The Dragons of Dorcastle

Chapter Eight

Ringhmon in the morning seemed to be just as hot as Ringhmon in the afternoon, though the yellowish cast to the sky appeared to be a little less prominent. Mari had left her pack at the Guild Hall, but even the smaller tool kit seemed to weigh more with every step. She singled out one of the commons on the street. “Where is the Hall of Government?”

The common lowered his head and tried to keep walking.

Amazed, Mari stepped in front of him. “I’m talking to you!”

The common jerked to a halt, pretending to have just noticed her. “Yes, Lady Mechanic?”

“Where is the Hall of Government?” she repeated.

“It lies on the Square of Heroes, Lady Mechanic,” the common answered, then tried to dart around her.

Mari flung out one arm to block him. “How do I get there?” she demanded.

The common scowled, looking around as if seeking a way past her. “I don’t know.”

Commons never liked talking to Mechanics, but Mari was startled by this level of hostility and unhelpfulness. Disconcerted, she put on the full Mechanic attitude, letting her tone become menacing. “I’ll give you one chance to rethink that answer, and if I’m not satisfied with what I hear you’re going to be very, very unhappy. Do you understand?”

The display of confidence worked. The common nodded rapidly, his face still averted. “The blue markers, Lady Mechanic. On the road. The trolley which stops at them goes to the Hall of Government.” His voice held fear but also resentment.

Mari just looked at the common for a long moment, trying to figure out how to handle him. According to all she had been taught, she should unleash a series of threats and put the common in his place, but even if that worked she would hate herself afterwards. “That’s all.” She walked onward, looking for the blue markers.

The trolley proved to be a horse-drawn wagon moving at glacial speed. The operator at least knew better than to ask a Mechanic for a fare, though he did betray the same fear and resentment as the earlier common had. Bad attitudes from commons weren’t unusual, but this intensity of them, the openness of them, was abnormal. Was it just Ringhmon? Or was this part of the problem which had erupted at Julesport? Surely the commons here knew that if they created a big enough problem for the Mechanics Guild, the Guild elders could simply provide the Empire with the assistance to reach their city in overwhelming force and turn Ringhmon into a conquered outpost.

Mari sat glumly watching the glorious and grimy city of Ringhmon roll past at the slow clip the single horse pulling the trolley could manage. The city appeared to be overrun with guards and police as well as negative behaviors.

At least the presence of all of those guards was reassuring. Mari wondered if the riders she had seen yesterday actually had been unrelated to the bandits. Everything she had seen of Ringhmon so far made it seem unlikely that people could ride freely through the place brandishing weapons. Unfortunately, that was the only thing she had seen about Ringhmon so far that wasn’t unpleasant.

Thoughts of the bandits led her back to thoughts of the Mage. I wouldn’t have made it here without his help. At least he knows what help means now. I hope his Guild Hall in Ringhmon treated him better than mine has so far.

Alain traded the dim passages of the Mage Guild Hall for the bright sunlight of the streets outside. A night of meditation and a morning of darkly suspicious Inquiry had become a day of more light but no further enlightenment. I will not allow the insults of elders who do not know me to affect me. I will not allow a brief encounter with a Mechanic to destroy my future as a Mage. The elders cannot change me, and the Mechanic cannot control me. And I will not allow foresight I do not understand to continue to unsettle me. His thoughts going around in circles, Alain sought release in movement and the distraction of a strange city.

On a whim, as he left the Guild Hall Alain wrapped himself inside the spell which bent light and made him virtually impossible to see. Even another Mage could only sense his presence and location. The spell took effort, but he maintained it for a while, strolling along invisible to the commons and the occasional pair of Mechanics he spotted, just like an acolyte hiding from other acolytes who had not developed their skills enough to sense him. The Mage elders would have been annoyed to observe him playing with that spell. Perhaps that was why he was doing it.

As he crossed a street, Alain could see that the stone edgings were cracked and chipped, and in some cases well out of line with their neighboring stones. The buildings revealed the same sort of evidence of long decline. What commons and Mechanics called reality was only an illusion, but it took careful study of the illusion to know what to change, so Alain took in every flaw, every variation in the buildings.

