Trystis slunk through the darkness of Cathedral City. His boots made only soft padding noises on the cobblestone-lined streets. As he approached the polluted river that made up the border between the manufacturing and highborn quarters, he stopped and put his back up to a towering brick building. He peered across the expanse of grey churning water, noting his location. Every bridge between the two sides contained a well-guarded checkpoint on both banks. Tall towers, with lights powered by the highborn’s own steam plant, separate from the city’s, kept the bridges well illuminated.
Four years ago, the aristocracy crushed the workers’ rebellion and enacted strict martial law. Armed security forces put up walls between the Cathedral City’s districts and controlled all citizen movement. This deep in the night, curfew had long passed, and Trystis didn’t have papers, fake or otherwise, to be cruising the streets.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the gray void. Pipes from the manufacturing quarter jutted out like thorns, spewing industrial waste into the torpid waters. The bridges weren’t the only way across the river, however. Other, more dangerous options existed. Then, suddenly, he spied what he was looking for. A thin pipe, almost invisible in the dense smog, stretched between two towering structures from one side of the river to the other.
Trystis moved quickly and quietly, keeping to the shadowy alleyways. Eventually, the alley let out onto a well-lit street. Crouching beside a pile of neglected crates, he surveyed the area. Slowly pulsating electric lamps stood on tall poles and lit a vast square of worn street stones. A pitiful fountain drizzled foul-smelling water into a greasy pool at the square’s center. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wrapped his face against the drifting stench.
The area had been a marketplace, a shop in every building, and tents squeezed in each available corner for peddlers, merchants, and tradespeople. Now, it was an abandoned, urban wasteland. The buildings had their inner walls knocked out to convert them to large factories or to house the poor who worked there. Lucky for him, however, one of the rarely guarded factories was backed against the river and would be the one with the pipe he saw before.
Trystis waited several minutes, monitoring the square. The windows in the buildings sat black like dead, unblinking eyes, the stone streets below deserted. He darted into the open, making haste to the far side of the square. The very moment he stepped into the light, voices came from down a narrow street connecting to the courtyard.
“Damn…” He swore through clenched teeth. Someone approached. If it were a guard patrol, he’d be caught, forced to fight, or flee. Out in the open of the grounds, he couldn’t make it back to the alleyway and the protective shadow, so he sprinted into a roll and landed hard against the edge of the crumbling fountain. It was half-sunken into the ground, and its protruding edge didn’t provide the cover needed to hide him, even while prone. There was only one choice. Trystis shook his head and grumbled as he rolled over the lip and slipped carefully into the algae-covered water.
Into the brightness strode a five-person patrol, heavily armed and in full assault gear. Why would an assault squad be paroling the streets? He thought. As they entered the square, the group spread themselves out, pointing their steam-powered ammo throwers or SPAT guns at the windows and down the alleys. On each of their shoulders, a lantern hummed with focusing lenses, shooting unnaturally bright beams of luminescence down each of the dark passages. With one eye peering over the fountain’s lip, Trystis could tell they searched for something.
As a light swung his way, he dipped low in the water, holding his breath. The smell of the vile liquid made him gag. It was all he could do to keep his dinner down.
Moving slowly, he slipped behind the spire at the fountain’s center, a cracked stone woman holding a barrel that dripped foul sludge. With his body submerged, except for his face, he pressed against the woman, trying to blend into the stone. Two of the soldiers approached the fountain, their lights skimming the water. With no time to think, Trystis sucked in tainted air through his nose and slipped beneath the murky surface.
Even in the darkness below, with his eyes tightly closed, he could sense lights as they danced above, swirling, searching, hunting. He held his breath. The sickening air in his lungs burned painfully. His body wanted to reject it, but he couldn’t rise. They would see him; they would hear him and kill him, or worse. He couldn’t risk it. Fighting them could be an option; he had come prepared for that possibility with a few gadgets from his friend Professor Agnes, but how many could he take on? Two? Three? Their outfit suggested a serious engagement, as if they expected to face something dangerous. Five was beyond what he could handle.
Trystis’ body convulsed as it tried to force him to take a breath, but he fought it back. He couldn’t deny his lungs fresh air for much longer, though. He had to surface or be found sometime later, the victim of a dirty fountain. Finally, unable to fight back the urge, he pushed his head up and took a breath. With careful, gradual movements, he wiped the slime from his face and looked around. They’d abandoned the square to seek quarry elsewhere.
