Ashlotte's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Ashlotte followed the map past the ridge. Two horse-sized jackelopes grazed on the far slope, their branching antlers turning as she passed. Beyond them stood a rusted warehouse, its metal walls streaked orange. This was the craftsman's place. She stopped at the door. Her mechanical heart ran slow and rough in her chest. Somewhere inside waited the man who could fix it, or the man who changed everyone who came. She did not know which. She pushed the door open. Inside, the clutter rose in walls. Gears, pipes, half-built machines. A white-haired old man crouched over a broken drill. His leather apron was scarred with burns. He grinned up at her, and she counted only four teeth in his mouth. "You walk heavy," he said. "Good machine. Heavy means well-made." He wiped his hands. "Hamish St Cloud. You came for the heart. They always come for the heart." Ashlotte set her halberd against a bench. "You can build me a new one?" "I can." He circled her, tapping the seam on her chest. "But I don't work for free. Never free." His eyes went flat and hard. "You want my hands, you give me yours. My drill's failed twelve times. Twelve data points. The vein's down there. I need someone who can lift what men can't." Ashlotte understood then. This was the price. This was how he changed people. He kept them. "You want me to dig your claim." "One season," Hamish said. "You haul, you drill, you break rock. Then I open your chest and build you a heart that never winds down." He smiled wider. "Or you leave now, and the old one stops on the road. Your choice. Simple choice." Her heart skipped. She pressed her palm to it. One season. Her heart might not last one season. She looked at the drill, the broken machine, the man who would own her hands. She had been built to stand post. She had stood too long once, and the person she guarded walked away and left her. She would not stand still again. "No," Ashlotte said. "I won't give you a season I may not have." She lifted her halberd. "But I'll give you one day. I'll reach your vein in one day, or you build my heart for nothing." Hamish blinked. Then he laughed, a wet, cracked sound. "One day. One day!" He slapped the bench. "That's a bet, machine. That's a good bet." He spat and held out his hand. "You fail, I keep you all season anyway." Ashlotte took his hand. Her porcelain fingers closed hard. The deal was struck, and it could not be undone. She had bought her heart with a wager against the rock, and the clock in her chest ran on.