A Tale of Steam & Cinders

Chapter 1

Amandine

“This is good,” I said, holding up the gear mount and examining the little sprockets through the magnifying spectacles on my eyes. “I was able to use up the rest of the flagnitine in this one.”

Tripp gave me a quiet hoot. He lifted a wing and the faint sound of gears clicked through the air.

“I’m really pleased I finally found a project to use it with. It creates the worst runoff.” It gave off this gods awful stagnant smell that made my stomach churn. Perhaps what made it really bad is that it was one of the most frequent byproducts of working lineon ore. Unfortunately, lineon ore was used a lot. It was cheap, plentiful, and flexible as far as uses.

Most places dumped it in the waste chute. As much as people claimed the chutes went to recycling and repurposing, they didn’t. The ones that didn’t dump into the ocean were piped into the valleys and mountains, creating nasty wastelands.

My shop was one of the few that truly stuck to their mission of using all parts of the materials I used. Even if I couldn’t make them work in commissions, I found different projects to use them in. Because I was so good at what I did, rarely did anything sit in my shop for long.

That being said, it was damn difficult to find decent uses for flagnitine. The stuff was vile to smell. Usually it was worked into a lubricant (which was stupidly exhausting to do) or bonded into metal, it could be easily worked with. But when there was a plethora of other materials that took less energy to work, it was simpler to throw it out.

It was this mentality that made the world such a dark, polluted place.

I brought the piece back to the table, setting it in the stands and pushing it aside. The gadget that I was working on would be used for clocking speeds in aircrafts. Not just speeds, but other things like pressure, currents, storms, etc. To top it off, it projected the numbers in the air like a hologram. The information could change with the turn of a dial.

There were a lot of objects out there that did the same thing. But mine would also come equipped with phantom lights, able to be set with reminders and alarms, and would be voice responsive.

My scope would be one of a kind. Once I was finished with it, I’d take it to an acquaintance in Thestia that imbued magic into things once I carved the symbols ahead of time. It would save me a lot of time if I had the knack for magic but I was human. Not a species that could handle it well.

Tripp gave a warning hoot a second before his clock chimed four. I glanced his way, watching the hands of the clock on his torso. Tripp was largely mechanical, though there were some internal parts of him that had once been a living owl. He was young when I found him badly wounded. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to survive on his own, I modified him so that he would live.

In doing so, I made him mostly machine. However, he didn’t run off steam as other mechanical pets did. Tripp was one-of-a-kind, using both the sun and moon for power. He had panels on his wings that drew energy from sunlight and stones embedded all over his body that were charged by moonlight.

I’ve been offered great deals of money for him but Tripp is my companion. My best friend. I was not about to give him up for anything. Nor was I willing to replicate the technology for someone else to sell for profit. When I was ready to dedicate myself to it, I’d perfect the mechanics I used in making Tripp for the wide world. Make them cheap and readily available for the masses. And in doing so, perhaps cut off some of the waste that we were destroying the world with.

Sighing, I set my spectacles on the table and closed my eyes, letting them adjust to not wearing them. Using flagnitine meant I had to wear eye protection until it was set. I also used magnifying lenses so I could see the small pieces clearly, assuring that I wouldn’t make a mistake. Often I thought about just adjusting my eyes so that I could do it all without the need for outside assistance. But I liked my eyes—shiny honey gold—so I wasn’t jumping on the idea of modifying them yet.

Getting to my feet, I raised my hands over my head and stretched backward, groaning as my muscles protested at having stayed hunched over for so long. Maybe I’d take the long way home. Give my body time to stretch and accept movement again.

“Come on, Tripp. Let’s head home.”

