The man from the Gear Artisans' Association was searching for tal fittings that were a thousand years old. Ordinarily, such a purchase would be impossible. Not only would tal components corrode severely over a millennium, but given the state of civilization in the Eighteenth Epoch, it was doubtful whether standardized parts even existed back then.
But they were inside a B-class Extraordinary event. What he needed might not exist from a thousand years ago, but components forged from special alloys might well exist from the previous epoch, two thousand years prior. The cultist was hunting for sothing of that nature. Jenkins and Miss Capet had been tailing him for half an hour, but he had yet to find his target.
"Do you think they might be trying to repair the Difference Engine under Nolan?"
Miss Capet whispered her speculation, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jenkins as they feigned interest in an intricately constructed phonograph. By now, nearly every Enchanter in Nolan knew the Gear Artisans' Association had unearthed sothing monuntal underground. Jenkins hoped the Church would take the threat seriously—ideally, discovering a way to counter the ancient Difference Engine before he had to.
"Almost certainly. After being sealed for so long, even if the cultists from the Gear Artisans' Association did manage to dig it up, it couldn't possibly be undamaged."
Jenkins murmured in response, his eyes flicking toward the man they were tracking. Just then, he noticed their target suddenly pick up his pace, heading for one of the rear carriages.
The train of the Antique Market wasn't linear, nor was it a closed loop. To Jenkins, it felt more like a branching tree. Each door they opened was a choice, leading down a different path. The train had multiple tail ends but only one front—Carriage One, where an auction was scheduled for the evening.
The pair hurried after the man, moving swiftly from one carriage to the next. When they pushed open the next door, the bustling antique market vanished. In its place was a clockmaker's shop, its walls covered in tipieces. The whirring of gears and the sway of pendulums crashed against their ears like a tidal wave of sound. Though no single noise was loud, the symphony they created was utterly breathtaking.
The carriage was dominated by brass tones. Clocks of every description hung on the walls, while grandfather clocks stood like solemn headstones in the corners. Inside the display counters lay countless pocket watches, each one a masterpiece of intricate design.
It reminded Jenkins of the clock shop he had destroyed the previous year. He recalled his first visit, on his professor's recomndation, and how he had been struck by the sa awe for the beauty and order of the chanics.
Aside from the cultist, Jenkins, and Miss Capet, there were no other custors in the carriage. Behind the counter, a clerk wearing a monocle was ticulously repairing a pocket watch with a pair of tweezers. He glanced up, taking in the tense standoff between the three newcors, and offered a pointed reminder:
"Fighting isn't prohibited here, but you'll have to pay three tis the price for anything you break!"
The hatted man leaned against the counter, his right hand resting on the polished surface. He regarded the two newcors with a placid expression.
"So, soone was following . What rotten luck, running into enemies in a place like this," he said. "Tell ... are you Believers of Lies, or are you lackeys of the Orthodox Churches?"
"We're with the Believers of Lies."
Jenkins declared without a hint of hesitation. Miss Capet froze for a second before grasping his strategy. If they captured the man, the lie wouldn't matter. If they failed, it might at least sow so confusion.
"That's right. We are Believers of Lies. You should surrender now."
She added with stern conviction, finding a strange novelty in impersonating a group of swindlers.
"And you think I'd co out on a mission unprepared for an encounter like this?"
As he spoke, he removed his hat and casually tossed it aside. He raised his right hand just above his chest, palm down, while his left hand rose just below it, palm up. The sound of turning gears intensified, and a colossal construct of interlocking brass cogs materialized behind him. Jets of steam erupted from an unseen void, causing the phantom gears to gleam with an inner light.
As the massive gears whirred behind him, a rusty, copper-hued dagger slowly materialized between his hands.
It was vaguely reminiscent of the geotric patterns that appeared behind Alexia when she invoked her Mathematical Principles, though the woman's ability was clearly more aesthetically pleasing.
"Do you really think you're a match for us?" Jenkins asked, currently posing as one of his own followers.
"Mortals," the man intoned, "have never understood the aning of awe."
As the man spoke those solemn words, the ancient dagger in his hand finished forming. An archaic aura clung to the short blade, and its coating of patina and fine cracks left Jenkins and Miss Capet with no doubt as to its imnse age.
"I'd be more worried about us catching tetanus from that rusty thing than being stabbed to death."
Jenkins scoffed. He snapped his head to the side just as a whistling sound tore past his ear. Behind him, a tiny gear was embedded deep in the wall.
The phantom gears still spun behind the cultist. He gripped the dagger, his expression grim, as chains poured from the gaps between the cogs, slithering across the floor like a mass of frenzied tentacles.
The aisle between the counters was narrow, leaving no room to maneuver. *Fortune favors the bold*, Jenkins thought. He summoned his cane from thin air with his right hand and lunged forward.
In that instant, the chains sprang to life, striking at Jenkins like a nest of vipers. Behind him, Miss Capet began chanting a litany to her deity. As a believer in the Righteous God known as the Spirit of All Things, she called upon the power of nature, stirring an unseen wind that coiled around the attacking chains.
Jenkins swung his cane with trendous force, shattering the chains in his path. The cultist remained unfazed. He took a deep breath and flicked the dagger in his right hand. The patina flaked off as the blade crumbled into dust. A stream of black energy flowed from the gears behind him, and the dagger's hilt seed to awaken. Its constituent micro-gears began to multiply rapidly, and in the span of a breath, a new sword forged of interlocking cogs "grew" into existence.
"A Cursed Item!"
The black aura of the weapon made Jenkins tense, but he swung his cane toward the man without a flicker of hesitation. The cultist t the attack with his own sword. The instant they clashed, a massive amount of spirit surged between them. A shockwave erupted with a deafening CRACK!, montarily distorting the air with a strange, refractive shimr.
"This strong? What kind of weapon is that?"
Jenkins had gained no advantage in the brief exchange. In fact, it was the opposite. Upon impact, the tiny cogs from the gear-sword had latched onto the surface of his cane and begun to multiply with the speed of a virus.
Jenkins imdiately tapped his cane on the floor. A surge of life energy coursed through the staff—which was infused with a fragnt of the World Tree—and the gears clinging to its wooden surface fell away like raindrops.
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