Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels

...An older and wiser Vincent Moryarti stood, frowning with crossed arms and lost in distant memory  on the Gilnean docks as he watched Baron Longshore's Rake, the Heedless, sail away into the hazy horizon. Standing beside him was a disheveled, unshaven man dressed in the ragged wear of an out of work dustman. Three small wooden crates were stacked at his feet.

He, too, watched the ship depart then turned to Vincent.

"Ere you be wantin these sent to, Mr. Moryarti, sir?" the man drawled through tobacco stained teeth. "Same as b'fore, you be thinkin?"

Vincent nodded once but did not turn. He took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. "Please deliver them to the same place as before, Mr. Adcock."

Vincent paused, a small smile creeping across his face. "It is the same place you [i]always[/i] deliver my things, my good man. The same place you have been delivering to for the past three years."

Vincent turned, staring deep into the ragged man's brown, dreary eyes. "Now," he said, "If you would be so kind as to be on your way, Mr. Adcock. My clients are waiting. They, as always, will have your recompense available upon delivery."

Vincent dipped his head in token farewell and walked past the man without looking back.

"I be tankin ya, Mr. Moryarti," the dustman said as he walked past. "Fer all the work ya be given me. Ma family be tankin yer too." Vincent waved a hand in acknowledgement and continued up the ramp and away from the docks.

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Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels was a welcome sight to Vincent's eyes. These days, it was one of the few places he could relax and escape the day to day business of his other life. Business contacts knew not to disturb him while he was in his shop and here, he could enjoy the memories of his youth in whirring and buzzing silence.

He patted the Tiger's head as it growled when he walked through the door and then stopped to rewind a golden dragon that normally whirled around the room on a wire yet had fallen still. "There you go, my little friend," he said as he sent it flying around the room once more. "Good as new."

He flipped the sign on the door to "OPEN" and made his way to the back room to change into his clerk's attire for the rest of his day. Once thing Moryarti had learned was to separate his store persona from his other life's work and to do that meant he must always look different so as to not draw suspicion.

He had once thought of leaving Gilneas, sailing away to distant shores on the Heedless with the gallant Baron Longshore. But that was never meant to be. His dad had been murdered in the streets by a band of local thugs, supposedly working for King Genn himself, and left Vincent in charge of the business.

The King had sent an arrangement of flowers for his dad's funeral, as he had been well considered at court. Yet that had done nothing to dampen Vincent's dislike for the King who had now walled in his citizens like wild animals in a cage. All because he didn't want the outside world to influence his people.

Still, because of Vincent's on-going work with the Baron, he had made himself quite a small fortune delivering goods for the pirate (it had become quite evident within a few trips of the man's true identity) and in the process, developed a name for himself in the black market as being someone who could supply what needed supplying.

By using the Baron's name, he had made a name for himself and along with it a reputation for providing the finest goods. He had also made several contacts of his own overseas in various ports via the ships that called, contacts who he could count on to supply him with things not found in Gilneas. Vincent had a thriving business in the shadows of the kingdom and now felt no need to extend beyond it's borders.

He had Gilneas in his hand and loved every inch of it.

Just as he stepped from the back room, strapping on his leather clockwork apron, the tiger growled, announcing a new visitor to the store. "Be right there!" he called out, walking toward the front through the maze of displays.

He stopped short. A tall, heavily cloaked and hooded figure stood just inside the shop, closing the door gently behind himself. The man then flipped the sign to read "CLOSED" and faced Vincent.

"You Moryarti?" a hoarse voice whispered.

Vincent Moryarti brought his hands before him, finger tip to finger tip - smiling with narrowed eyes.

"I believe," he said quietly, "that you have me at a disadvantage, sir. You are in Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels and since I am the only other person here, you would be correct in your assumption."

Vincent paused, cascading his fingertips together in a ripple. "I am Vincent Moryarti."

The hooded man stood in silence for a moment then slowly drew his hood back.

"In that case, Mr. Moryarti, I would like to discuss doing business with you." The man glanced around as if looking for something. "Is there a more private place we can talk?"

Vincent snorted, continuing to drum his fingertips together. "There is, my good man, but not until I have a name." Vincent opened his arms wide and grinned a not to friendly smile. "I am a simple toy maker, my friend. If you wish to purchase one of my many marvels or even order something special made for you, there is no need for secrecy."

He brought his hands together with a quiet clap. "However," he continued, "if you wish to discuss anything other than toys, I will need a name." He smiled. "Do we understand one another, sir?"

The man crossed his arms, causing his thick, heavy bicep muscles to ripple and flex. "Mr. Moryarti," he began, "I represent a very import..."

"A name, my good man."

The man blinked, sighed and ran a hand through his wavy red hair. "Very well," he huffed. "I am Tobias Mistmantle, but that is all I can tell you."

"Now can we find a more private place? I assure you, Mr. Moryarti, it will be worth your while."

Vincent smiled a winning grin. "Of course, Mr. Mistmantle." He motioned toward the back.

"If you will follow me?"

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Seated at a small, ornate wooden table in a secluded back room with no windows, Tobias waited as Vincent poured tea into a pair of white china cups and placed them on the table. "Milk, Mr Mistmantle?"

"Not for me, thanks. I like mine black." Vincent wrinkled his nose at the comment. "That is rather barbaric, don't you think? Tea without milk? Who ever heard of such a thing." Tobias smiled and sipped in quiet as Vincent seated himself opposite, swirling milk into his own cup.

"Ok, Mr Mistmantle, what do you want from me?"

Tobias nodded, sat his cup down and leaned forward toward Vincent. "Mr. Moryarti, I represent a very..."

"I know who you represent, Mr. Mistmantle. I know all about your little rebellion; your association with Lord Crowley." Tobias sat back, mouth open. "I asked you, my good man, what is it you want from 'me'."

"How did you know?" Tobias stammered, clearly shocked at the news. "That information is tightly guarded. It is treason..." Tobias's face was growing pale. "If word gets out, it is the gallows..."

Vincent took another sip of tea, watching Tobias over the rim of his cup. Delight shone on Moryarit's face.

"Mr. Mistmantle," he said as he placed the cup back on the table. "It is my business to know everything that happens in this country, especially those things that happen in dark corners. Do not worry yourself, your rebellion is quite safe with me."

Vincent frowned and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. "However, he continued as Tobias watched. "I am concerned that you chose to come to my shop. If you know anything about me, and I assume you do since you are here, you know I do 'not' conduct my affairs within these walls."

Vincent held up a hand to stop Tobias's retort. "However, you are here and I do respect Lord Crowley for his efforts in overturning our forced imprisonment." Vincent paused. "I am to assume that Crowley sent you?"

Tobias nodded in silence. "I thought as much. So, I ask you yet again. What do you want from me. To the point. Be quick and concise. I am supposed to be open during these hours and my customers might grow worrisome."

Moryarti sat in silence as he listened to the requests. Most were simple items to gather: weapons, armour, mounts... all things needed to supply a small army of rebels. Numbers were flying through his head and he realized he was about to turn a very healthy profit when Tobias came to his last request.

"We will also need you to smuggle into the city several canon. We would prefer twenty or so, but if you can manage at least six, that would work."

Vincent's eyes opened wide and rested his elbow on the table, holding his chin in the crook of his hand. "You want twenty canon?" Tobias nodded, smiling. "They will be most effective in securing our victory."

Moryarti scratched his face then leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "yes," Vincent muttered, "I imagine they would." He chuckled and shook his head.