He walked down a street lined with what at first glance were grand mansions with fronts of fitted stone. But the “stone” was another attempt at illusion by commons, just wood planks beveled at intervals to look like stone blocks and then covered with paint mixed with stone dust.

Alain found himself wondering what the Mechanic would have thought of these attempts to mimic other substances. What would she say? Something I could not understand, probably. The words she used did not seem to mean the same things as the words I use. If I could ask—

No. Stop thinking about her.

Still unseen inside his spell, Alain glanced at the commons who unknowingly shared the street with him, all of them plodding along with expressions that seemed to combine stubbornness and weariness. The pride of the city of Ringhmon appeared to exist mainly in the minds of its leaders.

As Alain went deeper into the city he could see that many of the street intersections were guarded by tough-looking individuals whose leather armor marked them as some sort of local militia. They all wore short swords and carried wooden clubs about as long as Alain’s forearm. The citizens kept well away from the toughs, averting their eyes. Sensitive to the emotions which shadows displayed, Alain felt as if he were drowning in a sea of despair and oppression.

Alain finally dropped his concealment spell, getting a little perverse satisfaction from the panicky way nearby commons reacted to the sudden appearance of a Mage among them. He strolled over to examine a monument commemorating some great event, but when Alain got close enough to read the inscription he found that the “victory” involved one of the failed Imperial expeditions through the desert waste. Alain studied the images of larger-than-life warriors carrying banners from the city of Ringhmon as they trampled Imperial legionaries. In a corner of one “gold” panel, he saw where the thin layer of gilt had been worn away, exposing a dull grey metal beneath. Another illusion of wealth, this one within an illusion of victory. Layers of falseness. Did the commons here believe any of it?

Shaking his head, he turned away to see several citizens of Ringhmon standing close and watching him with wary eyes. They appeared abnormally bold in their attitudes, so Alain gave them the dead, emotionless look of a Mage and they scattered hastily. He had been told that commons believed Mages could use spells on them, changing their shape and nature, turning them into animals or insects, or overturning their reason. Alain knew this was false, that no Mage could harm or change a shadow directly, yet the Mage Guild had encouraged such superstitions, seeing them as a good way of keeping the commons properly subdued and fearful. He probably should have simply ignored the commons, though. If the elders at the Guild Hall could see him playing such tricks on shadows they would call him young indeed.

Alain squinted upward, seeing that the morning had advanced. The day was already once again hot and unpleasant, and the cool, dark rooms of the Guild Hall were beginning to seem a lot more attractive.The Hall would have a records section, a place holding the words of others in which he could find relief from the emptiness of the world.

Alain started back the way he had come, crossing a large street. A trolley had just passed, moving slowly away under the pull of a large draft horse which seemed either old or simply as dispirited as the people of this city. Alain felt a sensation as if he were being watched by sightless eyes, or as if his name had been silently called. He looked toward the trolley. Most of the seats were packed with commons sitting with their backs to him, but one bench held only a single individual, someone wearing the short, dark jacket of a Mechanic. Just as unmistakable as the jacket was the shoulder-length, raven-black hair of the Mechanic wearing it.

Master Mechanic Mari.

Alain came to a halt, oblivious to the carts and wagons which had to veer around him. Mechanics are shadows. None of them matter. She does not matter. I should walk on and return to my Guild Hall.

Yet, how odd that in this city our paths crossed in this time and place. Some of the elders at Ihris told me that the illusion which is this world guides us in certain ways, sometimes toward wisdom, sometimes toward error. What led me to this street at this time? What led that Mechanic to be on that particular trolley?

How did she make me look toward her?

Did she cause that? She has not looked back. Why attract my attention in such a subtle manner and then avoid even meeting my eyes?

I am on this road for a reason. I feel that. But is this the road to wisdom or error? Is it a road the Mechanic chose for both of us? Or did something else place us both on it, both unwitting?

He knew what the elders here in Ringhmon would say. Alain considered that, thinking of the difficulty those elders would have controlling their outrage, thinking of their dismissive words toward him. If nothing matters, then nothing matters. Why not see where this road leads?

