Today, 12:18 AM
The workshops of Hephaestus occupied much of the mountain slopes. Hades approached through a passage guarded by two great bronze sentinels. Their hollow gazes settled upon him, and they stepped aside, while at a neighboring entrance mortal craftsmen presented their access seals for inspection. Few mortals were permitted upon Olympus, and those employed here enjoyed privileges that extended no farther than the workshops themselves.
The scent of flowers gave way to heated metal as Hades descended. Great vents carried the foundries' smoke and excess warmth into unseen passages, leaving the galleries comfortably cool. He welcomed the change after the oppressive sunlight of Zeus' palace.
The passage opened onto an immense hall alive with industry. Suspended mechanisms carried materials between workstations, and golden attendants moved among mortal craftsmen and lesser gods studying drawings etched upon glowing glass. Above them, an enormous assembly of inscribed rings revolved around a sphere of silver light. Hades paused to examine it. He could not immediately determine its purpose, though the precision of its construction was unmistakably Hephaestus'.
The craftsmen themselves interested him nearly as much as their creations. Several mortals worked without apparent supervision, making adjustments to elaborate mechanisms or directing lesser gods in the placement of components. Their presence here was a privilege rarely extended to humanity, though Hephaestus had always valued competence more highly than ancestry.
At last, one of the crafters glanced up from his work. His attention passed briefly over Hades before settling on the insignia of the underworld fastened upon his chest. Recognition came a moment later. The man straightened, hastily set aside his tools, and summoned a nearby attendant.
A woman approached Hades and bowed.
"My lord Hades. We were not expecting you."
"I have come to see Hephaestus. Is he occupied?"
"He is attending to a matter in his laboratory. I can send word."
"There is no need to interrupt him. Show me the way."
She hesitated briefly before complying.
Their route took them past heated channels above which lengths of metal floated in precise alignment. Farther along, several apprentices disputed an assembly of interlocking wheels with such enthusiasm that none noticed Hades passing.
It was a welcome distinction from the palace. Here, at least, there were matters more interesting than the unexpected arrival of the King of the Underworld.
Hephaestus' laboratory was a broad chamber illuminated by brilliant panels set into the ceiling. Worktables surrounded a raised platform upon which stood an enormous golden eagle, its wings partially unfurled. Each feather had been fashioned with remarkable precision, overlapping its neighbors in a manner that suggested living plumage rather than worked metal. The creature turned its head as several apprentices attended its wings, polished eyes following their movements with an unsettling semblance of intelligence.
Hades suspected the eagle was intended for Zeus. His brother had always possessed an inexhaustible appetite for representations of his own magnificence, particularly those that inspired awe in his subjects.
Hephaestus sat beside the platform, examining several golden feathers arranged upon the worktable before him. He looked up when Hades entered. Surprise interrupted his concentration, and then he smiled.
"Uncle?"
There was unmistakable pleasure in his voice. Hades had expected courtesy, but the pleasure in his nephew's greeting was evidently sincere. It was a welcome distinction from the elaborate affections of his father. He found himself rather glad that he had come. Hephaestus set the feather aside and turned toward the apprentices.
"Leave the eagle upon its perch. No further attempts at flight until I've returned."
One of them began to answer, but Hephaestus was already rising. He reached for a slender staff beside his workstation and approached Hades with an uneven but practiced gait.
He was a handsome man, younger in appearance than his father, though the resemblance was unmistakable. Thick blond hair, darkened at the roots, swept back from his forehead, and a short beard framed features that recalled Zeus in their strong brow and well-proportioned lines. His pale gray eyes possessed something of his father's extraordinary attentiveness, though in Hephaestus it seemed less an exercise of charm than a habit of genuine concentration.
His clothing was elegant without ostentation, a fitted crimson garment whose only ornament was a clasp of his own making. Even his staff, fashioned from dark metal with a narrow silver grip, appeared simple until one noticed the minute joints concealed along its length.
Hephaestus reached Hades and offered his free hand.
”What a long time it has been.”
Hades took it.
"I had business with your father. I thought I might take advantage of the occasion."
"I'm glad you did." Hephaestus glanced toward the platform behind him. "You have arrived at a fortunate moment. Another hour and I might have been considerably less agreeable company."
"A difficult problem?"
He sighed. ”Simply an unnecessary one. Someone decided my instructions could be improved upon."
Hephaestus glanced toward the apprentices.
"I explained precisely why the original design was necessary. They disagreed. Now they've spent two weeks attempting to prove me wrong."
"And have they?"
"Not yet." His nephew's expression brightened. "Would you care to see?"
Without waiting for an answer, he called toward the platform.
"Demonstrate for Lord Hades what happens when you attempt flight. Just once, mind you."
At his instruction, the eagle spread its wings. The air stirred around the platform, lifting loose papers from a nearby table. Its great talons released their hold upon the marble perch, and for an instant it rose into the air.
Then its left wing faltered. The bird lurched sideways, forcing an apprentice to arrest its descent with a sudden burst of Dynamis.
