Saunders Forge | 14th Bell
78 Roalis 2720
Saunders forge was tidy for a change, the usual hot work and spilt ash having stopped and been cleaned away. Instead, the workbenches were covered in papers, stacks of notes with official documentation alongside it; the biggest piece however was the patent design of the Steel Horse; drawn by a designer's hand, the measurements and functions of the motorised bicycle in dark blue ink on white. Alongside it was a collection of spectrograph prints of the so-called Steel Horse Zero, all signed off and stamped. The inventor's journal was with them, pages open while Gale compared the typed print to their handwritten notes. It was a day of success; or more a few days of success. The patent had been approved, the ink had dried and now all that was left was ensuring everything was just as they had written and that the mechanical logic was sound. It was why they had rather eagerly requested Rhys assistance, he may have not been a man of law, but he could read and had a sharper mind when it came to the written word. At least, that was what they told him; it was all held back the bubbling excitement that rattled within their frame, resisting from celebrating until they knew it was all correct.
"Thank you for helpin' with this." Gale sighed, dragging a finger under the words as they followed them along. "Good to check things like this."
But it did not stop the lingering headache of actively reading the small text within the forge. It was dense material. The Forge courtyard doors were swung open, the late Roalis wind dragged into the building and ruffled the pages. The smith had weighed them down with various tools, their eyes darting from one piece to another as they hummed and frowned. Sleeves rolled up, the limp cigarette in their mouth gently smouldering, the smith tapped the top of the workbench.
The Vienda's Patent office of Engineering officially recognises the work of Miss Abigail Saunders and her creation of the Motorised Bicycle the "Steel Horse" (patent No: 3688) and its use of the Internal Combustion Engine (patent No: 3689). The documentation for each can be reviewed within their respective portfolios, with additional copies available for viewing at Vienda's office of Engineering Head Quarters.
In honesty Gale was more surprised that it had been approved; their chest bubbled with what they could only describe as pride, yet...
Anxiety lingers. Seeping poison. Creeping. Clenching.
"Surprised you've not made a comment about my name yet." They muttered as they shifted one of the many sheets. One of the larger ones was placed over the top of the steel horse, this one detailing the engine itself in more detail. The back of their skull ached. "Gonna need more tea for this."
This entire affair was not as innocent as Gale had made out to be, at least not to the not-Galdor sibling. They had shooed away their helpers in the morning before Rhys arrived, or at least one of them. The other was more involved with Gale's schemes, a much more sensible head that understood the delicate nature of the situation. Because at last after two years-
Two years? Really?
-of them and Rhys dancing around an unspoken subject, the Artful Gunner had finally decided that it was time.
And Rhys Valentin was going to hate every moment of it.
Somewhere outside lingered a collection of Resistance allies, Teeter among them, all lined up and ready to strike. Gale did not know when they would strike; that had to be left in Teeter's hands in order to "fully obtain the element and realism of surprise". But the order was clear, capture the Not Artful person in the room, put a bag on his head and drag him off to Gunner. From there? Gale would just have to improvise.
"You want another?" They picked up their cup, making their way over to the dull lit forge - a tiny flame suited to boiling a kettle instead of heating metal. "Sorry I dunnae have any honey for it."
Outside and a good few yards down the street, Peter "Teeter" Henderson looked down at his pocket watch. The few seconds was turning into minutes and slowly trickling into the hour; with it he knew the young Smith would grow more brain dead. He could not get a verdict of the Valentin boy that was with them, but if he presumed there would at least be some form of mental resistance against the mundane art of reading. He had that coveted Galdor education after all.
Beside Teeter, a pair of other resistance Cadets played cards in the back of a cart - faces known by Artful and therefore would bring some level of comfort to what was coming next. But the Wick had other plans up his sleeve. Just enough to rock the proverbial boat and cause a little more chaos.
"Oi. Sure it's alright to do it this way?"
"Oes. Be fine." He snapped the front of the watch closed. "They are professionals. They know what they are doing."
Across the street, another four resistance cadets lingered, strangers and not well-known faces to Artful. He gave them a nod, and they peeled out, slipping past the foot traffic towards the forge front and just out of sight. The corner of Teeter's lip pulled - it was all coming together nicely.
"Look alive lads. It is showtime."
The forge shopfront bell ringing caught Gale off guard; a tiny tinkle of noise snapped their attention around. That was not right, Teeter said he was going to lead them through the back gates - clean, easy grab and go. The Smith had paused mid-tea pour, eyes squinting towards the front. Sighing, they lowered the kettle. It was a quiet frustration that filled their face, dulled by attempting to understand the text.
Thought I locked that door.
"Customer. I'll be right back."
They should not have been too long. Stepping out and into the shop front, a trail of cigarette smoke following them, the smith paused the other side of the counter.
Big man. Seems strong. Not usual sort.
He seemed to be nosing at the lead moulds on display, jaw set as he squinted. His head turned to Gale, back straightening as he looked the smith up and down - scrutinizing as he weighed them up for size. And not in a way Gale was expecting.
