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Lightning

Ch8 - The Gift Horse

By H. A. Kirsch

--

Trevor walked into a scene of morning chaos, at least as much as could be created by four people in a large warehouse full of dubious equipment.

The maned wolf was nearly knocked off his feet as Lane stormed past the opening to the main floor. The furless cat stomped up to Altius, who was pensively observing the large energizer. "Why, is there some random horse walking around in here?"

"It is the time of the month, Mister Burroughs, where we pay our dues."

"What are you talking about? You don't let people come in here unless they work for you. Did you hire someone else? He looks too fancy." Lane then turned to Trevor. "No offense."

I look like a feed-store clerk, Trevor thought. "That's okay. What's going on?"

Lane pointed to the aforementioned equine, who was now walking over to the shop door. "That's going on, and it's about to encounter Fitch."

"I do believe," came a massive sonorous belt from above, ending in a stunning vibrato. "That Altius has attracted a new creditoooooooooooorrr," in a slightly higher register with a voluminous held note. Everyone looked; Petrie was standing outside of his land of mathematics and turning his thoughts into arias.

Lane looked angry and terrified at the same time, sweated profusely, tugged at his turtleneck, and looked as if he would tear his fur out if he had any. "And now Petrie's singing!"

"Not a creditor, boys, an investor, and not of Petrie's caliber, my apologies!" Altius called out, and seemed entirely unconcerned.

"None takeeeennnnnn," Petrie extended his arm dramatically as he sang, although the effect was reduced as his arm was only dramatically short. "My own apologies, I am but practicing! Sandy's father would like me to perform at his brewery."

Lane grabbed Trevor by the shirt sleeve. "You, come, I need an assistant to assist me in avoiding some kind of catastrophe," he hissed, then dragged the maned wolf over to intercept the unfamiliar horse.

The newcomer was a black stallion with a slight natural swayback, a very fancy black tailcoat that was embroidered in a slightly different black paisley pattern that shimmered slightly under the sunlight that streamed in through various windows, cream riding pants, and front-peaked dress riding boots. He also had white leather gloves, which stood out extremely, not the least because they were not the slightest bit dirty. He seemed to be aware of the commotion he was causing, as he was unhurried as he approached the door to Fitch's shop. As Lane and Trevor came up, he reached his hand up and knocked on the door.

Fitch opened the view slat. "No," he said, and slid it partway back before slamming it open again. "I hate horses," he said, and slammed it shut.

Lane turned red and was just opening his mouth, when the locks snapped open faster than Trevor had seen in the last week and Fitch exploded out of the doorway. The panther grabbed the horse in a bear hug and the pair missed knocking Lane off his feet by an inch. Lane bent down and pulled something out of the top of his boot and brandished it, adopting a flawless knife-wielding stance. "Enough!"

"Are you naffy? Stop that," Fitch snarled, reached out, grabbed Lane by the wrist until the cat let out a glass-breaking scream, and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter. "I'm not going to kill him! I know this fucking dullhead!"

The horse smiled, two rows of perfectly white teeth, broken only by the sight of two gold ones. "Indeed, and I know this mangey mouse-eating fleabag," the stallion said, and then extricated himself from the crushing embrace.

Lane clutched at his wrist, flexed his hands a few time, then flatted his ears in embarrassment as he was apparently uninjured.

Altius strode up with a few definitive clacks of his heelclaws. "May I introduce Parlin Southers, the owner and operator of Southers Shipping and Trade."

"Oh my," Petrie said from up above, and scurried his way down the stairs. He rushed up and tried to insert himself between Fitch and Parlin. "Mister Southers, very pleased to make your acquaintance. Petrie von'Erhas, fiduciary operator and mathematical expert of... ahh, we aren't exactly an incorporation, so we have no official name."

"YOU know him as well?" Lane rowrled.