Hades watched the creature settle awkwardly upon its perch. "The left wing is moving a moment behind the right."
"You've always had a good eye, Uncle. Indeed it is."
"And they cannot determine why?"
"They know perfectly well why. I've told them twice." Hephaestus lowered his voice, though not enough to prevent the nearest apprentice from hearing. "Unfortunately, they remain convinced that their improvement is sound, and the fault must lie elsewhere."
One of the apprentices returned to examining the right wing.
"You may be here another two weeks."
Hephaestus laughed.
Hades remembered that laugh. His nephew had always possessed an uncommon patience for other people's mistakes, particularly when he suspected they might learn something useful from them. There had been a time when Hades sought his company whenever circumstances brought him to Olympus. Few among the Twelve shared his interest in making things that might endure beyond their makers.
Their methods differed considerably. Hades had raised cities from stone and shaped mountains to his desire. Hephaestus concerned himself with the infinitely smaller workings by which a device might accomplish something its maker could not perform alone. Hades understood the principles of such craftsmanship, but he had never possessed his nephew's extraordinary gift for it.
He had once hoped to bring that talent to Erebos. Hephaestus had considered the invitation seriously, but ultimately chose to reclaim his place upon Olympus. Hades had respected the decision, though he had regretted it more than he cared to admit. There were few people whose company he sought without some practical purpose, and fewer still who might have understood what he had built in the underworld.
"Come," Hephaestus said. "Let us speak somewhere quieter."
He retrieved his staff and led Hades toward an adjoining passage. He favored one leg as they walked, leaning upon the staff with the practiced familiarity of long necessity. Hades matched his pace without offering assistance. The nectar lent a lingering vigor to his own limbs, and he found himself briefly conscious of the contrast. His nephew had never lacked for power, yet there were some limitations even the will of the gods could not readily overcome. Hades had never thought to offer him assistance; Hephaestus would have found the suggestion more bothersome than the walk itself.
They passed a gallery displaying some of his finer creations. A small figure fashioned entirely from gold stood upon a pedestal, turning its head to follow their progress. Farther along, an arrangement of silver rings revolved around a suspended stone, adjusting their movements as the two gods passed.
"You have been busy these past few decades."
"More than you can imagine. Half of Olympus seems convinced that anything which ceases to function must be brought to me personally."
"An unfortunate consequence of being indispensable."
"A consequence of teaching everyone else to become dependent." He corrected with some measure of good humor.
At the end of the passage, Hephaestus touched the head of his staff against a mark beside a door. The metal brightened, and the door swung open without a sound.
Within lay a private workroom furnished with comfortable chairs and several broad tables covered in instruments. Drawings occupied one wall, while an assortment of partially completed technemata rested upon shelves that could be lowered or raised through discreet controls. Hephaestus touched a button beside his chair, and a nearby worktable adjusted itself to a convenient height for him.
He lowered himself into the chair and set his staff within easy reach.
"I heard Damnameneus finally exhausted Triton's patience and was sent into your care."
"He is serving his banishment in the mines of Mourning.”
Hephaestus gave a small sigh. ”What a waste of talent. Brilliant apprentice, but he never learned when to hold his tongue."
There was little respect in his nephew's voice for Triton's handling of the affair, though Hades doubted he intended to involve himself. Hephaestus knew better than most how readily pride could ruin god or mortal, particularly when that pride belonged to someone considerably more powerful than themselves.
Hades offered no comment, and his nephew did not pursue the matter.
"I could occupy the rest of the day demonstrating my latest creations," Hephaestus said with a smile. "But I suspect you have something else in mind."
Hades reached into his pocket and withdrew the instrument recovered at the Nekromanteion.
"I would value your opinion of this." He placed it upon the table within easy reach of his nephew.
Hephaestus picked it up and turned it between his fingers. The device was compact and ungainly, assembled from mismatched metal housings and narrow conduits. A small indicator occupied one end, protected beneath a scratched transparent cover. None of its exterior surfaces displayed the care ordinarily associated with Olympian manufacture.
"Where did you find this?"
"In the possession of a mortal examining the Pyle at the Nekromanteion in Mesopotamos."
Hephaestus raised an eyebrow.
"What in the world was a mortal doing there? Don't tell me they fancied a visit to the underworld?"
"He was taking measurements. One of the Atharim."
"The zealots?" Hephaestus turned the instrument over, inspecting its underside. "I'd heard they were causing trouble."
He placed the device beneath a suspended magnifying lens.
"And you believe this was meant to tell him something about the Pyle?"
”I hoped you could tell me.”
For several moments, Hephaestus examined the exterior in silence. He adjusted the magnification, studied the indicator, then selected a narrow implement from a concealed drawer beneath the table.
"An ugly thing," he observed.
He removed two fastening pins and lifted away the housing. Several components had been joined directly to a framework of inferior metal, while thin conduits connected the assembly to a circular element mounted near its center.
"Whoever assembled this was not especially concerned with making it last."
"Can you determine its purpose?"
"Perhaps."
