Editor's Note: I'm going to introduce the shared world by telling a little story. Not much happens... it's just a tour really. But before I get started, I'm going to give you a little background.
Fiorenza exists in the Doctor Who universe. That means any of the species that exist in the TV series or the subsequent novels could drop in. That doesn't mean you have to use Doctor Who characters. But you may, of course. Or you may decide to write a prequel, if you like, and tell how Fiorenza came to be in the state its in now. Or perhaps you'd like to tell a little about current residents -- residents you create within the parameters of what sort of people live here. A third possibility is to bring your characters in from the outside -- visitors from space. The Doctor, naturally, might want to visit. However, since this is a shared world, if you're thinking of using the most obvious and popular character in the Whoniverse, we need to discuss it, so we don't end up with three stories about the same Doctor doing pretty much the same thing. For that purpose, as soon as I have a complete signup list, I propose we use the currently fallow "Critique" list for shared world discussions. I'd like to emphasize that I'm not proposing barring anyone from using the Doctor -- or even from having more than one story using the same Doctor -- I'm simply proposing coordination so that more than one story using the same Doctor still make sense within the same continuity.
The first pearl-pink rays of dawn caught the crystal facets of Fiorenza's towers, touching off a rainbow shower of color. It was the same any clear morning, but Todo never tired of it. Only a few ever witnessed this display: Bral, the dairyman as he led his ox- drawn cart into the merchant quarter to make his deliveries, if he bothered to take his eyes from the broken pavement; perhaps a few of the Baron's guard finishing their night watch before heading back to the barracks; and Todo, the Custodian.
Even the monks in Searching Heart Abbey never saw the city looking like this. They rose before first light, but their morning prayers kept them deep in the cloisters until the sun had risen above the crest of the ancient edifices.
It was Todo's favorite time of day. Silence hung over the old city like a blanket as the soft morning light warmed the sky. The stars winked out one by one as the shadows crept back to their lairs. When the black night sky had faded to blue, the people of Fiorenza would stir from their beds to go about their daily business.
The iron smith would stir the embers in his forge. The tanner would uncover his barrels of noxious chemicals, and the fumes would waft out into the market to mix with the odor of roasting meat and baking bread. The miller would turn the blades of his mill into the wind and watch the great stones grind into motion.
The Baron would rise from his bedchamber and come forth to survey his domain from the back of his great war horse. The Abbot would lead his monks in their morning devotions before venturing out into the market with his entourage, to be seen by the common folk and to demonstrate his defiance of the Baron's authority.
The shopkeepers would open their stalls and call out their wares. The farmers' wives would venture from the agricultural districts at the perimeter of the city to shop in the market. The carpenter, the cooper and the silversmith would rouse their apprentices and begin another day of commerce and craftsmanship.
And Todo the Custodian would walk the streets of Fiorenza with his straw broom, sweeping any trash he found, and greeting the matrons and children in each lane he ambled down. He would trade gossip and news, and find out where he was needed.
He was a tall, slender man of indeterminate age with thinning sandy hair that brushed his shoulders and fell across his eyes when he bent to work. Dressed in leather breeches and an old linen shirt patched so many times that little remained of the original fabric, he was an odd figure to say the least. But despite his ragged appearance, he was welcome at any hearth he chose to visit. A kindly, good-natured man, few met him without feeling better for the encounter.
This morning he planned to drop in on Mistress Keller, the potter's wife. Gossip had it that the potter's roof was leaking, and that the man who made and fired porcelain dishes for the Baron and the Abbot was so neglectful of his family that he allowed his children to sleep in a damp, leaky loft rather than lose a day's work at the kiln.
This was the sort of job Todo relished. It was a simple enough matter to notice the water stains on Mistress Keller's ceiling and offer to climb up and replace a few bundles of thatch, and tighten the lashings on the rest so the potter's family would have a warm, dry place to sleep. Making the potter a better husband fell outside Todo's responsibility. But it might jar the man's conscience to know that the ragged man with a broom had climbed to his roof to do what he should have done himself.
Fixing things -- roofs, paving stones, pump handles, leaking kettles and stopped drain tiles -- was Todo's calling. When the miller's stones ground to a halt because teeth had broken from the gear below the great windmill, Todo was on the scene before an hour's work was lost. When the bellows on the iron smith's forge cracked and split, Todo had fetched the tanner to make a replacement before the embers cooled. When Bral's dairy cart lost a wheel, Todo was nearby and helped him lift the axle and get the cart back on the road after the wheel had been repaired.
He wandered the city with his broom, looking for anything that needed his attention. He accepted no payment for his services. To take payment would be to sully the purity of his purpose. Rather, he lived by generosity of those he aided. Mistress Keller would surely be generous with her savory meat pies after her roof was patched. And Dordan the barman would surely have a pint of ale for a friend, come afternoon when the sun warmed the pavement and built a thirst in the throat of a workman. The weaver would surely find a cloak that some customer had rejected when autumn turned the streets cold.
Todo's life was simple, but he never went hungry. His shoes would have no holes as long as the cobbler remembered how his last had been repaired when it split, and there would always be peat for his hearth, as long as the people of Fiorenza appreciated the little services he performed.
And as long as he was free to watch the sun come up over the ancient crystal towers, he would count himself a happy man.
Had they ever considered it, the Abbot and the Baron would have envied the Custodian. The two powerful men inhabited strongholds at opposite ends of the city. Each was frustrated by the influence of the other.
