Confounded

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Some people called it Future Tech – a glimpse of the farflung future. The more popular term was Confounded Craft, because its designs were baffling beyond measure – even to the Confounded Craftors themselves. From steam-powered engines and clockwork creatures to farming machines and flying machines, the ancient art of the Confounded was mystifying and terrifying.

The train blew a cloud of steam and the high-pitched scream of its whistle filled the station as it departed. A sign bearing the day’s date, May 16th 3017, was almost blown away. The dingy low-ceilinged platform was awash with the clamour of rusty gears and squeaking wheels as the steam locomotive inched its way forward, 5 carriages of passengers in its wake.

It was a mystery how a railway system came to be in the realm of Habitica. Sure, Habitica was ruled by the ever-lenient Masterclassers who allowed use of such futuristic technology. But Habitica was, after all, a realm of the Colonial Lands. Even though they were colonies no more, the Colonial Lands were poor; much poorer than the Eastern Lands in its imperial glory and the Quinto Lands in their ancient wealth. All the materials needed for a fire-fueled wagon and a row of carriages would cost a fortune and then some. It was an investment made even more unfeasible by all the rails that would need to be blanketed across every inch of grass in the land. Not even magic could make that an easy task.

At last, the train burst into the sunlight, leaving behind the stone-built city streets and forging its way westward through the golden-green fields. The stinging stench of smoke and soot was blown away with the scent of sweet nectar and fruit trees. The flowers themselves seemed to turn and watch the snaking behemoth of metal as it clattered by.

It wasn’t a problem of size. Habitica seemed just the right size for a railway: not too small to render locomotives ineffective, and not too large so as to make them absurdly inefficient. People across the globe were far more accustomed to horse or gryphon-pulled carriages, or even just walking everywhere.

The mystery, of course, revolved around Future Tech; the Colonial Lands were infamous for its lack of it – especially tech that worked. Even after its establishment, whenever someone was told of a train in the Colonial Lands they would ask in which garbage dump it was found in and in what state of disrepair. Most Future Tech that still existed was borne eons ago in the days of the Duz.

Even in the Colonial Lands, people whispered of the Duz, the creatures from the stars. Long, long before the Great War, they had sailed down from the heavens upon their Star Ships and laid waste to the peoples of the Eastern Lands. It took over a century of occupation, and Grand General Azalaroth’s fierce rebellion, for the Duz to finally flee back into the skies. The scattered remains of their weapons and toys littered the Eastern Lands. Historians label these originals the true ‘Future Tech’, and our art of replicating them ‘Confounded Craft’. Most folks ignored these delineations and called it whatever they wanted.

Now the train was barreling away over the countryside, tearing across the plains and swerving around the little hills that dotted the landscape. The engine gave a loud toot to scare off a pair of hippogriffs in its path. Inside the train, the engineer let go of the whistle’s shiny cord and gave his engine room a once-over.

Around him lay a mess of wires and rusted equipment that blanketed the floor. A panel of buttons and knobs were arrayed before him. Behind his chair, a mindless automaton piston pushed a few nodules of coal into the furnace. He wiped his forehead and sat back in his seat, letting the age-old autopilot mechanisms to do their work.

He’d spent good money on these Confounded electronics, and they were paying off. Never would he have to twiddle with charcoal or turn endless numbers of knobs.

But he frowned; not even Confounded Craft was keeping him on schedule. Steam power would do for the moment, but if he was to stay on the schedule he’d promised all his passengers he’d need a bit more engine juice than this.

When all the Duz were gone, all that was left were the salvaged remnants of their technology. Few were able to replicate the craft, and those that learned to do it kept the knowledge a great secret. At first, only a handful of notable figures were known in the Colonial Lands; their knowledge of the Confounded Craft was limited at best: restricted to advanced clockwork and steam power. In this situation, it would have been impossible for a real train to exist, much less for very long.

The engineer eyed the stock of coal nervously, scratching his half-baked stubble. When he started this venture, he hadn’t anticipated how many resources he’d need in such a short amount of time. He’d only been open to passengers for a week, and already he was coming across complications. Even worse: people were getting on. His train was carrying maybe 40, 50 passengers already. If he were to slow down, he wouldn’t make it to the next stop before sundown; that was just asking for hampered navigation and unruly passengers. If he sped up, he’d completely run out of coal.

