The Gilded Gear

Chapter 1: Gears and Shadows

Her workshop, a cluttered sanctuary tucked into a forgotten alley in the Ironclad District, was a haven of organized chaos. Tools of all shapes and sizes hung from pegboards, a tapestry of wrenches, cog pullers, and screwdrivers. Shelves bowed under the weight of brass gears, copper wire, and half-finished automaton projects. The air smelled of machine oil, hot metal, and the faint floral undertone of the tea Evie brewed each morning.

The centerpiece of the room was her workbench, illuminated by a cluster of flickering gas lamps. It was piled with blueprints, scraps of brass, and the disassembled remnants of a clockwork sparrow, its delicate wings splayed out like a broken promise. Evie had spent the better part of the night trying to fix its malfunctioning voice box, the tiny mechanism stubbornly refusing her efforts.

“Come on, Chirper,” she muttered under her breath, adjusting her magnifying goggles and tightening a microscopic spring with a pair of tweezers. The sparrow gave a weak chirp, followed by a pathetic whir before going silent again. Evie sighed and set the tweezers down.

Before she could curse her luck, a sharp knock at the door broke her concentration. Her heart leapt—visitors were rare, and often unwelcome. She quickly flipped a cloth over the mess on her workbench and reached for the lever that opened the door.

The door creaked open to reveal Tobin, a lanky teenager with a mop of unruly hair and a perpetually wide-eyed expression. He worked as a courier for the Skylord docks, though Evie suspected he earned more by pocketing what he wasn’t supposed to.

“Morning, Miss Thornwick!” Tobin chirped, his voice a bit too cheerful for someone who spent his days dodging enforcers. “Got a delivery for you.”

Evie raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t order anything.”

“This one’s special,” he said with a grin, pulling a small, grease-stained parcel from his satchel. “No name, just instructions to get it to you. And, uh…” He hesitated, his grin faltering. “Whoever sent it wanted me to tell you: ‘The Gilded Gear turns, even now.’”

Evie’s blood ran cold.

Her mechanical hand tightened involuntarily, the soft click of its joints a stark contrast to the pounding of her heart. It was a phrase she hadn’t heard in over a decade—not since her uncle vanished.

“I don’t suppose they gave you a return address?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

Tobin shook his head. “Nope. Just the parcel. Anyway, I gotta run.” He hesitated, as if sensing the shift in her demeanor, then tipped his cap and darted off down the alley.

Evie stared at the package for a long moment before closing the door and locking it. She set the parcel on her workbench and peeled back the layers of brown paper. Inside was a single sheet of vellum, folded and sealed with a brass insignia: a gear with an ornate feather engraved in its center.

Her uncle’s seal.

Hands trembling, she broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Sketched on the page was a fragment of a blueprint, the design intricate yet incomplete. At the bottom of the page, in her uncle’s unmistakable handwriting, were the words:

“Find the key. Trust no one.”

The clockwork sparrow on the bench suddenly chirped, louder and clearer than before. Evie jumped, her heart pounding as the sparrow’s tiny gears whirred to life. It flapped its brass wings once, twice, then turned its head toward her.

In a distorted, mechanical voice, it spoke:

“They’re watching.”

Chapter 2: Through the Steam

The brass hinges of the workshop door groaned as Evie stepped into the street, locking up behind her with a quick twist of her mechanical hand. The chill morning air smelled of grease, coal smoke, and freshly baked bread from the corner bakery. Above, the sky churned with ash and steam, smothering the sun in a haze of muted bronze.

Evie tucked the letter into her jacket and began weaving through the narrow streets of the Ironclad District, her boots clinking against the metal-lined cobblestones. As much as she hated leaving her sanctuary, she needed Greta’s sharp mind to help untangle her uncle’s cryptic message. They’d been inseparable since childhood, and Greta’s knack for seeing through riddles was rivaled only by her knack for getting into trouble.

She paused at a corner, watching as a towering automaton rumbled by, its thick iron legs hissing with steam. A cart filled with glowing aetherium crystals trailed behind it, the cargo crackling faintly under its glass covering. Its operator, a wiry man perched on a brass saddle, nodded at Evie in passing. She gave a brief nod in return, her thoughts already spiraling back to the blueprint and the strange phrase: Find the key.

“A key to what?” she muttered to herself, dodging a sputtering clockwork tricycle that nearly veered off course. Its young driver yanked on a series of levers, managing to steady the contraption just in time. Evie sighed, pulling her jacket tighter around her.