"I know of him. Surely you're familiar with Southers. They've been in the news. They are embarking on a path to-"

"Mister von'Erhas, allow me," the horse said, in a syrupy and very deep perfected pronunciation. "I am indeed owner of a shipping company. I am looking to modernize my small but important fleet, and have been laying out investments into the latest mechanizations. If I am not the first to have a vessel on the water with a steam-drive fitted for propulsion, it will only be due to the military having beat me to it. If I am the first, the military will contract me to make them the second. An important component to a modern fleet of ships for trading and scouting purposes, is defensive capabilities. Sometimes, that means defense. Sometimes, that means offensive capabilities to prevent the need for defense."

"I don't care," Lane blurted out. "I am a founding partner of this operation. I demand to know how you know this naffy animal," he pointed between the horse and Fitch.

Altius moved to cut in, and the stallion lifted his gloved hand, finger up. Parlin spoke. "I don't mind explaining at all. I would say that I have clawed my way up to owning a shipping company. However, I will leave the clawing to all of you. I have worked my way up, from deckhand, to cabin boy, to mate, to first mate, to captain, to owner of multiple ships. Back in the earlier times, when I was a cabin boy, I had the ear of the captain, so to speak. And I convinced the captain not to throw one of the deckhands overboard after he became mad with terror over the open water."

Everyone looked at Fitch.

"I hate water," the cat growled, looking no less or more angry than he ever did.

"No wonder you hate washing your fucking balls!" Lane laughed, the laugh of someone who was as angry as they were amused.

"Now, as to why I am here, your esteemed Caroyan employer and I had a deep conversation last night. I overheard him talking about how he had acquired a prototype steam drive and was using it to further his research. He overheard me talking about my needs to ensure a useful security force for my shipping and trading efforts. We had several drinks, a round of grace pollen in the company of some very fanciful Galean guara and hyena women, and he explained exactly what it is you are researching. I will fund that research, in exchange for the fruits of it. And if I fund it, it will produce fruits, even if I have to pick them myself." Suddenly, he did not sound purely esteemed and fancy; he spoke with a vicious tone and accent that made Petrie and Lane's eyes go wide. Fitch seemed to expect it; Altius definitely expected it; and Trevor was simply overwhelmed and eavesdropping at close range. The only fancy person I've ever been around was Marshall's father, and he was similarly vicious. A horse, though!

Parlin continued. "I have already received a demonstration of this corrosive acid battery you have developed. I would receive a demonstration of this," he gestured towards the energizer, "Though I hear there has been some malfunction after the installation of the steam drive."

"Ahh yes, our own guara here was instrumental in detecting it and saving myself from an unfortunate end just yesterday. You must understand, this is entirely new territory. The chantries are not fond of this sort of inquiry, as they feel it is too close to the workings of the gods, who may not be scrutinizedscrutinzed. And, I say, that is horse-shit, pardon the expression."

"No apology necessary, Dr. Brasseri," Parlin said. "We are the gods of our own future. The chantries will slowly collapse under their antiquated regulations and watch their landholdings wither away. Or, I suppose, they will adapt."

Now everyone stared at the horse. Trevor had never heard anyone so seemingly wealthy speak so rotten of the religious co-determinants of governance. Even Fitch widened his eyes at the words.

"I realize that Mister Pearson here is reluctant to allow others to traipse around in his shop. I am perfectly well-acquainted with his fabrication skills. On the other hand, I hear that your sphinx cat has his own laboratory."

Lane's ears stood straight up, as did his tail behind his back. "Oh. Well, yes."

"I would like a tour," Parlin said. "A complete tour."

Altius grinned and adjusted his coat. "Lane, off you go with him. Trevor, go along as well. Our new equine partner is fond of your kind."

Lane, trembling with excitement and possibly fear, took them to his chemical laboratory with Trevor in tow. The stallion took a cursory look around, furrowed his brow, flicked an ear, and was about to speak when the cat interrupted him. "Ahh, he said a complete tour, so, you get to witness some of Fitch's handiwork."

The cat took something out of his pocket that was not a key. It was a flat fur comb. Trevor chuckled and disguised it by coughing into his fist. What does he have one of those for, he doesn't have any fur! Lane turned it around, approached the wall, and moved the comb handle along the surface slowly. Nothing but a surface grinding sound came of it, until there was a muted clack. Lane stepped back, and a rectangular part of the wall popped open. The edge of it featured an indent; he used it as a handle and opened the secret door.

