Polar Opposites

The sibling in question was in a much different part of town than his sister.  Here, the streets dissolved from straight cobblestones to a maze of twisting dirt and the buildings migrated into wood structures that seemed to crowd out over the streets and hug tight to each other in a multi-layered study of chaos.  The slums of the city, where the poor and desperate scratched out a living far below the eyes of the nobility.  This was where the criminals came to hide, for it was also beneath the gaze of imperial power.  Even the Cadre did not venture out here alone and went about in pairs at the least.

But this was also where Sabreur’s favorite store was.  The upper-scale component shops catered to certain clientele – those that frequented regularly and always wanted the same materials.  The ordinary ones.  The stuff everyone used.  Sabreur, however, was in the business of finding interesting purposes for interesting components.  It was what made his inventions so destructive – for all parties involved.

The store was marked by a faded sign outside declaring “Components and Pawn Shop.”  It resided on the third level of the slums, overshadowed by a bridge connecting the fourth level across the street below.  The widows were dirty with grime and gave only faded impressions of the people passing by on the walkway outside.  In a corner sat a wrinkled old man, perched on a stool and watching the young man browse through the tables of stuff with obvious interest.  He had known Sabreur for many years – almost since the start of his career at the Academy.

“When you’re done looking, I have something special you might be interested in.  Put it aside special.”

Sabreur nodded.  His gaze was vacant, absently taking in the piles of random bits of junk his gloved hands were turning through.  A white lab coat, dotted with oversized pockets, stained in one corner from soot, rested on his bony shoulders and a rapier tip showed from underneath the hem.  A strip of cloth was tied around his right shin, presumably to hold the bottom of his pants together from a rather large tear.  A canvas shoulder bag hung by his right hand, the strap and bag itself dotted with pockets, half full, half empty.  Most noticeable were the metallic spheres, the red strip of indented metal in the center shining ominously when the light hit.  Goggles rested on his head, the leather strap tangled with mouse-brown hair, stringy and falling into his eyes from where it escaped from the ponytail at the nape of his neck.  The scraggly, pointed beard, however, bore traces of gold.  It came from their grandfather – a man who failed to outrun one of the tempests that periodically hit the coast long before the twins were born.

His hand closed around an oyster shell and he lifted it to the light.  No cracks, just pure mother of pearl.  Langley would like that.  He added it to a pile on the counter nearby, where several other odds and ends lay.  

“Did you see the collection of spare parts yet?” the shopkeeper asked.

“I did, and I think I’ll just buy the entire box,” he replied.

“Something in there you fancy?”

“Not particularly, I just like having spare parts around.”

The old man raised a white eyebrow at his customer.

“Just how big is your lab now, anyways?”

“Void class 3.  Langley agreed to an upgrade about a month ago.”

“Must’ve cost a pretty sum.”

Sabreur shrugged.

“Not really.  We just had to purchase the license and hire a voidmancer to supervise.  We provided the support so there was no need to hire yet more ‘mancers.  The voidmancer seemed thrilled to be working with us – kept calling me Langley by mistake and Langley Sabreur.”

He picked up a screwdriver, studied it, flipped it from hand to hand for a moment, and then tossed it back into the pile and moved down at foot on the table.  There was a large assortment of jewelry here and he instantly went for the red-colored stones.

“Mostly garnet, right?”

“Mostly fake.”

“’fraid of that.  Got anything genuine?  Oh, wait, quartz.”

He picked up a pendant, then another.  Examined them both.  One bore a wolf’s fang, the other a plain quartz piece on a leather thong.  

“Langley would like these as well.”

Tossed them into the pile.

“I’ve heard stones are no good for components.”

“Not quite,” Sabreur replied, “They’re the ultimate material for generalizing.  If you don’t have time to fish around in your pocket for a piece of glass, the diamond ring you’re wearing will do in a pinch.  It won’t be very effective for focusing your power, but it’s excellent for emergencies or for when you simply don’t have the most appropriate component.  Langley loves them.”

He shrugged and stepped down another pace.  A collection of pottery faced him and he lingered this only long enough to pick up a fork, flip it once, and then set it back down again with a slight shake of the head.

