"All the better for innovation," Steelheart replied with a wink. "The Academy has never understood our methods anyway—they're too bound by tradition to appreciate true engineering genius."
Relief washed over Alan. "So we can stay? Safely?"
"For now, yes," Steelheart confirmed. "Though we'll need to create a more suitable appearance for you. Those clothes mark you as an outsider too obviously." He studied Alan thoughtfully. "And we should establish your credentials quickly, before word of the Containment Team's interest reaches the city council."
He rose and moved to a cabinet, from which he retrieved several items—a leather-bound book, a small metal device that resembled a pocket watch, and what appeared to be an identification badge of some kind.
"This journal contains notes from a previous Gearsmith consultant—enough technical language to let you familiarize yourself with our terminology." He handed the book to Alan. "The chronometer is standard issue for guild members, and the badge identifies you as a visiting specialist under my direct authority."
Alan accepted the items, touched by the dwarf's immediate willingness to help. "Thank you. I don't know how to repay this kindness."
Steelheart waved away his thanks. "If half of what Marcus suggests about your knowledge is true, having you study our systems could advance our work by decades. Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement." His expression grew more serious. "Besides, anything that irritates Shadowveil has inherent value in my ledger."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Old grudges die hard, I see."
"That snake has been trying to bring the Gearsmith Guild under Academy control for centuries," Steelheart replied with feeling. "He considers our work 'crude approximations of true magical principles' and has blocked our expansion at every opportunity." He turned to Alan. "So yes, helping you is both a pleasure and a small act of rebellion."
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Steelheart called for the visitor to enter, and Gimble appeared, looking slightly concerned.
"Forgemaster, word from the main gate. A group of Academy officials has arrived, requesting entrance. They claim to be pursuing dangerous fugitives."
Steelheart and Marcus exchanged glances. "Sooner than expected," Marcus murmured.
"They must have used another transportation portal," Steelheart surmised. He turned to Gimble. "Standard protocols. They can enter under the usual visitor restrictions—limited numbers, no active magical devices without prior approval, and escort required at all times."
Gimble nodded and departed to relay the instructions. Steelheart immediately turned to his guests.
"We need to move quickly. They'll be granted entry—we can't refuse without raising suspicions—but they'll be watched closely." He rose and moved to a section of the wall that appeared identical to the rest. With a series of precise taps, a hidden door swung open, revealing another passage beyond. "This leads to my private residence in the upper city. You'll be safer there while I establish your cover identity."
Marcus stood, gathering his satchel. "Your assistance is appreciated, old friend."
"Save your thanks until we've successfully outmaneuvered Shadowveil's puppets," Steelheart replied grimly. "This isn't the first time Ironhammer has sheltered those the Academy would rather contain, but Darkblade is more persistent than most."
They followed Steelheart into the hidden passage, which was narrower than the service corridors but equally well-constructed. As the door closed behind them, Alan felt a momentary claustrophobia before the walls began to glow with a soft, ambient light.
"Luminescent minerals embedded in the rock," Steelheart explained, noticing Alan's interest. "Another Gearsmith innovation the Academy dismisses as 'primitive' compared to their light spells."
The passage climbed steadily upward, occasionally branching or intersecting with other tunnels. Unlike the service corridors, these appeared to be private routes, with no other travelers encountered. After about fifteen minutes of walking, they reached another hidden door, which Steelheart opened to reveal a spacious, well-appointed living area.
"My humble abode," he announced as they entered. "Not as grand as Academy towers, but comfortable enough."
The space was anything but humble. The main room was circular, with a high domed ceiling from which hung an elaborate chandelier of crystal and metal that glowed with warm light. The walls were lined with bookshelves, display cases containing intricate mechanical devices, and large windows that offered a spectacular view of the mountains beyond. Comfortable furniture was arranged around a central fireplace, and doorways led to other rooms beyond.
"This is amazing," Alan said, moving to one of the windows. From this vantage point, he could see much of Ironhammer spread out below—terraced levels built into the mountainside, connected by bridges, staircases, and what appeared to be mechanical lifts. The city was a marvel of engineering, with buildings of stone and metal seeming to grow organically from the mountain itself.
"Upper city privileges," Steelheart said with a hint of pride. "Guild masters and city officials reside at this level. The view helps remind us of the world beyond our forges."
He moved to a cabinet and retrieved fresh clothing—trousers, shirts, and vests in the style Alan had seen other Ironhammer residents wearing. "These should fit well enough. The washroom is through there if you wish to refresh yourselves. I need to return to the forge briefly to establish your cover and assess the Containment Team's movements."
After Steelheart departed, using yet another hidden passage, Marcus and Alan took the opportunity to clean up and change into the provided clothing. The washroom featured running hot water—another benefit of the thermal springs beneath the mountain—and Alan gratefully scrubbed away the dirt and sweat of their journey.
The new clothes fit reasonably well, though designed for a stockier frame than Alan's. Looking in a polished metal mirror, he hardly recognized himself—the Ironhammer attire, combined with his growing stubble and the general wear of travel, had transformed him from an academic physicist to something resembling a fantasy-world engineer.
"The disguise suits you," Marcus commented, similarly transformed by fresh clothing. "With the Gearsmith badge, you'll pass casual inspection."
They returned to the main room to find a meal laid out on a table near the fireplace—bread, cheese, meat, and a pitcher of what proved to be a light, refreshing ale. A note from Steelheart indicated he would return shortly and that they should make themselves comfortable.