"Ahh, natural magnetism at its finest." Parlin walked inside first. Not only was there an entire room that was not evident from the outside; it had a staircase and led upwards. The stallion was not very interested in the staircase, and very interested in the shelves of glass vessels. "I hear that this is one of two accessory funding sources for the lizard's operation, and one of the more steady ones. And, I did not tell this to Altius as we were too enamored with our attendants last night and I did not want to fluster him, but I have heard positive things about the quality of what you make from other sources independently."

Lane looked as if he was going to lose control of his body while standing. His knees went together, though he mewled. "T-thank you, Sir. If you would like to..."

"Altius did tell me you had been attempting to perfect an alternative to dullweed, and that it was partly successful."

Lane rubbed the back of his head. "Yes, well, it does still smell bad, though not quite as bad in quite the same way. And it doesn't feel the same. However, it is very interesting, and only lasts a couple of hours before fading away completely, without the fog the next morning. Trevor, ahh, how do you feel?"

Trevor whipped his tail down between his legs. He's fond of my kind. What does that mean. I'm not a pollen den attendant. I don't have breasts. Trevor knew little of Galean culture, and only knew of pollen dens because they were so commonly spoken about as examples of moral excesses. "To be honest... I am quite, ah, terrified at the moment." Lane then stared at him. "Oh! However, I feel fine after trying Lane's concoction yesterday. It was very... enhancing, at the festival. If I had been on dullweed I would have just wanted to lie down and nap, or maybe chew on a stick or something." Or dress up in that-

"You have no reason to be terrified. While I am a dark and intimidating man, I am not at all upset by any of the goings-on. I would like to try this 'alternative', Mister Burroughs."

"Ahh, now?" The hairless cat rubbed his neck, then his ear. Lane went over to a work table and picked up a small cigarette case. "So far, I have smoked it, on some fine spice. It does smell like tar." He handed the horse a cigarette, with quivering fingers. "Only one inhale." He produced a lighter; Parlin leaned over, and had one drag from it. He blew the smoke out his nostrils.

"Indeed, that is gross," the horse said. "Though it does not linger like dullweed does." He handed the cigarette back. "I would like to go visit your enthusiastic small dog next. I realize that whatever this is will take effect; I shall need it to deal with whatever equations he will likely sing to me. You don't need to accompany me. I am sure you have work to be doing."

The trio left the secret laboratory, and Parlin headed off and up the stairs to see Petrie's space. Lane looked as if he were a flower wilting in the rain. He cornered Trevor and stood next to him; Trevor leaned down to hear. "I thought I was going to fall flat," he whispered. "What kind of naffy shit is this? If he knows Fitch from when Fitch used to be a deckhand for a week or whatever, that means he's a pirate! I know Southers shipping though, they've been in the papers. They aren't a pirate thing. They're the darling of the trade world now. Ungh, my head hurts..."

Trevor really didn't know how to respond to the situation, so he simply stroked the back of Lane's head. "I mean, I'd rather have money than not, I suppose. It could be worse. It could be the military. It could be the chantries. Can you imagine poking that machine out there and having to answer to Ferrin or something? This guy's just a horse."

"He's Fitch with a long face and a cock the size of your entire arm!" Lane laughed off. "I don't even care about that sort of thing and it's impossible to avoid. It went down his leg in his pants! You could see it, plain as day! And now he's had that stuff... and he's going to go listen to Petrie warble about modular semiotics in E-flat. Maybe he'll be the one to fall flat. At least Petrie's heifer isn't around or she'd end up coughing on it." Lane reached up and pawed at his own ears and frowned. "Okay. How about we just go down and look at that drive mechanism. You had some naffy theory about it yesterday. It's what Altius was starting on."

They did just that, and found the lizard doing what they thought he would be doing: standing and stroking his lower muzzle scales with a talon, looking over and over at the machine. "Ahh, Trevor, what was it you said you thought yesterday?"