"You do understand that what you ask is near impossible do you not? How in Azeroth do you expect me to bring 'one' canon, let alone twenty, into a heavily guarded city? One does not simply walk through the streets towing a canon behind his cart."

Vincent waved his hand, looking away, shaking his head. "Cannot be done. I can get everything else you ask, but this is beyond reason."

Tobias smiled, reached beneath his cloak and placed a thick, leather pouch on the table and slid it to Vincent. It clicked as if filled with stones. "Lord Crowley anticipated your reaction. He also said that if it could be done, you were the man who could do it."

Vincent snatched the bag, opened it and raised his eyebrows at the sparkling gemstones that filled the pouch. "Mr. Mistmantle," Vincent whispered as he looked up at Tobias. "I thank Lord Crowley for his faith, but this request... I will have to think on it."

Tobias nodded. "Lord Crowley will pay you 5000 gold for every canon you bring into the city. Think about that. If you can supply us with what we need, not only will you be a VERY wealthy man, you will also be free to leave Gilneas."

Tobias pointed to the pouch that Vincent was staring at. "There is 10,000 gold worth of gemstones in that bag. Enough to buy an entire estate. Freedom is at your fingertips, Mr. Moryarti. If anyone can get this accomplished, it is you and we need canon if we are to take the city and free our people from the King's clutches."

Vincent nodded and breathed a deep, long sigh. "Very well, Mr. Mistmantle. We have an accord. It will take some time, though, quite possibly a very long time. When does Lord Crowley need delivery?"

"We are patient, Mr. Moryarti, and understand the challenges that you face. The canon are key to our success. Like you said, one cannot simply walk a canon up the street behind a cart, now can one?"

Tobias slid a hand-written note to Moryarti. "Do you know where this place is?," Tobias asked. "Have you been there before?" Moryarti looked at the directions and the small map. "Yes," he said, "I know it well."

"We will meet you there in two weeks," Tobias said, taking the note back and holding it over a candle that was burning nearby. It quickly became ash. "to discuss your preparations." Tobias stood. "Until then, Mr. Moryarti?"


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Vincent walked Tobias out the door, having given the man the mechanical dog Tobias had commented about on the way out. "I do hope your son enjoys the dog, Mr. Black. It is well made and will be a loyal servant for years to come."

As Tobias walked off down the street, Vincent's eyes were drawn to a horse-drawn wagon making it's way up the street. In the back was a large cast iron bell with a gaping crack up it's side. "Where are taking that, my good man?" Vincent called out to the driver.

"Ello, Mr Moryarti, sir," the driver said, tipping his hat, recognizing the toy maker. "I be takin this broken bell to the foundry fer repairs. Fell from the cathedral, it did. Just the other day, bout kilt the priest, Light bless his soul."

Vincent nodded and smiled, tipping his hat in return. "Do you mean the smithy near the docks? Does he work with items such as this?"

"Oh, indeed he do, Mr. Moryarti. Aldough, since the King built that wall o' his, ole Jamison's been gone hungry fer work, so to speak." The drover spat on the ground. "Bad fer bidness all round, Mr. Moryarti."

"Yes, indeed it has been. Thank you, Mr. Ashwood. The Light be with you, my good man." The driver snapped the reigns and continued down the road, calling out, "And wit you, Mr. Moryarti sir! And wit you!"

Vincent Moryartis began laughing, turned and walked into his shop, flipping the sign to read, "OPEN" and patting the growling tiger on it's head. "Just pull it up the street," he mumbled between giggles. "As easy as that."

Vincent Moryarti watched the small gathering of dark-cloaked men who were sitting around a stack of crates within the dusty warehouse near the docks. Vincent always watched before entering, careful to note anything that might be unusual or out of place.

All seemed in order.

"Gentlemen," Vincent said as he stepped through the door and removed his hood, striding tall toward the group. The men looked to the doorway; none jumped.

"Have you gathered the information I needed?"

The men stood and dipped their heads in bows, not elegant like royalty, but those typical of their station: common workers, teamsters and dustmen; all men who wished to better their stations in life without begging at the boots of a lord. The looks they gave Vincent bespoke respect and pride.

One of the smaller men reached into a cracked leather bag set beside the crate where he had been seated. "I have it right here, Mr. Moryarti, sir," the man said, handing a sheaf of paper to Vincent when he walked up. The man knuckled his forehead. "It twer'nt easy ta git that, Mr. Moryarti sir. Not easy at-tal."

Vincent poured over the papers in quick silence, then looked up when finished, a smile shining upon his face.

"This is exactly what I needed, Mr. Clarby," Vincent said, sending a radiant smile across the rogue's face. "You have done well, my good man. Well indeed!" Vincent turned to another man, a dustman.

"Mr. Adcock?" He said as Clarby backed away and the dustman apporached, eyes down, as he too, knuckled his forehead. "Were you able to contact the Heedless?"

"I was, Mr. Moryarti, sir." the man said, eyes still down cast. "I just be get'in word from em today, Mr. Moryarti. Would you be wantin to hear it?"

Vincent sighed, smiling and nodding patiently, "I would indeed, Mr. Adcock."

"Oh, that be good, Mr. Moryatri," the man said, holding his hat in his hands. "The Baron be wantin to tell ya that he can only be gettin ya tehn of the wee canon." Adcock paused to shuffle his feet and inspect the floor.

"Is there more, Mr. Adcock?" Vincent said in a monotone. "I am sure the Baron named a price for these canon?"

"Aye, that there be." Adcock looked up, fear snaking across his face. "I be tellin him that you said no more than one fifty, I did but he no be likin whachoo be wantin." The nervous man wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "He be sayin two fifty a piece or no a thing."

"They be his words, no mine, Mr. Moryarti! I be telling him word fer word whatcha be saying. He no be listnin."

Vincent nodded and rubbed his chin, looking away in thought. "Two fifty, is it? Two fifty..." Vincent looked at Mr. Adcock with a sly grin. "The Baron makes a hard bargain, Mr. Adcock, but he 'does' have what we need and therefore, has us over a barrel."

"Very well." Vincent took one of the pieces of paper and scrawled a message on it, folded it and handed it to Mr. Adcock. "Please tell our dear Baron we have an accord and he is to deliver our lovely canon to this dock, on this date."

The meeting continued as Vincent heard reports from his contacts, gathered the papers they produced, asked questions of his men and when finished, sent them out the door - each with a small pouch of gemstones for their efforts. They all left with smiles.

All accept one. A dark cloaked and hooded figure remained seated on a barrel of nails in the corner, smoking a pipe; quiet throughout the entire affair. Now that the men had left, he stood, lifted his hood and walked toward Vincent.

"Impressive work, Vincent,' the man said as he fiddled with his eye patch. "Your men are quite loyal to you and seem to have their fingers nestled into every operation around this city."

Vincent turned to face him and nodded. "Many thanks, Lord Crowley," he said and motioned toward a table in a corner opposite where the meeting had occurred. "They are indeed loyal. I pay them well for their services and in return, I get the best information, the best goods."

"Please, Lord Crowley," Vincent said has he pulled chairs from under the small wrought iron table. "Have a seat. Tea, perhaps? I have a pot brewed and ready in the office." Lord Crowley nodded, "That would be terrific, Vincent. A spot of milk as well, if you please."

"Of course. Sugar?" Vincent asked from within the office.

"Not for me, thank you."

Vincent emerged from the office carrying a silver salver holding a large silver tea pot, two china cups, a silver bowl with sugar and a silver creamer. Placing it in the center of the table, Vincent proceeded to pour the tea and handed Lord Crowley his cup.

