01 – Signs

Ravenna, 14th December 2449

Dear Helen,

I know you will probably never read this, but I have to write. You know I can never join you or support the Puny cult, but I no longer view your joining them as a personal betrayal. At least, I don’t think I do.

Today father is being tried for treason. Treason!

It all comes back to the paddle-wheel powered ships he developed back when you were still here. (I still remember you called his first attempts “mesmerisingly monstrous”!) He got them working, and for a short time they were incredibly lucrative trade vessels. You might already know that Puny pirates started targeting them, depending on how chummy your little cult is. It hurt, but father managed to keep the business going because the cultists rarely harmed the crew. But now, no paddle wheeler has made it to port in weeks. We’ve heard the same rumour from a dozen cities, and from Pisa we heard one of our ships sank in plain sight of the port with no apparent cause.

Of course a lot of people are angry. Everyone who invested in our ships lost a lot of money. Still, the charge of treason is ridiculous. Father would never deliberately sabotage his own work, nor risk the lives of the crew he hired by sending them out on faulty ships! Of all the families who got hurt by this disaster, we probably lost the most.

And yet we still fear, because the courts are rarely decided by justice alone.

It’s funny, I think your superstition has rubbed off on me. I never would have thought to seek any meaning behind new stars appearing in the sky or meteors falling into the Mediterranean. And yet after the first of these “signs” the Puny cult gained enough influence to take over several cities and found the Punic League on the Mediterranean, and the Huns ravaged the Eastern Roman Empire. And shortly after the second “sign” our ships are lost and (rumour suggests) several coastal cities were destroyed.

And now father is on trial only a week after I (along with my fellow jury-members) convicted a man to slavery over a matter of petty theft. Not because it was a requirement of “justice” (no-one really believed that,) but rather because the city needs blood sacrifices as it prepares for war. It seemed right to sacrifice a few for the sake of the many (though I know you disagree). Yet if this was a sign, I’m stumped at its meaning. If you were here I’m sure you could tell me what it foretells in great detail. I wish I could hear it (even if I probably wouldn’t have believed you).

here’s to wishing I could forget,

Paul

Having finished his letter, Paul dried the ink and filed it with the rest. Then he waited for his father to come home.

Paul’s father, Benjamin, returned late that night. He was tired and angry, but there was hope in him too. At the trial he had been fined 12000 denarii –a good few years worth of income– and Benjamin had been ordered to focus his talents on war-related endeavours, such as golemmaking. It was a heavy blow, but no property or persons would have to be sold off thanks to a generous loan from uncle Alfred.

For a few days afterwards Benjamin gazed longingly at the liquor cabinet, but soon the familiar crazy gleam returned to his eyes as he was absorbed in his work.

Formally father and son were now of the same station, both apprentice golemsmiths under golemmaster Alfred Farfal. At first Alfred asked Paul to show his father the ropes whilst making crude-but-effective war golems; wooden monsters armed with spears, axes, and bows. Eagerly Paul showed his father the basic designs, techniques for carving gems and inlaying silver threads which Helen had taught him, and the places where silver could be replaced with copper, bronze with iron, ruby with amethyst. Paul was particularly proud of that last one, because he had developed it himself. Using his innovations the material cost of a wooden golem could be cut in half. Of course his uncle snorted at this pay-off, since “the cost of a golem primarily lies in blood, sweat and tears.” Uncle could care less about the cost of gems.

Paul also learned a lot from watching his father work. But within weeks Paul’s years of golemsmithing experience were outmatched by Benjamin’s engineering prowess and innate ingenuity, and the father surpassed the son. He was conscripted to work on experimental golem designs with Alfred himself. It was hard not to feel jealous.

And thus life fell into a pattern of the new normal

It was a little while later, about a month after Benjamin’s trial, that Alfred stalked into Paul’s workshop. After scolding him for his sloppy work, he told Paul to make himself presentable whilst slightly under-playing his wealth, and then present himself at Alfred’s residential home at 6pm sharp.

Paul was stunned. Had his family finally decided to follow through on their threat to arrange a marriage for him if he didn’t stop moping about Helen? Not that he’d mind particularly at this point; his moping was pathetic. But any girl would pale in comparison to Helen, and a girl who agreed to let her family arrange her marriage…

After perhaps half a minute of watching his nephew stare and blink at him, Alfred figured out what might be going through his mind and laughed heartily. Deciding to put the boy out of his misery, he explained: “There’s a special council meeting. Very special. I need you to serve food and drink. There will be some rather significant guests. Keep your ears and eyes open.” And then, to Paul’s utter shock, he smiled and winked.