Chapter 1.2: The Toymaker

By the time Minkus rose the next day, the sun was already high, beaming down on the ground just inside the window, which told him he’d missed most of the morning already. Of course, the sounds of traffic and trade outside the inn helped convey the time as well. It was unusual for him to have slept so long, but as he sat up, rubbing his hazy eyes with the heels of his palms, he remembered the new friends who’d kept him up so late the night before, and suddenly his groggy scowl rose into a grin. It was an utterly worthwhile reason to begin the day a little out of sorts.He fell more than slid out of the large human bed and readied himself for the day, washing his face and ears, beating the dust out of his crimson tunic, and gargling saltwater before he headed out the door. A couple of days before, he’d found a quiet corner of the central gardens, where he could focus without interruption, so that was where he headed as he stepped past the threshold of the inn. Having gotten such a late start, though, he held his daily training to an hour and then continued with his day. There were two things on Minkus’ agenda: beer and gifts.

He’d heard about a particularly well-balanced ale just outside the city to the north, but no one really knew how to get there. One fruit vendor in the Ossan Quarter simply laughed at him for attempting to leave Divinity’s Reach from the north, as if north wasn’t even a viable point on the compass. The whole experience struck Minkus as strange, and even made him a little self-conscious for a moment. He was after all a foreigner, and given the list of shocking things he’d seen and learned between Metrica and Divinity’s Reach, perhaps directions worked differently in this part of the world. Or, at least that was how he explained it to himself.

After hours had gone by, his pursuit eventually led him to a Seraph guard posted along the outer wall in the Salma District. Minkus politely asked if the Seraph knew of a way out the north side of the city. He was met with an eye of suspicion.

“Where did you hear there was a northern entrance to the city?”

“I— I don’t know,” Minkus stammered, shrinking a little. “From folks around town.”

“And who are you?” The guard rested his hand on the hilt of the sword in his scabbard.

“My name is Minkus,” the asura replied, puffing a little and smiling once more. “Minkus the Large. Of Metrica Province. In the Tarnished Coast.” He paused a second before continuing, “I’m just a traveller, visiting Divinity’s Reach for the first time. It’s a lovely city, really. I’ve been trying your beers, and that led me here. The people—locals in taverns around here, I mean—they said that there was a brewhouse to the north of the city, so I’m looking for the way there. Riverton, I think it is. They say the blonde ale there is fantastic. I like the sound of fantastic!”

The guard’s brow furrowed behind the eye-slit in his helmet as he inspected Minkus. Then his disposition changed and he pulled off his helmet, which unfettered the most impressive set of mutton chops Minkus had ever seen. “Blonde? Someone told you to get the blonde? At the Outsider? No, no, no. Nothing worth drinking there except the stout. Best stout this side of Timberline Falls—but then who can contend with a norn ale? Everything else at the Outsider is trash, and everyone who knows anything knows it. Those people were trying to pull one over on you, son. You’re lucky I caught you when I did.”

Minkus was caught off guard. “Oh, well, OK. That’ll work.” He paused, looking up at the old soldier. “So— does that mean there is a door?”

“Is there a door? Of course there’s a door. Why would we be having this conversation if there wasn’t a door? Come with me, son.” The guard motioned him to follow, and Minkus did. By now he was accustomed to keeping pace with people whose legs were nearly as tall as he was.

“Many of the locals don’t even know about this gate,” the guard continued, “so we’re wary when foreigners come looking for it. But, you seem well-meaning and ill-informed. If you’d been lying, you would never have said blonde.” The two walked a few minutes together until they came to a small gateway, nearly invisible from more than ten yards away. The mystery of this door and the time it had taken to find it excited Minkus, and as the guard swung it open for him, Minkus peered in.

Instead of opening into a small storage room, as Minkus half expected, it led into a tunnel that didn’t go more than ten or twelve feet before taking its first bend. He stepped inside. It was so narrow, he quickly found his broad ears bumping along the stony walls on either side, so he pinned them down with his hands.