He carefully removed the circular component and brought it closer to the light. As he turned it, a faint pattern appeared along its inner circumference.
"Now this is interesting."
He touched another button beside his chair, and one of the shelves descended, bringing a small metal case within reach. Inside lay several components of similar design.
Hades recognized the resemblance.
"An attunement ward?"
”It is part of one. It is older, but was fine for its time. I'd recognize those markings anywhere."
"It's meant to prevent damage if a technema becomes unstable."
"Precisely. Except someone has removed the part that allows it to intervene, which is likely why you did not recognize it in this form."
Hephaestus placed the two pieces side by side. Where the intact ward possessed a narrow bridge of worked metal, the recovered component had been cut away and fitted with an unfamiliar arrangement of bizarre filaments.
Hades examined the alteration.
"They've sacrificed its protective function."
"Entirely. Which ought to have rendered it rather useless."
His nephew reached for a small bronze sphere resting nearby.
"Let me show you."
At his touch, the sphere opened into two halves, revealing a pale flame suspended between them. No fuel fed it, nor did its light produce any heat. Hades recognized the little technema as a familiar means of testing the stability of mageia, the sustained configurations of Dynamis upon which so many of their divine instruments depended.
Hephaestus positioned the intact attunement ward beside the sphere.
"If the mageia becomes unstable, the ward should arrest the disturbance before damage occurs. This particular design does so by extinguishing the working altogether."
He disturbed the flame with a controlled application of Dynamis. It flickered violently, then vanished as the ward intervened.
Hephaestus restored the flame and set the intact ward aside. He fitted the altered component back into the Atharim instrument, reconnecting its filaments to the indicator housed within the device.
"Now watch."
He brought the instrument beside the sphere and introduced the same disturbance.
The flame twisted sharply, but this time nothing interrupted it. Instead, a fine needle stirred beneath the instrument's scratched cover, traveling erratically as the flame struggled to maintain its form.
"Remarkable."
Hades watched the needle swing back and forth. "It isn't preventing the instability. It's measuring it.”
"Not merely measuring it." Hephaestus leaned closer, his earlier amusement replaced by intense concentration. "Look how quickly it follows the changes. Whoever altered this has preserved the ward's sensitivity while redirecting its response into a readable indication."
He tested it once more, introducing several smaller disturbances in succession. The needle responded to each, though its movements were not always precise.
"An ordinary ward recognizes a fault and intervenes," he said. "This one has been made to observe what happens when intervention never comes."
He lifted the instrument, turning it beneath the light. For a moment, his attention seemed entirely occupied by the ingenuity of the alteration. Hades studied the needle beneath its scratched cover. The instrument was crude enough to have been assembled on a mortal workbench, yet its purpose was considerably more sophisticated than its appearance suggested. Someone had understood that the surest way to defeat a defense was first to learn how it responded. He had spent much of his life constructing such defenses, and the elegance of the approach was not lost on him. Neither was its danger.
"The workmanship is dreadful. But the idea is clever. Rather clever indeed."
Hades considered the implications. Whoever had assembled the instrument could not necessarily have created the original but had found a new use for its abilities.
"Could it be used to examine a Pyle?"
Hephaestus looked up.
"To understand its construction? Not from this alone. But if someone were taking measurements at particular points, comparing the responses at different Pylai, perhaps introducing small disturbances to see how they behaved..." His voice trailed off.
"The man I apprehended had prepared a detailed survey."
"Had he?"
"Of the Pyle and its surroundings. He was particularly interested in its construction."
Hephaestus looked again at the modified ward. The pleasure of discovery had not entirely left him, but his expression had become more thoughtful.
"Could such observations reveal how a conjunction is established?"
"No. At least, not without a great deal of other knowledge. The Pylai are far too sophisticated to be understood through a handful of little readings like this. Activating one is only the beginning. Establishing a conjunction that can actually be traversed to its destination requires a very particular arrangement.”
"But the instrument might reveal how the Pyle responds to interference or compare one to another?”
"Yes. It might identify points of unusual sensitivity, or show how certain configurations respond when disturbed. Whether that knowledge would be useful depends upon what the observer already understands."
Hephaestus returned the altered ward to the table. "A man who has never seen an arch built may learn little by measuring the stones. Give those same measurements to a master builder, and he may discover considerably more."
Hades understood the distinction. The dead Atharim need not have possessed any knowledge of the Pyle beyond the instructions he had been given. Someone else might have been responsible for interpreting his observations, and that individual might have possessed an understanding far beyond his own.
"Would these modifications have required an artificer?"
"To create the original, certainly. To alter one?” Hephaestus shook his head. "A sufficiently skilled mortal could accomplish this, provided they understood what they were handling."
Hades glanced toward the comparison piece and regarded the altered component with renewed interest. The gods had always been careful about what they permitted mortals to possess. They had been rather less careful about what they permitted them to learn.
"You recognize the design."
"I do. It’s mine, though we ceased crafting this particular version years ago."
Hephaestus examined the inscription etched into its rim.
"Wait."