Lord Crowley watched with amusement, sipping quietly until Vincent was seated. "You surprise me, Mr. Moryarti," the Lord said after Vincent had sat and was sipping his own tea. "I did not expect such civility, even after Tobias's report. That is why I decided to see for myself."

Vincent smiled, "And now that you have seen 'for yourself', what have you learned, my dear Lord Crowley?"

"Well," Lord Crowley replied, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms, a sly smile creeping across his face. "You are much more than a toy maker, that is for sure. You have knowledge about the goings on in this land that none should have and you make a smashingly good cup of tea."

Vincent laughed and matched Lord Crowley's actions, "It is all in the pouring, Lord Crowley and how you handle the ingredients."

"You see," he continued, "if you treat them with arrogance or impunity, then you get a very bad flavour. Yet, handle each item as if it were gold, then you get a beautiful bouquet and delightful enjoyment." Vincent's eyes narrowed, "Do you gather my meaning, my good Lord?"

Lord Crowley nodded, smiling, "I do indeed, Mr. Moryarti. I can see why you are considered the best at what you do. Attention to detail."

"Exactly. Light is in the details, or so my father used to say. It is the essence of my craft."

Lord Crowley and Vincent Moryarti finished their tea in silence, each staring at one another without speaking. Finally, Crowley sat his cup on the salver. "That was delightful, Mr. Moryarti." Vincent nodded with a smile.

"Now," the Lord continued, "I believe you have some reports for me?" Vincent was prepared and had already been reaching under the table and into his bag for several pieces of parchment.

"I do indeed, Lord Crowley." He took the top page and slid it across to Crowley. "The first is an outline of the basic armaments you requested. They include your cost, the delivery requirements and shipping times. As you know, moving supplies for an army is not easy and will take a delicate hand."

Crowley was nodding as he read the report and Vincent continued with the explanation. "I will be delivering these to you, one crate at a time and packed in various methods so as not to arouse suspicion. One week, you may receive a shipment of armour packed in meat, the next week will be a shipment of swords within bolts of cloth."

Crowley looked up, "Meat, did you say?" Vincent nodded. "Yes, and they will be shipped to various warehouses run by my operatives and then slowly dispersed to your organization through legitimate vendors."

Vincent slid another page across the table. "This page notes the different outlets where your men will be able to obtain the shipments." It was a small map showing different warehouses and streets. On each warehouse there was one name. Vincent touched a finger to one of the names so Crowley could see.

"Here, for instance, you will ask for this person, give the pass phrase and you will receive your delivery. Each delivery will be associated with a different pass phrase which I will create." Crowley frowned, "What do you mean?" he said, a hint of confusion in his voice. "We can't just ask for this person and get our delivery?"

Vincent grinned, tilted his head to one side and raised a suggestive eyebrow. "And what is to stop anyone for asking for this person? Some farmer could walk in, ask for the person and receive your swords." Vincent chuckled, "Where would you be then, my dear Crowley?"

Vincent shook his head, "No, this is the best way to accomplish what you need. Every week, you will receive a pass phrase to the warehouse that will hold your shipment. Each week, the person who's name you will be asking for will receive the pass phrase. This way, only your organization will receive the shipment." Vincent opened his arms wide, palms up.

"Understand?"

Lord Crowley nodded, "Yes!," he said, "I see what you mean, now. It is quite brilliant." He quirked his head, "You have someone in every warehouse in the city?" Vincent's eyes narrowed and a sly smile slipped across his face. "I have people where they need to be. You fulfill your end, I fulfill mine."

Vincent slid a third page across the table. "Here is the time-line for total delivery of supplies as well as the total cost. I have already secured the source for these items and simply await the word to begin shipping." Vincent chuckled, "And payment, of course. I require one third up front, one third at half delivery and the final third after you have received everything you ordered and are satisfied."

Crowley leaned back in his chair. "After I am satisfied? I am impressed, Mr. Moryarti at your trust. What if I failed to pay you the last third or said I wasn't satisfied and refused to pay?" Vincent placed his chin in his hand as he rested his elbow on the table, a twinkling dangerous look flashing in his eyes.

"Now, Lord Crowley, why would you want to do that? You will be satisfied, I can assure you. My reputation is on the line with this. I would so hate that word of your organization got out to the wrong people. You might end up in the stockade or..." He paused for effect. "or even worse."

"The fact is," Vincent continued, waving off the comment. "You will be satisfied, your goods will be first rate and you can go about your business of freeing us of our prison."

"And once I am king and have control of Gilneas," Lord Crowley said, not smiling at all. "You will leave these shores and take your business elsewhere. As agreed."

Vincent nodded, "As agreed. I want out of this country as much as you want that wall down, my dear Lord. This way, we 'both' get what we want. Do we have an accord?"

Crowley reached into a bag beside him and slid a heavy coin purse across the table to Vincent. "We have an accord. You may begin your shipments."

"Most excellent, my Lord. Excellent indeed."

Lord Crowley let out a deep, drawn-out sigh. "Now," he said, "What about my canon?"

Moryarti had been waiting for this question and knew it was the most important of all. He had spent weeks puzzling over ways to move canon into the heavily guarded city - how to get them off the ships, how to transport them to locations, how to deliver them to Lord Crowley.

He had come up empty. No answers until five days before this meeting. Now, he knew.

Moryarti reached for the teapot. "Care for another spot of tea, Lord Crowley?" he asked, waiting to pour until the Lord had decided. "No thank you," Lord Crowley huffed. "I would, however, care for information on my bloody canon!"

Smiling, Moryarti poured tea into his own cup, swirled in a small amount of milk, just enough to make it dark tan and leaned back in his chair, sipping from his refilled cup. "Well?!" Lord Crowley barked after waiting politely for Moryarti to pour his tea. "my canon?"

"All in good time, my dear Lord. All in good time." Moryarti took another sip, nodding with pleasure at the taste and just as Lord Crowley's patience came to an abrupt end, Moryarti reached into a pouch, produced a document and slid it across to the red-faced Lord.

"is that what you were looking for, Lord Crowley?" Moryarti said, chuckling and setting his cup on the salver. "Nothing beats a quality cup of tea in moments like this, wouldn't you agree, my Lord?" Crowley snorted a response as he read over the document. After several minutes, he sat the paper down and looked straight into Moryarti's eyes.

"You cannot be serious!" Crowley growled. "This will never work."

Vincent crossed his arms and shook his head. "My dear, Lord, Crowley," he said in a patronizing manner. "It most assuredly will work. In fact, there is already one of your ten canon in place as we speak." Crowley tilted his head to the side in stunned silence.

"Oh yes, my Lord," Vincent said. "I brought one in two days ago, right up the royal road to my warehouse, full view of the city - right under the King's nose!"

"Please tell your wife that her apple tarts were the best I have ever eaten, Mr. Ashwood," Vincent said, leading the driver from the toy shop and handing him a wrapped parcel. "They were better than Jarington's Bakery, in fact."

"Well, now, Mr. Moryarti, sir," Ashwood said, taking the parcel from Vincent and smiling. "Flattery like that will be gettin ya everywhere. The missus will be honoured, Mr. Moryarti, sir. Honoured I tell ya."

"And make sure you inform your son to be cautious when winding the bear. It is very delicate and only needs two turns of the crank to make it dance."

Ashwood bobbed his head, bowing and thank Vincent for the gifts and compliments,saying how they were not necessary but very much appreciated. "You are too kind, Ashwood," Vincent replied then handed the drover a small, leather pouch.

"For your services and tomorrow's delivery. I assume it will be on time, as usual? This will be the last column I need for the new shop." The drover took the pouch, bounced it in his hand, listening to the clink of coins then pocketed it in a flash.

