The last couple of weeks were upon Grant now. Winter is gone and spring is showing its bright face to the world. He needed to make a stop to the rookery to finalize the last logistics of this operation. Grant would also need to stop around his locality and purchase about 12 tons of hay. It would need to be procured from his neighbors and town. He figured it would take time to get it raked into the overhang and properly covered with waterproof canvass. Additionally, he needed to contact the local carpenter and have a commission for a hay baler be made. Finally, he needed to speak with the Alchemist. These last steps Grant figured would take a couple days alone to complete.

  Grant knew the carpenter to be a breeze to talk with, a simple letter in his mailbox would suffice. Some simple directions and a general outline of what would be used enclosed with an upfront payment. If the carpenter needed more, he could speak with Lyn. Grant, foreseeing that this might happen, left additional money with her for that reason. While he wanted to stay and chat, Grant was in a rush to get all the small stuff out of the way before he left for work.

  Next came the procurement of hay from his neighbors. It was an inaccurate process as he spoke with about six of his closest neighbors. While the overwinter fields were meadow-fresh now, dead from winter’s grip. Grant took the time to arrange a purchase agreement and to coordinate with Anthony the stocking of 12 tons of loose hay. If the farmers didn’t have enough spare that year, he was to take the money left by Grant to purchase the remainder hay from the general store in town. Grant wasn’t sure how long a bale compressor was to take and handed written orders to the youth. He was to stack loose hay first, then compress it when he had free time. Then Anthony was to speak to the carpenter about building a raised platform. Grant, the day prior, did some simple layout for the raised platform foundation of a haybale house he was to build for the in-laws. Anthony was to keep the outside of the home raked and clean as often as he could. Any chores or further work assigned to him as needed by Lyn. Be it moving groceries or assisting with heavy labor.

  Thereafter, Grant acquired future varying manures for the garden and other minor supplies often overlooked in the winter seasons. Finally, after all the work of running around and speaking to neighbors, contractors, and laborers. Grant set off to the last place he visited before leaving for work. The Alchemist. Grant rode Finch to the man’s modest town home. There was a low mortar and cobblestone wall that wrapped around the bottom of the simple shop. Its sturdy timber frame and cob packing between the post frame shone brilliantly with its fresh coat of limewash as Grant moored his horse to a pole out in the Alchemist’s courtyard.

  Grant could feel the warmth of the sun radiating off the stones as he came to the door of the building. Knocking on the heavy door, he waited.

  “Hello?” A man said from the other side.

  “Hello, Is the Alchemist in?” Grant asked. His tone was clipped.

  “Yes, one moment please.” The man said. “We’re just getting back from lunch, mind waiting in the courtyard while we get everything in order?” The man asked.

  Grand nodded as if he could be seen. “Okay, how long do you think the wait will be?”

  “About ten minutes.” The door remarked.

  Grant walked over to one of the benches in the courtyard next to Finch and quietly sat down. It was an odd time to have lunch at, Grant thought. He looked at the door carefully as he mulled it over.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’re gonna’ hand it over nice and easy.” Said the man.

  Nesico Ashpenny looked carefully at the three toughs looting his shop. They were tipping over carefully measured samples of fuel onto the floor. Highly refined oils spilled as they dumped out. His eyes then shot up to the man who held him at knifepoint. The smell of kerosene filling his nose as they slowly grew iridescent pools on the floor.

  “Where’s the fefthing strongbox ol’ man?” Angel pressed the tip of the knife into Nesico’s neck, drawing a crimson bead along the tip. “We got fething visitors now, an’ we’re lookin’ tah split.” He said in a dangerous tone, his eyes narrowing on Nesico’s own.

  “I- I- I-“ Nesico stammered, his heart beating out of his chest as he tried to come to terms that his life was measured in moments now. “I-“

  Angel slid the knife back and wrapped both hands around the collar of the man. A violent shake later, and the man was thrown to the floor. Rolling in the goods the hard men were spilling onto the ground. “The. Fefthing. Strongbox.” His patience mimicked his tone, running out. “If you don’t tell us now. We’re gonna’ have tah’ torch you and your nice little shop.” Angel’s eyes narrowed as he spoke. The man behind him looked up at the mention of fire.