The maned wolf rubbed at his temples for a moment, and his brain felt like soup. "Well, obviously, the charge got to where it shouldn't be, which is up there." He pointed up at the metal dome. "So either it made its way back through this drive mechanism to that.. Uh.. that," he pointed at the sprocket disconnector. "And this is where I think I might be the naffy one, I..." he leaned in close to Altius. "I saw the charge moving the other way. From over there. That's why I said maybe those pulleys did the same thing this giant thing does. That's what's in there, right?"

"Those are tanned leather belts, and th'energizer uses a kind of braid of rope an' elsap since it's so large. An' those are metal pulleys. Th'energizer needs two materials that are... that are insulating, that can't conduct a charge. It accumulates when they touch and rub."

Trevor closed his eyes; he saw nothing in particular on any of the equipment. Just being safe. "What if... we disconnect it at both ends, and turn it? This pulley stuff wasn't here before, right? Someone said there used to be a big hand wheel and a gear."

"It's already loose out there, let me do it in here too," Altius said, and pulled the disconnect lever, which separated the dog-tooted sprocket wheels. "By the way, I apologize for not giving any warnin' about that fine horse. He was adamant that he come by today. And well, I was in no condition to say no. He'd paid for a whole evenin's worth of grace pollen and I have to say in confidence that I have a guilty pleasure of watching others romance."

Trevor felt dull. "Watching?"

"Him and the attendants. Us Caroyans are... we have special care about things like that, I don't usually partake directly."

Trevor still didn't understand, until he abruptly did and his tall ears flashed hot. "Oh. Oh. I see. Okay, let's try turning some of this stuff."

Altius started turning one of the wheels, grunting soundly as he tried to get it moving. It was difficult to grab, and he grabbed a brush handle from nearby and stuck it into one of the larger pulley wheels and used it as a makeshift handle. "This is why I used a rather sound sum of coin to get this drive, and even then, it was only affordable as it was a prototype that was going to be just left to rot in dust! This takes so much effort! Can you imagine having to spin this for hours?"

"I don't need to imagine," Lane grunted. "At least that Parlin guy liked my lab setup. He wanted to try out what I gave Trevor yesterday. I suppose he figured if it was good for a Galean, it was good enough for him."

"I fear he is a hedonist... and I saw him goin' up there to our numerical wizard. As long as nothin' changes his mind." While talking, Altius waved his hand back near the pulley and there was a snap. "Arrh! I must be off, leaving that handle waving around."

Trevor's eyes went wide and his ears went back. "You didn't hit the handle." He then squeezed his eyes shut. The pulley assembly was crawling with blue charge glow, enough that it spidered off into space as it seemed to do when leaking off of a surface. "That's what I saw yesterday! Not as much, yesterday it was like, it was like a waterfall gushing all over everything."

Altius grabbed a prybar and used it to brake the mechanism, and it produced a spark snap when it touched as well. "Well, I just don't understand. These pulley wheels are metal..." He fingered about at one of them, then squinted and looked about. "The entire design of this mechanism is to do two things: transfer mechanical power from out in th' alleyway where th' steam drive is located, and provide mechanical advantage to spin the belt at the proper speed with enough force. That means several pulleys and shafts t'get the power to the right location; it was too hard to move the energizer and where the steam drive had been set down and mounted. Plus, we wanna use this power for other things like in Fitch's shop."

"I guess that makes sense," Trevor shrugged. He didn't understand what mechanical advantage meant.

"But! Look at this!" Altius rubbed at the pulley. "There's all kinds of stuff here. There's some kind of coatin'. I bet it's where tannin' oils from the leather belts ground off over time. This whole set of junk is used." He then went over to the dog sprocket and wiped his finger around the teeth. "And this is all greased up. That grease stuff, Fitch uses it when grinding on metal sometimes to clean it off. When we were first makin' that battery upstairs, we had to scrub it off good or else it messed up th'conduction." The lizard pointed in order between various parts. "Insulated belts an' insulation there between the metal parts... this thing was energizin' itself! And we had it runnin' fast enough it must have really been energizin' itself! An' if some charge leaked down through the big machine, well, that's jus' crumble on top."