"On time, as always, Mr. Moryarti, sir. No be lettin ya down, yet, ave I now?" The man's brow furrowed. "Do you mind if I be askin yer a question about the iron columns I be deliverin?"

Vincent Moryarti brought his hands before him, finger tip to finger tip and smiled with narrowed eyes. "Please do, Mr. Ashwood," Vincent whispered, cascading his fingertips together in a ripple. "By all means."

Ashwood looked down, kicked the dust. "Well, I no be one ta be questionin' an employer, but just tha other day, a King's Man stopped me and asked what I do be deliverin." He looked into Moryarti's eyes, a frightened look on his face.

"And...?" Moryarti whispered, unchanged in his appearance.

"I be tellin em what you be sayin they were: an iron column fer yer new store."

"Did you now?" Vincent whispered. "And what did the 'King's Man' say to that, Mr. Ashwood?"

"He let me pass, he did. Simple as that with only a wee peek under the tarp. Still, it got me ta thinkin..."

"You are not paid to think, Mr. Ashwood. I pay you to deliver goods I purchase. You are to drive them from the dock to the warehouse and that is all." Moryarti's eyes flashed. "Do you understand, sir?"

"Aye, that I do, Mr. Moryarti, sir, that I do." The man was fumbling, pale from near panic. "Still, I only be wonderin what sort of store be needin iron columns? Ain't n'er 'eard of so a place made o' iron."

"That's all, Mr. Moryarti, sir, Just be wonderin!"

Vincent chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back. "Very well, Mr. Ashwood. I will answer your question. They will be used to support a machine that captures lightening and converts it into energy. By filling the columns with water, I can draw the lightening from the sky on stormy nights and capture it in a machine I am building."

Ashwood's eyes widened, mouth open and speechless. Vincent smiled.

"Ca..capture lightening?' The man stammered. "Why would ya be wantin to do that, Mr. Moryarti?"

"Because, my good man, by doing so I can use pieces of the lightening to replace oil lamps and torches. I will be able to illuminate all of Gilneas with lightening." Moryarti gave Ashwood a hard, cold look straight into the eye.

"What do you think about that, Mr. Ashwood?"

"Ah, a..a, I be thinkin that be a grand idea, Mr. Moryarti, sir. Grand indeed." The man backed away, bobbing his head in bows. "I... I should be gettin back to that missus, Mr. Moryarti. I'll get yer column ta ya straight away, sir. On the morrow, sir. On the morrow."

"And maybe a few more of those apple tarts as well, Mr. Ashwood?' Moryarti called out as the man hurried off. "They are so delightful."

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Vincent was behind the counter pouring over his store's books when a tiger's roar announced the arrival of a customer.

"Good morning!" Vincent called out, not bothering to look up. "Please make yourself at home. I will be with you in a matter of moments." The lack of response lifted Vincent's eyes toward the door.

"Mr. Clarby, what brings you in this fine day?"

"Top o the mornin to ya, Mr. Moryarti," Clarby replied. "I be lookin for a loyal, wee dog fer me wee little girl, don't ya know."

"Aye," Vincent replied, moving from behind the counter and to the door. "I've got just the thing. If' you will follow me, Mr. Clarby? I think I have one in the back that will be perfect for your daughter."

Vincent flipped the sign to closed.

"What is the problem, Mr. Clarby?" Vincent said once they made their way into the back office.

"Well, Mr. Moryarti sir. It's that lad Jarington, don't ya know. He be out makin a mockery o tha Nobles he be. An now, last night? He be talkin bout who he be knowin and what they be doin."

Moryarti frowned and poured himself a cup of tea. "Tea, Mr. Clarby?" He asked, sitting down at the table.

"No fer me, Mr. Moryarti."

"So, what have you heard from the Nobles in regard to young Mr. Jarington?" Vincent said, sipping and watching Clarby.

"They be wantin him dead, they do. But if they get their hands on him, he'll go ta talkin he will and then tha troubles will start."

Vincent nodded. "Agreed. I should have never taken the lad on. His father asked if I had work for him, seeing the lad did not take to baking. The man said he wanted the young lad to lear some responsibility and thought one such as myself could teach him a trade, toy making in fact"

Vincent looked up at Clarby. "Have you ever tasted Jarington's wheaten loaf?"

Clarby nodded, eyes twinkling. "Aye. Best in Gilneas, it is. Tha missus has me pick up a loaf every morn, she does." Moryarti nodded in return. "Indeed it is. All of the land, I would think."

Vincent took another sip, staring into space while Clarby stood quietly to the side.

"Is the Heedless still in port, Mr. Clarby?" Vincent finally said, placing the empty cup on the silver salver. "The Baron has not sailed?"

"Aye, the Heedless is still tied dockside." Clarby cocked his head. "Why ya be askin, Mr. Moryarti?"

Vincent smiled. "I think it is time young Mr. Jarington took a little trip, Mr. Clarby." Clarby grinned, stained teeth shining on his face. "Aye. That be soundin good, Mr. Moryarti. WHen do he be leavin, do ya be thinkin?"

"No time like the present, Mr. Clarby. Would you be so kind as to fetch the lad for me? I have just the job for him."

Clarby's grin widened.

"Ah, so good to see you again, Thomas," Moryarti said as Mr. Clarby brought the teenager to the back of Vincent's store. "How is your mother, these days? I have not seen her around the bakery."

Thomas Jarington grinned, running a hand through his stringy, reddish-blonde hair. "Good to see you, too, Mr. Moryarti. And mom's doing well. Spends most of her day delivering goods to the Nobility." Thom spat the word nobility as if it were a piece of rotten fruit in his mouth, frowning as he said it.

"So good to hear, Thomas," Vincent said with a quick look at Mr. Clarby, who'd taken up position behind the youth and at the office door. "Please, lad, have a seat." Thom blinked, his smile fading for a brief moment before returning as he sat.

"Would you care for some tea, Thomas? I made it myself. Perhaps you could tell me what is wrong with it. Seems a bit... off, I might say."

"Of course, Mr. Moryarti. I would be delighted." The gangly youth grasped the teacup, sniffed it then tasted. "Tastes fine to me, Mr. Moryarti. As good as any, I suppose."

Moryarti nodded, watching the youth over the rim. "You do not care for the Nobility, Thomas?"

"Not one bit, sir. If I had my way, I'd see they hung from the gibbet for the crows to eat. They treat my mom as if she were a common..." Thom paused, realizing he was talking freely. "Pardon me, Mr. Moryarti. I forget myself."

"Quite alright, Thomas," Vincent replied, placing his teacup on the salver then resting an elbow on the table, supporting his chin. "Do you like working for me, Thomas?"

"Indeed I do, Mr. Moryarti. I find it exciting, thrilling - like living an adventure! Sure as fel beats delivering bread."

Vincent grinned as he listened then narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I think you're ready."

Thomas blinked, mouth opening as his eyes widened. "Ready? For what, Mr. Moryarti?"

Nodding, Vincent leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and smiling. "Yes, I do think you are. WHat do you think, Mr. Clarby? Is young Thom here, ready?"

"Aye. He do be ready, don't ya know." Mr. Clarby said with a grin.

Vincent brought his hands together in a clap. "Very well then, Thomas. Or should I say, Mr. Jarington. It is time for you to work full time for my Company. What do you say to that?"

Thomas burst from his chair, leaping to his feet. "Yes!' He exclaimed. "I mean, er, I am honoured, Mr. Moryarti. I will not let you down, sir. Not at all." Vincent smiled, nodding, glancing at Clarby once more.

