gave his wife a tight smile of thanks.
“Why don’t you check the locks on the door and I’ll put Sebastian to bed.”
He nodded, “I’ll load the blackpowder before we go to bed too, just to be safe,” he added as he stepped down the hallway towards a door with several locks and a locking bar guarding it.
“Come on Sebastian.”
Having stretched the chore of cleaning up his toys to its limit, Sebastian had no choice but to follow his mother down the hall to his bedroom. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his Father’s back was moving slowly down the hall to the front door, where he carefully inspected each lock and gave the knob a hard tug to make sure it was secure.
When he was younger, Sebastian had hated going to bed. Almost every night he would put up a fight before his parents found a way to convince him to go quietly. They had reminded him that Tinder got his powers when a dream showed him how to capture a phoenix with clever words and a commanding voice. He could never dream of how to get his own super powers if he never slept, they had told him. And boys who don’t listen to their parents don’t get powers either, his father had added. After that he had gone willingly to bed every night.
What his parents didn’t know is that he had also said a silent prayer every time he walked down that dark hallway towards his room. “Please, please, let me have a dream tonight that will show me how to get my powers,” he would ask. Recently, he had abandoned that tradition, telling himself it was childish and foolish. Even so, he could not squash his desire to escape normalcy and so, against his will, he reprised that silent prayer as he followed his mother.
“Please, please, let me have a dream tonight that will show me how to get my powers.”
He repeated the phrase several times before deciding to revise it, “I don’t care what it is, just give me something so that I can have an adventure.”
He felt a strange sense of calm descend over him, and he wondered if it was because he was tired or this was an indication of portentous things to come. His recurring dream seemed to indicate that tonight might be the night he got his wish. A thrill of excitement hummed through his chest and he jumped into bed. He even let his mother ruffle his hair and kiss him on the cheek without his usual protestations.
“Would you like a glass of water before I go?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“Sleep well, make sure you’re rested for your examination tomorrow.”
“I will,” he responded impatiently, eager for the darkness that came when she closed the door so that he might imagine his future as a great adventurer in privacy.
Even as he tried to picture what it would be like to fly or control ice like the Ice Ranger, his thoughts were interrupted with worries about his first days in the Bellows.
Almost everyone went to work in the Bellows, the coal fired furnaces that powered the city. Everyone Sebastian knew would be going to work there just as their fathers had. It was a difficult job, one that drew a lot of pride and honor for those who could do it well. It required quick thinking, fast reflexes, and almost superhuman strength to be promoted to anything beyond a peon who took the most dangerous jobs. His friend Mathias was certain to be one of the Promoted almost instantly. He was fast and strong and incredibly smart. They had grown up together. He lived close by and they spent their days playing and going to lessons together. Their parents were close friends, which only solidified their relationship.
Mathias had loved the stories of Tinder as much as Sebastian when they were young. They had played out the scenes from the picture novels over and over with one of them imitating Tinder and the other posing as the wild haired, insane-but-brilliant villain, The Sower. But as they got older, Mathias had slowly left the picture novels behind, never offering much explanation other than, “They just aren’t as cool anymore.” They remained close friends, but more and more Sebastian sensed a growing divide between them. He stayed fascinated by Tinder while Mathias got closer to the older boys who were going to the Bellows. They talked about how quickly they could weld a line or how much cycles they could shovel unbroken. It was not that he didn’t want to do well in the Bellows as well; he was smart and fast. But it seemed no matter how fast he was he could never make up for the lack of strength in his scrawny arms.
He wasn’t much worried about the examination. He’d always done well on examinations without having to try too hard. But as he drifted to sleep, his imagination switched between fascinating visions of heroic acts and embarrassing scenes of his friends laughing at him as he desperately tried to lift an I-beam. Eventually his thoughts slowed, and he fell into the familiar patterns of troubled sleep.
So lay down through the fire. Into the darkness, fall. Let your dreams guide you where I will.
