Tzara’arth

I.

The ship drifted slowly into port. The long iron flank of the hull glided along the pier, the high side dwarfing the concrete plank jutting out from the shore. Sails taken in; the two masts stuck up like barren tree trunks from the deck of the boat. A creaking emanated from the craft as the docking wires tugged it tightly against the pier, locking the vessel to shore.

A plank was pushed down from the edge of the ship, making a steep 5-foot wide plank for the crew to move on and off the vessel. As it was a large vessel and it took a decent amount of time for the port authority to finagle the ship into port, several workers had gathered around on the pier to offer assistance for a hefty wage. The group of six shouted up at the crew looking down the plank. “Will unload for 25!” “I’ll do it for 24!” they began arguing at the ship mate who simply turned and walked across the deck to the cabin door.

As the crew member had made it to the stately metal door and lifted his hand to knock, the door swung open and the captain stepped out into the dusky air, the last vestiges of light shot over the horizon and fell at shallow angles onto her masked face. She nodded at the crewman who came to sharp attention before squeezing passed her into the lower levels of the vessel.

She walked to plank entrance to the craft, eyeing the workmen through the glassy eye pieces of her mask. “Ey. We need two,” she exclaimed holding up the index and pinky finger of gloved hand, “and will pay—” she turned her nose down at the group, seeing them more clearly. “What currency do you take in this port?”

“The market trades in Specie!” shouted out a gruff voice.

            “Very well. I will pay—er—sixteen to each who unloads the cargo!” She proclaimed as the workmen looked up at her; golden evening light reflecting off of the metal detailing around the beak-like face guard; silvery specularity glinting off hose connectors at the left side of the beak.

            “18!” Shouted the gruff voice from before.

            By the time she had heard the counter claim, three work men had already moved halfway up the boarding plank.

            “First two. You—” she pointed to a thin man hurrying up the plank, “and you—” She pointed to the burly woman right behind. A third man stopped suddenly, a frown forming on his lips as he turned sharply and descended the plank back to the dock as the group broke apart and floated back to the wall of three story high industrial buildings lining the port.

            The two workers attained the deck of the ship and promptly held out their hands for payment.

            “I am captain Oliva Greech. This vessel is the Philadelphian Salasad. We brought thirteen crates from Laodicea and need them offloaded and delivered to a Rex Ytriim who lives in port.”

            She nodded as she took out four four-piece Specie and handed two to each. She turned her body and directed them to the cargo entrance to the hold below with her outstretched arm. The two workers made their way to the large rectangular door set into the raised shelf of the upper deck.

            Greech walked carefully back to the metal door, placing her cane into the deck and rolling off with her leg locked in tandem with the cane; metallic clinking from the brass trusses of the braces muffled by the long heavy cloak cinched in the waist and falling to her mid-calf.

Eyes squiting in the hyper saturated buzzing white light of the under decks, Greech paced slowly down the narrow corridor, ducking instinctually under copper pipes and steam valves. She rounded at tight corner into one of the adjacent rooms through an open bulk head.

She looked into the room; her silhouette cutting a dark shadow out of the light falling in from the hallway into an otherwise unlit room. A figure lay motionless on the lower bunk against the wall under a closed porthole. She tapped her cane on the metal rivetted floor; a thick woven carpet muffling the reverberation of the knocking. The figure turned to face her, swinging his legs down from the bunk and lifting his head as high as the upper bunk would permit.

“We have reached port.” Greech began. A silence hung in the air. Depsite the clanging bustle of the crewmembers in other parts of the ship, a deep humming stillness gripped the dim cabin. After a moment she began again softly, “Tzara’arth is a—troubling city. If you don’t know what you’re doing. We will set sail again in the morning. You’re welcome to rest on the ship tonight if you cannot find a room.”

He stared up at her. Slowly his limbs began to articulate and prop his body up on his feet. He looked down at her metal face, into the eyes behind the glass. Head bent to the side to avoid a pipe, he spoke, “Thank you, Captain, for the safe voyage. I will not need lodging tonight, but the offer is gracious. Though, if you could, can you answer a few questions.”

“Certainly,” adding after a brief pause, “If I am able.”

“Have you been to Tzara’arth before?”

“I’ve laid anchor in her port several times. Three or four times a wet season. Tho’ I’ve only set foot in the city two times.”

“Know where the inn is? I wantn’t to be out at night—not on my first day, ‘least.”

“If memory serves it is straight through the factory area on the main road leading off of the piers.”

“I thank you again, Captain. But I will disembark now.”

Greech nodded and stepped backwards through the bulkhead into the hallway. The man slung a bag over his narrow shoulders and emerged from the dark room into the bathing light. He turned to Captain Greech and presented a small blue-silver idol. Placing the figure into the cupped palm of her glove he nodded at her and began walking up towards the exit.

“Mister Handcock,” Greech said as the man turned his head, making sure to avoid the valve hanging next to his head, “Good luck out there.”

“Thank you, Captain. I pray below that I won’t need it.”

II.

            A humming choked the amber air; the street lamps poured their buzzing yellow light into the amber rays flowing softly down from the last peaking of the sun over the western mountains rising above the horizon. People moved swiftly through the streets; they didn’t linger—not anymore. The night grew close and they needed to be inside. Frederick Handcock trudged forwards on the cobblestone path leading from the receding masts of the port to the heart of the city.

            His cloak was cinched tightly at the belt, with the upper portion tied around his waist. Sweat built up in a thin sheen on his exposed forearms, the wetness clinging to the dense hair. He would have some time before it was night, before anything happened anyway. He wondered if the glances children, hurried by their mothers, gave him were because of his general appearance or something else.

            As he walked slowly up the street, the population of passerbys grew thinner. Eventually he stood under the neon orange glow of the inn’s massive side. “Letterby’s inn” flashed brilliantly above the modest wooden door. He looked up and down the houses lining the street. They were crammed tightly together. Very similar in appeared but not homogenous. They appeared like old cross-braced wooded homes, but redone with iron and a dark stone in the place of wood and paneling.

            Stepping through the door into the welcoming coolness of the still interior, Fredrick peered at the unassuming furniture laid out sparsely in the lobby area. A few chairs were set into a bookshelf-lined alcove. A couch under a window. A table with an ash tray.

            “Need a room?” A peppy voice called out from the counter.

            Fredrick turned his gaze to the yellow haired lad standing on stool behind the imposing dark oak counter. “Yes. One bed. Facing east if it can be helped.”

            The boy smiled, bearing a half-finished smile, as he twirled around and took a key off of the ordered grid behind him.

            “206” he whistled out through missing teeth as he held out the dangling dull metal key.

            “Thank you, sir.” Fredrick said as he took the key, placing a small coin on the counter with his other hand.

            He turned and began walking to the door into the rest of the inn.

Setting his bag down on the scratchy green blanket folded at the foot of his bed, Fredrick sat down, sinking into the old mattress. He sighed as he stared out at the masts poking above the huddled steep tile rooves of the city, visible between the massive plumes of thick black air escaping from brick chimneys above the factories. There’s the Salasad he thought to himself, marking the two high sticks in the center of the port.

Throwing his body down on the bed, he closed his eyes and tossed his feet up, placing one boot to the left of his bag and the other to the right. Pulsing softly, he could feel his heart in his chest, the blood pumping through his ears.

“This won’t do.” He said out loud as he opened his eyes to the dark wood of the ceiling. A diagonal cross beam affixed above his gaze, holding the roof up. He imagined there wasn’t a roof; imagined he could see out into the stars above; see out into the infinite reaches of the cosmos; into the deepest, darkest recesses of possibility; recesses of existence; to whatever was out there and whatever came before.

“This won’t do at all.” He swung his legs off the bed and sat up, staring at his coat hanging on the door. His gaze swung to the black gloves resting on the nightstand next to an ash tray, box of tissues, and clock. Reaching for the drawer, he tugged it open and removed a sealed package of cigarettes.

Knocking the lock loose with his elbow, he popped the window open, swinging it ajar into the alley way, as he maneuvered a match to his lips. Smoke escaped slowly from his nostrils as he stared out at the sky above the city. The blackening night expanded before him. A cloud of smoke slipped into his vision before dissolving into nothing. A few stars poked through the empty sky.

“Tomorrow.” He said to himself, as he turned and placed the smoldering cigarette into the ashtray.

Kicking his boots off, he removed his shirt and pants, leaving them neatly in a pile on the chair besides the desk. Lying atop the bed, he felt the old blanket itching his flesh as he lay damp. A coolness flowed over him, mixing with the heat from the window. If he was perfectly still, eyes closed, and between breaths, he swore he could feel the sweat evaporating from his chest. Perhaps sleep will come easy tonight and I will only remember waking up, he thought, or perhaps it will allude me. He forced his eyes shut and rolled onto his side.

III.

            The brown liquid sloshed in the bottom of the bottle as he placed it back down on the nightstand. His eyes squinted against the harsh light falling in from the open window. He looked out at the sea, seeing nothing where the two masts had stood last night.

            Walking through the narrow maroon-carpeted hall. Fredrick thank whatever may be when a fellow occupant scurried back into her room, leaving the path to the stairs free and empty. His footsteps creaked on the old flooring. Following the tattered border of the carpet, the frayed fabric reaching out of the firm wooden board, he stared at the ground as he made his way to the end of the hallway. Stepping swiftly down the steep flight of stairs, Fredrick rounded the corner and stepped quickly to the right, nodding at the elderly man staring back at him. The young man was sitting at the counter as he passed, His head barely visible behind the brass bell and ledger.

            Merchants discussed prices with people as he stepped out into the city. Just across the way, a man in long robes haggled over leafy vegetables with a plump balding man. A group of three women pushed passed him, chatting on their way to work. A boy ran behind him as he stepped out into the middle of the street. Turning right, Fredrick began walking towards the center of the city.

            A wide circle opened up before him. Along the boundary, shops were set up; merchants were selling their items to passerbys, and a thick smell of sausage wafted from the many food vendors to his immediate left. His eyes fixed to the center fixture of the city center, a grand fountain. Stone buttressed braced the twelve-sided pool, featuring exquisite arcs of water surrounding a central figure. A stone being rose from the center of the fountain. A two legged entity with six concentric arms around its symmetric body. The head—if one could call it a head—of the figure consisted of a ellipsoidal bulb sprouting hyperbolic pedals arranged around a central stalk rising curved from the front of the face, sprouting sphincter like protrusion at the end.

