1
The lights, the music, the stage – it was like a dance. A beautiful conglomerate that has no equal to its spectacle. An unending phenomena which knows no ennui. The keys on the piano hopped up and down in response to her nimble fingers. The sounds dancing and enveloping the stage like a wildfire.
The accompaniment, an army of strings, followed her alacritous tempo. The constant prestissimo (178 BPM) knows no end, being played as if it was something that a toddler could do. A performance befitting her prestige – befitting perfection.
The notes growing louder and louder towards a grand crescendo – a grand finale with no equal. At its peak, like a meteor crashing to the ground, her fingers tapped the keys so forcefully it was like she was smashing it. The sound of the strings had died down. The song of the piano, lingered still.
Once it had all faded, when there was only silence and calm, a girl clapped her hands. "Wonderful performance, dearest sister." She hopped down from the piano, feeling the soft grass and soil beneath her heels. "Nothing but perfection, I expect nothing less, dearest sister."
Her words were given no answer, "Oh my, look at the time, dearest sister. We must go home now, or else father dearest might get mad." Once more, her words were met with no answers.
"Then again…I suppose a cute face would let us off the hook, he is stricter on brother dearest after all." This girl was speaking only to herself, no one else. "Oh, while we're at it, do remind me to buy some bribery for brother dearest. He has been a bit cranky for always being our scapegoat."
The girl patted her skirt which had no visible dirt on them and raised her hands. From the rings on her fingers, out came threads too thin to see if not for the reflecting light. The girl she had referred to as 'dearest sister' stood up, following the movement of her hands.
"Oh no!" The girl exclaimed while examining the figure in front of her. "Your joints, they seem to be on the edge of breaking. The gears all look worn too, dearest sister." She puts one hand on her cheek as a sign of perplexity. "To think, my most wondrous and dearly beloved perfect sister would be hampered by the inferior gears that plagued her." She pouted.
"I suppose I'm not mad at you per say, dearest sister. I'm just disappointed that none of the gears that are manufactured can keep up with you." She moved her hands once more, causing the puppet to stand next to her. "Let's go, dearest sister."
She walked away from the empty marionette stage, controlling her puppet to walk beside her as if she really was her sister. "Ah yes, you all did a lovely job today too, see you another day." She gave a half-hearted bow to the stage while never stopping her steps.
The puppet opened the door for her on her command, revealing the bright skies beyond this abandoned theater. "Thank you, dearest sister." She walked briskly, tapping the heels of her high-boots against the stone pavement.
It was still ten in the morning, the grand clock tower in the center of their city – Modrata – tolled the time without stopping. The girl narrowed her eyes at it as she walked to the nearest escalator.
The grand clock tower, a Magnum Opus which has known no stoppage since its creation. For centuries it has ticked its constant moderato perpetually. Not a single soul know who made it or how it was made. Such things are lost to time.
However, a single rumor remains. Of an item, known only as the Nachash and that it was the reason why it hasn't stopped ticking. But such a thing is simply a rumor.
The girl entered a shop, eyeing what she needed as bribery. "Thank you, dearest sister, now where are the gears we're looking for?"
A singular man came out from a room out back and with snake-like smile he asked, "Ah, Miss Laurent. Are you looking for a size twelve gear? Or perhaps something larger? Oh, how many teeth this time?" He rubbed his hands expectantly.
"No, Arland dear. None of that I'm afraid." The man's wolf-like ears twitched. "I am looking…for what it is my brother needs for his opus. Whatever in the world it is." Arland's ears perked up in response.
"Oh, why don't you say so, madam? Your brother has been looking for a small gear, a size five with a staggering thirty-two teeth. Such a thing is almost impossible to find." He dove behind the counter and pulled out a single, small box. "Well, I'll be looking forward for your family's continued patronage."
"Oh, Arland, dear. You don't have to worry a thing." She smiled devilishly. "So long as we have what we need."
The two smiled mischievously as Arland slowly opened the box. Inside it was a gold gear with a head-numbing amount of teeth. The sheer existence of said gear made her wonder if she should try to buy another one to replace her 'sister's' parts.
When the bell of the door chimed, she was taken out of her trance, remembering herself. "Excuse me, I'm looking for a gear." A light child-like voice belonging to a girl called out into the store.
Arland looked annoyed but answered nonetheless, "I'll be with you in a moment, I am…currently preoccupied with other matters."
"Oh I won't be long." She explained. "Please? I need it for my opus." When she begged, Arland looked ready to shout at her, when a hand stopped him.