  “Mister Yellow?” Sunny asked in a dark tone.

  Angel nodded as he lifted a hand, letting a small yellow flame lick above it. “Might have to…” He said, looking deeply into Nesico’s eyes. “The Strongbox. Last time I’m gonna-“

  The world started to spin for Angel; he wasn’t sure what happened as everything turned upside down. He felt weightless as his body was falling to the ground. Everything became very… painful in that moment. His hearing had mysteriously flickered out, and his joins were jelly. A moment later he registered major pain in the sides of his knees, shoulders, and neck. He was alive still, but his arms weren’t responding to the intense desire to curl up. A heartbeat later, an enormous thunderclap resonated in the room. Angel and his clothes suddenly and violently rippled as the displaced air fell back into place. His breaths came to him in short, ragged gasps. He started to register them then. The tip of the revolver suddenly glinted in his eyes. The rifling of it stood out as he could see the bullet in the chamber. He knew darkly then, the bullet had his name on it. A second, third, and fourth breath croaked out from Angel then.

  Grant looked at the filth through the sight of the hand artillery. His hand steady and controlled as he held the man in sight, a sneer plastered on his face. “Poor service today, isn’t it?” He said angrily at the man on his back.

  Angel registered several senses rushing back to him now. Time was reeling back into seconds and minutes again. Oil, coal, leather, floor… copper… His nose flared as his knees shrieked in pain, his eyes screwing shut as he felt the protests of his body trying to catch up to the dismal state it was in now.

  Grant looked over the thug. “Hmm.” He said in an appraising tone. “You could go for a good coin…” He leered over the man he had just crippled. “A little rough around the edges. The apothecary would want a good sum for two broken knees, and shattered wrists.” He said, his eyes darkening. “Reminds me of a time, long ago…” Grant quietly stood straight. His memories of the press gang violently fought for air in his mind, begging him to be relived. Grant’s eyes slid over the two men he mashed the temples of.

  Grant relived the scene then, his thoughts catching up with him. His finger pushed into the temple of the first man like jelly. The bone pulverizing at his touch, his finger doing the same as it shattered in the action. He stood from the first and lurched to the second, his first breath like cement in his lungs. Grant’s middle finger pulverized as he pushed it into the second man’s temple. His finger nearly detached as he lurched a second time. Using the blunt of his pistol in his still functional hand to lightly tap the side of the third man’s left knee, Grant heard the slurred sound of a hammer blow meeting meat. Followed by an identical crunch with the right knee. The action slid the weapon violently across his hand as he adjusted it to complete the crippling. He lifted the barrel, and barrel thumped the thug’s wrists thereafter.

  Grant’s left hand was pulverized from the sudden movements. His right was bleeding as he held the pistol level at the thug’s head. “Yeah… I think you’re going to make a fine soldier.” He said darkly. Grant could feel the fuel vessel in his pocket heating up as it went through the charge in there. “Hey, Powder-man, I need some more fuel if you don’t want me to collapse onto the floor like these three.” He said, lifting his pulverized hand to limply wave at the Alchemist.

  Blinded by the speed and shockwave of violence in his shop, Nesico Ashpenny quickly stumbled to his feet. “Y-yes!” He said, panic and fear eked into his voice. “R-right away!” He said as he clambered over to get the man premeasured fuel. Two simple brass cylinders flew over the counter with Nesico Ashpenny. He offered them to his savior, but realized he couldn’t handle the brass cylinders. “Ah- Uhh…”

  “Pocket.” Grant said gruffly. He turned, keeping his gun pointed at the man.

  Nesico quietly slid the devices into the man’s pocket and took a few steps back. “There..” He said in an uncertain tone.

  Grant felt the weight of the fuel cylinders in his pocket and sighed. “Go get the sentries. Run.” He narrowed his gaze at the thug on the floor. “For this one’s sake.”