"Aye, I am sure you will not. Now, Mr Jarington. I have an assignment for you. A true test, if you will, of your ability to follow orders and do as required, without question." Vincent motioned for the youth to sit. "Please, Mr. Jarington. Have a seat if you will."

"Have you heard of the Cat's Eye Emerald, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent whispered, leaning forward and closer to Thom. "A fabled gemstone from the Barrens in Kalimdor?" Thomas shook his head.

"I doubt you would. Few have, in fact." Vincent grinned. "I, on the other hand, have not only heard of it but have found it. One of my men in Ratchet has it in his possession and is waiting  for YOU," Vincent pointed at the youth. "To meet him and make the exchange. Are you up for it, Mr. Jarington?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Moryarti!" Thom said, standing once more, his face beaming. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, at first light. Mr. Clarby will help you make preparations and escort you to the docks. You will sail with Baron Longshore aboard the Heedless. Once in Ratchet, you will meet with a Goblin by the name of Dizzywig, he's the wharfmaster and has the emerald."

Vincent reached under his desk, producing a leather pouch, buckled across the front. "Inside you will find a letter from me, sealed with stamp, as well as a key to the chest containing payment for the emerald. The chest is on board the Heedless. Give the letter to the quartermaster when you dock in Ratchet and he will have the chest brought dockside for the exchange."

"How much is in the chest, Mr. Moryarti?" Thom asked, taking the pouch with wonder.

"Five thousand gold coins, Mr. Jarington," Vincent said, smiling as Thom's mouth dropped open, mouthing the amount.

Vincent slid a coin pouch across the table to the youth. "That, Mr. Jarington, is payment for the delivery. One half now and the rest when you deliver the emerald safely into my hands."

"Payment?" Thom asked, frowning. "I have not made the delivery yet, Mr. Moryart."

"Very good, Mr. Jarington. You passed the first test. You are willing to do the work before payment. I like that. However, I do business slightly different. I pay before I receive. It instills..." Vincent paused, ,looking up at the ceiling. "What is that word, Mr Clarby?"

"Loyalty, sir."

Vincent nodded. "Yes, loyalty. Thank you Mr. Clarby."

"Are you loyal, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent said, lowering his voice.

"Can I trust you to bring me the emerald?"
"Can I depend upon you to maintain my confidence and the confidence of the Company you now work for?"

Vincent leaned close, eyes narrowed - staring deep into Thom's. "Well, Mr. Jarington?" Vincent whispered.

Thomas Jarington paused, a response hung in his throat like a hook, with him looking at the coin purse he held in his hand, the pouch lying on the table in front of him and the intense stare of his employer. The hair on the back of his neck tingled as fear raced through his chest, creating a frozen shudder.

Brief fear.

He was bold.

The hook dislodged.

Thomas saluted, snapping his heels together. "You can count on me, Mr. Moryarti. I will bring that emerald back to you, I will prove my loyalty to you!"

"Very good, Mr. Jarington. I will see you on the docks at five bells, tomorrow morning."

Vincent waved a hand. "You may go, now, Mr. Jarington. Welcome to the Company."

Clarby waited until Thomas had left the shop, having walked the excited youth to the door before turning back toward his boss.

"What do ya want ta be done with him, Mr. Moryarti? He'll be spilling his guts all over town by ten bell, don't ya know."

"Follow him, Mr. Clarby. Stick with him and make sure he keeps his mouth shut." Vincent pursed his lips in thought. "No, I have a better idea. Stay with him, inform him you are there to teach him the methods in which the Company operates. He will hang on your every word."

Vincent smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Be his friend but please insure he arrives at five bell tomorrow morning on the docks."

"You be trustin he'll make the swap in Ratchet?"

Moryarti shook his head. "No, my good man, you will be making the swap. Care to make a small journey, Mr. Clarby?"

Clarby grinned a toothy smile. "Aye, Mr. Moryarti. I can do that."

"Excellent. I want you to make yourself scarce on board the Heedless. In fact," Vincent said, reaching under the table to find a piece of parchment from his bag.

"Take this letter to the Baron," he said as he began penning a letter. "It will explain to Longshore what is happening. He can see to it you remain hidden until you dock." Vincent handed the sealed letter to Clarby then began writing another.

"I want you to take 'this' letter to our Goblin contact, Fidget, on the docks below. He will know what to do and see that our young Mr. Jarington earns his reward." He slid a coin purse to Clarby.

"Do you understand your assignment, Mr. Clarby?"

"Aye, Mr. Moryarti. Clearly."

"Very well, then. See that it is done. Farewell."

Vincent's form cast no shadow under the moonless night as he watched a group of men unload the last of his 'iron columns' into a nondescript building. Fog rolled along the deserted street like an amorphous living creature, searching and crawling into every corner. Gas lamps lining the avenue barely pierced it's dense body, only creating a soft, glowing orb of dull yellow light.

A muffled clang accompanied with crude curses caused Moryarti to chuckle as the final canon was delivered to the warehouse under the nose of the Gilneas Guard. What had initially seemed impossible had now become reality.

"Will there be anythin else, Mr. Moryarti, sir" Ashwood said, materializing out of the fog, wiping sweat from his brow. "Tha last o' tha wee columns be delivered, they do. Good thing you be havin tha block n tackle in there, or it woulda been the devil ta play gettin em down into the cellar, it would. The devil ta pay, I tell ya."

"Yes Mr. Ashwood," Vincent said, handing the drover a small, clinking leather bag. "I do believe that will be all for now. You and your men have performed superbly and are to be commended. I do pray you have found your recompense satisfactory?"

"Aye, Mr. Moryarti, sir," Ashwood bobbed. "More than enough. It do be a pleasure workin for ya, to be sure. If'n you be needing us again, you know who to be callin."

"Indeed. Farwell, Mr. Ashwood. You will be hearing from me again very soon."

Vincent dismissed Ashwood, looked both directions down the empty street, watching the wagon fade quickly into the fog before walking into the corner house where the canon had been delivered. Unlocking the door, Vincent smiled then turned to a shadowy figured approaching from behind.

"Ah," Vincent whispered. "You have arrived just in time, sir." He stepped aside, welcoming the cloaked figure into the darkened building. "Please, sir, after you."

With a silent nod, the cloaked figure entered, turning once Vincent had followed, closing the door behind them with a silent snap. The room flared to light forcing shadows to retreat from the domed lamp's illumination.

Large wooden columns supporting thick, wooden beams surrounded a rectangular opening in the floor near where the men were standing. A block and tackle system hung from the center beam, dangling into the basement below.

The cloaked man walked to the edge, peering into the basement while removing his hood. Vicnent followed, hands clasped behind his back - a smug smile lighting his face.

"Impressive, Moryarti," Lord Crowly said. "Most impressive." He turned, smiling at Vincent. "I must say that I had my doubts in your ability to successfully deliver the canon. However," he chuckled. "you succeeded. You bloody well succeeded."

Vincent brought his fingers together in front of his chest. "Of course. Once I discovered the method, it became elementary." His fingertips cascaded. "For now, they will await assembly in the basement below." Vincent turned. motioning toward the shaded windows.

"That wall has been designed to raise on a hinge and pulley system." Crowly's eyes followed Vincents motions. "Once you are ready to unleash your beasts below, you can raise each piece with the tackle and ready them in this room. All that will be needed beyond that are horses to draw them into the field."

"Shot and powder?" Crowly asked, inspecting the iron work and pulley systems around the room.