Still, the consequences if he were seen near this Mechanic again…

Uncertain, Alain took another look at the back of Master Mechanic Mari. His expression did not change, but his breath hissed in between his teeth in a momentary reaction that he could not suppress. The foresight had come to him again, once more centered on this Mechanic, and the dark mist was more ominous than what he had seen in the waste. Black as the darkest night and shot with red veins, the mist foretold danger and violence in terms he needed no elder to interpret. Oddly, once again he sensed the storm clouds from his earlier vision, pressing in toward the Mechanic from the fringes of the dark mist. The Mechanic is in peril still. Does it have something to do with this thing which thinks but does not live? What is such a thing? The Mechanic knew when I spoke of it, though she tried to hide it.

Is it some form of Mechanic troll? Trolls do not truly think or live, and Mechanics are not supposed to be able to make such things. Do I not have an obligation to learn if Mechanics can do this, so as to warn my Guild?

And if this Mechanic can control the actions of a Mage such as I, make me think certain thoughts and react to calls which were not made, then that too the Mage Guild must know.

This is not about the Mechanic. She is nothing. I have already given her warning of danger here, a warning she seems not to have heeded. I am doing this for my Guild. He repeated that to himself, but wondered how much of an illusion his rationale really was. At least it served to justify his actions while he decided what to do next.

Why hadn’t the Mechanic taken his warning? Alain felt rising irritation and ruthlessly restrained the emotion. And why, when the other Mechanics he had seen this morning had all been in pairs, did she travel alone? Was she so careless?

She had not acted careless in the waste. Desperate, certainly, especially when she risked them both to confront what proved to be the salt caravan.

What were the Mechanic’s elders like? She had said they were like his own, strange though that sounded. Did they listen to her? Had she passed on the warning, only to have her elders dismiss her words as Alain’s elders had dismissed his?

He suddenly felt certain that this Mechanic had no choice but to go onward to danger. Once again, he knew how she must feel. A strange sensation, worrisome. How to make it go away? How to release the hold she had placed upon him?

She had saved his life. Alain almost smiled before he caught himself. That was it. Several times she had “helped” him. The Mechanic had used that to influence him. No wonder the elders warned against helping.

How to cancel it out? Like canceled like. Power could defeat power. She had saved him, she had helped him. He would help her, perhaps even save her life. That would cancel whatever the Mechanic had done to him. He would be free of her.

The logic had no flaws. This must be wisdom. Alain began walking behind the trolley, staying close enough to keep it in sight, which was easy enough to do given its slow pace. The way out of error led through this Mechanic. He had gotten into it by associating with her, and now he had to get out of it the same way.

Mari reflected glumly that the only good thing about this journey was the fact that no one dared share a bench with a Mechanic, so that no matter how crowded the trolley got, Mari still had plenty of room to herself. Unfortunately she also had plenty of time to think: about Senior Mechanics who seemed determined to trip her up, about Mages who didn’t act like Mages were supposed to act and gave warnings about things they weren’t supposed to know, and about a city full of hostile commons who seemed ready to blow like a boiler under too much pressure.

She felt some sympathy for the Senior Mechanics concerned that Ringhmon could erupt like Julesport had, but only a little. Senior Mechanics insisted on the policies which kept the commons not only under control but resenting their inferior status. As an apprentice, Mari had gotten into more than one heated argument with other apprentices over her belief that the commons could be controlled without rubbing their noses in it. She had been gaining converts to her point of view when those arguments were abruptly halted. She was called in for some extremely serious questioning by the Guild Hall Supervisor at Caer Lyn, ending in a very clear order. We know what we’re doing. We have centuries of experience. A few years ago you were living in a hovel among the commons, thinking you were no better than them. You were wrong then and you’re wrong now. Listen, learn and obey.

She had shut up like a good little apprentice, because she wasn’t stupid. But she hadn’t understood then and still didn’t understand why the Senior Mechanics refused to consider a different approach. It wasn’t as though the superiority of the Mechanics was artificial, something made up. The commons couldn’t do the things that Mechanics could. They needed Mechanics. That reality couldn’t be altered by treating the commons with a little dignity.

