Engines of Obsession: Chapter 9

Chapter 9: What Was Left of Him

Finding the client wasn't that hard, once Turner tried. That surprised him, considering the client's obvious wealth. Not that finding the name -- one Lord Byron -- was difficult, but with minor nobility of this stature the challenge was in landing an appointment. Usually, if they were home at all, such aristocrats wouldn't deign to appear personally before the rabble.

That's him. Turner's the rabble.

Instead, the guard at the gate to the manor had heard their story, communicated it to his superior, and within an hour Turner and the others had been walking into the manor proper. Unsurprisingly, their weapons had to be left with the guards, but the quick turnaround was still remarkable.

Which didn't mean that Lord Byron greeted the four rough-and-tumble freelancers right away. Turner was glad that he -- and Nora -- had insisted everyone bathe thoroughly and have their clothing washed as well as it could be, in the limited time the group had. None of them had anything expensive, since everything was carried on their backs, but at least the ragged clothing wasn't bloodstained and carrying the stench of the road into the fancy home of the Baronet.

"Is it okay to just uh... drink?" Milo asked, breaking into Turner's thoughts. While Turner hadn't been in a wealthy home that often, Milo and Martin had never gotten the opportunity at all, despite their late father's obvious connections. The plush furniture, the vaulted ceiling, the glimmering chandelier... it was all new to him. And the tea service much fancier than anything he'd experienced.

Turner shrugged, taking a sip of the tea. It was a far more subtle flavor than he was used to, but... he liked it. "It's fine. Just try to be respectful," Turner suggested. He gestured to the rest of the room, just as the butler returned. "This Lord Byron -- or Sir Byron, to be more accurate -- is a minor peerage. You don't want to insult him, but he's worked with common folk before. Just try to keep your tone calm and friendly, don't interrupt him, and answer honestly. He'll probably forgive any minor breach of etiquette because you aren't expected to know it."

"Turner is right," Nora said, nodding to the butler. "Thank you," she added quietly, before resuming her reassurance to Milo. "If you're polite and make an effort, that's what's important. Try to observe... if you pick up a minor point behavior, and use it later, that's impressive to them. And you should learn this sort of thing eventually."

The butler moved to stand nearby, speaking in a mild, clipped voice. "It is as she postulates, young man." His Ardentic was precise and almost melodic -- not quite aristocratic, but clearly tuned to interact with the upper crust. It made Milo and Martin visibly uncomfortable, but it wasn't that different from what Turner had learned back East. Mostly, it was surprising due to the man's rich, dark olive complexion and thicker cheekbones. He was clearly from the Cretian Alliance region, but had no accent. Immigrant parents, maybe? Turner thought.

Milo let out a soft huff, but Martin placed a hand on his shoulder and the elder brother calmed. Milo was now more jumpy than Turner, at times, which was worrying. Nora had assured Turner that it was a reaction to finally encountering the unknown and seeing how dangerous it was. Turner hoped that the suggestion it would pass in a few weeks was right. The team didn't need two paranoid fighters.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting," a voice announced from nearby.

Lord Byron swept into the room with a casual, yet energetic stride. As expected, his clothing was very fine -- mostly tailored wool, but some had the lighter sheen of linen, and he had a rich purple silk cravat at his neck.

Byron was clean-shaven to the point of smoothness, and it gave the impression of youth. Lean, even athletic, but Turner could see the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, and the faint lines that creased his mouth. Byron was in excellent shape, but no longer as young as the projected enthusiasm would have him seem. The truth didn't quite match, though Turner would give him good odds against a younger opponent. He carried himself like a fencer.

Turner and Nora stood as the noble entered the room, followed a moment later, more clumsily, by Milo and Martin. Byron gestured casually for all to sit, as he plucked a glass of wine from the tray that had seemingly materialized in his butler's hands. He took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs moments after everyone else had resettled themselves.

"No apologies necessary, Lord Byron," Nora replied first. She took on a manner of speech similar to the butler, her Ardentic following a smooth, precise cadence that was easy for the noble to understand. "After all, we arrived without any appointment or forewarning. We are fortunate you chose to see us despite this imposition."

Byron didn't seem surprised at Nora's shift in diction, even though Martin and Milo were both staring at her. Instead, the nobleman chuckled, sipping his wine. He gestured, and the butler went to place glasses before each of the four, uncorking a bottle. Turner noticed that the bottle, while a very good vineyard, was not anything particularly expensive. He wasn't an expert on wine, but he could tell that much.

"Your reputation precedes you," Byron complimented Nora -- and then Turner as well, with a nod. "I did not go too deeply, but I understand you are loathe to simply give up on a contract. When I heard that you had returned with my package, I knew that something unfortunate had happened. I could not imagine how awful it would be."

He handed the letter that Turner had delivered to him over to the butler.

