Gears of Time

“There used to be magic in this land,” father said. He tucked Dray into bed, giving his shabby blanket a few gentle pats.

“Not that again!” Dray trashed around in his blanket. His bed creaked with every movement. “I’m bored!”

Ignoring him, father dimmed down the oil lamp on the wall. “But the world was turned into chaos when Nin-Aroki The Vicious rebelled against The Immortals.”

“Father…!” Dray protested. His black curly hair shook as the ten year old boy wrestled against father’s tender arms.

Having enough of their noisy antics, I stopped pinning my hair and turned my head towards them. A stubborn auburn lock slipped from a bobby pin that stabbed my scalp, and it dangled in front of my upturned nose, swaying, mocking. Hair should always be neat if you don’t want to get stuck in the machine gears, the foreman said the other day, and I trusted his words wholeheartedly. I had seen a young girl got her face scarred for life in a factory accident and I didn’t want to be next.

“In Dray’s defense, you told him that story every single night, father,” I said, tucking the unruly hair behind my ear and giving my scalp a few more jabs from the pins. “I bet he knows every single word of it by now.”

Dray shot up from the bed, chest puffed, imitating father’s large build. “This is the true story of how a thousand years ago the world became depraved of magic, how Zaim The Great rose to Godhood, and how Nin-Aroki slaughtered every last one of The Immortals—”

“Alright… Alright…” Father slammed Dray to the bed. Lovingly. “I get the point. I’ll go find another bedtime story.”

“Yes, you better be.” I held back my laugh.

Father put his large hand on Dray’s face. “Now sleep.”

“No.”

“Sleep.”

“No!”

“What do you want, then?” he asked, almost desperately.

Dray shut his mouth. After a while, he finally spoke up. His voice was faint, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him. “I want The Last Lullaby.”

Father’s pale complexion went even paler. My stomach felt like somebody had just ran an industrial mixer through it. Dray never mentioned it before, not since the plague took his mother. Memory surged within me. Naniya was a kind and loving person, and she treated me like her own child. Every night, she would sing us that song, The Last Lullaby. I still remember how her sweet buttery voice echoed throughout our ramshackle tenement. Last year felt like yesterday.

I sighed. “Dray…”

“I know, I know,” he muttered. “I’ll sleep now.” Dray rolled himself inside the blanket.

Father and I glanced at each other. We both knew that Dray would cry himself to sleep again after we left, and there was nothing we could do about it.

“Good night, big boy,” father whispered. He patted Dray’s shoulder lightly.

I finished pinning my hair and followed father to the living room. Our steps came to a stop, and once again, our eyes met. Father’s large brown eyes were slightly wetter than mine. His auburn hair was a complete mess.

“So,” father said, “you’re going now?”

I nodded. “I’ll be back at 4 a.m.”

“Rosalie…”

“I’m fine, father. Really. It’s only the night shift. I can sleep in the morning and wake up at 8 to go to Yaelon’s.”

Father took in a deep breath. Somehow, the wrinkles on his face looked more defined than ever. He sighed. “I’m sorry you have to work like this. I should’ve sold my prosthetic leg long ago—”

“Stop it, father,” I hissed. “I can provide for us three. Don’t you dare apologise to me.”

“I lost my job, Rosie.”

“It’s not your fault! There’s no one to blame!” I didn’t realise I raised my voice until it was too late. Now, those two sentences echoed throughout our stuffy tenement. No doubt Dray could hear it from the next room. “This is the cost of progress, they said,” I continued, softly this time. “It’s inevitable.”

Father snorted. “Huh. Progress.”

“Yes. Progress.”

He decided not to debate with me any longer. “Be careful,” he said.

“I will.”

“May Zaim The Great protect you.”

I answered him with a nod. Without saying a word, I straightened my simple gown and headed towards the tenement door. My heart pounded loud inside my chest. A girl, alone in the dark, walking across town—not the safest option of all.

But it was not like I have any other options.

Before I walked out the door, I took one last glance towards the living room. Father was there, leaning on his right leg, his only leg. The living room was not big, but it was cozy, or at least as cozy as I could make it. Clean floor, two old cushioned chairs, Naniya’s cupboard, and a small round table with crocheted tablecloth—

“What’s that?” I pointed at the table.

Father flinched. “What?”

“Under the tablecloth.”