Altius got a nearby notebook and started furiously doodling and writing in it.

Trevor felt vindicated, and also mentally tired. He looked around, and then something caught his eye up on the second floor. Petrie stood by the railing and waved at him. Instead of calling out, he waved more frantically, grinned, and turned to the side to point into his office.

"Oh no," Lane hissed. "Parlin."

The trio rushed upstairs to find Parlin in Petrie's intellectual den, fawning over an enormous free-rolling globe map. The stallion brooded over the device, white hands stroking over the surface of it as if he was feeling out pathways.

"That is, I must add, a very fine globe. It has topographical relief. You can feel the mountains and valleys. Although he is also still wearing his gloves," Petrie said, after the others had crouched down so he could be private with them. Trevor actually had to squat. "He was just visiting Lane's laboratory. Did you allow him to sniff the jars?"

"More like he demanded it," Lane hissed, quietly. As he tried to be quiet, nonetheless Parlin turned his head to lick after flicking an ear. "Shit."

"This globe is fantastic, and yet it is incorrect. Here." The horse swirled a finger around some area further west from the west continent. The map was indicated with, "The Lost Isles". There was no land, only a dotted line demarcating an area in the sea. "Perhaps the cartographer was confused." He then turned back to stare at where he was touching. "They also chose to represent the sea with this... pattern, which deepens the experience of tracing out the trade routes on our little water-covered rock."

Lane squinted, and looked less concerned.

"I have very good hearing. You are talking about me. Yes, I am quite screwed in the head by your hairless cat's creation," Parlin said, perfectly calmly, while being sweaty-faced. He left the globe and walked over to one of the great maps Petrie had on the wall. "This, on the other hand, is correct about the Lost Isles, which surely were named because they were lost at some point, as if islands merely disappear." He chuckled very darkly. He started to feel along that map too, which was entirely flat.

"Those are actually trade routes he's touching, and they aren't marked," Petrie stage-whispered again.

Parlin stepped away from the map, walked over to one of Petrie's bookshelves, and withdrew a leatherbound volume with gold leafed embossing. He opened it, squinted, and steadily extended the book away from himself as if pushing it away as far as possible without letting it go. He leaned his head back, squinted, and then went wide-eyed.

"Does he need spectacles?" Lane stage-whispered back.

"I can see very fine, Mister Burroughs. However, I did not expect to experience maths upon opening this book." He shut it with a slap that made Petrie jerk bodily. "Altius has my contract downstairs. I expect to see all of your signatures upon it. You will not disappoint me, I am sure of it." He calmly walked up to Lane and held the cat by the jowls. "How long will this last me?"

"P-perhaps another two or three hours at most. It seems to depend on how much you have, you had a fair breath of it, and you're also quite a significant...ly fine stallion."

"I will now go experience this city in my enlightened state. Good day to you all," he said, and let go of Lane like someone dropping a baby, and walked downstairs. They loosely followed, and the stallion addressed no one else as he headed outside to his waiting carriage.

As soon as he was out of sight, they dipped back in and Lane nearly collapsed onto the front office reception table. "Do you have any idea what's going on!? Have you all gone off or something!?" He yelled at the table surface, then pawed upwards at his face and mewled.

"Poor thing's gone quite catty, he must be upset," Petrie tutted.

Fitch walked in. "Stop being a kitten without milk," he growled, and punched Lane. The cat squalled and got up off the table, turned to wing at Fitch, and instead punched the panther's gloved open fist. Fitch didn't budge. "Stop trying to fight me. I grew up fighting people. I was going to be a pirate, remember? And then, I went mad, a complete failure. And that horse saved me, from being chucked into the same sea that drove me mad. Do you want me to tell you the complete story again? Do you want all the fun details? I had to grow my clawnails back, from digging at the wood and metal of the brig."

"Oh come off it, I don't care whose life he saved. Altius," Lane called out to the lizard who was being lazy about investigating the commotion, "You aren't dull at all, you know what he wants. He wants us to make weapons for him."

