“Thankfully, no. I think the last crazy person who even considered something like that was expelled from Bronzebreak almost half a century ago.”
Valir exchanged a look with Kraghtol and chimed in.
“You wouldn’t know thenameof that individual?”
The mechanic shrugged. “Troll knows. I think it was some mad mechanic who had their workshop over at the alchemical foundry. Before it was called that, of course.”
“Perhaps this contraption came from there, then?” Kraghtol suggested, and the mechanic frowned at the thing in disgust.
“If it did, you should just smash it with a hammer. I’m not superstitious, but people say artifacts from these past times are cursed.I wouldn’t call them cursed, but unreliable and dangerous, but the essence is the same. Nothing good ever comes frominventions.”
Valir nonchalantly collected the device and nodded courtly.
“Thank you so much for your warnings. We will dispose of it immediately. Are you coming, Kragh?”
The half-orc thanked the mechanic and followed the blond ponytail outside.
“Fancy a trip to the alchemical foundry?”
Kraghtol didn’t know how to feel about getting near the guild property even though it was in a different city, but agreed, nevertheless.
The alchemical foundry was a smaller complex at the edge of the rest of the massive metalworks. Unlike the neighboring industries, which were blasting heat for many hundred meters to feel, they found it cold and inert. A lone human watchman was dozing at the official entrance to the complex and only straightened his back when the two of them approached.
“Halt. The foundry is closed.”
Valir had taken the lead and smiled a perfect smile for the human.
“Closed? How so? I thought this was the alchemical foundry. Why isn’t it working?”
“Yeah, it is. But you can’t run an alchemical foundry without alchemists, apparently. So right now, it’s cold. And not open to visitors, anyway.”
“What happened to the alchemists?” Valir asked, his voice betraying more than a hint of interest.
“Nothing happened. They just had to return to Winterstone, at least those of them who came from there originally. Which means,most of them. Something about renewing a contract with a new guild master called Quenning. I don’t know what’s up with that. But since no one is here to operate the foundry, the thing stays cold until they return.”
Kraghtol and Valir exchanged alarmed looks.
“I see. Thank you. One last question: do you know when that will be the case?”
The watchman shrugged.
“Perhaps in a week? Maybe two. Depends on the weather on the road, I suppose. Have to remind myself now and then there evenissuch a thing as weather outside.”
“That was… a lot of interesting information,” Valir whispered when they were out of earshot. “I didn’t quite understand why everyone all of a sudden went to Winterstone, but your stay here has a very real time limit now. When the first ones return here, they will surely have heard of the half-orc who killed the guild master.”
Kraghtol nodded grimly, his mind readily conjuring up images of one of the worst nights of his life.
“I know exactly why they needed to go. Alchemical contracts end with the death of one of the parties. I saw the contract marks fading from Virex’s body when he died, and mine is gone, too. Of course, the guild needs to keep control over its members, so they need to bring in everyone as quickly as possible to renew the contracts. Apparently, Dean Quenning got a promotion. What a coincidence.”
“Wait, the contract mark is gone? That’sexcellentnews!”
“What?”
“Well, where did yours manifest?”
“On my shoulder.”
“Lucky you, then. Mine was on my buttocks. And I really don’t mind it being gone from there now.”