  Nesico nodded and bolted for the door, leaving the two. Heavy breathing perforating the silence between them.

  Grant saw Angel fully now, his ‘Fight Time’ wearing off fully now. He sighed deeply, feeling his original two tubes of fuel exhaust. The third kicking in as the spell he cast was asking for the pain numbing sustenance. Grant saw the desperate look in the man’s eyes as he darkly loomed over the thug. “Got a reason?” He said, making small talk to the wretch.

  Angel looked surprised. The man who just crippled him at the speed of sound just… decided to have small talk. His surprise churned to confusion, not sure what to say then. Angel, deciding then, to just keep his eyes locked onto the man who’d crippled him.

  After a few beats, Grant sighed. “So, you’re just greedy then?” He asked. “Got no reason to fairly earn your keep, so you just take it from good folk?” Grant could feel that same rage boiling in him now. Moments ago, when he was neutralizing the threats here, Grant felt nothing for them. Now, as he looked into the eyes of the two dead and one injured, he could imagine just pulling the trigger. It would cost the state a good mark of fuel to turn these men into something worth keeping. Grant circled like a predator around Angel. “Speak. Or your life will be much, much, worse.” Grant threatened.

  Angel drew in a breath to speak, but his knees spiked in pain as if to hold his silence for him. Redoubling his effort, Angel tried to speak again. “Ne-Needed- Needed food.” He said. The words only came out with a fight.

  Grant sighed. “You’re lying.” Grant retorted bluntly. “Plenty of food to steal from the stores around here. I would have gone for the general store myself. Easy locks, old owner. He’s got food preserved by a Frostwright.” Grant retorted his mind working out the motive of the three here. “No, you’re robbing a Powderman.” He said gruffly. “Could only be after fuel you cant make yourself, or the money he makes. So. Tell me. You trying to steal money, or fuel.” He said, his eyes narrowing carefully on the man.

  Angel could feel the last of his plan unravel, the gig was up now. His two colleagues were dead, crimson lanes trickling from their nostrils. “M-Money. I was- was after the money.” He said.

  Grant shook his head, quietly observed the limp pile of bones on the floor that was Angel. His mind wandered over the mental calculations of what he was about to do to these three. “You might never forgive me for what is about to happen.” He said bluntly, forgetting the moment. “But you three will serve in the Army that shaped me. Congratulations, I will even write a letter of commendation for you.” He said, remembering the pain and suffering he went through before basic training had even begun. “I’m volunteering you lot. If you agree, and if your friends agree, there will be an easier career track for your lot.” He said, shuttering the memories of the beatings and savage treatment he had then.

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  Angel blinked quietly, watching the man above him speak from memory. It was so cold on the floor he realized, letting his head rest where he fell. Angel blinked up at the ceiling, only catching his tormentor in his periphery. Three emotions rattled through him then. He had time to work through the confusion and most of the concussion. Things were still bleary and smeared in his eyes. He couldn’t wipe them and instead blinked to clear the water pooling there. His body didn’t belong to Angel then, the fear he felt weighted down heavily on him. There, the second emotion he was now registering. Fear. He felt… afraid… humiliated…

  “With a letter from me, you’d still go through basic. Train under the best we have to offer. Make something of yourselves than street toughs.” Grant quietly holstered his pistol now. It was clear the three were dead or incapacitated. Angel clearly was still alive and breathing. “Maybe, even if you don’t forgive me, gives you a chance to kill me after your service ended.” He said darkly. His eyes locked with Angel’s now, the two sharing a private moment amongst the dead. “You have until the time the Powderman gets back to make up an answer.” Grant said quietly, trying to ease the bitterness of his own past in those words.

  Angel couldn’t summon the words then but fought to with the remaining might he had. His lungs filled with air, his limbs trembled in pain at the action, and he spoke. “M- Mercy... I ask- for- Mercy.” He said meekly.