“Now, just follow the corridor until you reach the next gate,” the Seraph said from the doorway behind him.

“Huh? What?” Minkus turned around, letting go of his ears. The left one slapped the wall as he spun.

A laugh burst from the guard, and he shook his head. “Mother of Balthazar, you asura bring me to tears. Anyway, just follow the corridor and give the guards at the opposite gate this.” He handed him a small slip of paper with a stamp and some official-looking text. “Tell them that Captain Felder let you through, and they’ll do the same. And remember, the stout. It’s the only thing worth drinking.”

“Thank you!” Minkus called back, waving. The gate creaked shut, and he turned back around, once again pinning his ears to the sides of his head as he started to walk.

—

A couple of hours later, Minkus was on his way back through the city, reflecting on his ale—the stout, not the blonde—and licking the last dregs of its flavor off the inside of his mouth. He thought hard, pursing his lips. It was a good drink, strong on the malt and with a hint of omnomberry. He’d had better, certainly, but he still smiled as he went; any beer was a good beer—except maybe that blonde. Captain Felder had been right about that. Minkus had tried it and quickly wished he hadn’t. It smacked of the degreasing solution Jinkke had always used to clean her labs.

Making his way back toward the Western Commons, his thoughts turned joyfully to Jinkke, his sister. He’d marveled at the Crown Pavilion, explored the gardens of the Upper City, seen several of the city’s greatest vistas, and been to more of the city’s drinking establishments than most people knew existed. All these things, he knew, held no interest to his sister, which was why he was there alone, and had been alone for the last three years. What she did enjoy, though, was the ever-shifting, ever-widening pursuit of scientific advancement. Knowing this, he’d found a gift, some bit or bob of local technology, to send back to her from every place he’d visited. He’d simply acquire what he could when the opportunity presented itself, and when he came across the next honest-looking trader headed back to Metrica, he’d pay them a price to deliver the trinket to Jinkke at the College of Synergetics. In Divinity’s Reach, a city so large and on the cusp of human development, he was sure to find something interesting, and he now had an idea where he might find it.

In the previous night’s discussion with his new acquaintances, he’d learned that Penny was an engineer who owned a machine shop somewhere in the Western Commons, or at least that’s what he thought he remembered them saying. He now wished that he’d thought to ask them what they sold or even specifically where the shop was; he’d been so wrapped up in enjoying their company that Jinkke hadn’t even crossed his mind. Now he had to find it.

As he walked, he looked up at the faces around him, searching for someone who looked knowledgeable of the area and kind enough to help him. His eyes met those of a young girl only a little taller than him, and he grinned his broad, toothy grin, and she couldn’t help but smile back, giggling a little.

“Hello there,” he said, bowing slightly.

She curtsied in return. “Hello,” she replied, beaming at the stranger.

“I don’t suppose you could point me toward a machine shop around here, could you? I hear there’s a good one in this area.”

Her smile faded a little. She didn’t seem to understand his question and tried to think very hard. “I don’t know about that,” she began to say. “Oh, but there is a nice lady who owns a shop and makes toys for the kids in the neighborhood.”

“Well, toys aren’t really what I’m after—”

Her arms clasped behind her back, she bounced to the rhythm of her own words, continuing on as though he’d made no remark. “She makes yam cannons and glue traps, trumpets that play themselves, clockwork kitties, sticky-dart guns— pretty much all the best things!”

“Well,” Minkus considered, “that might be her, and if not, she could still have something. Could you point me toward the shop?”

“She’s that—” The girl pointed south, then paused and put her hand down. She tried again, reaching over his shoulder to point northwest now. “No, she’s that way. Yeah, that’s it. On the Melandru Road, that way!” He turned to follow her gesture.

