Many of the rich used expensive contraptions to jolt them out of bed, but Ben was quite content with the gentle cock-a-doing of roosters next door. He was always woken up for work just as the first zealous rays of the sun lanced between his curtains and danced upon his face, a warm and cordial 'good morning'.
Yawning, he rolled out from under his light summer covers and onto the uneven wooden floor of his room. He already had his clothes ready on top of his once-ornate oaken dresser. He leisurely pulled a rough white linen shirt over his head and struggled a little to fit into it, it would have given him plenty of room a year ago, but he had grown more than three inches since then, bringing him to a respectable height of five foot eleven. His brown farmer-esque overalls fit better, having been woven by his sister Sarah as a fifteenth birthday present about a month ago.
He was battling to put his socks on as he hopped out into the kitchen. Like his own room, it was nothing fancy, but it was cozy and comfortable. A wooden table and five chairs crafted by the Ponce family sat in the middle, an old grand-father clock from god knows where stood in the corner by the door, and various tools and equipment lined the walls; saws, rakes, shovels, the widest variety on the street actually. Neighbors were always asking to borrow something in return for a few eggs or a pale of milk.
Garth Roy was at the stove preparing a pan full of such eggs. The burly butcher woke long before sunrise to prepare meats for his customers and he usually left such chores as cooking for Sarah, but when the girl was away with a friend or something, he used the chance to practice his basic cooking skills.
Ben took a seat at the table and eagerly grabbed a set of silverware, "Mornin', Dad."
The old man looked over his shoulder as he juggled a wooden spatula in one hand and the pan in the other. It was always a funny sight, the big man trying to do things meant for people at least a foot shorter than him. Ben hoped he wouldn't drop the eggs this time, his hands were far too big for the panhandle and spatula, in fact, when there weren't guests in the house, the man usually replaced silverware with his own bare hands. "Mornin' son." He said in his deep and slightly raspy voice. Finally he got the eggs onto two plates and brought them over to the table, sitting down opposite from Ben and sliding him his meal. The eggs were a little bit burnt, but certainly edible, appetizing even. Ben took a bite and savored the rich milky taste.
"So, how many orders to do today, Dad?" he asked between bites.
Garth really didn't look much like his son. Where Ben's eyes were dark brown, his father's were light blue. Where Ben's hair was straight and colored like his eyes, his father's was light brown and scraggly. The real mystery however was how Sarah's hair was so richly blonde, that discrepancy had raised a few eyebrows in the past.
"Three, one to the Bradley family, one to the Sinclairs, and one to some guy on the other side of town, haven't sold to him before."
Hmm. It was rare to have a new customer, not many people moved into Brunswick and the vast majority of those already living in the town had bought meat from the Roy family at least several times.
Ben downed a hardened yolk and wiped a dribble from his chin with his shirtsleeve "You don't know who it is?"
"No idea." Garth replied disinterestedly, finishing the eggs on his plate and beginning to lick the leftovers off of his fingers. He pointed up at his son to keep his attention as he gulped down the contents of his mouth, eyes closed. "It's at 18 North Street by the way, so how about you start early so the meat stays fresh. The pigs are for the Bradleys and Sinclairs and the chuck is for the other guy"
Ben rose from his seat and stretched his full stomach, his small shirt pulling up well over his bellybutton, a bit embarrassing really, he'd need to get Sarah to make him a new shirt when she came home later in the day. "All right then, I'll be off." He strode to the back door and pushed it open, wincing as it's hinges screamed in defiance. He spun around before going out, "Oh yeah, and we're going fishing tomorrow, remember?"
Garth laughed gutturally, "Of course, I won't forget, now get moving."
There wasn't a cloud in the sky as the sun bathed the pasture with dim light and flooded it with long shadows. Five cows and two mules roamed about one pen, with eight pigs laying peacefully in the mud in the next. Though doomed from the start, Ben couldn't help but envy their perpetual nonchalance. How bad could it be? Relaxing in the sun without a care in the world until an axe comes and painlessly sends you to never never land. Alas, that was their life to live, and he had his. He opened the gate of the first pen and clicked his tongue to call the mules. Both walked over, hoping for a carrot or a pat on the head, but he only let one out, Barney, the older of the two. It wouldn't be long until he was too infirm to pull the cart. He tried to remember what 18 North Street looked like as he harnessed the mule to the meat wagon. His memory didn't return much though, North Street was a residential road on the far end of town, one of the richer areas, but nothing really remarkable as far as he could remember.
After throwing the meat into the cart, he set off walking next to the mule. He figured he'd deliver to this stranger first to satisfy his own curiosity and get to everyone else on the way back. His father wouldn't approve, but oh well.
Brunswick was like most mid-sized towns on Verne Island, well-kept dirt roads weaved between wooden homes, pastures, and farms. The island wasn't very wealthy in comparison to those closer to Rumyrin in the north, but it's people were self sustaining and generally lived comfortable and healthy lives in their farmhouses. The women weaved, sowed, and cooked while the men farmed, hammered, and built. There were few public buildings; an old town hall reorganized into a sort of community center after the people decided there was no need for legislators, an inn, and that would be about it.
