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“Boris, what am I looking at?” The baron’s voices sounded hoarse as he examined the latest report.
His secretary and chief aid peered over, adjusting his glasses with his top-right hand.
“A report on the ongoing siege of Schumacher and Sons Fine Footwear, herr Baron.”
“Yes, I see that… why are my troops besieging a shoe shop?” He hissed with the patience of a man too tired to yell.
“As I understand it, herr baron, the cobbler is a spark and he…” Boris shuffled some papers with all four hands as he searched for the report. “Ensorcelled, bedevilled, entrapped and took hostage a respectable citizen of the town… the respectable part is debatable. The mayor requested assistance.”
“My troops are besieging a shoe shop… for…” Klaus double checked his papers, “six hours? What are they even fighting?”
“Erm, clanks herr baron. Armed… er, footed perhaps, with heavy boots.”
“Any injuries?”
“Broken toes and bruised shins mostly, though I am told sergeant Schlop may not ever have children now. The steel-toed Kicker-clanks are.. spirited.”
***
The Baron, Klaus Wulfenbach, quite possibly the most feared man in all Europa was tired. There seemed to be no end to the petty tyrants and madmen eager to throw themselves on his army’s bayonets.
The sooner he could complete the negotiation with Mechanisburg the better. The added military strength of the Jaggers might finally buy him a full night’s sleep.
This latest conflict was adding insult to injury.
In fact the sight of dozens of shiny brass spiders clomping around in heavy jackboots was reminding him of his own sore feet.
With a long suffering sigh he stepped up to the cordon and yelled, “Master Schumacher, I must insist you cease and desist this violence!”
He wasn’t honestly expecting a coherent reply. Sparks on a rampage were hardly the most reasonable conversationalists. It was for this reason the answer he got most surprised him.
“I would love to! If only someone with some authority could guarantee I won’t be SHOT the moment I step into view!” came a quite young sounding voice.
Klaus felt his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.
“Certainly, I can offer that much consideration in the least.” he called out. This young spark did not sound nearly as deranged as the Scuttling Brogues might imply. “Have you any additional conditions for your immediate surrender?”
“Surrender? You make me sound like some sort of insurgent! Just guarantee me that I will not be killed, vivisected or shipped off to certain doom in some mechanical madhouse! Better yet, promise me a fair hearing and a chance to convince you this is all a grave miscommunication!” The young cobbler yelled back.
“Very well.”
Silence stretched out for several seconds. Even the stomper-clanks paused.
“Erm... can I get that in writing?”
***
“And initial here, sign there, very good. You are now an officially recognized prisoner of war under the Pax Transylvania.” Boris droned on as the young man chewed eagerly on a pretzel.
“You strike me as a remarkably sane person to be taking hostages.” Klaus prodded curiously. A table and chairs had been provided and the cobbler had called off his Clogs.
With papers signed and peace offering made (A plate of hot food from the nearest eatery) the fighters could finally cool their heels.
“I wouldn’t call him a hostage per say... I didn’t lock him up or anything. The boots are just heavy is all.” He lamented between bites. “That jack... er... scoundrel, has been sneaking into people’s houses for months and doing unsavoury things there. I meant to restrain his behavior... they weren’t meant to be boots originally. You see I had something of an... episode.” The spark lamented. “I was planning to offer my device to the magistrate you see, as a tracking device. They weren’t meant to be boots, just ankle bracelets. Then I started thinking about how he might take them off...”
It was as predictable as a metronome. A young spark had a clever idea, got excited and lost control. Somehow resulting in binding a local deviant in lead-lined boots covered in alarming red lights.
“How long until it lead to jackbooted battle clanks?” Klaus asked with some weary amusement.
“A day or so... First they sent guards after me, and when that failed they called your troops. I have been hiding under a worktable since after dinner.” The young man sighed. “Surely you see this was a terrible misunderstanding. I am very embarrassed to have gotten so carried away but it’s not like I chopped off his feet! He just can’t climb ladders or jump fences, and any possible victims will see him coming. One might even hope he will learn his lesson from this... not that I am endorsing such tactics as general practice or anything.”
That. That right there. That was the part that got Klaus’s attention. He was so reasonable! A fairly minor spark who thought clearly. A man like that was worth some trouble.
“Master Schumacher, I am inclined to take you aboard my castle. You will have resources, capable technicians and my personal supervision. You will also have, I expect, a steady stream of clients. If those boots are as sturdy as they look.”
“And comfortable,” the youth added, “I could even do something about your pronation!”
“My... what?”
***
“Gotterdammerung! These feel amazing!” Klaus proclaimed, “what did you call this again?”
“Arch support, herr Baron.”