Nothing is real.

Blasted Mage. He believed some really strange things, and she would do best to forget them as soon as possible. She knew what was real and what wasn’t.

It wasn’t until she had spent a few moments studying the distant shape of a Mage crossing the road ahead of them, easy to make out because of the way the commons left a wide berth around him, that Mari realized she had been looking for a glimpse of one particular Mage. That one ahead couldn’t be him. Too short and too wide.

Why was she looking? He was in the past. Gone. Stop thinking about him. The job was ahead of her. Eyes front. Focus.

Eventually the trolley dragged its weary way to the Hall of City Government. The vast structure looming up across a broad expanse of courtyard was, outwardly at least, the grandest Mari had seen in Ringhmon, with a profusion of columns, balustrades, roof angles and balconies. The courtyard itself was sprinkled with larger-than-life statues of noble-looking individuals who literally looked down from their pedestals on those citizens who were trudging across the open area toward the big building.

Mari slung the strap of her tool kit over her shoulder and joined the stream of humanity. She glanced at some of the pedestals as she passed them, reading inscriptions which praised the persons whose statues surmounted them as “servants of the people.” If there had been another Mechanic with her, Mari would have made some comment about servants looking down on those they were supposed to be serving.

There were plenty of guards standing around, looking brutally alert. Mari paused to consider whether she wanted to worry about carrying a concealed weapon into the city hall. The pistol could be awkward if she needed to squeeze around equipment or take off her jacket to do anything. She didn’t want anyone in Ringhmon knowing she had a weapon if she could help it. Mari knelt down, pretending to adjust the lace of her boot. Bent down like that, Mari could slip her hand inside her jacket and reach her pistol without being seen. She opened a compartment on the outside of her tool kit and stuffed the pistol in, then resealed the compartment. It wasn’t a great hiding place, but no citizen of Ringhmon was going to be looking in there.

Finally reaching the steps, Mari saw her path blocked by a long line of citizens waiting to be passed by the guards. That was fine for commons. Mechanics lived by other rules, and this was one time she wasn’t the least bit unhappy about that. Mari went to one side and walked up past the entire line until she reached the entry where two soldiers in highly polished breastplates were using their authority to give randomly chosen citizens a hard time.

One of the soldiers caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and swung her way, one hand going to the elaborate hilt of his short sword. “Hold on— ” Then he caught sight of her jacket. “Uh, yeah?”

That was the limit. These goons might be able to abuse the common folk of Ringhmon, but they wouldn’t get to play that game with her. Mari glared at the man. “Did you address me?” she asked.

He got the hint. “Yes, Lady Mechanic?”

“I have a contract with the City Fathers of Ringhmon.”

The guard turned to his companion, who made a baffled gesture. Mari tried to keep her temper at yet another set of people expressing surprise at her presence. The second guard called to someone inside the building. “Gerd, there’s a Mechanic here, says she’s got a contract.”

Gerd came out, his breastplate just as bright as the others, but carrying a Mechanic rifle as his weapon. Mari glanced at it, confirming that it was another repeating rifle. I don’t care what Guild policy is. If I ever get to Danalee I’m going to have a long talk with the Mechanics there about their choice of customers.

How many rifles has the Guild let Ringhmon buy? A city this size shouldn’t have more than a dozen.

I guess that’s where the money went that could have paid for truly impressive buildings in this city.

Gerd eyed Mari doubtfully. “A contract, you say, Lady?”

“That’s correct,” Mari said, annoyed by his skepticism. “Master Mechanic Mari of Caer Lyn.”

“Master Mechanic?” Gerd took one look at Mari’s hardening expression and apparently decided not to pursue that question. “What’s the contract for, Lady?”

“That’s between me and the City Fathers. I’m not permitted to discuss it with anyone else.”

Gerd thought about that for a moment, his brows lowered. Mari imagined she could almost see rusty wheels turning slowly inside his head. “Then it’s a matter for City Manager Polder, Lady. I’ll take you to him. But first we need to search that, Lady.” The guard pointed at her tool bag.

