle that I would have to jump nor no wall that I would have to scale.


    The next morning I set out to begin my journey to Sablecroft. I would need to take a carriage into the heart of Harthwaite, catch an engine out and into the countryside, over wheat-field pasture and verdant hills, and most likely a ferry that would take me past neighboring islets across the Gale and to the arm-peninsula that Sablecroft found itself on. If they were to go through the forests of Limdol it would halve, or even quarter, the engine ride, yet supposedly, the engine company refused to do so¡ªtwisting trees and their roots were the least of the engineer''s troubles. This is why the ferry ride was necessary. And there was no use in even attempting to extend the carriage ride and go through Limdol either, as it is bad luck for any coachman to pass through; the tale goes that if any carriage-chauffeur did they would break their front-right wheel and then they would be at the pure mercy of the forest, whatever really did lie within it. Comparatively, a ferry ride was significantly cheaper than an engine, yet the fact that I had to take a carriage and then a train and then a ferry is quite bothersome. A common practice, however.


    If it were not for that letter I would not have left Limmere for the next few months, continuing my deep isolation and refusal to interact with others. I considered my trip to Sablecroft and subsequent human-to-human interactions that were involved with arriving there to all be a part of a greater social interaction, all to give myself a sort of social fill.


    I returned to the same biphone that I had dialed the day before, having to wait for another student to finish using it¡ªunbridled excitement was thinly veiled. The moment they finished their dial and stepped away from the machine I scrambled to put my finger upon the turnstyle, they then being slightly disturbed by my air and leaving rather briskly. A call to the West-Engine Company, a short talk and bargain with a hostess, and I ordered my ticket in the mail to come in the next three days; I had not taken into account the amount of time it would take for the ticket to actually be within my hands. Still my anticipation ate at me. Upon the day of its arrival¡ªthe 24th¡ªI packed my spare things, took with me my trunk with varying notes packed away and coat upon my arm, caught a carriage out of Limmere, and came into Harthwaite. There I found the engine to my ticket and came into a well-tempered coastal town known as Sattenbury, where I would catch the ferry. Unfortunately, the weather was not in the favor of the ferryman and had, instead, decided that it would go awry. Storms rolled in and sprayed the briny waters across streets of pebbles that sliced through the white-stucco homes that were lined across the seatide coast. I could get on the ferry in the morning, meaning I would arrive in Sablecroft on the 24th rather than the 25th, and I would have a small window of opportunity to get to Ludwig¡¯s manse. Instead of my well-thought out plan I would have to resort to a contingency.

 Chapter Five

    The Seamaiden¡¯s Inn, also called the Fair Seamaiden¡¯s Inn by those who read the sign, sat between a cobble-house and timber and stucco built bakery. Never before then had I ever taken paid shelter within an inn. The Seamaiden, however, was not at all what I expected; prior to hearing the word I would have made within my mind a picture of an old, worn open-room with a fire and a stern man behind a bar. The Seamaiden was much more of a picturesque, profit-focused establishment¡ªI was kindly greeted by a woman behind the counter who immediately attempted to sell me a room. The floor was hardwood and covered in a green rug that spanned from left to right, a lamp set upon an artisan table that burned with oil, the ceilings scalloped and adorned with elegant details that would not have been there if it were of a cabin-style. Indeed, they were building an atmosphere that I was to live and breathe if I took refuge there; and I did, of course.


    ¡°Glad you could get yourself inside before the rain started out there,¡± she half-heartedly muttered before I fully brought myself to the counter-front. ¡°And where have you come from?¡±


    I sat my coat on the floor, only to then hesitate as to whether or not it would be tough for me to do so, yet still left it there unbothered. ¡°Ascott¡ªor, Harthwaite, rather.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever been to Sattenbury, or have you been to the coast for that matter?¡± As she spoke she pulled out quite a large book, bound in freshly tanned leather.


    ¡°Never been to Sattenbury, but the coast, yes.¡± I eyeballed her actions, no contact with her gaze that she put upon me. Her actions were done like she had done it a thousand times before, like it had been written on her mind when she was a child. ¡°When I was young.¡±


    ¡°A surprising amount of people around here haven¡¯t been to the coasts.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± I said, watching her hands fiddle through the pages of the ridiculously sized tome.


    A short ¡°mhm¡± came from her as she licked her finger. ¡°Course it is.¡±


    ¡°And what, might I ask, are you doing with that¡ª?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t remember where the full pages end and the blank pages start. It¡¯s our catalog of all our guests and all our transactions.¡± She put her pointer finger on a page that was half full with scribbles of black ink¡ª¡°And here we go.¡± Out of a rolling drawer she found a ball-point pen, put her hand on the open page, then looked up at me in half-hearted anticipation. ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Name? Oh¡ªyes, my name. Put down I. Larkin.¡±


    The girl''s eyes drew to the tome. ¡°Isaac? Isaiah? Ivan?¡±


    ¡°Do you require my first name? Is that needed?¡±


    A scoff. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be asking for it if I didn¡¯t need it would I?¡± She was losing her patience, patience that I did not think she started with in the first place. I can assume that she had possibly hit her wits end when it came to dealing with customers, though she had a job that she was to do, a duty. And whether she was to give me cordiality was her choice.


    ¡°Irwin.¡±


    Brief scrawling of my name in a fashion that was unreadable, at least when it was upside down. ¡°One, two, or three?¡±


    ¡°One, two, or three what?¡±


    An expected sigh. ¡°Beds.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°One of me, one bed. No other members in my party.¡± My left hand found itself in my pants-pocket. ¡°Would it not be better if I put my signature instead? Would that not make the transaction legitimate.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± she said as she closed the book, instantly stamping out any hope of me scribing my name down, ¡°that isn¡¯t required. We just need a first and last name. And the proper amount of payment.¡±


    ¡°And how much is that?¡±


    Another scoff. ¡°I was getting to that, Irwin.¡±


    I muttered under my breath: ¡°Hospitality is not the Seamaiden¡¯s forte.¡±


    ¡°Moron-ory is yours,¡± she said shortly before answering my former question. ¡°Thirty copper stirling.¡±


    If I had no chivalist tendencies I would have responded once again, further prolonging the argument and upsetting the short-tempered girl; however, I attempted to foster amity, brushing off the comment and kicking it under the rug I stood on the hem of. ¡°I will have to fish that out of my belongings. Would you cut one silver? That would be seventy copper back.¡±


    ¡°I know how much it would be, and yes I can.¡± The gilded cash box to her side is what she consulted to retrieve her coins. ¡°Of course I can.¡±


    I suppose that my smile that I made my attempts to keep in order to uplift peace was smearing away. From then on I refused to make any forced conversation, rifling through my things to find a silver piece and passing it off to her for her to pass off to me seventy copper, ridiculous to me that a stay in such an establishment for but only one night cost as much upon my realization of the condition and scale of the room. Cramped, utterly cramped, for I had to contend with whether I was to stoop upon my entering and where to put my luggage as opposed to stand. The floors were decorated with an artisan¡¯s carpet, the lofted bed was draped with curtain-like beddings and sheets, and the window was open with wisping, ghostly pale hangings that foreshadowed the gusts of the coming storm. I shut it, took out what I required for the morning, stepped out into the foyer of the second floor peering at my watch. I had time to seek out food if I wished as the inn did not offer any, however I did not desire getting caught in the rain. Instead, I sat upon the foot of my bed and took out Ludwig''s letter as I rubbed at the black engraving and read it thrice-over again, all in anticipation of our meeting. This is what I had longed for, to confer with possibly like-minded individuals, those who I could call colleges, to educate myself and debate all in the name of the progression of knowledge for men.


