Chapter 6

Graham

 

Graham sat at the table with his head resting in his palms, watching quietly while Machin set the metal strips in place. Four squared edges extended from the lantern’s base to where the lid once again plugged the hole at the top of the globe.

A thought nagged at him, one that had him worried. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Machin had said—something about a failed seal. And he was almost afraid to ask, in case it would confirm Machin’s disappointment in him. After a slow, steady breath, he looked over the lantern at his master. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to know.

“How important is it for there to be a seal?”

“It all depends on the lantern’s purpose and where it came from,” said Machin. “Prior apprentices chose globes that, when fitted with their lids, created a band of heat that formed an impenetrable seal. It was one of their tasks to figure out how to open it.”

Graham hung his head low. “I’ve disappointed you again. First with the globe, and now with the seal…or, rather, lack of seal.”

“There’s no cause for disappointment. You’ve surprised me. Your story is different, that’s all.”

Machin rose and returned to the furnace.

With a huff, Graham picked up a cloth. Surprised him. What good comes of that? If the other ’prentices succeeded, and I’m different, then that makes me a failure much like the seal.

He climbed the stool, more determined than ever to do a good job at those tasks he hadn’t messed up. By not creating an impenetrable seal, he felt he’d robbed himself of a special assignment the other apprentices had each completed for Machin.

He wondered why Machin had bothered to take him on as an apprentice. He attributed much of Machin’s belief in him to Serah, and her good recommendation of him. And he was grateful to her.

But Machin had also sent him a gift: the torch, which he’d received before Serah had gone for her interview, and before she was Machin’s apprentice.

Why would Master Machin have done that for me? How’d he known anythin’ about me?

Graham stretched, keeping his feet planted on the stool, to clean the lanterns that hung higher up, nearer the ceiling. Not that they’d collected dust since he’d cleaned them the day before. The task seemed to waste more time than swinging in his hammock waiting for fish to bite.

He squinted at one of the bright globes of light and whispered, “What’s the point of all this anyway?”

The lantern to which he’d directed his whispers dimmed, allowing a flickering from below to attract Graham’s attention. He lowered his hands as his gaze shifted to the lantern on the table.

His forehead creased.

A tiny spark of blue light rested at the bottom of the globe.

His globe.

Graham rubbed his eyes.

What started as a spark began to spread, stretching and swirling until it filled the globe with a soft blue light.

The brightest point of light floated at the globe’s center, then sharpened into a deep shade of blue.

“Master Machin,” said Graham, his voice a hoarse whimper. Having received no answer, Graham said his master’s name again, this time with strength in his voice along with a good dose of urgency.

“My hands are busy at the furnace. What is it, Graham Webb?”

The blue glow inside the glass creased in on itself, and folded. The top of the light tapered and pointed.

“The lantern, it—” Graham’s breath left him.

A flame without a candle waved at Graham.

Sounds of tools and materials as dense as tektite hitting the floor preceded the thud of footsteps. Machin’s eyes were wide when he entered the room. He adjusted his goggles before laying his palms flat on the tabletop.

“Pay careful attention,” he said. “Try not to blink.”

Graham descended the stool and lowered his head.

The flame inside the globe sprouted wings that tapered to two tiny arms. The tip of the flame rounded into a head, and legs formed, with feet that glided above the globe’s bottom surface.

Graham’s eyes watered with the effort to keep his eyelids from pressing together. But the surprise of the flame’s transformation caused his eyelids to twitch closed. When he opened them a fraction of a second later, what had appeared to be a tiny person was only a regular blue flame.

He pointed a finger. “Did you see that?”

“It all depends on what you expect I was looking at.”

“Do you see the blue flame inside the globe?”

Machin nodded.

“And did you see it change shape?”

A grin stretched across Machin’s face. “Yes, Graham Webb, I did. I expect we’ll have a visitor soon. Whomever it is must be traveling from quite a distance.”

“A visitor…inside my globe? But how?”

Machin’s expression changed, his gaze far away. This lasted for so long that Graham grew uncomfortable.

“Master Machin?”

The old man straightened and removed the goggles from his eyes. “Light and soul,” he muttered, speaking as if he no longer acknowledged Graham’s presence there. “Life returns to light and light becomes life. And yet, light draws light and life.”

Graham frowned, exhaling a long breath. He waited, helplessly, as Machin turned and walked back to the furnace. His ears twitched, moments later, when the roar of fire drowned out the ringing and tinkling of metal hitting metal and glass.

That night, when Graham descended into the darkness to retire to his room, something niggled at his mind while he lit his torch. He winced, startled by its color—the same bright blue as the flame that had taken the form of a person, inside the globe.

He consoled himself with the fact that Machin hadn’t seemed upset with him over what had happened. At least he’d said he wasn’t disappointed. Graham’s lips formed a faint smile as he followed the blue glow of his torch through the tunnel to his room.

I wonder what he meant about a visitor…and light drawing light and life.