Tripp hooted again, spreading his wings and flying through the small space to land on my shoulder. Because I had to add metal plates to Tripp so young, his growth was stunted and he remained quite small. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a terror with his talons and sharp beak when he needed. My boy was a badass, and everyone knew it.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh air inside, I opened my door and stepped into the streets. Immediately, my lungs filled with the smoggy fog that hung low in the air. The buildings were all tightly packed together, nearly touching or with tiny alleys between them. And every last one of them had tube chimneys that puffed dark, smelly smoke into the air all day and throughout most of the night as they burned through coal to make steam.

The water runoff was just as bad. My city was in a fresh water crisis because every building pumped it in to create steam with. And the steam ran everything. The sullied water ran out, dumping into one of the drainage systems to be taken out of the city and dumped. People were running out of drinking water because we wasted so much with steam.

Like I had with Tripp, one of the first things I did when I bought my tiny shop was arrange my load to cut runoff. I still pumped in fresh water, but it was for me to consume. Otherwise, I used my own sullied water, purified it within a tub and heated it with sun panels on the sides and roof of the building.

It wasn’t as strong as using coal, but for what I was doing, it didn’t need to be. For what most people did, it didn’t need to be. However, we lived in a society where waiting for anything was grounds for whining and bitching. Coal powered steam made everything happen quicker.

Me, I didn’t mind taking a little extra time.

Scowling into the barely breathable air outside, I once more noted how we were killing the world. Suffocating it with nasty runoff and billowing pollution.

Shaking my head, I walked down the cobblestone streets toward my home. “Should we get some pastries?” I asked Tripp.

As I expected, I received a quiet hoot in response. Nothing loud to draw attention to himself. Just loud enough for me to hear.

We walked down Tasker as I tried to hold my breath. Nearly every third person wore a mask with the large filters on the front. Because every third person had a breathing condition brought on by the air quality. You’d think that would be enough to at least change the way they lived.

It didn’t.

Most of the time, I wore a mask too. Mine looked more like a plague doctor mask. And because the air stung my eyes, I wore round goggles too. I enjoyed the looks I received—wide, frightened eyes that stared at me as if I were going to eat their soul.

Maybe I’d add that to my list of things I’d like to accomplish. Sucking souls.

I paused outside the bakery, staring at the globe at the top. Inside a set of interconnected circling rings was a glowing blue ball of magic. I scoffed at it, narrowing my eyes. It was an opulent show of money, having the ability to purchase enough magic to eat the runoff the company produces. They spent a lot to keep it charged every month.

Rolling my eyes, I walked inside. It was a 50/50 chance on whether or not the owner was behind the desk. My luck had it that he was. I scowled, my hand still on the handle ready to walk back out. But Distland saw me.

He was a good-looking man. I’m talking sexy as all hell. Tall enough to look up at, stare into sparkling light eyes with a beautiful smile filled with straight white teeth. His body was hard and shaped to perfection. And he wore clothing that showed off a little too much. I mean, they fit in such a way that I could tell that he was a shower. I almost hope he didn’t grow much or he would be far too big to be enjoyable.

Then again, what did I know? Maybe big as an arm was just the right size for optimal orgasms.

“Ama,” he said, smiling widely. “So good of you to stop in to see us little people.”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. Distland was one of many who had tried to purchase Tripp from me. Coveting my technology. When I couldn’t be bribed with money, he tried to bribe me with dick. It was as amusing as it was insulting.

“Hello,” I said in return as I stepped up to the counter. I didn’t move toward him, but instead, one of his employees.

“Good evening, Ama,” Stella said, smiling. “The usual?”

I nodded. “Add a treat for Tripp, please.”

Stella looked at the owl, winking. “Gladly.”

If I thought outright ignoring him would turn his attention from me, I’d have been sorely disappointed. Fortunately, I knew that wasn’t going to work. It never did. Distland moved down the counter, leaning on it as if he were trying to draw attention to his crotch. Positioned in such a way that his hip jutted out, the outline of his dick nearly waving at me.

“How’s the better half living these days?” he asked.

“Healthy,” I said. “Mindful.”