"Stored in kegs below, my Lord, underneath nails and rivits. Shall we go below, my lord?" Crowly shook his head. "Not needed, sir. I am satisfied that all is in order." Moryarti nodded.

"Well then, my lord," Vincent said, clasping his hands behind his back. "All that is left is payment. The canon have been delivered and you are satisfied. I believe payment in full is in order."

Crowly's head turned slowly, looking Vincent straight in his eyes. "You have fulfilled your end of the bargain and I will fulfill mine." He handed Vincent a small, leather pouch, causing his eyes to raise in surprise. "Inside, Mr. Moryarti, you will find a map, key and directions to your payment. Forty Thousand gold coins for the canon."

"And the rest of the goods, my lord?" Vincent said, slipping the pouch beneath his vest. "I believe you've received all of your requested supplies." Crowly nodded. "I have indeed. You will also find payment for those as well."

"You have performed well beyond my expectations, Mr. Moryarti. I see that I made a wise choice in who secured my supplies." Lord Crowly extended his hand which Vincent firmly clasped shook.

"It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Crowly. All knowledge of this endeavor will be disposed of, of course, as will any person who may have damning information of your rebellion." Vincent walked to a small, iron-wrought lever sticking from the floor and pulled it, causing the opening in the floor to be covered in such a way as to appear exactly like the rest of the floor.

"I will have men working in this shop every day building a non-working machine," Vincent said. "All to keep appearances, of course. I am believed to be building a machine that captures lightening, in case you might be wondering."

"Your man, Avery, has been instrumental in making this happen, my Lord," VIncent said. "Without him giving up his residence, we could have never created a secure location for your artillery." He smiled. "Please make sure he's well reimbursed for his loss."

"His loss is our gain, Mr. Moryarti."

"Once you are prepared to take action, Lord Crowly, they will move out and give you the facility."

"It will be soon. Be prepared, as we begin action at first light."

"Farewell, Mr. Moryarti. I look forward to the day our freedom is realized." Crowly hid his face with the cowl once again. "Good evening to you, sir."

"Good evening to you, Lord Crowly, and good luck."

Five bell came early, especially since Vincent had not slept a wink since his visit with Lord Crowly and the delivery of the last canon. Men (Crowly's) had worked all night assembling the guns in preparation for action and with the Lord's warning, Vincent had made his own preparations. He had gone immediately after his meeting to secure his funds. All there, he had been pleased to note, as well as a little extra. Crowly had appreciated his discretion, it seemed, leaving Vincent a very wealthy man.
 

Now, in the early hours of the morning, he found himself on the distant docks of Gilneas, ready for another delivery of sorts and the arrival of an old friend.

A tall, bearded man sporting a long, red coat appeared from the fog, striding toward Vincent with purpose. "Moryarti!" the man said, muffled by the fog. "I sail in ten minutes. Where's this boy of yours, the one I'm to deliver to Ratchet?"

"He will arrive shortly, Baron, I assure you." Vincent smiled, bowing with a nod of the head. "Mr. Clarby has taken charge of the youth and..."

"Will be here on time, I be tellin ya, Mr Moryarti," Clarby said, materializing from the fog with Thomas in tow. "Five bell on the money, I say."

Vincent smiled, nodded and turned to Jarington. "Mr. Jarington, are you ready to depart? Have you made the necessary preparations?"

"I have indeed, Mr. Moryarti." The young man patted a pouch hanging from his shoulder. "I have my instructions and will make the transaction when we dock." Jarington was grinning from ear to ear, looking from man to man, eyes finally resting on the large and imposing Baron Longshore.

"Are...are you Captain Longshore?" He said, eyes wide - mouth draped open.

"I am indeed Baron Longshore, Captain of the Heedless," Longshore bellowed, hands on his hips. "Who might you be, whelp? Some lackey of Moryarti here? You best be getting a move on or you'll be left wallowing on the dock with the gulls. I cast off in five minutes!"

Jarington paused, shock covering his face. "I, I'm Thomas Jarington, my lord Baron." He gulped. "And, aye, I do work for Mr. Moryarti, sir."

"Well, Thomas Jarington," Longshore said, frowning. "Best get a move on, lad. I shall not wait for any man... or boy!"

"Hop to it, Lad! Step lively!!"

Jarington saluted and dashed like a frightened rabbit into the fog toward the Heedless.

Moryarti burst into laughter. "Now, Baron, I must say I quite enjoyed that. You DO have a way with people."

Longshore nodded and winked. "What about you, Moryarti? That civil war's about to begin and I can smuggle you out of here just as easily. I owe you that, Vincent." The Baron grinned. "Besides, I remember you once wanted to sail with me. Least I can do, lad."

"My thanks, Baron Longshore, but that time has come and gone. I have my shop to run and I have people who depend upon me for their livelyhood. I cannot leave them, sir, no matter the reason."

Baron Longshore extended his hand as a piped whistle echoed through the fog. "Well, lad, I wish you well. I do not think we shall see one another for some time, with this rebellion of Crowly's casting off."

Vincent shook the Baron's hand. "You must return Mr. Clarby, Baron. He is bringing a gem of some importance to me."

"Aye, I will do that, but we will make land somewhere away from the city. It took quite a bit of gold to bribe my way out today, I doubt I will be welcomed back."

"And now, Vincent, I must depart." The Baron turned to Clarby. "You ready, lad?" Clarby nodded. "Very well. I have a plank for you into the hold. As Vincent mentioned, you are to remain out of sight until we make Ratchet. You may bunk in my quarters until we make port."

"Aye, Captain," CLarby said, "I be doin whatcha be needin of me."

"Very good. Farewell, Vincent. You have done your father proud. May the winds favour you, lad."

"Wind and fortune favour you, Baron, with smooth seas and following winds."

Vincent stood, once again, watching the Heedless sail away from Gilneas. This time, the departure was saluted with faint, distant, rumbling booms. He sighed, clasped his hands behind his back and began making his way back toward his shop.

"So it begins."

Weeks had passed since Crowley's rebellion launched, leaving Vincent to fall back into his normal routine. Supplying of the Rebellion left him a very wealthy man, enough to leave his business and retire in luxury; If that was what he wanted.

It was not.

War created profiteering and with the fighting contained completely within the borders of Gilneas, profits were practically falling into his hands with little to no effort. Controlling a vast network of operatives afforded him the opportunity to seek out and discover channels other 'businessmen' could not find. Therefore, his wealth grew exponentially.

Today, however, was a day devoted to his toy store. A place he could relax, be at peace and just be Vincent.

The lion roared, the bells over the door jingled and a well-dressed Lord strode into the shop - diamond-tipped cane clicking along the floor tiles as walked toward the counter.

Vincent smiled and greeted the Lord with a bow of the head. "Lord Bloodbourne," Vincent said. "What a pleasure to see you again. How can I be of service?" Bloodbourne tipped his hat before removing it, resting it on the counter, bottom up.

"Mr. Moryarti," the Lord said, removing sleek, leather gloves before placing them into a coat pocket. "So good to see you again, sir." He glanced around the room before returning his gaze to Vincent. "I am in need of something special , a one of a kind sort of item for my son's birthday."

"May I look around and see if what you have may fit the bill?"

"Of course, my Lord, feel free to browse," Vincent said, stepping from behind the counter, hands clasped before him at his waist. "However, most of what you will find on the shelves are more common marvels and owned by several Gilnean citizens."

The Lord picked up a small yeti, turning it over and over before placing it in it's original position. He looked back at Vincent. "The tiger by the door as well?"