            Fredrick had no context for what it was, and no doubt marked himself as an outsider to the hustling people seeing a man frozen by the everyday sight of the fountain. He quickly regained himself and twirled around to his left to get breakfast.

            With grease dripping down from his chin, and a hefty sausage wrapped in paper in his hand, Fredrick set out to accomplish why he came here.

            He was unsure how he would find her, but he would have to try. He was close. But despite being in the same city, it would probably be easier to cross the sea in a dry spell than find her.

            Without much thought for how, he only concerned himself with trying. Perhaps a notice on a bulletin would provide some tip. Finding a wide wall covered in stapled paper and plastered signs, Fredrick began meticulously reading over each one, attempting to discern her mark. He scanned over several postings for pleasure men and women, a promise to teach you piano, several pet sitters, a mechanic, three practitioners, a philosopher offer, and finally settled on a dark piece of paper printed with orange letterings. It appeared to be a Bremis internal memo, but he knew Bremis didn’t operate this far west; their manufacturing plants were in Corinth. Taking a few steps to be centered on the posting, Fredrick took a bite out of the sausage, the malleable meat mashing in his mouth, as his eyes darted across the page. It was Bremis’ logo on the top right, but the text was cryptic and seemed off. “When the Bottom ascends. We will be made as before. The greatness from beyond. The immortal stone. Scion interest meetings 6pm on the second Wednesday of every month. 1456 Triam Way. Ask for Bruce.”

            “That’s not a corporate advert.” He said to himself, lips smacking greasily. Looking down at his watch, he stared at the ticking hand. As he turned around, he saw a carriage hovering through the street passing by him. A cloaked figure sat in the control section, obscured by the metal vehicle and a black and red robe—in this weather no less. On the carriage was an obese mass of flesh oozing out from his chair. The lower half of his body was missing, scarred, varicose, and bruised. The left side of his body sprouted a pudgy arm grasping an iron scepter, which was partly engulfed in bulbous flesh. The right side of his body was a metal contraption resembling an arm. The shoulder mount was screwed into his flabby pec, and a riveted plate held it to his back. The three jointed arm articulated in the air, as his throat growled out deep incantations. Staring up at his head, it was shaved around the edges, leaving only a tall fuchsia tuft of hair running from his forehead to neck. His left eye was replaced by a telescoping metal box drilled into his skull, fleshy flaps engulfing the corners.

            Fredrick stepped back, bumping into the wall, as the carriage carried the creature passed him. It had certainly been a man, but what it was now, Fredrick couldn’t say. Turning back to the advertisements, Fredrick breezed over them one last time for anything that stuck out. Besides the odd non-Bremis memo nothing was of much note. 

            The buildings flowed passed him as he made his way down the labyrinthine avenues. The upper levels of the houses stuck out several feet from the lower floors, encapsulating the streets, blocking more sun than one would expect from the width of the roads. The shade was no doubt helped by the constant crisscrossing clothing lines hanging 10 feet above his head. Walking aimlessly, Fredrick hoped fate would assist him in his endeavor. Even if not, it gave him ample time to think.

            What would she think seeing me here? She didn’t leave Galatia because of me, but I didn’t make it easy for her to stay. Well here I am. In the ‘accursed’ Tzara’arth. I still haven’t looked west at the mountains. Perhaps it is superstition. I wonder if it really is there. Below. Maybe that’s what the Scion is about. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in now, Annaliese?

            He was brought sharply out of thinking by the broad side of a man arguing with another. Despite being almost a foot taller, Fredrick was in no way confident in his ability to walk away from this intact, as he stared down at the double-wide man grimacing up at him.

            “What you doing there, eh?” the man growled, behind his thick beard.

            “My apologies, sir. I meant nothing by it.” Responded Fredrick taking a step backwards.

            “Ahh. Not from around here, are you, boy?”

            “’fraid not. I must be going. Again, most sorry.”

            “Ah. Get away from here, you daft idiot!” the man shouted at him, as he turned his muscular body to face the other man, instantly reengaging the other in heated discussion.

            Fredrick, eyes fixed on the bald head of the man, inched backwards slowly. He turned around and marched back the street the way he came.

IV.

            A light chatter filled the air. Warm orange light bounced off of the high ceilings and filled the room with a flickering intensity. Feeling his throat warm as a coarse liquid poured down throat, Fredrick stared down at his table. He traced a deep cut with his gaze, following the etching, the steep walls of the cut, the jaggedness smoothed by age. His eyes came to a ceramic plate; A yellowed pearl color. Moving to the burger that rested untouched amidst the sea of fry crumbs scattered around. A single fry lay against the lower bun, grease soak with a fleck of sauce, it lay motionless on the plate. Fredrick looked across the restaurant to the window on the other side, out to the bust street as the fry fell into his mouth. Another carriage carrying a different creature passed by. This one had tiny underdeveloped legs poking out from a mammoth girth. Both arms were replaced by triple and quadruple jointed appendages respectively. In lieu of a face, he sported a flat grid panel drilled into the center of his head. The front looked something like a solar panel, but was surrounded by pulsating led lights. Above his face was a tuft of azure hair in a cone shape. Fredrick quickly looked back down at the burger making its way towards his gaping mouth.

            Dabbing the last of the sauce with what remained of the bun, Fredrick cleared most of the plate. Chewing on the bun, he pushed his chair out, stood up, and tossed enough money on the table to cover the meal. Lunch was done, but now he should try to find Annaliese. He knew she liked drinking, but maybe this one’s liver wasn’t up to par. Either way, a different bar would suffice, he thought as he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the cobblestone street.

            The sun hung directly above, shooting stark rays against the ground. He removed his arms from his sleeves, and pulling his belt tight, wrapped the arms around his waist and began the trek to a different establishment.

            Underneath the waves, animals filter feed. They stand there and if food happens into their mouth, they get a meal. That’s what I’ll do—in a sense. If I pass by enough places, perhaps I’ll happen by Annaliese. I have no chance of recognizing her, so the best I can hope for is her recognizing me.

            With back against the bar and drink in hand, Fredrick scanned the few people in the bar. An elderly couple, a pugnacious young women in the corner, the children of the owners knocking over blocks in the other corner, flooded by the afternoon sun. He rotated around in his chair. His resolve began to fade as he turned the glass up and dumped the rest of the liquid into his mouth. He tossed a coin on the polished oak counter top, nodded at the server, and made his way out into the street.

V.

            “Fredrick?” a voice from behind him called out. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt his heart quicken and a lightness caught his stomach. He twirled around, scanning the flowing mass of people shuffling passed this insufferable drunk paused in the middle of the street. His gaze met a pair of smiling brown eyes moving closer to him.

            “Annaliese?” Fredrick exclaimed as he began walking forwards.

            “Oh, Freddy, it is you!” Annaliese exclaimed as she pushed between an old lady in black, and a woman wearing a heavy robe.

            Wrapping his arms around her, Fredrick closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling her gripping him back. The separated a bit, his arms still around her. He reached and stoked her cheek as he stared down into her eyes. The angle wasn’t so harsh anymore, so his neck wasn’t as strained as he was used to. They were brown now, but he could get lost in those eyes as if he was back in Galatia with her from before.

            “Freddy,” she exclaimed in a gruff voice, “how did you get here?”

            “On the Philadelphian Salalasad, my love. From across the seas.” He replied.

            She hugged him tighter, burying her head into his chest.

            He looked down at her. She was new. She looked almost like one of them. Like she belonged in Tzara’arth. He was filled with the urge to squeeze her until she burst in the middle of the street.

            “I have a lodging at the inn. It is probably only a few minutes from here.” He exclaimed as she moved her head to stare up at him.

            He placed his hand on her cheek, stroking the warm skin, rubbing up against the prickly hair. He pulled away briefly and took her tough hand in his. He began walking up the street in the direction he had come. Tugging gently, he felt a resistance as Annaliese smiled.

            “The inn is this way.”

            He smiled at her. In that moment, he knew only her. Even the constant flow of mildly irritated denizens bumping into him couldn’t shake it. With his hand in hers, they began walking back to the inn, side by side.

            The masts of foreign vessels shrunk behind them as they made their way west. The looming mountain grew in prominence, the jagged side cast in light from the high sun, irregular sharp angled shadows fell on its rocky surface. The structure sat motionless in the afternoon heat, set onto the mountain.

VI.

            “How’d you get to Tzara’arth?” Annaliese said in deep voice, raising the last syllable inquisitively.

            “After you left, Martin and Shallan got oppressive. Not only that but Bremis imposed a lot of guild restrictions for phasor condensation, and with other factors, I didn’t want to stay in Galatia anymore. It was between going to my sister in Laodicia or coming here. I knew you went to Tzara’arth, and I know what you said about it, but I figured if I was going to start again—again—I want to do it with you. I mean, if you’re willing. Sitting here I realize that it may be insane. It’s been a couple years, so you probably have other stuff going on.”

            He shifted his weight, lifted his leg and placed it over the other. He leaned back and felt the chair back supporting his nervous jittering. Annaliese sat on the bed. She crossed her legs, and kept her hands in her lap. Even now, when she looks so different, it was cute to see her do her old mannerisms. Her boots were placed very neatly against the side of the bed; her bag slouched sitting on the toes.

            “I’m glad you came,” she said, “I didn’t know it was permanent, but if you need a place to stay, I could always use help on the rent until you find something more permanent. My—colleague works in condensation, so I could put a word in for you. If you want to get started right away that is.”

            “That would be great. Thanks.”

            He smiled; closed his lips; looked at the window then at the ashtray, stopping briefly on her chest.

            “What have you been up to?” He asked eagerly.

            “I’ve been well. After what happened in Galatia I hopped on the first ship out of there. It brought me here. I was worried it was a mistake, but I’ve done well for myself. There’s a lot of work here.”

            “You still doing hypernatural philosophy?”

            “Yes. It’s legal out here, too, which is nice. I can’t just operate in the middle of the street, but as long as the town council gets paid, I can keep practicing. There’s two others in town. Not much competition, because they only service Scion, but—”

            “What is Scion?” Fredrick interjected.

            “Oh. It’s—well. They’re like gardeners. They tend to the estate while the master is away. That’s what we say here anyway. It’s easier than the truth, I guess. They are those fleshy robot guys who go around the city in hover carriages.”

