“If your Lord is just, that day will come soon,” said Farris.
“These laws were written long ago,” continued the Human, not taking note of Farris’s interjection. “When our ancestors founded the Triad, they did not consider the possibility of a man being able to be kept so close to death’s door, with a heart that still beats.”
“So, the Humans are without a seat on the Triad. Can’t the law be changed?”
“Yes,” said Ruairí, letting a slight smile escape his lips. “Old Borris Blackhands has been trying to have the law changed, but such a treaty would need three signatures.”
“The three points of the Triad,” said Farris. “So Borris and King Diarmuid will be the only active rulers as long as Cathal remains in this condition?”
The Human didn’t respond. They made their way to the Dustworks of Penance, the poorest of the five districts and the place Farris had been born. Old wooden shacks lined the streets, one stacked upon the other, with chipped and broken staircases connecting the highest levels to the ground. As a child, Farris had seldom used those stairs; it was often quicker—and safer—to climb the buildings themselves.
Children ran to and fro, playing in the dusty streets, wearing little to no clothing. They were all Simians, of course. Only wealthier Humans chose to live in the City of Steam.
Amidst the rotting wooden buildings and the streets paved with dirt, one structure stood out. A stone wall rose up further down the street, with massive, iron gates facing the slums. The walls formed a perfect circle in the heart of the Dustworks, and inside lay the Great Basilica of Penance. The centre of the Church of Alabach.
“I’ve never once been inside,” said Farris, in an attempt to break the silence. “I grew up on these streets, always hearing stories of the beauty that lay behind those walls. Marble arches and buildings made from solid gold. A great fountain in the centre, with silver statues dedicated to the Trinity, all manner of gemstones embroidering their forms. We tried to climb the walls to steal one, once. A single gem would be enough to feed a whole family here for a year. But that was before the Guild, and before we—”
“You have no need to convince me of the Church’s injustices,” interrupted Ruairí. “This is one belief you share with the Sons.”
“One and only,” said Farris. “Where are we going now?”
He had asked the Human this question many times, but rarely got an answer. Ruairí was the type of person who preferred to show Farris his intentions, rather than explaining them. To Farris’s surprise, however, this time he got an answer.
“This shall be your last day as my shadow,” he said, taking Farris between two wooden hovels adjacent to the Basilica walls. “From this day forward, you will be assigned to the Chief Engineer of Penance. There is plenty here for you to learn.”
Ruairí halted abruptly and squatted down to examine the lower section of the hovel’s wall. Only when the Human reached out to it, did Farris notice that there was a narrow door at its base. Ruairí carefully opened it, revealing a descending passageway inside.
“This used to be a warehouse for the Guild of Engineers,” said Ruairí, gesturing to Farris to go inside. “The building has been long since abandoned, and the doors haven’t been opened since.” Farris ducked inside, shimmying through the gap. He carefully slipped down the slope, skidding on the back of his heels as he went. Some light illuminated the chamber from the entrance, revealing stacks of chests and crates with bars of iron and copper discarded on the ground. The light vanished as Ruairí closed the door, consuming both himself and Farris in darkness.
“Carry on forward,” said Ruairí, somewhere behind. “There’s a door a little further on. There should be light inside.”
Farris shuffled through the darkness, careful not to trip over on anything on the floor. His feet met obstacles here and there, but he moved over them cautiously.
“Skies above,” he cursed. “Would it have killed you to bring a torch?”
“No,” said the Human. “It would have killed both of us.”
Before Farris knew it, they had reached the door. Ruairí fumbled at its lock, eventually pulling it open, spilling a dim, red light over both of them. The hue seemed somewhat unnatural, like something between a torch candle and an oil lamp.
Ruairí led Farris into the room. It was a large chamber, certainly larger than what the warehouse above seemed capable of holding. The light emanated from dozens of red crystals hanging from the ceiling. Along the walls stood huge barrels, their lids sealed and re-enforced with sheets of thick steel.
“Black Powder,” muttered Ruairí as they went. “That’s why we can’t have torches in here. The fire crystals will have to do for now.”
Farris suppressed a smile, remembering his time on board The Glory of Penance. “I understand the risks,” he said.
“No, you do not,” said a voice. “You understand far less than you let on.”
Both Farris and Ruairí turned to see a female Simian walking through the shadows. The faint, crimson light illuminated her in a way that brought attention to her curved hips and sleek, muscular arms. Farris fought to keep his eyes level with hers. She was of height with him, and with shoulders almost as wide, which wasn’t uncommon for females familiar with hard labour.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Farris, extending a hand. She didn’t react, and barely looked at Farris as she spoke.
“Now there are two in the city who shouldn’t know about this place,” she said, arms folded, glaring at Ruairí.
“Nicole,” said Ruairí. “This is Farris Silvertongue, an old acquaintance of Argyll. He—”
“I know all about what he has done,” said Nicole. “And I know all about what he believes.” The features of her face stood out now: a thin mouth between raised cheekbones, and eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
“Ah,” said Farris. “So, my reputation precedes me?”
“If you could call it that,” she replied. “Three years, they said you spent, living in the capital, cup bearer for the king. Tell me, how was it he didn’t notice you were a Simian? Have you spent so much time amongst the Humans that even they can no longer tell the difference?”
Farris smiled. “Well, Cruachan is a diverse city. There are many Simians in the king’s Royal Guard, and even more in the Crown’s intelligence network. We dissidents are an unfortunate minority.”
“We?” spat Nicole. “You leave us during our greatest period of growth, and you return, years later, singing of the might of the Human king like a court bard.”
Farris took a step towards Nicole. Her frame was almost as thick as his own; if it came to blows, it would be impossible to predict who would come out on top.
“Your father was a very intelligent man,” said Farris. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but every Simian who met Santos would speak of his flawless, immutable logic. I expect you to hold rationality to the same esteem as he, yes?”
Nicole nodded, not breaking eye-contact.
“I was as shocked as any free-thinking Simian,” he continued, “when I found solid, empirical proof of Diarmuid’s immortality. Only those influenced by petty beliefs would deny the king’s power had they seen what I have seen.” Farris let his eyes drop, considering the curves of Nicole’s hips once more. “It would take me a long time to convince you, but I’d appreciate it if you could someday give me the chance.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “You are as pathetic as you are blind, Farris Silvertongue.”
“Nicole,” said Ruairí. “Farris will be liaising with you in my stead. He’ll be paying your laboratory a visit every fortnight until your work is complete.”
“And the Silverback,” said Nicole. “Does he understand that it takes time, accomplishing the impossible?”
