Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (5 page)

They soon moved on.

The whole of Europe awaited him. Surely not all of the Continent bore this weight of age. There were new states fluctuating into being all the time, weren't there? And vast tracts of forest dotted the landscape, mountains rising in the distance he could retreat into if he needed somewhere less confining . . . He was eager to explore.

He bought bread and cheese from a local market, completing his transaction with gestures as he knew his Spanish to be incomprehensible to a real Spaniard. With a bottle of beer and a canteen of water, all of his provisions were acquired. He'd spent weeks with less during the war. Chester's gunpowder reservoir now served as a handy carry-all for his food and drink.

Hoisting his knapsack on his back and taking his gunny in hand, he started walking, helping Chester over the worst roots and ruts. The little automaton had known worse in the war. Certainly civilization had covered many of the greenwoods of legend, stone buildings comprising the new forests.

Still, there were tracts of trees of a size and age he had never seen, and he reveled in the peace he found within them. The undergrowth was easy to navigate, giving Chester an easier time than the cobbled streets. Great forests of ash, oak, and pine towered over his head, the air redolent with the clean scent of growing. Gnarled branches showed the age they possessed, but here, the age comforted rather than intimidated him. It was a touch of home in unfamiliar surroundings. After the blood and death of the war, the beauty of nature soothed something in him he hadn't known needed soothing.

One evening, Toby made camp at the base of a huge oak on the edge of a clearing. The tree provided a hollow in its roots to make his bed, and a patch of bare earth before the oak made a perfect fire circle. Soon, the crackle of flames punctuated the calls of the night birds heading out to hunt. Chester stood silent, the flames reflecting off his shiny brass. 'Twas all the companionship he needed.

He toasted a chunk of bread topped with cheese over the fire, sipping from his canteen. The cheese sizzled enticingly, and his mouth watered just thinking of it. Meal for the gods . . .

He was just about to take the first bite when he spotted a thin figure watching him from the shadows. The man was ragged and shivering, and Toby waved him over to the fire. “Come and have a seat. I have plenty for the both of us. It's too cold to stand in the dark when there is a fire before you. Sit and warm yourself.”

The man sidled over and sat on a root outcropping at the edge of the firelight. “Thank you, kind sir.”His voice was breathless and hollow, like the wind through the trees. His clothes were more holes than cloth, and a tangled beard hung halfway down his chest. “Who's your friend then?”

“He's a quiet sort, but a good walking companion. It's a mite chilly to be wandering the dark ways,” Toby commented again.“I'd be happy to have you share the fire for the night.” He broke off a piece of the toasted bread and handed it across to the man. “It ain't much, but I'm pleased to share what I've got.”

The man took the food and ate it with wolfish haste.

“Been awhile since you had anything to eat, huh? Here.” Toby handed his portion to the stranger. “I can miss a meal or two without no trouble.”

“Much obliged,” mumbled the man around a mouthful of bread and cheese. “You wouldn't have any beer to wash it down, would you?”

Toby thought of the bottle squirreled away in Chester's belly for just the right occasion. So far, he hadn't found it, but charity was its own reward, they said. He popped open the little mechanoid and pulled out the bottle, passing it over with a last regretful glance.

“Thanks, I'm parched.” The man grinned, showing a lot of teeth in the firelight. They seemed in mighty good health for a man wandering. Toby found his tongue touching the hollow where he had lost two of his own.

“You sound like you are far from home, too,” Toby remarked, snapping Chester back together. “Whereabouts you come from?”

“Oh, here and there. I move around a great deal.”

Toby shrugged. “None of my affair, if you don't want to say.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand. “Been a long day, sir. I think I'll just hit my bedroll.” He pulled his blankets out of his pack and prepared to make his bed.“Feel free to sleep by the fire.”

“Before you settle in, Tobias, I'd like to discuss something with you.”

In the process of shaking out his blankets, Toby froze. He wasn't stupid enough to have given this fellow his name. He thought of the old rifle he had debated bringing on this trip. Now he wished he had. Slowly and methodically, he finished making his bed and then turned to the stranger. “And just how do you be knowing my name,
friend
?” Toby put the slightest emphasis on the final word.

“I know many things.” The man grinned again, and it seemed like even more teeth caught the firelight.

Toby frowned, disconcerted by the illusion. “Well, I'm not sure what I feel about that, stranger. Seems like you have an advantage over me.”

“They call me the Toymaker,” replied his companion. “It's the only name I know or care to answer to these days. A sample of my wares.” With a flourish, he produced a small brass box from one of his pockets and handed it to Toby.

Toby took it cautiously and examined it. The box was etched with complex symbols, and there was an indention on the side.

“Place your thumb on the depression,” the Toymaker told him with a wink.

Pursing his lips in thought, Toby hesitated. It was a little thing. Nothing that small could be too dangerous . . . though he had seen grenades not much larger.

With a shrug, Toby did as instructed. After all, the worst it could do was kill him, and that would be an adventure, wouldn’t it? The moment his thumb covered the depression, the box shifted in his hand. The lid rose on its own, lifting on thin scoping rods. Inside the box was a miniature room with a delicate dancer spinning across the floor. He could hear tinny music rising into the night, accompanying the dancer's movements. “What a cunning thing!” he breathed.