The smith cleared their throat and stubbed their cigarette out.
"We're closed-"
"You Saunders?"
Gale blinked. It was a demand. The hairs on the back of their neck shivered; beneath the counter Gale's hand slipped - tracing along the inside of the shelf for the hammer they left there.
"I said the forge is closed-"
"Are you Saunders?"
"Fine. Aye, I'm Saunders. What of it?"
This stranger drew something from somewhere hidden on his person. They felt their chest contract, their body leaning back as the dark pipe - no barrel - was brought up to Gale's face. Voice stuck, they heard the faint distinctive click of a firearm being primed.
Oh. Fuck.
Their fingers were wrapped around the hammer, the tendons twitching, eyes wide as they stared down the barrel.
This isn't part of the plan.
They could have swung, a quick flash of movement to knock the firearm aside - but Gale could already imagine the viscera their brains would leave on the wall behind them. The eyes darted from the barrel, up to his face and then back down again.
Breathe. Just need to breathe-
Gale released the hammer, and raised their hands.
"I dunnae-"
The barrel was pushed closer to their face.
"Keep the hands where I can see them. Gonna go in nice and slow. Less you want to make a mess on the floor."
He was stepping around the counter, a quick short whistle released as a signal - behind him three others slipped in, quickly filling up the forge front and pushing them out to the back. Keeping their hands in obvious view, Gale was shoved through to the back of the forge where they had left Rhys and their paperwork. It was an unusual position to be in; normally it would be Gale doing the threatening with the gun. But Liberator was hidden away upstairs and out of reach, leaving them in a state of vulnerability they were not sure they liked. They sucked in the air, willing a racing heart to calm, while the rest of the trespassers filtered into the work area.
"Rhys, not to alarm you. But uh..." Gale stood stiffly at the threshold, pistol held clearly next to their head. "I think I'm being robbed."
It was all they could manage really, their thoughts rapidly firing and unable to grasp onto anything sensible. The armed man prodded the side of their skull with the barrel.
"This your work?" the armed man gave nothing more than a glance to the stacks of papers across the workbenches. "Looks like what the boss wants. Boys, if you would-"
He's going to steal your work. He's going to take everything you worked for. This is nothing but the Gentleman all over again.
Gale felt their jaw grow tight. Money they could deal with, but their hard dedication and work? And where the fuck was Teeter? Was he watching this? No, he would not let something like this just play out-
"And you." The pistol pulled away then from Gale's head and gestured at Rhys. "No funny-"
Expect a fight at any time.
The plan's gone to shit.
Protect what you need to protect.
Gale swung at the armed man. A clenched fist met his jawline, a momentary look of surprise crossing his face. The firearm came around then meaty hand lashing out to grab the smith's front. Catching the firearm hand, they fought to maintain control of it with brute force. Around them, the three other trespassers became animated, clearly eager for a fight. Eyes wide, Gale shouted out.
"Get help!"
"Thank you for helpin' with this." Gale sighed, dragging a finger under the words as they followed them along. "Good to check things like this."
But it did not stop the lingering headache of actively reading the small text within the forge. It was dense material. The Forge courtyard doors were swung open, the late Roalis wind dragged into the building and ruffled the pages. The smith had weighed them down with various tools, their eyes darting from one piece to another as they hummed and frowned. Sleeves rolled up, the limp cigarette in their mouth gently smouldering, the smith tapped the top of the workbench.
The Vienda's Patent office of Engineering officially recognises the work of Miss Abigail Saunders and her creation of the Motorised Bicycle the "Steel Horse" (patent No: 3688) and its use of the Internal Combustion Engine (patent No: 3689). The documentation for each can be reviewed within their respective portfolios, with additional copies available for viewing at Vienda's office of Engineering Head Quarters.
In honesty Gale was more surprised that it had been approved; their chest bubbled with what they could only describe as pride, yet...
Anxiety lingers. Seeping poison. Creeping. Clenching.
"Surprised you've not made a comment about my name yet." They muttered as they shifted one of the many sheets. One of the larger ones was placed over the top of the steel horse, this one detailing the engine itself in more detail. The back of their skull ached. "Gonna need more tea for this."
This entire affair was not as innocent as Gale had made out to be, at least not to the not-Galdor sibling. They had shooed away their helpers in the morning before Rhys arrived, or at least one of them. The other was more involved with Gale's schemes, a much more sensible head that understood the delicate nature of the situation. Because at last after two years-
Two years? Really?
-of them and Rhys dancing around an unspoken subject, the Artful Gunner had finally decided that it was time.
And Rhys Valentin was going to hate every moment of it.
Somewhere outside lingered a collection of Resistance allies, Teeter among them, all lined up and ready to strike. Gale did not know when they would strike; that had to be left in Teeter's hands in order to "fully obtain the element and realism of surprise". But the order was clear, capture the Not Artful person in the room, put a bag on his head and drag him off to Gunner. From there? Gale would just have to improvise.
