Steamforged Sorcery - Chapter 7 (Patreon)

A trickle of sunshine broke through Angel’s window, alighting on his nose. The Seeker twitched as he was pulled out of his rest. With a sigh, he opened his eyes. As much as he wanted to stay in bed, there was just too much he had to take care of.

He rolled off his mattress and pulled his clothes on while suppressing a yawn. Angel scanned the room, taking several of the artifacts hanging from the wall down and wrapping them in oilcloth. He put them into a small travel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed the pendant and wrapped it as well before putting it into a pocket in his heavy duster.

Angel picked up his board and attached it to his back before stepping out into Fence’s shop. The large man was fast asleep in his chair. Angel rolled his eyes and closed his room’s door behind him, locking it and heading out of the shop.

Bronze City sparkled in the morning sun. The glare from the walls was bad enough to force him to avert his eyes, and the smog cloud above the city did surprisingly little to block out the harsh rays.

The large multicolored tarps hanging over the market did a lot to block out the sun, but it was bright enough to illuminate the ground even through the cloth. Rays of light snuck through the gaps, illuminating some unlucky vendors with their light.

Angel’s nose twitched as the smell of oil and deep fried dough reached his nostrils. His stomach growled and his feet changed his path of their own volition. The marketplace was already crowded, but he’d walked these streets so many times that he knew the side roads like the back of his hand.

Most of the Vendors didn’t even bother calling out to Angel as he slipped by them. They, especially the ones near Fence’s shop, knew who he was. Seekers that lived in the lower districts of Bronze City didn’t often have enough money to bother with.

Angel emerged from a small alley and stepped into a market square with around a dozen wooden carts. All sorts of food sat on display across their carts, ranging from meat pies to fried pastries. The center of the square was full of metal stools. Several people sat on them, eating breakfast and talking amongst themselves.

One cart in particular caught Angel’s eye. Nestled in the corner of the square was a cart laden with meat pastries glistening with grease. Angel licked his lips and walked over, ignoring the vendors that waved their food in his face as he passed.

“Angel!” the thin woman manning the cart exclaimed, glancing up and wiping her flour covered hands off on her apron. Her clothes were stained from grease and oil, but the woman’s eyes twinkled. “That was a fast job. Only two days!”

“It was an older catacomb,” Angel replied, grinning. “The defenses weren’t very good. It wasn’t much trouble at all.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” she replied, grabbing a golden brown pastry stuffed full of a mixture of meat and vegetables. She wrapped the bottom half in a napkin and handed it to Angel, who eagerly took it. “I hope you actually sold something this time. You need to move out of that disgusting shop already.”

Angel reached into his pocket and gave her a single bronze coin. It vanished into her apron and he gave her a sheepish grin.

“One of the monsters had a green core. I sold that,” Angel said.

“But not the artifact?”

Angel shrugged. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a thin metal tube. She started rolling out the ball of dough on the small counter in front of her.

“I don’t know what your obsession is with Old Magic, Angel. It nearly ended the world. Maybe it should be left alone and kept within the artifacts. No good is going to come from trying to learn it.”

“The world already ended. I’m just trying to help rebuild it,” Angel replied. He took a bite out of the pastry. Juice dripped down his chin and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head at the explosion of flavor. The rich, fatty meat paired perfectly with a plethora of spices and vegetables that he couldn’t even begin to think about naming.

“I’m worried about you. Nothing good has ever come from messing with Old Magic. Even the Scholars just try to identify the artifacts. If they can’t figure out how to use it, how can you?”

“They’re greedy,” Angel replied. He took another bite of the pastry and swallowed before speaking again. “Artifacts break if you use them wrong, and they’re too scared to lose the power they’ve gotten from them. Imagine what we could do if the magic weren’t trapped within hunks of metal.”

“Probably blow each other up with it again,” she replied, giving him a small grin.

“Bah, we can already do that. It’s not like New Magic is scarce. Everyone and their mother have a gauntlet now, and the newer models can even recycle the cannisters. It wasn’t the Old Magic that destroyed the world. It was the people that wielded it.”

The merchant rolled her eyes and reached over the cart to flick Angel on the forehead.

“Just don’t blow yourself up. I’d hate to lose my best customer.”

Angel grimaced. His mouth opened. Then he closed it again. If people realized he’d disappeared at the same time as the Magistrate’s daughter, it wouldn’t be hard for them to track down his acquaintances.

“About that,” Angel said, frowning. “I’m going on a mission. A long one. Few weeks, maybe more. I don’t really know.”

“Really? That’s new. You never leave Bronze City for long,” she said, cocking her head. “Where are you going?”

“Red Trellis,” Angel lied, a knot forming in his stomach. The city in question was in the exact opposite direction from where he was heading. “I probably won’t be in the city much though. Mostly just exploring.”