Coal [on hold]

Chapter 1

I was about six when I began working in the Forges.

It was just one of those regular days at the St. Adler's Orphanage.

You see, I was left on the doorstep like so many other children that either, couldn't be cared for or were unwanted. The nuns at St. Adler's took me in and raised me, fed me, put clothes on my back and taught me. Very early on, I started showing some rather... unusual potential for a two-year-old. I was already unusual, given my appearance. Dark skin,  frizzy copper hair and golden eyes. One of the older kids thought they were very funny when they started calling me Carbo, Latin for coal, but it stuck. Sort of racist, if you asked me, but I was barely two, so what did I care? I was just happy to even get a name! Also, people of my colouring were rarely seen in Garma, the city I live in. They were told to be from the deep south and hardly ever came this far north. I never had any friends. The only ones I had were the books in the attic and the odd gears, springs and things I sometimes nicked from the various trash piles of the Forges and played with. When I say played with, I mean I put them together into a mechanism far more sophisticated than two-year-olds were supposed to be able to muster. That was what made me so unusual along with my colouring.

Anyways, I got a bit sidetracked, so let's get back to the story, shall we?

I went to the Forges to look for new springs that were in a relatively good condition. The ones I had just did not suffice me. I loved the Forges. I loved the smell of the ovens and the sound of metal clashing into metal. Sometimes I would stick around for a bit to see the Creators work with the Creations. I decided that that day would be a perfect day to escape some of my endless chores at St. Adler's and take a look at the Creators working. 

Creators are the ones who made the Creations, the machines that assisted our society in our daily life. The Creations could be anything between a automatic gate and a fully fledged war machine. Those were the coolest! They resembled a man and were up to twenty feet high made from the strongest metals and equipped with the most powerful weapons. They were the ones who fought our wars, defended our cities and the people within. They existed all thanks to the Creators.

I scooted into one of the vents and crawled to my usual watching place, directly above, Mosha, the biggest and the strongest Battle-Creation that had ever been built. Unfortunately, he didn't work. Mr. Banner, the Head Creator, was yelling things at his apprentices that my six-year-old self did not wish to repeat in front of the nuns. Mr. Banner was a big man, with his barrelled chest and arms, worn from all the years spent in the Forges. He had hair that had once been black, but was now peppered with gray and white. He had deep lines on his face. His eyes were as gray as the ashes that mixed in with his greyish hair. He did not look like someone you wanted to make angry, even though his apprentices had obviously done something to ignite his anger because Mr. Banner looked pretty angry as he crumpled a blueprint and threw it into the nearest fire. I gasped. That was not acceptable! The next thing I did was pure instinct, though some would rather call it foolish impulsivity. I swung out of the vent, slid down Mosha's body of steel  and ran over to the burning blueprint. I picked it out of the fire, quickly patted out the flames and smoothed the paper out. It was the blueprint of Mosha. I only needed a second to see what was wrong with the Creation. 

"Child!" I turned around. Mr. Banner was talking to me.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?", he asked. I looked back at the blueprint and brought it back to him.

"You dropped this, sir,", I replied. He took the blueprint.

"It was meant for the flames, you know,", he said. I nodded.

"I'm aware of that, sir,", I said. "But," I pointed at a spot in Mosha's head. "If you look here, you can see how this gear doesn't really fit and grinds against the others, stopping them from doing their work. That's why Mosha won't work right and goes haywire when you turn him on. It's understandable, though. I most certainly would not like my gears to grind like that!" Mr. Banner was astonished.

"I did not notice that,", he said. "How old are you, if I may ask?"

"I'm six, sir!", I said proudly. Mr. Banner shook his head.

"Impossible,", he muttered. It was my turn to shake my head.

"No, sir, not impossible," I grinned. "Merely improbable." That made Mr. Banner laugh.

"What a brilliant child!", he said. My smile grew wider at the compliment. "What is your name, girl?" I fixed one of my copper locks that had gotten loose from the tight bun all the girls at St. Adler's had to wear. My hair was always impossible to tame.

"My name is Carbo, sir,", I said. Mr. Banner raised an eyebrow.

"Carbo?", he said. "As in Latin for-"

"Coal,", I cut him off, but then realized how rude I was. "Sir! Sorry, sir. Yes, Carbo as in Latin for coal, sir,", I fumbled, feeling my cheeks grow hot. Mr. Banner laughed.

"It's all right, young Carbo!", he laughed. "How would you like to be my little errand boy, er, girl, that is? And perhaps an apprentice later on?" My face lit up at the thought. The Head Creator's errand boy? Apprentice Creator? Count me in! But then I remembered and my dreams were crushed. I was an orphan. Orphans were not allowed to work in the Forges. Much less apprentice there. Unless they were older than eighteen, but that was far too late to start apprenticing for a Creator's job as most began when they were nine. That was the law. Stupid law, if you asked me. Mr. Banner must have seen how crestfallen I looked because a look of concern crossed his face.

"What is it, child?", he asked.

"I'm an orphan, Mr. Banner,", I said sadly and felt the tears sting my eyes. Why couldn't I just have parents like everyone else! Mr. Banner looked sad as well.

"That's too bad,", he said. "You have such potential." Tears flooded over and I started to tremble.

"I must get back to St. Adler's, sir,", I said quickly and ran. No one had ever seen me cry. Not even the nuns when they took me in when I was an infant. And Mr. Banner would certainly not be the first. I would not shame myself like that.

Later that night, when I came back to the orphanage, a surprise awaited me.

"Where have you been, Carbo?", one of the nuns said. "We were so worried!" I raised an eyebrow. The nuns were never worried about me. Why now? Either someone had warmed their hearts towards me, or there was a guest. 

"Oh, you are so filthy! And your hair is messy! Lord, can you never be a good clean girl like the others?", the nun fussed. I shook my head.

"No, sister", I said. "I'm not like the others." She cuffed my around the head for the arrogant reply and stopped trying to dust the filth off my gown.

"This will have to do,", she said. "You have a guest."

My heart sped up. A guest? For me? I walked shakily through the door. My mouth dropped open. Mr. Banner sat on one of the sofas and smiled when I entered the room. What was the meaning of this?

 

"I have decided,", he said. "That you become my daughter so you may work alongside the Creators in the future."