Amused, Silas watched his friend’s gaze as it rested on the young woman and her child. There was something there he’d not seen before. Tenderness.
Well,well.
“I’ll get my coat.” Thea rose from the table. “I’ll be no more than a moment.” She hurried away.
Silas looked at Hiram. “It would seem we have an extra hand, then.”
“Can’t hurt,” he answered. “We’re hoping for a miracle, Silas. You know that. So at this point, I’d accept help from Old Brass himself if he offered.”
“You have a point.” He stood. “I suppose it’s time for us to head out.” His gaze rested on Gen and her Mama. “I know you will be safe here, Mrs... Lyra,” he smiled as he corrected himself. “If there’s anything you need, feel free to ask Nelson. He can answer all your questions.”
“You are so kind,” she replied quietly. “I accept your offer of shelter most gratefully. But we must discuss it more fully when you return.” A quick sigh punctuated her words. “We cannot stay here indefinitely.”
“Don’t worry,” Hiram said gently. “There’s time enough to work it out. And we will. We’re pretty smart people, with our cogs and gears all running like clockwork. Am I right, Gen?” He grinned.
She nodded back. “Indeed you are, Mr Hiram.”
“Well then, I’ll grab my coat.”
Thea was at the door of the dining room. “I’m ready, Silas.” A small, well-usedwork-satchel hung over one shoulder, the leather nicked at the corners and the clasp polished smooth by use.
“We do have tools at the Forge, you know,” he commented, charmed by the satchel, but doubting it held anything useful.
“I’m sure you do.” Her chin went up, and her voice cooled. “However, I’ve found one achieves much more in less time when working with one’s own familiar instruments.”
“Can’t argue with that, Silas.” Hiram thumped him on the shoulder with a grunt. “Time to be off.”
“There is no excuse for being late.” Thea walked to the door, opened it, and looked back over her shoulder. “Well, gentlemen, shall we?”
*~~*~~*
As the little party left Silas’s home, and began the walk to the Forge, Dorothea found herself getting more and more excited.
The lane turned to a worn brick road, well-lit, passing the Trammelbuggy Depot and sloping steeply downward to a large set of stairs, at the bottom of which were brighter lights and more noise.
Dorothea followed Silas onto a small terrace at the bottom and forgot, for one stunned heartbeat, how to breathe.
She should have been frightened. Instead, she was enraptured.
The Forge was not a room, it was a world. It ran on and on until distance swallowed it, and it rose upward in vast, shadowed tiers, as if Arcvale had hollowed out the earth and built a cathedral inside it. Above her, cogs the size of carriage wheels turned with an unhurried, inexorable patience. Great chains climbed into the darkness. Wheels meshed with wheels, and the whole place moved as one...slow, relentless, alive.
Down below, the light was all fire and iron. Forges glowed like captured sunsets. Sparks spilled and skittered across the stone in bright, fleeting constellations. The air tasted of heat and metal and something sharp that made her eyes water. It hummed through her boots, through her ribs, until she swore she could feel the Undercroft’s heartbeat inside her own.
Up to this moment,she had lived under restrictions, rules, and regimentation. Polished, proper, suffocating. Here, nothing was polished. Everything was powerful. Everything was possible.
And Dorothea, dumbfounded and thrilled, realised she was looking at the kind of wonder she’d only ever been allowed to imagine.
“It is quite a sight, isn’t it?” Silas was watching her face.
“It’s...it’s...magnificent,” she whispered, unable to drag her eyes away from the wondrous scene before her.
“Well, yes, I suppose so.” He smiled. “It becomes routine after a while, but yes, it has its own unique kind of magic.”
“Indeed, it does.”
“Come on then. Let’s go down and make some of our own.”
He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead her down a long set of curving stairs until they reached the bottom—and the Forge.