He turned the altered component toward the light again, tracing a nearly invisible arrangement of markings.
”I remember now. This portion was not part of the original design. One of my mortal craftsmen devised an improvement to the casing assembly, and we adopted it throughout the later series. These markings identify his alteration."
"Then you may know who constructed it."
"Who improved the original, certainly. Whether he had anything to do with this alteration is another matter."
His nephew reached toward the buttons beside his chair. A compartment suddenly swung open, revealing several ledgers. He selected one and laid it upon the table.
"I can tell you which workshop produced it. Possibly even when."
He turned through several pages of closely written entries before stopping beside a particular designation.
"Here we are. The improvement was introduced during the final years of production. Clever work, really. It reduced the amount of material required without compromising the ward's sensitivity. Reduced weight too.” He rotated the book to share the details.
Hades studied the entry. It was a modest innovation, the sort that might easily have escaped the notice of anyone unfamiliar with the original construction.
"Is the crafter still in your service?"
Hephaestus shook his head.
"No. He left several years ago."
He examined the adjoining entries.
"So did two others from the same workshop, though not together. One accepted a position in Anatolia, if I recall correctly. Another intended to establish her own workshop."
"And the crafter responsible for the improvement? Where did he go?"
"I don't recall."
Hephaestus searched the ledger again. The man's work was documented in considerable detail, including the alterations he had proposed and the commissions to which he had contributed. His departure, however, was recorded with little more than a date.
"What was his name?"
Hephaestus turned back a page and read it aloud. Hades committed the name to memory.
"Was his departure unusual?"
"Not that I remember. Mortals come and go from my workshops, and this was years ago. I could inquire among those who worked with him."
"I would appreciate anything you discover."
Hephaestus regarded the component thoughtfully.
"It would be a mistake to assume he had anything to do with this merely because his improvement appears in the design. We produced hundreds of these things. Any number might have passed into other hands."
”You’re right. But someone has acquired one, understood enough of its construction to alter it, and fashioned a new purpose."
Hephaestus turned the instrument over once more. The crude casing seemed almost an insult beside the delicate precision of the component within it.
"That is what troubles me. Not that someone has taken one of my creations apart. I've always encouraged my apprentices to do precisely that. But whoever devised this modification understood what the ward could accomplish once its original purpose was abandoned."
For the first time, there was little trace of amusement in his voice.
"And they were interested enough in a Pyle to send someone to study it."
Hades considered the former craftsman recorded in the ledger. The man was worth locating, if only to determine whether his knowledge or his handiwork had been passed on. Yet pursuing him presented difficulties that had little to do with his alleged guilt.
His agreement with Zeus remained fresh in his mind. Apollo had responsibility for the Atharim, and Hades had undertaken to share what he discovered rather than pursue their activities independently beyond his own dominion. He could hardly return from Olympus and immediately begin hunting a mortal through territories under his brother's authority.
The Covenant imposed its limits whether he approved of them or not. Hades had spent long enough within those limits to know precisely how far he could go before Zeus took notice. There was a bitter absurdity in being expected to defend his kingdom while asking permission to investigate those who threatened it. Still, he would not give his brother the satisfaction of another dispute over jurisdiction. Not over a mortal whose involvement remained uncertain.
"I promised your father that Apollo would receive what I learned concerning this device. He should have the name, along with the particulars of this instrument."
Hephaestus nodded in understanding and closed the ledger, leaving a marker between its pages.
"Do you think these Atharim understand what they've obtained?"
"I doubt the man I apprehended did. He was making observations according to someone else’s instructions.”
His nephew looked toward the dismantled instrument.
"Then I should like to know what those observations were meant to reveal."
He began returning the components to a shallow tray, taking particular care with the disassembled pieces.
"Keep it for now. I would value a more complete assessment before it passes to Apollo, if you wouldn't mind sharing the particulars with me before that time.”
"Of course. I'll see what else can be learned from it and send you my findings."
"You have my thanks."
Hephaestus inclined his head, then glanced toward the adjoining laboratory as a commotion arose beyond the door. Several voices called out in excitement, followed by laughter.
"I should leave you to your apprentices. You have your hands full."
"Then you must visit again, Uncle. Preferably before my children have children of their own. I'd like you to meet them before they're old enough to be frightened of you."
The invitation gave Hades a moment's pause. Hephaestus seemed to take it for granted that his uncle might visit simply to enjoy the company of family. Hades could scarcely imagine himself at ease in such circumstances, and doubted the children would find him particularly agreeable. His reputation had long dispelled such expectations, a convenience he had come to appreciate. Yet his nephew appeared entirely unconcerned by any of it.
"I shall endeavor to be less neglectful."
Hephaestus laughed and offered his hand. Hades clasped it warmly before taking his leave.
The twin sentinels stepped aside at his approach, as obedient to his departure as they had been to his arrival. Hades wondered whether Hephaestus had ever considered how fortunate his creations were to possess such simple instructions.
