The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge (21 page)

hoebe returned to the ballroom to find everyone laughing—
all three mehkans were gathered around Micah, who was playing fetch with the sparky by launching chunks of metal debris with his Lodestar.

“N
ow that's a fashion statement, if ever I saw one,” Micah chuckled, pointing at her skirt and coverall combination.

“Ah, Miss Phoebe. A marvelicious ensemble, to be certain,” complimented Mr. Pynch as he sealed and secured his big bulky satchel. “Not only do Foundry accouterments protect yer delicate hide, but they look snappy, too.”

The Marquis nodded his approval, meticulously dusting his fancy Durall attire with a small collapsible pocket brush.

“L-l-look, Phoebe!” chirped Dollop. “I'm a bag boy. Th-that's my, um, my function!” He held up the Durall rucksack containing their limited supply of food. Unfortunately he held it upside down, and it all spilled out and clanged to the ground. “Whoops, s-sorry.”

“No worries,” Micah said. “You'll get the hang of it.”

Mr. Pynch ratcheted a valve on his giant satchel, and it compressed, expelling all the air until it looked like lumpy leftovers wrapped in foil.

“Well, after much trepidation on the part of me associate and I,” Mr. Pynch began with a frown of worry on his lumpy face, “we accept yer propoundment. It undoubtedly be a garrison of much unspeakable malfeasance, and we be operating contrary to gut-wise instincts, but gauge talks, as they say. So we shall perform as yer dedicated chaperones.”

She looked at them, uncomprehending.

Mr. Pynch rattled on. “As a precautionary measure, I advise a strict avoidance of public thoroughfares. Best to travel a sequestered trajectory and remain unscrutinized—in-coggy-neato, if you will—and I have formulated the ideal route. So we all be preparated for embarkation then?”

“What are you talking about?”

The Marquis flickered at Mr. Pynch, whose nozzle spun.

“Master Micah hasn't informed you?”

“Informed me…of what?” she growled, leveling her eyes.

“Gimme us a minute, fellas,” Micah said. He launched a chunk of metal from his Lodestar, and the sparky pounced after it. The three mehkans, after a brief exchange in Rattletrap, nodded their agreement and wandered out of the ballroom, though Dollop cast a concerned look back at them as he departed.

“Let's have us a chat,” he smirked, leaning the Lodestar on his shoulder.

“What did you do?” she hissed.

“Only what needed to be done. I hired 'em to take us to the Citadel.”

“You WHAT?”

“I'm gonna find the Doc, and I'm gonna save him,” he said as if it were obvious. “It's prob'ly best for everyone if I take the reins from here.”

She studied his face for a moment, and then a smile played on her lips.

“Very funny. You almost had me going,” she laughed. “Good one, we're even. Sorry about the rust slug, okay?”

But he shook his head, his grin never fading. The truth sank in. She began to tremble with rage. That smug sneer on his fat, freckled face made her want to scream.

“What did you tell them?”

“Everything,” he replied. The sparky came bouncing back, and Micah sucked the hunk of metal from its clattering jaws with the Lodestar.

“You…” She tried to control herself. “You told them about my dad?”

“Not that. Just what we said to Dollop,” he huffed. “I ain't gonna give away your dirty little secret. I'm not an idiot.”

“You are if you trust those two!”

“What's trust got to do with it? I know how to handle jokers like that. You just gotta know how to work 'em. And if they step outta line?”

Micah cranked up the settings on his Lodestar so that it hummed more intensely. He fired it, and she flinched as the air pressure from the purple detonation blasted her face. The metal chunk smashed through a plaster wall at the opposite end of the room, leaving a gaping hole.

“Quit screwing around with that thing for one second,” she snapped. “This isn't about you or me. This is about finding my father.”

“Exactly. So quit bein' so stubborn about it, and step aside,” he said, starting to get frustrated. “We're gettin' nowhere fast, followin' you. You got no plan and you keep passin' out all over the place.” He rolled his eyes back into his head and pretended to swoon.

“I do have a plan. And those criminals aren't a part of it.”

“Oh yeah, what's 'at? Wander along some more train tracks and hope we get lucky? Some plan!”

She didn't have a comeback for that.

He assumed a tone of forced calm that irritated her all the more. “Look, we both want the same thing. It just so happens that you don't have a clue how to go about it, and I do. No biggie, I'll take care of it. I'm lookin' out for you. I already put food in your belly and shoes on your feet, didn't I?”

“You just can't remember your place, can you?” Phoebe snarled. She took a menacing step toward Micah to loom over him, but he was unfazed. “You are still my servant. You do what I say, when I say it. Got it, Toiletboy?”

“Yeah, about that,” Micah said, smiling as he retrieved the chunk of debris from the bouncing sparky's jaws. “I quit.”

“Really? Just like that? You would sell out your entire family for…
thi
s
?” She gestured to him and his stupid Lodestar. “So you can finally be in charge of one thing in your pathetic little life? When we get back, Micah Tanner, I swear I'm going to make sure that—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, teasing the sparky with the bit of metal. “That we're all fired, that my entire family starves to death, that whole thing. Got it. Now if you're done bellyachin', it's time I establish my command. Rule number one…”

It took everything she had to keep from punching him out.

“Gimme back my jacket,” he ordered.

Phoebe wadded up his coat and threw it at him as hard she could. It knocked him off balance, and although he pretended to laugh it off, his reddening face betrayed his anger. He turned up the knob on his Lodestar so that it buzzed like a hive of furious bees. She felt heat emanating from the flaring coil as its glow intensified and took a wary step back.