This wasn’t the time to be hasty, however, so he waited in the cesspool for several more minutes before climbing over the side and getting to his feet. Water ran from his soaking clothes, reeked with decay. A sigh escaped his lips as he slicked back his hair and shook the slime from his hand. Unfortunately, the moment of putting himself back together didn’t last. He was still exposed, and that group of assault troops or another guard patrol could be just around the corner.
As quickly as he could, boots squishing with each step, he moved to the far end of the square and looked up to the top of the building. A drainpipe made the climb to the roof easy enough, and soon he gazed over the dark city roofs. Spire-like chimneys stuck out of every structure and leaked black trails into the night. The brown sky reflected the lights of the city, bathing everything in a sickly gloom.
Out of danger momentarily, Trystis removed his boots and dumped out as much of the water as he could. Then he took off his coat and squeeze it out. Next, he checked his gear. The miniature steam capsule wouldn’t be harmed; in fact, most contraptions he carried were well sealed against water because of the regular exposure to steam. His primary concern was for the voltaic gun he had brought. He pulled it out of the leather belt holster and removed the power cells, a set of four glass capsules held together in a brass frame.
Cells were a relatively new invention and only attainable by the wealthy and the military; however, his group had gained access to a few. Professor Agnes had made some fantastic improvements on the technology, reducing charge time and increasing output. The cell chamber appeared dry, which seemed like a miracle, so Trystis placed the cell back inside, sealed it up, then powered the device on. It rose to life with a soft humming noise. Small bands of electric current ran just inside a glass enclosure on the barrel.
You sure know how to build em, professor. Looks like your little toy survived. Over the next several minutes, he checked through the remaining gear. His steam gun was accustomed to moisture and in perfect working order. While his backpack dripped with foul liquid, the steam capsule strapped next to it wouldn’t be affected. He checked the various valves and nozzles on his belt and cleaned out a bit of slime out of one. The goggles in his bag were wet, as was the glass cutter mechanism. He did his best to dry them while owing nothing dry.
Before he could finish, men’s voices from somewhere below pricked up his ears. Probably another patrol. They’ll have no idea I’m right above them. Chills ran up his spine at the sound of a steam gun firing, followed by a grappling hook landing next to him. Trystis froze, but as the line yanked taught, it caught the edge of his boot. Before he could react, it pulled, and suddenly, he slid down the rough, angled roof. Panic raced through his nerves as he clawed at the tiles, trying to gain a hold, the rope dragging him closer and closer to the edge. With a last tug, the force flung him into the air. With a last effort, his fingers clamped around the gutter at the roof’s edge, and his body swung, slamming into the side of the building.
“There’s a guy up there!” shouted one of those below. Trystis dared a look downward. Sure enough, another patrol of assault troopers, or was it the same one? He only spotted three of them; the other had been five. He felt a powerful pull as the soldiers attempted to bring him down. He strained to keep ahold. The brick street lay three stories below, a gruesome end. Even if by miracle he survived with nothing broken, that patrol would make sure the job was done right. Another concerted tug. He felt his fingers go numb. They started to slip when suddenly, his boot gave way, tight buckles breaking free to release and fall.
“Damnit,” He cursed as he hoisted himself back over the lip of the roof with all haste. Disappointment at being spotted on top of losing a boot eclipsed the relief of having escaped the fall. He felt happy to be unharmed, but now his entire mission had been thrown into question. Unfortunately, he had little time to debate the next move. More troopers would be on their way, and they would up here momentarily. To confirm his fears, two steam guns retorts preceded two sets of grapples soaring onto the roof, digging into the tiles. His eyes bulged. “They work quick. Time to go.”
At the edge of the building, overlooking the polluted river, a single rusting pipe six inches in diameter plunged out into the fog. In one smooth motion, Trystis lowered himself from the roof to the metal tightrope. His arms outstretched to each side, he wobbled momentarily before gaining his balance. Then he walked forward, one foot in front of the other. The unorthodox bridge shifted, and Trystis flailed, one knee coming up above his waist to help him regain his stance. Years of neglect and acid ran had worn away the wall where the pipe sunk into the building, and now it rattled loose and unsteady. As if he needed more of a challenge, the foot missing the boot made the pipe wobble with each step—not the sort of thing one wanted when reliable footing was key to balance.