    Perhaps in my childhood I should have taken up the violin, for I could play a song for my mother when she was ill, as I knew how to play the keys. But I had left those things behind me in the wake of the passing of my mother as I know that they would have sunk me down into the deepest pits of my despair and hindered me from pursuing what I wished for. Yet maybe the strings of the violin would have sliced through such feelings and, like my studies, brought me out of my upset. Though now I had promise, I had pursuits, I had desires for something that I believed to be greater than myself and that would shape the world around me for the better.


    Against my better judgment I did, indeed, leave the confining, constricting walls of the inn and went out to the open, damp, chilled air of the fishing streets of Sattenbury. Truly, it had been years since I was to the coast, since I tasted salt water in the ailing wind that bitterly ate at my pale skin. Beau explained to me long before that such brine would eat at the mechanisms of my arm, that it would lock up, that I would have to have it repaired if I stayed in that sort of environment for long enough. I could always have removed the prosthesis but the mobility that it provided was far greater a promise than the experience of salt-water; and too, even if I were to take it off I would not have been able to swim in the sea, for one needs both appendages.


    I walked between the looming figures of buildings far older than me, their foundations established on rocky shore creaking as the days went on and the moon and sun rose. As I walked closer to the shore I kicked up loose sands that were filmed across the streets, I passed by common-folk who were to go about their daily tasks and not bother to entertain any form of interaction with me, an outsider. And nonetheless no one knew who I was, I had but one publication. Evenso, there were but three captures of me: one from my early childhood near the creation of the device, one of me with my father within my seventh year, and a third to be kept as record for Limmere. And if I were to walk up to one of these fleeting men or women and ask of them if they knew my name, ¡°I. W. Larkin, soon to be potential choice of the state for the royal institute of thought¡± they would respond to ask of my first name, ¡°Irwin¡±, and they would say that there are many who have the name Irwin, so what is to become of me?


    Now I was to the docking-way, where water-bowing ships ebbed and flowed while others were tied upon wooden poles that stuck out of the waves, at which their point of intersection with the salty sea they were caked in barnacle and clam. For the coast was just as I had remembered it, beautifully unforgiving, a changing tide of force and yet balanced control that lapped up the sands and spit them out into the abyss, that smooth out rock and yet chipped at stone. It was a distinct culture and world that was so alien to me thought I fit into it like another wayfarer, for they all knew nothing of the endless expansion of the sea and what hidden within its murkiest of waters just as I, still they tried their best to tame it and use it to their heart''s content for commerce and trade and reap. It was much like the hills of inner Farenzo, where wheat fields sprawled in the organized pattern of the farmers who tilled the earthen ground. And hewn out of bricks of clay were the houses of cities such as Iyelsgarth, all cultured out of the earth that we human beings had been given, us to be stewards of these natural materials. Still a world that we knew the slightest bit about, a curtain hiding all mysteries of grim reality.


    ¡°Pardon me¡ª!¡± he said, passing by in a tussle, to then have his stacked parcels slip out of the comfort of his arms and spill out onto the ground before the dock. The young man, about my age I assumed, was carrying stock to a merchant ship eagerly anticipating its departure; he was a docker. ¡°Forgive me, I didn¡¯t¡ª!¡±


    I made my attempts to comfort him as I aided him in his collection. ¡°No need for such formality, it was just a mistake. I was standing in your way, I could have stepped aside. I¡¯m a fool.¡±


    ¡°No sir, you¡¯re not a fool, I am.¡± He fumbled with a package as he tried to fit all of them in between his arms.


    ¡°Not a sir, I¡¯m barely your senior. I assume, of course.¡± With my metallurgic arm I took out of his uneasy hand the package and placed it with the rest of them betwixt his arms. ¡°Yes, I assume.¡±


    ¡°Twenty-one.¡±


    ¡°You what?¡± I said, briefly looking over my shoulder at a hollering crone.


    ¡°I¡¯m twenty-one,¡± he said as he looked out to the lolling sea. ¡°You assumed.¡±


    I nodded stoutly. ¡°Twenty-two.¡± I saw within him, perhaps, similar tendencies as to myself; a lack of eye contact, uneasiness. I wished that I was as self aware then than I am now. ¡°I¡¯m twenty-two, so I am your senior.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Well, off to the ship¡¯s belly.¡± He was reluctant to leave, I believe.


    I did not dare to respond.


    ¡°Good-day, sir.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± I said under my shallow breath. ¡°Sir.¡± I watched him as he stumbled with his haul down the dock I was debating taking a stroll on. Instead, I waited there for greater signs of the oncoming storm¡ªI wondered as I observed why the ships would be setting out at such a time, before potential calamity at sea with the soon-to-be howling winds and torrents. Six minutes of ponderance and the boy returned, first passing me by and then turning on his right heel and looking upon me a second time.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t thank you.¡±


    I disagreed with his cordiality. ¡°No need to. Was just a civic duty.¡± My arms crossed at my chest. ¡°You dock?¡±


    ¡°What else is someone our age supposed to do here?¡± He whispered something that I could not make out over a tolling bell from one of the slumber-ships. ¡°Only way I can make money.¡±


    ¡°Your name?¡± I asked. Maybe it was not my place but I had a desire to ask him these things. Maybe it was investigation or an intuition that I knew nothing of.


    He raised a browned eyebrow at me. ¡°Foster.¡±


    ¡°Foster? Never heard that name before.¡± I had.


    He mirrored my apparently stand-offish stance. ¡°Surprising.¡±


    ¡°Irwin.¡±


    ¡°I could have guessed that.¡± Now he picked at salt or dirt that lay underneath his pointer fingernail.


    ¡°And what is that supposed to mean then?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    I agreed, ignorantly. ¡°Nothing¡ªnothing at all then.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a dreg like you doing at the docks anyways?¡±


    ¡°A dreg? That is quite the derogatory word, is it not?¡± It was not like I was unfamiliar with the air that the townsfolk of Sattenbury had about them, as I was met with it prior in the inn.