“Yes, isn't it?”

Toby made to hand it back to the man, but The Toymaker waved a hand. “No, you keep it, my boy. A token of appreciation for the meal.”

Frowning, Toby protested. “This is worth a darn sight more than some moldy bread and stale cheese.”

“Maybe, but it is mine to dispense with, and I would like you to have it. I'm sure you will find a use for it someday.”

Toby removed his thumb from the depression, and the lid slowly lowered, hiding the dancer and her chamber. “There must be something you want for it. It's too fine to just give away to a stranger, no matter if you do know my name.”

“As a matter of fact, there is something you can do for me,” the Toymaker answered, stroking his beard.

Toby followed the movement of the other's hand, fascinated. He could have sworn the beard was gray and patchy—unkempt to say the least. Now, it appeared silky and black in the firelight. The man's clothes were not as decrepit as they had first appeared either. He would swear such on his Bible.

Toby wasn't much for superstition, but his fingers itched to cross himself. He restrained the impulse, fearing it would appear impolite.

“What is it you want?” he asked the Toymaker.

“I have a wager with a . . . companion of mine. He maintains that I cannot persuade a young man such as yourself to accept a task from me. Now, it is indeed a difficult task, but the reward for its completion is well worth the risk.”

“What are you looking to propose?”

“It's rather asocial experiment, if you will. The subject”—he gestured toward Toby—“—you, for example—would do without bath or barber for the next seven years. You would eschew change of clothes. You would stay away from church or temple, and pray to no god. You would tell no one your reasons for such behavior.

“In return, you would have unlimited funds at your disposal, to spend or dispense with as you wished. If you survive until the end of the term without breaking any of these prohibitions, you would receive riches beyond your dreams for the rest of your days.”

“And if I don't survive, or I break a rule?”

“Why, then you belong to me.” The Toymaker's eyes caught the fire in such a way that they appeared to glow red, and there seemed to be the tips of small horns peeking through his hair.

Toby inhaled sharply. He'd heard of such things—encounters with the Wicked One in the wilderness. It was rare they ended well. Still, there were a few exceptions . . . and Pa had always said he had the Devil's own luck. Seven years was just under half of what he'd spent upon this earth so far, but the deal held its charms. He was a hearty soul and good at getting by. The prohibitions weren't much more than many a man who rode the rails back home might face. The thought he wouldn't have the comfort of prayer was daunting, but it wouldn't be forever. The God he worshiped would understand.

A thought occurred to him. “Would that be pray out loud, or pray at all?”

“Clever, boy! Most people never think to ask for clarification. What you do inside your head I am not privy to. How could I be?”

Toby pondered. In the end, he could clean himself up again, confess his sins to God. And be rich. To a young man of not yet twenty who had spent four years on the battlefield, it sounded like a cake walk. He could survive.

Besides, if he died, would the hell the Toymaker promised be any worse than the one he was living with in his head? It would be an adventure—more pleasant than the battlefield at any rate.

“I'll do it.”

The Toymaker held out his hand. “Shake to seal the bargain.”

And Toby did.

The next morning, he found himself alone in the clearing. His sturdy coat, which he had been using as an extra blanket, was gone, the Toymaker's threadbare velvet greatcoat left in its place.

“What's all this then, Chester?” he asked his stoic companion.

There was also a note in a spidery script he had to puzzle out. “Tobias—I will see you in seven years. Remember the prohibitions of our bargain—no bathing or change of attire; cutting your hair, beard, or nails; prayer or entering holy structure; and no disclosing these terms to another. If you need money, reach into the left pocket of my greatcoat, and you will always find it there. If you hunger or thirst, reach into the right, and it will succor your needs. I bid you
adieu
until we meet again.”

Toby bit his lip and reached into the left pocket. He pulled out a handful of gold. Whistling through his teeth, he dropped it back into the coat and reached into the other pocket.

A biscuit warmed his hand, and when he bit into it, it was as light and flaky as any his sainted mother had made him when he was a child. There was also tender jerky, and his canteen was full of water as sweet as wine.

“What do you know about that, Chester? I reckon your belly can be used for other things then, can't it?” His thoughts went to turning over what that might be. A bit of wire, a gear or two . . . he might be able to cobble together some sort of fire contrivance, a way to cook on the road wherever he might be, or keep warm when there was no opportunity for a fire pit. Parts shouldn't be that hard to come by with good gold in hand. Something to consider though—a good cook fire required different coals than a heat source.

Heart full of song, he gathered his belongings and started off again on his adventures. He was young, strong, and optimistic. Chester was the only companion he required—someone to pass the time with, to chatter his impressions of the road. Sure, sometimes he might wish Chester could answer back, but he was content enough. With money at his fingertips and a whole world to explore, he was sure seven years would pass in the blink of an eye.

By the time he had walked from the French forest where he met the Toymaker into the mountains of Switzerland, he was not so sure. The forest had been fairly simple walking, the undergrowth very easy to navigate. As he entered the mountains, though, the travel became more difficult. There were stony grades beneath his feet instead of soft pine needles, and his boots were soon worn through, but he could not replace them. It made the stones even harder to traverse.