Along Came A Spider (Montaine)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

OOCNo worries! Everyone in the city has their own views on magic. There has been a fair bit of fear portrayed across Tock's threads with regard to her creations, but some people here and there are quite fascinated by them instead. When the men went off to have their little chat, Tock poked around the shop. She picked up one of the long glassblowing pipes, checking the weight of it. She peered down into the hole, trying to see if there was anything special about it besides just blowing air. Intent on her examination, she only gave the old man a half wave as he walked out, never noticing the negative attitude in his body language or facial expression. She was just too intent on the job, and too filled with a Mother's pride, to notice anything else. When Monty came out to the shop again, Tock was blowing on the pipe with all her might to see how it worked, then held it up to her eye again, peering inside. "Awright, Glassman," she said cheerfully. "Means more fun fer us, aye? Never did like too many 'ands in the pot, anywho..." She held the pipe crossways in front of her, checking the center of balance on it. "So, what's first, aye?" she asked with a grin. She knew every trade had a process to go through, certain steps that had to be done in a certain order. But this one wasn't one she was familiar with. So she'd just keep on the role of 'apprentice' and follow Monty's lead.

[Montaine]

Montaine gently but firmly took the pipe from the garrulous gadgeteer and placed it reverentially down on the old stone marver, ‘First we need to up’n actually figure out what we’re makin’ here, ‘cause it might’n surprise you but I don’t actually have no prior experience makin’ glass spider eyes.’ The craftsman cocked his head and rubbed his chin as he looked the carver’s creation once over. His head was still throbbing but not nearly as terribly as it had been mere chimes before in his apartment. Perhaps it was the fresh, harbour air or the puzzle presented to him that took his mind from the horrors of hangovers to the problem before him. ‘You say they have to be reflective?’ he asked, ‘’Cause I ain’t too sure if’n I can help you with that. Not alone, at least. ‘Cause generally glass ain’t all that reflective, see? Not by itself, I mean sure you can see yourself in a window pane but not as well as you want. Glass is made to be seen through, normally, else there ain’t much point to it,’ Monty frowned and bent down to inspect the creature further, ‘But you know what’s proper shiny like? Metal. You polish up a coupl’a circles, a coupl’a metal discs ‘til they’re shinin’ an’ they’ll do the job just fine. Only problem is it dulls real quick, ‘cause of dirt or dents or just day to day doin’s, so we put glass, like a half a glass orb or something similar, and attach it over the metal like when the boss makes mirrors. Can see through it clear as you like and it keeps the metal shiny, you just have to clean it sometimes, and make sure it don’t break,’ Monty peered up at Tock and raised an eyebrow, ‘An’ I don’t have any way of knowin’ if it’ll work how you want it to, mind. I ain’t no Sahovan, golems just ain’t my thing, but hey, when I ups’n masters it and get those Nuit to tell me all their secrets I’ll come and fix him up proper, how about that?’ he smiled, ‘Best as I can do right now, though, I’m afraid, best as I can do. So what do you think? You’ll need to get the discs elsewhere, and you’re the golem one, you’ll need to think up a way to attach it all together too,’ Montaine was hesitant to admit it, but he was having fun. It might have been magic, and the creature in the gadgeteer’s arms might have made him a tad uneasy, but there was a certain thrill, almost enjoyment, in using the glass in such an ingenious fashion. He was rather excited to see if it would work.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Oy, I ain't done never made a spider 'fore, neither," she said. "I bet no one 'as, aye? An' I bet ain't no one 'as done ever made glass eyes what fer an Automaton spider in the world, aye Glassman?" She grinned wide, hoping he was as excited about this project as she was. "'At means ya done gets ta do somethin' ain't no one else ever done before!" she threw her arms up in the air excitedly. "Ain't 'at whatcha want?" She had seen the passion in his eyes when he showed her his glass horse, and spoke of wanting to be better. It was the same passion that drove her. "'At's why I done brought my baby ta you," she said with a grin, slapping the Glassman on his arm. "I done knew fer sure ya'd leap at a chance ta do somethin' ain't what never been done 'fore, aye?" Her grin just kept widening as he puzzled his way through how to make the eyes reflective. She hadn't known the first thing about how a mirror was made. "Oy, yer bloody brilliant!" she declared, hugging him. "Long as she shines in the light, 'at's right good," she said. "The magic does the rest. Our brains knows 'ow ta make light mean sight, an' I done put a right good magic brain in my baby. Long as 'ere's somethin' what reflects the light, the magic can read 'er right good, an' 'e'll see fine." "An' I can make the metal backin's what double as clasps, aye?" she said. "Git some wee little clasps like fer jewelry. If'n 'ey can 'old a gem on a brooch o' somethin', 'ey can 'old glass in place. Jus' need ta know what size, s'all..."