“This is my equipment. My tools. You don’t search it.” Everybody knew that. Commons weren’t allowed access to Mechanic tools, and commons weren’t allowed to search Mechanics.

“I’m sorry, Lady, but there are no exceptions.” Gerd puffed himself up in a routine which he must have pulled on countless common folk. “Those are the rules. No exceptions.”

Unbelievable. That attitude hadn’t developed overnight. Why had Guild Hall Supervisor Stimon, who had seemed to enjoy slapping her down, let the commons in Ringhmon develop that kind of behavior? Did he want to force a Guild intervention here? “You can make any rule you want, but I don’t have to pay any attention to it,” Mari said. “I don’t know why your city is so afraid of its own citizens, but I am a Mechanic. Has Ringhmon totally forgotten the treatment expected by members of the Mechanics Guild? Does Ringhmon wish to offend the Mechanics Guild? Shall I walk back down those steps this moment and return to my Guild Hall along with every other Mechanic in this city to await a formal apology from the City Fathers, and the payment of a large fine, for their actions toward our Guild?” Surely even Guild Hall Supervisor Stimon would back her up on this. No city could be allowed to treat Mechanics that way.

Mari was certain that she hadn’t yelled, just spoken very clearly, yet the two lesser guards and Gerd leaned back as if being subjected to a gale. Gerd, considerably paler now, nodded several times. Even a low-ranking guard supervisor had to realize what would happen to any city put under a Mechanics Guild interdict. It would forbid any repair of existing equipment, prohibit sales of new equipment, halt train shipments, and cut off all electrical power coming from the Mechanics Guild Hall. “Yes, Lady. I’ll take you and your bag to City Manager Polder.”

Mari, having made her point, nodded in agreement. Polder’s name was on her contract, so she knew he was an acceptable person to speak with. “All right.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the commons waiting in line doing a poor job of hiding their glee at seeing the guards dressed down. Some even seemed to be directing looks of approval at her. Master Mechanic Mari, champion of the common folk, she thought. Yeah. That’s me. The guards had deserved to get chewed out, but throwing her weight around had always left Mari with a bad taste in her mouth. She also knew that even though Gerd and his pals couldn’t touch her, after she left they could and would take out their public embarrassment on those commons. “There’s nothing you can do about that, Mari. You can’t fix everything.” How many times had Alli said those words to her?

Gerd whispered some instructions to his subordinates, emphasizing his words with angry gestures, then with a bow waved Mari into the building. She followed, trying to walk in a confident and competent manner. Most Mechanics adopted a swagger to their walk, a special way of emphasizing their superiority, but Mari had never been able to do it right. When she tried to swagger, it usually looked as if she were swinging her hips in an awkward attempt to look seductive. That wasn’t quite the professional image that she wanted to cultivate, so Mari had eventually decided to leave the swaggering to others.

Secretly, she had always thought the swagger looked a little silly, anyway, so she stuck to her decision even after some other Mechanics mocked her for walking like a common. They weren’t the sort of Mechanics whose opinions she cared a great deal about anyway.

Gerd led the way to an unadorned doorway and, gulping nervously, announced their presence to those inside.

City Manager Polder proved to be a small, balding man with a sharp face and a sharper smile. Mari wondered why Polder reminded her of the taller and heavier set Guild Hall Supervisor Stimon, then realized Polder’s smile was just as false as the one Stimon had sometimes worn. Twins under the skin, those two.

Mari noticed that Polder dismissed guard leader Gerd with the casual ease of someone used to exercising power. She noticed as well that Polder’s garments were very nice but not ostentatious. The man appeared to have so much power he didn’t worry about trying to impress people. That also echoed a Mechanic’s attitude in a disquieting way.

Polder led the way deeper into the building. “How was your journey to Ringhmon, Lady Mechanic?”

In no mood to be reminded of the misery she had endured, Mari responded frostily. “I’ve had better. My caravan was destroyed by bandits.”

Polder’s false smile didn’t waver in the slightest. “The Waste is a forbidding place. The Empire does a very poor job of policing its side, and the brigands there too often harass those on Ringhmon’s territory, fleeing before Ringhmon’s forces can call them to account. It is fortunate that you were rescued by a band of salt traders.”

