The Last Philosopher

In smelling range

A week after his frankly pathetic attempt to see the Knomes, Lyeasrakardsul found another gap in his schedule. The one he liked to pretend was always full. Anyway, he was back in the forest-green robes, hanging out around the red gate into Barrac. The servants' town was built on the outer side of the grim city-wall. Along the sides of the sorcerers road.

Did the gate always have Macbiar wards on the inside, his nosiness wondered. The thought was interrupted by a group of Loitar sorcerers heading out into nature, the way the tree-huggers liked to do.

It was the perfect cover, rallying his little pluck he held his breath and hobbled fast. Like ripping out an unruly nose hair. He half expected to be tackled to the ground by a horde of angry Xefef sorcerers. Even so, he made it past the gate without incident. Even if he was being followed, there was no turning back now. As a yearly regular to the hot-springs, he should have been accustomed to sneaking out. However, for the last few weeks his sense of being watched had been stronger than ever.

Well, getting caught with the Knomes would be a lot worse than being found without the regulation bathing suit, his shame thought and his stomach contracted.

"I will not be bullied into wearing the proper full-body bathing attire," he hissed.

It was the one exception to his anti-nudity stance. In the warm water, he preferred to wear nothing but a silly grin, and some well placed foam over his bits.

Don't kid yourself, his bits scorned. Even having us out where anyone could see, is still nowhere near as bad as asking Knomes for help.

"Come one, even if we're found out, it won't kill us," he reassured himself. "Technically it's not even forbidden, it's only tradition."

Pentakl's official position was that Knome methods were crude, unnatural, and possibly a bit blasphemous. Not that they, as reverse-agnostics, admitted that blasphemy existed. That would be like admitting the divine existed. The real reason they despised technology was something that no sorcerer would admit. Not even to their second or third thoughts. The truth was they lacked even a rudimentary understanding of how Knome inventions worked. But they often worked too well.

Hanging back and separating from the group, he took a deep refreshing breath and even waved at the servant children playing in the street. Being outside the wall he felt lighter, as if a weight of paranoia was lifted. The children's thin tunics had patches on patches. It was impossible to tell if even a stitch of the original garbs still existed. Despite the clothes, the dirty faces looked happy. Sorclings were always clean, but they never looked happy. Overall, the wooden shacks of the servant's town felt a lot more wholesome than the cold stone city of their masters. Trying not to think about it, he walked on until he saw translucent fumes. They were rising from the administrators' cavern.

You can still turn back you know, his shame coaxed.

"But they keep the cavern here exactly for this purpose!"

Sure, but that's only to show the Knomes that we can, his inner sorcerer chimed in.

"No! I have to know if the stars are fading, or if I'm going mad!"

His big nose alerted him to the fact that they were within smelling range of the cave opening. The odour was the primary reason why it was kept a fair distance from Pentakl. Knomes were tinkerers, and not the clumsy meddling type. No, they were self-taught experts who produced things greater than the sum of its parts. Nonetheless, in their lust to invent, they used all manner of stinky materials. Also, they often forgot about mundane things like bathing, or taking out the trash. That was why all their caverns emitted a visible stench. One that could even be toxic to smaller creatures.

The passion to fiddle with things plagued them as a species. It was the main reason for the administrators. Because a Knome left with its own devices, could tinker along on any useless contraption. Even to the point of starvation. He knew the administrators' job was to prevent such fates. While keeping restrictions on tinker-time to a minimum.

"A Knome does not care if a glass is half-full or half-empty, but it could always use some more gears and levers," he said with a puff of amused air escaping through his nostrils.

The administrators were unusual in several ways. For one thing, they took orders for inventions from the few clients willing to deal with the smell. Mostly Dwarfs from Tweek. Earnings went towards materials for new experiments, which were then shared among all Knomes. Except for a bit off the top, that the administrators put aside to help with trivial matters like food, shelter, and procreation. Suppressing their own urge to tinker made them revered in Knome society, but not liked. Still, without their social skills, the species might have invented itself right out of existence.

"I wonder how much they would ask for a telescope that can see into space?" He looked up at the blue midsummer sky. "Not that I am going to pay of course!"

He would have preferred to use magick, but space was unreasonably large. It was an excellent tool, within limits where one could ignore everything and everyone outside one's own goals. Because magick was all about the will to be selfish. Yet, with something like space, where the limits may or may not be infinite. It was a lot less useful.

Stumbling along, he kept his head down. If he had known how, he might have tried whistling to ease his anxiety. Luckily, another defence against embarrassment kicked in.

"Technology," he sneered. "It's all logick, numbers, and mumbo-jumbo. Where is the intuition, the desire, the will to be selfish?"

The grumbling made him feel a bit better. So, he returned to a less judgemental state. "Well, no matter what else we say about Knomes, they are great little workers."

Talking to himself, he might have missed that he had covered the distance to the cave. But the increase in stench warned him he was close.

Updated: 13.11.2023