[Montaine]

‘Well, it shouldn’t be too hard, I wouldn’t think,’ Montaine placed his thumb and index finger across the golem’s head where its eyes should have been. It flinched slightly from his touch and for a second the glassworker honestly thought it was going to lunge at him, but instead it just remained still. The thing was unnerving. He didn’t so much mind spiders when they were roughly the size of his big toe. They seemed harmless and would catch the flies that, come summertime, were a regular nuisance. But this creature was bigger, and so very unnatural, if only due to the materials it had been constructed from. Yet it reacted just like a spider. He’d seen plenty of them scuttling round his apartment floor to recognise the jittery, stop start motions of the arachnid animals and that was just how this creature reacted. He didn’t know what strange magics the gadgeteer used to make its artificial brain, but they were eerily realistic. Monty had yet to decide if this was a comfort or not. He moved his hand again, slower this time, to take a rough measurement of the eyeless space. He straightened up, ‘Okay, now I don’t think we’re goin’ to be stockin’ no eye moulds but I once saw the boss do this trick, see?’ Monty moved over to the racks of tools that adorned the far end of the workshop and spoke over his shoulder as he searched for the appropriate one, ‘Ol’ Calbert was asked by a client to make him a glass eye. The man’d lost it in a duel, or so he said. He didn’t really seem the sort to be duelin’ to me mind, old fella, proper old, we’re talkin’ rickety bones and bent double backs old. Could’a lost it as a younger man I s’ppose, ‘n’ lost the eye since then. Anyway, that’s not really relevant, ‘cause the old man, my old man, Calbert, he said to this other old fella, I’m just goin’ to call him the duelist, he says to this duelist, he says he don’t have no way to make eyes an’ tells him how it’s an odd request,’ Montaine momentarily paused as he selected one of the ladles from the wall, inspected it, and replaced it to its bracket, ‘But then the old man, the duelist he says he can pay plenty and Calbert’s eyes just went wild. When there’s mizas at stake he’s off like the petchin’ Snapper, an’ he works out this way, see, of makin’ this man his eye,’ he paused again, ‘Aha!’ The craftsman took out one of the smallest ladles he could find, hidden behind some of its larger brothers and sisters, and inspected it closely. Satisfied with his discovery he returned to the garrulous gadgeteer and presented it. It was a tiny, unimpressive spoon. ‘These’re normally used to transport glass, see? You pour it into the moulds, but what the boss did, what ol’ Calbert did, the crafty petcher, he used the ladles themselves as moulds. He took two of them and filled them up and pressed them together and set them to cool and he had one glass eye all ready for etchin’ and sellin’. The way I see it, we just need to make a few of them, an’ they only need to be half eyes too, ‘cause we’re goin’ to stick them on the metal plates. Course we only have two of this size, but we can use two of the next size up as well, an’ just put the bigger ones in the middle and the littler ones outside. Or we can make them in two batches, what d’you think?’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock grinned wider when Monty puzzled his way through the problem. "Yer a bloody genius, mate!" she said. Not knowing anything much about glass making, she hadn't known what unique problems this project would present. In a pinch she could have carved up some molds for Monty to use, but using something that was already around would certainly save that time. "Sounds right good ta me," she said, examining the ladles. "An' since 'ese is already ready, I can done measure 'em up right good fer figurin' out 'ow ta make the clasps fer 'em." She pulled some paper out of her pack, grabber her ruler, and measured across the width of the ladle, recording the numbers. Then she measured the depth. The hard part would be figuring out the length of the thin metal strips that would hold the glass piece onto the clasp. She used a piece of string first to check the circumference of the half-sphere. Then she measured the string and jotted down the number. But to be sure it was accurate she calculated the diameter of the ladle and multiplied by pi. Knowing the circumference of the piece meant she could properly craft a piece that would hold the glass in place. She'd have to buy some more metal and make use of the University Gadgeteering lab to smith the pieces, but she could manage well enough, with a little guidance from her professor. She sketched out a design for the circular plate, with eight little strips sticking out from it. Four of them were shorter and would be bent downwards. She could use these to gently hammer the clasps into the wood on Bitey's face. The other four, longer strips would be carefully bent around the glass pieces to hold them in place, like the gem setting of a piece of jewelry. It was a bit more precise of a project than Minerva had done before, so she would likely need some help and some trial and error. But she was determined to help her baby see. She measured the second set of ladles in the same way, working out the numbers and diagrams for the slightly larger eyes in the same way. In between, she kept an eye on what Monty was doing to set up, ready to pause in her own work to help him with the glass work as soon as he was needed. She'd likely have to save the metalsmithing for tomorrow, but there was no rush. She'd spent a solid week working on Bitey as it was. No length of time was too great for her baby. "Mighty fine workin' wit' a proper artist, mate," she told Monty. "Ain't 'nough like ya 'round. Most blokes 'round 'ere ain't appreciate a nice challengin' project. Ya ever need me ta 'elp ya wit' one o' ya own, jus' lemme know, aye? I's a mighty fine carver, an' if'n ya need some molds, o' whatever ya done needs, I can whip 'em up fer ya. Anythin' ta 'elp out a buddy, aye?"

