Ken Scholes - Antiphon

Isaak shrugged, and Charles chuckled. He even learns our gestures from us.

Isaak’s voice lowered. “I do not know.”

“You would have.”

Isaak’s amber eyes glowed brighter. “How can you know this?”

“Because,” Charles said, “I am your father and I made you to be logical. It is logical to preserve your kind.”

Isaak nodded. “It is.” Then, the metal man did something surprising. He hesitated. “Father?”

Charles looked up. “Yes?”

“You made us. I want to ask you a question about how we were made.” His tone betrayed how serious his question must be.

“I built you from Rufello’s Specifications and from scraps dug out of the Wastes,” Charles said.

“No,” Isaak said. “Not how we were made.”

Charles leaned in to the mechoservitor on his worktable and whispered into its ear. “Return to task, Mechoservitor Twelve.”

“Returning to task,” the mechoservitor said as it stood and left the room.

Charles turned back to Isaak and wiped his hands clean on a nearby rag. “What do you want to know, Isaak?”

Isaak paused, and a wisp of steam leaked out from the exhaust grate in his back. “I want to know why we don’t dream.”

Charles scratched his head. “I don’t think you were meant to dream,” Charles said, picking his words carefully. “The Franci believe that dreams are where the basements of the brain work out the hidden fears and hopes of a man’s life.”

Isaak blinked. “Surely women dream, too? The library certainly references-”

Charles laughed, interrupting him. “Yes. And children. And dogs, even.”

“But not mechoservitors?”

Charles did not like the direction the conversation moved in. Even he was unsure of Isaak’s status-he was clearly sentient. And he was learning. At a rapid pace. But what was he? “I don’t know,” Charles said. “It wasn’t in Rufello’s Specifications. I suppose a dream could be fashioned. It’s not much more than a memory scroll, though the random nature of dreaming would be hard to-”

Isaak’s next question ambushed him. “Is it dangerous?”

He felt his eyebrows raise. “Is what dangerous?”

Isaak lowered his voice. “Dreaming.”

Charles thought about this. “No, not especially. Though not all dreams are pleasant.”

“So were I to have a dream, it would not be harmful?”

“No,” Charles said with another chuckle. “I don’t believe it would.”

Isaak moved toward the door. “Thank you, Father.”

Charles watched him leave. “You’re welcome, Isaak.”

He’d just settled back into work when there was a knock at his door. “Back so soon?” he called out. It didn’t surprise him.

But when the door opened and Rudolfo entered, he was surprised. The lord of the Ninefold Forest rarely put in appearances in his shop. But now, the man walked in, his eyes haunted by the circles of sleeplessness beneath them. The Gypsy Scout behind him took up a position outside the door as Rudolfo closed it. “Forgive my unannounced visit, Arch-Engineer Charles. I have matters to discuss with you.”

Charles put down the wrench he’d been using. “No forgiveness required, Lord Rudolfo. Shall we retire to a more comfortable room for conversation?”

Rudolfo shook his head. “No, I would speak with you here. These are matters of great discretion.”

He looks worried. And he should be, Charles reckoned. In the span of two years he’d inherited a lot of orphans and had taken on a tremendous labor on behalf of the light. And while he did, the Named Lands came apart around him. “You have my ear and my silence, Lord.”

Rudolfo moved to a stool near Charles and sat upon it. He looked out of place in his silk jacket and green turban, surrounded by bits of broken mechanicals and scattered tools. “There is a type of steel so silver that it gives back a perfect reflection. The Marsh King’s axe is made of such a metal. Are you familiar with it?”

Charles nodded. “Firstfall steel. Legend has it that it fell from the moon along with the Moon Wizard and his armies at the end of the Age of the Weeping Czars.”

“Yes. Can you work with this steel?”

Charles paused to think. He could, but it was a rare metal. More rare than gold or platinum. “I could work with it,” he said, “depending upon what you needed it worked into.”

“The metal’s reflective capacity exposes stealth magicks-even those built from blood. We learned this last year during the attack on the Firstborn Feast.” When Rudolfo said the words, Charles saw his eyes darken.

Charles prided himself on anticipating needs and already, he started nodding. “Some kind of device that would take advantage of those properties, then?”

Rudolfo offered a tight smile. “Yes.”

Charles started to wonder why and stopped. We’ve already been breached. It was the fear and doubt upon his face, the sleeplessness in his eyes. “I would need the metal. It’s extremely hard to come by. A handful of the wealthiest families in the Named Lands might have a few pieces of it. There’s more, of course, buried at Windwir.”

“Windwir is out of reach to us now,” Rudolfo said. “But my procurement agents are quietly in place and at your disposal. See Isaak for a fresh code book.”

Charles hesitated, then offered up the truth he wanted to withhold. “This could take time, Lord.”

Rudolfo sighed. “We don’t have time, Charles. Just do your best.”

“I will do my best, Lord.” Already, he was thinking of the design and whether or not lenses could be fashioned using the mirrors to reflect back through them in a type of spectacle that could be worn. He looked to his drawing pad. “While we look for the metal, I’ll give thought to some design specifications.”

Rudolfo stood. “Excellent. Two final things and I’ll leave you to your work.”

Charles waited, taking in the slight man. He’s frightened now, but this will only add fierceness to him later.

“As you know, I am considering the potential of a standing army.”

Yes, Charles thought. He’d been in the room that night, and he’d seen the teeth that consideration had brought to Rudolfo’s soul. Change was certainly the path life took, but it was never as simple as it sounded. “It may become necessary, Lord.”

Rudolfo nodded and looked away. “It may indeed. If it does-and if it has any chance of standing against this Y’Zirite threat to the west-it will need magickal and mechanical assistance.”

Yes. And yet all of the war-making knowledge had been burned out at Windwir. All but what I carry in my head. Charles sighed. “I do not wish to make war engines, Rudolfo.”

Rudolfo’s eyes snapped back onto Charles, and there was a fire suddenly ignited there. “Nor do I, Charles, but I will not lose all that we build here. I will guard it whatever way I must.”

What had they called the Gypsy King? Charles stretched his memory back to the conversations he’d overheard on the return journey from the Blood Temple. Shepherd of the light? But he knew the man meant more than just the library and its mechanicals. He meant the boy, too, who had appeared here in the middle of his life. Charles wasn’t sure what to say. “I will give it thought. Most of what we kept hidden is lost now.”

“Consideration is all I ask,” Rudolfo said. “Work with Lysias and Aedric. I am only interested in protecting the Ninefold Forest.”

Charles could see that on the man’s face. But now, even as he read it there, it vanished, hidden behind a smile. “Thank you for your time, Arch-Engineer.”

Rudolfo moved toward the door. He put his hand on the latch, and Charles remembered something. “Lord Rudolfo?”