The Spark (4 page)

Gossimer ignored their excited whispers as he donned his own jacket and hat. It seemed to him all the council was good for was to feed the egos of its members, as well as providing a niche, or outlet, for idle gossip. Gossimer looked at the old kinetic before him with an unapologetic glare before falling in line behind his master. Gossimer stepped through the entryway doors, which Lucian had left ajar for him.

The world outside was angry as whipping snow and wailing wind hid the city of Gossac from view. Gossimer found Lucian standing behind one of the limestone pillars, shielding himself from the wind.

“That man shall ruin Wynne faster than he knows dear Gossimer.” Lucian had to raise his voice to be heard over the howling wind.

With a nimble hand, the old general reached into the pocket that Gossimer ensured held a cigarette, and brought the tightly rolled smoke to his lips. He handed the small matchbook to Gossimer, indicating for a light. The older man shook his head in frustration as Gossimer removed a match to light the tobacco. It took him three tries in the wind to finally get the damned thing to light. Lucian nodded his thanks as he took a long, deep drag, letting the small flame ignite the tobacco.

“What are you going to do now, ser?” Gossimer asked as he lit his own cigarette.

“I do not know lad,” Sadness lurked in the general’s frustrated tone. Lucian took another long drag of his smoke. “For the nonce, we wait.”

Gossimer shifted his weight from left to right, and back again as he tried to keep his body heated. The wind cut through his thin coat the way a knife slides through warm butter. For several minutes master and steward stood against the marble pillar of the parliament building, trying to savour their sweet tobacco despite the day’s travesties.

“Bring the auto ‘round front.” Lucian finally said. “I am sure the Chancellor will wish to know the council’s decision as soon as possible.”

“I hope the damned thing will run in this weather.” Gossimer said. He took three final puffs of his cigarette before tossing it into a snowdrift. Gossimer pulled his coat tight as he stepped into the angry world. He buried his face in the lapels of his jacket to avoid the biting wind.

The going was slow as Gossimer had to rely on memory to get to the carriage house, for he could not see any further than a yard in any direction. In most places the snow came to his ankles, but in others, where the wind blew most, Gossimer found himself knee deep in snow drifts. By the time he came upon the building that housed the autos of the councilors, his shoes were well soaked and his toes frozen.

Fumbling around the side of the building, Gossimer found the service entrance. He reached for the handle, turned its iron knob and gave a push. The door refused to open.

“Del Morte be damned,” Gossimer cursed, trying once again to open the door. He knew the hinges were more than likely frozen, but there was a part of him that could not accept that reality.

He tried to open the entrance again, and again. Each time he threw his weight against the door, only to be met with a solid, immovable force.

“Just open damn you!” He slammed a closed fist upon the wooden object as his desire for protection from the elements overcame his sensibilities; he unleashed a bestial fury, kicking and shoving until the ice finally relented. The hinges creaked and groaned as they swung inwards, offering the steward a reprieve from the world outside.

Gossimer stood in the open doorway, huffing as he allowed his vision to adjust to the dark interior. Tucking his hands into his armpits for added warmth, he took the first step into the building. The familiar smell of axle grease and coal greeted him like an old friend. In the gloom he could make out the shapes of three autos, all of varying shapes and makes.

His wet shoes scraped upon the stone floor as he passed the smallest carriage in the shed. By the day’s modern standard, it was of an antique design from a more simple age. Or so the history texts would have you believe. This auto belonged to Lady Schernoff, and, as with everything the Di Delgan governement could afford, she had been afflicted with this antiquated design. Gossimer still found it hard to believe that any steampowered autos were still in existence, for the coal for their boilers had become something of a rarity.

As he passed the old, dated model, he came upon the Pozian representitive’s carriage. It was a curious affair, but at least it was cortex powered. What made this auto so unique was the fiery, and unmistakable, colouring of the outer wood panels. The Pozian’s were well known for their love of bold colours, and it seemed to Gossimer that that love transcended into obscure items, such as autos.