"Ben!" a familiar voice made his head turn as he was walking beside Barney down a wide street about halfway to his destination. Thomas Piper was rising from his seat on a log in front of his house where he was splitting firewood with a long hatchet. "How's it goin'? Haven't seen ya in more'n a week," he shouted, his long powerful legs facilitating his speedy stride towards Ben, axe over shoulder.
"Business doesn't have me coming this way often." Ben said with a broad smile when his friend arrived. Thomas was regarded as the strongest youth in the town, and that distinction had gained him an apprenticeship with the town's blacksmith, which would explain the soot covering the boy's face and the sweat matting his hair, reminding Ben to wipe his own brow. The sun had been climbing higher and higher into the sky and the days were often swelteringly hot this far south even in the closing weeks of summer. "We got an order from a new customer, on uh, 18 North Street."
Thomas's eyes widened noticeably, "Ooo, that's exciting. You'll definitely need to tell me about that on your way back," he forlornly looked over his shoulder at the pile of logs awaiting him, then winked and nudged Ben playfully with his elbow. "I'd go too, but I've gotta get all this wood split soon, I've got a date tonight."
Ben couldn't care less about his date, "You know who lives there or somethin'?"
Thomas looked down at him incredulously and guffawed obnoxiously. "Of course I know who lives there! Where were you yesterday? That was the talk of the whole town."
Ben knew Thomas was just trying to make him feel embarrassed. Like anyone in town, Ben could be too caught up family and personal affairs to socialize. "Come on, who?"
Thomas let the suspension build for several moments. "It's an... enchanter!"
Ben felt a moment of vertigo as those syllables echoed in his mind. "Really?" he asked with some disbelief, eyebrows raised.
"Really. No one even saw him come. They say he came in the middle of the night and was all set up by morning."
"What's he doing in Brunswick do ya think?"
Thomas shrugged empathetically. "Your guess is as good as mine... try to find out, everyone wants to know."
Ben couldn't help but feel some animosity thinking about meeting this man. If and of the legends were true, he'd either be used in some brutal experiment or taken on a grand adventure in an airship. That was really all the information available about the shadowy figures, myths and legends.
"I guess I'll have to." He said sheepishly.
Thomas gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Don't worry, if you get turned into a tree or something I'll get revenge for ya. That's what friends are for, right?"
"You read my mind." Ben joked absentmindedly, thoughts coursing through his head. He took hold of the cart's bar once again. "I'll be in touch."
"Good luck." Thomas started back towards his work.
"18 North Street," Ben whistled, looking up at the foreboding structure. It was shortly past noon by now and the sun glared fiercely from above, reflecting off of many huge golden pipes sprouting from of the otherwise traditional Victorian home, making it impossible to look at without squinting hard. Four silvery pipes extended several yards up from the roof, emitting as much smoke as a chimney, but of misty white composition rather than smokey black. Ben pulled his cart up the short walkway to an imposing circular red door and took a few deep breaths before rapping solidly three times with his fist.
He heard the sound of light footsteps from inside. Moments later the door swung open inwardly, revealing a gaunt man almost a head taller than Ben. He had light brown scraggly hair and wore tiny square glasses far down on his nose, making it easy to see his pale gray irises. He looked like a man who didn't eat nor sleep much. Ben's attention was much more easily caught by the sounds of spinning and mechanical hissing from inside.
"You ordered a 7-bone?" he asked automatically, trying childishly to peek around the man and see inside.
"I did." The man said unemotionally, though smiling modestly. Ben noted his strange gait as he stepped outside, his long legs seeming to put him slightly off balance. As the man approached the cart, Ben got his opportunity to peek inside. It looked mostly like a standard wealthy home, albeit one that hadn't been lived in for a while, but on a dusty table was an odd golden metallic device shaped roughly like a rifle. It had a feathery ball protruding from that top that whirred round and round, sounding like one of those wind-up tops and a pipe connecting it to a large box.
"Excuse me." A shallow voice came from behind Ben. The man stood there patiently, his steak wrapped in white cloth under his arm.
Ben caught his error. He hurriedly bent down to take the meat. "I'll take that in for you!"
The man gave up the meat and led Ben into the house. The boy couldn't help himself. "What's that?" He asked of the noisy gizmo on the table.
The enchanter gave the item a passing glance as he shoved a door open at the end of the living room. He spoke with a mixture of frustration and pride, "A power-duster. Not very efficient at this stage in the game, eats a lot of coal. But I'd still rather use it then dust this place with an old fashioned feather duster. Besides, it gives me a way to test its other aspects."
