The door Iâd blown off was clearly the thinnest part of the walls, which seemed to otherwise be a good foot thick. Thankfully, the small, circular foyer I entered was more than tall enough for me to stand up in, probably for their ancient soldiers, who theyâd built much taller than themselves. Interestingly, a low, green light was emanating throughout, which spared me having to do it myself.
The room wasnât huge, and not even including my contribution, it wasnât entirely intact either. I could see empty lockers ransacked and left open, broken ends of pipes that had long run dry, and other random scraps and parts. Probably interesting in context, but not important. What I decided was important was the ladder extending from beneath a hole in the floor, and then up through the ceiling, offering the choice of above or below. I felt ânormalâ gravity reassert itself around this point as well, indicating the end of my magic, and slipped my boots back on as it did.
Mostly because thatâs where all the normal important body parts are, I chose to go up. Taking hold of the tarnished rungs, I had a quick look down. It seemed to just⦠continue. The same dim green light, a straight ladder. Checking up towards where I was going, it was more of the same, and in both cases I couldnât see the end. I began to climb, cautiously at first in case this old ladder snapped, but it seemed sturdy enough. Passing through the first floor/ceiling hatch, the room directly above me was almost identical in form and function, just a little bigger since it was further up the leg.
Another floor up and it was more of the same. Another, again. I stepped off the ladder one more floor up since my noodle arms were already complaining, and I was a bit curious. The design of these rooms seemed punishingly utilitarian, without any extra decorations, but I couldnât say what that use was. The open lockers were huge, easily large enough to fit myself and then some. Really more like a whole cupboard but they had metal doors and were in neat rows so that word seemed to fit better. There were slats a little above head height, and they didnât seem to have a lock on them. All were ajar and empty anyway.
I wanted to see if any were still closed, and it took me another few floors, which again reminded me how big this thing was. A closed door in a row of open ones â conspicuously ordinary. Doors, obviously, are meant to be opened, so I went and had a look. The slats were too high for me to look through, and there wasnât a handle, but Iâd seen on these doors that they didnât sit entirely flush with their frames. On the open ones, there was a gap of a couple of centimetres, but on this closed one there was instead a layer of some sort of squishy, shiny material. It was mostly firm, but the squish it did have, I noticed, was perfectly filling that gap, being compacted between the door and the frame.
Because it had some give, I figured I could get my hand in between this material and the door, and then pull it open from inside. Using my slightly more expendable right hand, I wiggled my fingers into the seal. There was a hiss as it broke, air being sucked into the locker, and the door freely swinging open.
A hulking, armoured warrior stared down at me the second it opened, and I nearly jumped out of my fucking skin. I backed off fast, trying to create a bit of distance, holding my PDS at the ready, and breathing hard. It just kept staring though, not reacting to me, as immobile as⦠oh. It was a Gnomish construct-warrior, and by the looks of it, one that had probably run out of power a long time ago. As my heart rate slowed, I allowed myself a slightly hysteric giggle. I was thinking about my rli, softly.
âNecessary?â he said. âThat rather depends on what youâre talking about. If you mean us being here at all, climbing some stupid piece of old, useless Gnomish vanity, then no. In fact, I daresay itâs completely unnecessary. If, however, you mean that particular disciplinary display, then I would argue it was entirely necessary â I cannot allow the rot of insubordination to set in any further than it already has into this merry little band of ours.â
âInsubordination?â Gialli started. âEoin, sheâs not-â
âThatâs High Emissary Eoin to all of you, actually. I will deign to answer simply to Emissary Eoin, however. Or âSirâ, if you must.â Iâd taken Gialli for the most formal (or uptight) of the non-Eoin people, but the look of disgust that briefly crossed his face at that was honestly nothing short of visceral, before he smothered it. âWell, Sir, I was merely going to say that it could hardly be âinsubordinationâ if she isnât actually a member of this band, as you called it.â
âWhat a fine point you raise, Mr Gætir. But I regret to inform you that your information is somewhat out of date.â He turned to me, smiling in a way that didnât reach his eyes. âIt would seem we have a new recruit for this mission of ours.âseeing, and speaking from there. It just makes sense. And, I thought, it would have a great view.