He swore under his breath, and groped for a napkin somewhere on the grimy floor. There was one last thing he could try, but he was loathe to experiment while the train was still moving. He’d heard stories of Confounded things exploding when you bunched them close together.

Many kingdoms in the Eastern Lands forbade use of all things Confounded. They were instead melted down into more “friendly” appliances like swords, shields and iron fortifications. The Orriental States was one of these places, being a devout member of Annihilatio Foedus, the anti-magic pact, while also outlawing all Future Tech with an iron fist. If it didn’t make sense to them, they didn’t want it.

The other three realms of the Quad-Nation Alliance abstained from such policies. Sunken Dilatory depended on powerful magic to keep their underwater city safe, and the merpeople were of course magical beings themselves. They saw Future Tech as just another unknown field of the magic that surrounded their lives.

The engineer bent down to reach a cardboard box in the corner of the engine room. The box was about as large as his head, the object inside perhaps a little smaller. He flicked open a floppy lid, revealing a perfect sphere of glass. On first glance it might look like an abnormally large snow globe or a lantern bulb. But something hazy and misty lay in its centre, pulsating with a dim light. A pretty little thing.

But he knew looks were deceiving. He knew how bright this orb could get, and he much preferred the gloom. Such a little thing, yet it had taken 4 men to carry it into the engine room. The engineer grabbed the box, but he could barely drag it an inch. He stood up and trundled over to the centre of the room, where metal bars and pipes bent away from a spot in the ceiling to allow an object a little smaller than his head to fit tightly in place. The engineer had had the forethought to construct this train with the orb in mind, but without the wisdom of how to blimmin’ get it in there.

How was he going to install this device?

The Occident was so poor that it never got hands on any useful Future Tech at all – anything that they did find particularly Confounded was sold to the highest foreign bidder to earn a quick buck. The Occident’s administration encouraged it; during the Occidental Civil War, the Viceroy at the time sold off his entire collection of antique Confounded vehicles to pay for spears and armour.

Most of those who bought Future Tech off The Occident were Habiticans, and this is one of the clues to the mystery. For some peculiar reason, Habitica was a sponge for Confoundment. Future Tech leaked in from sellers in The Occident, while yet more trickled in from intense smuggling on the east coast. A non-insignificant amount was brought in by immigrants.

The engineer popped his head through to the first carriage. It was empty save for a single boy sitting halfway down the aisle.

“You there!” the engineer called. The boy looked up, and the engineer almost decided to step immediatley back into the engine.

The boy’s eyes smouldered with pent up rage, as if he’d doused his face in red hot charcoal and eaten an entire Draconian Reaper. His mouth was molded into a snarl. His dark, unkempt hair snatched at the air like the claws of a dragon. His clothes, clearly newly bought from Habit City, were already pockmarked with rips and dirt. His leather sandals were stained dark. So, so dark.

He was just a kid, no older than 15, but something about him rubbed the engineer completely off course. He looked more jackal than human. When had this boy boarded the train? The repercussions for not making it to the destination on time weren’t that serious, were they? The 50 other passengers wouldn’t mind being late…?

But the boy was already walking over, a sheathed dagger at his belt swinging forward and backwards with every step.

The Masterclassers of Habitica at the time did not act against this influx of technology. Within a decade there were dedicated Confoundment Carpentries, and within a century the richer Habitican houses were awash with electric lamps and automatic doors. Very rarely you could find a motorised vehicle on the road, and there were evenrumours of time travel and matter creation.

Over the centuries, this Golden Age of Confoundment passed. Habiticans once again turned their attention to the mundane: farming, combat, magic and the like. But Habitica would be changed forever by Future Tech – indeed, the abundance of it attracted the massive flying island of Mistiflying from across the Sundering Seas, powered by both magic and Confoundment. Its ruler became a Masterclasser himself, and would call the country his home until the end of Mistiflying’s days. Such was his love for Habitica.

“Yes?” the boy asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. His hands were alive and restless – one picking a scar, the other fingering his collar, now the first mopping back his hair, the other cracking its knuckles.

“Ah, yes, hullo little one,” the engineer said. “I need your help carrying a, uh, shall we say heavy, item, and you look like a strong young fellow.”

The boy’s hand fell to his dagger, gaze to the floor. “Okay.” He didn’t even need to be offered money, but the way he instantly drew his dagger wasn’t very concerting.