It wasn’t surprising that Polder had learned that a Mechanic had entered the city with that group of traders. But why had he made a point of telling her that he knew it?

“You were not the only survivor so rescued, I understand,” Polder continued.

So that was it. He wanted to know more about the Mage who the traders would have said had been with her. Mari made a gesture of indifference. “There was some Mage also from the caravan. He showed up when I found the salt traders.”

“You were not traveling together?”

Mari turned a frown on Polder. No need to lie on this one. Just say what anyone would expect to hear. “A Mechanic traveling with a Mage? Are you seriously asking that?”

“No, Lady Mechanic, of course not.” Polder cleared his throat. “I must admit to some surprise, Lady Mechanic. Our contract with your Guild specified that we needed someone extremely well qualified for the task. The best to be found in the eastern lands. Your Guild offices in Palandur insisted that you were that person.”

“My Guild had good grounds for saying I met the contract’s requirements.”

Somewhere along the way, two more guards joined them. Mari tried not to look wary as she took in their plain but very good armor and alert movements. No shiny flashiness like the gate guards. These were the sort of guards she had seen clustered around the Emperor in Palandur, guards who were chosen not for looks but for ruthless efficiency. Yet Polder, officially just the City Manager, somehow merited such wolflike guardians.

Mari started to wonder who really ran Ringhmon. The City Fathers might think they did, but Polder seemed more and more like the one in charge.

After passing through several more guarded entries and along narrow hallways lined with identical doors bearing cryptic designations, the small group halted at a wooden door reinforced by bands of high-quality metal. Polder produced a large key and unlocked the door, then rapped several times before entering.

Once inside, Mari could see the reason for knocking on the door. Three more guards were in the room, one positioned behind the door, and all watching them alertly. But then she caught sight of the machine she had come to fix, and her breath caught.

“Impressive, is it not?” Polder asked.

“Very impressive,” Mari admitted. She stepped closer, taking in the size and complexity of the device that dominated the room. She felt her spirits rising, a rush of anticipation at being able to work on this machine and prove her ability to fix it.

“A Model Six out of the Mechanics Guild calculating and analysis device workshops of Alfarin,” Polder stated, his voice smug.

“I know,” Mari replied. “It’s actually a Form Three of the Model Six, with additional data storage and analysis capability added.” She glanced at Polder, who let himself look mildly impressed.

“Then you know this device well?” he inquired.

“As well as anyone but the Mechanic who builds them, and that Mechanic was among my instructors for a while.” He had overseen the construction of only one of the Form Threes, as far as Mari knew. Someone had wanted to spare no expense to get the best calculating and analysis device that could be built, and the Mechanics Guild had been happy to comply.

But, according to the records she had been shown in Palandur before she left, Ringhmon had purchased only a Form One of the Model Six, and that several decades ago.The Mechanics Guild Hall here had an ongoing contract to keep it operating. The average city had only one calculating and analysis device, because the Guild kept them very expensive and the supply extremely limited. They were all Model Sixes, of course. The Guild built only one design, though it allowed buyers to add a few extras to the basic Model Six, which had been around for a very long time. Mari had never met anyone who had seen a Model Five, and when the Fives were pulled from service however many decades ago, every one of the operating and repair manuals had either been destroyed or consigned to the no access permitted vaults at Mechanics Guild headquarters in Palandur.

She had asked questions about that, too, until the uncomfortably paternal Professor T’mos had warned her about it. The Guild will tell you what you need to know, Mari. If something is locked away, there’s a good reason. You obviously don’t need to know whatever it is if it’s locked away.

No wonder history hadn’t interested her. Too much of it was hidden.

Mari glanced around at the three room guards, City Manager Polder, and his two other guards. “I can’t work with this crowd in here. I don’t need the distractions and I don’t need to be stepping over them to get to things.” She wasn’t worried about them watching her work, since calculating and analysis thinking ciphers were far too complex for commons to figure out. Even the great majority of Mechanics couldn’t grasp them, but the Guild didn’t worry about that because only a few calculating and analysis devices existed.

