Ash and Quill(33)

"I didn't think-" Thomas broke off. "I-don't know what to feel. The Library did try to kill me. But-"

"But it's the only thing you ever wanted," Jess finished when Thomas didn't. "It's complicated." What he didn't say was maybe it was worse that Thomas had been granted that dream, given how things stood now. Chances were, Thomas would never wear the gold band he so richly deserved.

Thomas shook his head and-incredibly, to Jess-smiled. "It's fine, Jess. An honor. And it's not all I want. I want to build. And we are going to do that, right now. Yes?"

"Yes."

Thomas walked over and studied the gear. "Almost right."

"Almost?"

"Smoother here, yes?" Somehow, getting a correction from Thomas didn't make Jess feel foolish; he nodded and took up a file to fix the problem. "It's late. Are you tired?" 

"Do you have any idea what High Garda training is like? They run you until you forget how to be tired. No, I'm fine. How much have we done?"

"We are a third complete, I think. Though we need to make extras of several of these gears. I'm not confident they'll take the stress even from the test. They must last for a few passes."

Jess put the finishing touches on the wooden model before handing it over. Thomas walked to the empty space, held out the wooden gear in a precise location, and cocked his head as he stared. It was the eeriest thing, Jess thought; he could actually see Thomas thinking. The power radiating out of that head seemed to fill the space around them with energy. Maybe Thomas had been right in his observation that geniuses and Obscurists had something in common.

"This is good," Thomas said, and tossed the gear back to him with a sudden flash of a grin. "Twenty more to go, yes?"

"I hate you." Jess put the tools down and stretched. His hands ached, and so did his back; his eyes burned from focusing in the dim light. "Maybe we should stop for the night after all."

"I knew the High Garda had no real stamina," Thomas said as he scrubbed the plans from the wall. "I'll bank the coals in the forge. A drop of Greek fire will bring it up in the morning." He nodded toward the guard-Diwell again-who dozed in the corner. By which Jess knew he meant, Distract him. So as Thomas carefully, quietly hefted the flimsy bag full of broken glass, Jess moved over to a large pile of scrap metal that he'd taken care to build up to tottering heights all day, and on Thomas's cue, he shoved the whole thing over.

The noisy racket of metal clanging together drowned out the tinkling sounds of the glass being poured into a thick stone bowl, and Thomas quickly picked it up and shoved it into the forge, then banged the door closed. Diwell came upright, tripped, and had his gun out and aimed at Jess and Thomas within a respectable few seconds, though he was smart enough not to fire. Thomas had managed to throw the empty bag into the forge, and all trace of it was already gone.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Diwell barked. Thomas slowly held up his hands. They were nearly black with soot and charcoal and, here and there, reddened with burns. He never seemed to mind the wounds he took when working.

"Just an accident," Thomas said. "We are banking the fire for the night. We will be leaving now." When Diwell finally put his weapon away, Thomas raked coals forward and added a layer of new ones behind, then a single drop of green liquid. The fire blazed up with a hiss, then subsided. Burning hot but steady.

The glass would slowly, surely melt overnight and be ready for the morning.

"Hurry up," Diwell growled near the door. "I've missed my meal because of you."

He was out the door and locking it behind them, and as he fiddled with the padlock it allowed Jess and Thomas to stride on ahead a bit. Jess said, "Do you think this is going to work?" He didn't mean the press they were building; he knew that would.

Thomas met his gaze squarely and said, "The Ray of Apollo? God preserve us if it doesn't. Did you get the power source?"

"As it happens, yes." Jess reached into his trouser pocket, took out a small wooden box, and watched as Thomas slid it open. Inside, a little mechanical bird turned its head, hopped to its metal feet, and began to sing in a clear, warbling tone. Thomas reached down and touched a particular spot on the tail feathers, and the bird froze in midsong. Disabled. "Morgan won't be happy you're destroying it. She treasures it, you know. She carried it with her into the Iron Tower, and out again. Khalila got it from the bag in Beck's office. Which, by the way, reminds me: I should look into wearing full skirts. Seems like they hide a wealth of tricky behavior."


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