Mirror Sight
Page 47
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He was about to creep into a shadowed recess when something pulled at him, a twinge, something familiar that, like him, did not belong in this world. He took a great risk and hoisted himself up on a promontory of rock in naked sunlight. He was fairly high up on the mount, and the feeling came from down below. He took a quick look, his sharp, far-seeing eyes sweeping across the vista below him in an instant, then he dropped flat to reduce chances of his being spied.
Down near the base of the mount he’d spotted a carriage drawn by two white horses, with a bay tied to the back. The bay had its own special aura, but that was not what had caught his attention. There were three people with the carriage—the driver who sat on his bench, a man who held the door open, and the young woman to whom he gave his hand to help her climb in.
The young woman was out of place and time. Lhean had not arrived here alone after all.
SILK
Dr. Ezra Stirling Silk gazed at the large sheets of bridge schematics strewn across the drafting table while, outside the rough office, the machine shop clattered and rang with metallic resonance, the air dense with the fumes of oil and burning. Here the machines that made Mill City hum—the looms, turbines, governors, steam engines, and more—were designed and fabricated by skilled laborers. The work was not trusted to dull-witted slaves, who were suitable only for lift-and-carry work and other menial tasks.
Across the empire, engineers were revered for their genius, even if not of Preferred families. They opened the gates to the empire’s modernization, economy, and, most importantly, its power. Many of the engineers were descended from the First Empire’s artificers, but the great makers who long ago melded machines with etherea were long gone. Those few who retained such singular skills worked in the Capital, mainly in the emperor’s palace. Ordinary engineers must rely solely on their intellect and craftsmanship.
The chief of Mill City’s engineers now lumbered into the office. Large in girth and stature, he did not merely draw the designs for machines, but helped in their building and implementation. Heward Moody pulled off his goggles and carelessly tossed them atop the papers on his drafting table. Silk’s sight made it difficult for him to perceive the details of Moody’s appearance, though the aura of life outlining his body shone clearly. Silk’s mind painted in the stained leather apron, the heavy gloves that protected Moody’s hands up to his elbows, a cap covering sparse hair atop his head.
The engineer untied a scarf from around his neck and used it to mop sweat and soot off his face. “Well, Dr. Silk,” Moody said in his gravelly voice, “come to badger me about your drill again?”
“Badger you, Mr. Moody? Your shop is receiving exorbitant payment for the efficient production of the drill. I am here to see that the empire’s funds are not being misused.”
“As I’ve said time and again, you cannot rush precision. If it’s not precision you want, black powder would do the job for you some quick.”
Silk grimaced. Blasting was not an option. He needed that precision, the drill was to be a surgical instrument in his excavation. He had no wish to destroy that which he sought. “Let’s see it then.”
The partially assembled drill was too long to fit in any of the machine shop’s bays, so it was situated in a neighboring warehouse, laid on its side on supports. The steel gleam of its spiral contours burned in Silk’s eyes while all else in the warehouse’s depths fell into shadow. Moody polished it with a rag. Despite his grumbles about Silk’s badgering, he was justifiably proud of his creation. No drill of this length had ever been created before.
The bit, not yet attached, rested on its own table. It had the ridges of a molar, but unlike a tooth, these were angular, symmetrical, and perfect, and embedded with diamond dust. It would chew through granite bedrock with ease.
“We’ll check the calibration one more time,” Moody said, “then it’ll be ready for a test. If the test is successful, you can haul it up to the site, and we’ll connect the engine.”
“How long before you test?”
Moody’s face cracked into a grin. “Oh, a few days give or take. We’ll have to assemble the components here to see how she goes.” He indicated the steam engine, its valves, piston rod, and flywheel in shiny brass.
Not as elegant as an etherea engine, but it would do.
“In the meantime,” Moody continued, “you might want to speed up construction of the drill house. Fast enough for you?”
Silk tapped the tip of his walking stick on the stone floor. Very fast, he thought. He’d have to assign more slaves to clearing the site and building the road. “You exceed expectations, Mr. Moody.”
Moody doffed his cap and bowed. “My pleasure to serve the empire. Now if I could have me one of those etherea engines, I’m sure the work could be completed even faster.”
“You know that is the province of the Capital and cannot be . . . exported to the out regions.” Indeed not. There was not enough etherea in the world to execute mundane functions outside the Capital. It must be protected and sustained for the Preferred. After all, it was a precious resource that did not renew itself fast enough for the empire’s needs, and supplies were dwindling steadily.
His waistcoat pocket chimed. Well-aware of Moody’s scrutiny, Silk pulled out his chronosphere, attached to his waistcoat by a gold chain and fob of carved ivory. The sphere split in half and delicate leaves of metal unfolded into a miniature emerald hummingbird with a ruby throat. The other sphere half contained two circles of glyphs carved from mother-of-pearl. The outer ring of larger glyphs represented the hours of the day, while the inner ring designated the minutes. The tiny mechanical chirped, then cocked its head, tapping first the hour with its beak tip, and then the minute. With a final chirp, it folded back up and withdrew into its own half of the sphere. Silk snapped the device shut and deposited it in his pocket. He smiled. Only those closest to the emperor possessed time pieces. Owning time was not just a perk of power, it was power, power he held over those beneath him.