Beyond lay the brilliant sunlight of Olympus. Hephaestus had given him a name, and Hades intended to learn what had become of its owner. The Covenant might dictate where he could exercise his authority, but it said considerably less about where he might seek answers.
Fortunately, the waking world was not the only place where a mortal man might be found.
The scent of flowers gave way to heated metal as Hades descended. Great vents carried the foundries' smoke and excess warmth into unseen passages, leaving the galleries comfortably cool. He welcomed the change after the oppressive sunlight of Zeus' palace.
The passage opened onto an immense hall alive with industry. Suspended mechanisms carried materials between workstations, and golden attendants moved among mortal craftsmen and lesser gods studying drawings etched upon glowing glass. Above them, an enormous assembly of inscribed rings revolved around a sphere of silver light. Hades paused to examine it. He could not immediately determine its purpose, though the precision of its construction was unmistakably Hephaestus'.
The craftsmen themselves interested him nearly as much as their creations. Several mortals worked without apparent supervision, making adjustments to elaborate mechanisms or directing lesser gods in the placement of components. Their presence here was a privilege rarely extended to humanity, though Hephaestus had always valued competence more highly than ancestry.
At last, one of the crafters glanced up from his work. His attention passed briefly over Hades before settling on the insignia of the underworld fastened upon his chest. Recognition came a moment later. The man straightened, hastily set aside his tools, and summoned a nearby attendant.
A woman approached Hades and bowed.
"My lord Hades. We were not expecting you."
"I have come to see Hephaestus. Is he occupied?"
"He is attending to a matter in his laboratory. I can send word."
"There is no need to interrupt him. Show me the way."
She hesitated briefly before complying.
Their route took them past heated channels above which lengths of metal floated in precise alignment. Farther along, several apprentices disputed an assembly of interlocking wheels with such enthusiasm that none noticed Hades passing.
It was a welcome distinction from the palace. Here, at least, there were matters more interesting than the unexpected arrival of the King of the Underworld.
Hephaestus' laboratory was a broad chamber illuminated by brilliant panels set into the ceiling. Worktables surrounded a raised platform upon which stood an enormous golden eagle, its wings partially unfurled. Each feather had been fashioned with remarkable precision, overlapping its neighbors in a manner that suggested living plumage rather than worked metal. The creature turned its head as several apprentices attended its wings, polished eyes following their movements with an unsettling semblance of intelligence.
Hades suspected the eagle was intended for Zeus. His brother had always possessed an inexhaustible appetite for representations of his own magnificence, particularly those that inspired awe in his subjects.
Hephaestus sat beside the platform, examining several golden feathers arranged upon the worktable before him. He looked up when Hades entered. Surprise interrupted his concentration, and then he smiled.
"Uncle?"
There was unmistakable pleasure in his voice. Hades had expected courtesy, but the pleasure in his nephew's greeting was evidently sincere. It was a welcome distinction from the elaborate affections of his father. He found himself rather glad that he had come. Hephaestus set the feather aside and turned toward the apprentices.
"Leave the eagle upon its perch. No further attempts at flight until I've returned."
One of them began to answer, but Hephaestus was already rising. He reached for a slender staff beside his workstation and approached Hades with an uneven but practiced gait.
He was a handsome man, younger in appearance than his father, though the resemblance was unmistakable. Thick blond hair, darkened at the roots, swept back from his forehead, and a short beard framed features that recalled Zeus in their strong brow and well-proportioned lines. His pale gray eyes possessed something of his father's extraordinary attentiveness, though in Hephaestus it seemed less an exercise of charm than a habit of genuine concentration.
His clothing was elegant without ostentation, a fitted crimson garment whose only ornament was a clasp of his own making. Even his staff, fashioned from dark metal with a narrow silver grip, appeared simple until one noticed the minute joints concealed along its length.
Hephaestus reached Hades and offered his free hand.
”What a long time it has been.”
Hades took it.
"I had business with your father. I thought I might take advantage of the occasion."
"I'm glad you did." Hephaestus glanced toward the platform behind him. "You have arrived at a fortunate moment. Another hour and I might have been considerably less agreeable company."
"A difficult problem?"
He sighed. ”Simply an unnecessary one. Someone decided my instructions could be improved upon."
Hephaestus glanced toward the apprentices.
"I explained precisely why the original design was necessary. They disagreed. Now they've spent two weeks attempting to prove me wrong."
"And have they?"
"Not yet." His nephew's expression brightened. "Would you care to see?"
Without waiting for an answer, he called toward the platform.
"Demonstrate for Lord Hades what happens when you attempt flight. Just once, mind you."
At his instruction, the eagle spread its wings. The air stirred around the platform, lifting loose papers from a nearby table. Its great talons released their hold upon the marble perch, and for an instant it rose into the air.
Then its left wing faltered. The bird lurched sideways, forcing an apprentice to arrest its descent with a sudden burst of Dynamis.
Hades watched the creature settle awkwardly upon its perch. "The left wing is moving a moment behind the right."
"You've always had a good eye, Uncle. Indeed it is."
"And they cannot determine why?"