The streets grew busier as she moved closer to the Skylord Market, where towering brass-and-glass buildings loomed on either side. Pipes snaked along their facades, exhaling bursts of steam that coiled into the air like restless ghosts. Steam-powered conveyer bridges swung overhead, carrying crates and passengers between spires. Above them all, steam balloons floated lazily, their engines humming like distant thunder.

Evie ducked into a side alley to avoid the market crowds. The buildings here were older, their exteriors tarnished and patched with rivets where the brass had corroded. A shopkeeper yelled at an automaton porter struggling to carry a load of bolts, its gears grinding ominously under the strain.

As she neared Greta’s place, a familiar sound stopped her in her tracks—the melodic chime of a steam-powered clock tower striking the hour. She glanced up to see its massive brass hands gliding over an ornately etched face, gears clicking in perfect harmony.

Greta lived in one of the more eccentric neighborhoods of Brasshaven, where inventors and tinkerers made their homes in cluttered workshops that spilled into the streets. As Evie approached, the air buzzed with the sounds of clanking metal and hissing valves. A young girl raced by, chasing a clockwork dog that barked in a tinny voice, while a man on stilts adjusted a steam-powered camera perched on his shoulder.

Evie stopped in front of Greta’s workshop, a squat brick building crowned with a makeshift observatory made of salvaged airship parts. The words “Greta’s Oddities & Artifices” were painted in bold letters on the door, which swung open before Evie could knock.

“Evie!” Greta exclaimed, her dark curls bouncing as she pulled her best friend inside. Her round glasses were smudged with grease, and her hands were stained with soot. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did another automaton explode in your face, or is this something interesting?”

Evie didn’t bother with pleasantries, pulling the letter from her jacket and handing it over. “This arrived this morning. Read it and tell me I’m not going mad.”

Greta’s cheerful expression sobered as she unfolded the vellum, her sharp eyes scanning the blueprint and the scribbled words. She sank into a chair, the worn leather creaking under her weight, and motioned for Evie to sit across from her.

“This is…” Greta began, trailing off as she studied the intricate sketch. “This looks like one of your uncle’s designs, doesn’t it?”

“It is,” Evie said, her voice low. “But I don’t know what it’s for. And that phrase—‘Find the key’—I have no idea what it means.”

Greta frowned, tapping her finger against the blueprint. “Do you think it’s literal? A physical key? Or could it be something symbolic? A clue?”

“I don’t know,” Evie admitted, her mechanical fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. “But whatever it is, it has something to do with The Gilded Gear.”

At that, Greta’s head snapped up. “The Gilded Gear? The secret society your uncle was mixed up with?”

“Not just him,” Evie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think it’s why my parents disappeared.”

For a moment, the two friends sat in silence, the weight of the revelation pressing down on them like the smog outside. Finally, Greta leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with determination.

“Then we’re finding this key,” she said firmly. “And we’re going to figure out what this blueprint is for. But first…” She stood, grabbing a satchel filled with tools. “You’re going to tell me everything you know. Start at the beginning.”

Evie nodded, her resolve hardening. The Gilded Gear’s shadow had haunted her life for too long. It was time to bring it into the light.

Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

The smell of Greta’s workshop—a mix of ozone, grease, and faint lavender—was oddly comforting as Evie leaned back in the worn chair. Greta was busy making tea, her movements quick and precise, but her focus never wavered from Evie’s words.

“You’ve heard the stories, right?” Evie began, her voice tinged with bitterness. “About The Gilded Gear? The secret society of inventors, revolutionaries, and—depending on who you ask—criminals?”

Greta nodded, setting down two mismatched mugs. “Mostly whispers. Conspiracies. People say they control the aetherium trade from the shadows, pulling strings behind the Skylords and the Cogborn alike.”

“Well, it’s not just stories,” Evie said, staring into her tea as if searching for answers in the swirling steam. “They’re real. And they’ve been tied to my family for as long as I can remember.”

She hesitated, her mechanical hand clenching and unclenching. Greta leaned forward, waiting.

---

Flashback

Evie was nine years old, perched on a stool in her uncle Corwin’s workshop. The room had been warm and alive, filled with the hum of machines and the gentle glow of gas lamps. Her uncle’s hands moved deftly as he adjusted a prototype of her mechanical hand, tightening a tiny brass gear with a screwdriver.

“How does it feel now?” Corwin asked, giving her a playful grin. “Less pinchy this time, I hope.”

Evie flexed her small fingers, the brass joints moving with a satisfying whir. “It’s better,” she said, her voice soft. “But it still catches when I try to close it all the way.”

