The camp was buzzing like an angry hive. It was a testament to the fortitude of the miners that even those who had barely collapsed into cots from the night shift gathered themselves up and lent their own efforts so willingly to the rescue efforts. Their stalwart nature touched a chord within me, and I was left with regret that I had no skill or strength to contribute to their noble endeavors.
Instead I found myself sitting opposite of Lord Lochlin and his assistant in a nearly-deserted mess tent, prodding what might have been eggs at some time in the ancient past with a bent fork. The cooks that manned the chow line looked anxious, and I couldn't help but feel guilty, as if our presence was keeping them away from the disaster site. From the dirty and bloody men who passed through the tent for a quick bite to eat I was able to glean that the explosion had been quite serious, and that an entire crew was still trapped down in the mines. No one knew if any of the men had survived; all the others could do was pray to Morrow while they bent their backs towards the excavation efforts. Orsch had excused himself after barely touching his own breakfast to lend his strength to their efforts, despite the objections of all present that he was still recovering from the night's dangers. Knowing his propensity for avoiding the sweat and grime of physical labor it surprised me that he would do such a thing but I applauded his effort all the same.
"Don't worry, lad, these men are the salt of the earth," Lord Lochlin assured me. "They won't give up on their friends until either their picks or their backs break."
"I feel a tad bit useless. What fear can these men feel for a phantom that strikes at them singularly when they can lose all of their lives so easily? The threat of the supernatural must pale to them when compared to the dangers of their daily tasks."
"Nonsense!" the senior lord harrumphed. "I've seen the strongest sailors in Five Fingers, men that could best a warjack in an arm wrestling contest and boast all the while, reduced to a bawling child when faced with such things. Never underestimate the terror that the hidden monsters of the world foster in the sturdiest of hearts. These men are used to the rigors of their menial lives; they take the everyday dangers for granted. But the nightmares of the arcane are ethereal, and men accustomed to grappling with their problems in the very real physical sense are often terrified of such intangible threats. Never doubt that you provide these men a service they cannot do without. A single malevolent spirit can do more damage to this camp's morale than a dozen cave-ins."
I gave up trying to separate the eggs from the plate and set my fork aside, carefully weighing what I was about to say. "What if it isn't a supernatural event plaguing this area?"
"There's no chance of that, lad," Lord Lochlin shook his head emphatically. "We detected a spike of incredible proportions in the local phantasmal background emanations as we approached the camp. It literally blew out one of the sensing tubes; such was the power that was exuded! Other than the haunting what else could be the source of such a massive distortion in the Urcaen-Caen boundaries?"
It didn't make any sense. I knew for a fact that there was no specter haunting the mansion on the hill. The curse would have let me know in no uncertain terms that there was the taint of the supernatural in the area, and as yet it had not even stirred. Was it possible that the affliction was changing, evolving somehow? While I would be grateful for the departure of the crippling nausea and cold shakes the prospect held a more permanent dangers. Without the ill effects that accompanied my brushes with the arcane it would make tracking down my cure that much more difficult. In the short term it would mean respite; but for my life it meant a rather nasty end much sooner than I'd prefer.
Mistaking my ruminations for disbelief, Cora hit the table angrily, making the utensils and plates dance. "Fine, then, be that way! Why don't you go check for yourself? I just finished repairing the sensing tubes this morning; come on, put your copper where your mouth is!" The sudden and unprovoked outburst caught me by surprise, and I simply stared at her in response, my mouth sadly agape in wonderment at the flare of her temper.
"Cora, calm down, he was not questioning your competence. There is no need to be rude to young master Worthington." Instead of answering him the Rhulic woman shot me a dark look and stormed out of the mess tent. Lord Lochlin sighed heavily.
"I can't explain her reactions; all I can offer is my sincere apologies for her rudeness. Something about you just seems to rub her the wrong way. I haven't seen her like this since we faced off with a particularly nasty and elusive phenomenon haunting one of the King's summer retreats. Perhaps it is the proximity of the supernatural disturbance; I often wonder if such things irritate her on an unseen level, grit beneath her skin as it were. The closer we get to the arcane the angrier it makes her."
My face went pale as I realized the truth. Of course she was furious at me; if she could sense the supernatural on a primal level, and their machines had detected a surge in this area when I was so sure the mansion was bereft of such things, there could only be one source for it.
Me.
Or more accurately, it was the curse. Orsch was right; I had been a fool to tempt fate and to secretly hope for a meeting with other investigators. The baneful magic that coursed through my blood must be what they were detecting. It would explain the irrational dislike Cora had for me. No, not dislike. Seething hatred. I'd never experienced such an immediate negative reaction from anyone before. It was as if she could see the marks festering within my flesh and knew me for the hidden monster I was. Soon enough the source of her discomfort would be visible to all and she would be vindicated in her instinctual hatred.