            “What do they do?” Fredrick asked.

            “The mountain in the west. You’ve heard about it. I knew about it back in Galatia.”

            “Yes.”

            The two stared at each other. A faint whistling snuck in from the open window. Their eyes focused intently on each other. Fredrick shifted his weight, staring intently at Annaliese. She wasn’t as beautiful as she was before, no doubt, but he knew she was in there, and he still loved her. Annaliese stared back. She opened her mouth slightly as she uncrossed her legs. She placed her socked feat on the ground, Staring at Fredricks leg, and moving her gaze up his torso to the sinewy neck and deep grey eyes. Her mouth opened, biting back down on her lower lip as her eyes stared deeply into Fredrick’s.

            Fredrick stood up sharply. He stepped quickly to the bed and pushed Annaliese down into the bed. He propped himself up on his arms and looked down at Annaliese’s face. She smiled, and touched his chest through his shirt; her fingers tangled in the chain necklace that slipped from his collar. She nocked the bell to the side and quickly began unbuttoning his shirt.

            Fredrick stared at her. Her eyes were the same—they were brown now, but had her same spark—but the dissonance of her appearance was upsetting him. He could feel his heart racing thinking about her, but the bearded face looking up at him made him uneasy. She was very attractive—but he couldn’t shake something.

            She pulled him down on top of her, biting his ear lobe and whispered, “I want to be with you like we used to.”

            Feeling her stroking him from the outside of his trousers, and his immediate bodily reaction cemented in he wanted her more than ever. He looked at her. Stared into her eyes. Saw Annaliese.

            “I want you, Anna.”

            He leaned up on his knees, straddling her as he awkwardly tried to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt. The eagerness with which he attempted to undo them only made it more difficult. He took a breath, steadied himself and undid the first one. He popped of the other two and slid the shirt off. Annaliese began taking her own off, as Fredrick pulled his undershirt off over his head.

            Annaliese had projected into a burly body. Fredrick could see her muscular physique when she had her shirt on, but now, when he stared down at his hand running over her firm hairy chest, he couldn’t contain himself. He leaned down, kissing her flesh, feeling the warm beat of her heart against his lips. He kissed up her chest, sucking on her neck, kissing her cheek before languidly holding his lips above hers; feeling her breath mix with his. He pressed down into her, feeling her warm lips meet his. Pulling down, her arm wrapped around his back and brought his body into hers. He slid off his knee and laid on top of her, feeling her body against his. The soft hair of her chest rubbed against his nipple sending a shiver down his back. With one hand behind her head he pulled her into his kiss, and with the other he explored her new body. As his hand wandered, he found she was well endowed—and ready.

            Fredrick pulled away from her lips long enough to let out gasping, “Oh, Annaliese, I want you so much.”

            She smiled, before grabbing him and flipping over. She placed her hand down above Fredricks shoulder and planted a long kiss on his lips. Looking down at her head moving slowly along his body, Fredrick could feel her quick kisses on every part of exposed skin as she made her way down to his trousers. Without moving her head from him, she undid his belt and pulled his trousers free. She leaned up long enough to pull them down his legs, before they got snagged on his boots. Fredrick smiled weakly as she shook her head at him, before fiddling with the buckle. Fredrick stared at the micro-contractions of her musculature, noting the tiny pulses in her arms as she fidgeted with the latch on his boot.

            “Take these off.” She commanded, as she dropped his foot to the bed.

            He quickly sat up, un did the latch and slid the boots off along with his pants. She smiled, placed a hand on his chest, and pushed him back down.

VI.

            The warm air clung to Fredricks damp skin; the breeze sticking to the film of moisture lining his body. He stared up at the ceiling; a thick beam ran across his view, holding up the slatted roof of dark wood. Tightening his arm, he rolled Annaliese onto her side facing him. He smiled at her as she smiled back. He could feel her heart beat against chest.

            “Annaliese, I must say, you picked a very excellent vessel,” exclaimed Fredrick quietly.

            “I might say, you, Fredrick Handcock, have a most excellent vessel—and the way you use it.” She returned with a kiss.

            They laid on the bed, wrapped in a tangle of limbs staring into each other’s eyes. Fingers outstretched; Fredrick fumbled his hand behind him on the nightstand reaching for a tissue. He rolled onto his back and began cleaning himself up. Passing a handful of tissues to Annaliese, Fredrick sat up. Annaliese also sat up and cleaned off. She kissed his cheek and climbed over him to get off of the bed.

            Fumbling through the pile of clothes on the floor, she found her trousers and pulled them on over her muscular thighs. Fredrick noticed and feigned protest, as she pulled an undershirt over her head.

            “You can stay at my apartment tonight, Freddy.” Annaliese said in a deep voice.

            “I’d like that.” Replied Fredrick as he stared at Annaliese.

            The pair walked down the creaking stairs, rounding the corner slowly. The young lad was behind the counter again; he had a small ambient condenser connected to a toy truck that drove around in circles on the large counter. Letting Annaliese’s hand slip, Fredrick stepped briskly to the counter.

            “Did you rig that yourself?” Fredrick asked, gesturing towards the truck spinning around.

            “Ye. I got an old condenser and rotary actuator from my pa’s tools and fixed my toy to be better. Gearing the wheels was hard. It would just turn in circles but I figured it out.” The child exclaimed almost jumping as he explained what he did.

            “I’m quite impressed. You’ll be chief innovator at Bremis in no time.”

            Fredrick placed the metal key and a few coins on the table next to the bell, nodded to the lad, who vigorously shook his head back, before turning to Annaliese and leaving the inn.

            The afternoon had waned, to where a stagnant heat hung in the air; bathed in the shallow rays of light from the west. Merchants had closed up their stalls and were busy packing their wares into cases and loading them into carts. A few youths walked passed on their way home from school, discussing happenings in their circles. Fredrick looked back towards the port; from certain angles he could even see the sea through the winding streets; a single mast was unfurled and hanging limp in the static air.

            The pair walked slowly up the street, catching glimpses at each other and laughing when they make eye-contact.

            “I never figured you would project to a different body yourself, Anna.” Fredrick stated, gesturing at her.

            “I didn’t want to, but…” She looked off ahead, shoulder dropping.

            Fredrick traced her profile with his eyes, looking down at the dark cobblestone flowing beneath them as they walked.

            “I think it suits you,” he began again, squeezing her hand, “You’re very beautiful. The same girl I fell in love with back in Galatia.”

            Slipping form his grip, she moved to cross her hands in front of herself. “Thanks” she said out the side of her mouth towards him. “Well, here we are.”

Turning quickly down a side street, the pair arrived an unassuming house. It rose three stories above the shadowed cobblestone street, the second and third floor protruding above the street, creating a small recess where the door and lower floor windows lay. She led him into the door and, squeezing the door shut in the hallway big enough for one of them to stand comfortably, made her way up the narrow stairway to the third floor. She unlocked the door and swung it out, making Fredrick take a few steps down the stairs to allow her to shimmy in before he squeezed passed the open door into the apartment.

It was a single room, with a high pointed ceiling, following the slope of the roof. A kitchen area was what Fredrick stepped into, pushing passed a refrigerator and stove. Along the far wall was a bed slid underneath a window and a desk crammed next to it. To his right was a table and chairs. On the table was a half-finished jigsaw puzzle with used dishware on top. His eyes scanned the room, falling on a shelf full of philosophical gadgets and a plethora of quiescent condensers ranging in capacity from a mouse to large man. Oddities she had collected over the years were displayed prominently on the shelf. Several he recognized from Galatia, such as the harmonic destabilizer, or existential quantifier device, but several were new. A metal eyeball sat in a red cushion. To her collection of fossilized parts, she had no doubted added as a new liver fragment and even a brain were precariously balanced on the over crowded top shelf, held in place between the wall and a low handing rafter.

            “Here’s my home,” She said as she threw herself onto the bed, legs kicked up behind her as she crashed down onto the soft blanket covering the medium sized bed.

            “Do you get any good stations like we used to have in Galatia?” Fredrick asked, motioning to the radio box sitting in the corner near her bed; the antenna wire snaking under her bed and out through a hole near the window where it spans the gap and joins the myriad clothing lines.

            “Not the same channel, but I’ve found one that plays similar.” Annaliese responded, sliding her body on the bed to reach the radio. As she flicked the lever to turn on the machine, static discharge accumulated in her hand, making the hair on her knuckles stand on end as she spun the tuner. Suddenly a crackling filled the small room, before a light melody of flute and accordion breaks the static and creates a lively air in the room.

            “I have to keep it low because the downstairs neighbor doesn’t like ‘foreign sounding garbage blasting at all hours,’” she explained, putting on a fake Tzara’arthic accent to mock her neighbor.

            Fredrick made his way over to the bed and plopped down. Annaliese slid her head onto his lap. Her eyes stared up at him, as he looked down at her. He stroked her beard as he smiled.

VII.

             “I have a few clients today I need to tend to. You can come with me, and then after I can introduce you to Hadley Rockford. She’s the condensation engineer.” Annaliese said through a mouth of cereal.

            “That sounds good.” Fredrick responded, biting into a juice-filled segment of an orange.

            She smiled, returned the spoon to her mouth, and continued chewing. The paper bag of cereal sat between them on the table, next to a glass container of milk and an empty bowl. She stared at the bag, smiling to herself at the cartoon dragon promoting the cereal; his thin body curling around a wheat ‘O’.

            Rain fell softly to the ground, accumulating in the recesses between stones set into the street. Dual channels etched into the stone ran along the left and right side of the street, carrying the rainfall to grates which fell to the river, upon which Tzara’arth was constructed hundreds of years ago; its massive breadth entombed by cyclopean stones to create a cavern leading to the ocean. The frantic pitter of raindrops against the tile roofs echoed and reverberated into the narrow channels of streets running throughout the town. Great swaths of water streamed down the steep rooves, flooding to the streets below, drenching anyone unlucky enough to not have enough space in the center to stay clear of the water.

            Walking briskly between the puddles and crowds, Fredrick and Annaliese made their way towards the center of town, passing by vendors dressed in transparent plastic jackets over their traditional shirt collars and trousers, by the myriad booths selling items protected by clear plastic sheets; men in hooded coats haggling over the price of pencils or wooden boxes. The pair, close together, squeezed through the narrow choke of denizens and shop keepers to pass into the expansive town circle. The dark figure in the center fountain produced a stark shimmer in the streams of water cascading down its polished surface. It’s head stalk captured rain and drizzled out turbulent streams from creases in its pedals.

