Chapter 4

Graham

 

“Graham Webb, join me at the furnace.”

“Yes, Master Machin.” The young man all but bounded across the room from where he’d been polishing the lanterns with a cloth.

He approached Machin, who stood before a massive furnace; its hungry mouth was open, bearing teeth of flame. Instead of a smokestack or pipe reaching up through the top of the roof, a set of smaller pipes in the back of the furnace transferred air to the underground rooms, such as the apprentice’s room Graham occupied. He’d attempted to ask Machin how that worked, but wasn’t told much beyond there being a transfer of energy from the melted tektite and glass dust that cleaned the air and propelled it through the pipes. Whatever the process, the fire and resulting hot air created a tremendous amount of heat.

Between the warmth given off by the furnace and the solid weave of the tunic Gelsey had given him, Graham thought he’d suffocate if he stood there for long. He swallowed and tugged at his neckband. The bottom half of his tunic draped below his belt and had already begun to make his knees sweat.

“How may I help you, Master Machin?”

“Pay careful attention.”

Machin thrust a pair of large metal tongs, which held a dark stonelike object, inside the mouth of the furnace. Graham had seen his master at work many times, but he was never allowed to do any of it. So far, his only task had been to dust the lanterns with a clean cloth. It was up to Gelsey and her duster to clean everything else.

Graham was curious what would be different—what Machin wanted him to watch. Each time his master had done so previously, the special form of tektite known as Celestial Glass was shaped into a globe. Machin often sold these globes to the shopkeepers in town who would, in turn, sell them to the residents of Havenbrim and to visitors from farther away. Other times, Machin would frame the globes of different shapes and sizes to make lanterns.

Machin pulled the tongs from the furnace and blew across glass. The globe that formed was an oblong orb that was clear and hollow, and taller than it was wide. Machin carefully set the globe on a cooling rack upon the shelf.

He repeated the process with another chunk of tektite. This time, he pulled from the furnace a glass casing that was rounded on the bottom and tapered, similar to a teardrop, except that instead of reaching a point at the top, there was a round opening. He set it next to the oblong globe.

“Which do you prefer, Graham Webb?”

Graham rubbed away a drop of sweat that had trickled down his nose. “The first one, I suppose,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been cleanin’ lanterns all mornin’, so I’ve had a lot to look at. I suppose I like the taller ones the best.”

Machin raised an eyebrow and muttered something under his breath.

“Thank you for your opinion, Graham Webb,” he said aloud. “You may continue with your work.”

“Is somethin’ the matter, Master Machin? Have I done somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t believe wrong is the proper word. Don’t worry, my boy.”

“But you seem disappointed.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You were lookin’ at me, so closely, as if you were waitin’ for somethin’ to happen.” Graham frowned. “And then it didn’t.”

Machin rubbed his chin. “It may be too early to tell. We’ll frame the globe together. In the meantime, if you notice anything—different about the one you have chosen, do let me know.”

“Too early to tell what, Master Machin?”

But he didn’t get an answer. Machin had turned his back, already at work at the furnace.

Graham exhaled slowly and retreated to the cooler air in the adjoining room.

 

“The globe has cooled.”

Graham looked up from where he sat at the table. Machin stood before him with the hollow, oblong globe wedged in his hands. He nodded toward strips of metal laid out on the table—silver, brass, and a metal as dark as the tektite from which the globe was fashioned.

“Do you have a preference for the frame?” said Machin.

Graham trailed his fingertips across the various strips of metal, taking time to hold each up to the globe.

“I like the darkest material best,” he said.

“A curious choice.” Gently, Machin set the globe on the table, then untied a pouch from his belt. He shook its contents on the table next to the globe.

“Curious?” Graham quirked an eyebrow at his master, hoping for more explanation, but the old man was already absorbed in his work.

He stood by, feeling useless while Machin formed the base of the frame first, creating a circle upon which he cradled the glass globe.

“These,” he said, laying out additional strips of the dark metal, “will connect the base to the top of the lantern, right below the lid which we’ll use to cap the hollow end.”

Graham nodded, then scanned the table with his eyes. “Where is the lid?”

Machin smiled. He untied a second, larger pouch from his belt, from which he removed a lid, smooth and dark, fashioned out of metal identical to that he’d used for the base of the frame.

“You had this lid already?” said Graham. “How did you know which metal I’d choose for makin’ the frame?”