"Hello dear, what are you looking for?" She asked.
The small girl, looking no older than nine, looked up at her. Her dark blue eyes seeming to complement her bright blue hair. "Do you work here, miss?"
"Not quite, dear." She lowered herself to meet her gaze. "I'm the keeper's friend. I know where all the gears are placed. My name is Genevieve, it's a pleasure to meet you miss…?"
"Lizbeth, Miss Genevieve." Her eyes wondered all throughout the store before landing unto the puppet. "Is that your opus, miss?"
Genevieve gave a prideful smile. "It's my Magnum opus; my dearest sister, Eve." She moved the puppet closer with a motion of her hands. "Say hello, dearest sister." With another motion, the puppet gave a curtsy.
"Amazing!"
"So, what are you looking for, Lizbeth?" The girl looked around the store, a trinket in her hand. "What is that, Lizbeth?" Genevieve pointed towards her hands.
Lizbeth raised the trinket hesitantly, "It's my opus."
"That's wonderful!" Genevieve clapped her hands together. "What do you need to complete it?" Lizbeth looked down at her opus hesitantly. "What's wrong, dear?"
"Can I… Can I make a Magnum Opus like yours?" Her eyes lit up at the puppet.
"Why of course! It is in our right to take the stars, we simply have to reach for it."
"The Artisan's Maxim!" She called out.
"Exactly! Now what do you need, Lizbeth dearest?"
After the little girl left the building, Genevieve walked back to Arland. "Forgive me, Miss Laurent, I should've closed the shop. It won't happen again, I promise you."
"Oh, I hope so, Arland." She said while fixing her 'sister's' clothes. "There, perfect! I hope you won't play favorites like that ever again. All artisans are equal, Arland. Best you remember that next time I come here."
"Y-yes, miss Laurent. I-it won't happen again, Miss Laurent." Arland bowed sincerely atop the table.
"Good. Now then, the centerpiece if you don't mind, Arland dear." She motioned her hand elegantly.
Once more, the small box opened again revealing its contents. It was a Forger's work that seemed to be dreamed up by a madman. As to why her brother needed it, she did not know. "Marvelous!" Arland gave a prideful smile at the remark. "Your network is astounding as ever, Arland dear."
"It's an honor to hear you say that, Miss Laurent."
"Do you suppose…" She stopped hesitantly, but ultimately, she was desperate. "Do you suppose you have someone in your network that can help me with my predicament?" She asked.
Arland grimaced, "That is…a tall order, Miss Laurent. What you need is something like a myth. A fairy tale. Nothing that a Forger could make."
"I understand, I was simply asking. How much do I owe for this little miracle in my hands?"
"Nothing at all, Miss Laurent, it's been paid for. Although, if my name were to circulate…" He whispered suspiciously.
"I understand, if my acquaintances require assistance then…" She leaned in closer and whispered, "What of the specific orders? Should I refer them to you too?"
Arland shrugged. "Only the most trustworthy."
"Only the most." Genevieve gave a curtsy and walked out.
In this city, Modrata, there are five levels of the city. The higher the level, the higher one's prestige as a Forger, Artisan, Keeper, or Virtuoso. To traverse them was to use the Magnum Opus; the escalators. A magnificent piece of machinery operated by the cogs and gears that keeps on winding, powered by the kinetic energy of the rivers on the lowest level.
The Laurents lived in the fourth level of Modrata and Arland's shop was within the first level. The only way to climb the levels is to raise one's prestige – one's reputation. The easiest way for keepers are to provide the items that Artisans or Forgers needed. Even if some of them were 'special' made-to-order.
In the same way how an Artisan or Forger would need witnesses to their opus, Keepers would also need patrons to their business. The idea of itself was nothing more than a status symbol. The way of life for those in the first level and those in the fourth level were not dissimilar. Of course, the more famous a person become, the more trusted their opus would be – so it wasn't without advantages.
The idea of riches itself was not something that weigh too heavily on the residence of Modrata. Money was something that was seen as temporary, finite. Whereas their opus was something that was eternal – the proof of their existence.
Most residence of Modrata live inside moderately-sized to mansion-sized buildings. The reason for that is, one; they would need to flaunt their grandeur – their prestige. And two; they need the space for their workshops, ateliers, and studies.
