Chapter 7

 

The next morning, Serah poked her head through the hatch and was greeted with warmth, light, and the clang of metal to glass.

Machin stood before the furnace. He pulled back the tongs he’d held inside the fire. His gloved hand scraped across a glowing object wedged between the tongs. He dipped his head to inspect his work more closely. Heat from the glass singed shocks of gray that stuck out from behind his goggles.

Serah pinched her nose against the stink of burning hair, wishing she hadn’t left her nose clamp in her room.

“Good morning,” she said with a cough.

Machin spoke without turning. “Breakfast is ready. Be hasty. There’s much to do.”

“Yes, of course.” Serah all but skipped to where Gelsey spooned a helping of barley porridge from a kettle to a bowl. She flinched at a basket of berries on the table before she could stop herself.

“You don’t have to eat them.” Gelsey moved the basket to a shelf and frowned. “Machin likes fruit with his breakfast—” Her voice raised to a level of reprimand. “Which he often skips after grabbing a biscuit so he can get right to work.”

The grunt from the next room prompted Serah to swallow three rushed mouthfuls of porridge. “Mm,” she murmured, enjoying the chewy texture and nutty flavor.

She eyed the plate of biscuits that were baked to a golden brown. Remembering her stomach’s limits, she set down her spoon. Just as her stomach settled, the smell of singed hair wafted into the room.

She smothered a gag and scowled. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll burn down the house?”

Gelsey lowered her head. “Yes. But that’s neither hither nor thither. All my dresses are underground.” She rested her fists on her hips and winked. “Though, it seems he’s more concerned about making new lanterns than keeping those he has.”

Serah took another bite. The lanterns he has now seem indestructible, she thought, frustrated by her inability to unseal the globe the night before. Her brow creased as she scraped the remaining porridge from its bowl.

“Thank you, Gelsey. You’re a wonderful cook.”

Gelsey beamed until her face was redder than it was round. She waved the rag she used to wipe biscuit crumbs from the table. “Go on and get learning.”

Serah rose from her seat and peered around the corner. The only change was that Machin was feeding a different combination of metal and glassware into the furnace’s gangly-toothed mouth of flame.

She cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about the seal on the globe and—”

“Later, Serah Kettel. Right now, I need you to tend to the lanterns.”

“Oh, but I thought—”

“I expect you to keep thinking about it. That task is intended to be long-term.” Machin dropped the metal tongs into the bucket.

He adjusted his goggles and looked at her for the first time that morning.

“Gelsey will help you find a cloth and a stepladder. All of the ceiling lanterns need to be polished.”

Serah wrung her hands. Her chin tightened. “Yes, Master Machin.”

He nodded and picked up a stack of thin metal strips, all mangled together, which he proceeded to untangle and sort.

Gelsey tutted when Serah relayed her master’s request. “I don’t see why he doesn’t let me tend the lanterns. My duster would be faster, and you wouldn’t need a ladder to reach them,” she said, reaching a clenched hand in the air.

Serah grinned. She imagined Gelsey holding out an invisible sword instead of her duster, posed like a soldier readied for battle.

Cloth in hand, she reached the topmost step on the stepladder and stopped. Her lips parted in disbelief. The light from the lanterns was even more dazzling than it was from below. The pure light softened and lightened in a lazy twinkle despite the lanterns’ lack of flame. Where does the light come from? How is this possible?

She slid the cloth along the top of one globe. A fingernail brushed the edge of a metal cap. The space between her brows creased. It’s warm, but not hot. Are each of these sealed as well? She looked over her shoulder, careful to keep her balance, to confirm Machin was still absorbed in his work.

After releasing a slow breath, she dug her fingernails into the bottom of the cap of the lantern she’d been dusting and attempted to pull it from the globe. She did so gently at first. And then tugged more forcefully. Both metal and glass resisted.

More curious than discouraged, Serah wiped away the prints left by her fingers and moved on to the next globe. Satisfied that this, too, was sealed, she inspected and polished all the remaining lanterns—all of which were filled with white light despite caps that would not budge.

Before descending the stepladder, Serah blotted beads of sweat from her forehead and smiled, admiring the view once more. The lamps look brighter somehow, even though they were dazzling before.

“Fine work, Serah Kettel.”

Serah gasped. Her arms flailed forward and to her sides, and then to the front again, as she fought to keep her balance. Machin caught her arm with his gloved hand and cautiously helped her to the floor. When both of her feet touched the ground, he said, “I expect you to complete this task every morning. Tell me immediately if any of the lanterns burn out.”

She nodded and sat at the table filled with globes, and gazed upon the new, unlit lantern. Her own special puzzle. Her long-term task.

Serah’s lips battled between frowning and smiling as she considered Machin’s words. Tell me if any of the lanterns burn out.

“Can the lanterns that burn out be opened? Is that what breaks the seal?”

Gravely, Machin shook his head. “Those that burn out are closed doors; they can no longer be opened.”

Serah shifted in her seat. “Master Machin, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how long has it been since you last employed an apprentice?”

Machin peered at the girl through his goggles and blinked twice. With a sigh, he removed the apparatus from his face and set it aside. Without the lenses exaggerating the size of his eyes, his gaze was squinty and far more serious.

“Many years. But then, time is more than what most give it credit for.”

Serah had trouble absorbing his words due to a question that bubbled up, something she’d been wondering since she’d first applied for the position.

“Who was your last apprentice?”

Machin smiled. “Jared Timber, a young man neglected by his only kin—a sister, a young woman forced to grow up too fast. Instead of growing stronger, she grew in bitterness and took her anger out on Jared. Which is why he came to me. Well, that and he wanted a new leg.”

“A new leg!” That prompted a whole new line of questions, but Serah reclaimed her focus, hoping it would lead to a clue to opening the unsealed globe. “Was Jared here long?”

“Shorter than most, actually. So, no.”

“But he figured out how to light a lantern that had been sealed?”

Machin’s smile stretched wider. “He did.”

“And then what happened?”

“He found happiness. Wholeness.” His words were accompanied by a strange flickering of light that faded and disappeared.

“What does that mean? That he got his leg?”

“More.”

He looked away from the table. His lips curled into a curious smile.

Serah followed his gaze to the lanterns above, one of which was now strikingly different than the others. She pointed a finger. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s empty.”

Machin freed the darkened lantern from its overhead hook and set it on the table. He re-donned his goggles and trailed two fingers along the glass. “This belonged to one of Jared’s predecessors, several apprentices before him.”

“Has it burned out?”

“Yes, just like Jared’s did.”

He pulled a hammer from his work belt and struck it against the glass. A thin line, shaped like a lightning bolt, spread across the globe. Soundlessly, the crack splintered and deepened and expanded. Then, with a soft crash, the glass shattered. The crystalline sphere was now a pile of shards.