    He retconned what he said before. ¡°You¡¯re quite the opposite of it, actually. Other end of the rope.¡±


    ¡°And then what is that supposed to mean?¡± I could not tell if he was being playful or purposefully trying to drive me off.


    His demeanor shifted. ¡°Have you not seen yourself in a mirror? Look at what¡¯re wearing.¡±


    There and then I looked upon myself and upon him; I wore ornate or elegant clothing, that is at least comparatively to him. While I wore a white undershirt and refined leggings and a top-shirt of finest fabric he wore what he could find, a sun-bleached cap and ragged shirt that tattered at its hem with a belt far too large and pants of the same nature.


    ¡°You live in the country-side, don¡¯t you then?¡±


    Now I entertained the discourse¡ªhe had no malice, he was being playful. ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°¡®Indeed¡¯. Let me guess, Chapelgate?¡±


    My guard was down and I had been struck. ¡°Chapelgate? Ridiculous.¡± Chapelgate was one of the highest regarded cities, it was a realm of luxury and a sort of refinement that even I was foreign to. ¡°I have never been to Chapelgate.¡±


    ¡°Unlikely.¡± Though I was not lying. He thought against that notion. ¡°No, you¡¯re from Chapelgate. You¡¯re here on some kind of business, something to do with us dockers. You¡¯re one of those one¡¯s that¡¯s trying to squeeze money out of our operation here. That¡¯s what I think.¡±


    ¡°I know nothing of commerce.¡±


    He was surprsied. He broke his mocking stance and scratched his nest of brown hair. ¡°Well then. I know about all of that stuff because of all the other dockers, I¡¯m not tied into those sorts of things.¡±


    A genuine, creeping smirk came across my face. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Yes it is.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a schedule?¡±


    He shook his head in a negative response.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°And I just finished loading that ship, I was about to be off anyways.¡± The boy¡ªas silly it is of me to call him a boy when he is but one year my junior¡ªwiped off either dust or soil from his trousers. ¡°What about a wife, got one of those?¡±


    ¡°Never thought much of the concept.¡±


    He grinned at me, one of his far right teeth I saw was missing, perhaps he lost it in his line of work. ¡°I see. What about the arm?¡±


    I drew silent.


    ¡°Something happen?¡±


    I mouthed an acknowledgement. ¡°I came to Sattenbury on my own accord.¡± In my attempt to avoid the question I looked back out to the water, each time I did so I expected to be met with something different.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked but alright. Why¡¯s that? Folks don¡¯t tend to pass-through Sattenbury.¡±


    ¡°If that was so then why is there an inn?¡±


    His demeanor shifted for a third time, embarrassed. ¡°Well, you see¡ªthe Seamaiden is different.¡± Foster¡¯s eyes became wide as he looked down at my feet.


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be better if we left here, the wind is picking up, can¡¯t you feel it?¡±


    It was noticeable, yes, but for the past while the wind had been unpredictable, and though the skies told the story of a coming tempest it had yet to reveal itself in full.


    I was brought by Foster¡¯s guidance into a small keep, or a bar, rather. The floors were dark and oaken and the ceilings short; the frame was kept up by the shaved trunks of trees I could only think were of pine and therefore from Harthwaite or the like, either that or the new world across the raging waters that I was so unfamiliar with. Or perhaps Bengrad. There were a host of characters within the bar, all the like that I would have thought to be kin of a place such as Sattenbury, maybe even more so to that of Sablecroft. The Gale, that being the region of the coast which holds Sattenbury, Sablecroft, and the like, appeared to be home to a variety of strangers, odd-folk of varying origin that all found it best to reserve themselves by the shore where they may find it easier to make a living for themselves¡ªperhaps, along the Gale, life would be fairly simple.


    ¡°Do you drink?¡± Foster asked me, giving a bent coin to the hardy man behind the counter.


    ¡°No, I do not. It is all far too bitter to me, I would rather keep my wits about me anyways.¡±


    He shook his head, looking to the barkeep. ¡°Irwin here seems to have it all backwards.¡±


    ¡°Is there a registry here, in Sattenbury?¡± I asked Foster.


    Either rightfully or unrightfully so, he was confused. ¡°A registry?¡±


    ¡°Biphone.¡±


    The barkeep interjected even before Foster had a moment to think to himself for a retort. ¡°Up the way, by the engine station. Two there, I call me wife.¡±


    I nodded, forgetting to continue conversation with Foster in my mind; but no matter, as he was the one to pick it up quite enthusiastically.


    I had broken my oath, my sobriety of twenty-two years save for the few times I was under the light of the operation table, put into a medically-induced stupor¡ªand my breaking of such an oath was either the greatest of all pleasures or the worst of all blunders. Led astray yet there was the unspoken promise of rapture, that which brought me into the half-made safety of his domicile and too for him what brought him into my arms. He was but an incubus to my fortitude, yet neither of us was at fault for the beckoning primality strung between us dually. His fingers as they fidgeted with my shirt buttons and stripped away from my flesh my upper-clothing, that caught upon the hemmed waist of my trousers and slipped them to the carpet; even then too his teeth that pulled at my loin-cloth. In this action he performed I rubbed at his soft hair and twisted it about my hand of flesh. And then in the same fashion I forbid him the security of his old and worn attire, learning from his affluent appetite. Perhaps it was when he whispered into my ear that he would devour every bit of me that he placed his hands upon and ever more fell me like a great pine. I grabbed at his fair waist to hold him closest to me, and with his passionate heat he sheared clean my heart as my thumbs clutched at his bony pelvis.


    A male-siren¡¯s call then. Though this was not the first time I had gone about this sort of practice, partake in such an act; before, but two or three years before, a woman of the east when I traveled with a compatriot. Her skin like the purest, silkiest china and her belle even so the same. It could have been that within him I saw her that I desired, I saw her dance within his burning passion¡ªor, instead, it was within her that I saw my fantasy not yet realized: he. For he was hardened yet effeminate to please my titillating daydream. Me stretched out upon my back with legs out sprawled and arms above me in cruciform, my chest and abdomen exposed in a fashion of vulnerability, and he my proctor of pleasure, there then impaling himself. Each self-performed thrust of his to rise within me erotica of vastest euphoria as his posterior collapsed upon my lap-groin. And I placed upon his back both my hands, one of flesh and one of gold, to hold him in my cradled grasp¡ªtoo I traced about his spine and scapula, pushed upon his tailbone in its synchronous motion and affectionately rubbed upon the small of his back.


    In my ardor I gripped at his sides to feel his rigid frame and with a heave I pulled him to my presence, to feel close his body adjacent to mine as he quivered at the delicate press of my hand on his left thigh, to skulk across his fair skin and sheepishly grasp at his groin. With tenderness I still held him upon me, my metal arm upon womanly right of rump. For now I was in metronome, the same pace as he who thrusted himself upon me, a being of fluid movement, with imparted effervescence and entropy I released myself upon the sheets, severed from him. It is in this fashion that I was struck with thought, for he was not facing me as to avoid the potentiality of the birth of intimacy, even to the least of degrees. No, instead, I speculated that he desired to not form any sort of attachment for fear of dedication. Attachment.