"Now, Lord Gantston and I were never close, but he was quite insistent I help you in this matter. Not that I would have refused. I am... rather upset by Master Henley's death. He worked for me several times in the past, and had an eye for aesthetics that I came to appreciate."

Turner saw Milo and Martin exchange a glance in the corner of his eye, but dismissed it. The two were out of their depth right now, and staying silent like they were was the best move they could make. Turner was out of his depth as well, but he was used to this kind of maneuvering. "My thanks," he said -- more awkwardly than Nora, but noticeably smoother than his normal speech. "You have already partly answered one question we had, that of how well you knew Henley. Do you have any idea why someone would target him?"

Byron shook his head. "No... he was a likable enough man, and a professional. You might even call him a perfectionist." The man sipped his wine, and Turner politely had a light sip as well. Stronger than he was used to, but it flowed down smoothly. Better than his usual fare. Byron continued, "He had the skill to set his prices, but he always recommended someone else more affordable to a customer if his price was too high for them. I am almost certain none of the nobility in Sparston would act against him. Perhaps a merchant or the like?"

Nora shook her head at the same time as Turner, but she let Turner handle the talking for a little while longer. "No, definitely not. The one who killed him was... well, their gear was far too expensive for anyone but a very rich noble. We know someone was behind them, but we're having trouble finding out who."

Now, Nora took over speaking. Byron's eyes blinked -- just once. His surprise at Turner yielding the floor to Nora was milder than most. Nora almost certainly noticed, but as usual, she didn't let on. She simply continued, "We considered reporting the matter to the Glassmaker's Guild. He was a member, and they would be interested and could possibly escalate. Yet, it could also land us in the middle of some vendetta or internal strife of which we are currently unaware."

Nora reached into the satchel at her side, withdrawing some papers. "We have very good reason to believe that the one who ordered his death commissioned these specific lenses," she stated, passing over the papers. These were some of what Tarnlow's men had found -- papers with designs and sketches similar to the lenses used in the construct, and a few first attempts. "It is possible the Guild has records that could tell us who the client is. They just use a seal, it means nothing to us."

Byron frowned, "Lenses? That seems beneath Henley's usual work. He was an artist, through and--"

The nobleman cut himself off as he flipped through the battered papers, looking over the actual notes. His brow furrowed as he examined the drafts for several quiet moments.

"Calling them 'lenses' does not do justice to this. These would be expensive, yes. You are right to be cautious." The man's tone was firmer, more serious now.

The noble looked up and frowned. "Still, I do not believe any of the local peerage would commission this. But that is not what you are really asking, is it?" He tapped the papers, straightening the small stack against the table. "You are not so subtly asking me to pull some strings and see what I can find out about the client who placed this order."

Nora spread her hands with a helpless smile. "You are not wrong. We had intended to ask directly and I was leading up to the question. Turner?" She looked back at Turner, letting Byron know that he was taking the lead once more.

"We are asking you, but you need to be aware of some things, first," Turner warned. "It wasn't a hired killer, it was... it was something else. I'm not sure we can easily explain it. Not important right now, anyway. It killed a half dozen people before we took it down, but we know there was someone controlling it. Or at least telling it what to do."

Lord Byron's left eyebrow lifted, and he spoke with a hint of incredulity. "Young man, are you attempting to tell me that someone summoned a demon? You should know that I am an enlightened man, and do not believe in that superstitious nonsense." Surprising Turner, Byron nodded his head to Nora. "No offense intended to yourself. I am aware that there are forces we do not yet understand, but the idea of summoning demons and monsters from the underworld is beyond that."

Turner saw Nora tense, so he quickly spoke again to clarify, "No, not a demon or monster. Well... it was much like a monster, but it was a machine of some kind. That isn't even the important part." He took in a breath. "It could be very dangerous. I have some reason to believe that whomever is behind this is linked to the disappearance of Vale's Sentry."

Byron's glass froze just shy of his lips. As Turner had thought, the man knew enough about the world to know that name. "Ah." He murmured, quietly. The glass moved aside as the nobleman passed it to his butler, who remained stoic and silent, at the ready. "So the rumors are true. You are the orphan."

Milo and Martin exchanged a look. Normally, Turner had trouble reading them -- but this one he understood. It was the look that said, Were we the only ones who didn't know?

"I prefer people don't call me that," Turner said, masking his own surprise at being recognized. "The stories about what I learned or knew are wildly exaggerated. I only saw her a couple of times. But this, I am pretty sure about. And you know, then, that I owe her a debt. If I can even find out what happened, that's something."

Byron steepled his fingers, and his butler, for the briefest of moments, tensed. But the nobleman sighed and nodded; the butler relaxed. "The warning is appreciated," Byron replied. "I do have some interest in this, but perhaps should keep my distance until I know more. I will look into the Guild's records, and can also give you some recommendations for merchants if you wish to restock, but otherwise I will stay uninvolved for now."

