The Aetherlight Key

Ada Calder kept time for the city. Her shop rested in a crooked alley where the cobbles held oil and the lamps dripped light like slow rain. She worked with small things. Springs. tiny gears. Watch faces the color of tea. The world outside moved in heavy steps. The city belched steam and spoke in clanks. Airships sighed above the rooftops. Street vendors hawked coal cakes and candied gears. Children chased one another around lampposts with clockwork mice.

Ada liked it that way. She liked the precise weight of a balance wheel. She liked the hiss when a wound spring met its course. She liked the feel of brass cooling in her hand after a long solder. She wore an apron patched with oil and a thin copper choker her brother had soldered once. The choker hummed faintly when she put it on, like a small heart. Her hands were stained with years of work. Her hair gathered soot at the temples. Her shoulders bore the narrow strength of one who lifted tools every day.

Finn was all quick. He moved like a sparrow. He traded in rumors and small wonders. He repaired pocket dynamos for lads who could not afford real engines. He could pick a lock with a paperclip and find a hidden rivet by sound. He laughed with the kind of loudness that made Ada smile even when the bills were due. He lived above her shop. He left the window propped open at night. In winter his breath fogged the eaves and he filled the room with stories of impossible machines.

That morning the city felt sharper. The fog had been scrubbed thin by a cold wind. The lamps gave brittle light. A notice hung on the council board by the river. It told of tightened hours for the Aetherlight. It announced patrols. The Aetherlight sat on the hill in a glass house. It was a humming globe of glass and gears. It fed the pipes and the lamps. It kept the dirigibles lit at night. Without it, the city would find long dark hours and cold machinery.

Ada read the notice with grease on her thumb. She felt the edge of worry like a cold coin in her palm. Finn leaned in the doorway and read over her shoulder. He said nothing at first. Then he shrugged. "They always tighten when money smells strange," he said.

Before Ada could answer, a bell tolled from the square. The sound came thin and urgent. Boots answered in the alley. Men in dark coats passed her window with brass badges. They had gas masks hung by their belts. They wore faces like smooth stone. One of them stopped and looked up. He saw the watch in Ada's window and his eyes softened almost imperceptibly. Then he went on.

That afternoon a knock came three times. Finn opened the door with his quick fingers. Two men and a woman stood in the street with a warrant. They said the Aethercore had been taken. They said someone had been seen near the glass house. They said a name she knew.