"Ah, the tiger," Vincent said, sighing. "Alas, that is not for sale. While it is original and most assuredly one of a kind, it was made by my father and brings back fond memories."

Vincent opened his arms, palms up. "Also, I do not have the plans and cannot make another."

"Come, come, my good man," The Lord replied. "Everything is for sale. Name your price, man!"

Vincent shook his head. "It is not for sale, my Lord Bloodbourne. Some things are priceless, would you not agree?" Bloodbourne stared at Vincent for a moment before huffing a sigh. "Very well. What other one of a kind items do you have?"

"Well, my Lord, I just received a set of rare plans from my overseas connections, an item that hails from the far-off deserts of Tanaris - the town of Gadgetzan..." Vincent paused, watching the Lord stroke his oiled goatee, considering his words.

"And what is this item your plans detail, Mr. Moryarti? Rare you say?"

Vincent nodded. "Indeed it is, My Lord. VERY rare." Vincent motioned toward the back, his workroom. "Would you care to have a look? It might be the perfect piece for your son." Lord Bloodbourne grinned. "Lead on, my good man."

Vincent unfurled a set of partially torn and weather-worn pages of parchment featuring schematics outlining a bipedal machine. Tiny sand particles fell from the roll, causing Vincent to blow them away as he clipped the plans to his board.

"What in Light's Name is that thing?" Lord Bloodbourne said. "Looks like some sort of monster if you ask me."

"The Goblins of Tanaris call it a Mechanical Harvest Reaper," Vincent replied, running his fingers over the writing near the bottom. "Supposed to be a delightful toy for children, imitating machinery created to harvest crops."

"Crops in a desert?" Bloodbourne snorted. "You have got to be joking. What could they grow in a desert?"

"I did not say they grew crops in a desert, My Lord. I simply stated it was from the Goblin town of Gadgetzan." Vincent traced his fingers over the diagrams, noting the highlights. "The Goblins are master craftsmen, known to create marvels even I have never seen."

"Aha!" Vincent exclaimed, tapping a string of text. "Says here that it runs on an internal power source, does not need winding..." He looked up, "That is very good. Kids normally break wind up toys." He continued reading. "Uses a simulated reaping action designed to mimic harvesting techniques. Interesting."

Vincent chuckled, grinned and glanced up at Lord Bloodbourne. "It also states that it is Mostly Harmless and that..." his grin grew as he continued to read the Goblin disclaimer in silence.

"Is that all? Mostly Harmless?" Lord Bloodbourne stated. "What in Light's Name is that supposed to mean?" Vincent shook his head, still grinning from what he read. "It is what it says, My Lord. Mostly Harmless." He snorted a laugh. "Goblins!"

Vincent grinned, standing tall - looking at the Lord eye to eye. "This is one I have never seen before AND never built. It would be one of a kind, sir - perfect for your son and perfectly safe. He will be happy."

Lord Bloodbourne grinned. "I shall take it then. What do you require to begin construction?"

Vincent leaned down to look, scanning the schematic, mumbling various technical words under his breathe, counting to himself. Finally, he stood straight again. "Two thousand gold, half now, half at delivery. When do you need it, my Lord?"

Bloodbourne stared at Vincent a few, long moments before speaking. "Two thousand, you say?" Vincent nodded. "It is rare, my Lord. Your son will be the only one to have this." Lord Bloodbourne nodded. "I see." He sighed.

"Very well. Agreed. I need it in two weeks."

"Two weeks it is, My Lord. Would you like it gift wrapped?" Lord Bloodbourne's eyes widened. "For two thousand gold, I would think it would not only be wrapped but delivered by coach with complete honour guard!'

Vincent opened his arms, smirking painfully, "My Lord! This is an expensive item to make! The materials alone are difficult to attain and the detailing..."

Lord Bloodbourne waved him off, stopping Vincent's words. "I know, I know. Yes, gift wrapped and delivered to my estate that morning, if you please."

"I will have my servant come around with payment this afternoon," Bloodbourne said, turning and walking toward the front of the shop forcing Vincent to follow. After the Lord had donned his gloves, plopped his hat upon his head, he then tipped it to Vincent.

"Good day to you, sir," the Lord said. Vincent bobbed his head. "And a very good day to you, my Lord. Your son will be delighted."

"Yes," the Lord said, walking toward the door, cane clicking on the tile. "He damned well better be."

Bells tingled, the tiger roared and the door slammed closed, leaving Vincent to himself in the shop. "I'm sure he will," he whispered, opening a ledger and carefully scribing the order into the book. "I know I am."

Skirmishes between the rebellion and King's forces intensified over the two weeks it took Vincent to build the Goblin Reaper Lord Bloodbourne had purchased. Employees came and went bringing word of advances Crowley made and Gilnean pushes that drove him back. The country was ablaze in conflict while Vincent worked quietly away on his new project, seemingly oblivious to the conflict he had armed.

All that mattered at the moment was his newest creation, one that occupied his mind almost completely.

The detailing was something he'd never encountered, especially the odd mixtures of whirring gizmos, springs, fused wiring and a rare mineral not natural to Gilneas called mithril. What Vincent found particularly intriguing was the odd power source, one featuring a golden core that seemed to recharge itself during use.

And there was the size...

The reaper stood as tall as a toddler, which would be fine if not for the hands that provided the simulated reaping action. Small, sharp talons acted as fingers which, when activated, would swish from side to side as if harvesting grain with a scythe. Fortunately, there was a built in fail-safe mechanism that deactivated the motion should the hands meet a solid object.

Such as a child.

Vincent stood, cocked his head to the side after placing the final piece in place - a straw hat. "Not bad, not bad at all," he said, moving around his creation, leaning close in some places, wiping metal flakes from another - all in final inspection. "Impressive," he said. "I've never seen it's equal."

He nodded. "Well, one last thing to do," he said, flipping a green toggle on the rear of the reaper, bringing his creation to life with a whinning whir of activity. It shuddered, sputtered, raised it arms and began marching slowly around the room. Vincent rubbed his chin, delight shinning on his face.

The reaper marched toward a table leg, destined to crash. "Moment of truth," Vincent muttered then nodded as he watched the reaper stop, flash it's eyes, whirling round to march off in a different direction - completely missing the leg. "Excellent!" He exclaimed, proud that it was working as expected. "Exactly as designed."

The mechanical creature stopped, it's eyes flashing with a pulsating red light. "Reaping!, reaping!, reaping!" a mechanical voice toned as the creature bobbed in place. Then, it's upper body began swinging side to side, reaping claws ripping through the air. It stepped, swung to and fro, then stepped again.

Grain would stand no chance against this creature, Vincent thought, shaking his head. Thank the Light for the fail safe device or Lord Bloodbourne would be one son less! An image came to Vincent's mind of a decapitated noble son lying in a pool of his own blood while the Reaper marched around the room. He laughed.

With every step, the toy reaped imaginary grain - shredding it with lightening fast movements. Five steps, five reaps then stop. It's eyes flashed with pulsating green light, the body bobbed in place and paused, sputtering it's mechanical music. "Reaping Completed!" the voice said. "Resuming Normal Activity!"

The marching began again and before long, the reaping returned - over and over for thirty minutes. Finally, Vincent had seen enough. The toy worked as designed, even better than expected. Grinning, he switched the newest mechanical marvel to grace his shop to 'off', nodding with approval as it fell silent; limp.

"Lord Bloodbourne is going to love this!"

====================================

"Mr. Ashwood?" Vincent asked the wagoneer, squinting as morning sunlight burst over the rooftops of the trade district. "Please see that this crate reaches Lord Bloodbourne's manor in a timely manner and in good order. It is a gift for his son's birthday."

