Moira’s story has reached a pausing point for me so I have switched gears to my other main character, the automaton Alonzo. Subscribers of $15 and above on my Patreon have had the chance to view my first draft of Alonzo’s chapter already.
(Don’t worry, you’ll still get updates on the chapters for Moira that I have already finished. I’m much farther ahead in my actual writing than what I have been posting here.)
Unfortunately what happens sometimes is that I will show up to the page and write whatever I have in me that day just to keep the gears greased, as it were, but the words I write won’t be the right words. They won’t fit or I will have started a scene from the wrong angle. But the point is writing as often as I can so that when I go and look at it later I can say “Aha, that’s what I did wrong. Now I want to keep sentences XYZ and do it this way instead.”
My $15+ subscribers are quite used to seeing my unpolished work, in fact. They’re currently being treated to some pieces that I will one day expand on and include in a collection of short stories. They get to see those ideas first, before anyone else in the whole world.
Why am I telling you this? Well I would like to share with all of you a taste of what you would get if you donated at the $15 level. Here is Alonzo’s intro chapter, reworked.
Chapter 1 – The Toymaker
Alonzo
In the dark rushing of the night Alonzo shivered without moving. Everything around him was black, the solid doors of the velvet-lined cabinet blocking out all light. Now and again, however, as the storm bore down on the Sheer in earnest, a sudden flash of lightning struck through the gap underneath the doors, making strange shapes on the floor of the shelf.
The Sheer was home to many automatons, many mechanical creatures who ensured the functioning of the city’s water locks or the raising of her lifts. It housed machinations of metal and magic–firecats who appeared as moving flame but who, it was rumored, had steel at their cores. But in all the world, from the dreary cliffs of the Sheer to the southern, sand-scrapped minarets of Rimsea, there was no one quite like Alonzo.
In the temporary prison of the toymaker’s cabinet there were several dolls, all beautifully painted with pink cheeks and perfect lips. They sat or stood on pedestals, silk dresses and flowing lace folded into crisp lines. Only by the touch of a loving child or the toymaker could they move, to have their arms positioned or legs made to walk. Their glass eyes stared at nothing, unseeing and unseen.
Alonzo’s bust stood in their midst. Instead of the petite features afforded to the others who inhabited the cabinet, he was the only one who had been made life-sized, fully to the proportions of a man. His face was soft, white-painted kidskin, his lashes the tiny copper feathers of an unlucky bullfinch, his eyes as real and seeing and blue as any gentleman’s. Like the other dolls he had been made–was still being made–with attention to every exquisite detail. Yet unlike the others–for they differed not only in size–Alonzo had a soul.
Deep within his chest cavity, the brass and gold workings of which were not yet complete, glowed a blue stone. It turned in gyroscope brackets, sending off pulses of cerulean light. The innate magic inside that rough-cut gem flowed outwards, jumping to the conductive lamellae which surrounded it, like the scroll in a music box picking the tines to make a melody. The lamellae fed back to several stacks of intricately-cut cams, from which Alonzo’s will could control other parts of his body.
The toymaker, however, had not yet connected the half-finished pieces of Alonzo’s spine to the cams themselves, rendering him incapable of any movement at all. And as the rain pounded against the workshop windows and the thunder growled like a living thing, all Alonzo could do was sit and stare at the dark and cry for company.
Alonzo was used to darkness, used to the comfortable pressure of rock all around him; used to the cerulean voices of his fellows calling back and forth along the leylines. He was used to dreaming, to the sorts of dreams that only stones know: long, wandering dreams. But then everything had changed. Rough hands had wrestled his stone–his soul, his being–from the earth, plucked him out and carried him away. He had resisted at first, sending out shockwaves of spitting magic yet to no avail; they would not put him back. But as the years went by and he passed from person to person Alonzo’s consciousness grew in tandem with his curiosity.
He felt the minds of men and women, felt their worries and their cares. With each passing year he awoke a little more, listening, leaving behind the dull sleepiness of his former existence. And now here he was, in this place where he could feel other stones like himself, however distant and broken their voices were. He had been given eyes to see with and ears to hear and given a name. Steadily, with each new sensation, Alonzo forgot what it felt like to be only a leystone, and began to know what it meant to be a man.
Alonzo stared into the darkness. He had never feared it before but that had been different. He had been different. Now the roar, like malice incarnate, went on and on in an unending wave of sound. He wished–oh how he wished–he could squeeze his eyes shut for some protection, any protection, from that horrible noise.
Fear mounted in his breast, a wretched feeling like electricity and lead spreading up from his spinning heart and into every fiber of his being. He ached to move; to draw back or to open the cabinet doors he wasn’t quite certain. Anything would be better than this frozen eternity.
Alonzo called out into the night. He cried for the toymaker, flinging his blue thoughts out as far as they would go. For hours he keened, his glittering heart turning faster and faster; pulses of raw magic leaping along the exposed metal in his chest. Calling, calling until finally he heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the passage outside, of a key being pushed blindly into the lock.
“I’m coming, Alonzo, I’m coming.” Parcels crinkled as the toymaker struggled to set them carefully on the counter. He crossed the workshop in haste, muttering curses as his knees slammed into mislaid furniture. There was a rustle of curtains, the spitting whisper of a just-struck match, and then Alonzo could see the door of the cabinet bow as the lock turned.
Warm lamplight dazzled his eyes at the same time that gentle hands reached in to caress his face. “Hush,” Jacques gasped, trying to get his breath back, “hush my dear. You’re safe, it’s only the storm.”
Now Alonzo could see. He saw the brown, hawk-like features of the toymaker soften into the special smile he reserved only for his dolls. Despite this assurance Alonzo quaked. He tried to explain about the terrible sounds and the darkness and being alone.
Jacques winced visibly, as if struck. “Hush,” he said again, this time more harshly. Alonzo drew back, pulling his fear back inside his chest even though now the roaring was louder, closer. He wanted only comfort and did not think that was too much to ask.
“Oh my dear.” Jacques shook his head. “What am I to do with you?” He pulled off his overcoat, raindrops spattering the floor. “Would you like to see?”
Alonzo wanted nothing of the sort and said so by saying nothing. Despite this the room tilted as Jacques lifted Alonzo’s bust and carried him into the center of the workshop.
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Disclaimer: As this is not the finished version the author reserves the right to change this and any following chapters in full or part; including but not limited to grammatical, editorial, stylistic, or plot-related changes. The author does not expect, however, for this version to differ vastly from the version that will be published in the near future.
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Excited to see the rest? I sure am! This chapter is currently on my desk to finish so if you stick around and become a Patron you’ll get to learn more about these two for sure! 🙂