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To my slight surprise, I actually reached the end of the ladder, climbing up into a room that was really just a big metal oval. There were a few things in it, but really not much more than a cluster of spiral staircases going up through different holes in the ceiling, and another ladder going down through the floor on the other side of the room. Not a hint of a safety railing though. The room felt like a waste of space, a thought which brought me realisation, and then a groan at the pun Iâd accidentally made.
That same green light was radiating in here, creating this weird mess of shadows and silhouettes from the staircases, like a forest that couldnât decide what time of day it was. I assumed the other ladder went down into the other leg, but the four spiral staircases in the middle each seemed to go to a different place. There was no gantry or anything like that, they just disappeared into the ceiling. The torso was probably big enough that theyâd felt the need to compartmentalise it, but into what sort of sections? And would it have killed them to leave a few signposts?
I wanted to take a few minutes to get my breath back, but there was an unwelcome sound of echoing and clanking coming from the ladder Iâd just climbed, and I panicked slightly. I picked the closest staircase to me, reasoning I had no real way of telling the difference anyway, and dashed up it, catching the barest glimpse of a hand getting to the top before I was up on the next floor.
This room was a boring blank square, but did have 2 doors leading from it, both closed. I picked left on instinct, and set to work on the handle, trying to overcome the centuries of tarnishing that had seized it shut. Luckily I could prise it open, but unluckily it was with a chorus of screeching metal. I shoved the door open and had to suddenly squint as disturbingly bright light flooded my eyes. I ducked into the room, half-blind, and shut the door behind me as I tried to adjust, blinking the spots out of my vision.
The light was a striking blue-white colour, and was being emitted from two banks of glass tubes, one along each wall. Brass and copper coils rested in each of them, surrounded by this glowing vapour. Occasionally one of the coils pulsed, wicking away a tiny amount of the light, which roiled like gas, slowly reforming. It was mesmerising, and of course gave me the questions of where it was going, and where it was coming from. There was another door at the opposite end of the room, and passing through it led to a room that embodied âmessâ. It was a tangle of pipes, with various gauges, levers, valves and the like dotted everywhere. I had no idea if I was looking at a maintenance hatch or a control panel, but it did feel like you could do some serious damage if you broke everything in here.
Inside was baking hot, and I could feel the pinpricks of sweat beading on my forehead. I am pale and ginger, I do not cope well with heat. Flicking the worst of it away with the back of my hand, I heard a faint sizzling noise as a drop hit one of the pipes. Not for touching, clearly. Being incredibly careful about my balance, I crept over to another ladder on the far side, gently tested the temperature with my real hand, and kept climbing.
More of the same, to be honest. Rows of these glowing tanks, occasional rooms of scalding hot pipes, and one increasingly sweaty explorer. There was a pattern to the pulses in the tanks, I realised, which coincided with each new step being taken. As a foot lifted, a few tanks would dim, and the next time the process repeated it would be with different tanks, letting the others refill. Didnât take a mechanical genius (even though I am) to work out that these were a power source. If these small pulses, across multiple tanks in multiple rooms, were what fuelled each massive footstep, I could only imagine the kind of surge that would get called up when it fired that huge arm-cannon.
My wandering mind led me further down that path as I kept climbing. What kind of damage would it inflict? How often could it be fired? What did it fire? And most jarringly, what damage had it inflicted? This was a weapon after all, built for the most destructive war ever, by the best engineers ever.
What would it be like to wield that kind of power, I thought. Being the commander, calling shots that I was certain could and did devastate armies â ending hundreds with a word. The images flashed across my mind as my imagination ran wild. Looking down from behind those eyes, watching as catapults and spells fired uselessly against you, barking commands across a bustling control room to your navigators, targeting crew, engineers, the pilot, observers, officers, mages, mechanics â the lot. I could almost picture the scene, the organised chaos of lots of people doing different things, efficiently. Plotting tables, communication tubes, and, I could only assume, some sort of regal, throne-like captainâs chair right at the heart of the action. A seat for someone truly important.
I let those thoughts entertain and distract me as I kept climbing, kept thinking, and kept sweating.