"Right away, Mr. Moryarti sir," Ashwood said, leaping from the wagon and assisting his men with the loading. "Careful! Mind tha corners, don't ya know! Easy, easy does it!" The driver cried out, instructing his crew as they lifted the crate into the wagon bed and secured it in place.

Dusting his hands off, he turned back toward Vincent. "Right cha be, Mr. Moryarti. All loaded an ready to be off." The man grinned. "Can I be offerin ya anythin else, Mr. Moryarti? Perhaps a wee apple tart from the missus?"

Vincent laughed, tossed Ashwood a bag of coins. "But of course! She makes the finest in Gilneas and please tell her I said as much."

Ashwood caught the purse, tucked it away then handed a small, paper box to Vincent. "She be makin ya a dozen of the wee things, Mr. Moryarti, seein how much ya be likin em." Vincent took the box, smiling and sniffing. "And, if ya don mind me sayin, I already be telling her as much."

"Oh," Vincent replied, cocking his head at Ashwood, "Did you now?"

"Aye, she think ya be daft, thinkin her tarts be the best in Gilneas. But she be thinkin ya anywho." He paused. "For the compliments and tha work ya be givin me."

Vincent bowed. "You both have my thanks. I only hire and buy from the best, Mr. Ashwood. Only the best will do in my line of work. And you, sir, are the best there is."

"Good day to you, Mr. Ashwood. Please inform me when the delivery has been made."

"Like I always be doin', Mr. Moryart, sir." He stepped onto the driver's bench, popping the reigns to move the wagon along. "Like I always be doin', I tell ya."

"Oh!" Vincent called out to the departing wagon. "Have your men ride in escort." Vincent chuckled as he imagined the scene. "The Lord will appreciate your efforts."

"Righ-cha-be, Mr. Moryarti! Righ-cha-be!"

Sunlight bathed Vincent with it's warm, yellow light as he sat outside his shop sipping tea - watching people come and go within the Trade District. Most were trades-folk making their way toward the various stores and shops lining the district, while others were servants running errands for the aristocracy.

"Top 'o the mornin' to ya Mr. Moryarti," a leather-aproned man said, tipping his brimmed hat as he walked by. Vincent smiled, raised his china cup in return. "And to you, my good man. Lovely day is it not?"

"The finest," the man replied then frowned, turning to watch a patrol of soldiers marching toward the city gate. "Or it would be were it not for the bloody rebellion. Good fer business, bad fer morale don't ya know." He spat on the ground before turning back toward Vincent.

Moryarti took a sip of tea, leaning back in his chair. From the lack of canon fire, apparently Crowley had been pushed farther from the city. "Indeed, Mr Crawford. Business is very good these days and war does bring with it a need of goods and supplies."

Crawford snorted. "Not when it be the King doin' the buyin'. Demands the lowest price for my armour, he do," he said, smirking while scratching his brushy beard. "Still, it do be better than it was, I reckon."

Vincent nodded, sipping his tea. "Would you care to join me, Mr. Crawford?" Vincent asked, placing his teacup on it's saucer and motioning toward the empty chair opposite. "The tea is delightful this morning, especially when paired with Madam Ashwood's apple tarts."

Crawford smiled. "Ashwood's tarts are the best, there be no denyin' that," he said with a longing glance at the tarts arrayed on the silver platter. "But I be havin' armour to craft for tha King and no time ta be sittin round lollygaggin, drinkin tea with the likes of a work-shirkin toymaker!"

Crawford swept an overly deep and exaggerated bow, one made for royalty. "Good day to you, my dear Mr. Moryarti!"

Vincent burst into laughter, stood and performed his most eloquent bow. "And a jolly good day to you, too, my dear Mr. Crawford!"

Crawford chuckled, shaking his head at their joke. "However, Mr. Moryarti, if you do be havin any left 'round noon, I will gladly drop by then." Vincent nodded. "Indeed I shall. Noon it is. Good day, Mr. Crawford."

Vincent sat and sipped, visiting with other passerbys, most relaying information about the state of Crowley's forces while others inquired into his toys. Some were his eyes and ears, while others normal citizens and friends.

One approaching figure stopped Vincent in mid sip, frozen in place cup to his lips. The man approached, a grin gracing his bearded, sun-tanned face and stopped in front of Vincent's table.

"If it isn't Mr. Clarby!" Vincent exclaimed, teacup held in hand. "Please, have a seat. How have you been, my good man?" Clarby nodded, sitting opposite his employer. "Care for some tea?"

"Indeed I do, Mr. Moryarti sir," he said quietly. "Tea do be soundin' delightful right about now, don't-cha be knowin'"

They sat in silence, sipping tea, watching people and troops pass through the plaza. When the first pot had been emptied, Vincent went for another, leaving Clarby out front. After returning and pouring another round, Vincent broke the silence one the crowds began thinning.

"How was your journey, Mr. Clarby," Vincent asked quietly. "Productive I pray?" Clarby nodded. "Aye, it was indeed, although you may want to be hearin this tale indoors?"

Vincent shook his head. "We are fine out here."

"Very well, then," Clarby replied, reaching into his coat to produce a large, black felt bag. He slid it across to Vincent, who's face lifted into a grin. "The Cat's Eye Emerald?" Vincent asked.

"Aye, the very one I be sent to fetch," Clarby replied. "Exactly where you be sayin' it be."

"Excellent, Mr. Clarby. You've done well." Vincent cocked his head. "And the other delivery? Was it made as well?"

"Clarby sighed, nodding slowly. "Aye, but no by me and no like we be thinkin'." Vincent frowned, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What do you mean, it did not go as planned? In what manner?"

"He be given to the Goblins, but no by me. He left the ship before I could be takin' charge o' him. I be steppin on the deck in the nick o' time to be seein the Goblins cover him in nets." Vincent leaned back, arms crossed - anger covering his face. "Nets you say?"

Clarby nodded calmly. "Aye, and there be another man, a nobleman, who be payin' the Goblins to haul young Thomas off in chains." Clarby took a deep breathe. "I no be thinkin he be livin' for too long, Mr. Moryarti. I 'eard somethin' about mines."

"Did you get a good look at this nobleman you saw?" Clarby nodded. "Aye, it be the one young Thomas be makin fun of, Lord Bloodbourne's eldest son, don't cha be knowin'."

"I see," Vincent sighed, rubbing his chin. "Bloody bastard! I paid good gold for Mr. Jarington to apprentice with the Goblins, to learn their methods in explosives. Now?" He shook his head. "I doubt I will get that chance again, not with the way this war is going."

"You be wantin me to tell his ma and da, Mr. Moryarti?" Clarby said. "About where he be gone to?"

Vincent shook his head. "No, Mr. Clarby, I shall do that myself. In fact..."

Vincent paused, watching a patrol of six city guards led by a Captain make their way across the plaza, directly for their table. He slid the bag to Clarby under the table. "Keep this safe," he whispered, barely moving lips, smiling at the approaching patrol. Clarby nodded just enough for Vincent to make out.

"Vincent Moryarti?" The Captain stated as the patrol halted in front of his shop. "Yes, Captain, I am Vincent Moryarti, proprietor of this establishment. Are you interested in a mechanical marvel?"

"No sir, I am not," The Captain said, hand resting on the hilt of his rapier. "I need you to come with me." He paused, as if for effect. "Now, sir."

Vincent smiled, stood and dipped his head in a bow. "Mr. Clarby, would you mind the shop while I am away, it should not be long."