The Gentleman and the Officer

A light peppering of soot and ash covered the snow, leaving a pock-marked, barren crust across the city street, broken by great cracks of white and milling slushy footprints. The air was crisp, cold and, for the moment, clear of the usual black clouds that lay their sediment on the fallen snow. A rare moment of clarity in the normally darkened sky of Ashworld.

Ashworld was the colloquial term for the western industrial sector of Tarsis – a place Seth had no real desire to visit at any time, clear sky or no. Ashworld reeked of sulfur, soot, and even less pleasant odors. The smell swirled up out of vats and boiler fires, from the bowels of the pipes and sewers below, up through chimneys that grew from every building. It lingered in the narrow passageways between scaffolding and railway supports, tumbled into shops as doors opened, then seeped back down through grates and cracked windows until the whole sector was awash in the same uniform stench. Its particular strength and flavor might vary from door to door, but the distinctive vapor allowed no one to escape its bouquet.

No one desired to visit Ashworld, but the hardy city denizens here formed the backbone of the massive Tarsis industrial machine. Seth pointedly reminded himself of that on the train ride in, but knowledge of the fact had done nothing to diminish his gag reflex.

Seth examined the broken pipes and shattered brick walls that tumbled down into the alley before him. A jagged hole the size of a freight train exposed the rear rooms of a chemical plant a few meters away, allowing the building’s noxious contents to spill out into the blasted pit of the alleyway. Workers clamored about on the wreckage above, testing the damaged structure and shoring up its supports. Directly in front of Seth the remains of steel girders, catwalks, and an unfortunate saboteur littered the ground – a mass of pulpy red chemicals, bone, and charred metal.

Sucking in a breath, Seth knelt next to the body and examined the covering of short fur on its ragged arm. Kait fur.

“Seems I always get to meet you after it’s too late to ask questions,” he said ruefully. He withdrew a small vial and metal tool from his coat and scraped some dried sediment from the hairs on the Kait’s paw-like hand.

A hand landed firmly on Seth’s shoulder, followed by the rumble of a watchman’s voice. “Please step back, citizen. This is a restricted area.”

Seth rose with a scowl. His Technologist long coat, though less ornate than the Exemplar’s finery, was unmistakable. The guardsman would have to be a blind man or a fool to challenge someone of Seth’s station here. He swung around, preparing to let loose a wave of vindictive authority on the idiot, but as he came up to meet the man’s ruddy face, Seth’s scowl evaporated.

“Wouldn’t want to have to toss you in the drunkard’s stall tonight, eh?” said the guard.

“Roland!”

“Morning, Princess.”

All smiles, the two men shared a slappy hug. Seth then held the guardsman at arms length, looked his old schoolmate up and down. Lieutenant Roland Brandeis was a hearty brute of a soldier not more than a hair shorter than Seth himself. He had a square, slightly off-center jaw from one too many tavern brawls and a round, ogreish nose. One might mistake his fierce appearance for that of a dimwitted strong-arm, but Seth knew from experience that a keen analytical mind lurked behind that grit-covered face – one that had bested him at the academy more times than he liked to admit.

“Damn me, Rol, I didn’t know you were stationed here. You look like hell.” Seth brushed his hand across the front of the guardsman’s jacket. Roland was dressed in soot with a crisp city officer’s uniform somewhere beneath the grime.

“Give it an hour, and you’ll look the same. Not much point in keeping your shirt clean when the sky is just going to shit all over it next shift, eh?” Roland slapped Seth on the back as they walked over to the horse-drawn cart that served as the Technologist’s mobile laboratory. Roland leaned against one of the ornate steel wheels as Seth set down his sample vial on the tailgate.

“I got word a few hours ago that they were sending some royalty down to help with the bombing, but I never thought the Princess herself would pay us a visit.” Roland’s wide grin seemed to fill more of his face than was physically possible, as if he had done some renovations to make room for it.

Ignoring the old insult, Seth opened the vial and tapped the contents into a variety of beakers and decanters on the cart. “I go where I’m called. Besides, they keep me walled up in the citadel most of the time – it’s good to get out in the field. I hear you grunts have been having some trouble down here with these insurgents.” Seth nodded towards the bloody mess in the alley.

“We get a fair share of excitement. The critters have some serious hatred for the machinery, and there are more than a few sympathizers figure they can get lost in the piping and the mazes here. But there isn’t much they can damage, even less to steal. Mostly I just patch leaky pipes and bust up fights between the steamwrights.”

“Sounds like exactly your kind of fun,” said Seth dryly. He dropped some clear steaming liquid into the vials before him and watched as it boiled away at the samples inside. Roland watched and continued.

“They need technical people down here, so ex-academy types are in demand. It’s good work with extra pay, and it’s only temporary. I can’t complain. Now Deidre, she gives me an earful every time I leave a footprint on the rug or a ring in the basin. They say Ashworld can kill a man, but frankly, I’m more worried about my wife getting to it first.” Roland watched as the liquid in Seth’s vials turned various colors.

“What you got there?”

Seth withdrew a particular vial – one with a light green tint to the liquid – and held it up to the dim light of the Ashworld sky. He tapped the side thoughtfully.

“Is there a gas refinery with its own sewer outlet near here?”

Roland thought for a moment. “Rig 27 has all its own ductwork, very leaky, about 3 avenues over. Why?”

Seth pointed to the dead Kait with the vial and then dropped it back into the rack. “I think our unfortunate friend has been spending some time down there. Shall we take a look?”

“All right, but you get to explain to Deidre why I smell like a steamwright’s shorts when we finish.”

“What’s to explain? You always smell like that.”