            The grade of the plaza became evident by the narrow trickles of water flowing through recesses in the stones towards the center statue. Small concentric puddles built up around the fountain.

            Annaliese lead Fredrick across the circle in a straight chord to one of the seven avenue that provided egress from the center. She ducked underneath a low hanging rack of hats to avoid the water fall off of a high roof as she entered the wide street heading west from the plaza. Fredrick, still catching a backwards glance at the fountain, got dragged through the splashing stream falling from the upper house, drenching his coat in sooty water, his shirt soaking in dampness by the copious amount of water slipping into his collar. He immediately shook off Annaliese’s hand, to reactively swat at the water cascading down onto his face, sending a small spatter towards the wide eyes of the merchant sitting in his stall.

            After stepping back and regaining his composure, Fredrick shot a weak smile towards Annaliese’s shocked expression, before turning to the damp merchant’s irate gaze. Fredrick reached into the now soaking breast pocket and produced several coins. He picked a newly wet hat from off of the rack and placed the uncounted sum of coins down into a small puddle on the stall’s counter. He nodded quickly at the vendor before shooting off ahead of Annaliese.

            He turned the hat over in his hand, marking the intricate stitching holding the short hard brim to the raised center of it. The dark material glistened softly due to the rain building up in the soft creases. He flipped it over, chuckling softly as the ear flaps rolled over and dangled on the outside of the cap. Brushing some wetness from his hair, he placed the cap down, pulling it’s few-sizes-too-large crown snuggly on his head, leather ear flaps hanging down, muffling the ambient patter of rain and footsteps.

            Annaliese, walking next to him, turned to look at his deliberately avoiding face, smiling as he kept his eyes fixed on the foggy horizon.

VIII.

            The inside of Annaliese’s shop was dry. A fractal heat exchanger sat along the far wall, condensing the thick moisture out of the air, cooling the inside of her shop from the muggy heat of the outside world. A lantern dangled from the high cross-beamed ceiling above the door. A small window was set into an alcove against the forward wall; a small bench resting underneath.

            Ringing filled the room as Annaliese pushed the door open, knocking into a bell; Fredrick followed closely behind, sighing as he stepped across the threshold. He quickly removed his new cap, marking again at its pleasant design, before placing it on the highest rung of a hat stand, as he slid his arms out of his coat, letting it fall over the back of him, still cinched at the waist, revealing his damp musty shirt, collar already open.

            “You can place your coat there,” Annaliese said, pointing to the space behind the counter along the left wall, as she removed hers and tossed it deftly over the thin wooden surface, clearing the bell and ledger without disturbing either.

            “Thanks. Do you have a washroom here? I intend to clean up a tad,” replied Fredrick walking slowly to the counter before unlatching his belt and carefully placing the coat over the counter, slinging the collar hook on a knob along the wall.

            She pointed towards a door leading back into the building. “All the way back.” She added, as Fredrick passed through the arch.

            The cold water splashed over his face, clearing some of the soot built up in the crevasses of his skin. He looked down at the agitated basin of water, noting how the newly added water diffused in flowing black tendrils into the clear water, lessening in intensity and definition before the whole bowl contained a faint muddiness.

            Slipping his shirt over his head, he twisted the fabric in his hands, a trickle of blackened water falling over his fingers into the bowl. Pulling the shirt back the other way, he draining as much from it as he could, before putting it back on, untucked, its tattered flange hanging loosely over his pants.

            Falling softly backwards, he landed a bit too hard on the lid of the toilet, sinking back against the metal pipe leading to the flush basin. He stared up at the panel ceiling, fixating on the dust covered vent; tendrils of dust swaying back and forth in the circulating air.

            As Fredrick made his way into the lobby he looked through a doorway into a practitioning room. The contents were similar in nature to those Annaliese had in Galatia; a leather padded chair, reclined in the center; along the back wall, a shelf full of crystals and tuning forks; the shelf below, a collection of vials, arranged in color order with purple on the left leading to red; the lowest shelf was a collection of mummified organs and jars of metal contraptions suspended in glassy liquids. Hanging down from a track on the roof, a basket of needles and silver-plated knives. A series of quicksilver mirrors arranged in a complex entanglement of lenses hung down like a mobile around a central lightbulb above the chair.

            Fredrick walked out into the lobby, nodding at Annaliese who had by that time pulled the beige philosopher’s robe over her, cinching the loose fabric with leather belts at her upper arms, elbows, and wrists. A larger belt was pulled tightly along her waist, an over the shoulder belt was tightened diagonally across her chest, sporting a few loops holding various bells. The robe flowed unimpeded below her waist, dangling loosely at her knees, the excess folded neatly at her left and right side so the front was smooth. A small tract of dark trouser leg was visible above the leather buckle of her boot and the embroidered fringe of the robe. On the chest, opposite the belt, was stitched the mark of the hypernatural philosophical order—a dark red seaborne dragon spiraled around a black inverted ‘T’, its ten legs held out, creating an irregular hyperbolic decagon by the webbing between its pointy legs.

            Strapped to her face was a dark blue mask, covering her lower face from her nose down. A small incense capsule was attached to a gasket on the left side. The front aspect of the mask had an embroidered decal—a common practice of philosophers to provide some personality to the otherwise sanitary and often threatening garb they donned. Annaliese’s was of a mouth, featuring full red lips, and two pointed canine teeth poking through; a symbol Fredrick was familiar with from back when she worked in Galatia.

            Her smiling eyes greeted him as she nodded at him.

            “You can take a seat there,” she motioned to the bench under the window with her gloved hand, “The first client is due at 10am, and the last is scheduled for 2pm. I have some books under the bench if you need something to keep you busy.”

            “Thank you,” Fredrick said softly as he continued walking towards the alcove, “I must say, it is pleasant that you can operate openly here. I remember your ‘office’ on Windham Street.”

            “Yes. It is very nice. Bremis doesn’t impose any laws out here, and I don’t think Scion would be all too keen on keeping philosophy tied up with corporate affiliation, if they tried.” Annaliese replied, her voice muffled by the mask, accentuating the deeper tones.

            Peering up from the pages of a romance novel, Fredrick marked the stocky man waddling in from the doorway. His dark wet hair was parted in the middle, splitting his bangs into left and right. Without alerting the man to his spying, Fredrick kept the novel at his eye level, glancing above the pages, at the wide man nodding cautiously up at Annaliese.

            “This is the offices of Anaheim Brekker?” The man spurted out, “There is no signage out front, but this is 547 Leerman.”

            “Yes. I am Philosopher Brekker. I take it you are Wilhelm Schpooter.” Replied Annaliese.

            “Yes. My assistant made the appointment for me last week.”

            “I remember. A tall man, correct?”

            “Verily.”

            “Follow me to the practitioning room. We can discuss more there.”

            Annaliese led the man down the hall; him having to turn slightly to fit through the archway. She entered the room first and stepped aside, motioning for him to step up into the chair, which he did with effort. Breathing heavily as Annaliese depressed a pneumatic peddle to bring the chair higher, Mister Schpooter began, “My philosopher recommended I come to you. Understand, I have an issue with my guts. He had done two enemas and stool transplant, but I still cannot go three hours without terrible pain and the urgent necessity of a washroom. Here is my history if you require it.” He handed her a leather-bound folder containing a full account of his medicinal record covering the 45 years of his life.

            She nodded slowly as she flipped through its contents, pausing at the end before asking, “Have you been to a hypernatural philosopher?”

            “No. My mother had gone several times in my boyhood, but I’ve never needed their expertise.” Mister Schpooter replied.

            “Well, I will need to establish a baseline resonance before I can narrow in on the cause,” Annaliese began, setting his record on a table to her side, “It will not take much time, but you will need to take some nitrous so you don’t jitter.”

            She reached behind the chair and pulled back a rubber hose with a facemask attached. Dosing the mask with alcohol, she rubbed it dry and placed it on his face, holding it there.

            “Breathe in deeply,” she instructed, turning a valve with her other hand. A hissing echoed around the room as gas flowed from a pressurized tank behind the chair into Mister Schpooter.

            “3… 2… 1…” She counted out slowly, as his eyes grew heavy and closed.

            Once Mister Schpooter was under, she removed the mask and closed the flow regulator. Watching carefully the gauge as it returned to zero. She spun around on her rolling stool and ran her fingers over the many tuning forks. “Oh,” she exclaimed softly before rolling over to a sink along the wall and dousing her gloves in alcohol, before pouring hydrogen peroxide on them. The leather squeaked as she rubbed her hands together. Returning to the shelf, she reached for a tuning fork, looked back at the man spilling out on her chair, and moved her hand to grab a larger fork.

            Holding the fork close to his chest, she tapped the flattened end on him, watching the tines dance back and forth. She moved the fork to her chest and looked down at the bells dangling from her belt. A few shook slightly, although none were in resonance yet. Tapping his forehead with the fork, she noted a higher amplitude of vibration in the tines, and this was confirmed by the top bell ringing softly as she brought the fork to her chest. She spun around and pulled a piece of paper from the desk drawer. It was printed with a diagram of a human with spaces next to each major body section allowing her to record his harmonics. She looked at the marking printed on the side of the tuning fork, and jotted down D6 in the box next to the head.

            She tapped the fork on other parts of his body with no noticeable amplitude from the rest of his sections. After hitting it against his abdomen, she noticed how he sloshed more than the tuning fork. Reaching back to the shelf of tuning forks, she returned D6 and slid the G series off of the shelf, bringing the wooden holder and multiple forks back to the table. She began with his chest—and the largest forks. Finding the bells to react equally to both G11 and G10, she marked G10/11 on the sheet next to his chest, not wanting to linearly interpolate and get the exact frequency, and seeing as his issue was abdominal, an exact resonance wasn’t needed anyway. She continued on in this manner, determining his harmonics, and jotting them down on the sheet. Once she had filled out the diagram—G6 was his abdomen—she turned a knob on the side of the chair, setting it G, and then the second knob was set to 5. She assumed this would be a good guess for finding his fundamental. Knocking the lever shut, the chair started vibrating, Mister Schpooter with it. She looked down at the bells on her chest; none resonated. Turning the dial delicately she swept through the G series before honing in on 8.6 as his fundamental frequency. She knocked the lever off and the chair slowly dissipated its energy as Mister Schpooter sloshed to a stop in the chair. She opened a vial of salts beneath his nose to reawaken him. It took almost three second for him to groggily open his eyes.