    Rather, that is what I thought until it was morning, the intensity of the sun splintering through the curtains as I felt clutching to me his form. So I brought my hand from my side and placed it on his head, to pull back his hair and plant my lips upon his fore in an intimate gesture. If it was attachment that he so desperately wished to escape from then he would not be embracing me within his arms, his head nestled against my side for gentle comfort. In the aching future I would receive many numbered and yet still scattered letters written by his wit.


    When I made attempts to peek at the face of my watch which I had discarded on the side table on his half of the bed he jostled, stirring in his sleep and softly latching onto me¡ªas my mind plotted onward I thought to myself that Ludwig could wait. If he desperately wished to reach me then he would prove himself.


    I have omitted an instance, whereupon I firstly entered the Seamaiden; the colleen there sat behind the desk, when hearing my name, handed to me a letter in a sealed envelope. To my utmost surprise and subsequent uneasy stomach, I had been¡ªin relation to my planned assembly¡ªprematurely sent a letter of anticipation from my host. In a way such that I never wished to have again I felt uneasy, as he awaited my presence, a presence that I was eager to share before with the likes of him. Yet now such has been stripped away from me, as my desires had fallen upon a stranger I had met only the day before upon the dock, that not but his body and name and spare few things he shared upon our acquaintance I knew. A considerable, striking, rather genteel yet dashing figure¡ªspecimen might I say instead. And if I went about my steps and measures in a refined manner I perhaps would have such an admirer at my disposal. Though yet and readily returned my familiar longing for Sablecroft. Foster could not attend the latter part of my pilgrimage to the wharf-town; I knew nothing of his family, truly void of the constraints of his occupation. At the present, all that was known to me was the location of his abode, his satin voice, his dear optics¡ªand here I cut myself short.


    No. I would have to give him my dial, if he mayhaps could find the likes of a biphone to dial me in the first place, my address to write to when he scribes his letters, and my name in full¡ªIrwin Winston Larkin. All of these things, of course, I did when he was conscious, escaped from his slumber, for I did not even dare leave dame there. Not a dame; a dandy. Never before had I ever taken such a fantasy to another of the same sex, for I must have been, indeed, enchanted. Bewitched, rather, and brought out of my familiar realm of proper ethic and how to court a lady, now in a school of thought that remote and external to self. To shine your shoes and fix your tie, that is if you wore one, and to keep buttons fixed and clasped and a belt about your waist, for a gentlewoman despised a crease on the trousers¡ªand a man unescorted by a belt was dead before he could even ponder to leave the water. Now I pleased those who wore the same outfits as I, or perhaps it was just for that night, the 24th.

 Chapter Six

    I departed from Sattenbury two hours behind schedule, significantly earlier than I had anticipated considering my prior escapade. During my accompanied slumber the storm had passed over, shifting groaning vessels that remained at the harbor and jostling chain-hanging shop signs, all the while I slept under cotton sheets in booning embrace; that is to say that in the morrow as the sun severed an orange sky the ferryman had taken to his position and awaited the arrival of passengers. No need for a ticket, this was not an engine ride. Those well traveled know that even the farthest reaching ferry ride within the borders of Farenzo is less than my inn-stay: ten copper. And the shortest, a mere penny, from Elcott to Old Midwich, a literal throw of a stone for the trained arm across the two towns¡¯ dividing waterway.


    Needing to cross through town my path split it in half as I wandered down the winding roads, a catacombic labyrinth of misdirection¡ªover exaggeration, yes. In all reality it was not difficult to get from the farthest west side of Sattenbury to the east, far easier than it would have been in a place such as Iyesgarth, even though I was a foreigner. The ferry went adjacent to the coast of the Gale, south past peninsulas, inlets, and coves; ferry rides were both calmer and rather chaotic compared to engine rides, especially if there was a brass conjunto that performed on it, like this one. The sweeping sound of ragtime overcame the bobbing ferry as we passed through salted waters, parting from the teeth of jagged stone that pushed out of Sattenbury¡¯s harbor and sailed near soft waterfronts. There are more coastal cities in Farenzo than one would expect, on western shore-haven south of its border with Bengrad, the largest of all to my knowledge being Rosborough, a capital port akin to Iyesgarth. However, Rosborough must have been to the north as we did not pass it; instead, the ferry sailed onward south for three hours and at an hour past noon, still a couple hours behind proper schedule, I came unto a partially forgotten withered dock of Sablecroft. The city itself was deeper cut into the peninsula, meaning I had about a thirty minute walk from the western-most tip of the arm of land where the ferry took rest to bona fide civilization. Save for a huddled group of travelers of unknown origin, I and the ferryman were the only ones when the ship landed. I had caught a short-lived conversation with him¡ªhe explained to me that Sablecroft was the farthest the ferry would go, and that if one wished to go farther than that then they would have to either sail there themselves or catch a merchant or traveler¡¯s ship in the north, in Rosborough.


    The fading remnants of the torrent that I myself did not experience could still be perceived amidst the dreary air, and it seemed to me that the lesser, outreaching forests a part of Limdol that encapsulate the path upon which my feet did step had been greatly jostled by windswept squall of seaward origin. Humidity did permeate the air, yet too in oxymoronic fashion did the bitter cold, for the brackish waves slammed in calmest beauty against sanded pains of littoral strata. The nearby billows of the sea, I beg to say, had governance of the air.


    Along my walking there were no other passers-by, solely I, the creaking trees and branches of sparsely placed Limdol, and the affluent air of nautical nonsense in the form of droning noise of splashing water; now I understand why lips become tight when they spoke of Limdol, how eyes sharpened and voices went into low murmurs, as the mention of such a territory was ill-advised. And breaking forth out of copse and thicket suddenly I was presented with ailing Sablecroft-by-the-Gale. The city itself was structured in a way that, at a slow grade, it sank down into the sea¡ªperhaps with the push of a giant it would spill over and be swept away. Here lay my penultimate convalescence, to seek out the scribe of the mysterious letter; I still yet had to find his manse. Unlike any other city that I had been to of Farenzo, it was slumbering. Of course, that is not to say that I have come to towns that are quiet, docile in their actions, as men and women of the like went about their days with the least regard for another as if they were in their own reality. Sablecroft was dampened, as though a thin veil had been placed over it to mute all sound, to hold down any sort of elation, a stance of that of a dream, a land separated from all other likes of commerce that transpired out its campus. All other customs to be dulled by unshining distinction. To say that Sablecroft-by-the-Gale, that old, rugged, worn-and-torn town was quite the facetious understatement¡ªit was, indeed, lamenting in its poorly prolonged expiration. Here I resurrect it with my words, with my musings, to entertain such a fate of ill.


