Chapter 17: The Spark
Alfred, the butler, led Finn and Elera down the endless corridors of the East Wing. The hallways were so quiet that their footsteps echoed on the marble.
Suddenly, a door opened ahead of them. A woman stepped out, humming a soft tune.
Finn and Elera froze. It was the beautiful woman from The Gilded Mirror.
"Oh?" Seraphina stopped, her blue eyes widening in delight. "The little ones from yesterday! What a wonderful surprise!"
Finn and Elera were too shy to speak. They hid slightly behind Alfred.
Seraphina laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Alfred, you can leave them with me. I was just dying of boredom."
"As you wish, Lady Seraphina," Alfred bowed and retreated.
"Come with me," she smiled, extending a hand.
She led them into her private chambers. If the rest of the mansion was a fortress, this room was a paradise. It was cavernous—easily four times the size of Asher's entire old shack. The ceiling was painted like the day sky, with clouds that seemed to move. One entire wall was made of glass, overlooking a private rose garden. The floor was covered in a carpet so thick it felt like walking on moss. In the corner, there were dressmaker dummies and sketches of hairstyles—evidence of her passion for her shop.
"Sit, sit!" She patted a velvet chaise lounge. "Tell me, how did you end up in my house?"
She looked genuinely happy. Her eyes crinkled with warmth. It was clear that despite her wealth, she was incredibly lonely in this giant manor.
Elera, gaining a little courage, spoke up. "Our big brother, Asher… he got a job as an engineer for Master Lucas. Master Lucas said we have to live here now."
Elera looked down at her feet. "He also said we have to spend time with the Master's sister… to keep her company. But we don't know who she is yet."
Seraphina covered her mouth to hide a giggle. She decided not to spoil the surprise just yet.
"Is that so?" she smiled mischievously. "Well, I am sure she will be very happy to meet you."
Meanwhile, in the West Wing, I stood in the center of the workshop.
"This is…" I muttered, looking around.
It was incredible. There were workbenches lined with high-grade steel tools—wrenches, calipers, and screwdrivers that shouldn't exist in a medieval setting. There were even rudimentary lathes and drill presses powered by pedals and gears.
I placed the rusted "motor" on the main table and got to work.
"The pistons are seized," I noted, peering into the cylinder head. "And the carburetor jet is clogged with decades of grime."
I began the disassembly.
Stripping: I carefully removed the rusted bolts. They were stubborn, but a little oil and leverage broke them free.
Cleaning: I found a solvent that smelled like kerosene. I used it to scrub the carbon buildup off the valves. The "rust" on the outside was mostly surface-level; the internal steel was high quality.
Lubrication: I re-greased the bearings. They spun freely now, silent and smooth.
Reassembly: I put it back together, tightening the bolts to the correct torque by feel.
It took me an hour and a half.
While I worked, Lucas was in his office, buried in paperwork. He was signing trade agreements, reviewing factory outputs, and managing the logistics of a massive company. He spoke to his subordinates—from the floor managers to the cleaning staff—with politeness, but his eyes never lost that strict, demanding edge. He was a perfect leader.
Back in the workshop, I wiped the grease from my hands.
"Time to test it," I whispered.
The motor needed a spark to start. I saw a heavy copper cable running from the wall—the estate's main power line. I hooked the starter leads to the terminals.
"Contact."
I flipped the switch.
WHIRRRRR—
The electric starter engaged. The motor coughed, sputtered, and then—
ROAR!
The engine roared to life, the pistons pumping rhythmically. It was working! It was smooth, powerful, and alive.
ZAP.
Suddenly, the lights in the workshop flickered and died. Then the hallway lights. Then the entire mansion plunged into darkness. The hum of the ventilation fans stopped. The silence was deafening.
I stood there in the dark, the only sound being the chug-chug-chug of the running motor.
"YOU!"
The door slammed open. Lucas stood there, illuminated only by the blue sparks spitting from the motor. He was furious.
"You stupid man!" he yelled, his composure finally breaking. "Who told you to draw that much current?! That was the battery reserve for the entire week! Do you know how much—"
He stopped.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light. He stared at the table.
The rusted lump of metal was gone. In its place was a gleaming, thrumming machine, purring like a beast.
Lucas's jaw dropped. His anger evaporated, replaced by pure, stunned disbelief.
"You…" he whispered, walking closer, ignoring the darkness. "You actually fixed it?"