Down the hall and past the kitchen, light spilled into the hallway from the cracks around a door. Inside was a small bedroom where a flickering kerosene lamp sat on a bedside table. Next to the table was a small leather bag filled with a dark powder and a jar of metal balls the size of marbles. There was a miniature fireplace to the side that lay dormant. All about the room, hammered into place on the walls, were paintings and illustrations. Some were carefully framed images of nature that no inhabitant of Eight had ever seen with their own eyes. Others were nailed into place, frameless, with their edges curling inwards. Above the bed was affixed a large piece of parchment illustrated with a depiction of life in the Clockwork City, done in dark charcoal. The edges were ragged, and it had an old but loved quality to it. In the corner it was signed simply, “-H”.
Howard was sitting on the bed, packing black powder from the nightstand into a contraption that lay at his feet. The contraption had a long, wide bore tube connected to a thick block of wood. The two were connected by a piece of interlocking machinery that led to a large iron lever, protruding slightly from the wooden stock.
“Have you ever fired the blackpowder before?” Sara asked as she watched her husband’s careful movements, alternately standing by him and pacing back and forth.
“No, of course not.”
“Then how do you know it will work?”
“It’s a fairly simple piece of engineering, dear. You pull that up into the stock,” he indicated the lever, “it activates this gear mechanism, and that ignites the powder.”
“I know, I know. I could have built it myself had I known it was so simple. I just hate the waiting. I hate not knowing.” Sara pushed her hair back as she let out a frustrated sigh.
Howard continued his slow and methodical actions, now adding in the metal balls with extreme caution. He didn’t respond, but a persistent, worried frown creased the corners of his mouth.
“Where did they get the wood for that thing anyway? It must have cost them Time itself.”
Howard shook his head. “The Protectorate has strange connections. I hardly knew weapons like this existed before they offered it to us. Gretchen and Destin said they’d never heard of a family being given one before.”
They fell silent.
Howard paused at his task. “That reminds me, I was speaking to Destin yesterday. He said they were taking Mathias to Overwatch Tower tomorrow. They thought Sebastian might like to come along.”
“That sounds lovely. He’ll be so excited. It will be the perfect reward for finishing his exam.”
The conversation halted again, and Howard returned to his task. Having finished loading the Blackpowder, he leaned it gently against the nightstand. His shoulders slumped and he stared at a well-worn rivet in the floor.
“Sara. I don’t ever want to have to use that thing,” he said quietly.
She stopped pacing and turned to see her husband with his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking, and she felt a surge of compassion as she realized he was crying.
A quick step in the tiny room brought her to his side where she held him. He wrapped his arms around her and they held each other for a long time, letting the quiet creaks and moans of the house assuage their worries.
Down the
hall Sebastian was interrupted in his fitful sleep by a strange heat all around him. Bright light pulsed garishly through his eyelids. He snapped his eyes open to find the room engulfed in fire. He cried out and pushed his body tightly against the backboard of his bed, trying to escape the heat. Impossibly, the flames shot out of the metal floor and licked at the ceiling. The heat was unbearable, and he could feel his skin start to blister and peel away.
A high-pitched scream erupted from his throat. He kicked his sheets away, and gathering his feet under him, tried to find a way to escape. He took short, panicked breaths and coughed violently against greasy smoke that poured into his lungs, carrying with it the taste of kerosene. His terrified cries rose above the crackle of the flames. Were he capable of forming a thought, he might have felt a brief moment of pity for Tinder’s burnt victims.
The door burst open, and as it did the flames and heat and smoke disappeared. His parents rushed in, their eyes darting in all directions. In his father’s hands was a tube that Sebastian had never seen before, and Mother held her hands before her like they were the claws of an under rat. Sebastian was surprised to find he was no longer scrunched against the headboard but instead lay comfortably beneath his sheets.
After a moment of panic, Mother ran to his side and scooped him into her arms, the sheets tearing off the