After what felt like minutes, though it was probably only a few seconds, the pipe reseated itself as a bit of plaster fell away, and Trystis regained his composure. I’ve got to get off this thing as soon as possible. Who knows how long it will support my weight? And if the guards spot me out here, I’ll be an easy target.
Boldly ahead, he walked with light steps. Growing up on the city streets, he had been an accomplished pickpocket as a youth. That had given him a lot of practice running along roof pinnacles and balancing on narrow ledges to escape the authorities. Though eventually, those same authorities caught him and put him into an orphanage. Still, he never lost his love of climbing and playing on things he shouldn’t.
As Trystis continued, the factory district behind him fell to the obscuring smog-mist as the highborn quarter came into clearer view. The pipe ended much as it began in the wall of a brick building. Those assault troops will have a fun time trying to follow me. He let out a quiet chuckle. Then, pulling himself onto the roof, Trystis took a moment to survey his position. In the distance, the immense cathedral for which the city took its name loomed large. Though hidden by the ever-present fog, the lights in the towers made for the perfect landmark. Once he had his bearings, he attached a small hose with two nozzles on his belt’s right and left sides to the pressurized steam capsule on his back. He then linked a cord from the tank, down his arm to an exoskeletal-looking glove on his left hand, cinching it down with thin leather ties. Finally, he turned a valve tap on the capsule.
Time to test this thing. He squeezed his left hand closed for a quick second. A brief burst of steam came out of the nozzles on his belt. It wasn’t enough to lift him in the air, but it made him light on his feet. Good, everything seems in order. Then he ran.
Many rooftops connected to one another in the overcrowded city, but less so in the highborn district. Those with money could afford some open space between their estate and their neighbor’s. This is where the leap belt came in handy; when a jump was a bit too far for the average person to make, it would provide those extra few feet. Trystis had used the device before. It was convenient to avoid pursuers since eventually, he would cross an expanse they could not follow.
Using the cathedral as a beacon, he found his way to the estate he was looking for without incident, landing lightly on a roof just outside, with a quick burst of steam. This was one of the largest estates in the city. Besides the main mansion, it had several outbuildings dispersed over the grounds, a large courtyard, gardens, a greenhouse, and an observatory among them. Fortress-like walls, though more for keeping out the eyes of passers-by than for defending an assault, surrounded the entire affair. From his vantage and the few glowing lights within the compound, he recognized the estate’s disrepair.
Someone’s fallen on hard times. Despite that, the place looked impressive. Trystis judged the outer wall was just out of reach from the nearest building outside, even with the help of his leap belt, but there were other ways of getting in.
After a quick survey of the street below, Trystis slid down a drainpipe and slunk to the estate’s wall. He had spied no one patrolling the border of the grounds atop the wall, but that might not be unusual. With guard patrols in the city at night and the checkpoints for entering this district, break-ins were not expected. He smiled at the thought of outwitting the guards and relieving these nobles of some wealth.
With nimble fingers, he shut off the valve on his back, unhooked the hose, and reattached it to the butt of his steam gun before turning the gas back on. Then he pulled a grapple attached to a rope from out of his pack and loaded it into the weapon. The gun let out a quiet steam puff, and the hook soared into the air, landing with a clang atop the wall. Giving the rope a quick tug to make sure it was secure, Trystis scaled the wall. Once on top, the light from several lamps made hiding difficult, but with no one in sight, he slipped swiftly across and descended the other side into the dark inner grounds.
At one time, not so long ago, this place must have been the envy of all of Cathedral City. The massive grounds would have been a well-groomed tapestry of plants, statues, fountains, and outdoor entertainment. It still seemed somewhat kept, despite its lack of use. The paths were swept clear of leaves and other debris. However, the plants mainly appeared dead or dying, while soot covered the statues and other decor.
Trystis pulled a set of gear and coil-covered goggles out of his pack. He put them on and flicked a switch on the side. As they powered up, gears turning, night became day in his vision. The entire estate lit up. A hissing sound preceded a puff of smoke as blackness filled his eyes. He pulled off the goggles.