“You were planning this all along, weren't you, you little rat?” she spat.

“I gave you your chance, Freaky. Now it's my turn. I'm quicker, I'm stronger, and I got the skills. Face it—I'm the man for the job.”

“You're not a man. You're a midget with a magnet.”

That got him. In a fiery fit of rage, Micah cranked up his Lodestar full blast. It vibrated so fiercely that it started to rattle, and Phoebe feared it might explode in his hands. He mashed the trigger and a giant bubble of force knocked them back, throwing off his aim. The metal chunk exploded into the enormous crystal chandelier. Icicles of glass careened down.

They watched it for a tense moment, hoping. Then the supports gave way, and the entire thing plummeted, ceiling and all. Phoebe, Micah, and the sparky dove away. The chandelier detonated on the floor, pulverizing wood in a splintering crash.

As the dust settled, Micah looked around at the damage.

“Whoops,” he said.

Fuselage looked more desolate in the daytime—a wasteland of sun-bleached rubble. Not a single structure or an inch of ground was untouched by the conflict. The group made their way out of the abandoned Foundry building with the sparky hopping along beside them. As they navigated through the leveled town, Micah presented his jacket to Mr. Pynch.

“There y'are, just as promised,” he announced. “A genu-wine Military Institute of Meridian bomber jacket. I'll even throw in them medals of honor there for free, 'cause that's the kinda guy I am.”

“A lavish vestment indeed, Master Micah,” admired Mr. Pynch as he caressed the faux leather and chintzy little adornments. “And a wise expenditure. You won't be disappointed.” The Marquis held it up to see if it might fit him, and then stuffed it into the giant foil sack strapped to his back.

“That's all he paid?” she scoffed. “To get us to the Citadel?”

They looked at her strangely.

“I mean, it's just a cheap souvenir,” she said. “It's not worth anything.”

“Don't listen to her,” Micah retorted. “She's full of it.”

“Sorry he tried to scam you. Eugene can be like that.”

“Eu-Eugene?” Dollop asked, adjusting the rucksack.

Phoebe acted surprised. “Yeah, that's his real name. He didn't tell you that either?”

“No, it ain't!” Micah said, getting angry. The sparky whined beside him.

“How about this?” she suggested. “Since it's such a measly payment, why don't you just lead us to the train tracks? Point us in the right direction, and we'll take it from there.”

“Not this again!” Micah threw up his hands.

“Tracks, Miss Phoebe?” queried Mr. Pynch. “Not an advisable route.”

“I'll take my chances.”

The fat mehkan inhaled, expanding his massive belly. “As yer newly contracted retainer, I must advise you against such measures. It be a roundabout digression, adding a cycle or two to yer journey. And if I am to understandimate it, you require the punctual rescue of a person of interest?”

Mr. Pynch waited for her response, but when none came he continued. “Then there be the Holkhei land bridge. That alone would require half a cycle to ambulate, with nowhere to retreat should a locomotory engine traverse during yer crossing. You'd be most assuredly cast to rust down in the ravines or pulverized flat as a baby drebbling. Oh, and did I mention the silver steppes?”

“No,” Phoebe grumbled.

“Just one further notation,” Mr. Pynch continued merrily. “Trifle though his presented raiment may seem, it be an exceptional sort of rarity here in Mehk, and therefore quite profitable. Many thanks for yer concern, but it be more than adequate compensation for our services. So then, with yer permission, Master Eugene…Let us avaunt!”

Phoebe stared at Mr. Pynch silently, her eyes boring into him as he marched away, followed by the Marquis and a nervous-looking Dollop.

“Nice try, Stringbean,” Micah snickered, twirling his Lodestar in a purple flash that got the sparky all excited again. He caught up with Mr. Pynch and muttered, “Forget the Eugene stuff, all right? Let's just stick with Master Micah.”

She followed along behind them, fuming.

“So tell me, Master Micah,” rumbled Mr. Pynch pleasantly, “what do you make of the grand mystery of Kallorax?” Dollop shuddered at the name, and the Marquis gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

“Well, I think—I mean, yeah, it's, uh…” Micah shrugged.

“Surely you have audibilated the infamous name.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“Kallorax was a megalarch thousands of phases ago during the Ixardian epoch. A demon was he, a sadistic ruler of genocidal proportions. The Citadel swirls with his enigma.”

“Oh right,
that
Kallorax.”

“Yet what ultimately became of him and his nefarious regime be lost to the vagaries of prehistory. Innumerable legends have attempted to ascertain the peculiarities of their disappearance. However, despite all those quandaries, the Citadel remains as the sole relic of their existence, a monument to the horrors of his heinous reign. Fascinating, no?”

“Th-they were smited,” insisted Dollop.

“A
peculiar
theory,” granted Mr. Pynch with a smile.

“They were bl-blasphemers. M-M-Makina punished them.”

The Marquis chimed in with a flickering message.

“Me associate here claims that the Taviri chargers of old drove them out, others say they were obliterated by an untraceable pandemic. Or perhaps, as our charming companion here suggests, it was the hand of the Great Engineer Herself. But the fact of the matter be that no one truly knows.”

Micah was enraptured by Mr. Pynch, who led the group through the labyrinthine streets. Phoebe dragged behind, not wanting to be any closer to Micah and his new best friends than necessary. She noticed that Dollop had slowed to a stop, a perplexed look scrunching up his face. He was staring at a ten-foot-wide pit that had been filled with small bits of wreckage and granulated ore. There was a distinctive pattern to the loose debris, a series of lines radiating out from the center like the spokes of a wheel.