            “Well, ‘sopher,” he muttered out, “Am I all better?” He grinned as she chuckled softly.

            “I determined your resonances, so we can start treatment. I’ll add the chart to your history.” Annaliese explained, as Mister Schpooter nodded slowly.

            “How does this work?” He queried as she returned the forks to the shelf.

            “If your bowel problem is hypernatural, as you primary care ‘sopher seems to think, we should be able to isolate a discordant harmonic and address it.” She stated, as she picked up a metal framed glass box of crystals, and placed the box on the table.

            Flipping the lid open, she removed a large pink rock from the box, a hazy cloud of deep red fractal swirls glistened from within the crystal. She brought the rock above his abdomen.

            “Can you remove your shirt?” She asked.

            He huffed as he pulled his undershirt over his head, his stomach sloshing out as he untucked it from his trousers. Beneath a thick mat of light brown hair, his stomach was slightly redder than the rest of him.

            “Thank you. I am going to attempt to induce a discordant resonation, using these Hyperborean Stones.” She explained calmly as he stared at the rock in her hand.

            “That ain’t the kind of medical stuff I’m used to,” Mister Schpooter said as his gaze followed her hand moving down to his bare abdomen.

            “Regular Philosophy,” she began, “is concerned with the natural processes. Its chemistry, and using chemistry to correct chemical issues. Often times bodily problems are caused by imbalances in chemicals. Although sometimes illness is caused by small animals that invade the body. Chemicals are still used to treat those, too. Hypernatural Philosophy is concerned with the mechanical hypernatural. Your body, as everything, has resonances—frequencies it responds to and produces. Sometimes, these frequencies can be harmful and cause pain. We all learn this in Philosophical studies, but whereas most ‘sophers go into natural philosophy, some focus primarily on the cosmic cycles and frequencies of the body.”

            Still staring at the rock, Mister Schpooter nodded casually. Annaliese tapped the crystal with a hard pebble set onto the knuckle of her right index finger. Immediately, the crystal began to hum, and the spirals within it emanated faint ruby light. Jiggling, his git began to react to the crystal and contract and relax. She counted, and marked that his gut was clenching almost one time for every six of the cycle, but produced a rolling lag, indicating the frequencies were mismatched. Clenching the crystal tightly in her palm, she dissipated it, and returned it to the box.

            Eyes wide and mouth ajar, Mister Schpooter squinted at her digging through the glass box. He wiped sweat from his brow and exclaimed, “What was that. Dear gods it felt terrible! What are you doing?”

            “We need to isolate the discordant harmonic so we can help you. Finding what your gut reacts to is necessary to finding the frequency.” She stated, turning her face to him, as she spun around holding a different crystal, “I know it hurts, but you’ll feel better once we are done.”

            He tightened his lips, squeezed the leather padding of the chair arms and strained his neck upwards. “As it must be,” he responded.

            Knocking the next stone, his abs clenched tightly and released, shaking the adipose tissue clinging to his gut. She counted to herself, staring at his pulsating abdomen.

            “That’s a harmonic, at least.” She said to herself, noting the six to one vibrational ratio of the crystal to his stomach.

            Stopping the crystal, she placed it back in the box and closed the lid, sliding the latch closed. Mister Schpooter looked down at his stomach, seeing the red skin clearly below his hair.

            “What is to be done now?” He asked her through clenched teeth.

            “Now we need to counteract your gut’s discordancy. Since your gut has a G6 resonance and it reacted strongly to the 89 crystal at a six-to-one ratio…” she trailed off as she made small calculations on a blank sheet of paper. Looking at a chart plastered to her wall, eyes darting down columns and across rows, she stuck out her tongue and made a few more scribbles on her paper.

            “We need to shift your stomach’s frequency by 1.2% or add an out-of-phase harmonic to counteract your reaction. Shifting the frequency would require the insertion of dampening, a dampening apparatus to be worn, or—weight loss. However, we could establish a harmonic with a small device inserted in your navel.” Annaliese said standing up.

            “What would impact me the least?” Mister Schpooter asked.

            “If you don’t mind having it in and are mindful to clean appropriately, the harmonic device in your navel would be the least drastic. And if that doesn’t fix the issue, we could always perform a different once in the future.” She responded.

            “Let’s do that,” he exclaimed, “I take baths regularly, if that’s what you mean.”

            “Bathing helps. You will need to take it out from time to time and soak it in alcohol, as well as scrub your navel with soap. I will provide a detailed instruction list for you.”

            “Can you do it today?”

            “Yes. I can do it right now, if you are ready.”

            He nodded vigorously. She turned and walked to the shelf behind the chair, bending over to grab a jar from the bottom shelf. Placing it softly on the table, she adjusted the arrangement of mirrors and lenses on the ceiling, causing the bulb to no longer emit diffuse lighting to fill the room, but produce a sharp beam directed at the man’s belly. Annaliese sat down on stool and spun to the table, where she opened the jar, and fished inside for a small metal box. Reading the marking on the bottom, she placed it back in the sticky liquid. She grabbed another one and nodded as she read the label. Turning to the man, she bent over and reached with her free hand to the basket of tools hanging besides her. She brought a razor to his abdomen, and began removing the mat of hair surrounding his navel. After applying alcohol, she placed the small metal box on his stomach, next to his deep navel. Depressing a small button on the side, the box jumped a bit as the sealing mechanism unlatched and flung drops of a light green liquid across his belly. She picked up the small spherical device from the case and wiped it on her glove before laying it in a crease on his abdomen where she suspected his navel lay below.

            “This will hurt a bit,” she said as she began pressing down on the concentric circular rings of the device.

            It sunk slowly into his flesh and left a trail of sticky liquid as it disappeared into him. Giving it a little bit more force, she confirmed that it was fully in, as she picked up the box and leaned back. Placing the opened box on the table, she stood up and spun the mobile in such a way as to fill the room with ambient light again. Lifting the lid, she pulled the crystal out of the box again and walked over his stomach. She knocked the crystal with her knuckle and noticed a faint twitching. She smiled and looked up at him with her eyes.

            “There. All better.” She exclaimed through her muffling mask.

            “Thank you,” Mister Schpooter replied as he reached for his shirt draped over the back of the chair.

            Annaliese closed up the jar and returned it to the shelf along with the box of crystals. She clacked away at her typewriter for a few minutes while Mister Schpooter dressed himself and stood up. Placing his resonance diagram in his leather-bound folder, she handed both the folder and a detailed note on proper upkeep of the anti-harmonic resonator in his belly to Mister Schpooter’s eager hands.

            They walked out to the lobby where a small amount of sun gleamed in through the window, revealing a damp world under the thinning cover of clouds. Annaliese looked to see Fredrick sitting behind the counter, eyes pacing over the sexual exploits of Captain Margret Mattox on her quest through the polar north. A young woman sat idly on bench in the window, eyes focused on her hands placed carefully on her still lap.

            Turning to Mister Schpooter, Annaliese nodded, and began, “I hope you find no more issues, Mister Schpooter. You assistant provided payment when he made your appointment, so I wish you a good day.”

            “Same to you, ‘sopher Brekker.” He replied as he nodded and turned to walk out of the office.

            The lady sitting in the window looked up and then stood up, placing her bag on the bench. Annaliese walked behind the counter.

            “One moment, Miss.” She said as she flipped open the ledger.

            Annaliese filled in the details and made quick notes under Mister Schpooters entry. Scanning the page, she found the woman’s entry and turned her eyes up to the lady shifter her weight in her tall raised boots.

            “Suzie Placoterm?” Annaliese said.

            “Yes.” The woman responded, brushing a amber bang behind her ear.

            She walked quickly to the counter and stood still with one foot planted on the floor and the other bent with the toe pointed onto the wooden flooring.

            “I am here for my appointment, Philosopher.” Miss Placoterm exclaimed loudly.

            “Yes. Please follow me through here to the practitioning room.”

            Gesturing to the arch, Annaliese walked carefully out from behind the counter and accompanied Miss Placoterm into the hallway.

            “The first door.” Annaliese stated as the pair disappeared into the building.

IX.

            With the last client’s heels slipping out of view through the closing threshold of the door, Fredrick closed the book—curious as to whether or nor first mate Brigham would confront stowaway Hersh for the heart and hand of the voluptuous Captain Mattox—and placed it on a shelf under the counter next to a recently half-empty bottle of whiskey. Unlatching the mask from around her face, Annaliese stretched her neck as she placed the contraption on the counter, and began loosening the belts holding her robe snuggly to her body.

            “So how was your workday, ‘Anaheim,’” Fredrick asked jokingly.

            “It went well. But please just call me ‘Ana.’ I know the name is different, but it’s easier to just use a name that matches the physical expectations. I used to explain ‘it’s a family name,’ but it’s just easier to not need to say that.” Annaliese sighed back at him.

            “I don’t mean anything by it; just a funny observation.”

            “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but you don’t have to deal with it. I’m sure it’s a curious oddity to you, but I have to live it.” Annaliese retorted.

            “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.”

            “No. It’s fine. I just—you only see it from the outside. And even though you know and sympathize, you don’t have to experience it.”

            “Right.”

            “And besides, I can’t claim that I’m entirely the same as before. Maybe a new name is fitting. Living inside someone else gives imprints of who they were. This body,” Annaliese explained as she touched her chest, “is like wearing hand-me-downs. I’m me inside, but there’s the pressure—the weight—to assume his characteristics. To live up to the expectations.”

            Fredrick nodded slowly.

            “I’m fine with Annaliese—its who I am, who I was for a long time—and most people who knew me then call me that, but to others, people who don’t know me, they expect Anaheim. So I give them Anaheim. I like to think I act the same whether Annaliese or Anaheim, but who knows. You fill the role people expect, I guess.”

            “I guess,” Fredrick echoed softly.

