Black Cat Smithy, Kingsway Market
And then, consciously, Aremu had settled back into the chair to wait. He knew something of the need to take one’s time and do things properly, and he did not begrudge it to the smith. In fact, he was grateful for her care and diligence even in beginning to plan. Aremu sat, and he thought, and he tried to temper his excitement with the knowledge that this would be difficult, time-consuming, and expensive, and they did not know yet if it would work. And this, too, would not give him back his hand; nothing could.
But to be able to switch tools a little more quickly – to not have to worry about the threading on the screws wearing down over time, to not have to worry about getting the angle right, the same every time, with that last forceful push – he could not work on an airship again, Aremu knew that. This would not change anything; it would still take time to swap the tools. It would never be so quick as putting one down and picking up the next. He did not let himself dream, because there was no point.
But he could work. He had always loved machines; they had spoken to him, even before he had known what he was, even before he had learned that the ways of magic would forever remain a mystery. There was another kind of wonder in engines and factories and propellers, and Aremu had lost himself in it for a decade, and emerged still just as admiring. He knew, already, that he had not lost it entirely, but work that had once been fast was often, now, painfully slow, and what Cat offered was the chance to come a little closer to what he had been.
No, Aremu told himself, no. He took a deep breath, and gently eased that longing away, as if taking a knife and gently excising the dream from his skin. It hurt, but not so badly as he would if not done now. Not to come a little closer to what he had been, he told himself. To find what he could be, now, with what he still had.
He looked up in surprise when Cat offered the paper back, and blinked, slowly – and then he took it, in his left hand. He admired the drawing of the prosthesis, his brows lifting, and then traced his eyes over the items. He had not been smiling, anymore, but his frown seemed to deepen a little with each item. He took the second paper too, and read Cat’s words, and did not doubt they were true. He set the paper down on his leg, carefully, and looked back at the diagram, feeling the heavy weight of his dreams in coin.
Aremu swallowed, hard, and wondered how to choose. He thought of the coin sitting in his bank in Thul Ka, accessible too here in Vienda, and how much of it he would need to spend for this dream – and he thought too of Niccolette, who he knew could afford all of this without a qualm. He set the paper back down, slowly, because his hand was shaking, and he wondered what he could bring himself to do.
Not even for a moment did he think of refusing entirely.
“Could we start with the prosthesis and –” Aremu glanced back down at the paper, and closed his eyes for a moment and chose, because he had to. “this wrench, perhaps?” He offered the papers back to Cat, slowly, still frowning. “I – I cannot… I’ll need time,” he said, simply, instead, lifting his dark gaze back up to the smith.