Chapter 39

We soon found ourselves in a magical laboratory adjoining the main building, near the stables. I had worried a few times that Mammonin’s heart might give out before we arrived, the way he wheezed, but he managed. Our Father Below might have taken him if there had been any stairs.

The Margrave must have thrown a small fortune at his pet engineers. There was equipment for weaving fabricata runes into clothing, as well as bins full of premade glyphs the size of buttons ready to be hammered into larger structures. The walls were covered in diagrams and blueprints for common fabricata, such as armor enhancements and torture implements.

There were a couple of younger devils at one of the bellows, but it was immediately obvious who was the master of this domain. Yatener was the same brilliant red as Girdan, though he lacked the Grand General’s luster: a sure sign that he didn’t get much sun. That was where the similarities with the muscular Girdan ended; Yatener was a willowy devil whose face was obscured in a scraggly black beard, and he peered at us with unnaturally large eyes from behind thick, modular eyepieces.

He adjusted the lenses, which I realized were various magnifying glasses. I detected no guile in Yatener’s broad grin as his eyes returned to their normal size. “Margrave, what brings you fine gentledevils to my little slice of Hell?”

“I thought I’d let our guests see your long-term solution to our problem with finding loyal help,” he replied.

Yatener clapped excitedly. “Oh, you’ll all love this.” He vanished into a back room without delay.

“He doesn’t hide his feelings much, does he?” I whispered to Girdan.

“Must be one of those mad-devils who actually, ugh, enjoys his work,” said the Grand General. “You do hear about them sometimes.”

Poor devil.

When Yatener returned, he held a black doll that looked rather like a ventriloquist’s dummy. It had a head and four limbs, but it lacked any visible details like a nose or ears. Its skin had the grain of hardwood, inset with metallic runes of various sizes. I couldn’t comprehend most of the runic stanzas; this was before I had made any serious study of magic, demonic or human. It all looked extremely elaborate, though.

“Say hello to Number Fifteen, our finest golem,” he said, holding the doll’s hand and waving to us. He set down the doll and held up a metal wire. “Would somebody be so kind as to give him a jolt? I’m afraid I’ve been casting all morning.”

“Malthus.” Girdan punctuated the command with a snap of his fingers.

“Of course, General,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheery. I willed magic down the line, and the dull, bronze runes glowed a bright red. Its eyes opened wide, and the featureless white orbs stared into space.

Yatener turned to his workbench, selecting one of five wooden tablets the size of thick slices of bread. “Let’s see, what program should I load… Well, I could use some tea.” He shoved the cartridge into a slot on Number Fifteen’s back. “Fifteen, execute program.”

The doll gave no sign it heard the order, but it walked towards a tea set in the back of the lab. He was a tad clumsy, but he hopped up on short stool to reach the kettle, selected a bag and a mug, poured in a proper amount of water, and returned while we watched.

Yatener took the cup from Fifteen’s tiny hands. “Well done, Fifteen! He even knows how strong I like it.”

“Isn’t it splendid?” asked Mammonin. “Yatener’s the finest golem expert in Europe. Just think: no more relying on unreliable orcs and goblins to do our drudgery. We’ll be freed up to live lives of leisure and security.”

“Hm, yes,” said Girdan, visibly jealous, and doing a piss-poor job of hiding it. “Though it’s a bit small.”

“Acorns become trees, sir,” replied Yatener. “I’ll be able to scale it up eventually. I…” The engineer stopped as another cup of tea was offered to him. “Oh, right. One of the bugs you have to work out.” He set aside the second cup before yanking the cartridge out of Fifteen’s back. “You have to be careful to tell them when to stop, or else they keep executing the program.”

Fifteen stood silently, his blank eyes looking up expectantly at his creator.

“What’s he waiting for?” I asked.

Yatener frowned. “How much did you charge him? He should have fallen limp already.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t say, so I gave him a good jolt.”