            Annaliese loosened the belt around her waist; the robe falling loosely over her body, draping her figure in a large beige canvas. She pulled it up over her head, and began folding it, as she walked to the counter. Sliding the folded robe on the shelf, she placed mask on top, face up. A half empty bottle of her whiskey caught her gaze as she looked up at Fredrick. A grin grew on her face, leading to a smile.

            “You’ll need to make that up to me,” she laughed.

            “What? What’d I do? What are you accusing me of? All I did was sit here like a good boy and read,” He gasped as he placed his hand over his heart.

            “We can stop by the market on the way back from Hadley’s”

Dampness hung close to the ground as the low afternoon sun drove the puddles to shrink in the warm amber light. Vendors had removed their see-through tarps and left their wares exposed to the air. Fredrick looked to his right and saw a merchant selling low-density static condensers with ornate hand-carved cases. Between the high and low potential nodes, there were relief cuttings of bipedal squid creatures and razor toothed pigs, set into stained dark wood. The next vendor argued with a woman over the price of sugar stick for the child clinging to her mothers robed leg.

Annaliese led down the street, weaving in between the shifting crowd, leaving Fredrick in a quick-step to keep up with her. Her burly figure shooting left and right around hooded old women and collar-less youths as if she were dancing a waltz. As he tripped over himself and other to keep up, he appeared more to be fool dancing to silence.

The street they took led north, parallel to the great spires of bricks rising above the industrial zone, spewing plumes of cokey clouds whipping in the sharp wind off the sea. As they walked, the buildings around them started to change. The old high-arched black-brick architecture turned to smooth slate gray concrete with minimal abutment; the choking overhang of second stories turned to flat faced buildings letting ample light fall through into widening alley ways. Between the house, no longer were narrow gulleys and shadowed paths, but were small walking paths to staircases leading to upper floors. The flat rooves, surrounded by a two foot high wall, featured small cuts for water to drain down into the street. The floor retained the irregular bumps of cobblestone—providing some proof that one still walked through Tzara’arthic streets.   

            “This is New Corinth.” Annaliese began, gesturing to the high stone buildings, “It is one of the newer parts of the city, built only a few decades ago when a large influx of migrants displaced by the purge sought refuge in Tzara’arth. The Scion was partly responsible for the development. After Bremis—no longer needed the settlement outside of the wall, they displaced a lot of people. Heading south across the sea was what most of them did, stopping in at small islands and towns along the way and being eventually forced out again when the hospitality ran dry, the displaced Corinthians eventually came to Tzara’arth. Under the shadow of the mountain, the Scion and civic board welcomed them. The Scion were already constructing massive structures to the west, so they redirected some heavy machines to the swampland north of the old city and erected these monolithic buildings. A friend told me that this style is what the top of the Ziggurat looks like now, but I can’t bring myself to look towards that mountain anymore than I could stare at the sun.”

            “Are these residential? Where do they work?” questioned Fredrick as he stared at the bumpy surface of the cold concrete rising three or more stories above the street.

            “Most are residential, there are many stores on the lower levels, though. A lot of the young people work in the industrial sector, building heavy machines. The rest work in the west on the mountain.”

            The two continued on in silence. A ever present hum throbbed from the very ground, mixing with the halogen buzzing of street lights illuminating the streets to supplement the waning sun. As they passed by, strangers nodded quickly, shaking their loose clothes. A man passed by with an odd rectangular protrusion from his shoulder under his robe; his hair was a vibrant orange mohawk.

            Coming to a crossroads, Fredrick could see that they had gained considerable altitude. Looking back the way they came; he could see a stark divide between the concrete structures and the old brick houses down the hill. From his vantage, he could look west—north west rather—and see the Great Highways cutting its paved way from the north to the south along the sea; distance objects flowed across its surface, no doubt shippers hauling cargo. He looked further north and could see a smooth square spire rising well above the sea of gray houses. It seemed to be 9 stories high and featureless save for metal contraption he squinted to see on the very top.

            “Hadley is only a few blocks west,” Annaliese said as she dragged Fredrick left down the streets.

            Arriving at an identical building, save for a metal plaque above the door reading “34 W Gherman”, Annaliese and Fredrick stood outside and knocked on the metal door set into a recess in the smooth concrete facade. After a moment, the door opened, revealing a light wood panel interior. A young woman held the door, smiling at Annaliese before noticing the man hunched down behind her.

            “Hello, Hadley. This is Fredrick.” Annaliese began, “he was in the Condenser Guild when I was in Galatia.”

            “It’s nice to meet you,” Fredrick said quickly, nodding towards the woman in the door, peaking up at him from behind her glasses.

            “Yes. Welcome. Please come in.” Hadley said as she stepped back, holding the door open for her guests.

            Ducking as he stepped through, Fredrick followed Annaliese into a spacious living room. The roof produced a soft white light that fell between the exposed metal beams and baked the room in a cool glow. Hadley gestured to the red couch pushed up against the front wall.

            A throw pillow slid out of the way as Fredrick sat down with Annaliese to his side. She picked up a throw pillow and chuckled at the embroidered beaver on the front face of the white pillow.

            “What is the occasion?” Hadley asked as she sat down on the coffee table, her legs placed between those of her guests, her white sock almost touching the wrinkled leather sides of Fredrick’s boots.

            “Fredrick was—” Annaliese trailed off, turning to Fredrick.

            “Bremis’ handling of Guild affairs didn’t sit well with me.” Fredrick began, turning from Annaliese to Hadley, “They accumulated too much sway in Galatia. I needed a fresh start and decided I would come to Tzara’arth. Anna and I were close in Galatia, so I hoped she could help me establish myself.”

            Hadley held her lips straight across and turned to look at Annaliese then back at Fredrick.

            “Anna tells me,” Fredrick picked up, “That you’re a Condensation engineering. Do you know of any positions that I could fill? I have my guild accreditation on me.”

            “My boss might need someone,” Hadley said facing Annaliese, “I could ask him. Tomorrow, if you meet me at Cardinal Station, I can introduce you,” She continued turning to Fredrick, nodding at him.

            “My thanks, Miss Rockford,” Fredrick exclaimed.

            “You could call me Hadley, if you’d prefer.” Hadley said, adjusting the glasses on her upturned nose.

            Fredrick nodded, noticing a small cat standing cautiously against the wall in the corner. It stretched it back, reaching its forepaws forwards and quivering. It looked at him, turned, and walked away into the house.

            “Fredrick, I don’t think I introduced you.” Annaliese began, “This is my girlfriend Hadley. We met shortly after I arrived in Tzara’arth.”

            Fredricks eyes grew large as he nodded, looking from Annaliese to Hadley and back.

            “When she and I first started dating, I had the body you knew in me in,” Annaliese continued, “She’s been my rock, haven’t you, Hadley.”

            “I would like to think so,” Hadley smiled back at her.

            “Well,” continued Annaliese, “I knew Freddy would need help getting set up in Tzara’arth, and you guys have very similar interests, so I thought I would make some friends.”

            “Where did you get your Guild training?” Fredrick quickly interrogated, staring at Hadley who turned to face him.

            “I was completed my apprenticeship in Hago. I was sponsored by a bishop from the Scion who was friends with my mother.” Hadley answered, “And you?”

            “I apprenticed at the Bremis institute in Galatia. I worked under Jasmine Faran,” replied Fredrick.

            “Faran? She invented the octahedral gradient siphon, right? I had to install one of those last year.”

            “The very same. She did that years before I worked for her, but it was rewarding working under a master. Did you cross paths with anyone in Hago?”

            “I crossed paths with many people in Hago.” Hadley retorted.

            “Naturally,” Fredrick stated abruptly.

            “Can I see Apple?” Annaliese exclaimed, shooting her torso forwards between the two.

            Hadley smiled and turned to her.

            “Of course. I’ll go get him.” She stated, standing up.

            Stepping wide over the table, Hadley made her way across the carpeted floor of the room to the doorway, the cat had slipped through a few moments before. Annaliese glared at Fredrick who smiled awkwardly back at her. She turned her head and watched the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cat. Fredrick leaned backing into the enveloping cushion, crossing his arms and sighing.

            Moments later, after a light crash a vigorous tapping echoed from the doorway, followed by the careening body of cat propelled by four stubby legs, chased closely behind by the outstretched arms of Hadley. The feline bounded from the door way, took three leaps across the carpet, launched it body to the coffee table, and leaped, crashing sideways into the lap of Annaliese.

            “He found his best friend.” Hadley exclaimed, walking to coffee table.

            She sat down on the right side, legs over the side, with her torso centered on Annaliese. Stretching out her hand, she pet Apple who closed his eyes in purring bliss as he nuzzled his cheek against Annaliese’s chest.

            “Fredrick owes me a bottle,” Annaliese began, looking up from the cat, “If you want to go to a market and pick one out?”

            “That sounds nice,” Hadley responded, “shall we go now? It is getting dark.”

            Still rubbing Apple vigorously, Annaliese nodded, and began prodding the cat to disembark her lap. He resisted, throwing his beefy side into her stomach as she gave him a gentle push. Staring up at her with wide eyes, he implored her to let him continue in unimpeded bliss, but was quickly disappointed as the comfy lap beneath him gave way, his legs dangling, girth flowing between Hadley’s fingers.

            “You’ve had your fun, be happy,” Hadley said in a childlike tone as she pivoted and placed Apple on the floor. Bolting out of her grip before he touched the ground, Apple bounded to the doorway, turned to shoot one guilting glance at Annaliese before disappearing into the rest of the house.

            Removing a slender bottle of dark red liquid from a slatted shelf, Hadley inspected the wine with an air of mock connoisseurship, contorting her face to suggest deep criticality as she turned the bottle over in her hands. Annaliese chuckled, turning to Fredrick, who stood a few feet away near the edge of the booth.

            “Thank you,” she said.

            “Of course.” He replied.

            Hadley placed the bottle on the vendors counter, nodding to Annaliese. Fredrick produced a handful of coins from his coat pocket, counted out a specific amount, and replaced the excess into his coat, before leaning forwards to place the coins on the table.

            “We will take this one,” he said nodding towards the merchant.

            She nodded back, sliding the coins into her palm, as she nodded to each of the people at her booth. Fredrick reached for the bottle, as it was lifted quickly away from his fingers, sliding into the crook of Hadley’s arm. Hadley smiled at Fredrick.

            “Safer with me,” she winked, turning to the approving smile of Annaliese.

X.

