Kile of Zumada

36. The Master of Metal (and his Apprentice)

Callan's directions had been rather clear, but it was still a bit of a trek to find what they were looking for. She pointed out a forge, with a pattern of marching soldiers going up its exhaust pipe.

"That," she declared, "is his office here in the city. Get there, you'll find him. His name is Ogrim. Tell him I sent you to help with the bridge. That should be enough."

The trouble was getting there. Without a grid layout like the Imperial City had, any given street could end up taking you anywhere. Following a path in the direction of it would get you closer, but you'd eventually find the road you were on had taken you past your intended destination and you'd then be walking in another direction, always getting maybe perhaps closer but never actually where you were going.

Eventually, they just realized they were not only not approaching their destination, but walking in circles. Alora finally decided to ask for directions and they discovered that the only way to that building was actually a ways back.

But for the trouble, they did eventually get there. They arrived at the shop, which was actually shockingly spartan, especially in comparison to the pipe. It was a simple box of metal plated Earth with a window carved on it and a wooden sign literally stapled above the door. The sign was at least finely carved with a dynamic logo for OGRIM'S METALWORKS but that was the most exciting part of this building.

Kile knocked on the door. A slot slid open with a shriek of metal on metal, and a pair of hazel eyes peered through it, attached to a pink patched nose.

"Who is it?"

"I'm Kile of Zumada," he said, "And these are my friends. Callan sent us to...help with the bridge?"

The eye slot slid shut with another shriek, and the door opened with a squeak.

Sure enough, the man on the other side was Zefetti and he had shaved himself bald, but his black beard was still speckled with white.

"Well then! Any friend of Callan is a friend of ours! Come in, come in," he said.

On the other side of the door was a workshop that was, frankly, a mess. Scraps of metal and wood lay all over, their dust having been swept into a pile and then left there. Pieces of unfinished contraptions lined the numerous tables, and when those ran out of room some of them dangled from the ceiling. Many of those tables were actually desks, with drawers full of tools and materials - a secret revealed by the fact that many of them were left open, with their contents exposed.

"Oh my," Alora said, "you live like this?"

"Of course not," came a voice from behind one of the contraptions. "We just work like this."

Connol stuck his head out, a spray of brown hair almost covering his silver eyes and gray nose patch. Tan skinned, even for an Alessi, and dressed in gray, silver and white.

"That's my apprentice," he said. "Connol Unnamed."

Kile had remembered hearing that Alessi children earned their surnames when they accomplished great deeds that might bestow them. Being unnamed simply meant he had yet to do anything worthy of note. Which for a 15 year old like him, was nothing to be ashamed of.

"How did I do, Master?" He asked.

Ogrim looked over the pile of pieces on the table in front of the boy.

"Pretty good," Ogrim said, "you've definitely got the process of packing up down pat. Now the tricky part - can you put it back together?"

Connol's eyes went wide and he snapped, "Ah geez, I wish you had told me that before hand!"