  Grant nodded and knelt, laying his limp hand on the thug. “Mercy it is.” He said. The word was very familiar to Grant then. Finally, so long ago the memory came back to him of saying that same word. He could feel the fuel burning hotter in the brass cylinder now. Sharing his mercy with Angel. Grant pushed his numbing gift into the man’s form. It was a heartbeat later he could see the tough visibly relax.

  Angel felt the man’s paw on his chest, it was warm and limp. The meat of his hand was pulverized to jelly he could sense. Then, without warning, he felt all the pain he suffered from moments ago lift like a fog. Angel turned his head and locked eyes again with Grant. “What’s your name…?” He said, the psychological gauntlet of pain leaving its tailing vestiges in Angels voice as he spoke.

  “Grant. What’s yours, Brother?” He asked carefully.

  “Angel.” Angel said.

  Grant nodded and held his smeared blob of a hand on the thug’s chest. Grant quietly resented the fact he left his staff at work after seeing the sad smear his hand had become. He was already reciting what he would say to the sentry who was bound to be here any moment now. Thinking of what he needed to do to transfer the men to the army. Time slurred as he watched the door carefully.

  He saw the Powderman walk in shortly after his fourth fuel rod was close to empty. Burning through twice the fuel to keep the man content. Behind Nesico, Grant saw a familiar face he briefly spoke with. The man was Issac Merryweather, the same who was drenched in the tower the day Grant purchased Finch. Behind him was the miserable Walter Grandjoy. The two were the men on shift this week for disturbance of the peace. Their features softened and turned sour as they saw the three strewn about the room. The fourth and final man, a dour Nathaniel Bright, leered into the shop.

  Nathaniel’s morose eyes languidly slid over the two corpses, and the third breather. “Waste of time, them.” He said in a dark tone. Nathaniel looked up into Grant’s eyes as he spared the limited reserves of fuel on Angel’s mercy.

  “If they are, they’re the Army’s waste of time. They all agreed to service. Help me load them.” Grant said sternly, dipping into his bearing as he spoke. “Nathaniel, I need you to heal them while we march them to the recruiter’s office.”

  The three animated quietly, all of them starting on their grizzly task as set by Grant. The healer first mending Angel’s bones before returning to tend two of the dead.

  Issac shook his head, perturbed by the sight of the massacre. “At least there isn’t much blood.” He remarked, trying to find joy in the action of collecting corpses for the Army.

  Walter grunts as he simply hefts the second thug. Angel turned his head at the sound, tracking the Sentry as he dragged his friend Sunny out. Grant saw that Walter hated this work as they left. When Angel was healed, Grant pulled his paw off him. It was a short carriage ride to the Army depot in town. It is a small flack board building with two decommissioned mortar pieces out front and the flag of The Covenant of States flying proudly overhead.

  Grant, wearing his tightest demeanor, used his best parade ground march to approach the door. He began to relive the same motions his inductee did back then. Grant could even recall the same face plastered on Angel and his revived crew as they walked in wearing Irons. The recruiters perked up as they saw the precession. It was a periodic occurrence that saw them furnished with new recruits like this. Sharply turning, he saluted the three condemned. He raised his voice as he spoke.

  “Three men, able bodied, volunteered for service. Conducted themselves under prompting, displayed courage in the face of consequence. I commend them for induction and recommend they be afforded full measure of training.” Grant’s voice carried through the room. The two recruiters standing as they heard the ensemble.

  The men meet the eyes of their inductors, clapped into irons and now being pressed into service. The recruiters walked forward and stood at attention. The men were handed off quietly, save their chains. The lead recruiter came up to Grant’s collarbone. Grant remained at the door, saluting the condemned as they were ushered inside. His tone was cold and calculated as the lead spoke to Grant’s collar.

  “Three living, fit for muster. The rolls will credit them. You’ll have your due.” The recruiter spoke, but the words meant nothing to Grant. “Leger marks 3 living and payment of sixty Doltair be issued. You’ll have your chit. You can redeem it at the pay desk, or wait on warrant.” He said sharply, then cleanly turning on the three inductees. “March!” He said coldly, the two others already full tilt into a full shouting match to get them into gear for processing. Grant finished his salute and turned to exit.