"They know perfectly well why. I've told them twice." Hephaestus lowered his voice, though not enough to prevent the nearest apprentice from hearing. "Unfortunately, they remain convinced that their improvement is sound, and the fault must lie elsewhere."
One of the apprentices returned to examining the right wing.
"You may be here another two weeks."
Hephaestus laughed.
Hades remembered that laugh. His nephew had always possessed an uncommon patience for other people's mistakes, particularly when he suspected they might learn something useful from them. There had been a time when Hades sought his company whenever circumstances brought him to Olympus. Few among the Twelve shared his interest in making things that might endure beyond their makers.
Their methods differed considerably. Hades had raised cities from stone and shaped mountains to his desire. Hephaestus concerned himself with the infinitely smaller workings by which a device might accomplish something its maker could not perform alone. Hades understood the principles of such craftsmanship, but he had never possessed his nephew's extraordinary gift for it.
He had once hoped to bring that talent to Erebos. Hephaestus had considered the invitation seriously, but ultimately chose to reclaim his place upon Olympus. Hades had respected the decision, though he had regretted it more than he cared to admit. There were few people whose company he sought without some practical purpose, and fewer still who might have understood what he had built in the underworld.
"Come," Hephaestus said. "Let us speak somewhere quieter."
He retrieved his staff and led Hades toward an adjoining passage. He favored one leg as they walked, leaning upon the staff with the practiced familiarity of long necessity. Hades matched his pace without offering assistance. The nectar lent a lingering vigor to his own limbs, and he found himself briefly conscious of the contrast. His nephew had never lacked for power, yet there were some limitations even the will of the gods could not readily overcome. Hades had never thought to offer him assistance; Hephaestus would have found the suggestion more bothersome than the walk itself.
They passed a gallery displaying some of his finer creations. A small figure fashioned entirely from gold stood upon a pedestal, turning its head to follow their progress. Farther along, an arrangement of silver rings revolved around a suspended stone, adjusting their movements as the two gods passed.
"You have been busy these past few decades."
"More than you can imagine. Half of Olympus seems convinced that anything which ceases to function must be brought to me personally."
"An unfortunate consequence of being indispensable."
"A consequence of teaching everyone else to become dependent." He corrected with some measure of good humor.
At the end of the passage, Hephaestus touched the head of his staff against a mark beside a door. The metal brightened, and the door swung open without a sound.
Within lay a private workroom furnished with comfortable chairs and several broad tables covered in instruments. Drawings occupied one wall, while an assortment of partially completed technemata rested upon shelves that could be lowered or raised through discreet controls. Hephaestus touched a button beside his chair, and a nearby worktable adjusted itself to a convenient height for him.
He lowered himself into the chair and set his staff within easy reach.
"I heard Damnameneus finally exhausted Triton's patience and was sent into your care."
"He is serving his banishment in the mines of Mourning.”
Hephaestus gave a small sigh. ”What a waste of talent. Brilliant apprentice, but he never learned when to hold his tongue."
There was little respect in his nephew's voice for Triton's handling of the affair, though Hades doubted he intended to involve himself. Hephaestus knew better than most how readily pride could ruin god or mortal, particularly when that pride belonged to someone considerably more powerful than themselves.
Hades offered no comment, and his nephew did not pursue the matter.
"I could occupy the rest of the day demonstrating my latest creations," Hephaestus said with a smile. "But I suspect you have something else in mind."
Hades reached into his pocket and withdrew the instrument recovered at the Nekromanteion.
"I would value your opinion of this." He placed it upon the table within easy reach of his nephew.
Hephaestus picked it up and turned it between his fingers. The device was compact and ungainly, assembled from mismatched metal housings and narrow conduits. A small indicator occupied one end, protected beneath a scratched transparent cover. None of its exterior surfaces displayed the care ordinarily associated with Olympian manufacture.
"Where did you find this?"
"In the possession of a mortal examining the Pyle at the Nekromanteion in Mesopotamos."
Hephaestus raised an eyebrow.
"What in the world was a mortal doing there? Don't tell me they fancied a visit to the underworld?"
"He was taking measurements. One of the Atharim."
"The zealots?" Hephaestus turned the instrument over, inspecting its underside. "I'd heard they were causing trouble."
He placed the device beneath a suspended magnifying lens.
"And you believe this was meant to tell him something about the Pyle?"
”I hoped you could tell me.”
For several moments, Hephaestus examined the exterior in silence. He adjusted the magnification, studied the indicator, then selected a narrow implement from a concealed drawer beneath the table.
"An ugly thing," he observed.
He removed two fastening pins and lifted away the housing. Several components had been joined directly to a framework of inferior metal, while thin conduits connected the assembly to a circular element mounted near its center.
"Whoever assembled this was not especially concerned with making it last."
"Can you determine its purpose?"
"Perhaps."
He carefully removed the circular component and brought it closer to the light. As he turned it, a faint pattern appeared along its inner circumference.
"Now this is interesting."
He touched another button beside his chair, and one of the shelves descended, bringing a small metal case within reach. Inside lay several components of similar design.