            Waves crashed against the weatherworn concrete wall, splashing salty mist violently into the air. Set into the deep rocky seafloor, stone pillars anchored the wall, ancient cyclopean monoliths set against the sea aeons ago; the wall was constructed between them and refined through the years. Atop the wall, along the seafront, was the pier, miles wide and above the sea, it stretched around the boundary of Tzara’arth; the city itself built upon the ancient pier, straddling the firm natural land and the constructed plateau. Developed and expanded through centuries, the city covered the entire area of the pier, bursting at the fridges, for even after all these years, no engineering can replicate the great monolith pillars holding the pier together; all attempts were flimsy and eventually crashed into the unforgiving waves.

            As Fredrick followed Hadley slowly walking down a narrow alleyway towards her job, he could catch glimpses at the structure through the smoggy air and twisting buildings. It was a three-story rectangular building with gigantic metal arches set in regular intervals along the front face, containing massive windows peering into the mechanized interior. The great black brick building sprouted two cylindrical chimneys rising above the flat roof, their mouths emitting a dense fog of black dust. Between the two stone chimneys rose a metallic contraption; a six-fold symmetric object with a chaotic order of pipes and wires tessellating the space between six large convex polish-brass plates. The metal plates must have been about 20 feet high and 6 feet wide set in a hexagonal arrangement around a central stalk. There was space between them revealing the pipes and truss beams holding them to the center pillar.

            That’s quite the condenser. It must be effective with the ocean right there. From the turbulent docking at port, I can only guess at how powerful a standing gradient there is off the sea. I hope Miss Rockford will show it to me, so I’ll get a chance to inspect it up close. Looks like a Bremis model, but I’d have to see the actual condenser and not just the pedals.

            The pair pushed passed a hooded woman; a single triangular bang fell out of the hood covering her forehead. She turned her body to squeeze passed the two, an audible squealing emanated from mechanical components under her robe. She ducked her head and hurried up the alleyway towards the center of the industrial district.

             Coming into an open street running parallel to the seaboard, Fredrick caught a better view of the building the approached. The road was 30 yards from the edge of the pier and the ten foot drop to the sea; the building was 50 yards deep, being supported over the turbulent sea by massive copper beams bracing the overhanging building against the retaining wall. It didn’t have direct neighbors, instead being flanked by two large stone wharfs jutting out into the sea, holding four ships at anchor in the harbor. Beyond the wharfs one either side ran densely packed factory buildings, Fredrick observed, listening to the deafening cacophony coming from the brick structures.

            Fredrick turned his attention to Hadley, who had by that time crossed fully to the other side of the street and was gesturing for Fredrick to stop gawking and catch up. He picked up his heels and slipped into the metal door on the side of the building just as Hadley let it go and it began to swing shut.

            The interior was quieter than the outside, the large bricks muffling the higher harmonics, so that only the deep sounds snuck in and battered at Fredrick. A snaking path of conveyor belts and pulleys ran around the factory floor. Fredrick tried to scan the chaotic system leading from the silos dangling from the high metal-beam trussed ceiling to the numerous crates being filled and stacked in the opposite corner. He could identify a few steps in the condenser manufacturing; the table near the end where the workers slid metal plates into the pedal array; the technician filling cylinders and pipes with caustic condensing agents. The rest of the machine seemed to blaze by too fast for comprehension as Fredrick walked along the outside of the room, being sure to stay within the yellow lines guiding around hazards.

            He looked up at the far wall, the part hanging over the sea, and noticed that that portion of the factory was a smaller two-story building within the shell of the building, set above the factory floor on colossal stone pillars bearing the load of the two upper floors. It had brass circumscribed windows and large steel-truss balconies and stamped metal staircases dangling from the ceiling by thick cables. Following Hadley up a flight of stairs, he entered into the second story floor, noting an even quieter environment as the metal door shut behind him.

            Men in collars walked with purpose between offices, stopping to shoot idle words at others as they flowed around the floor. A woman brushed passed Hadley, nodding in recognition, as she hurried to an office. Hadley smiled at Fredrick as they followed a white marked path through the hallways and desks cluttered around building.

            “This is where I work. Whithlitt Condensers Consolidated.” Hadley said, gesturing around her at the warmly lit room, as salty air flowed in from the array of open windows along the wall.

            “It is very pleasant,” Fredrick responded, “I quite like it.”

            “Fortunate timing you have; we lost two engineers last month during an onsite installation. That’s not fortunate—of course—but Tzara’arth isn’t exactly bustling with guild accredited Condensers,” Hadley said, adding after a pause as she deepened her voice in mock admiration, “Let alone those who worked with Jasmine Faran.”

            She smirked to herself as she led Fredrick down the hall towards a large wooden door directly in front of them, leading into the corner office. Pulling the golden handle of the door open, she swung the heavy door open, gesturing with her free hand for Fredrick to enter the dim room first. He stepped through, turning to face the modest desk in the center of the room towards the small window overlooking the sea. He nodded at the balding man hunched over technical drawing unrolled on his desk, covering numerous other papers and diagrams. A stack of books held down one corner from rerolling—a copy of Elementary Gradient Theory by Camden Greoner rested on the bottom; one of Fredrick’s most detested readings from his days at the institute. The other corner was held down by the mans outstretched palm as he scanned the diagram with equal parts eye movement and head movement.

            Fredrick stood motionless, centered on the desk five paces away, as Hadley walked behind him and prodded him on his lower back. He inched forwards, adjusted the tightness of his collar, pulled his rolled-up sleeves to match in length in the crook of his elbow, and readjusted the tightness of his collar.

            “Good morning, sir.” Fredrick exclaimed quietly, jumping a bit in his clothes.

            The man looked up briefly, eyes wide and brow furled. His eyes were fixed on the lanky figure adjusting his collar in the middle of his office. Spotting Hadley smirking, he adjusted his posture, straightened his back, and stepped out from behind his desk.

            “Good morning. My name is Ibrahim Fink. I am developmental manager. Who are you?” Mister Fink exclaimed.

            “I am Fredrick Handcock. I recently moved to Tzara’arth. I am a friend of Miss Rock—Hadley’s. Here is my accreditation.” Fredrick blurted out.

            Lurching forwards, Fredrick produced the stamped metal card from his pocket, displaying the polished face to Mister Fink, who reactively took a step back into his desk. At this point Hadley took a step towards the two.

            “Mister Handcock is a Guild accredited condenser engineer from Galatia. I know we are short a few engineers, so I figured him for one of the positions.” Hadley stated.

            Taking the card from Fredricks softly shaking hand, Mister Fink wiped a droplet of sweat from the embossed face, and looked up at Fredrick.

            “I hear you worked in Galatia. That’s a busy city. What brings you all the way out here?” Mister Fink asked, adjusting his posture to appear as though sitting on the corner of the desk was intentional.

            “Bremis regulated the condensation work a tad too stringently for my liking. I never had a desire to join a corporation, and without a Bremis seal, half of my opportunities were denied. I heard good things about Tzara’arth and their labor practices, so I came here.” Fredrick replied, taking a deep breadth and two steps backwards.

            “Well, I know you didn’t hear good things about Tzara’arth—not in northern city like Galatia, anyway. But I agree that we have—please take a seat—we have fair labor practices. I don’t know why the Directorate let’s Bremis act like that, but regardless, they don’t do much out here, ‘sides stop in port and offload wares.” Mister Fink explained, as he looked down at the metal card, turning it over in his hands, “well, it seems like you have all the qualifications—an apprenticeship at an institute, too—so I’ll put you on a probationary assignment, if that’s what you want. In a month or so, if you perform well and like it here, we can sign you in officially.”

            “Thank you, Mister Fink.” Fredrick exclaimed, standing as he nodded.

            “Hadley, thank you for bringing your friend.” Mister Fink began, “Introduce him to your team. I’ll have him work with you at the beginning; you can help him get acquainted to how we do things here.”

            “Oh course, Ibrahim.” Hadley said, as she grabbed Fredricks arm and began walking out of the office.

            “This is Tyler Krassus and Meghan Hillshouse,” Hadley said, gesturing to the two figures nodding in Fredrick’s general direction without taking their eyes off of their slide rules and drafting paper.

            Fredrick took a seat at the table next to Hadley, who slid into a rolly chair and began inspecting the diagram Miss Hillshouse was drawing. She scrunched her brow together as she analyzed the drawing. Leaning over to afford a better view, Fredrick attempted to catch himself up with the project he was now working on. From what he could piece together, they were making small adjustments to the diffuser valves and checking the thermodynamic efficiency.

XI.

            Annaliese walked slowly down the cobblestone street, lingering next to the vendor selling warm aromatic bread. The sun crept slowly towards the zenith, hanging low above the sea, intermixed with the chimneys and smoke wafting from the industrial district; the light reflecting off of the thick fog creating crepuscular rays cutting between the stark buildings. Taking a few steps forwards, she turned and walked back to the vendor.

            “How much for a loaf?” she asked.

            “It is two Specie for one loaf. three for two.” The merchant said, his voice muffled by the thick scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose.

            “I’ll buy one loaf.”

            “Very good, sir. Enjoy.”

            The vendor handed a soft warm loaf of bread to Annaliese, as she dropped two coins on the wooden table of the booth. Smiling, she turned and continued on her original path westward towards the center circle, clutching the bread closely to her chest.

            The bustle of the center circle was a chaotic as always; swaths of people flowed around the perimeter in a clockwise direction, a turbulent boundary between the stationary people buying things and the fast-moving current, a tumult of people squeezing between each other and joining the group.

            Two elderly women sat on the edge of the fountain chatting to each other, the grim figure rose behind them, bathed in recycled water, tinged gray from the soot that hovered above the city. The figure stood immovable, its head bulb seeming to sense the crowd in quiet eternal meditation.

            The first grafted ascendant. She who contacted that which is below all those years ago—although it wasn’t below back then. I wonder if she still resonates from beneath the fountain. If part of her still oscillates to deafening harmonics of the dead one. Can she still touch their mind, infuse her being with the shadowy suggestions?

            As she thought to herself, a hooded man approached. He bowed his head, blocking her view from the metal box affixed to where his left eye had been. Observing the dark robes, she noticed rectangular protrusions extending from his shoulder and the suggestion of parallelogram arms creasing the robe sharply where one would expect organic curves.

            “You are Philosopher Anaheim Brekker?” The man asked in a raspy voice.