Before father could say another word, I rushed towards the table and yanked the tablecloth with full force. A rain of papers cascaded down our living room.

Not papers. Pamphlets.

“What is the meaning of this?” My voice cracked in disbelief.

Father limped forwards. “I can explain.”

“Explain what? This?” My jaw trembled. I picked up a piece of paper and read it out loud. “Rise up against steams? Revolt against Orizak?!”

“Rosie, listen.”

“You’re one of them, father?” I crunched the pamphlet into a ball.

Them. Ask any person in Vanthien and they would know what this was about. Anti-Steams, AS, a movement against the newly invented steam engines. Anarchists. Organised rallies, sabotaged factories, all of them were their work. The Enforcers even put a handsome bounty on their leaders’ heads, whoever they were.

Orizak was the last company that ‘modernised’ their factories, and with that, it fired nearly half of its labourers, my father included. I knew that most of the unemployed had joined the AS, but I had never thought that father would be one of them.

“What other choice do I have?” Father knocked his prosthetic left leg. It’s crudely made brass cogs clanked with every touch. “I can’t get another job. I can’t even draft myself in the army.”

“You could choose to do nothing,” I snapped.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“You…” I wanted to scream, to trash around the tenement, to beat something up, but I didn’t. I only stood. And I stared at father’s eyes. And I spoke, “Promise me you won’t join any of their rallies. Promise me, father, that you will leave the AS immediately.”

Father opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again. On his face was an expression I couldn’t read.

“Whatever.” I broke the eye contact. “I’m late. We’ll talk about it later.”

I left the tenement and slammed the door shut. No, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t stand having to breathe the same air as father anymore. It was suffocating. My selfish desire was to get away, and I did.

The cold night air slammed my body. Outside our tenement, there was the slums. Houses, buildings, and tenements with iron sheet roofs all piled up on each other. Rows and rows of narrow alleyways formed a seemingly endless labyrinth. In reality, the slums only took up a quarter of the city, but more than half of Vanthien’s residents were crammed in there.

I hugged myself as I navigate my way through the network of alleys. The stench of urine and rat droppings attacked my nose. The chill bit me to the bones. I didn’t have a coat since I sew my old one into a quilt for Dray’s tenth birthday. But, as long as I kept my body moving, the chill wouldn’t do much harm.

I quickened my steps, hopping across the many puddles on the road. The cold wasn’t the only unnerving thing. Curious eyes behind the window blinds feasted upon the few passerbys. Danger could be lurking in the next corner. I came prepared, though. Everyone who lived in the slums always had a small dagger in their pockets. We were born alert. The dim moonlight was our only friend. The faster I left the slums, the better.

With that in mind, I sighed a breath of relief when the yellow glow of the street lights caught my eyes. I was out of the slums, and entering the better part of the city. Middle town, they called it, the industrial district of Vanthien. Factories were everywhere, enormous, dark, lined with pipes and exhausts. Tower-like chimneys rose to the sky, dominating the view. Smoke from the coal burners climbed the air, tainting the starry azure sky with black. Bullet-shaped airships roamed in between, menacing.

My nearly frozen legs brought me across the boulevard, and into the Bahrlein factory compound. I joined dozens of other women as we walked into its main door. The light from the gas lights above blinded my eyes. Sounds of machines, cogs, and steam filled my ears. On the doorway to the packaging room, we formed a line. An old woman handed out white head caps and aprons. I received mine and wore them, then I stepped into the room.

“Rosalie!” a voice shouted.

I recognised the owner of the voice in an instant. “Margritte!”

The plump girl with a sweet rosy face beckoned me towards her. In front of her and the other women, there was a steam-powered conveyor belt, still and empty. She patted the seat next to her, and I flung my body there.

“By Zaim, you look terrible!” Margritte said. “What’s wrong, darling? Another fight with your father?”

I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Something to do with him losing his job?” She rubbed my back, comforting me.

“You wouldn’t believe just what I found under the—”

A bell suddenly rang. Startled, I almost jumped up from my chair.

“First batch, ladies!” yelled the foreman from his supervisory office above us. “Stop chatting now and start working!”

Loud mechanical sounds echoed, and the conveyor belt started to roll. I didn’t have time to finish my sentence when the first batch of goods entered the room. And by goods, I mean bullets. Sharp, small, deadly, encased in brass cartridge, the type used in Bahrlein-17 revolvers, the king of modern firearms, B-17 for short.