[Montaine]

Montaine watched as his makeshift apprentice went about her measurements and mathematics and wondered how she did it. The woman had a drive the glassworker rarely saw, an enthusiasm for her work not shared by his co-workers. It was refreshing and yet intimidating in something approaching equal measure, though which triumphed over the other was anyone’s guess. It was the vitality with which she was possessed when entrenched in her inspections and engineering that endeared her to her fellow craftsmen. No matter how much loathing one might have held for one’s work it was impossible to be downhearted in the company of a woman who viewed the task ahead with such zeal, such delightful fervour. In Monty’s case, however, it was a remarkably well received change of pace to discover a person as passionate and avid about their selected field of expertise. She seemed content enough with her business so the glassworker moved over to the batch oven and checked on the supplies. He cautiously opened up one of the entry holes and was treated to a wondrous blast of heat that caused him to recoil slightly. It was hot, but not hot enough. Molten glass was easily workable at a thicker consistency, indeed it was easier to manipulate when the viscosity was high, but this was a unique case. Due to the lack of a closed mould they would be relying on the liquid material’s own fluidity to keep the surface flat, and its flatness was all important to the design as that was where it would be attached to the golem’s face. As such the oven needed to be hotter, searing, burning, flaming heat. Monty moved round the oven to the currently closed door to the coal pit. It was through here that the coals were fed to keep the fires going, shovelled from the sacks nearby. The glassworker grabbed one of the shovels from where it had been propped against a wall and used its length to hook the handle of the door and yank it open. He so rarely did this job himself. He pushed the end of the tool into the open bag and attempted to bring it up again, sweat rolling down his forehead from the heat, but failed to heave out a full shovel. He shook it loose and instead filled it half way, finding the lighter weight easier to handle, and brought it round to the oven, tipping the dusty fuel into the heart of the furnace. He wiped his brow and exhaled sharply. Lifting pipes and molten glass was one thing, but shovelling coals was tough going. His heart was pounding and his breaths were short, but the furnace needed to be hotter still. He continued his enterprise with steadfast resolve and turned to the gadgeteer as she spoke. ‘Well, if’n you can stoke this thing for awhile, so’s I can sit down a tick, I’d be much appreciative,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock looked up and immediately remembered Monty's apparent fragility. The last time they'd worked together he'd been reduced to breathlessness just because she had yelled at him. He didn't seem like the type to be able to handle heavy, manual labor. He was a skilled craftsman, to be sure, but there was a difference between craft and work. She saw this sort of thing in a lot of trades. Few people had the ability to diversify themselves across a wide variety of fields. Most metalsmiths would hire another person to carve their molds, most craftsmen would hire a blacksmith to make their tools, and so forth. Tock was the sort that preferred to do everything herself. She could smith her own tools, then use those very tools to carve the molds, then use those molds to build her parts, then assemble those parts into her final creation. She wanted her own hands to touch every piece, every step of the way. Which was why she was staying here, helping Monty with this process, as much as she was able to. "'Ow 'ot's she need ta be?" she asked, taking the shovel and setting to work without a second thought. She wasn't the strongest girl, so she adjusted the shovel to scoop a tolerable amount of coal, preferring to spend more time scooping rather than wearing herself out too fast trying to force it. The heat didn't bother her so much, considering how much time she'd spent working with both blacksmiths' forges and metalsmiths' furnaces. A little sweat and hard work was good for her. "When we does smithin', ya watch the color o' the metal ta know fer when she's 'ot 'nough," she said. "Dunno whatcha need 'ere though..." A blacksmith could judge the glow of the heated metal to tell when the metal was ready to work. She had no idea what standards a glassworker's furnace needed to be judged by. So she continued shoveling coal, slow and steady, until Monty gave her some indication of when to stop. She ended up taking off her leather vest and tool belt, setting both aside. She didn't need the tools to be handy for this part of the work, and the extra weight would tire her out more. She still ended up with a nice healthy sweat going pretty quickly, of course. It felt good, though. Some nice hands-on work always made her feel good. She started humming as she shoveled, marking the high points of the tune with sharp grunts of exertion when she tossed each load of coal into the furnace. She kept up a steady rhythm, scooping, humming, grunting, and tossing, adding the scrape of the shovel against the coal into her little tune as she worked.