"You want another?" They picked up their cup, making their way over to the dull lit forge - a tiny flame suited to boiling a kettle instead of heating metal. "Sorry I dunnae have any honey for it."
Outside and a good few yards down the street, Peter "Teeter" Henderson looked down at his pocket watch. The few seconds was turning into minutes and slowly trickling into the hour; with it he knew the young Smith would grow more brain dead. He could not get a verdict of the Valentin boy that was with them, but if he presumed there would at least be some form of mental resistance against the mundane art of reading. He had that coveted Galdor education after all.
Beside Teeter, a pair of other resistance Cadets played cards in the back of a cart - faces known by Artful and therefore would bring some level of comfort to what was coming next. But the Wick had other plans up his sleeve. Just enough to rock the proverbial boat and cause a little more chaos.
"Oi. Sure it's alright to do it this way?"
"Oes. Be fine." He snapped the front of the watch closed. "They are professionals. They know what they are doing."
Across the street, another four resistance cadets lingered, strangers and not well-known faces to Artful. He gave them a nod, and they peeled out, slipping past the foot traffic towards the forge front and just out of sight. The corner of Teeter's lip pulled - it was all coming together nicely.
"Look alive lads. It is showtime."
The forge shopfront bell ringing caught Gale off guard; a tiny tinkle of noise snapped their attention around. That was not right, Teeter said he was going to lead them through the back gates - clean, easy grab and go. The Smith had paused mid-tea pour, eyes squinting towards the front. Sighing, they lowered the kettle. It was a quiet frustration that filled their face, dulled by attempting to understand the text.
Thought I locked that door.
"Customer. I'll be right back."
They should not have been too long. Stepping out and into the shop front, a trail of cigarette smoke following them, the smith paused the other side of the counter.
Big man. Seems strong. Not usual sort.
He seemed to be nosing at the lead moulds on display, jaw set as he squinted. His head turned to Gale, back straightening as he looked the smith up and down - scrutinizing as he weighed them up for size. And not in a way Gale was expecting.
The smith cleared their throat and stubbed their cigarette out.
"We're closed-"
"You Saunders?"
Gale blinked. It was a demand. The hairs on the back of their neck shivered; beneath the counter Gale's hand slipped - tracing along the inside of the shelf for the hammer they left there.
"I said the forge is closed-"
"Are you Saunders?"
"Fine. Aye, I'm Saunders. What of it?"
This stranger drew something from somewhere hidden on his person. They felt their chest contract, their body leaning back as the dark pipe - no barrel - was brought up to Gale's face. Voice stuck, they heard the faint distinctive click of a firearm being primed.
Oh. Fuck.
Their fingers were wrapped around the hammer, the tendons twitching, eyes wide as they stared down the barrel.
This isn't part of the plan.
They could have swung, a quick flash of movement to knock the firearm aside - but Gale could already imagine the viscera their brains would leave on the wall behind them. The eyes darted from the barrel, up to his face and then back down again.
Breathe. Just need to breathe-
Gale released the hammer, and raised their hands.
"I dunnae-"
The barrel was pushed closer to their face.
"Keep the hands where I can see them. Gonna go in nice and slow. Less you want to make a mess on the floor."
He was stepping around the counter, a quick short whistle released as a signal - behind him three others slipped in, quickly filling up the forge front and pushing them out to the back. Keeping their hands in obvious view, Gale was shoved through to the back of the forge where they had left Rhys and their paperwork. It was an unusual position to be in; normally it would be Gale doing the threatening with the gun. But Liberator was hidden away upstairs and out of reach, leaving them in a state of vulnerability they were not sure they liked. They sucked in the air, willing a racing heart to calm, while the rest of the trespassers filtered into the work area.
"Rhys, not to alarm you. But uh..." Gale stood stiffly at the threshold, pistol held clearly next to their head. "I think I'm being robbed."
It was all they could manage really, their thoughts rapidly firing and unable to grasp onto anything sensible. The armed man prodded the side of their skull with the barrel.
"This your work?" the armed man gave nothing more than a glance to the stacks of papers across the workbenches. "Looks like what the boss wants. Boys, if you would-"
He's going to steal your work. He's going to take everything you worked for. This is nothing but the Gentleman all over again.
Gale felt their jaw grow tight. Money they could deal with, but their hard dedication and work? And where the fuck was Teeter? Was he watching this? No, he would not let something like this just play out-
"And you." The pistol pulled away then from Gale's head and gestured at Rhys. "No funny-"
Expect a fight at any time.
The plan's gone to shit.
Protect what you need to protect.
Gale swung at the armed man. A clenched fist met his jawline, a momentary look of surprise crossing his face. The firearm came around then meaty hand lashing out to grab the smith's front. Catching the firearm hand, they fought to maintain control of it with brute force. Around them, the three other trespassers became animated, clearly eager for a fight. Eyes wide, Gale shouted out.
"Get help!"