He smiled, and I swear, a little light glimmered on his teeth. I almost rolled my eyes. “Yes, it’s wonderful not contributing to the waste of the world, isn’t it? Knowing that weight isn’t on your shoulders.”

“Yes. If only everyone could afford a shimmer,” I said sweetly.

Distland wasn’t oblivious, but he never let me get a dig in without answering it. “Oh, I know. If only they were cheap enough for the common to afford. We’d be in a better place.”

“Or if everyone simply lived cleaner lifestyles and took responsibility for the trash they throw into the world, we could prolong the life of our planet,” I pointed out, looking at the big steam oven with the fire burning within the grate.

“Ama, you know I take great pains to keep my bakery clean.”

“Yes. Lucky for you, you’re able to capitalize on your ability to make a damn good cake.”

Stella handed me a bag with said piece of cake in it, trying to hide a smile at my banter with Distland. I handed her far more copper than any novelty food item was worth because he charged an arm and a leg for his goods. Simply because he could. They were that good.

I constantly wondered if he used magic to make them as good as they were. But he’d gone to pastry school. The best in the world. I’ve seen the degrees. I’ve even looked him up to find his records truly put him there for eight years while he mastered sugar.

It just grated on me that a fake ass such as Distland could bake as well as he did. Seriously, I drooled just thinking about the piece of cake in my bag.

Waving at Stella, I turned for the door again. Much to my chagrin, Distland came skirting around the corner to stop me in front of the door. His smile was charming and for once, I thought maybe he was going to drop his arrogance.

“Amandine, lovely flower of Tasker Lane.” I rolled my eyes again but this time, he was teasing me. His smile ticked up, his light eyes glinting with mirth. “Let me take you to dinner.”

Sighing, I placed a hand on my hip.

Before I could speak, he tried to appeal to me further. “I know you think I’m a pompous toady who would prefer to look like a do-gooder instead of being one. I suppose to some extent, I am. I can admit that. But even you know that efficient and clean doesn’t truly exist. That doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“No. Your attitude that screams ‘I’m better than you because I can make perfect frosting in my sleep’ says you think you’re above everyone else.”

Seriously, he was a beautiful specimen that I’d have been happy to dissect. Sell off his organs. I bet I could charge an arm and a leg for the length of dick in his pants. Maybe he stuffed? I tilted my head as I considered that possibility.

“Let me take you to dinner, Ama,” he tried again.

“You have a business proposition for me? An idea that you can commission to make you an actual clean business?”

His smile was supposed to be sensual. Flirty. Unfortunately for him, I just wasn’t interested, so it was wasted on me. “No. I have been trying to gain your favor since we met. But you’ve prejudged me because I have money to magically get rid of my waste instead of looking at the fact that I am getting rid of my waste.”

I narrowed my eyes. If I wasn’t painfully honest, even with myself, I might have denied it. “Fine,” I conceded. “Yes, I have. But that was only my initial impression of you. After meeting you for real, I’m even less impressed.”

“Then give me the chance to change your mind.” He reached for me. Likely to place a hand on my face. Something that was supposed to be sweet and romantic, maybe.

He wasn’t prepared for Tripp’s quick reflexes. He didn’t give a warning hoot before lunging, sinking the sharp end of his beak deep into Distland’s finger before he could touch me.

Distland shouted, yanking his hand away. Reflexes had him trying to dislodge Tripp by swinging his hand. That only caused more damage—and blood spurting—since Tripp dug his grip tighter as Distland shouted.

It was likely a solid minute later that my sweet owl protector let him go. He rose into the air, gave a loud, angry screech, and then fluttered back to my shoulder to glare at Distland.

Distland was angry, his gaze spitting fire at Tripp.

Instead of answering his advance or trying to destress the situation, I waved and turned my back on him as I stepped outside. The door shut behind me, Distland’s cursing cut off behind it. I rested a hand on Tripp, patting him gently.

“Good boy,” I murmured, smirking as I walked away. Then scowling as my lungs filled with disgusting sulfuric air.