We started our work. As the conveyor moved, my quick calloused hands picked up two dozen bullets, packed them in a bundle, and put them in a wooden box for shipping. The characteristic smell of gunpowder tainted my fingers. I worked, and I worked, and the hours went by. Picking bullets and packing them. Picking and packing. Picking and packing.

Sometimes I found one or two defective goods, and I sorted them away. That was the only variety I got in this monotonous work. It was boring, but it wasn’t my place to complain. Twenty chips per shift was a good pay for a sixteen year old girl with three mouths to feed. For a slum resident without any formal education, this was a dream job came true.

The conveyor belt suddenly stopped. Today’s break came too soon. I knew it because my hands hadn’t gone sore and my eyes hadn’t screamed to me in demand for some sleep.

“What happened?” I asked Margritte, gesturing at the conveyor. As if answering my question, several loud clangs and bangs sounded from the other room. Those voices sent chills down my spine. They never sounded like that before. Some girls even let out a muffled scream when they heard it.

“I think something’s broken,” Margritte whispered.

The foreman left his office and ran down the stairs, carrying with him a metal cone. “Ladies, leave this room immediately!” he yelled into his cone. “Don’t panic. It’s just a mechanical failure. Please wait outside until everything gets fixed.”

The women shot him a concerned expression, but there were definite hidden relief in their eyes. We automatically formed a line and rushed to the factory yard. Once again, the cold night air bit into my flesh.

After some time, Margritte realised I was shivering. She took off her cloak and used it to cover both of us like a blanket.

“Thanks,” I murmured, giving her the most sincere smile.

“Don’t mention it, darling.” Margritte inched closer, her body heat permeated through my gown. “By the way, isn’t this mechanical failure a blessing in disguise?” Her lips formed a playful grin.

“What do you mean by that?” My suspicion rose. Everytime Margritte used that tone, I knew something was up.

“You know…”

“Know what?”

“You know who they call when something is broken—”

“Margritte, stop. Don’t you dare say that—”

“Mr. Hunky-Man enters the scene,” she giggled, pointing at somebody in the distance.

My gaze followed her finger. And it stopped there.

My cheeks went hot. My heart thrummed incredibly loud in my ears. Butterflies were having a party in my stomach. I felt like I wanted to dance and throw up at the same time.

Turned out, we weren’t the only ones who noticed Mr. Hunky-Man’s arrival. Other girls my age started murmuring to each other and some of their cheeks went red. Meanwhile, the older women laughed at their behaviour.

But, I was the one that Mr. Hunky-Man noticed.

“Hi, Rosie,” he said, while walking casually towards Margritte and me. “I don’t know you work here. How’s your father, by the way?”

“I… uh… Hi, uh, Asa,” I stammered. “He’s, um… good.”

Asa smiled in return, the kind of smile that made me forget the chill, and instead, it made me feel like I was basking in the summer sun.

“What’s up, Margritte?” he greeted her.

“Good, as always. A bit sleepy. And cold.”

“Haha.”

By Zaim, I still couldn’t believe Asa was here, in front of me, when I was looking like a literal pile of garbage! My frizzy hair stuck out from underneath my unflattering cap, my simple gown was shabby and stained, my tanned skin looked greyish under the gas lights, and I hadn’t had enough time—and money—to put on some powder to cover up my stupid freckles. Oh, and I smelled like gunpowder.

Meanwhile, the word ‘dashing’ wasn’t enough to describe him. Boots, black trousers with suspenders, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscular arms, as if he couldn’t be bothered by the cold; boyish yet modest smile, piercing brown eyes, and slicked back dark hair. Asa Bradden, the one and only, my childhood friend.

Oh, Zaim The Almighty. Why did puberty had to happen?

“What a coincidence to meet you here,” Margritte said.

Asa lifted a toolbox he had in his hand. “Yeah. There’s a mechanical failure here, right?” His eyes then stared into mine. “I’m gonna fix it now, alright? Can’t keep the client waiting. Talk to you later.”

I couldn’t think of anything to respond, so I just stood there. Like an idiot.

Then, under the cloak, Margritte elbowed my ribs.

“Uh… Yes!” I squeaked. “See you later… Asa.”

His smile widened. He turned around and walked towards the factory, and I sighed.