“When you told me your preference for the glass casing, I had a suspicion…”

Graham wrinkled his nose. “You could tell all that from which of the globes I chose?”

“All that and more.” Machin blew across the top of the lid. Thick shavings, more substantial than dust and clear as crystal, swirled in the air. “I’ll have another task for you soon, Graham Webb.”

He moved to set the lid upon the hollow end of the globe.

When there was nothing but a faint cushion of air between the lid and the globe, Machin’s hand hovered above the glass.

Graham waited patiently, but also eager to see what would happen next. But nothing happened. He frowned and looked up at his master.

Beads of sweat had formed across Machin’s forehead. There was a crease set deep between his bushy gray brows. His right hand shook. With a groan, he stilled his hand. The lid dropped, clinking off the glass, and landed on the table. It wobbled for a couple breaths, like the last few twirls of a top, before it stilled.

“Master Machin?”

The old man wiped his brow and exhaled. “This has never happened before.”

Graham worried at how his master’s voice had taken on an odd, shaky tone.

“Can I get you somethin’, Master Machin? Is there anythin’ I can do to help?”

“Not yet,” he said, still staring at the globe.

Suddenly, his mouth twisted into a dark grimace. He lifted the lid to the globe. His front teeth bit into his lower lip, and his cheeks puffed. With labored breath, he pressed the lid to the hollowed end. When the cushion of air between lid and globe refused to give in, he brought his opposite hand up, and pressed with both hands.

The globe hummed as it rattled back and forth.

“Graham,” huffed Machin. “Steady the globe. Place your hands around the glass.”

Graham did as he was told. Static created an itching in his fingertips, which only made him squeeze the globe harder, sending jolts of electric charge from his hands to his elbows.

“Steady, Graham. Keep it steady!”

He rested his elbows on the table and leaned with all his strength.

For the slightest fraction of a second, the globe seemed to bend to his will. It stopped humming and calmed until it was almost still. Graham’s eyes widened at how the tingling sensation moved out of his body the same way it had come in.

Machin caught his breath, and pressed. The cushion of air between lid and globe decreased by one half before it stopped, motionless, locked in time.

With a loud pop, the lid flew from Machin’s hand and shot at the ceiling, flying around and beyond the lanterns without chipping a single bit of glass.

His hands rose in the air as he fell backward, landing on his behind with a crack.

“Master Machin! Are you all right?”

Graham was at his side in a moment. He placed a hand on Machin’s head and shuddered at the way his master’s eyes had closed and jaw had slackened.

“What’s going on in here?” Gelsey entered the room, trailing her feather duster behind her. “I’ve never heard such a commotion before the pairing of you two—”

She paled.

“Goodness! Pull him up from the floor, Graham.”

Machin’s eyes snapped open.

“I am quite well,” he said, refusing Graham’s assistance to help him up. “Please, retrieve the lid. Then, there is something you must try for me.”

“Already? But you—” After a sharp look from Machin, Graham cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“See if you are able to place the lid on the globe.”

Graham stared at him as if he’d sprouted a second nose. He swallowed before answering. “Perhaps I made the wrong choice. The metal doesn’t have to match, does it? Maybe we could try a different lid.”

Machin shook his head. “I lost the lid because the globe resisted. I don’t think it was the lid that was the problem. I believe the globe was resisting me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, my boy.”

“Well, that makes three of us.” Gelsey flung her arms in the air and bustled out of the room. “Goodness…”

When Gelsey was gone, Machin smiled. “Do not be afraid,” he told Graham. “You may not be able to fit the lid either, but you must try.”

Graham sighed. Tentatively, he stretched his fingers around the cap. Then lifted it to the top of the globe. He took a breath, and pressed.

At first, the metal and glass wobbled, repelling each other as they were forced together. Graham’s face and neck reddened with effort. He wished he was dressed in the rags he’d worn to his interview. He could feel each drop of perspiration that had spread across his neck soaking his neckband.

Then, with a sharp sucking sound, the cap adhered to the glass.

Graham squatted back onto a bench, panting. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked up at Machin, who was smiling.

“Good work, Graham Webb.”

Machin smoothed a hand along and around the cap, where the metal met the glass.

His smile wavered. “The special task I had in mind for you may no longer be necessary.”

He lifted the cap from the globe with no trouble at all and murmured, “It’s cool to the touch. The lantern has failed to seal.”