    Ludwig¡¯s manor lay atop the left most side of the shanty, requiring me to walk amongst streets in starkest contrast to the lively thoroughfares that patterned prior Sattenbury. And¡ªoh¡ªhow I wished to be within the confines of such a port-city again, or that I wished to be within the presence of him. Rather so, it was. The fated odds for me to meet such an acquaintance, such a fellow, and now all just to be ripped out of attendance and, instead, be in the sorrowful husk of Sablecroft. What was required of me from Ludwig stood. For a shortening moment I was yet to see his institution¡ªyes, an institution is what it was more of, fit with a water-front lunarium and the like, a structure that called upon me my knowledge of Limmere¡¯s dedicant architecture¡ªonly for it to then peak across the shadowed afternoon sky, crestfallen upon the horizon. Static was the moon, continuous in its reign in the sky even after the passing morning, like a dangling rune carved into the storm-kin firmament acting as both a guiding like and contrastingly a face of displeasure. No citizen save for Ludwig did I see, not even a fishmonger or a beldam, the latter of which a superstitious part of me thought I would come across after hearing tales of witchcraft in the forests of Limdol.


    I stood at his wrought iron gate, fiddling with lint hidden in my pocket, cautiously playing with a button of my coat, upon my brow I felt the kiss of mist and rain. One would expect the gates of such a complex would be open for a day of such anticipation. From within the centered heart, the doors that split the manse into two greater wings, creaking as they moved, came a figure of shrouded demeanor and stature. He was tall, yes, about half a head on me, and about himself he wrapped himself a tailored coat of burgundy, dark leather, which acted in his wake as a flaring cape of sorts. At the seam of his chest the piece was adorned with silver buttons but the size of my thumb, complexity their forte. Fitted trousers and the finest crafted boots that splashed about in the nascent puddles of muddied water, with gloves of similar fashion. Within his left there was not, but in his right he held before him like a burning torch a lantern of burning oil. To hide away his ash-blond hair he wore upon his head a cavalier hat of wide-brim, all the more to cast his face in moonlit shadow for the lunar sky had overcome the daystar of noon.


    The scratch and screech of old-world hinges and the fluttering of ravens that I had not even noticed taking roost upon the stone wall that encompassed the gardens of his manse, he pushed open the gates but only to let me pass through. When I had the chance of close examination I saw that with a clothen half-face mask he obscured his mouth and nose, to show to me only his grayed eyes. He spoke not, only gesturing for me to follow behind him, his lamp still hung above his head¡ªI spoke not as well, taking my queue for silence from him. I was given too further inspection of the estate, mazelike in nature with kept gardens and bulwarks and statues of mythological depiction. Through entryway and into foyer, the grandest I have seen; far more beautiful than that of Ms. Werthman, I would add, decorative and embellished, the floors laden with wax that reflected with such elegance the burning candelabra, the cathedral-like ceiling, and too the sheer marvels of masonry that even were the pillars. Yet, upon my entrance, something buried deep within my psyche, or perhaps within my gut, asked for egress.


    ¡°Early, aren¡¯t we Mr. Larkin?¡± He was not even a decade my senior, far from it. After placing on a bench that must have been a fortune in itself his lamp he took down with his left hand his mask, revealing a simper that I thought better for him to wipe off his face¡ªbut even with the slightest distaste for the current interaction that I held within myself the very wonder that I had for the edifice. Has this not yet become a staple of the Gale, a phenomenon that should eagerly be sought out by all archetypal travelers?


    ¡°I¡ªearly? Did you say early?¡± I made a point of exaggerating the last word. Bewildered and most definitely astonished, I, like many times before, put my guard up.


    He nodded. He did not even dare to answer me with words.


    ¡°What do you mean by early? I came upon the day that was requested of me.¡±


    A cough from him as he removed from his hands rain-damp gloves. ¡°Caught in Sattenbury for just a moment.¡±


    I took a step back, as I could tell that though he was not overtly hostile he spoke with daggers. ¡°Your letter; you knew that I would be stopping in Sattenbury.¡±


    He nodded once again, walking out of the foyer with his hands behind his back, through a vaulted passage-way to the right. No speak of it, but he anticipated for me to follow. ¡°All do. From inner continent to Sattenbury, by the way of engine, then from there and to the ferry, along the Gale, to sleepy Sablecroft.¡± I had followed after him, not even for a moment leaving myself in the entry. We were in a parlor of sorts, with carmine wallpaper in a dark pattern of flora, in its center a mahogany table to sit twelve¡ªa miscount, fourteen, six on left side and six on right side, one at end and one at front. The runner on the table took on the same color as the walls; the walls too were cluttered with paintings and framed captures, and before the baseboards sat furniture of the same order of the table. At the farthest end of the room there was a magnificent window that looked out into the gardens, the view somewhat obscured with tapping rain. A set of dishes, with at its center an artisan''s teapot, sat upon the runner on the closest side of the table; Ludwig, for it seemed to be that it was within his essence, took into his hand the teapot and in his other a cup, pouring out libation. ¡°Tea, Mr. Larkin? You strike me more as a coffee man, am I correct?¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    My golden fist tightened, for now I clutched at my coat. ¡°Pardon my distemper but what the hell is this? And what am I to call you by?¡±


    ¡°I thought introductions wouldn¡¯t be needed. I call you Mr. Larkin, you call me Ludwig. It¡¯s the simplest of exchanges.¡± The tea that he had poured out for me originally he now sipped as he leaned against the front chair. ¡°Do you enjoy simplicity or complexity, Mr. Larkin?¡±


    ¡°I would enjoy knowing why I have been called here, why I took time out of my rather busy schedule to¡­ to make an appearance.¡± My words seemed to be slipping away from me.


    Thrice now, he nodded. ¡°I suppose that would be good, yes. Out of the parlor, then.¡± Just as he had done before he left the room, although this time he went into the room on the opposite side of the foyer, its entry mirrored. That room was but a holding cell, a temporary place as we passed through at blinding speed, he swiftly moved with such grace and all the while I stumbled behind him in a disheveled manner.


    ¡°I do not wish to follow behind you like a dog all this time, I would rather we sit down¡ª.¡± And into the most beautiful of deckadance libraries I had ever seen within all my days, spiraling upward with book upon book and shelf upon shelf, even the likes of which Limmere could not contend with¡ªLimmere had far more content within its walls but Ludwig¡¯s library was far more pleasing to the eye. The style in which the wooden shelves had been carved was the same as all the other fine pieces of craftsmanship confined within the manse, and in a similar way to how the parlor kept resting at its far end a windowed beauty the library sheltered a resplendent, monumental hearth and fire, fit with two armchairs at its port and starboard and at its bow-side a settee of fabric from the far east. Sat within one of the throne-like chairs was a man, of our same age as well¡ªperhaps even younger¡ªwho Ludwig spoke of before we were introduced.