And he turned back.

“You girls have some time to spare tomorrow morning?” he asked, but his gaze was fixed to me. “Wanna come with me to the city walls like the old days? You know, climbing the wall and watching the sun rise?”

Again, I froze.

“Oh, sorry. I promised my mother to help her at the market,” Margritte said. “But our friend Rosie here is free until eight. Right, Rosie?”

I shot her a deadly glare. “Uh… I… yes.”

“Great! See you at the southern wall, then, Rosie. And just… be safe, you two.” With that, Asa left us and entered the factory building.

I stood there like a statue for some time, before my head could work like normal again. At the same time, I also realised the envious stare some other girls threw at me.

“What in the world was that?!” I hissed at Margritte.

“I… set you up on a date with the most eligible mechanic in the city?”

“Margritte!”

“You like him and he likes you. Isn’t that obvious?” she asked.

“He doesn’t like me. He’s just being nice to his former neighbor.”

“Oh, darling, how blind you are.”

“No,” I protested. “You’re the one who sees things that aren’t there.”

“Believe what you want, but I know the truth.”

“Fine.”

Our conversation ended, and none of us even bothered to raise another topic. We waited outside for at least an hour until the grim roars of factory engines finally sounded again.

From the main door of the factory, the foreman and Asa walked out side by side. Their clothes were stained with mechanical oil. Their conversation was too low for me to hear. But, there was something that made me shivered, somehow. Not the cold. It was in their expression. Something felt… off. It was some sort of a knowing look, knowing that something dangerous was lurking ahead. And I guessed it had something to do with the factory steam engines.

The two reached the yard, the foreman handed Asa some money, and they parted ways. The foreman’s face turned morbidly chilling as time went by, while Asa put on a fake happy smile.

And it was horrifying.

Before Asa left the compound, he looked at me and waved. “Don’t forget the sunrise,” he shouted. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were pleading.

I nodded. “I won’t.”

“Alright, Rosalie. Calm down. This is not a date,” I muttered to myself. My walk turned into a jog. The southern city wall loomed a thousand paces away in front of me. The sky above me had turned violet. In half an hour, the sun would rise and I didn’t want to be late.

“Curse that mechanical failure or whatever,” I murmured, now running through the busy marketplace, maneuvering between the crowds. If not because of the broken machinery, I didn’t have to work an extra hour. But, if it didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have met Asa. And this whole ‘date’ thing wouldn’t—

“It’s NOT a date, Rosie!” I slapped my own cheek. My run came to an abrupt stop. “It’s not a date…”

Yes. It wasn’t a date. I couldn’t be more sure of it. The way he looked at me, how Asa pleaded… And his terrifying conversation with the foreman… I knew him. He didn’t want a romantic getaway. There was something dangerous. He wanted to get me somewhere. The city wall was safe.

But, safe from what?

“Have you heard, the AS is going to make another move this morning?”

That question stung my brain. I felt as if a hand just groped into my chest and squeezed my heart out. I quickly spun my body towards the person who said that. He was an old man playing cog-chess alone at a storefront while talking to a neighbouring kiosk woman.

“What do you mean?” I asked, dazed.

“Excuse me, lass?”

“What do you mean by that, sir? The AS movement?” I asked again.

He scratched his bald head and scanned me from head to toe. “A friend of mine is one of them. He drunkenly bragged about sabotaging a factory or something, but it failed. I heard they’ll be doing another rally at sunrise—”

“Where is it?” I cut him. “The rally?”

“In the city square. I suggest you get as far as you can from there, lass.”

At that moment, everything clicked into place.

The mechanical failure in the factory was a failed sabotaging attempt. Asa and the foreman knew that the machines were tampered with. Even before that, Asa knew that there would be an AS rally in the city square. Everyone knew that blood would always be spilled in every rally. He tried to get Margritte and I to a safe place, somewhere far from the square, the southern wall.

“Lass, are you alright?” the old man asked.

“I… I’m fine.”

No, I wasn’t.

Every last piece of my sanity was telling me to go to the south wall, but another piece of me said no. The wall was a safe place, and Asa was there, and he could protect me if something bad happened, but a stubborn part of me said no.

AS. Father. The pamphlets.

I need to stop him.

“Rosalie, you stupid…” I sighed.

I took one last glance at the southern wall, turned around, and dashed to the Vanthien city square.