Artisans and Forgers alike needs space in their houses where they can work undisturbed. The idea of them working in a factory for their opus is a foolish one, but not unheard of. The factories exists solely as a way of mass-production which would need staff to operate, what better than Artisans and Forgers honing their skills? Even without, there exists government drafted individuals who works in the factories.
Genevieve entered her house after unlocking its mechanisms. The sound of gears and cogs turning, interlocking, and ticking was one that made her smile. "I'm home!" She called out into the house. Not a single answer came but she stood still.
After five minutes, her brother came down the stairs to greet his beloved sister. "Gen! Welcome back!" He opened his arms to hug her. "So? Anything to keep my mouth shut from father?" He whispered to her ears.
"A size five gear with thirty-two teeth, brother dearest." She whispered back.
"Thanks for helping with my errand, Gen!" He shouted loudly into the house. "I don't think father would buy anything we'd say about you though." He added with a playful smile.
"So long as you don't betray me, brother dearest, I have no complaints." She curtsied.
"What a charmer you are. I remember you being cuter when you were younger and…" His eyes trailed to her opus. "…saner." He then shrugged and continued, "Speaking of cute and sane, Melody was looking for you this morning. I won't berate your obsession of your dearest sister, but do try to dote on your own for once."
"I do dote on melody! She's the loveliest sister I could ever hope for." She covered her lips, appalled at her brother's words.
"And yet, you obsessed over that…thing." His words caused Genevieve to flinch, moving the doll a bit.
"Do be careful, brother dearest. Even if you are my beloved brother, I will not tolerate a slight at her." Genevieve glared at him.
Her brother raised his arms in resignation. "Only a joke, dearest sister. Come, father was looking for you." He chuckled playfully.
Genevieve followed her brother with the puppet following them. They went up the stairs and entered the study where their father was tinkering away on an opus on the table. It was a small rectangular watch with leather straps. Lately, he has been finding interest in making watches with differing mechanisms.
"Gen is here, father." Her brother informed.
Their father looked up for a moment before pushing away the microscope from his glasses. "Ah, thank you, Philippe. Now, Genevieve, what was it you were doing?"
Genevieve simply closed her eyes without saying anything. "Father, she was running an errand for me, did I forgot to mention?"
"And what was this errand?" He scrutinized his son's face.
"Well, I needed her to buy me a gear, nothing too outlandish."
"Hmm." He hummed. "Where?"
"Our usual keeper."
"Is that so? Because I recall Gaspard needing to meet with a Forger today." He stood from his table and stared at Genevieve. "What was it you were doing?"
Genevieve shrugged, "Surprisingly, father dearest, he's telling the truth."
Their father turned to him once more. "…Arland?"
He didn't say anything, simply trying his hardest not to break while his sister is smirking next to him. "…To be fair, father, who else would find a size five thirty-two teethed gear?"
Their father sigh and massaged his temple. "I suppose…If anyone catches wind of this…"
"You could always sever ties with me, father dearest. It is the safest route." Her family members looked at her as if she was insane. "It was merely a jest at my expense. Honestly though, I don't understand why it's fine to use some keeper's gears and not others." She lied, knowing the answer fully.
"That is not the problem, Gen." Their father sighed as he seated himself. "There exists a group of people who would pretend to be Artisans, Forgers, and Keepers; the Counterfeiters. They're the kinds who would create inferior opuses to be given away for money."
"Why? Quite a trivial aim." Genevieve shrug.
"Such a thing is insulting to the Maxim, to the Grand Clockwork. They are the parasites, scum, and filth." He sighed. "Arland does not discriminate between true Forgers and Counterfeiters. You'd do well not to embarrass yourself with faulty gears." He warned. "Do you understand, Genevieve?"
"I understand now, father dearest. Thank you for the lecture, I'll keep that in mind." She moved towards the puppet and brushed its synthetic hair. "I wouldn't want any of that to taint my dearest sister after all." Seeing the scene, the two could only sigh at her eccentrics.
"Do not forget, you are not an Artisan yet. I urge you to just create a simple opus for your Artisan license, my dear." Their father warned as he examined his opus once more.
"Where's the fun in that, father dearest?" She answered while leaving with her brother.
When the two left the room and made their way downstairs, her brother commented, "'I understand now?' Are you sure you don't want to become a Virtuoso? You'd do well on the acting stage." He laughed.
"Please, brother dearest. Such things are not meant for me, I'm just a better liar than you. In addition, I can't play the fool anymore thanks to you." She glared at him.
"You're welcome, anything to not let you get away with your antics, dearest sister." He smirked. "Before you say anything, this doesn't count as betrayal since I didn't say anything about anything." He added.