Polder nodded without argument, then gestured to the three room guards to leave.

Mari evaluated the size of the room again and glanced at him. “It’s still too crowded.”

The City Manager regarded her, then pointed at his two guards and with two quick flicks of his finger indicated that his two guards should also go into the hallway. Both men went, standing out in the hall so they could look inside from slightly different angles, their hands resting near their sword hilts. Polder himself stepped back, flat against the wall, and folded his arms. He obviously intended to stay.

Fine. He would be standing there for hours while she went about the tedious work of getting this machine working properly again. Polder would not be enjoying himself, and he would get a ringside seat to see how well Mari knew her job. Yes. That was fine with her.

She opened her tool kit, pulling out the necessary equipment, then went to the Model Six’s main control panel and begin entering some test requests. Instead of issuing the proper response on a punched stream of paper, the Model Six did an advanced-mechanical version of gagging.

Mari smiled, the forebodings of the morning lost in the joy of doing something she could handle very well. Her first job would be easier than many of the tests she had passed to earn her Master Mechanic rating. She could fix this. Uncertainties disappearing like dissipating steam, Mari got other material to print out on the paper stream, examining the thinking ciphers for errors. They weren’t hard to spot, though surprising in a Model Six whose design had been around for so long. Getting happily into her work, Mari painstakingly put together a cipher fix, loaded it into the calculating and analysis device and then repeated her tests.

Then she frowned. The Model Six gagged again, but in a different way. That shouldn’t happen. She knew the Model Six cipher very well, and her fix should not have caused that. Mari developed a new fix, loading it in, ran the tests again…and found that some of the original problems had reappeared.

Mari rubbed her chin, studying the large, hand-crafted metal boxes that sat before her. There was one possible explanation for what was happening. It was an explanation that wasn’t supposed to be possible, involving something that wasn’t supposed to exist, but she had been taught about it anyway at Professor S’san’s insistence. Taking a deep breath, Mari started putting together a new set of tests. Lost in the challenge of her work, Mari was oblivious by now to the passage of time and the silent form of City Manager Polder standing against the wall. Mari didn’t even notice when electric lights were switched on to brighten a room going dim as the sun sank low in the sky.

The tests ran. Mari stared at the long, long strip printing out. There it is. No doubt. This isn’t an error in cipher code. It’s a contagion. Someone infected this Model Six with another cipher designed to keep it from working right. No wonder Master Mechanic Xian couldn’t fix this. The fact that such contagions could be created was so secret that few Mechanics knew about it, and even fewer had any training in dealing with them. Mari was one of that last tiny group, which explained exactly why she had been needed here.

If someone knew or suspected this was the problem, why didn’t they tell me? And who created this? I don’t recognize the hand that crafted this contagion, and I know just about everyone who can build ciphers like this. And creating a contagion is strictly banned. Anyone caught creating one would lose their heads. Literally.

Fixing this is half the problem. The other half is figuring out who did it. Mari looked over at the City Manager. “The contract I have stated that you had no idea of the origin of the problem with this machine. Have you learned anything since then?”

Polder shook his head very deliberately. “No. Nothing. Are you saying you cannot fix it?”

He had to be lying. All of the security, all of the guards, all of the Mechanic weapons argued that Ringhmon considered itself surrounded by enemies. Why wouldn’t Ringhmon suspect those enemies? And if the contagion had been installed for blackmail, the city would have surely received a demand for payment in exchange for a fix. Instead, Ringhmon had come to the Mechanics Guild and claimed ignorance. “I can fix it. I’ll have to wipe the existing thinking cipher and reload it, but your information and calculations should be fine since they’re stored outside the analysis components.” She pointed at the spools of wire on which the machine kept the results of its work.

“You are certain we will lose nothing?” Polder demanded.

Mari shook her head, wondering why that particular concern had finally rattled Polder’s composure. “You’ll lose nothing.”

An extra Model Six, and the effective ruler of this city worried about what was stored on it. Mari tried to keep a calm appearance as she resolved to find out more about that before she left here.

