Foredrake Merri led Mug and me out to the section of camp that functioned as a sort of outdoor workshop. Unlike the kobolds we had seen when we first approached, these workers were busy: melting down ores, repairing equipment, hand-drawing blueprints, and making modifications. They gave me and Mug only passing glances as we waddled behind Merri, reminding me once again that being an animated object was only slightly curious in a land of dragons, wizards, and angels.

  We stopped at a brick hut that looked like it had been blasted with dynamite and rebuilt at least three times. A wooden door was technically attached to one wall, though it didn’t quite fit the frame and half the hinges were missing, so we just walked inside without knocking. It was the complete opposite of Merri’s office. Instead of neat and orderly, papers were stacked in haphazard piles, buckets of spare parts spilled every which way, and a fine layer of grime seemed to coat everything.

  In the center of the small room was a table with three legs; where the fourth leg should have been sat a statue of a lion that was almost the right size to compensate. On top of the table stood another green kobold, this one wearing an oversized apron that dragged beneath his feet and tripped him as he paced. He was currently looking at a blueprint for… something… that was held down by whatever object had been closest to hand. Merri cleared her throat and knocked on the table.

  “Oy! Blister! King sent some help! Needin’ your help to help our help!”

  Blister startled at the interruption. He turned to face us, and I could see that his face possessed the same "blasted with dynamite" look as his workshop. He eyed me, then Mug, then looked back at his schematics.

  “Can’t do it, can’t do it! Too busy! We’re losing roughly 12.13% efficiency based on our current elevator capacities! Need to add more weight without ruining tension thresholds! Can’t look at tension thresholds without looking at hose designs! Can’t look at hose designs without looking at refining processes for leathers! Can’t—”

  Merri cut him off with a wave of her claw. I had a feeling Blister was the type to find issues in everything, and Merri was well aware of it.

  “Not askin’, blastbrain! Can’t worry about tension or capacities if no minin’! This trashcan and gob need an air pump and a cart big enough for all three! Needin’ it yesterday! Needin’ the best we got! Understand?”

  She had climbed onto the table while she talked, emphasizing her sentences with a claw jabbed directly into Blister’s chest. Each jab pushed him back until he tripped over a broken hammer and landed on his tail. He seemed angry but not necessarily insulted; maybe kobold culture was more amenable to a hostile work environment.

  Blister stood, tugged his apron down in a futile attempt to straighten it, then eyed us critically. He pivoted and walked toward the back of his workshop, grumbling under his breath as he shoved piles and boxes out of the way. Foredrake Merri hopped down and shrugged by way of apology.

  “Apologies. Blister is quick-clever, but… not bein’ much for people. Not friendly like me. No graces. Great for machinin’ and tinkerin’, though.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Mug shot me a look, and if I had eyes, I would have returned it. There was not a trace of irony, sarcasm, or self-awareness in her statement. I’d thought Merri was the first sane person I’d met, but it turned out she was just as crazy as everyone else in this world.

  Eventually, Blister returned, dragging a crude air pump roughly the size of Mug. He patted it tenderly, then scowled at Merri.

  “Here! Best one I ever made! Compresses twice as good as the crap you had me make for the workers! Only explodes 12.5% of the time! But it better make it back in one piece!”

  He begrudgingly shoved it toward Mug, who picked it up and placed it in front of me. I wasn’t super pumped knowing it had a 1 in 8 chance of exploding me, but it would have to do. I shot out a paper note since Merri had left her earring in her office. She snatched it and read it aloud.

  “‘Thank you, Engineer Blister. I promise I will bring this back in one piece—maybe—assuming events allow me to. Of course, it also has a 12.5% chance of being damaged through no fault of my own. Also, I am going down into mines full of poison gas and monsters for you guys, so maybe one air pump is a fair price to pay? I don’t know, just thinking out loud. Anyway, thanks, but I was hoping you could come with Foredrake Merri and me for the next part of my plan. I need someone talented and brilliant, and I can tell by the soot on your face you are just the kobold I’m looking for.’”

  Merri rolled her eyes at my obvious flattery, but Blister seemed to swell with pride. There was nothing like appreciation for an under-appreciated genius.

  “Well… it can’t be helped… if the trashcan needs the best kobold for the job, then obviously…”

  Merri smacked him on the back and ushered him toward the door. I followed, and Mug lifted the pump clear over his head to bring up the rear. It was not lost on me that the pump, which had taken Blister’s entire bodyweight to drag, was being held by Mug as if it were a light pillow. I asked Mug about his strength, and he only laughed.

  “This? Oh no, this is from Master Edvald’s training! ‘A servant that cannot carry his master’s suit of armor for a day straight is no servant at all’ is what he would tell me! My record is three and a bit!”

  Was this tiny, floppy green man really a goblin?

  While we walked, I used Mug to explain my idea. The biggest question was what powered the air pumps; once Blister confirmed they ran on mana, I knew I could make it work. The theory was simple: stick me and the air pump in a minecart. Connect me to the slot that normally housed mana crystals so I could use my own mana and the items stored in my void to regulate the pressure. On the front of the cart would be Mug, guiding the tube. Instead of just expelling air, Blister would rig up a barrel, an aiming column, and a load-port for solid projectiles.

  In essence, we were going to be a tank with a one-man crew and a pneumatic cannon.

  Once Mug finished explaining, Blister’s eyes literally began to glow. Not metaphorically—literally. The idea sparked something in his brain so powerful that it ignited whatever spark powered kobold engineering into a roaring fire. He practically ran to gather materials, moving so fast his feet barely seemed to touch the ground.

  Even Merri seemed impressed. “Idea not bad. Might work. Go down, shoot leeches, shoot wyrm. Might work. But! Fume wyrm fast! Can breathe hot—forge-hot! You and gob still runnin’ down to danger. You know this?”

  I took a second to think as I watched Mug assist by picking up a minecart and carrying it on his back. He tripped and dropped the cart on himself before popping back up, and I finally spat out a note.

  “‘Of course. We made a promise to do this, so that’s what we’ll do. Worst case scenario, I will send Mug back up if it’s too dicey. Besides, you guys can’t do it, and the King won’t do it, so someone has to.’”

  She patted my lid affectionately. “Not bad for trashcan. We’ll feed the gob before you two go down. No dyin’ on empty belly.”

  With those words of encouragement, she walked away, leaving me to my thoughts.