    ¡°I¡¯ve called him here as well, he¡¯s been here since last morning,¡± as he passed his hand upon the back of the sette. ¡°Eckhart¡ªMr. Dwyer.¡±


    With a turn he took off from his prow spectacles and gazed upon I. ¡°So he arrives, does he?¡± The air about him was a much softer glow than that of Ludwig, less impending and dastardly; I speculated that he was from the south, with curled hair and semi-tawny skin. Hand outstretched he forced an introduction: ¡°Eckhart L. Dwyer, you are I. W. Larkin is it?¡±


    I accepted. ¡°Yes.¡±


    A temperate mind, if I were to say, would show the marks of self restraint and insight. Self restraint in the fashion of withholding oneself from a certain action that, perhaps, may bog down thought; and, as well, insight of leisurely pleasures. The highest regard of these pleasures, the paramount and crown, would be discovery of knowledge and the capacity to learn, as learning leads to progression, and progression leads to thriving, logically. An ape lacks both of these things: temperance and insight. The pleasures that are but only for the body, whether they be in the form of consumption or distasteful practice, hold back higher thought. An ape has the ability to fancy and to desire that which is not his, though he does not dream, he does not conjure thought to be weaved into aspiration. He holds no civil liberties, instead ones of natural origin, for he is confined by the tides of creation. I am not an ape--and neither are you. You can read, you are not an ape. You hold within your tempered mind the capacity to speculate upon your thoughts, and you are not an ape. And look at me to be one to speak of chastity, I can not hold back my own loins--a heretical infantile hypocrite. And even so look at me talk of philosophy and biology, as though I were Eckhart. But yes: I dream, you dream, we dream.


    Prior to, I have kept the origin of Ludwig quite discrete¡ªI too knew not. A mystery indeed, rather obscured. He had been encumbered by patriarchal wealth like that of nobility. Yes¡ªhe was spoiled, his parents premature in their deaths and their great wealth put upon him like a royal cape.


    ¡°Then, Mr. Larkin,¡± he said, displacing himself from his laxed position in-lean-to the, to then stand before Eckhart and I. The odd fellow looked at me, then he, then turned upon his foot and left the likes of us to be alone.


    ¡°Do I call you Eckhart, then?¡± I asked of the black-haired boy.


    ¡°Whatever suits your tongue. And do I call you Irwin, or do I call you Mr. Larkin, like he?¡± In a dissimilar such as the character of Ludwig, Eckhart was calmer, collected¡ªseparate, and yet within him I found the most interesting of spirits. That is not to say at all that Ludwig was un-engrossing, as it was quite the contrary, however Ludwig went about his composure in a way that was difficult to digest; still, he was brilliant, in the sense of mind, that is. I suppose that if one were left to their own devices within the walls of such a complex, one that harbored such a library and such boundless knowledge, they would become obtuse.


    ¡°Irwin.¡± I stuck out my hand in order to create a second introduction, void of the somewhat over-bearing presence of our host. ¡°You may call me Irwin. I have yet to give Ludwig the same pleasantries.¡±


    I noticed subtle agreement from him, even if he did not outwardly show it. ¡°He is after the fashion of the outlander, is he not? I still anticipate what he has called the two of us here for.¡±


    ¡°He has not told you?¡± Truly, I was dumbfounded¡ªI would have thought that if Eckhart had come the day prior Ludwig might have already sat him down to a cup of tea, like that of he offered me, and present whatever endeavor he had to offer. ¡°I find that¡ª.¡±


    ¡°Bizarre? Idiosyncratic, even? Just in the same that he is, then?¡±


    ¡°You stole the phrase out of my mouth.¡± I entertained his banter. ¡°When he came to retrieve me from the gate I believed the fool to be a specter.¡±


    ¡°A spectral being, I would say. Maybe¡ªby just pure chance¡ªhe is a ghost tied down to this very manor, calling upon us to aid him in righting his unfinished business.¡± Eckhart fit his spectacles into his right pocket. Now I realize that I have neglected to mention his attire: formal, as it mirrored the same motifs that were sewn within mine. A trundle-coat, cotton shirt, and, assumingly, brown trousers that were tailored just for him.


    ¡°Do you believe in the supernatural?¡± I asked him.


    A short laugh, as my inquiry was the least of his concerns and quite ridiculous. ¡°No, do not paint me as the wrong kind of figure now, Mr. Larkin¡ªIrwin, I mean of course. No. I do not believe in the supernatural. I assume you have heard tell of the elusive witches out in the forest? Whatever you may make of that is whatever you may make of that, but frankly such things are the least of my concerns. Out of the library, shall we?¡± The last phrase he said as he made somewhat haste in leaving the library; before he left, though, he picked up the book that he had been reading while sat ahead the fire. An inconspicuous little green booklet with frayed edges and water-stained pages, the golden title I could not read. ¡°I find it idiotic to think about such things. No need to bother the mind with laughable and absolutely absurd fantasy.¡±


    Though I lingered at first I quickly followed after him¡ªhere, I desired to continue my casual conversation, in contrast to when I was full of concern, mind-fog, and bewilderment when I trailed behind Ludwig beforehand. ¡°I tend to be one of the same.¡±


    ¡°I can tell, Irwin. Interesting name, has anyone ever told you that?¡±


    No, I had never been told that. ¡°I have been told it is rather common.¡±


    We brought ourselves into the foyer once again, with traces of Ludwig invisible and him nowhere to be seen at all. ¡°And I guess that our lack of interest in such things is what makes a distinction between us and all the other working men, would you not say?¡±


    ¡°I would like to say that I would say that.¡± I stumbled on my words, I struggled to phrase my response¡ªthat made no sense at all. ¡°That made no sense at all; what I mean to say is¡ª.¡±


    ¡°What you mean to say is that you agree?¡± There we stood before the doors that kept away the hailing rain.


    I cleared my throat. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Well then, Irwin,¡± he said to me as he slipped the booklet into the opposite pocket. ¡°Let us confront Ludwig.¡±


    ¡°Let us confront him?¡±


    ¡°If we wish to acquire knowledge, as I believe you do, then why do we not seize this moment with our bare hands and confront he who keeps it from us.¡± He muddled his words with a poetic veil that I thought to be natural to myself, not to anyone else.


    ¡°Perhaps that¡­ No, that is a great idea. I have come so far, I wish to see my quest to completion.¡±


    ¡°As do I.¡± And with Eckhart as my guide, we wandered down the traipsing hall, to the right the parlor that Ludwig had taken me into prior, there-where he had offered me tea somewhen before and tipped his mind to the thought of my enjoyment of coffee instead.