            “I am he.” She responded.

            “Philosopher Pill Farnham requested your assistance with a client.”

            “One of the Scion, I assume?”

            “Yes. Bishop of Reverie Treffer.”

            “I have a client today. I could attend to him after that at 2pm or tomorrow.”

            “We would request you come immediately, but if not, 2pm.”

            “Very well. I will go to Farnham’s practice at 2pm.”

            “No. He is in the Chapel of Reverie in the west ward.”

“They I shall go there.”

“We thank you for your service, Philosopher.”

            The hooded man nodded, turned and slipped away into the crowd, ducking between a man wearing his coat collar up to his ear and a woman who had pulled a red hat down over her unruly curls, a few locks slipping out onto her brow. Annaliese continued walking, giving her path to the circular flow as she stared off westwards towards Pill Farnham’s office. Facing back forwards she joined the shuffling crowd, waiting to exit at her street and begin the work day.

            “Good morning, Mister Gillup.” Annaliese exclaimed, her eyes smiling above the mustached mask.

            “Good morning to you, ‘sopher Brekker.” The tall man said from behind his thick curly beard, opening his arms in an arcing gesture.

            Adjusting the glasses sitting on his hooked nose, he walked through the doorway into the cool interior of the office, making a deliberate march towards the counter. He tapped the bell jokingly, chuckling to himself as Annaliese feigned panic, rushing in place to get to the counter to assist the client, breathing heavily as if she had sprinted.

            “I am due for a checkup, I would say.” Mister Gillup said, “My headaches have been returning—not as bad as before though—and I figured the damping might need tuning.”

            “A likely situation.” Annaliese said.

            She walked out from behind the counter and lead Mister Gillup into the pracitioning room, where he took a seat on the cushioned chair, and turned his head to provide ample room to inspect the dampening device attached behind his ear. Standing next to him, Annaliese tightened the strap holding the robe to her wrist, and leaned it, prodding the metal sphere looping over his ear. She nodded to herself, turned to the shelf and took an B5 tuning fork from the shelf and tapped it on the side of Mister Gillup’s head. Holding it to her chest, a few bells shook slightly; the bell she expected resonated largely, but a not too small amplitude reaction developed in one of the smaller bells. Frowning as she placed the B5 on the table behind her, she removed the damper from his ear and looked at it closely; Mister Gillup turning his neck straight and looking up at Annaliese who turned the sphere over in her hands, running her finger along the concentric arcs set at right angles at the poles. Rubbing at a buildup of rust, she scratched away the flaky iron oxide, revealing a deep gash in the polished platinum surface coating. It was only a fingernail deep, but allowed a nucleation site for rust to build up on the iron interior.

            “Must have knicked the damper,” she said, holding the device to Mister Gillup so he could see the scratch and rust, “It got exposed to moisture and rust built up. It threw off the balance and harmonics of the device, shifting it out of phase. I can replate it right now. Wait here. It shouldn’t take too long.”

            She walked out of the room, carrying the device in her hand, and made her way across the hall into a dimly lit room. Flipping a switch on the wall, a humming built up before orange light flashed out of the ceiling, illuminating the vials and glass apparatuses scattered on tables and shelves along three walls. She placed the device down on the far table, next to a glass jar and a condenser. Attaching a wire to the device near the scratch, she lowered the sphere into the glass jar, submerging the scratched part in the cloudy acid bath, as she attached a few wooden sticks to the sphere to suspend it in the jar. The condenser rattled before settling down to silence when she activated it, opening a small patch in the wall leading to the warm air outside to create a temperature differential across the device. She watched as the dark goopy liquid began circulating in the thin capillary tubes leading from the condenser to a small dynamo that began spinning after she gave it a small flick. Sparks jumped across the gap between the spinning copper wheel and the stationary metal brush scraping along the circumference. The magnetic plates flexed slowly as the disk attained full speed, finding equilibrium against the air drag and current dissipation.

Small black tendril began to form on the small surface of metal beneath the acid’s surface. She watched carefully as the platinum surface slowly crawled inwards on the scratch, stitching itself back together, before she disconnected the wires from the dynamo and the growth stopped. Removing the sphere from the acid, she knocked the tendril back into the acid with her thumb, before wiping it off on a cloth waiting next to the glass jar.

She placed the damper on the flat concave plate of the harmonic analyzer on the other table. She tapped the device with a small ballpeen hammer, looking at the numerous radial dial gauges. Staring at the principle gauge, she watched the dial swing back and forth, slowly settling slightly to the right of A6. She picked up the sphere, scrapped the small bulge of fresh platinum on the circular arc where the scratch was, and returned the device to the analyzer. Tapping the damper again with the tiny hammer, she placed the hammer back into the hook on the wall along with the other hammers between a miniscule hammer and a slightly larger one. Watching the dial, she nodded as the dial shook underneath the A6 marking of the gauge.

She stood straight up and walked out across the hall. Stepping into the practitioning room, she smiled and sat down on the stool next to Mister Gillup.

“I replated it.” She exclaimed as she slid it back into place behind his ear.

“Thank you, ‘sopher.” He said leaning up.

He stood up and walked back to the lobby before standing firmly in front of the counter, which Annaliese slipped behind. Opening the ledger, she jotted down a few notes next to Mister Gillup’s appointment details. She turned the book to him and indicated the numerical figure in the payment column. He nodded, reached into his breast pocket and produced the necessary coinage to cover the work done. Smiling as he turned and left, he waved back at her.

“Thank you.” He exclaimed.

“Have a good day, sir.” She replied.

As he slipped out into the street, the door swinging shut behind him, Annaliese unlatched the watch from her belt and held it up to read the time: 1:35. She quickly disrobed, placing the folded items carefully into a leather bag before leaving her office, locking the door behind her as she stepping into the warm air circulating through the street.

XII.

            The western ward of the city was less crowded than the center; no vendors haggled in the streets, leaving the narrow lanes for full pedestrian use. The structures lining the avenue were purely residential, not having the first floor for commercial considerations. Several buildings had gardens set into their upper floor, so that in front of the sloped tile roof was a flat terrace overgrowing with shrubs and vines. The air tasted fresher, still of the sticky caustic soot, but less so.

            Annaliese hurried over the cobblestone, less worried about bumping into people as near her own office. A hundred yards ahead of her rose a reinforced crumbling remnant of the original wall. A light grey masonry stretching 20 feet into the sky, now cracked with chunks missing, dark metal beams braced the remaining stones, keeping what remained of the wall intact. Beyond the scattered sections of wall stretched the remainder of the city, architecturally similar to the rest of the western ward, since most of the buildings constructed when the original wall stood have long since been replaced.

            She noted the rigid truss system holding the cyclopean rocks of the archway together as she walked through one of the three remaining archways out of the original seven that dotted the old Tzara’arthic wall. The buildings butted up against the old wall; several even were built into it, appearing like a dark stone and metal blight growing out of the wall, clinging to its ancient surface.

            Arriving at a large four-story chapel rising above the western ward, its bell tower rising even higher to pierce the dense clouds forming over the city, Annaliese walked up the stone steps to the great wooden doors. She approached the smaller wooden door set into the left part of the stone chapel’s front; the ancient doors were no longer used, instead stood idly, having been sealed centuries ago by haphazardly crisscrossing board nailed into it from the inside, the cracks sealed with a thick red wax, the old drippings frozen, unmoved for years but retained the impression of movement.

            She pushed open the smaller door and stepped into the ante chamber lit with strips of sodium vapor lamps buzzing above her head. Walking quickly through the room, she passed by several members of the Scion, fully naked with their metallic appendages grafted on. Passing into the main chamber of the cathedral, she looked up at the high vaulted ceiling, the metal beams holding the roof were lost to shadow above her head; solid light poured in only from the westward facing windows above the raised alter. Old splintered pews lined the walls, stacked haphazardly in a formless mass of broken wood; the solid basalt floor stretched from wall to wall with only a red carpet running from the unopening doors to the chancel set against the western wall. The carpet dipped in few places on the smooth basalt floor where three colossal gashes were carved through the ground, being almost a foot wide each, six inches deep at the center, and stretching over 10 feet diagonally from the north east to the south west. Old light grey masonry filled in the gashes along the center of the room where the carpet lay, the outer portions were left as they were made.

            Standing on the raised platform at the head of the chapel, a man hunched over the alter, cutting a silhouette out of the solid beam of light falling in from the massive stained windows. A wide brimmed hat hung on the head, tipped to one side. As she approached, Annaliese could make out the finer details of the figure, observing the bunching of his robe above the leather belts strapped to his arms. His tanned forearms were exposed with tight gloves punched taught over his hands. The archaic geometric patterns of his tattoos appeared faded with time.

            Hearing the hurried footsteps on the tattered carpet, he perked up, raising his torso and extending his head to its full height as he cocked his face to see Annaliese approaching. He turned his full body to her, revealing the dark robes, numerous leather belts with oddities strapped across his chest, and his dark mask, featuring a multiple hyperbolic pedals.

            “Ahh. Brekker, It is good to see you came.” He let out from his chest, the syllables lingering on his tongue, creating an air of unfamiliarity of dialect.

            “Farnham, what do you require today? It has been several months since you’ve required my assistance.” She responded directly.

            Stepping back from the alter, he placed his feet on either side of a jagged sanguine duct set into the stone platform, motioning with his outstretched arm to the pile of globuous flesh and rigid metal resting on the alter.

            “The Bishop of Reverie is in need of assistance, and I need you to manage his physical harmonics while I attempt to assess the discordance of the hypernatural cycles.” Farnham said staring down at her, “He has fallen ill; having reached out to a more principle resonance his body unfortunately produced discordant vibrations, locking him in a standing-resonance with the aethereal harmonic his mind was coupled with. I need you to make sure his vessel is alright while I attempt to un-couple his mind. Once his mind is un-coupled, you will have to establish his base frequency again.”

            The chatter of Scion members shuffling around the cathedral echoed off of the high ceiling and distance stone, creating a constant pan-directional murmur.

            “I understand. Do you have his sheet with his base frequencies?” She asked.

            “Yes. Everything you need is in this folder.” He said, producing a leatherbound book with the embossed symbol of the Scion etched into the leather cover.

            “Very well, let us begin.” She said solemnly looking at the pile on the alter.

XIII.