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” Corwin muttered, leaning closer to inspect the inner workings of the hand. “We’ll fix that in a jiffy. You deserve the best, Evie.”

She watched him work in silence for a while, her auburn hair tied back with the same leather band she’d been wearing for months. Finally, curiosity got the better of her. “Uncle Corwin,” she asked, her voice hesitant, “why don’t we ever talk about Mum and Dad?”

The question hung in the air like a cloud of smoke. Corwin froze, his cheerful expression faltering for the briefest moment. He set down the screwdriver and pulled a chair close to hers.

“They were brilliant, your parents,” he said quietly. “Your mother was the best inventor I’ve ever known, and your father had a mind like a steel trap. But they got involved in something dangerous. Something they thought would change the world.”

“What was it?” Evie asked, wide-eyed.

Corwin hesitated, glancing at the door as if someone might be listening. Then he lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “The Gilded Gear.”

The name sent a shiver down her spine, even then.

“They were part of it,” Corwin continued. “An elite group of visionaries trying to push the boundaries of what technology could do. But they started working on something… experimental. Something the Skylords didn’t want anyone to know about.”

“What happened to them?” Evie whispered.

Corwin’s face darkened. “An accident. At least, that’s what they called it. Their airship went down during a test flight. But I don’t buy it. I think someone wanted to shut them up.”

Evie bit her lip, her mechanical hand resting in her lap. It was still new to her then, unfamiliar and strange. “Do you think they’re… really gone?”

Corwin sighed and pulled her into a hug, his arms strong and steady. “I don’t know, Evie. But if they’re out there, we’ll find them. I promise.”

She buried her face in his chest, the scent of machine oil mingling with the faint aroma of tea he always seemed to carry. After a moment, she glanced down at her brass fingers, the memories flooding back. The accident. The fire. The pain.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Corwin said gently, as if reading her thoughts. “The explosion wasn’t because of you.”

“But it was their invention,” Evie whispered, her voice trembling. “If I hadn’t touched it—”

“You were just a kid,” Corwin interrupted firmly. “They never should’ve had something so dangerous lying around. And you’re alive, Evie. That’s what matters. You’re here. And now, we’ve made something better together.” He gestured to her mechanical hand, the delicate gears catching the lamplight. “This isn’t just a replacement. It’s a reminder that you’re stronger than what happened. Always remember that.”

---

Back To The Present

“I never forgot that promise,” Evie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But two years later, Corwin disappeared too. Just… gone, like they were. The last thing he left behind was my new hand and a half-finished blueprint I couldn’t make sense of.”

Greta frowned. “And you think The Gilded Gear had something to do with it?”

“Of course I do,” Evie snapped. “Corwin said they were dangerous. That they operated in the shadows, manipulating everything from the aetherium trade to the government itself. And now, after all this time, I get a message with their symbol on it? It can’t be a coincidence.”

Greta was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed. Then she looked up at Evie, determination gleaming in her eyes.

“If they’re behind this, we’ll find out,” she said firmly. “But first, we need to figure out what that blueprint is for. It could be the key to everything.”

Evie nodded, though her thoughts were still tangled with memories and questions.

The Gilded Gear turns, even now.

What did it mean? What had her family been working on that was worth killing—or disappearing—over? And more importantly, was she ready to face the answers?

Chapter 4: The First Lead

The air at the docks was thick with salt and soot, the cries of gulls blending with the clang of machinery and the shouts of workers unloading crates of aetherium. Steam hissed from pipes along the docksides, filling the air with a low, constant hum. Evie and Greta moved with purpose, their footsteps quick and determined as they scanned the crowd for their quarry.

“Tobin’s probably skulking around the cargo haulers,” Greta said, her voice low. “That’s where he usually does his... business.”

Evie nodded, her jaw tight as she adjusted the fit of her jacket. The blueprint and letter still weighed heavily on her mind, but first, they needed answers—and Tobin was the only link they had to whoever sent the message.

It didn’t take long to find him. The lanky teenager was perched on a crate near a loading platform, tossing a brass coin into the air and catching it lazily. He looked up as they approached, his grin faltering when he saw the determined expressions on their faces.

“Ladies!” Tobin called, hopping off the crate. “What brings you to my little corner of paradise? Need another favor?”

“You could say that,” Evie said, her tone icy. She grabbed him by the arm, her mechanical hand clinking against the fabric of his sleeve. “We’re going somewhere quiet. Now.”

