THIRTEEN
THE RECKONING
The Firekeeper’s Tale
SO.
There are any number of ways to do a fierekenia, as many ways as there are sorts of fires. And just as you might use geometry for solving one problem and the calculus for another, different types of fire work best for solving different sorts of reckonings. Some fires are for unriddling and computing; some are for when you want to do more than simply know. Some fires, some reckonings, can be used to manipulate results. And, since reckonings of this sort have repercussions, as I have said, manipulating results means—sometimes—manipulating reality.
Yes.
Some years ago, there was a maker of devices in Nagspeake, an inventor and engineer called John Ustion. He mostly dealt in navigational tools, but he also made calculating machines. And he was fire-savvy. He himself could do fire-kennings of all sorts, and other kinds of reckonings besides, and he dreamed of building engines just for those: small, portable things that could make reckoning easy. Or if not easy, easier, because again, no true reckoning can be done without consequences, and the inventor understood that not everyone could be trusted with the responsibility.
Still, to amuse himself, he went on trying to build a fierekenia mechanism, even though he knew he could likely never sell it.
Then, one day, a man came to see him. “I have been referred to you by Mr. Alphonsus Lung,” said the man—
Oh, now, what an interesting coincidence that is, Mr. Reever! Though of course it can’t be the same person, since your story was meant to have taken place in the faraway past, and mine must have been more recent. But I’m certain the name was the same. What a small world the city is. Or perhaps it’s just that these old stories do always seem to connect.
Anyhow, the customer said, “I have been referred to you by Mr. Alphonsus Lung, whom I went to see about a calculating device. I’m sorry to say we had a disagreement about the specifics and cannot work together. But he was good enough to give me a few names of other craftsmen here in town who might be able to provide what I need, and yours was among them.”
John Ustion knew Lung well, and the customer’s story surprised him. It was hard to imagine anyone angering Lung to the point where he’d refuse a sale, but if someone did accomplish that, it was hard to imagine Lung still bothering to offer referrals.
“May I ask what the nature of the disagreement was?” Ustion asked.
“Certainly,” the customer said easily. “I believe he doesn’t trust me to have what I want to buy.”
Well, that was interesting. I imagine some part of the engineer’s mind must’ve warned him right then that he ought to refuse, too. If Lung didn’t trust this man to the degree that he had declined to do business with him, then such a man simply wasn’t to be trusted. And Lung’s primary specialty was clockwork. What had this man wanted that a clockmaker couldn’t trust him with? A clockmaker dealt in many things, of course, but chief among them was time, and after all, time was one of the few things in life that people, trustworthy or not, had some level of access to simply by existing. They might squander it, waste it, lose it, ignore it, or even kill it, but everyone did that to some extent. It was hardly for a clockmaker to refuse to sell someone the means to mark their time simply because . . .
Oh.
A different interpretation occurred to Ustion. The customer waited expectantly, watching the pieces come together.
“You went to him for a timepiece?” Ustion asked casually, when he thought he had it figured out.
“Yes.”
“But not for keeping time. You could buy a chronometer anyplace.”
The stranger inclined his head in assent. “Not for keeping time, no, not as such. The device I want must be able to measure it, yes, but it must also do much, much more.”
Captivated against his better judgment, Ustion showed the customer to a small table with a chair on either side. The two of them sat down opposite each other, and the inventor took pencil and paper from a drawer. “Tell me.”
And Ustion proceeded to listen, fascinated, and take occasional notes as the customer described a mechanism he had once owned but that had somehow been lost or destroyed. When this stranger had completed a complicated array of figuring, calculating, and solving, he had been able to take his results and, using the mechanism, perform a second set of reckonings. This second set was of the sort that was purely manipulative, meant to alter the reality of time and space and probability, to carry the bearer not simply to a particular place and moment—though it could do that—but to carry him to the right place and moment for accomplishing a specific thing.
So that’s why Lung wouldn’t sell to you, Ustion thought. He didn’t trust you to be able to wield reality like that.
“Correct,” the customer said softly, as if Ustion had spoken out loud. “The question is, can you trust me? And if not . . . do you care?”
Ustion thought about this for a moment. “If Lung didn’t trust you, I can’t either,” he said honestly.
The second part of the question hung between them.
The customer watched Ustion look down at the notes he’d made. Finally, reluctantly, Ustion said, “You will have to commission your mechanism from someone else.”
The customer considered him for a long moment. “But you could do it,” he said softly, “if you wanted to.” It was not a question, and Ustion didn’t bother to answer. He’d already said he wouldn’t sell to the customer, so to answer truthfully would be an unnecessary boast. But Ustion’s mind was already occupied with working out the details, and not only did he think he could do it, he knew that as soon as the door had shut