"Perhaps we should check your apparatus to quell her temper," I suggested against all common sense.
"Capital idea, lad. Cora is always pleased to demonstrate her technical acumen. She worked hard to craft our unique equipment over the years, and I must say that without her genius we would have never been able to contain so many threats. If I might offer the suggestion, ask her every question you can think of about the mechanika. It might put her back into sorts if she's able to strut around a little."
As we picked our way through the chaos of Outpost Five I ruminated on my foolish suggestion. It was the height of idiocy to tempt fate in such a way, but I had to know for sure. Could their equipment detect the curse lurking within my skin, and possibly track it? If so then there'd be no place in all of Immoren to hide when I was finally discovered. In its own way it was perversely comforting to know that soon the charade would be over.
A wail of sorrow and loss cut across the encampment from our destination and lent speed to our heels. Politely pushing our way through the gruff and tired men we came upon a clearing where two coaches and their respective mounts had been tethered. Given the amount of equipment scattered haphazardly on the ground and its condition Cora's cry of anguish and rage was understandable. There were enough strange devices littering the ground to steal a bodger's fancy for a month, impressive in both their complexity and quantity. Here an intricately wired gauntlet lay disconnected from a smashed mechanikal backpack, the cables between them lying like a nest of waiting metal snakes, there one of the orbs that had blinded me lay on its side next to a strange rectangular slab of corroded metal whose streaks moved lazily under my gaze, dozens of almost recognizable devices lying side by side with the inventions of a madman's fever dream. Individually the mechanika Cora had modified and created for the Strangelight Workshop's work would have been impressive; taken together they were a monument of her dedication to the organization and Lord Lochlin. Despite the array of differing designs the devices now shared a rather unfortunate similarity.
They had all been sabotaged.
Even to my untrained eye it was apparent that the mechanika had been disabled quite effectively. Gears and cabling that should have been properly housed within the dented confines of the devices were strewn upon the ground while broken alchemically-treated glass glittered in the trampled mud of the clearing. An array of shattered tubes appeared to be the origin of the glass, and at the moment Cora was intent on finishing the job. She was screaming in anger, tears running down her face, as she swung a heavy wrench into the remnants of her beloved sensing tubes.
"Cora, what are you doing?" Lord Lochlin asked, alarmed and cautiously advancing on her with his hands outstretched. The only answer Cora gave was a massive sob, before dropping the wrench dejectedly and collapsing to her knees, hands aimlessly wandering over the strewn mechanika guts around her.
"What kind of monster would destroy such beauty?" she managed to heave out between sobs. "Well they can't have it! I won't let them! It's by my hand they be made, and it's by my ... my ..."
A fresh series of sobs burst forth, and Lord Lochlin knelt next to her, paying no heed to the ruination of his expensive trousers as he gently patted Cora's back and murmured wordless comfort to her. In the midst of her despair the Rhulic woman had decided to finish the wanton vandalism begun by the mysterious ruffian; it was the self-destructive tendency common to all geniuses, the cannibalism of the mind that turns in on itself in the artist's darkest hour. Despite her instinctive hatred of me I felt my heart go out to Cora. She sat amongst the ruins of her mechanikal children, wondrous creations that must have taken her years to design and build.
"Pardon me, sir, but is everything all right?" rumbled Orsch's deep bass from behind me. I turned to see my ogrun friend approaching with a pick slung uneasily across his shoulders, an ill fit that was at odds with his stiff-necked stature. He'd taken his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves but the dirt that stained his vest and pants were inconsequential, and a terrible certainty rose up in me that he had not spent the last half hour digging out trapped miners as he had promised. I drew him behind the coaches, leaving a distracted Lord Lochlin to try and console the fiery-haired dwarf woman.
"Did you do this?" I demanded angrily, barely able to keep my voice to a whisper.
Orsch merely stared back at me, nonplussed. "Did I do what, sir? Preserve your secret in the face of staggering incompetence and suicidal tendencies on your part? Assure you the freedom to seek out your cure before the cursed disease claims your life? Refuse to allow you to throw your future away due to a childish inability to walk away from a mystery?"
"Answer the question," I growled through clenched teeth.
"I believe I just did."
Cora's sobs had receded to a soft whimper on the other side of the coaches, but they echoed louder in my ears than ever. Orsch had done what he always did, what he was sworn to do: he had protected me. But this time it had cost someone else a great deal. A cold weight grew in my stomach as I realized something very important about my friend. He didn't care. Not about the people of Outpost Five, not about the ruination he'd brought to an inventor that had seen her precious mechanika destroyed. I had always thought his cold demeanor to be merely an artifact of his duty and determination, a shroud concealing his heart against the world. But I'd been wrong. He truly, utterly, and completely did not give a damn about anyone else other than me. It was both touching and chilling.