Hades recognized the resemblance.
"An attunement ward?"
”It is part of one. It is older, but was fine for its time. I'd recognize those markings anywhere."
"It's meant to prevent damage if a technema becomes unstable."
"Precisely. Except someone has removed the part that allows it to intervene, which is likely why you did not recognize it in this form."
Hephaestus placed the two pieces side by side. Where the intact ward possessed a narrow bridge of worked metal, the recovered component had been cut away and fitted with an unfamiliar arrangement of bizarre filaments.
Hades examined the alteration.
"They've sacrificed its protective function."
"Entirely. Which ought to have rendered it rather useless."
His nephew reached for a small bronze sphere resting nearby.
"Let me show you."
At his touch, the sphere opened into two halves, revealing a pale flame suspended between them. No fuel fed it, nor did its light produce any heat. Hades recognized the little technema as a familiar means of testing the stability of mageia, the sustained configurations of Dynamis upon which so many of their divine instruments depended.
Hephaestus positioned the intact attunement ward beside the sphere.
"If the mageia becomes unstable, the ward should arrest the disturbance before damage occurs. This particular design does so by extinguishing the working altogether."
He disturbed the flame with a controlled application of Dynamis. It flickered violently, then vanished as the ward intervened.
Hephaestus restored the flame and set the intact ward aside. He fitted the altered component back into the Atharim instrument, reconnecting its filaments to the indicator housed within the device.
"Now watch."
He brought the instrument beside the sphere and introduced the same disturbance.
The flame twisted sharply, but this time nothing interrupted it. Instead, a fine needle stirred beneath the instrument's scratched cover, traveling erratically as the flame struggled to maintain its form.
"Remarkable."
Hades watched the needle swing back and forth. "It isn't preventing the instability. It's measuring it.”
"Not merely measuring it." Hephaestus leaned closer, his earlier amusement replaced by intense concentration. "Look how quickly it follows the changes. Whoever altered this has preserved the ward's sensitivity while redirecting its response into a readable indication."
He tested it once more, introducing several smaller disturbances in succession. The needle responded to each, though its movements were not always precise.
"An ordinary ward recognizes a fault and intervenes," he said. "This one has been made to observe what happens when intervention never comes."
He lifted the instrument, turning it beneath the light. For a moment, his attention seemed entirely occupied by the ingenuity of the alteration. Hades studied the needle beneath its scratched cover. The instrument was crude enough to have been assembled on a mortal workbench, yet its purpose was considerably more sophisticated than its appearance suggested. Someone had understood that the surest way to defeat a defense was first to learn how it responded. He had spent much of his life constructing such defenses, and the elegance of the approach was not lost on him. Neither was its danger.
"The workmanship is dreadful. But the idea is clever. Rather clever indeed."
Hades considered the implications. Whoever had assembled the instrument could not necessarily have created the original but had found a new use for its abilities.
"Could it be used to examine a Pyle?"
Hephaestus looked up.
"To understand its construction? Not from this alone. But if someone were taking measurements at particular points, comparing the responses at different Pylai, perhaps introducing small disturbances to see how they behaved..." His voice trailed off.
"The man I apprehended had prepared a detailed survey."
"Had he?"
"Of the Pyle and its surroundings. He was particularly interested in its construction."
Hephaestus looked again at the modified ward. The pleasure of discovery had not entirely left him, but his expression had become more thoughtful.
"Could such observations reveal how a conjunction is established?"
"No. At least, not without a great deal of other knowledge. The Pylai are far too sophisticated to be understood through a handful of little readings like this. Activating one is only the beginning. Establishing a conjunction that can actually be traversed to its destination requires a very particular arrangement.”
"But the instrument might reveal how the Pyle responds to interference or compare one to another?”
"Yes. It might identify points of unusual sensitivity, or show how certain configurations respond when disturbed. Whether that knowledge would be useful depends upon what the observer already understands."
Hephaestus returned the altered ward to the table. "A man who has never seen an arch built may learn little by measuring the stones. Give those same measurements to a master builder, and he may discover considerably more."
Hades understood the distinction. The dead Atharim need not have possessed any knowledge of the Pyle beyond the instructions he had been given. Someone else might have been responsible for interpreting his observations, and that individual might have possessed an understanding far beyond his own.
"Would these modifications have required an artificer?"
"To create the original, certainly. To alter one?” Hephaestus shook his head. "A sufficiently skilled mortal could accomplish this, provided they understood what they were handling."
Hades glanced toward the comparison piece and regarded the altered component with renewed interest. The gods had always been careful about what they permitted mortals to possess. They had been rather less careful about what they permitted them to learn.
"You recognize the design."
"I do. It’s mine, though we ceased crafting this particular version years ago."
Hephaestus examined the inscription etched into its rim.
"Wait."
He turned the altered component toward the light again, tracing a nearly invisible arrangement of markings.
”I remember now. This portion was not part of the original design. One of my mortal craftsmen devised an improvement to the casing assembly, and we adopted it throughout the later series. These markings identify his alteration."