He glanced at my chest. “You don’t leave a golem with spare energy and nothing to do! They start making their own work, and it’s never anything you’d want.” He shoved a broom into Fifteen’s hands and another cartridge into its back. “Go sweep until you shut down.”

The tension left Fifteen’s shoulders as he trundled over to an empty section of floor and started sweeping. And sweeping. And sweeping.

“Shouldn’t he move around?” I asked.

Yatener chuckled nervously. “I programmed the motions of sweeping a broom, but I’m still working on how he can tell clean from dirty.”

Girdan smirked at Mammonin. “I see there are still a few bugs to work out.”

“Unavoidable for now, General. They can’t really think for themselves. If I could give one a mind and a magic supply of its own, I could change the world.”

“But nothing yet,” said Girdan, looking satisfied with himself. “Still, a fun toy and a fine diversion.”

The Margrave nodded, making no effort to hide his obvious pique. “Well, I think that’s enough of a tour for now. Keep up the good work, Yatener.”

“Looks like you still have job security,” I whispered to Dewdrop as we made our way out.

“I can’t say I was too worried, sir,” he replied. “You’d never be able to program a golem to negotiate a better price with a madame.”

“True enough,” I replied.

I heard the commotion in the main hall before we caught sight of it. I scouted ahead, knowing I’d feel Girdan’s lash if I made him give the order. There wasn’t any danger; at least, not for the nobledevils following me.

The crowd laughed uproariously at the screams of agony. I shoved through the mass of devils to see a trio of orcs struggling with a bloodied Mulciber. Sparks shot from a disruptor around his ankle as he tried to use his magic, and one of the orcs was still smoking from an inexpert Fireball.

The assembled nobledevils couldn’t have been happier at the unscheduled entertainment.

“Tear out his fingers!”

“Anyone got a whip?”

“No, let’s stone him!”

“What is going on here?” demanded Mammonin, quieting the mob in an instant.

The orc from before nodded at his captive. “I found your gift to Girdan ruined, and this one,” he said, punctuating his point with an audible kick to Mulciber’s gut, “was drinking on the job!”

“What?” roared the Margrave. “Where is it?”

The orc retrieved the desecrated painting, and I thought Mammonin was going to have a heart attack. His skin turned yet redder, and he heaved like he’d marched from Paris.

“Such a pity; it looked like a lovely gift.” Girdan grabbed the remains of the painting from the orc, studying them briefly before tossing them aside. “I see why you’re trying to invent better help, Mammonin.”

Runes flared around the Margrave’s fingers as he aimed at the low-caste devil’s head. “You had better have a good explanation, you wretch.”

Tears flowed down the devil’s umber cheeks. “It wasn’t me! I-I snoozed a little, but I’d never do that to you, your lordship!” Mulciber nodded my way. “That Captain got me drinkin’ and—”

“So you admit you were sauced when I had given you a sacred duty,” snapped Mammonin. Sacred? The doughty old devil was laying it on a bit thick, which was a clear sign of an imminent flogging… if he was lucky.

“But he did it! I left to, er, piss and when I got back, the painting was slit in two!”

Girdan’s heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “Malthus? Is that true?”

Mulciber’s eyes pleaded with me for deliverance. Whatever slights he’d inflicted on me weren’t worth this. Soren Marlowe would have taken pity on him and confessed his crimes.

However, I wasn’t that simpering human back then. So, I laughed off the accusation. “I’ve never seen this devil in my life.”

I couldn’t say if Mammonin or Girdan believed me or not, deep down. However, rank has its privileges, and a captain’s bars carried a lot of weight.

Mammonin spun about on his heel and pointed towards a door. “Get this devil out of my sight. Otherwise I’m liable to end it too quickly for the lesson to sink in.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at Mulciber’s terrified wail as he was hauled away. All was right in the world: I got my petty revenge, vented my urge to destroy something, and I had a reasonably priced concubine waiting for me back home. A perfect night.