Chapter Six - Darkness Descending

Night fell on Ulgotha, in some places harder than others. Market stalls closed up, doors were locked, lanterns were lit. Elsewhere in the city, knives were drawn, skulls were cracked, and the dead crawled up from their subterrainean lairs. One particular Revenant had been in his lair for the past several hours and was showing no signs of going anywhere.

Viggo Helmsman's pocketwatch ticked away in his pocket while the wall clock did the same across the room. Behind him was a window that opened into Chimaera's interior, especially the gigantic clock that dominated the North wall. Helmsman's office had been constructed so that the desk lined up with the clock, producing an intimidating effect from the office door.

Though it was barely visible in the light from the small lamp on the Savant's desk, the room was as eccentric as its occupant. There was a raised portion in front of the desk that Kilburn had dubbed "The Bridge" for its resemblance to a sailing ship. The walls were mostly lined with bookcases, although there was a portrait of the Savant on the West wall, painted by his only son, Darien. Darien wasn't an artificer, he was a painter. While Viggo considered himself too dumb for art on the whole, he had recognised Darien's talent, and decided to support his son's career. Darien lived in a city far to the south, call Crown of Ri'Chess, where he'd gone to art school, but had come home to visit a year before, and painted the portrait as a gift to his father.

A few other scattered items were on the shelves, most of them old prototypes that had been of some note in their day. In a glass case above the door sat a mousetrap made of plywood and cheap pig iron--it was the Savant's oldest surviving invention, made more than five decades earlier.

The late Savant was going through his inbox, which was rather full after his long absence. He finished up the revisions on the schematic in his hand and moved on to the night. To his surprise, it looked more like a medical diagram than a mechanical plan.

"What the..." he muttered, looking it over in detail. Sure enough, it was filled with valves, gears, and cogwheels, but it appeared to be embedded inside a man. Confused, he looked at the summary box in the lower right.
PART NAME: Endoskeleton
DESCRIPTION: Artificial organ, augments heart, liver, guards against disease.
DESIGNER: Jacob Kilburn
"Well, that's a bit..." muttered Helmsman. He stared at the diagram long and hard, then passed judgment.

A good twenty years ago, a religious zealot named Winston Chandler had become Imperator and begun scouring Ulgotha for anything "impure." To keep some of Chimaera's more unconventional designs from being subjected to the witch-hunt, Helmsman had had one of the top floor room reinforced with iron walls and a vault door, christening it "Chandler's Vault." Chandler himself had been assassinated a mere eight months into his reign, but the vault had been kept on as a repository for potentially controversial designs. Helmsman believed that there were no bad ideas, only bad times for certain ideas to see the light of day.

He rolled up the Endoskeleton design and walked across the catwalks, taking his lantern with him. He entered the combination to Chandler's vault, slipped the schematic onto the Yellow Rack (Yellow Rack--Acceptable in Times of Great Need), and sealed the door behind him. Kilburn had left Chimaera visibly downcast around sunset. Helmsman felt sorry for his assistant, but there was nothing he could do--as long as he was upright, he belonged here.

Helmsman lingered a moment, staring down at the blackness beneath him, where the prototype had fallen through the floor. The mason's guild, like Chimaera's own employees, had all gone home for the night. Sadly, the driver, Robert MacKenzie, hadn't survived the fall, but no one had been surprised. Rainsford had gone out to see his family earlier in the evening. The hole to the abyss had been sealed, at least.

Helmsman shook his head. It was difficult for him to believe, but he had more in common with the wretch that Kilburn had torched today than he did with the rest of his workforce. This would take some getting used to.

Behind him, the Chimaera clock struck two.

"Dammit! Is it that late already?" he went back to his office and locked up. He should have been home hours ago. Without the need to sleep, none of his usual cues to return home had triggered.

This would definitely take some getting used to.