  Later that afternoon, Grant returned to the Alchemist. Letting himself in, Grant saw the Powderman sweeping his shop. “Good afternoon.” Grant said smoothly.

  Nesico Ashpenny looked up and felt fear creeping into his joints. The feeling hadn’t quite seized his limbs; this was the man who saved him after all. “Uhh- G-Good afternoon.” Nesico croaked.

  Grant, aware the man was a timid build, spoke up as he saw the alchemist. “Powderman, I wouldn’t take much of your time. I just wanted to return the two fuel cylinders you gave me. I also wanted to purchase some fine foundry grade coke. If you don’t have any of that I’ll take breeze grade instead.” Grant softly slipped the expensive brass fuel rods onto the table. They aren’t military grade; however, the measurement and tool are so similar to it might as well be. They were very close to the official measurement.

  Nesico’s eyes flicked down to the vessel and shook his head. “I- I- I think you should keep them. You stopped a robbery…” He said hesitantly, almost terrified of the man before him. “I- I don’t want- I couldn’t take them back-“ He stammered quietly from behind the stall. His eyes flicked to the healed hand, knowing that just a moment ago it was not much better than a coin purse, but for sagging pulped flesh.

  Grant sighed. “I couldn’t take your inventory like that. Let me pay for them at the least.” Grant pulled out 20 Doltairs from his wallet as he spoke to the Powderman. “Please, don’t treat me different than anyone else who’d shop here.” He said, softly sliding the money onto the granite slab that topped the glass front display case.

  Nesico ringed his hands together as he saw the money and nodded carefully. “Okay…” He took the money and tiptoed to his register. The heavy machine clunk of the drawer opening filled the shop. “I- I don’t have any foundry grade since the Black Fuel Restriction… I have Kerosene, Charcoal and a lot less breeze coke…” The Powderman said in a small voice. “What is your budget?” His voice started to pick up confidence as he spoke more in his field of expertise.

  Grant smiled softly, remembering Nesico as the man he was rather than this poor sop. He mulled over the options quietly for a moment. “Could we work something out? I’ve spent a lot of money over the last few days. Maybe I can barter you some goods instead of spending money?”

  Nesico nodded. “Well… If you’re going to offer… I could use a bunch more pine sap, and some cords of firewood…” He said sheepishly, knowing Grant was the hookup and a quiet source of revenue that Nesico could turn a good profit on.

  Grant nodded. “I cant shift more than a cord of free company scrap wood at a time. They don’t necessarily care, it’s just difficult to get my hands on. But I can certainly get you pine sap and resins. Maybe you needed some goods moved up through the delta this year?” Grant asked hopefully.

  Nesico nodded. “I could use some help getting to Port Daleth… I don’t exactly have the money for a fare there.” Nesico said sheepishly.

  A small part of Grant’s mind chuckled at this. He felt like Nesico was going to ask about this too. “I’m sure I can get you there. But don’t be bringing your whole shop with you this time. I almost had to pull chain gang detail this time around because of you.” Grant said with Mirth.

  Nesico smiled and started to relieve an itch on the back of his neck. “Oh… uhm… hah…” He said in a nervous way. “Sorry… Grant.” Nesico’s eyes trailed down to his feet in remembered shame.

  Grant gave a wide smile and chuckled. “No, its fine Nesico. We all abuse transport. They’re empty coming in and full going back. The guys don’t mind either. I’m just teasing you.” Grant leaned on the desk and felt comfortable now that he was able to open Nesico up to a barter. “Now, I don’t think I can really use anything else other than the Coke Breeze. Do you think you can make me some modified charcoal breeze? Maybe sweeten it with sugar like you do?”

  Nesico perked up at the sentiment. “I can. But remember you risk polluting your cast with sugar.” He said more professionally. “Why not just switch to a liquid fuel already?” He said, insisting on his point more firmly than he had in the past. “Grant lets be serious here. Mixed fuels will get the job done. But this is your life here.” He said in a more even tone now, leaning on his professional confidence. “I’m not saying I can’t make you a professionally mixed sweet-coal mix. I totally can. But what I am saying is at any mix you run the risk of a short burn. What do you do then?” The Powderman looked directly into Grant’s eyes, his concern for Grant evident in the strong glare there.

