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01-05-2013, 11:54 PM

Crispin Winton Gareth Alexander III

The Bronze Warehouse was an imposing fortresslike complex built of massive granite blocks of a color that was fondly referred to as bronze, though an honest viewer might consider it a particularly unattractive shade of pale brown mottled with various hues of yellow and orange. Still, from a distance it could possibly be called bronze-colored, and very few people saw it up close. Even the entrance had been disguised by a facade of gold-veined black marble overlaid with bronze fretwork so fine and intricate as to look like lace. The door itself was heavy oak overlaid with hammered bronze that opened silently and easily despite its weight.

Curious outsiders often wondered why the wealthy Bronze family had settled for such an unusually-colored building material when they could obviously have afforded the more attractive stones that graced Morshall's other grand houses. Most assumed that it was the result of a good salesman dubbing the granite 'bronze' for a gullible and possibly colorblind Lord of Bronze. Others assumed the stone had simply been inexpensive and easy to come by. Few, however, landed on the true reason. Yes, it was plentiful, and yes, it was cheap... and the color had played a part in the decision. Mainly, however, the 'bronze' granite was sturdy and excellent at muffling sound. The occasional explosion did virtually no damage to the walls, nor did the sounds reach the streets to disturb passers-by. Conversely, the construction would shrug off all but the best-designed siege engines, and even a festival going on outside the front gate wouldn't disturb the concentration of the inventors within.

Crispin was incredibly grateful for that last fact, as he slipped into his private workroom and shut the thick oak door behind him. For the first time today he wasn't hearing his mother nagging about grease stains under his fingernails or how he was never going to find a nice girl to marry him if he didn't learn to dance. Instead, all around him there was nothing but the sounds of clockwork. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes, letting the sounds flow over him like a soothing balm.

There was the stately tick tock of the clock in one corner, syncopated with the ticks and clicks and ratcheting sounds of a dozen projects and pieces of equipment that graced the shelf-lined walls. From the window came the soft hissing whir of a radiometer as it spun in the sunlight. He hoped eventually to harness that spinning energy to provide power that didn't require the blessing of House Copper or the burning of smelly coal or oil. For now, however, the fragile bulb provided power only to a tiny music box he was constructing for his mother's birthday that spilled out the tinkling notes of a tune he'd traded a fine pocketwatch to have a member of the Brass family compose for him. Other people might have found the noises distracting or annoying, but as far as Crispin was concerned, no symphony could be more beautiful.

Refreshed by the percussive music of his inventions, the eldest son of Bronze sat down at a table where an assortment of miniscule gears and springs gleamed against black velvet like a jeweler's display of gems. To Crispin's eye, the bits were far more beautiful than even the most priceless diamond, and perhaps he was right, for this project had been commissioned by the Emperor himself with a downpayment that included several diamonds and other gems of fine quality. The price interested Crispin far less than the challenge, and he selected a set of tweezers and oculars with a built-in magnifying loupe to begin assembling what would become a gift for the Princess Cassandra.

The clock in the corner had chimed the hour several times when he noticed a tapping sound at the door behind him. He set a tiny flywheel down on the velvet and stood with great care, so as not to jar the workbench. The young Bronze apprentice standing anxiously outside the door burst into speech when the door opened. "Sir, your lady mother has sent several messages bidding you to come to lunch, but I followed your standing orders and ignored the messages. However, Master Talworth begs that you come assist him in the third large workroom."

Crispin frowned when the boy began talking, but the mention of Master Talworth immediately transformed his mood. He shoved the oculars on top of his head and raced down the hallway, leaving the boy behind. The third large workroom contained a cluster of mechanics around a large machine. The exact nature of the machine was unclear, as it was shrouded in sheets of sailcloth against the eyes of casual observers. "Master Talworth? You sent for me?"

The greyest and most grease-stained of the mechanics looked up and nodded. "Aye, lad. We're having trouble with the engine. You designed most of it, let's see if you can fix it. Best hurry, the princess is supposed to be coming for an inspection today."

Crispin nodded, and slipped under the sheet that covered the machine. After a few moments of tinkering, he poked his head back out. "Try her now. I think I've fixed it, but I need to see how it looks when it's in motion."