Howling Gears

01 - Vincent - On The Edge

Laying on his back at the edge of the unseen city wall, a light snow fell on his brazen heart for the first time in a long time. Enraptured by the stars, Vincent continued watching the night sky dazzle the world. Oh! how he wished he could leave the feeble shackles of gravity and soar like a bird or an airship through the night. He'd not have to worry about his past catching up with him. He sighed, "wishful thinking," and he remembered that he would need many more golden cogs than he currently earned working as a mechanic. The ticking of his heart caused him to struggle to hear the night. Through the invisible wall, he watched a snake slide towards him unaware of the protection that surrounded the city. A small indent in the ground the only marker of where to stop. Closer and closer it slithered until, ding! A bell rang nearby and some machinery began to sing. Right where the snake was the ground folded away and just like that, creeping death was halted. Nature triumphed over by man.

Vincent walked home listening to the sounds of the night. He watched the waning moon crown his head until it was covered by an airship with the Vicotrian insignia. A tired old peddler passed him on the streets, wires poking out of almost every nook and cranny of his autonomous marionette. The street flashed with a small flicker of light in the streetlamps, a mistake, they all knew. After crossing Lionheart's Square, Vincent spotted his workshop down Tiger Alley and made his way in that direction pushing past the beggars and avoiding the pocketeers that paid him a visit. 

His humble abode was amicably nestled between the hustle and bustle of the moneylenders next door, and the entrance to the palace of the Pauper King, a mad old man with visions of grandeur every way he looked. Inside, he lit the candle and looked around his dimly lit shop. The forge had cooled after a long day, and the armory was filled with his customer's requests. Simple demands like a broken shoehorn, or a clock and more extravagant conscriptions such as the simple gun-blade that was still taking shape and the rune-saddle which he would sell tomorrow. Upstairs was his room, messy in an organized way. Not complete chaos like Clark's, but not as pristine as Sara tried to keep hers. A satisfying gray zone. He lay down, closed his eyes and night-dreamt.

He rarely had dreams, once in a blue moon maybe. He stood in the center of a ring surrounded by a crowd of people, yelling and wildly screaming. A black beast the size of a cart barrelled towards him its sharp horns glistening and it's red eyes filling his vision. Then the dream changed and he was changed. He hoped this was a scene from the past but he knew that it wasn't. It was a Fall, and there hadn't been a Fall in his lifetime. In his dream, he saw the past running after him but turned the other cheek and let it pass him by. He was no longer running from history but side-by-side, galloping in a footrace to the death. The dream changed once again, and he was standing shakily on a boat, rocking wildly, betrayed by his knees. In front of him stood a man wearing a three-corner hat and a ripped bandanna that hung loosely over both of his empty sockets. When the empty man tried to speak, nothing but sand poured out of his mouth, until it wore away his lips, and chin, until his whole body became a cascade of sand which pooled on the deck, covered by his bandanna and hat. 

When he awoke, it was not quickly like from a nightmare, but groggily as if waking from a night of heavy partying before, minus the aching and loss of memory. As he set up the shop for the day, he went back over the vivid events in his dream, wondering what they could mean. The fact that he didn't often dream meant that they held a more forward place in his thoughts. It meant something different for those like him and his family. Dreams were a sign of true life, and that his stolen intelligence was starting to settle down and accept it's fate. He unlocked his shop with the moonset and began working on some unfinished business. 

"I'll ask Abby about it," he thought to himself as he shouldered a heavy load to his worktable, "she'll be able to decipher at least some meaning from these sleep scenes." The load fell with a loud clank, a rich Feelo with too much money had dropped off his autonomous dog three days ago. Vincent had smelled the exorbitance on his clothes and upped his price for such a simpleton, he'd already decided to give the extra coin to the poor juggler trying to make a living in Tiger Alley. They were kindred spirits, both working to their strengths down the backroads, and both very successful at what they were in strong in. Vincent had had many a conversation with Justin the Juggler, an obviously fake name, but he was very friendly and they would laugh at the rich Emrites and high-class citizens, never once envying their way of life. The ignorant Feelo's poor pup simply had a cog missing, which was easily replaced from his stores.  What fools. 

The younger Emrites were called Feelos by all the alley-dwellers, beggars, and poorer merchants due to their stunning lack of education. Raised so rich that they could buy their way through school by paying off their teachers and examiners. Most of them started their years away from the school-boats being called in by the conscription to go and fight for Vicotria against her enemies, but few Feelos ever graduated from being stupid rich brats, who, granted, didn't need to understand how the world works.

He heard footsteps above him, light, floating steps that meant Sara was up and preparing to go away to school for the morning. A loud thumping noise surprisingly signaled that Clark too, was up early and not enjoying the early morning starts he's had for the past week. Almost in sync, the pair had grown as close as most brothers and sisters, and closer even than some. Justin the Juggler's two sons had left home at an age much too early for their father. The elder stowed away on an airship and lives a life of bitterness and slavery while the younger hides within the wall of Vicotria without ever contacting his family. The Juggler lives without certain knowledge of his sons' fates. Sara and Clark, when not off on a school-boat, or in training camp, were inseparable, and always had each others backs.

After re-painting and re-oiling the dog, he patted it on the head and watched it spin in circles with an aura of carelessness. 

"Good morning Vinny," Sara chirped as she came down the stairs, "Did you get us a dog?"

"Looks like it'll be a great morning, and why would I need a dog when I struggle so much trying to take care of you." 

She laughed politely, and kissed him on the forehead. "My graduation is in 8 days, and I hope that you and Abby will attend."

"Of course we'll be there, we wouldn't miss it. Leftovers are in the top cupboard." She hopped off to pack her lunch just before her morning spark could be doused by Clark trampling down the stairs like a bull. No words were exchanged, but Clark gave his customary tip o' the hat, and Vincent gestured towards the family room, where Clark soon followed Sara. Vincent turned the autonomaton off and set it to the side. How frugal were the frailties of life, when it was reduced to the essence of the strict rules of cause-and-effect. Smoke drifted out of the chimneys, into the morning star's happy face. The snowclouds that came in the night had drifted out of sight. A chimneysweep that was running late leaped expertly from rooftop to rooftop racing home so that no one can see him, darkness being a chimneysweep's best friend.

Two slender arms suddenly wrapped around Vincent's neck squeezing him in a tender embrace. "I didn't hear you come down, I must be getting old," Vincent turned to see the smiling face of his dear Abigail. "Your footsteps are silent like a cat."

When she laughed at that, her blue eyes laughed too. "I'm going out for the day, and then tonight I was invited to this formal ball and am permitted to let you tag along."

"That'd be great, I can't wait until tonight. As long as I can finish some Emrites order for the rune-saddle."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," as she slipped off into the family room, quickly scolding Clark for not being ready to go. He passed by, on his way upstairs to change into his uniform, while Clara slipped out into the world on her way to the school-boat anchored along the Colombus River. The clock struck six and Clark's thumping grew rushed as he quickly changed.

"Have a good day Vin, stay safe man," he said as he rushed towards his military training. It was good for him, the conscription had taught him how to pace himself and get along with the others. He always brought home stories of Feelos screwing up, and how he was the captain's favourite. In one week he'd get go up on an air-destroyer for the first time, and he could not contain his excitment. His one weakness were these early morning wake-up times that sucked the life out of him at moonset.

As Vincent tried to understand the complicated rune-saddle, Abigail slipped upstairs to get ready. Once he had wormed his way inside the machine, she kissed him good-bye and went out to run her errands. As quiet as the night inside, he went about his daily work. After the Feelo picked up his overpriced dog, he realized that he'd forgotten to ask Abby about his dreams.