“But really, neither of us buy into the traditional methods of component use,” he continued, “Langley tries to carry around as many components as she possibly can with her, keeping the general use ones like stones handy for first use.  She actually has a class sub-1 void pouch for the mess.  Most ‘mancers carry a set amount of components that compliment their particular strengths.  I do that as well, but I don’t use the traditional components.”

He flipped a couple things out of his bag and held them up for the man’s inspection.

“Flint and steel.  Twisted rope.  Tame methods of harnessing fire – easily controlled and good for precise manipulation of the element.  The traditional method.”

Sabreur put them away and pulled out a box of matches.

“I, on the other hand, prefer something else.  Raw fire in all its destructive glory with no constraints.”

And he put it back into his pocket.

“They threatened to expel me a couple times if I didn’t stop using those,” he mused, and resumed digging through the piles of junk.

“Ah, yes, speaking of fire…” the man said, standing from the stool and walking towards a locked cabinet in the back of the room.

“Any conversation that involves fire is a worthwhile one,” Sabreur mused.

“I came across this about a week ago and have been holding it for you.”

He tottered over, a small wood box in his hands.  Sabreur turned from his rummaging to watch as the man opened it and presented it for his inspection.  On a velvet cushion lay a ring.  The band was dark with a single red stone.  Sabreur gingerly lifted it between two fingers.

“Hematite band.  Wonderful for manipulating metals.  And… is that a ruby?”

“Yes.  Odd combination of materials, which might be why it wound up here instead of in a jewelers.”

Or it was stolen and someone wanted to get rid of it fast.  Sabreur was too polite to say that though.

“Might have been custom made for a technomancer,” he said, “it’s a useful combination when working with metal-welding and the like, but not as good as a widget, steel wire, and some fire element component.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do.  I’ll take it as well.”

“Excellent!”

The man tottered back to the cabinet to replace the box while Sabreur slipped off his glove and slid the ring onto his finger.  There was the scar from a burn on his wrist, an old mark, and the reason why he always wore thick leather gloves now.

“Langley has a silver band with an opal,” he said absently, “again, general use materials. Not associated with any specific element.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to look at?  I have some nice bolts of fabric in the back corner if your sister would be interested.”

“She hasn’t used up the fabric she already has.  I think she forgot about it.”

He came to the counter and started sorting through the pile he’d accumulated.

“Although, if you do have a nice stiff turkey feather, that’d be good,” he said.

“Like the one in her hat?”

“Yes.”

“No, sorry, I don’t have anything that stiff.  Something happen to her current one?”

“Not yet.  But really, its inevitable that something breaks her feather.  Or catches it on fire.”

The shopkeeper nodded and started tallying up the purchases.  Sabreur busied himself with counting out coins – brassy pieces of metal with the emperor’s emblem stamped on them.

“And the box of scrap?”

“Of course.”

The transaction done, Sabreur swept the pile into his shoulder bag and stopped a second by the door to retrieve the wooden crate of metal pieces.  He put this on one shoulder, waved goodbye to the old man, and stepped out the door into the broken sunlight.

People parted automatically to make room for him as he walked along the platform in the direction of the harbor.  Judging by the sun, he had a couple hours left until sundown.  There wouldn’t be enough time to drop by the Academy before nightfall, and he didn’t particularly want to be abroad in the streets then.  Langley would come looking for him.  He could wait until morning to stop by the school and visit the fencing club.  See if ‘ol Dog was still the instructor.

That wasn’t his real name, of course.  It was a nickname given to him by some students of long ago – something about a class in animal affinity gone wrong.  But it stuck, until even the current students called him by nothing but Dog.  He’d taught Langley and Sabreur much of what they knew with rapier.

Of course, there was always the matter of whether or not the gate guards would let him in.  He had dropped out, after all, and his student ID was no longer valid.  Sabreur flexed his right hand, feeling the cold of the hematite against his skin.  Well, there were always alternate methods to gaining admittance to the school.  He’d have to make sure Langley was elsewhere though.  She wouldn’t approve.

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