I spoke carefully and distinctly, enunciating each word with a force that surprised me. "Never. Again. Do you understand me?"
Emotionless goggles stared back at me. Orsch understood. Whether he would obey or not was the real question.
A querulous voice broke the stalemate and interrupted Cora's sobs.
"Is it here? Did you steal it? Where is it, damn you!" came the drunkenly slurred words.
We emerged from behind the coaches to find the disheveled driver of the Landship transport clutching a bottle of cheap whiskey and gesturing wildly at Cora and Lord Lochlin. He stumbled around the scattered remnants of Cora's inventions, kicking them over and cursing. It was apparent that he'd not slept yet and a night of carousing had taken its toll. He continued to mutter incomprehensible comments as he pawed through the mechanika.
"Pardon me, sir, but that is quite rude of you," I said, approaching him cautiously as Orsch circled around behind. "I can assure you that neither Lord Lochlin nor his assistant are thieves in any way, shape, or form. Perhaps you just misplaced your ... um, what exactly was stolen from you?"
"They took his brain!" the driver howled. "Cut it right out! Clanker never did nothing to nobody!"
Orsch stepped forward and pinned the man's arms easily, lifting the driver's saggy frame up while wrinkling his nose at the alcoholic fumes every word brought. Cora picked her wrench back up, eyes blazing at being accused of thievery, and I could see the situation was going to spiral rapidly out of control.
"Was there a murder? Someone was killed and his brain taken?" Lord Lochlin asked, his investigative instincts piqued by the man's claims.
"Damn right he was kill't! Stole his bloody cortex, you damn junkers, why did you ... he was a good jack, protected me even when I couldn't put him back together right, he didn't deserve ..." The driver's testament to Clanker's worthiness was interrupted by a bout of vomiting. Orsch dropped him with a look of disgust on his face, backing away rapidly.
"Do you know what he's talking about?" Lord Lochlin asked me, ignoring the man who continued to angrily babble.
"He does indeed own such a machine," I confirmed. "His coach uses a decommissioned warjack to pull it. Perhaps we should check on the veracity of his statement. It could be the same vandal that destroyed your equipment." I settled an accusatory glare on Orsch as we followed the swaying driver to the nearby clearing where the Landship coach was berthed.
As soon as we saw the warjack the driver had called Clanker it was obvious he'd been telling the truth. The upper access hatch had been pried open with no thought to subtlety and the housing that normally would protect the cortex of the 'jack was lying nearby. I'd seen Orsch demonstrate the strength of his species on several occasions against possessed armor so it came as somewhat of a surprise to find the housing and the hatch bore multiple tool marks scarring the locks and metal around them. A pry bar and hammer had been used. The slight nod from Orsch confirmed it for me when I looked incredulously from the jack to him. No ogrun would have required tools to force the hatch.
Orsch hadn't stolen the cortex.
"Why, why would anyone in this camp want to steal such a thing?" Cora asked through her dying sniffles, voicing the question that hung over all of us. Although laborjacks were used down in the mines their cortexes would be simple things, sufficient for the job. If any of them needed replacing the camp had more than adequate repair facilities, and a warjack's much more advanced brain would be an ill-fit in such menial servitors. It stood to reason as well that Clanker's cortex was fatally flawed in some way; otherwise he would have been refurbished and sent back to the frontlines in this time of war. What use was such a thing in this environment to anyone when there was no profit to its theft?
"The blighter that did this'll feel my boot up their arse when I catch them!" promised the inebriated driver.
"Is this really any of our concern?" Orsch asked bluntly, folding his arms across his chest.
Before I could take him to task about his indifferent response to the man's plight we were rather rudely interrupted by warning claxons sounding from the direction of the mines. The press of men throughout the camp suddenly shifted direction; where before the general tide of workers had been towards the mine to assist digging their brethren out there was now a ripple of fear that turned the laborers on their heels. Anxiety spread like a virus amongst the miners, and in the confusion I caught the arm of one of the foremen I recognized from the mess tent.
"What's going on? Was there another explosion?"
"I wish it were that simple," he said, mopping his sweaty brow with a dirty work rag. "We knows how to handle them accidents; hell, we understand what we signed up for there. But we done broke through a few minutes ago and what we found wasn't nothing no one expected."
"The trapped men are dead then?"
"Aye, but not like how we thought. A few fellers went in, found trails of blood and followed them down, then came out screaming bout what they saw. None of us ain't going down there no more; it was bad enough when it was just that there mansion, but this is too much."
"There's a ghost in that damn mine and it aims to kill us all."