Gossimer continued around the far side of the mid-sized vehicle and was greeted by the massive design of the Valvian auto. He paused for a moment to admire the eloquence of Lucian’s top-of-the-line vehicle. Gossimer’s chest filled with pride as he compared it to the other two makes in the shed. It was every bit ostentatious, but not quite so bold and fierce as the Pozian’s. It, too, housed a cortex engine.

“Time to get to it I s’pose.” Gossimer said. He walked around to the side of the body of the auto, which ran a daunting fifteen feet long and eight feet wide. Gossimer placed his hand on the cool ebony surface, letting his fingers slide along its sleek hull as he walked to the fore of the vehicle. Pausing by the cabin door, Gossimer stood on his tiptoes to peer inside. The interior was spacious and luxurious. Two sofas sat nearest the front while a cherry wood bar, with all manner of drink, stood centric in the cabin. In the rear a simple sleeping space had been created for those longer treks. Gossimer admired how every piece of carpentry, furniture and décor was embellished with the finest detailing and nuances.

As he approached the driver section of the auto, he felt an unwavering gaze fall on him as the gloom around him turned to a soft blue glow. Gossimer shuddered as the azure light followed him to the front of the vehicle. He bent over, trying to ignore the relentless scrutiny that watched him, and turned an iron crank, powering the cortex-engine with each rotation. The steward raised his head to look at the source of the light. Meeting Gossimer’s stare were two small burning blue orbs light that sat in the head section of a massive, metallic construct called Nine.

The golem itself was a wonderful bit of technological creation, and was named after its manufacture number, 00.0.9. Its outer body was built with varying sizes of steel and gold plates. Its innards were a conglomeration of gears, cogs, pistons, coils and pulleys. At the core of the creature sits a small cortex, which powered its bodily movement and functions. Hiding beneath a bronze faceplate that resembled the stern visage of a warrior, sits a secondary cortex, whose power gave Nine its sentience and vision. It was the glow of this energy source that illuminated the garage; it was the light from this secondary cortex that followed Gossimer’s every movement.

The cortex-engine of the auto whirred to life just as Gossimer’s arm grew weary of the constant rotating. A glow, similar to Nine’s eyes, issued from the seams of the hood and vents of the cortex-manifold. Gossimer removed the crank and tucked it under his arm. He looked from the engine, up to the silent, glowing construct. The electric hum of the engine filled the silent garage like a roaring waterfall. Devilish shadows filled the room as the light of the active cortexes chased the gloom away.

Gossimer strode around to the side of the vehicle and clambered up a small stepladder and sat down beside Nine, whose stare never deviated from Gossimer. Gossimer put the engine crank on the floor. He cupped his hands and brought them to his mouth, blowing warm breath into them, trying to chase the cold away. Gossimer leaned forward and examined the multidude of switches that littered the front dash.

“Nine, give me a hand here.” Gossimer looked at the construct, waiting for it to reply.

“What is it you require Ser Gossimer?” its soft, electric voice asked.

“I just need some light down here so I can get you fired up.” He blew another puff of air into his cupped hands.

“Of course.” The dashboard slowly became visible as Nine lowered its head, allowing the light from its eyes to fall upon the various switches.

“Thanks.” Gossimer looked at the switches closely before making his choice. He quickly flicked the option that would power the construct’s main cortex.

Gossimer sat back as the primary source for Nine’s abilities whirred to life. It was a strange thought, knowing the machine was often left with its secondary, sentient creating power source active while the source for the machines fine motor skills would be shut down. He understood the need for security, but what good was an enforcer if it lacked the ability to pursue any deviant? Resigning himself to letting well enough alone, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small tin canister and a thin square of rolling paper. Gossimer opened the lid and took a deep breath of the rich, vanilla, Valvian tobacco that lay within. Gossimer withdrew a healthy pinch and tenderly laid it in the center of the paper. He bit his lip as he concentrated on tightly rolling the cigarette, doing his best to ensure none of the precious leaf fell away. He quickly brought it to his mouth, licking the overhang of paper before folding it over to seal the cigarette. Placing it in his mouth, Gossimer returned the canister to his pocket and swapped it out for his box of matches.

