Of course, it was almost always dark down here anyway, but the cold air sank damn quick when winter started sniffing around the top levels of Arcvale.
“Christmas soon,” remarked Hiram casually.
“It is indeed.”
Silas pushed open the door, and they walked into the C&C, nodding at those who waved or called their names. It was a tight community, this motley assortment of engineers, mechanics, and the drudges, without whom none of the gears would turn.
He knew many of them now; several years ago he’d been the stranger, the one the others kept their eyes on. For some reason, Hiram—the Master of Mechanicals—had taken a liking to him. Otherwise, Silas often wondered if he would have survived, let alone risen to as high a high position within the Company.
They walked, by habit, to the end of the long wooden bar, sitting on the two chairs that they’d been using for as long as they’d known each other. The shape of his chair was familiar beneath Silas’ arse, and the feel of the bar beneath his arms a relaxing comfort. A nod from Tag, the bartender, acknowledged their presence.
Silas held up two fingers, and shortly thereafter a couple of steel tankards appeared in front of them.
“By God, that’s good,” said Hiram, wiping some of the foam from his upper lip. “Been waiting hours for that.”
“Certainly does put a shine on the end of the day, I’ll agree.” Silas took a drink of the local’s favourite ale, savouring the nutty, full-bodied richness that left a slightly metallic zing on his tongue. “Hungry?” The tankard went back onto the bar as he studied the grubby list of house specials. “My treat,” he added. “You got it last time.”
“All right,” sighed Hiram. “But only if you insist.”
Silas’ lips twitched. “Oh, I do. I do indeed.” He was tired, but definitely ready for a meal. Eating at the C&C wasn’t an exercise in tantalising the taste buds, though, so he kept to his preferred choice—the Banger and Belts. Sausages were a weakness, he admitted, but held firmly to the belief that the mashed celeriac, onion jam, and brassica slaw, added the nutritional value of vegetables, which offset the juicy, gear-griddle seared rolls of joy and goodness.
Hiram went for his usual, the Boilerplate pie. A suitable meal for a man Hiram’s size, it took two cooks to relay the hugecrusted meat pie, which smelled of beef, turnips, leeks and some spice Silas couldn’t place, to the top of the bar. There was a ladle of thick and steaming gravy to go with it, along with a wedge of cog-shaped cheddar to fill any empty spaces the pie had left in its wake.
The aromas had Silas’ mouth watering, and the two men tucked into their food, murmuring or grunting now and again in appreciation of the meal.
Finally, Hiram leaned back. “Damn fine pie, Joe,” he said to the bartender.
“Compliments to everyone in the kitchen,” added Silas, as the bartender began to clear the dishes. “That was one hell of a fine meal.”
“Anything else, gentlemen?” he asked. “We got some fresh crank crumble, or you might go for a plate of clockface cookies?”
“Can’t do it,” sighed Hiram. “That pie was just too good.”
“Yeah, he’s got it right.” Silas nodded. “But I’ll wager we could manage another of these to round off the evening.” He gestured to the empty stout glasses.
“Be right back.”
Both men watched in reverent silence as two fresh ales were poured and delivered with flair.
“Right then,” Hiram sighed. “Time to get to it.”
“Sounds serious,” said Silas, taking a sip of ale. “Easiest thing? Just say it right out.”
His friend nodded and took a breath, then glanced around, making sure they were as private as possible. “You know we’re getting near Christmas,” he began.
“I’ve heard rumours.”
Hiram’s face clouded as he leaned forward. “There’s a problem.”
Silas blinked. “A problem?”
“Yeah,” Hiram took a breath. “I just got the message a few hours ago. The steamship that was bringing all our Christmas supplies? It bloody sank.”
“What?” Silas, shocked to his core, stared at his friend. “By St. Virellus.Sank? How?”
Hiram stared back. “It went to the bottom of the ocean, Silas. The way boats usually sink.”
Silas rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. The crew...they make it?”