The engineer gulped, then showed the boy into the smoky engine room. The boy allowed the engineer to show him how to lift the box, and was reminded that it was heavier than it looked. Then, together, they raised it and shuffled to the centre of the room. The engineer huffed and puffed; while the boy tried not to show it, the unimaginable weight made him grimace.

“What is this?”

“They call it a Starseed,” replied the engineer. “The only one anyone’s ever found. Could be the only one. Cost me twice as much as this ol’ engine, that’s all I’ll say.”

On May the 12th, 3017 years After the Great War, the Mystery Train was unveiled to the public as a ‘convenient and futuristic tour around Habitica’. The engine and its special power source, the Starseed, had been smuggled out of an isolationist nation in the Eastern Lands, and had switched hands countless times before it had finally reached Prosperity Port in Habitica.

They say that the Starseed was fueled by the dreams of its passengers.

“We’re going to have a little experiment,” the engineer told the boy. “Just between you and me, eh?”

The engineer bent down to at last lift the Starseed; his joints squealed in agony, his whole body straining upon the orb.

“Now,” he wheezed. “Reach up and push away those wires on the ceiling. I need to fit this thing in…”

The boy had to tiptoe to touch the rusty roof of the locomotive. The engineer stifled a sneeze as tufts of hair tickled his nose. When had this boy taken a shower?

But kids like these were why the engineer was here in the first place, grimy and sweating in a writhing machine. There were many such folk here, lost souls dragged in by fate or folly. Habitica was a large, dangerous place. If he could help even one person get to where they needed to be on time today, he’d be happy. Well and truly happy.

At once, a glow emanated from the orb. At once, it felt lighter. Out came the Starseed as the engineer heaved it up. The train jolted as it rounded a bend and the engineer almost dropped the priceless thing, curse his oily hands.

“Dreams,” the engineer muttered, panting. “Powerful things, eh?”

The boy gazed, mouth partially open, at the orb that had been so heavy just moments before. It burned brightly without flame, yet flickered all the same.

“The Starseed is fueled by our dreams,” the engineer whispered, staring too into the depths of the orb. “What’s yours, little one? What’s your dream?”

At first he thought the little rogue would slip out his dagger and stab him for prying into his little animal mind. But the boy took on a faraway look and gave the question some serious thought.

And just like that, the orb blazed like a sun and the orb became as light as a feather. The engineer lifted the orb one-handed and carefully stuck it into the ceiling. A few turns and a satisfying click, and then it was as if the orb had been there the entire time. The ethereal light bathed the engine room; all the Confounded machinery hummed with a brilliant vibe. The engineer smiled, then laughed as the Mystery Train picked up speed. He’d make it to the station on time after all.

Within a week the Mystery Train was taking 30 passengers a day, and within a month it was taking 50. When the War of Mistiflying began only 5 years later, over 400 passengers were riding the train at any given time. Magic ensured there was always enough room, and the Future Tech in the Mystery Train’s engine allowed it to run on time no matter the circumstance. Habitica, once a dangerous place for travelers, became a hot spot for tourists and a navigable realm for its people. All because of Confounded Craft, magic and a touch of luck.

Rarely was fate a fair master.

What had taken 4 men to lift into the engine room, only required a middle-aged engineer and a homeless child.

“Thanks a lot, kid.” The engineer dished out a few coins for the boy. He’d be able to buy some new clothes, maybe visit a guildhouse for the night. He figured the boy was an orphan; there were many in Habitica.

“Home.”

“What?”

“My dream. My dream is that I want my home again.” The boy accepted the coins that slipped from the engineer’s frozen fingers and thanklessly trudged out.

The engineer stared after him, then shook his head shamefully. He no longer saw a back-stabbing vagabond – only another poor soul that he could not save.

Unless.

“Hey, little one.” The boy turned, grabbing his dagger. “It’s, it’s cold out there in the cars. You want to stay here and watch me run the train? I can give you some pointers on places to stay here in Habitica. I know this place like the back of my hand.” He tried for a smile.

The boy was a wide-eyed deer in the headlights. Then for the first time on that train the boy smiled.

It was a poor, sorry excuse of a smile, full of cracked edges, crooked corners and an unsettling pain in his eyes. But it was a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile. Perhaps even jackals have their story, the engineer thought to himself, as he let the boy re-enter the engine room.

He checked the Starseed, and found it burning brightly.

This is a revised version of a story from 1 Jan 2023.