 Chapter Seven

    ¡°And where might he be?¡±


    The hall seemed to stretch onward and outward, with branching bifurcations, each a room to itself and each, inferring, just as decorated as the rest; each designed for a need, for a necessity even. Either that, or the manse was full of surfeitian sitting rooms.


    Eckhart answered. ¡°Somewhere.¡±


    ¡°I could have assumed that.¡±


    ¡°What I mean by somewhere is anywhere. Most likely, though, the lunarium.¡± A turn in our path to the left, into a narrower corridor that reminded me of the tea-parlor, floral patterns.


    ¡°An observatory? He has an observatory?¡± I was astonished, truly, as not even Limmere had an observatory, one such too to simply gaze upon the moon. ¡°Limmere is void of a lunarium.¡±


    ¡°The wealth of Mr. Byrgenman seems to know no bounds.¡±


    There, within those bygone halls and wish-to-be estaminets, along the lunar esplanade which was beforehand obscured behind the shaded manse and now stretched across the open water, I was at the divine mercy of the moon¡ªthere would be scribed upon my heart an insatiable desire for a brooking proposal, one which would take me into its crooked fingers all in the hopes of human furtherance. My hubris incarnate.


    In his later twilight years, my grandsire had come under a queer ailment, one that escaped all wits of apothecaries; that was, until, he was given a metal box of bronze and tin¡ªor, perhaps, was it aluminum?¡ªwith clockwork inworkings coupled with wire and duct. It was a wonder and miracle of progressing technology, of the harnessing of lighting. It was, therefore, an apparatus to drive in tandem with his heart, to keep within its pulsating rhythm. Ludwig was the same.


    It was requested of me by him to place my hand upon his chest, to feel the mechanism upon his flesh. I denied. ¡°We are similar in this way, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    I gave no response, instead turning to look at Eckhart beside me; in duo, we stood there before Ludwig, he with foaming sea and the celestial egress that was the moon, thwarting stars of dull glory, behind him.


    ¡°You and your prosthesis, I and my soul¡ªmy heart, that is.¡± From his head he took off his coal black cavalier hat.


    ¡°Did you know of this?¡± I asked Eckhart. He played the same part as I, returning to me in silence. I was uncomfortable, in a position atypical and incredibly abnormal, displaced from my high yet commoner life; what had I subscribed myself to? ¡°Ludwig, we request answers, we request reason. You are eccentric; we understand this. That does not¡ª.¡±


    I was cut short by the southerner. ¡°It does not excuse you from withholding response.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been quite vapid, haven¡¯t I?¡± Ludwig¡¯s retort was not to our liking; he still confined the inner workings of his mind like a stronghold.


    ¡°We¡ªI speak for Irwin as well, I believe. We fail to understand your reasoning. You have called us here to a place completely foreign to us; I came from Ilithar, my journey was of multiple days, almost four.¡±


    Finally, acknowledgement. ¡°In your letters I have told of a project of mine.¡±


    Rejoinder from Eckhart. ¡°A venture, you referred to it explicitly as a venture.¡±


    ¡°A venture, then. I have come upon a great amount of wealth, as you may have observed; it¡¯s hard to miss, I¡¯d say. Prosperity. Though I have been given the ability to spend it on whatever I desire, may it please any of my fantasies, I instead wish to return it to mankind.¡±


    ¡°Quite the martyr,¡± Eckhart said. ¡°A philanthropist are we, Ludwig?¡±


    ¡°To return it to mankind in the form of elevation of the mind.¡±


    I interrupted, thinking myself to be expedient. ¡°Scientifically, I assume?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Mr. Larkin. You know of such an ideology, that¡¯s why I picked you.¡±


    ¡°And why did you choose me then?¡± I sensed that Eckhart was unnerved¡ªeither that, or understandably peeved. ¡°Irwin for his prospective advancements and I for what?¡±


    ¡°Biology. Not only are you well versed in the sciences of botany, but even zoology.¡±


    Now my dual-man''s eyes told a story of skepticism and logical chariness. ¡°You have read my works as well, then?¡±


    ¡°Not all, but some. I will do my research.¡± He held to his side his hat as he looked down at his feet. ¡°The two of you hold minds and sensible insight that is sparse throughout this world.¡±


    I disagreed. ¡°Debatable.¡±


    I doubted now that Ludwig even heard what I had said. ¡°Eckhart, are you an ape?¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°Are you an ape, Mr. Dwyer?¡±


    He scoffed at Ludwig, as if there was some terrible implication. ¡°I would like to think of myself not.¡±


    ¡°But is that not where you have come from?¡±


    Though the question was not even remotely directed towards me even I too was disconcerted.


    ¡°At one time my ancestors were, yes. But I walk upright; I think, apes do not think. Rather, they struggle to think, to actuate their thoughts¡ªI am not an ape.¡± I found it increasingly difficult, now, to dissect Eckhart¡¯s front. Was this a performance, or was he defending what he stood upon?


    ¡°Is it that you¡¯ve entropied from the likeness of an ape or you have apotheosized out of such a form and become what you are now?¡± Was he attacking him? I knew not, I was an observer that did not yet concern myself with such philosophical incantations¡ªyet, of course.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Does this concern the venture? If not then I will take my leave, I will have you know that firmly Mr. Byrgenman.¡±


    ¡°It does. Do you carry with you the same aptitude, those same feelings that you say you have stripped away from yourself through your advancement¡ªyour evolution, Eckhart¡ªas you progressed up such a ladder?¡±


    No rebuttal.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought. You hold to yourself still primal urges, we all do. I am sure that even dear Irwin does as well. Avarice, self cognizance, fury, ignorance, pride, obstinance, disquiet; our curses, that¡¯s what I call them.¡± He refused now to look at either of us. ¡°And to free ourselves of such things would be the greatest of all pursuits.¡±


    Now I interjected. ¡°¡®To free ourselves¡¯? Ludwig, I am an alchemist¡ªI know nothing of any sort of practice that you speak of. I work with metals, powders, and elixirs. I make, I study, I do not¡ª.¡±


    ¡°You dream.¡±


    ¡°All apes dream,¡± Eckhart responded instead of I. ¡°All animals dream.¡±


    It seemed to be that he had fallen into Ludwig¡¯s logical trap: ¡°Then you are an ape.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡ªyou suppose so then.¡±


    Again, I interjected. ¡°This does not, at all, answer our question. I am growing tired of these games and if you do not give an explanation my trip here, to Sablecroft, will be in vain; I will ask that you pay for my lodging in Sattenbury and my engine ride.¡±


    ¡°And not the ferry?¡¯


    The price of the ferry was of no concern to me, I gave no answer.