“Damn…” That fountain water must have gotten to these after all. It was unfortunate. Navigating this maze in the dark was going to be a challenge. He had little choice, however.
Cautiously, he made his way through the tangle of gardens and terraces, taking careful measure not to disturb any of the plants and announce his presence. Through the twisted paths of decaying foliage, he occasionally came across a more expansive space with a soot-stained statue or empty fountain. Everything looked as if it had sat neglected for some time. The recently swept paths were a curiosity, but he was thankful there was no need to avoid the crunch of dried leaves. Plus, with very little soot on the trails, he would leave no trace of his passing.
It’s like someone wants me to break in.
From out of the darkness came voices. Trystis crouched and froze.
“Fan out,” came a woman’s commanding voice.
The clock has been set; someone is searching the grounds. Were they looking for him? How could that be? Did he trip some hidden alarm? It was possible, but without him even noticing his mistake? That felt unlikely. But the idea they were just estate guards going about a routine check also seemed unlikely. It was only a matter of time until they found him; there were few places to hide along the paths. He had to move and move now before they surrounded him.
Trystis stood and gathered his bearings. He knew the building he sought lay near the center of the garden maze. An observation tower stood at one side of it, but he could barely make out its silhouette in the dark gloom. But that was good enough. He had to get there and get there quickly. Shuffling sounds came from the other side of the maze’s plant wall beside him. It was time to move.
Trystis attempted to slink quickly and silently through the maze. This was made more difficult by his missing boot and still damp clothing. Still, he hadn’t attracted any attention yet.
As he rounded a corner, a wall of brambles blocked his way—another dead end. It was the second one he had encountered. Light footfalls echoed somewhere behind him. Doubling back would likely mean having to deal with someone.
Trystis let out a sigh. What is going on tonight? Assault patrols appearing everywhere I go—the sudden appearance of guards in what should be a near-abandoned estate. Things aren’t adding up. This wasn’t the time to contemplate such things. However, he had to finish his mission. There might be a way to throw his perusers off. He was pretty confident they knew he, well, at least someone was here, so there was no sense in keeping that a secret. He went back around the corner to a statue of a naked man standing on a rocky outcropping and reaching skyward while holding an apple in his hand. Trystis unstrapped his leap belt, wrapped it around the stone man, then attached the steam capsule. It was time to make a ruckus.
He whipped out the voltaic gun, pointed it at the base of the statue, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Stupid cells! You were dry an hour ago, what’s the problem? Someone moved past a group of bushes near him.
“I think I see someone over here!” that someone said.
Trystis flicked open the cell chamber on his gun. He pulled the power source out and wiped it on his shirt. Then he blew into the empty chamber. Come on, work, please work! Slapping the cells back inside and locking them in place, he aimed again. With a pull of the trigger, the gun spooled up momentarily, then fizzled.
“Shit!” Trystis swore a little too loudly.
“Over here!” yelled the first woman he’d heard.
Trystis shot a look over his shoulder and glimpsed a shadowy figure moving down one path in his direction. This had to happen right now, or the entire mission would be over, and he might be caught or dead. He pointed the gun at the statue. Once again, it spooled up only to sputter. As it did, he hit it against his other hand; suddenly, a burst of electricity shot from the weapon and shattered the legs of the statue. Trystis shoved the stone figure until it pointed directly at the figure coming toward him, then he flipped the switch on the leap belt. The sculpture took off, bowling the unfortunate man over and tearing through the gardens. Several cries emanated throughout the grounds as the rocket man spun and jetted about, ripping through plant walls and kicking up dirt as the belt drug it around, stone apple held in its upraised fist. This was Trystis’ chance. He made a B-Line for the observatory.
In the chaos brought on by the statue, he arrived at the building unnoticed. He had given up his capsule, so his steam gun would be useless—time to do this the old-fashioned way. Taking the rope and grappling hook from his bag, he spun it, gaining momentum, then flung it to the roof. The hook caught hold, and Trystis climbed.