For a moment, Genevieve thought about smacking his head with her 'dearest sister's' hands – but only for a moment. "Ah, speaking of dearest sisters, Melody is in the park now. You'd do well to dote on her before she resents you. She's with our mother, so perhaps, the doll might-" his words were cut by her piercing glare. "-perhaps your 'dearest sister' might be better left at home. Clockwork knows she's in need of maintenance."
Hearing a good advice from him was rare but not unwelcome. Considering the strain she forced on her 'dearest sister' this morning, she wondered if she'll become irreparable. With that thought in mind, she left the doll inside her own workshop.
2
The park is located on the fifth level, where the sunlight was not impeded. Many would take leisure strolls or to simply bask in the morning sun on the fifth level when the fancy suits them. Conversely, those who want to hide away from the sun's embrace would go to the lower levels. Genevieve herself found it to be more comfortable in the first level, where all the luminescent plants inhabit.
Putting aside her preferences, Genevieve herself can understand the allure of the fifth level. Seeing all the families and children spending their time together was picturesque, making her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Her heels kept tapping away against the stone streets as her eyes wandered to and fro. She'd witness the citizens of Modrato hustling and bustling all around her, reminding her how much life this city has. She also noted that most of the citizens on the upper levels are not using velocipede unlike the first level. Most of the factories are located on the first level, so commuting with them might save energy before working in the factories.
Whichever the case was, Genevieve never really thought about trying or even learning how to ride a velocipede. While they are a magnificent Magnum Opus, she had always thought of them as still being too droll. On the other hand, the Magnum Opus; the train was something she was interested in.
The train is a vehicle that uses multiple wheels with three giant cogs in the middle to move. All of which are propelled by kinetic energy of a winch. After winding up the gears for motion, a device within the train itself made it possible for the train to sustain its movement energy by its own motion. To put simply, the train's acceleration generates power so it can maintain acceleration. Something that Genevieve do not know how to achieve with her doll.
"GEN!" Her younger sister's voice broke the trance she had, causing her to spot her amongst the park goers. She was still only ten, slightly older than the girl she met this morning. Her hair was golden blonde, similar to hers and fathers as opposed to their brother's and mother's hazelnut hair.
"Ah, sister dearest, mother dearest." Genevieve curtsied to the two. "Are you two having fun?"
"Not quite, sister dearest!" Melody mirrored her speech. "I wanted to work on my opus but mother dearest forbade me." She pouted as she went to hug her sister's waist.
"Oh? Why is that, mother dearest?"
"She wanted to meet with Arland this morning…at least, after your brother let out that you went there for him." She gave a kind and cold smile.
"Ah…I suppose…nothing gets past you, mother dearest." Genevieve hung her head.
"Of course not. Between your father and I, I'm much more of a savant. Though I'm not as much of a worrywart as he is." She took a drink from a flask that was resting on their bench.
"Then why not let her come with?"
"Are you mad, Gen? Arland will no doubt use her to his advantage. Melody is not as cunning or cruel as you are. Honestly, I wonder who she got her innocence from." She chuckled.
"Regardless of who, she's still my adorable sister dearest." Genevieve said while raising her to the sky.
While Melody was laughing happily, she turned to a pout. "Mother, don't call Gen cruel! Gen, I thought you were on my side?"
The two laughed at her words as their mother opened her arms for Melody. Genevieve handed her all too light younger sister to her mother and sat next the two. "Did you ask Arland if he had anything to help you and your…dearest sister?" Melody flinched at her mother's words.
"Is now really the time to discuss this, mother dearest?" Genevieve patted her younger sister, knowing she dislikes talking about Eve.
"Your obsession is maddening. Not just for me." Her mother let Melody go who sat down between the two with an annoyed look on her face. "Melody?"
She didn't want to say anything so Genevieve patted her, "It's fine. I understand."
Feeling the warmth of her sister's hand she grumbled, "…Am I not enough for a sister?"
Genevieve chuckled and hugged her sister. "It's nothing like that, sister dearest. You are a wonderful and fantastic little sister. My most beloved little sister. What I wanted is a perfect older sister, something that can be a perfect older sister for you too."
Hearing her words, Melody hugged her. "You are the perfect older sister for me."
The two let Melody go back to frolic around the park. Though she said that she wanted to work on her opus more, she was more fitted to be a free and untethered Virtuoso as their mother. For now, Melody was still looking up to Genevieve as her goal.