Altius's usual expansive and charming demeanor stiffened to dead seriousness. He carried an ornate leather-bound folder, opened it, and set it down on the table. "I know exactly what Mister Southers wants from us. All of 'technology' will be used to make weapons. I would much rather openly choose who to make it for than have that choice thrust upon us with the sword of the government. I dare say that a modern trader of his aspirations is also much more likely to favor everyone in this world equally, if you understand."

Lane, once again, spoke up. "Oh you know that's not-"

Altius stepped up and pushed down on his head, forcing him to sit again. "I know exactly what I am saying, cat. Remember who I am."

That shut up Lane very hard. Altius turned to a shelf of desk supplies, withdrew a dip bottle and a pen, and brought it over. He then wetted the pen and signed his name where directed on the contract. "Please read this, every one of you, and then sign. If you do not sign, please walk out that door and do not return."

No one seemed ready to be the first, and especially not Lane. Trevor sat down. "I don't know much about contracts," he said, and started reading it aloud. To his surprise, it was simply worded.

"By decree of the Castleton Business Council,

Under the ordainment of the Five Chantries and the East Continental Civil Governance,

on this day September the Eight of 543 Second Mileu,

The business incorporation known as "BBVP&S Industry and Development" shall be created upon execution of signing below.

The board of co-determined directorship shall include all undersigned, with addendum of signing required for alteration."

Altius spoke up. "Ahh, I am not very creative with naming, and thought that initialization would make for a fine haze. That would, of course, be Brasseri, Burroughs, von'Erhas, Pearson, and de en Seince. Is it correct to use the last initial that way, boy?" He turned to Trevor.

I'm founding a business? I'm about to fall asleep onto this paper despite my nerves. "Yes, that's right."

"In order of founding, I suppose. That only seemed fair enough. Also, I did drunkenly run through the combinations until I found one that was the least giggle-inducing."

The rest of the document consisted of the signature lines:

Founding President and Determining Officer - Altius Brasseri:

Co-founder and Determining Officer - Lane Burroughs:

Co-founder and Determining Officer - Petrie von'Erhas III:

Co-founder and Determining Officer - Marston Fitzgerald Pearson:

Co-founder and Determining Officer - Trevor de en Seince:

Investor and Determining Officer - Parlin Southers:

Parlin's line was already signed. Trevor paused for a moment, then put pen to paper and signed next to his name. He felt instantly relieved, though his signature felt naffy for something so important.

Fitch grabbed the document next and aggressively signed - the pen blotched and he almost tore the paper. "You didn't have to use my entire name."

"Legally, I did."

"I don't care," the panther growled, and crossed his arms. "I don't like it."

Lane, trying not to giggle and instead purring voraciously, signed his line, and passed it to Petrie, who did as well.

"Why do you have three names?" Trevor asked, ears swiveled back.

"Why do you only have two?" Fitch growled back.

"Do you have to growl at everything everyone says, you dull ass?" Lane chuckled again. He looked off, as if suddenly everything was funny. "Well, there it is. We have determined our own future, or whatever that rotten horse went on about up in my private lab. More like he's determining it."

"I would like to point out that Parlin does not, and neither do I, and I suspect none of you either, have any idea what sort of things we will actually come up with."

"He probably wants to put that giant thing on a ship and shoot lightning bolts at people." Lane now played Fitch and crossed his arms, scowling.

Trevor immediately thought of that and cringed, hackles and shoulders up. "I don't think it works like that."

"Why not? Something obviously determines where lightning strikes. It could have hit a tree, unless you live in a giant open field. It could have hit a post, or a cow, or a lake, or the side of a hill. Instead, it hit you in the face."

"It's... there's the unknown, the chance, I mean who determines what side a coin comes up?" Trevor protested. "I didn't have anything to do with it. It hit the house on the roof, I just happened to be under it." As far as Trevor knew, he had simply been in a bad place at a bad time.