At the top of the observatory, he approached a large window designed to allow a large telescope to protrude out. It was shut tight at the moment, however. So he reached into his bag and pulled out a small glass cutter mechanism. It was a strange device with several small suction cups, gears, wheels, and a thin blade. He suctioned it to the window, wound it using a key, and let it do its work. The mechanical thing operated with surprising speed, rotating around the edge of the window as it cut into the glass. When finished, it stayed attached to either side of the cut and uncut pane. Trystis pushed the glass, and the device acted as a hinge, allowing the window to swing inward without falling. He took ahold of it as he released the cutting machine, then set the glass aside and put the tool away.
Stepping inside, he stood on an upper observation deck above a sizable room. A massive telescope hung from the ceiling and dominated the space. Suspended near it were several solar system models and other galactic phenomena reimagined in brass and colored glass. To one side, a narrow set of stairs hugged the curved wall and led to the floor. Darkness encompassed the bottom level. Trystis cursed his luck.
This would have been so much easier had the goggles been in working order. He made his way down and searched along the edges of the space. The lack of light made the hunt slow and frustrating. Fortunately, he came to what he was looking for relatively quickly. A dial built into the wall. He gave it the slightest of turns. A clicking sound rang out, and then dim lights appeared in the wall fixtures. He adjusted the flames as low as they would go without winking out. He’d never find what he was looking for without some light, but if anyone noticed, he might not have enough time before they raided the room.
Wasting little time, Trystis pulled another device from his backpack, a rod with a coil at one end and a handle on the other. You better be working, or I’m really in trouble. He cruised through the room, sweeping the rod over cabinets, drawers, and counters as he went. The coils glowed when he brought them near one drawer. He opened it and found two power cells inside. Not what I was looking for, but I’ll take them. Removing his voltaic gun and goggles, he replaced their cells with the ones he found, shoving the old ones in his backpack.
First, he tested the goggles. They came online with a humming noise. He could see the room perfectly now, though in a glowing-green haze. The dim lights shone like sun flares under the goggle’s enhancement. Finally, this operation looked bright. With a twist of the dial on the wall, the lights extinguished. He’d didn’t want to draw any attention and decided against testing the voltaic gun. With a fresh and dry set of cells, he just had to hope it worked if he had to use it.
Trystis resumed his search with the rod. The coils of it picked up on the flow of electricity and caused the substance within them to glow faintly. He didn’t know how it worked, but it was an amazing piece of technology. Each time it illuminated, he scoured the area. Unfortunately, the place seemed thoroughly wired, and gave off regular false signals. Eventually, he picked up a flow of current that led him from the wall across the floor to a plain wooden table stacked with paper and scrap metal. Trystis reached below, hands feeling around underneath it. Shortly, his fingers struck pay dirt. A hidden switch sat between two boards. With a flick of the button, a section of the wall shifted away with a mechanical grinding noise, revealing a safe.
“Of course, it’s locked uptight. The outer walls, maze, armed guards, tower, and secret switch clearly weren’t enough,” he murmured sarcastically.
“Apparently, they were not…” a stern, feminine voice said. Suddenly, the lights came on full. Trystis ripped the goggles from his face, blinking as his blurred vision struggled to return. Still, he couldn’t miss the group of figures standing at the stairwell. Five of them were unmistakably bulky armored assault troops. What are they doing here?
As his eyes continued to readjust, he identified a woman in front of them dressed in a long decorative coat, leggings, tall black boots, a corset set with copper studs and coils, and black gloves with copper lines running down each finger.
“Lady Winters, I presume,” Trystis said.
“At least you know who you’ve come to steal from, Trystis the Perilous Oaf.”
“Well, I see my reputation precedes me. By the way, no one calls me that.”
“Not fitting?”
“Too wordy.” With a quick move of his hand, Trystis drew the voltaic gun and fired. A bolt of lightning leaped from the barrel. Lady Winters threw up her gloved hand, fingers spread. Electricity surged over the copper strands, running down her body and absorbing into the nodes on her corset.
“That’s an interesting trick,” Trystis grinned confidently. Inside, his mind raced. Gods of steam, how am I going to get out of this one?
“Just wait.” She balled up her hand into a fist. The corset pulsated with power. Suddenly, she thrust her fist forward. A blast wave of energy picked Trystis up and launched him over a table. Papers, glass vials, and small apparatuses crashed and flew in every direction.
“Ugh… By the keeper’s blind eye. That hurt!” Trystis moaned. This gun is all but useless against that suit of hers.
“Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got. The infamous Trystis and his gadgets.” She let out a wicked laugh.
From the floor, Trystis analyzed the situation. The safe containing his prize lay halfway across the room. He couldn’t see the Lady Winters because of the toppled table between them, nor could she see him. But her voice announced her approach. He reached into his bag and pulled out one of the malfunctioning power cells. I hope there’s enough juice left. He snatched a vial from his belt, dumped the gooey contents over the cell, and threw it towards the safe. With a splat, it stuck to the metal door.
“What are you—”
“Watch.” Trystis aimed with his voltaic gun and fired. The bolt hit the metal safe and surged into the power cells. For a moment, they glowed white-hot, then exploded. Dust filled the room. Trystis eyed his target. A small chunk of the wall was missing, and the safe door lay ajar. He stood up, fists on his hips, a sly grin on his face.
Lady Winters, hand outstretched, shook the dirt from her head. “That was very foolish. I’m supposed to bring you in alive, but you might have to meet with an unfortunate accident.”
“So, you were expecting me. And the assault troops throughout the city, looking for me as well?”
“Bravo. Take him.” The five assault troopers moved forward. SPAT guns trained on Trystis.
“Not so fast,” he said, holding up the other spare power cell. The troops hesitated. The Lady stepped forward to stand with the soldiers.
“No energy can touch me, surely you’ve noticed. Spend your last trump card, so we can be done with this.”
“If you insist.” Trystis threw the cell up into the air above his opponents. It bounced off the massive telescope and clattered among the hanging astrological objects. He fired several quick bolts from his gun. Boom! The cells ignited, and the ensuing explosion shook the mechanical heavens. Planets, stars, comets, and moons rained down. The brackets holding the telescope groaned as the heat from the blast left them mangled and weak.
Trystis dropped back down behind the flipped table and waited. There was a resounding crash as the telescope met the ground, shattering the meticulously crafted lenses inside. The room went dark. That was the signal he had been waiting for. He leaped to his feet, flipped down his goggles, restoring his vision, and sped for the open safe. A cloud of debris hovered in the room, but none of his attackers still stood. He didn’t give them any more of his time than a glance, instead turning his attention to the safe. Throwing the door wide, he removed the stack of papers, rolled them up, and stuffed them into his bag—no time to verify. I just have to hope these are the blueprints I had come for.
A stirring emanated from the rubble. Trystis ignored it and ran up the stairs to the window where he had entered. As he stepped out to the roof, a burst of energy shattered the surrounding glass, lifted him off his feet, and flung him into the open air. The rope, still attached to the grapple hooked in the room, whipped near him.
Trystis made a desperate grab for it as he fell. It flipped through his fingers on the first attempt, but gritting his teeth, he snagged it even as it flailed about him. For several feet, he slipped downward, the coarse rope burning his palms even through his gloves. He slid to the ground with a grimace, shaking his inflamed hands as he rushed into the garden labyrinth. He met no resistance on his way over the wall and soon found himself on the roofs of the city, the estate fading into the smog behind him.
As he moved deftly through the darkness, he took in the night’s events. If they had known I was coming, why didn’t they have a bigger force waiting? Clearly, they didn’t know who they were dealing with! He glanced down at his still-moist dust-covered clothing, torn gloves, and missing boot. Clearing his throat, he kept moving. Things pointed to an informant among the ranks of his organization. That problem would have to be addressed right away.
He stopped after several blocks, taking cover under the eaves of a large but neglected suite of apartments. He unrolled the papers taken from the safe and looked them over, noting several financial documents. These could come in handy if I decide to go after my enemies’ accounts, but this is not what I’m after.
Near the bottom, amongst several blueprints in the collection, he located precisely what he had risked his life for, the design for a flying machine powered by an experimental steam engine. This could change the tide of the government’s martial law. Now the resistance will have it. Of course, Trystis would go to Dr. Agnes first. Weeding out the spy among the resistance leadership took president over all else. It would be difficult to determine who the informant was, but the Doctor would have a plan.
A pale sun inched its way to the horizon, lighting the smog cover in grotesque bands of brown, green, and grey. A light mist of foul rain dotted the decaying roofs and worn streets. Wet soot slid down the sides of buildings in jagged streaks, gathering in small piles of growing grim.
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