  Grant, not ready for this shift of tone, was on the backfoot. “Well- Wait a minute- “

  Nesico shook his head and perked up. “Grant, I’m dead serious here. I’m not trying to push new fuel on you. I’m trying to impress upon you how important this is. You might be able to use a brass axe, or a flint knife. But do you really want to rely on those kinds of tools for your industry? Your weave alone is just military disciplines. You have no ranged or defensive spells beyond…” His voice tapered out as he actively relived the early morning then, his eyes glazing before he shook his head. “Grant. Please. Just buy some Kerosene for me. For your new son and wife.” Nesico said softly.

  Grant filled his cheeks with air as he was hit with the low-ball attack. ‘Maybe he’s right.’ Grant thought. “Alright Nesico. But I have to say, I am not used to liquid fuel. Think you can cut me a deal here? I would need to know what I need to do to match my current fuel rod use.” Grant said as he produced his two brass fuel cylinders. “If a pound of refinery coke lasts me about five minutes for each of my disciplines, do I need to change the amount of liquid fuel I put into these things?” Grant asked quietly.

  Nesico smiled, finally talking sense into the man. “Yes, I can go over them with you later, or now. It’s your choice.” He smiled and went to retrieve the scale from the shelf behind him.

  “I leave soon, tomorrow or the day after. I’m waiting on a messenger pigeon. So, right now would have to be the time we do this.” Grant admitted.

  Nesico nodded as he took the scale. “The good thing is that you won’t have to carry as much fuel around anymore.” The Powderman took a large beeswax candle and lit it with another he had sitting near the back wall.

  The candle itself was ordinary, but the device it was strapped into was interesting to Grant. It seemed like some sort of arcane abacus with ornate linework in its fine silver body. Small sliding balls formed the basis of which Nesico’s trade was built on. His hands started to move in a timed and orchestrated movement. The candle’s flame flickered, then it went dim as the weave taxed its energy. Grant fell into a quiet state of awe as he saw the Powderman holding a batch of fuel in his other hand. This was unsettling to him because he wasn’t sure where Nesico even got ahold of that. By his own trade, Grant watched men’s hands for a living.

  Nesico nodded and smiled at the small vessel in his hands. “My batch this year is good. Strong, undiluted as usual. We’re looking at a batch about 65% stronger than foundry coke.” He said with confidence. “I can exchange your brass cylinders here for kerosene ones, since this batch of fuel oil is the same purity as last year.” He took off with the vessels and returned with some stamped steel containers with strange lids.

  Grant eyed the new containers he wasn’t used to. “Uhhhhhhhh- “

  “They’re to keep the fuel inside them Grant. I know the army has conditioned you to not use liquid fuel, but it will work. Trust me.” He said firmly. “You’re looking at about a cup and a half liquid fuel to a pound of solid fuel. Just fill to the fill line here. I had these made specifically so you cant overfill them too.” He said cheerfully, setting eight of them onto the surface.

  Grant nodded and lifted them. He felt how rugged they were and handled them. “Okay…” He said carefully. “How much do you charge…?”

  Nesico smiled and set a gallon jug onto the table. “Grant, you saved me a couple hundred Doltair today. Let’s say you’re good for a while, maybe 50 gallons or so?”

  Grant sighed, feeling like he still owes Nesico for the jug. “Nesico I couldn’t- “

  Nesico raised his voice. “No. Grant. You will. That’s the end of the discussion.” Nesico rang Grant up 8 Doltairs for the new liquid fuel vessels he handed off. “Have a safe season, Grant.”

  Grant’s eyes landed on the sloshing kerosene in the gallon jug. The way it shifted in his hands made him uneasy as he felt it. He couldn’t help but watch the fuel slosh as he rode Finch home.