[Montaine]

‘Just keep goin’ an’ I’ll tell you when to stop,’ Monty called out over the noise of her work, ‘It’s largely instinctive at this point, I think, practice see? But I s’ppose you can tell by lookin’ at the reflection. ‘Cause you can’t see the glass well when it’s in the pot an’ the furnace is all lit up like Syna, you got to move your pipe carefully in an’ watch for the reflection of it on the surface, so’s you know where it is, when you’re blowin’ it. This is kind of the same, I guess, jus’ you look for the clarity of the reflection, if’n it shimmers like water then it’s probably fluid enough but if’n it’s not then it’s too thick, for what we want anyway. Thicker’s better if’n you’re blowin’,’ The glassworker eased himself into Mory’s chair and cracked his knuckles. The spider sat and stared out blindly across the workshop, watching without eyes. ‘I heard a song ‘bout spiders once, a few years back, I wonder if I still remember the words,’ Montaine hummed quietly to himself, barely audible above the clang of metal on metal and the crackle of hot coals, he murmured some odd, disconnected words and nodded, reciting the tune in his head, and finally out loud. ‘There once was a girl, depressed an’ dour, An’ the villagers would all deride her, She lived with her Pa, at the top of a tower, An’ she’d say “How I long for a spider!” 'Her father, a man, would get angry an’ fierce, An’ every time she asked, he denied her She’d go to her tower and cry through her tears And say “How I long for a spider!” 'The boys of the town would see her red eyes And laugh how they hadn’t belied her, She’d go to her tower and filled with sighs, She’d say “How I long for a spider!” 'The girls of the town saw her skin and hair, They mocked its whiteness aside her, An’ she’d go to her tower, full of despair, And weep “How I long for a spider!” 'An’ then, one day, as she sat in her room, A creature sat down beside her, Long of limb and cold as the tomb It whispered, “I am the Spider,” 'She saw red eyes, and pale white skin An’ it decided to confide her, “Young girl, don’t you know? You are of my kin,” It whispered, “You are a spider,” 'That night she went missin’, from her room in the tower, An’ her father searched far and wider, He was left all alone, depressed and dour, Crying “Where is my spider?”’ Monty finished the ditty, never once taking his eyes from the golem, ‘I think it’s about widows, actually. Wish I could remember where I heard it,’ he slowly stood up and walked over to the oven, picking up his pipe on the way, and opened up the door. He eased the tool in and waited for the reflection. Satisfied, he withdrew the rod and closed the hatch. ‘Alright, that should do it, now we jus’ got to give it a little more time to melt, then we can make your spider some eyes,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Reflection," Minerva said, "aye." She filed the information away in her memory. It didn't seem all that different than the way a blacksmith gauged the heat of the forge. The glow of the metal, or the reflection of the pipe in the glass. She didn't know if she'd ever have a chance to make glass all by herself, but she intended to learn as much about this process as possible. After all, this would hardly be the last time she needed to have eyes made. Then she listened to his song as she worked, her shoveling slowly shifting to move in rhythm with the tune. She slowed as the song carried on, something about it striking close to home. She paused with the shovel half in the coal, slowly raising her eyes to stare at the Glassman. Liquid eyes stared at him, long and silent as he finished the song. Too many pieces of the song touched her for her to simply shrug it off. A sad, lonely girl. Her father angry and fierce. The girl longing for what she couldn't have at home. Until finally she left, to be among her own true kind. By the time he finished singing, tears were staining the soot streaks on her face. She turned away to hide her shame, wiping her face on her sleeve, trying to pretend it was just sweat she wiped from her brow. She didn't say a word about the song, not trusting her voice just then. She set aside the shovel and hung back, away from the Glassman, until she had better control over herself. Though she couldn't get the last verse of the song out of her head. The father searching far and wide for his lost daughter. She doubted that part was true.