    ¡°My venture for you two intellectuals¡±¡ªhe was pampering us¡ª¡±is simply this: to aid in my pursuit of freeing the human mind from all of these curses that it bears and, in the name of advancement and for the sake of man as a whole, elevate us to higher understanding and state of being.¡±


    If it was simply I and Ludwig then I would have rejected his offer, for I would have reasoned that it was an attempt to confine me and he was, for his greater interest, forcing my hand. But Eckhart stood there, beside me, and although Ludwig had challenged his thinking and had prompted him to question moral logic that he had been stalwart on since his assumed conception, within his mind the scale had been tipped in Ludwig¡¯s favor. ¡°You are rather peculiar.¡±


    The morning thereafter we sat within the parlor that he brought me to upon my arrival; candles lit, rain still tapping on the warped glass window, the sun a distant memory as the clouds had now tamed the sky. Across from I sat Eckhart, as the three of us were positioned at the end of the table furthest away from the entryway¡ªand Ludwig had returned to the subject matter while the two of us concerned ourselves with the early meal he had displayed for us. Or was it brunch? And too, now that I recall, I wonder if somewhere within that labyrinth he held servants that he obscured within the shadows, to keep out of the sight of guests, as who had prepared the food? At the time I had not a worry.


    ¡°I would hope that in your sleep you¡¯ve come to a decision?¡± He did not eat, instead he simply observed us¡ªquestioned us, rather.


    After swallowing Eckhart immediately broke into his response. ¡°This has been a wonderful experience, I like to entertain the idea that Irwin and I have both been given the greatest accommodations in our stay here. And, Ludwig, though I do enjoy your fantasy and your prenatural aspirations, I do not think that I would be of much assistance. As much as I wish I could be, I think that you have chosen the wrong person.¡± With the preceding swallow the southerner had finished his repast, folding his serviette and resting it cordially on his empty plate; he drank. ¡°I would like to thank you, and I will provide my presence for the rest of today, though I will be leaving before nightfall.¡±


    I did not know if this irritated Ludwig¡ªif it did, he did his best to not show it. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this, Mr. Dwyer, I have not blundered in my choice. And you, Mr. Larkin?¡±


    Now I stared upon my half-eaten meal, an answer had escaped me.


    ¡°Mr. Larkin? Irwin?¡±


    Whatever haze or hex that I had been raptured in was broken, as with the calmest jolt I returned. ¡°Eckhart,¡± I uttered from short breath, ¡°I urge you to rethink your settlement; I think it will please you, Ludwig, to know that I have reached a contrasting resolution.¡± Before I continued I reasoned with myself how I was to go about my succeeding expression. ¡°I will ask the college if I have the ability to take leave of academic purpose. Do I take lodging here or elsewhere in Stablecroft?¡±


    He was utterly delighted to hear it. ¡°Then I¡¯ve lost a compatriot and gained a collaborator, a colleague, perhaps. You¡¯ll be staying here, in one of our guests rooms¡ªone of my guest rooms. And Eckhart, I appreciate your honesty¡­ I should have considered that there might be difficulty in uprooting yourself, leaving your hometown, that is.¡±


    ¡°I am not abandoning my hometown.¡± I became defensive. ¡°I have reason to stay, and Limmere is not my hometown.¡±


    ¡°I never assumed that of you, Mr. Larkin. The contrary, actually.¡±


    Then I dismissed it. ¡°Oh¡ªforgive me.¡±


    ¡°There is no trouble in my leaving. I think that my concerns are born out of the implications of your experiment; as any decent human being my morality outweighs my actions and my instinct.¡± Though his words were bitter and distasteful he strung them together and played them in a manner of sheer elegance. I think of myself as a linguist and it is quite possible that I was being outpaced. ¡°It is forced adaptation, something that takes years¡ªdecades, centuries, even millennia. We have yet to observe such a process. I do not wish to stain my hands with the blood of cruel science. If I did, I would not be able to wash them.¡±


    I thought the opposite. It would have been ignorant of me to ignore that the morality of the practice was questionable and, indeed, rather dubious in nature, but that which would be spawned out of it would surpass the sacrifices that would be made on the altar of discipline.


    ¡°I admire your appetite for human invention, though I can not twist biology. And you will not twist my arm on this either.¡±


    Ludwig remained unchanged. ¡°Then you were right, I was wrong in my assumption of you. Then I have blundered in my selection. And so Irwin is the only fruit of my labor.¡± His hand motioned in my direction as I played as silent judge for their discourse. ¡°And then if you have something to attend to back home I strongly urge you to do so. Pack up your things and take your exit.¡±


    Now he had taken on full defense. ¡°I will find egress when I desire, Mr. Byrgenman. As of now, I wish to debate, to discuss. You imply that such a study would bring forth considerable harvest, that sowing these seeds for inquiry would pave a new path for humanity¡ªso how do you suppose you go about this? How do you force one to adapt, to change for their environment, as you yourself have yet to show that you have the means to do so. Do you stand on grounds of immorality while you hold intellectual prowess or, instead, do you hide away in your library reading texts that you have the inability to correctly interpret?¡±


    He sneered. ¡°Why else would I seek your kind?¡±


    ¡°You are a damned serpent.¡±


    There I sat with a dilemma; I had already sworn myself to Ludwig in the name of academia, yet I found comradery and empathetic understanding now surfacing itself as Eckhart spoke.


    ¡°My methods will be formed when I hold further discussion with Irwin.¡±


    Of course he was flustered, as he had reason to be; but still, I favored on the side of Ludwig, and now I found myself making attempts to coax Eckhart back in. ¡°Eckhart, perhaps if the two of us take this experiment on together then we will be able to weave into it standard morality¡ªwe can do our best to make certain that Ludwig goes about his practices in the shadow of ethics.¡± Perhaps it was Ludwig that was puppeting me and I had not yet seen the strings that he had tied to my back and arms.


    ¡°Though the question of morality in the first place still stands, dear Irwin. Look at him, look upon his figure and sly smile that fits upon his face as I condemn him and tell me that within his heart he holds the purest of wishes for humanity.¡± Yet I foolishly gave Ludwig the benefit of the doubt, I was his halfwitted advocate.


    ¡°Still, I think of what can become of this. If we have such power within our hands we may be able to cure disease, to even rectify our wrongs as a species.¡± I was no philosopher, nor was I biologist, though there in that dreary salon, amongst dirty dishes and the finest of fittings, I suddenly debated virtue. ¡°Perhaps we could free ourselves of our greatest blights¡ªand, perhaps, we may be able to escape our fleeting nature.¡±


    Irwin fell silent; yes, he was a man of science, even if it were a different school of study opposed to mine, but he was a man of reason and understanding. And he was far more intelligent than me. He folded his hands, holding them above his plate, to there and then take a moment to collect his mind. ¡°Ludwig, do you have a biphone?¡± he said softly.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°Then I will call home in the morning. Prepare a place for me,¡± and though he had conceded to my words he excused himself from the room, abandoning his cutlery and dish.