The next room was obviously a kitchen. Meticulously clean white tiles covered the floor and walls. Unlike the dusty foyer, it looked newly constructed, or at least renovated. In one corner was a golden stove, more round than its traditional counterparts, and with clear tubes leading out the top, turning 180 degrees, and going back in. The scrawny man opened the panel on the front and beckoned for Ben to toss the steak inside, which he did. He then finally mustered the courage to ask, "So, um, why did you come to Brunswick?"
The man laughing hoarsely, a laugh that quickly became a wheeze. "Why don't we go and sit down. I suspected that there'd be some interest in a house being refurbished to run on steam overnight." He extended his hand. "I'm Zachary by the way."
Ben took his hand and shook it heartily, compensating for the complete lack of energy in the man's grip.
"The intrigues of Rumyrin were getting to me," he began as Ben dropped into an overstuffed armchair back in the foyer, conducing a puffy eruption of dust. "I needed some place where I could practice my craft in private. Somewhere without deadlines and," He sighed. "those blasted 'high mages'. A bunch of elitist...gangsters these days."
Ben listened intently as he spoke. Taking it all in. "What do they do? I mean, what do enchanters do? I've heard rumors..."
Zachary shook his head and sighed. "You've never been to a larger city? You'd know then. If you've ever ridden a train, you've literally ridden the back of powerful magic. Enchanting is, quite simply, the manipulation of Steam. Engineers build an elaborate chunk of metal, and enchanters bring it to life with the ability to run on Steam."
"Why can you do that? Where does Steam come from?"
The enchanter leaned back in his chair, thinking hard. "Well, no one quite knows. Some say god but-"
Ben cut him off excitedly. "How do you learn to do all this??"
Zachary scowled at the interruption, stopping Ben's rambling. "Well... to be honest your questions are too complicated for me to answer." He rose from his seat with the speed of Ben's Grandfather and slunk over to a dusty bookshelf, mumbling and running his thin fingers across book after book. "Hmmm, yes, no, maybe." He finally pulled one off. "Ah, this should serve you well." He passed it to Ben. It was a thick, dusty, red book. A History of Magic was inscribed in gold cursive lettering on the front. "Can you read well?"
Ben opened the book, sneezed as a cloud of dust came out, and read a few words out loud, sluggishly, but correctly. "The... tribes of the old world..."
Zachary waved a wrinkly hand to stop him. "Well enough, I suppose. You can keep that if you want, I have another copy around somewhere."
Ben was taken aback by the generous offer. Books were a prized item in the little town, more of a status item than a practical one. "You mean it?"
"Yeah, sure, no how much do I owe you? I need to get some work done tonight."
"Uh." Ben had to completely shift thought mode. "30 pounds."
The enchanter paused with his hand in his pocket. "30 pounds?"
"Prices are going up sir, got to make more to live the same."
He shook his head. "I suppose you're right. They had damned better get this inflation sorted away soon, I won't make any money at all during my stay here. But alas, I'd pay my last shilling for a good cut of meat, and they say your old man has some fine stuff. Some friends of mine came through here a year back and said it beat what the master butchers in Rumyrin put on the King's table." He finally pulled his hand from his pocket with a handful of silver coins and counted them out. "There you go, thirty pounds. Come visit me again sometime."
Ben didn't like the way he was being rushed out, but the gift he'd been given demolished any ill feeling he may have had.
All the way home, even while delivering the other two orders, his head was filled with trains and airships, golden cities and misty steam. The book lying in the cart was at the front of his mind, he'd read it first thing when he got home.
"Ben, hi!" Sarah looked up from her spinning wheel as the door flew open and Ben strode in. She was a lot shorter than him, little more than five feet tall. Her long pale blonde hair mirrored the color of the flax thread she was spinning. She wore a homemade dress, her pride and joy, the best one she'd ever made, and the envy of many girls in town. As if that weren't enough, her constant, perfect smile and smooth face, save for a few small pimples, brought her plenty of attention.
Ben barely looked at her, he slammed the door shut and almost ran to a chair with his book, his words to her were just as hurried. "Glad you're back, how was your stay?"
She stood up from her wheel. "Is that a book?" She asked, striding over.
"Yep." Ben replied, opening it to the first page and beginning to read with Sarah looking over his shoulder.
The tribes of the old world use magic much like we once did on the islands. Theirs is the magic of the ancient sagas, of the kings of yore, fireballs, bewitchment, scrying, elegant arts, yet at the same time, barbaric. Such feral use of raw magic hasn't been used on the islands for hundreds of years, replaced instead with the sophisticated craft of enchantment, using magic to create, rather than accomplish some temporary task. An old magician can cook meat, but the next time he gets food, he must cook it again. An enchanter can imbue a stove with a permanent spell and never need to do it again, benefiting from his power whenever it puts something on the burner. An old magician can give men the ability to fly for hours. An enchanter can create a train that will ferry a thousand people across vast distances for hundreds of years.
Page after page after page he read, long after Sarah had lost interest and gone back to her chores, his interest only growing.