Down near the base of the mount he’d spotted a carriage drawn by two white horses, with a bay tied to the back. The bay had its own special aura, but that was not what had caught his attention. There were three people with the carriage—the driver who sat on his bench, a man who held the door open, and the young woman to whom he gave his hand to help her climb in.
The young woman was out of place and time. Lhean had not arrived here alone after all.
SILK
Dr. Ezra Stirling Silk gazed at the large sheets of bridge schematics strewn across the drafting table while, outside the rough office, the machine shop clattered and rang with metallic resonance, the air dense with the fumes of oil and burning. Here the machines that made Mill City hum—the looms, turbines, governors, steam engines, and more—were designed and fabricated by skilled laborers. The work was not trusted to dull-witted slaves, who were suitable only for lift-and-carry work and other menial tasks.
Across the empire, engineers were revered for their genius, even if not of Preferred families. They opened the gates to the empire’s modernization, economy, and, most importantly, its power. Many of the engineers were descended from the First Empire’s artificers, but the great makers who long ago melded machines with etherea were long gone. Those few who retained such singular skills worked in the Capital, mainly in the emperor’s palace. Ordinary engineers must rely solely on their intellect and craftsmanship.
The chief of Mill City’s engineers now lumbered into the office. Large in girth and stature, he did not merely draw the designs for machines, but helped in their building and implementation. Heward Moody pulled off his goggles and carelessly tossed them atop the papers on his drafting table. Silk’s sight made it difficult for him to perceive the details of Moody’s appearance, though the aura of life outlining his body shone clearly. Silk’s mind painted in the stained leather apron, the heavy gloves that protected Moody’s hands up to his elbows, a cap covering sparse hair atop his head.
The engineer untied a scarf from around his neck and used it to mop sweat and soot off his face. “Well, Dr. Silk,” Moody said in his gravelly voice, “come to badger me about your drill again?”
“Badger you, Mr. Moody? Your shop is receiving exorbitant payment for the efficient production of the drill. I am here to see that the empire’s funds are not being misused.”
“As I’ve said time and again, you cannot rush precision. If it’s not precision you want, black powder would do the job for you some quick.”
Silk grimaced. Blasting was not an option. He needed that precision, the drill was to be a surgical instrument in his excavation. He had no wish to destroy that which he sought. “Let’s see it then.”
The partially assembled drill was too long to fit in any of the machine shop’s bays, so it was situated in a neighboring warehouse, laid on its side on supports. The steel gleam of its spiral contours burned in Silk’s eyes while all else in the warehouse’s depths fell into shadow. Moody polished it with a rag. Despite his grumbles about Silk’s badgering, he was justifiably proud of his creation. No drill of this length had ever been created before.
The bit, not yet attached, rested on its own table. It had the ridges of a molar, but unlike a tooth, these were angular, symmetrical, and perfect, and embedded with diamond dust. It would chew through granite bedrock with ease.
“We’ll check the calibration one more time,” Moody said, “then it’ll be ready for a test. If the test is successful, you can haul it up to the site, and we’ll connect the engine.”
“How long before you test?”
Moody’s face cracked into a grin. “Oh, a few days give or take. We’ll have to assemble the components here to see how she goes.” He indicated the steam engine, its valves, piston rod, and flywheel in shiny brass.
Not as elegant as an etherea engine, but it would do.
“In the meantime,” Moody continued, “you might want to speed up construction of the drill house. Fast enough for you?”
Silk tapped the tip of his walking stick on the stone floor. Very fast, he thought. He’d have to assign more slaves to clearing the site and building the road. “You exceed expectations, Mr. Moody.”
Moody doffed his cap and bowed. “My pleasure to serve the empire. Now if I could have me one of those etherea engines, I’m sure the work could be completed even faster.”
“You know that is the province of the Capital and cannot be . . . exported to the out regions.” Indeed not. There was not enough etherea in the world to execute mundane functions outside the Capital. It must be protected and sustained for the Preferred. After all, it was a precious resource that did not renew itself fast enough for the empire’s needs, and supplies were dwindling steadily.
His waistcoat pocket chimed. Well-aware of Moody’s scrutiny, Silk pulled out his chronosphere, attached to his waistcoat by a gold chain and fob of carved ivory. The sphere split in half and delicate leaves of metal unfolded into a miniature emerald hummingbird with a ruby throat. The other sphere half contained two circles of glyphs carved from mother-of-pearl. The outer ring of larger glyphs represented the hours of the day, while the inner ring designated the minutes. The tiny mechanical chirped, then cocked its head, tapping first the hour with its beak tip, and then the minute. With a final chirp, it folded back up and withdrew into its own half of the sphere. Silk snapped the device shut and deposited it in his pocket. He smiled. Only those closest to the emperor possessed time pieces. Owning time was not just a perk of power, it was power, power he held over those beneath him.