"Would all of your obsession not exist had I given birth to an older sister?" Her mother commented.
"No." Genevieve said with resolution. "If you did, she wouldn't have been perfect."
Genevieve was getting frustrated. The motioning of her doll was extreme, to the point of reaching its breaking point. She was playing an old composition that her mother made years prior to her birth. A piece that would jump from prestissimo (178 BPM) to grave (20 BPM) then back to prestissimo.
The gears at her joints were creaking and crying. Her limbs started to feel the feedback of the movement. Yet, no matter how much abuse her body went through she was not allowed to stop, not even for a single second.
In the end, her 'dearest sister' broke under the strain. The gears of her right wrist couldn't hold up the force that they exerted and snapped, causing the song to finish incomplete. All that was left was a frustrated Genevieve who could only narrow her eyes at the doll.
She took a deep breath to remember herself. With a clap of her hand, she said, "I'm not angry, dearest sister, not at you. I blame the Forgers who can't fit your specifications." She sighed. "Cogdammit." She clicked her tongue. "I'm sorry, dearest sister. It seems I've become too frustrated. Let us head home!" With a half-hearted curtsy, she said her farewells to the stage and the dolls left there.
With the frustration still fresh in her mind, she made her way to Arland's shop. "Forgive me, Miss Laurent, but I cannot fulfill your wishes without prior order." He said with his usual grin.
"I suppose I can't expect you to." Her tone grave. As her eyes landed on the doll that would perhaps remain imperfect, she started to wonder aloud, "I really do need a miracle."
Hearing those words, Arland's ears droop. "P-perhaps there is a different gear you're looking for, Miss Laurent?"
"Oh, did I say that aloud? Don't trouble yourself with it, Arland dear. Even I know that what I want is nothing more than a cruel childish dream." She chuckled loudly. "It would've been nice if I could keep the dream going however." She said so quietly neither was sure if it was accidental or not.
Seeing her dejected visage, Arland opened his mouth, "…The Nachash…." Her eyes lit up and stared at Arland. It struck him like he was a deer in the headlights.
"Arland my friend, you better not have said that in an attempt to cheer me up. All you're getting is my ire if you did."
Arland lowered his head, wondering if this was the right thing to do. "…I've heard rumors…about it as of late. That someone…in Piagrado have found traces of it. That- that it's real."
Genevieve grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. "What do you want? Why are you telling me this? What are you trying to do?" She glared at him.
This was the first time Arland had ever seen her like this, though he could hazard a guess as to why. "Miss Laurent, I might be the person you think I am, but I'm no monster. All I ever ask from you is your continued patronage and your referral, nothing more." He whimpered, terrified for his life.
Genevieve let his collar go and straighten out his shirt. "You're right…yes, you're right. My apologies, I forgot myself in the moment." She chuckled. "Still, informing me of such things would only bring misfortune to yourself. After all, how can I be a patron or even refer when I'm not in Modrata?"
"I cannot dispute that. However, I am a keeper first and foremost, and it is our job to circulate whatever it is that are needed. In honesty, I do not have what you are looking for, I simply have the…possibility of what you needed." He said regrettably.
"…To think, you'd be willing to do something for me without anything in return. Surprising."
"We are friends, are we not?" The two gave smiles that knew those words were only lies. "Fair enough. It is simply a rumor, nothing more. I stand to gain nothing, I stand to lose nothing. You on the other hand…" His words trail off, knowing that this was nothing more than a wild goose chase.
"Thank you for your information, I will keep it in the back of my mind." She turned and motioned so the doll would follow her.
"Miss Laurent!" Arland stopped her in her tracks. "For what it's worth, I do hope you find what you're looking for. I do not wish misfortune nor ill will towards you and your family. I trust you know that."
Arland is a cunning man at times. He is a keeper who simply wish to rise the levels of Modrata. He is not evil nor cruel. He is not good nor charitable. All he is, is a keeper living his life from day-to-day. An utterly gray morale of a man. "Thank you, Arland dear." Genevieve left the store with those words.
After that day, Arland would not see Genevieve for a very long time. Years would pass until she'd returned to Modrata. By that point, Arland will be living in the third level of the city, happily tending to his patrons equally. Yet, a guilty conscience attached itself to him since that day.
Regardless of how much he wishes, of how much he prayed and hope, he knew. Even if the rumor did come from a reputable source, the guilt would not lessen. In his heart of hearts, he knew that the Nachash was not real.