The Furnace of Los
Merimee stepped back and was blocked from my sight by the construct. ‘You didn’t invite me down here this late at night to show me this metal. What can it do?’
Asquinol spluttered, but Ruberic interrupted him. ‘You see all, brother. We thought you should know immediately our tests were complete. We have heard the rumours that we are soon to consolidate our position in Chemytown; our discovery may serve that end.’
‘I see.’ Merimee spoke slowly. Even in my own distracted state I could tell that Ruberic had overplayed his hand. ‘You will tell me later how you came by this information; but first, please tell me how it is that you believe your alloy will aid our struggles, brother.’
Their conversation slid away from me. I found it hard to pay attention to what they were saying. I may even have passed out again. The next thing I can remember is thinking that I could smell gas and being startled by the whir of gears in motion, the sound of a thousand little mechanisms working together. I thought the construct in front of me had come alive again, but no. Far down the workshop, I saw another metal man lurching from one foot to the other at a speed I found barely credible—did I dream it? It followed Asquinol’s commands, turning to face him as he moved around it. It even navigated the benches with ease. I shivered to see it in action—unstoppable; its speed was as terrifying as the knowledge that you could not reason with it or turn it aside from its course.
‘You’re quite sure the alloy coil will provide power for an hour’s activity?’
‘At least, brother. We haven’t perfected it yet. Asquinol believes we can get more out of the machines. The simpler the commands the–’
‘And you really expect my brothers to work alongside these mindless, rational machines? You hijack the tools of science and you aim to use them to further our cause. The end is laudable, brothers, but the means? And when we have achieved those ends can we be sure that we will allow ourselves to give up these automaton? If they help us, can we justifiably say that we prevailed as alchemists when we used the tools of our enemies?’
‘Brother Merimee, is not the life of every alchemist sacred? Every week we hear of one of our brethren taken by the city watch, locked away from us, and prevented from carrying out his work. How many might we lose in the coming struggle? Forgive me, but I have heard the tales of our own brothers swelling the ranks of the Nestorians and other lesser guilds. There are those who say that we sometimes ask too much of them and they look to our less disciplined rivals. This new weapon will help us. It does not question its orders. It has no desires or intentions, only a program that we give it. It has no understanding of or concern for its own existence and it has one function only and that is to carry out our—your—orders. We can arm it like a bomb; secrete it in an enemy’s house as a simple servant awaiting our command; or send it into battle. It will kill our enemies and while it still functions it will not stop until the job is done. If that is blasphemy, then I stand accused.’
Ruberic may not have been silver tongued but he knew how to appeal to Merimee’s basest instincts.
‘I must think through the implications of what you suggest,’ said the sly alchemist.
I shook my head—I could still smell gas. We had to act soon. It wouldn’t be long before it was too late—if it wasn’t already. Merimee would quickly have a swarm of acolytes watching the workshop. Then we would be discovered and that would be the end of us as clearly and simply as if they had set one of their constructs to kill us.
The workshop lay at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Whenever I tried to move, there was a delay - a time lag - before I saw my tired limbs react. I shook my head, but the black walls edged closer, blocking out more of the workshop. Soon, I thought, I would be looking through a peephole into the world. The smell of gas was now pungent. It soaked into my pores and drenched every painful breath I took; I felt as though it would soon choke the life out of me. The alchemists remained oblivious to its reek. They could not smell it, having years ago destroyed their olfactory glands by inhaling the noxious vapours given off by their crucibles.