"Then you may know who constructed it."
"Who improved the original, certainly. Whether he had anything to do with this alteration is another matter."
His nephew reached toward the buttons beside his chair. A compartment suddenly swung open, revealing several ledgers. He selected one and laid it upon the table.
"I can tell you which workshop produced it. Possibly even when."
He turned through several pages of closely written entries before stopping beside a particular designation.
"Here we are. The improvement was introduced during the final years of production. Clever work, really. It reduced the amount of material required without compromising the ward's sensitivity. Reduced weight too.” He rotated the book to share the details.
Hades studied the entry. It was a modest innovation, the sort that might easily have escaped the notice of anyone unfamiliar with the original construction.
"Is the crafter still in your service?"
Hephaestus shook his head.
"No. He left several years ago."
He examined the adjoining entries.
"So did two others from the same workshop, though not together. One accepted a position in Anatolia, if I recall correctly. Another intended to establish her own workshop."
"And the crafter responsible for the improvement? Where did he go?"
"I don't recall."
Hephaestus searched the ledger again. The man's work was documented in considerable detail, including the alterations he had proposed and the commissions to which he had contributed. His departure, however, was recorded with little more than a date.
"What was his name?"
Hephaestus turned back a page and read it aloud. Hades committed the name to memory.
"Was his departure unusual?"
"Not that I remember. Mortals come and go from my workshops, and this was years ago. I could inquire among those who worked with him."
"I would appreciate anything you discover."
Hephaestus regarded the component thoughtfully.
"It would be a mistake to assume he had anything to do with this merely because his improvement appears in the design. We produced hundreds of these things. Any number might have passed into other hands."
”You’re right. But someone has acquired one, understood enough of its construction to alter it, and fashioned a new purpose."
Hephaestus turned the instrument over once more. The crude casing seemed almost an insult beside the delicate precision of the component within it.
"That is what troubles me. Not that someone has taken one of my creations apart. I've always encouraged my apprentices to do precisely that. But whoever devised this modification understood what the ward could accomplish once its original purpose was abandoned."
For the first time, there was little trace of amusement in his voice.
"And they were interested enough in a Pyle to send someone to study it."
Hades considered the former craftsman recorded in the ledger. The man was worth locating, if only to determine whether his knowledge or his handiwork had been passed on. Yet pursuing him presented difficulties that had little to do with his alleged guilt.
His agreement with Zeus remained fresh in his mind. Apollo had responsibility for the Atharim, and Hades had undertaken to share what he discovered rather than pursue their activities independently beyond his own dominion. He could hardly return from Olympus and immediately begin hunting a mortal through territories under his brother's authority.
The Covenant imposed its limits whether he approved of them or not. Hades had spent long enough within those limits to know precisely how far he could go before Zeus took notice. There was a bitter absurdity in being expected to defend his kingdom while asking permission to investigate those who threatened it. Still, he would not give his brother the satisfaction of another dispute over jurisdiction. Not over a mortal whose involvement remained uncertain.
"I promised your father that Apollo would receive what I learned concerning this device. He should have the name, along with the particulars of this instrument."
Hephaestus nodded in understanding and closed the ledger, leaving a marker between its pages.
"Do you think these Atharim understand what they've obtained?"
"I doubt the man I apprehended did. He was making observations according to someone else’s instructions.”
His nephew looked toward the dismantled instrument.
"Then I should like to know what those observations were meant to reveal."
He began returning the components to a shallow tray, taking particular care with the disassembled pieces.
"Keep it for now. I would value a more complete assessment before it passes to Apollo, if you wouldn't mind sharing the particulars with me before that time.”
"Of course. I'll see what else can be learned from it and send you my findings."
"You have my thanks."
Hephaestus inclined his head, then glanced toward the adjoining laboratory as a commotion arose beyond the door. Several voices called out in excitement, followed by laughter.
"I should leave you to your apprentices. You have your hands full."
"Then you must visit again, Uncle. Preferably before my children have children of their own. I'd like you to meet them before they're old enough to be frightened of you."
The invitation gave Hades a moment's pause. Hephaestus seemed to take it for granted that his uncle might visit simply to enjoy the company of family. Hades could scarcely imagine himself at ease in such circumstances, and doubted the children would find him particularly agreeable. His reputation had long dispelled such expectations, a convenience he had come to appreciate. Yet his nephew appeared entirely unconcerned by any of it.
"I shall endeavor to be less neglectful."
Hephaestus laughed and offered his hand. Hades clasped it warmly before taking his leave.
The twin sentinels stepped aside at his approach, as obedient to his departure as they had been to his arrival. Hades wondered whether Hephaestus had ever considered how fortunate his creations were to possess such simple instructions.
Beyond lay the brilliant sunlight of Olympus. Hephaestus had given him a name, and Hades intended to learn what had become of its owner. The Covenant might dictate where he could exercise his authority, but it said considerably less about where he might seek answers.
Fortunately, the waking world was not the only place where a mortal man might be found.