"I didn't say you did, only that something did, and it isn't that naffy to think a humanid could be that something if we just put enough elbow grease and rub our brains together." Lane then looked around the group. "Well? That's why you're all here, isn't it? You heard about this idea of harnessing electricity and thought, that sounds great! I want to do that! If I do that, then something will happen! Something good, of course, unless you're rotten and firehearted and then you're thinking how to fry someone's balls off with it."

Trevor found his mind turning - being pushed - towards the idea of harnessing electricity, against his intent to stay focused in the heated discussion. Personally harnessing it. Trevor the maned wolf, standing at the prow of a ship, lightning streaming from his hands and burning down the sails of the Bad Pirates, striking fear into crying women and children - The idea was so arresting that he gasped and pretended to cough. He also felt so erect that he was less worried about other people seeing and more worried about causing some personal cramp if he moved the wrong way as he sat.

"Speak for yourselves, I just want to make things, and Altius wants to make things that no one's made yet. That's the ultimate thing." Fitch said.

"Oh that is horse-shit, pardon the context, you were wide-eyed over all this electrical stuff until that guy...had an accident..." Lane spoke as if his feet were about to slide off of the edge of a cliff.

Trevor now was bolted to the conversation. "Excuse me, but I think I've heard something about someone who was here before me."

"Oh dear," Altius said. "Lane, I sometimes much prefer your demeanor when we are at those demonstrations and you couldn't be bothered."

"Well I just signed a document becoming an... an incorporation, whatever that means, so you ought to tell me things like whatever Lane almost told me," Trevor took his turn to cross himself and look angry. He just felt like he would fold up into a ball.

Lane sighed. "I was the first assistant that Dr. Brasseri had. Then another, who left after several months as he married and wanted to move to some family location. Then Fitch, then Petrie. Then... Klaus, who was another cat. He had your apartment."

That explains why it smells like other people, Trevor thought.

"We do dangerous stuff here. That's why we had a fit yesterday morning when you were going on; Altius has worked with this stuff longer than any of us and it's probably not good to question his judgment. In hindsight, it was stupid to get upset, because of course you were trying to keep him safe by telling him not to touch something. Klaus had a fatal accident while trying to power up the big energizer alone." Lane sighed. "Do you want me to explain further? It's not pleasant."

"I don't mind gross things. I used to help out on a farm."

"It was back when you used this big wheel. Two people would grab onto handles and spin it around. One person could do it, though it was just a lot of effort, and it was as much effort to stop it quickly. He spun it up, and then climbed inside the machine and stuck his head where the belt came down to go under the bottom roller."

"I came in and found his head rolled halfway across the floor," Fitch said, plainly. "As much as we could tell, the belt twisted it off his neck and it popped up the other side and rolled away."

Trevor did not exactly regret asking for details, though the image made him shudder and feel the frantic rush of someone about to fall flat. "Oh. That's awful."

Fitch continued, unfazed, though with his sour stare. "It wasn't an accident. How could you accidentally stick your head in there? You would get shocked, first of all. And second, there's all the parts moving around. Klaus was morbid. He always looked at the ground and would just randomly recite poetry while he wandered around the warehouse. It was dark stuff, bones and skeletons and graves and the mists of the pit of fires and shit like that. Maybe he came here to see if he could feel more enlightened. Maybe he assumed this electricity stuff was the power of the gods like the chantries ramble about. I think he just decided that it was an easy way to kill himself. I wouldn't kill myself if you were giving me free food even if it came from charity, and an apartment that usually doesn't have wild squirrels trying to bury your nuts while you sleep." He paused. "So that's that."

Lane and Petrie remained silent. Altius took up the contract and put it in the leather folio. "Later I will deliver this to the appropriate persons at the business council. As for the work today, I would like to see if we can make more wire. Small wire. Sizes in between jewelry wire and that metal cabling. I think we can solve th'problem with the energizer if we can direct charges where we want them to go. That seems to be Fitch's work, now that the puller can be powered up by the steam drive. Lane, I presume you will continue to work with the battery. Petrie, I believe you're lookin' up all things about magnetism. Trevor, do what needs to be done and what is asked of you."

Just like that, the rest of the day was as close to 'back to normal' as Trevor had seen over the previous week.