formulae. Occasionally, they would take a bite of cold sausage, a sip of warm ale, then return to their calculations. Roldan had never seen so many silent souls in a caupona. It would have resembled a workshop entirely, if not for the smell of wine and smoke.
Roldan knew very little about the Gens of Artifices. Long ago, or so it was said, Anfractus had been full of wondrous machinae: speaking tablets, perpetual torches, iron mice that carried secret missives. Now only a few of the true machinae remained, kept safely within the Arx of Violets. The power that made them no longer existed. The machinae that now filled the caupona with their sparks and peculiar breathing were no more than toys, designed to mimic the shadow of life. They could dance in circles or rock back and forth, but that was it. The only true machina that Roldan had laid eyes on was the great clepsydra, nearly as old as the city itself. The artifices knew how to maintain it, but the secret of its construction eluded them. None of their toys, currently on display before him, would attract the green fire of a salamander. Not like the fibula. It had been different.
“Look,” Babieca said. “At the corner table.”
A woman with red hair was studying a tablet. Her table was covered in springs, cogs, and tiny brass wheels. Her food—cabbage and salted pork—remained untouched. It didn’t look as if she’d changed her tunica, or slept, since they’d seen her at the Hippodrome.
Babieca started to make his way forward, but Morgan stopped him.
“Wait. What are you going to say to her?”
“Remember us? You gave us a crazy fibula that caught fire when our friend touched it. Care to explain why?”
“We’re in a caupona full of artifices. All she has to do is say the word, and they’ll be shoving our charred bodies into some oily undercroft.”
“You have a wild imagination.”
“This is their territory, Babieca. Furthermore, we have no idea what her place is within the gens. It might not be the best idea to annoy her.”
“We could terrify her instead. You’ve still got your hunting knife. Roldan could threaten to burn the place down—there must be a salamander here.”
“There is,” Roldan confirmed, “but she’s asleep on the grill. I doubt she’ll be much help. Lares hate to be woken up.”
Morgan put a hand on Babieca’s shoulder. “I’ll admit that you did a good job charming Domina Pendelia. Some people actually like you. In this case, however, I don’t think your sparkle is going to have the desired effect. Let me talk to her.”
“Your gens and hers aren’t exactly bosom friends. The sagittarii look down their noses at virtually everyone.”
“Don’t pretend to know anything about us.” Morgan looked at Roldan. “If this doesn’t go well, be prepared to create a diversion.”
“The salamander—”
“It doesn’t have to be a fiery diversion. It just has to be something.”
He wanted to say that it didn’t work like that; lares wouldn’t simply create a spectacle for you at a moment’s notice. They needed to be convinced. Her look told him that he shouldn’t argue further, though, and he simply nodded.At least she wasn’t asking him to light something up again. He hated feeling like a lamp.
Morgan approached the corner table. Babieca and Roldan stood discreetly behind her. Roldan tried to listen for any lares that might be hiding under tables or in shadows. The room was quiet enough to hear a cog drop, but aside from the snoring of the salamander, he couldn’t make out any of the usual murmurings. It was strange. Gnomoi loved metal, and the miniature fountains were creating enough humidity to attract undinae, yet the caupona was almost entirely free of lares. Perhaps the machinae repulsed them on some level.
“Salve,” Morgan said. “Do you remember us?”
The artifex didn’t look up. “You’re standing in my light.”
Morgan shifted to the left. “Could we have a moment of your
Roldan knew very little about the Gens of Artifices. Long ago, or so it was said, Anfractus had been full of wondrous machinae: speaking tablets, perpetual torches, iron mice that carried secret missives. Now only a few of the true machinae remained, kept safely within the Arx of Violets. The power that made them no longer existed. The machinae that now filled the caupona with their sparks and peculiar breathing were no more than toys, designed to mimic the shadow of life. They could dance in circles or rock back and forth, but that was it. The only true machina that Roldan had laid eyes on was the great clepsydra, nearly as old as the city itself. The artifices knew how to maintain it, but the secret of its construction eluded them. None of their toys, currently on display before him, would attract the green fire of a salamander. Not like the fibula. It had been different.
“Look,” Babieca said. “At the corner table.”
A woman with red hair was studying a tablet. Her table was covered in springs, cogs, and tiny brass wheels. Her food—cabbage and salted pork—remained untouched. It didn’t look as if she’d changed her tunica, or slept, since they’d seen her at the Hippodrome.
Babieca started to make his way forward, but Morgan stopped him.
“Wait. What are you going to say to her?”
“Remember us? You gave us a crazy fibula that caught fire when our friend touched it. Care to explain why?”
“We’re in a caupona full of artifices. All she has to do is say the word, and they’ll be shoving our charred bodies into some oily undercroft.”
“You have a wild imagination.”
“This is their territory, Babieca. Furthermore, we have no idea what her place is within the gens. It might not be the best idea to annoy her.”
“We could terrify her instead. You’ve still got your hunting knife. Roldan could threaten to burn the place down—there must be a salamander here.”
“There is,” Roldan confirmed, “but she’s asleep on the grill. I doubt she’ll be much help. Lares hate to be woken up.”
Morgan put a hand on Babieca’s shoulder. “I’ll admit that you did a good job charming Domina Pendelia. Some people actually like you. In this case, however, I don’t think your sparkle is going to have the desired effect. Let me talk to her.”
“Your gens and hers aren’t exactly bosom friends. The sagittarii look down their noses at virtually everyone.”
“Don’t pretend to know anything about us.” Morgan looked at Roldan. “If this doesn’t go well, be prepared to create a diversion.”
“The salamander—”
“It doesn’t have to be a fiery diversion. It just has to be something.”
He wanted to say that it didn’t work like that; lares wouldn’t simply create a spectacle for you at a moment’s notice. They needed to be convinced. Her look told him that he shouldn’t argue further, though, and he simply nodded.At least she wasn’t asking him to light something up again. He hated feeling like a lamp.
Morgan approached the corner table. Babieca and Roldan stood discreetly behind her. Roldan tried to listen for any lares that might be hiding under tables or in shadows. The room was quiet enough to hear a cog drop, but aside from the snoring of the salamander, he couldn’t make out any of the usual murmurings. It was strange. Gnomoi loved metal, and the miniature fountains were creating enough humidity to attract undinae, yet the caupona was almost entirely free of lares. Perhaps the machinae repulsed them on some level.
“Salve,” Morgan said. “Do you remember us?”
The artifex didn’t look up. “You’re standing in my light.”
Morgan shifted to the left. “Could we have a moment of your
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