Free-Wrench, no. 1 Read Free Page B

long
before she or even her parents were born. These days the only time
people were likely to get a glimpse of a foreigner was during one
of the few authorized trade visits, or else by sneaking off and
trading with black marketers as Drew did. Everything she knew about
the outside was based on hearsay and rumor. It was said that their
technology was far beyond that of Caldera, with swift airships that
could cross the sea in days instead of weeks and mechanisms that
made the coil carriage look primitive by comparison. Of course,
she’d also heard they were enslaved by a legion of ghoulish fiends
and their favorite food was boiled rat. Like most things, Nita took
the tales of their exploits with a grain of salt.
    “I hear they even throw their own airmen into
the sea for the most minor offenses, and…”
    “Mother, is something wrong?” Lita said.
    Nita looked up to see her mother slowly
lowering her teacup to the table. Her hand shook visibly,
threatening to spill it.
    “It is nothing, dear. Put it out of your
mind,” she said, rubbing her fingers with her other hand.
    “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Nita
said.
    “It’s nothing . I… just didn’t get very
much sleep, dear. I’m tired.”
    “Have the treatments been helping?” Nita
asked.
    “Yes, yes, dear, of course. It will pass,”
she said, holding out her hand as the tremor began to subside.
“There, you see? Nothing to worry about.”
    In her day, Gloria Graus had been the finest
sculptor in Caldera, if not the world. Shortly after her children
were born, however, she noticed an unsteadiness in her hands. To
her and the family’s horror, she was found to be suffering Gannt’s
Disease. It was rare, no more than three cases had been recorded in
the history of Caldera, but the prognosis was well-known. Shakiness
was just the first symptom, but it had already robbed her of the
precision necessary to honor her muse. For a lifelong artist, that
was almost worse than the disease’s ultimate result: early death.
The family tried not to discuss it, as what little could be done
had been done. Yet if the tremors were back, it meant the end could
be very near.
    “Now. Let us not have sour faces around my
table, hmm?” said Marissa as she cleared away the emptied dishes.
“Josh and Lita have a full day ahead of them, and Nita has a long
day behind her.”
    “Yes, off with you, children. The academy
wants me to select a lecturer to fill in for me.”
    The family stood to go about their day, but
Nita lingered. Her mother had moved unsteadily to the parlor and
stood staring at something on the mantle. It was littered with
vases, statues, sketches, and paintings, as well as a large
handmade clock of Nita’s father’s design. Gloria could have been
staring at any one of them, but Nita knew without asking which it
was that held her mother’s gaze.
    “Mother?”
    “Oh. Yes, Amanita dear?” she answered, shaken
from her reverie.
    “How long has it been?” Nita asked, plucking
a small figurine of a deer from the mantle. It was skillfully made
from clay, but, unlike the other figurines, it was unglazed and
unpainted.
    “Oh… sixteen years now. Oh cruel fate, eh? To
take my gift from me before I could paint my final piece.” She
paused to settle down to a chair. These days she couldn’t spend
more than a few minutes on her feet. “Tell me, dear. What you do at
the steamworks, does it make you happy? Does it feed your spirit
and nourish your heart?”
    “It is very fulfilling.”
    “Then cherish it, love. You won’t have it
forever. And you never know when you might lose it. I think back
sometimes. To balls I attended, galas I hosted. I think of all the
hours I could have spent with my fingers in the clay or with a
chisel in my hand. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to have
just one of those hours back again. Just one more day that I could
hold a brush and know that the line I paint would stay straight and
true.” A tear ran down her cheek.