Tobin laughed nervously, his eyes darting around. “Whoa, easy there, Thornwick. I don’t want any trouble—”

“Then don’t give us any,” Greta interrupted, stepping up beside Evie. Together, they hauled Tobin into a nearby warehouse, its interior cool and dim. The air smelled of rust and damp wood, and the only sounds were the distant rumble of machinery and the muffled shouts of dockworkers outside.

Evie shoved Tobin against a stack of crates, the impact making the wood creak. Greta moved behind him, gripping his arms to keep him in place.

“Now,” Evie said, crossing her arms. Her mechanical hand gleamed in the faint light, its fingers flexing with a quiet whir. “Who sent the message?”

Tobin tried to play it off, chuckling nervously. “Oh, come on. I’m just a courier. You know how it is—people give me things, I deliver them. No big deal.”

Evie narrowed her eyes and turned her attention to a dormant steam loader nearby. Its exposed gears and levers were worn but sturdy, a testament to countless years of service. With a single, sharp motion, she ripped a large cog from the machine with her mechanical hand, the brass teeth screeching as they broke free.

She held the cog up to Tobin’s face, her voice low and menacing. “Tell me, or this will be your head, Tobin.”

Tobin’s bravado crumbled. His eyes widened as he pressed back against the crates. “You wouldn’t—”

“She would,” Greta said from behind him, tightening her grip on his arms. “And I’m here to make sure she doesn’t miss.”

Tobin swallowed hard, his confidence melting into panic. “Okay, okay! I’ll talk! Just... put the cog down, yeah?”

Evie lowered the cog slightly, but her glare didn’t waver. “Start talking.”

“It was Rena!” Tobin blurted. “She’s the one who gave me the message. But you can never tell her I told you! She’ll... she’ll kill me. Or worse.”

Evie exchanged a glance with Greta, then turned her focus back to Tobin. “Rena? As in Rena Harlowe?”

Tobin nodded frantically. “Yes! The same Rena who’s got half the city scared of her. She’s... connected, okay? She’s got people everywhere. She told me to deliver the package and say that thing about the Gilded Gear. That’s all I know, I swear!”

Evie’s mind raced. Rena Harlowe was a name she hadn’t heard in years, but it still sent a chill down her spine. A local political figure with a reputation for ruthless efficiency, Rena was rumored to have deep ties to the criminal underworld—and to The Gilded Gear. Corwin had spoken of her once, his face dark with distrust.

“She’s dangerous,” Corwin had said. “The kind of person who makes problems disappear. Stay far away from her, Evie.”

“Where can we find her?” Greta demanded, jarring Evie from her thoughts.

Tobin hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Finally, he slumped in defeat. “She’s got a place in the Heights. Big mansion, all fancy brass and glass. But listen, you didn’t hear it from me, alright? She’s not someone you want to mess with.”

Evie stepped back, tossing the cog aside. It hit the floor with a loud clang. “Let’s hope you’re right about that, Tobin. For your sake.”

Greta released him, and Tobin stumbled forward, rubbing his arms. “You two are crazy,” he muttered, backing toward the door. “Absolutely crazy.”

“We’ll take that as a compliment,” Greta called after him as he bolted out of the warehouse.

Evie leaned against a crate, her thoughts churning. “Rena,” she muttered. “Of all people…”

“You think she’s involved with The Gilded Gear?” Greta asked.

Evie nodded, her mechanical fingers tapping against the crate absentmindedly. “Corwin didn’t like her. Said she was too interested in their experiments—always asking questions, always trying to push her way into places she didn’t belong. If she sent that message, she knows more about what happened to him—and my parents—than anyone else in this city.”

Greta crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. “What if that’s exactly what she wants? To lure you in?”

The thought struck Evie like a hammer to the chest. She glanced at Greta, her brow furrowed. “You think the letter was a trap?”

“Think about it,” Greta said, gesturing with her hands. “She sends you a cryptic message tied to The Gilded Gear, knowing you can’t resist chasing it down. Maybe she’s waiting for you.”

Evie considered this, the possibility gnawing at her. “If that’s true, then it means she’s been keeping tabs on me. On us. For years.”

Greta grinned, her eyes gleaming with excitement despite the danger. “Well, if she’s been waiting, we can make sure we’re not what she expects.”

Evie straightened, determination hardening her features. “Then we’ll need a plan,” she said firmly. “She won’t just let us walk in and start asking questions. If she’s trying to lure us, we need to be ready for anything.”

Greta smirked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Good thing I’m excellent at making plans.”