By the time Mari finished purging all trace of the contagion and reloading the thinking cipher, the sky outside the windows set high up on one wall was completely dark. Suppressing a yawn, Mari ran her tests again and was rewarded with perfect results. It felt very good, bringing a warm sense of accomplishment. Who else could’ve fixed this? Maybe a total of two other Mechanics, one of whom rarely leaves Alfarin and the other rarely leaves Palandur. Hooray for me. First contract successfully completed. Good job, Master Mechanic Mari, and to blazes with Senior Mechanic Stimon’s black mark. I might as well praise myself, since I’m not sure anyone else will.

Now for the rest of the job. She called up another readout, which should give line headers for the information stored on the Model Six. Neither Polder nor any other common would be able to know that was what she was looking at, so there shouldn’t be any risk in it. But Mari still had to work to keep from showing any nervousness as she called up that data.

The coded printout scrolled past as she scanned it. Not the usual listing of financial information, payrolls, inventories and such. No. Mari had to take a second look to be sure what it was. Measurements. Length, width, thickness. Shapes. Materials. Specifications.

In a crude way, it was a description of a disassembled Mechanic device.

A repeating rifle.

This could only have come from someone trying to reverse-engineer a Mechanic rifle, taking it apart piece by piece to discover how to build a copy. Who would do such a thing? And why? Only Mechanics can do that kind of work. The Guild strictly prohibits commons from trying to learn any Mechanic secrets, and regularly tells the commons about the severe penalties for anyone caught trying. Why hasn’t Master Mechanic Xian already spotted what these commons are doing? He can't be that incompetent! What the blazes is going on in this city?

A contagion of unknown origin. Hostile, arrogant commons. Somebody playing around with Mechanic secrets. Mari felt like she had when the bandits attacked the caravan. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve got to get out of here. “That’s it,” she stated in what she hoped was a calm voice. “It’s done.”

Polder’s face lit with eagerness. “The Model Six works as it should again?”

“Exactly as it should.” Mari slowly stretched, feeling the strain of the day’s work and tense with what she had learned. Take it easy. You’re tired, ready to leave, work’s done. Be like that Mage. Don’t show anything else.

“Excellent.” Polder gave her a look of polite interest, waving his guards back into the room. “What was the nature of the problem?”

I have a nasty suspicion that you already know, and if you don’t know, I’m not telling you. “The exact cause is a Guild matter, not to be discussed with outsiders.”

Instead of bridling at her words, or even showing the usual resentment commons couldn’t hide when Mechanics declined to share their secrets, Polder nodded in a humble way that seemed very out of character. “Naturally. But can you tell me how to ensure the problem is not repeated? Is it anything we’re doing on the Model Six?”

Mari shook her head. “No.”

Polder looked regretful. “You saw nothing out of the ordinary? Are you asking me to believe that you do not understand the problem you claim to have fixed?”

Polder’s attitude set off alarms inside Mari. She had been assuming that no common would dare do anything, not when it was known that she had come here. It was only at this moment that Mari realized how late it was, how dark outside. Polder and his guards could swear that she had left this building before mysteriously vanishing. She was abruptly aware of the fact that she was alone, inside a building owned by commons, surrounded by commons, some of whom were clearly dangerous. They wouldn’t— Would they? This isn’t supposed to happen.

With the pistol hidden in her tool kit, Mari had no weapon within easy reach. No weapon except her status as a Mechanic. She tried to reassert her authority fast. “I’m a Mechanic with the full power of my Guild behind me. I don’t ask commons to do anything, I tell them. I am done here, and I am leaving. My Guild Hall will send you the bill for my services.”

Instead of moving out of her way or getting angry, Polder gave a small, humorless smile. “I see. Perhaps it’s time that your Guild learns that the people of Ringhmon don’t want to stay any longer in the box the Mechanics have made to confine this world.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care,” Mari said with what she hoped was the right mix of anger and authority. “I’ve finished my job and I’m leaving,” she repeated more forcefully.

“As you wish.” Polder made a small gesture, looking somewhere behind Mari where his two guards were standing.

Mari started to turn, then something hard slammed against the back of her head. Her last sight before darkness came was of Polder still watching her with that grim smile.