“Thank you very much,” Minkus replied, turning back to her and bowing again. “You’re a very helpful little girl.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Asura,” she said, beginning to turn. “Oh—,” she spun back. “Ask Miss Penny for a spinning helichopper. Those are my favorite!”

Minkus stopped. “Did you say ‘Miss Penny’?”

“Yeah, she’s the toymaker,” the girl replied, not thinking twice. “Remember: spinning helichopper. It flies when you wind it!”

Minkus chuckled. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”

The girl curtsied, giggled again, and skipped away, looking back once or twice to watch him head back toward the end of the Melandru High Road.

—

The Melandru High Road was one of six roads that led from lowest level of the city to the highest, arching from the outer wall right up into the gardens at the top of city’s center. It took him a bit, but after panting his way up and down that steep road a couple of times and looking inside doors, Minkus finally noticed a small sign of a hammer and gear nailed haphazardly to a shack of a building on the north side of the road. The shop was taller than it was wide and sidled up against an unimpressive but not uninviting home, which made the shop look comparatively less impressive and a little less inviting. There were no words on this sign, but then, there were only two other doors on the road that had a sign at all, and those had been owned by a beady-eyed tax-collector and an elderly apothecary with an affinity for frogs, so either this was the right door, or Minkus was in entirely the wrong place. So, he entered.

As he opened the door, a small, mechanical bird perched above the doorway began to chirp some sort of song and bob to the melody. He heard the clanking of metal parts falling to the wooden floor in the back of the shop, and a woman’s voice came from behind the counter. “Is someone there?” She didn’t sound nearly as boisterous as she had the night before, but he was fairly certain this was his drinking buddy from Hronnson’s.

“Yes. Hello,” Minkus started, still standing just inside the doorway, “I—”

“Just a—” There was a crash. “Ow! Piece of shit. Just a second!”

As the shopkeeper got whatever she was working on situated, Minkus looked around the room. The space between the door and the counter couldn’t have been more than a few yards deep and maybe six or seven across, with a staircase along the western wall, beside the counter. The structure itself was constructed of old beams and boards dried gray with age, but then it was hard to really see the walls behind the piles of crates and boxes on either side of the room. Though the place wasn’t in any apparent order, it was apparent that all the shipping containers and packages were purposefully left closed, not a thing outside of any of them. The room felt both cluttered and controlled. Except, that was, for the counter, which spanned most of the room, leaving only a small gap between it and the right wall for people to pass around.

Minkus approached it, getting up on his toes and pulling himself up to the edge to get a better look at it. The top of it was a large, solid slab of birch with a sheet of steel bolted to the top. It was sturdy, despite the dents and gashes from repeated, harsh use, most likely from the wide variety of tools and hardware strewn out across it. On the left, against the wall, there were wrenches and drivers, ratchets and pliers, all in conditions that belied their wide variety of ages. Wires and rubber steam cables ran in, under, and around everything. There was also the half-opened head of a small, blue golem, gutted and surrounded by its own hardware. It was like the workstation of a mad mechanical surgeon—something Minkus was not unfamiliar with.

As he continued surveying, the curtain behind the counter shifted, and the shopkeeper stepped out, wiping the grease off her hands. “OK, now what can I—” She stopped wiping, moving her hand to her hip. “I know you.” She eyed him curiously.

“You do,” he said. “We met last—”

“Yeah, last night— that’s right. Bear’s Ass! Er—” She held her forehead for a moment. “Malchor. Manky? Minksy?”

“Minkus. Minkus the Large,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, the Large,” she repeated, almost laughing. “That’s right, the biggest little asura-gate specialist around. I was pretty hammered last night.” She walked up and leaned on the counter. “Didn’t expect to see you here— didn’t expect to see you again at all, actually, but there ya go. Can I do something for you?”

“Well, I—” He looked down at the counter, his fingers curling up over the edge, and realized he was still perched on his tiptoes. His mouth wasn’t even visible to Penny. She could only hear him ask, “Um, could I get a stool?”