[Montaine]

Monty went over to the marver upon which lay the ladles. He busied himself with their inspection, though they needed no such minding. The gadgeteer was crying. It had not been his intention to upset the girl and it was quite strange to view the ordinarily vivacious young woman in such a state. The way she turned suggested she would rather not be seen as such and the glassworker was more than willing to comply with her wishes. He understood the desire not to be seen at one’s most vulnerable, he understood it all too well. Instead he waited for her to regain her composure before turning back to resume the process. The song had been centre of much amusement when he had first heard it, he believed. His memory of it was still foggy and the face of the person who had recounted the tale of the spider girl was still veiled by the destructive mists of time and probably a fair amount of drink, but he was pretty sure that it hadn’t been a sad song. At least, it wasn’t sad when you were a half dozen drinks into your evening. But in consideration with what he knew of the carver’s history perhaps it was a little close to home. He knew little of the majority of her story, a deceased grandfather, a dream of a new world, a long way from home; he had barely scratched the surface really. ‘Now,’ he said, taking one of the smaller ladles, ‘We have to be careful here, so’s to not spill any, an’ to balance ‘em right in the annealer, else they won’t set right and your flat plane’ll be at a funny angle, but you seem like you take to crafts like a fluyt to the harbour so I’m sure you’ll do fine,’ he picked the other small ladle and offered it to her, ‘I’ll do it first an’ then you, it’s real simple, jus’ don’ hold the ladle too far down the handle else you’ll get burned, but you knew that already, didn’tya?’ he smiled and opened the batch oven hatch. The ladles were most peculiar, possessing the tiniest of bowls at one end, and an outrageously long handle at the other that allowed access to the very depths of the oven. Monty stood to one side, allowing his apprentice a better view and instantly feeling the relief of being slightly out of the hatch’s blast range. He slipped his tool in slowly. ‘Now, you’ve got to watch for the reflection, see? So’s you don’t accidentally go in too far or too fast, which is easy to do,’ he spied the tell tale silver glimmer of the spoon’s mirror image appear on the surface of the molten glass and carefully scooped up a small amount, just enough to fill the ladle to right below its rim. He slowly removed his prize from the heart of the furnace and with practiced steadiness brought the material over to the annealer at the other end of the workshop. With his free hand he grabbed one of the stone bricks on the bench to the oven’s left and used it to prop up the ladle’s handle as the bowl sat comfortably in the grate within the cooler fires of the annealer. ‘Easy as anything, right Tock?’