“Master Lucian wishes to return to the manse, quick like.” He said, striking the match against the dash. Gossimer took a deep drag of the freshly lit smoke as he gutted the flame with his thumb.

“Understood.” Nine said, raising its head to a forward position.

Gossimer rose from the seat and descended the stepladder to the stone floor below. He let his feet take him to the bay door. Searching the outer most section of the steel door, Gossimer searched for the release crank. Upon finding it, Gossimer offered a silent hope that the door had not frozen shut.

“Oh, and Nine,” Gossimer hollered before releasing the locking mechanism, “be mindful. It seems the conditions and weather are less then favourable.”

“Understood Ser Gossimer.” It replied.

With a quick motion, Gossimer released the lock and waited for the door to rise. The steel shuddered and screeched as the pulleys and gears fought against winter’s grip. His smoke burned low as he watched in eager anticipation, slowly backing towards the auto.

“Ser Gossimer,” Nine’s electric voice beckoned over the din of grinding gears and buckling steel. “I suggest you rejoin the one called Nine. The integrity of the door threatens your being.”

Gossimer looked up at the construct, whose gaze never left the bay doors. Cracks of light peaked through slits as the steel banding began to come apart. Tossing his smoke aside, Gossimer scurried up the side ladder of the auto and plopped next to the construct.

“Ser Gossimer, keep your head down.” Nine said.

Before Gossimer could ask why, the vehicle stirred and began to roll forward.

“Nine?” Gossimer asked as he realized what the construct intended to do. “Nine!”

“Head down.” The construct said.

A heavy metallic hand pushed Gossimer’s head below the dash just as the auto slammed through the steel door. The air filled with a terrible screeching as steel scraped against the body of Lucian’s prized vehicle. The auto bounced out of the garage and into the biting cold of the blizzard outside.

“Ser Gossimer should listen to the one called Nine.” The machine said. “Ser Gossimer could have suffered much harm.”

“Yeah,” Gossimer sat up in his seat, covering his eyes from the bright light of the outside world. The carriage rumbled gaily as it made its way down the snow-covered roadway. “Next time give me more warning, got that?”

“Understood.” Nine agreed.

Gossimer leaned over the edge to see what damage the vehicle suffered.

“You’re lucky Nine,” Gossimer tsked as he tucked his hands into his armpits to ward off the cold. “There are only a few minor scratches. Master Margoux would have skinned me and dismantled you if it were anything worse.”

“The risk was…”

“Unnecessary.” Gossimer interrupted. “The door would have buckled and broke on its own.”

“The one called Nine apologizes.” The construct said.

“It’s fine.” Gossimer puffed. “Let’s just get Master Lucian and go home.”

“Understood.”

It did not take quite as long to pull around to the front of the parliament as it had for Gossimer to make it to the garage. He searched through the whipping snows for the building beyond. Gossimer recognized the shape of Master Lucian standing on the front steps, waiting patiently. Next two him were unfamiliar shapes, that of two women.

“Elenor,” Gossimer said, realizing he knew the figure of one of the two women; even though he just met her, Elenor’s silhouette was glaringly familiar through the snow.

Nine brought the auto to a gentle stop, despite the slick road. Lucian made a gesture to the ladies before descending the front stair of the parliement building.

“Gossimer, lad.” Lucian said on approach. “The Lady Schernoff shall be joining us this afternoon with her confidante, whom I believe you have met.” Lucian indicated to the waiting women. “Schernoff claims to have a plan of some sort that will aid Valvius where the Council will not.”

“Understood, ser.” Gossimer eagerly glanced over to Elenor who was once again hidden under layers of winter garments.