Turner nodded, unsurprised. While it was technically the job of nearby nobles to investigate these matters, they did so at their discretion. He knew what Byron was expecting. "Once we find out more, we will return with a report for you, so you can determine the proper course of action." Turner paused to consider, "We do need supplies. Clothing, ammunition, and so on. Most importantly, I think if we are to be going anywhere long term, we should buy a pack animal. If you can get us a good deal on one, we'd be grateful."

The nobleman's eyebrows shot up, and Byron clucked his tongue in sudden interest. "It was my understanding that you were running very low on funds, Mister Turner. And my advance payment was certainly not enough to leave you flush. Did you have a windfall in Hodgeworth?"

"Enough of one, Sir." Turner replied. "As we said, the culprit worked through a machine of some kind. A small steam engine powered it, but the machine had plenty of steel and bronze and brass in it. I'm sure we don't need to tell you how well refined metals sell in this region."

Byron was silent for a long moment. At last, his hand rose, fluttering toward the butler. "Nikandros. See to the arrangement of a means for our guests to obtain a mule. I would like it prepared by the time they arrive at their inn. It would be best if you begin now."

The butler, apparently named Nikandros, hesitated for a moment. Sensing the not very subtle message that his employer wanted to be alone with the others, regardless of their ragged appearance, he nodded. "Of course, sir." He retreated with a careful grace, as if fading into the shadows of the room.

Once alone, Byron looked at all of us. "An automaton. An automaton with pure bronze and steel. You are in great danger. I will do what I agreed, and inform a gunsmith I know. You will need better equipment."

Nora's eyes widened, and she spoke before Turner could. "You know about these constructs?" She echoed Turner's own thoughts, and Milo and Martin suddenly looked very uncomfortable, Milo's jaw clicking shut loudly with his barely restrained comment stifled by good sense.

Lord Byron nodded, clasping his hands together. "I think so. When I was still young -- younger than any of you -- my father requested a division of the Varnhold Armed Forces divert toward a town run by his distant cousin. Apparently, a series of murders had been escalating rapidly. No rhyme or reason, but any attempt to capture the culprit had left the police and guard dead. Often mutilated."

The man frowned deeply, leaning forward. "They did not capture the true culprit, but in attempting to corner them, an entire building collapsed. A strange bronze-plated automaton was found pinned beneath the rubble, still active but trapped. The soldiers forcibly removed its weapons and contained it, bringing it back to study at the Grunthal Academy."

This time, Milo couldn't hold it in. "How long ago was this?!" he exclaimed, alarm visible on his face. Martin put a hand on his shoulder, and Nora made a shushing gesture, but Byron didn't seem to care.

"Over thirty years ago," he answered. "You can imagine, it was a fascinating discovery. My elder brother was studying at the Academy at the time, and present at the demonstration where they let it out into a confined cell for observation. They didn't know how it worked, and were planning on disassembling it, because they say it moved like an animal, autonomously. It tried to escape, felt around the edges of its cage... like a trapped beast, not a machine."

Turner shook his head, "I lived near the Academy for a year or so. I never heard anything about that." Then he paused, tapping a finger on his knee. "Because they didn't want anyone to. Should you be telling us this?"

Byron sighed heavily, "You need to know this." His eyes turned to Nora. "My brother was... odd. He had a talent for alchemy, and a fascination with it, but was being groomed to succeed father. They say he started to behave erratically when he saw the demonstration, insisting that the thing be destroyed, not studied. They had to escort him from the room."

Nora flinched, and Turner almost did the same. "I am sorry," he said, but left his words at that. He knew enough about noble politics to understand this sort of incident could have a lot of fallout.

Lord Byron's lip curled into a thin smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "It is not what you think. My brother died that night. They found what was left of him smiling. He'd snuck into storage where they kept the automaton, knocking out some guards to get there. Then he'd destroyed it with a blasting stick."

"Pale Lovers," Milo whispered -- the faint curse blurted out before he could stop himself. Nobody gave him a dirty look for it, however.

Instead, Byron nodded. "He was never a man to act on impulse. He left a letter in case he died, and explained that something in it was so wrong, it had to be destroyed. What was left of the automaton was described as unnaturally well-refined, but they did not have enough to determine how it moved on its own. Whatever my brother saw, it horrified him so greatly he felt the need to risk bringing the entire building down."

Turner glanced at Nora, but she didn't meet his gaze. Milo and Martin looked her way as well, each one remembering how Nora had reacted to finding the broken component inside the construct.

Byron was perceptive, Turner had to give him that. The man noticed the look, and sighed. "It seems you understand all too well." He straightened in his chair, resting his hands on the arms. His wineglass sat forgotten, half-full. "The town that thing was discovered in suffered through no less than thirty-seven murders. Each one efficient, brutal, and seemingly random."

The nobleman gave Turner a stare, letting out a held breath.

"For Master Henley, I will provide the aid you asked for. But if you have any sense, you’ll walk away. Green Herald’s blessings upon you, Mister Turner."