Searching Heart Abbey nested in a complex of ancient buildings at the east end of the city. The soul of the abbey was the great library -- filled with moldering books that no one could read. A majority of the monks labored from morning devotions to evening prayer copying those books to parchment, to preserve them for future generations who might understand the mysterious writings. Preserving the great library was the stated mission of the abbey, and all who weren't involved in the Abbot's special projects spent their days in the scriptorium.
At the west end of the city, behind a wooden stockade, was the Baron's keep. Unlike the monks, who lived off the remains of a civilization gone, the Baron considered himself a foreword thinking man. He would not nest in the ruins of the ancients' dreams. All the buildings of his compound were constructed specifically for him. True, many of the building materials were foraged from the decaying towers that stood over the living city. But that didn't matter. Each building inside the stockade wall was constructed to the Baron's precise specifications.
The balance between the Abbot and the Baron had stood for generations. The monks went unarmed, but with the power of their faith behind them. Besides, deep in their ancient halls and corridors, they were unassailable, since the Baron's men feared the powers that were rumored to lurk in the old towers.
And behind his stockade, surrounded by his swordsmen and archers, there was nothing that could threaten the Baron.
Between these two powers lived the common people of Fiorenza -- and Todo the Custodian. In most ways, the people were unconcerned with the perpetual struggle between faith and secular power. Beyond the tax rates, one levy going to the Abbot, the other to the Baron, and occasional conscription -- both for the Abbot's brotherhood and the Baron's guard -- the demands placed upon the people were minimal.
The city straddled the great slow-moving Fior River, an island in a broad, uninhabited prairie. The agricultural districts were outermost, surrounding the circle of crystal towers -- built by architects long gone -- which loomed over the low thatched huts of the living city. At the center of it all was the market. Some 10,000 souls made their home beneath the crystal towers.
Todo was on his way through the market. The Keller hearth lay to the north. He made his way through the stalls and booths in no particular hurry.
He paused a moment to pick a ripe peach from a farmer's cart as he ambled by. The farmer smiled and nodded assent. A little farther on he stopped to look at the jewelry laid out at the front of the silversmith's booth. Todo had no need for ornaments, but the craftsmanship was good, and he felt it deserved his attention and appreciation. He was about to move on when he spied a slight figure in a brown monk's habit running between the stalls in a most unmonk-like fashion.
Todo recognized the boy, an abbey postulant named Josaf. The habit hung overlarge on the boy's 12-year-old frame, and as he ran, his sandal caught the hem and he sprawled out flat on the cobblestone pavement. Todo hurried over to see whether the boy was hurt.
"What make you rush so, my boy?" Todo said with a smile as he helped the shaken postulant to his feet. A knee was scraped, but other than that, the boy was unharmed.
"I have to fetch the healer to the abbey!" the boy gasped.
"Illness?" Todo asked.
"Heaven's fire!" the boy exclaimed. "Brothers Katran and Morthoth were stricken."
"Heaven's fire?"
"I can say no more. I have to find the healer." Josaf pulled away from Todo, but the older man stopped him.
"Well, at least pull your robe up a bit. We don't want you tripping again and needing the healer's art more than the ones back at the abbey." He pulled the boy's robe a little higher and tightened the robe belt that secured the folds of a habit sewn for a grown man. "Be on your way, boy!"
Todo watched the postulant continue on his errand. The
Custodian's face took on a thoughtful expression. Perhaps Mistress
Keller's roof would have to wait.
The Abbot was beside himself. So close! After four generations of labor and study, the Great Destiny was within reach. The Abbot was the sixth to hold this title since this project had begun. He trembled to think of the future about to unfold. He had been chosen to be the leader who would lead Fiorenza from the Dark Ages of Ignorance. He would be remembered by generations to come as the leader who cracked open the vault of lost knowledge and ushered in an age of enlightenment.
The accident was a small price to pay for an advance of this magnitude. Makto the Healer knelt beside the motionless forms of Brother Katran and Brother Morthoth. They were in one of the abbey's great halls, among the silent machinery of the ancients. Lit by smoking torches, the shadows of the great mechanisms wavered in the gloom. The odor of burning tallow mixed with an older fragrance of grease, dust and oil.
"I am sorry, your grace," the healer said sadly. "I can do nothing for the dead."
The Abbot nodded. "Your attempt to help is appreciated."
"I must ask what happened to these men. I have not seen death such as this before. They're fingernails are burned to carbon, and the soles of their feet. Yet there are no other marks upon them. What could cause such injuries?"
"Do not concern yourself," the Abbot said gravely. "These are matters of faith."
"As you wish, your grace," the healer said with resignation. "However, I must report what I have seen here to the Baron."
The Abbot frowned. "Nothing that transpires within these walls is the concern of the Baron," he said angrily. "Hold your tongue man, lest your soul be in jeopardy!"
"I am certain you know that any death under suspicious circumstances is the concern of the Baron. He will need to investigate."
The Abbot paused to compose himself. He could not consent to an investigation within the abbey. But to refuse would set up a stand off -- just the sort of excuse the Baron needed to blockade the abbey, or worse yet, mount an assault.
"If I can set your mind at rest, that this was a mere accident and involves no foul play, can I rely upon you to keep what you have seen to yourself?"
"Aye, Your Grace."
"Very well," he said ponderously. "Understand, though, that I shall be sharing with you our brotherhood's most sacred mysteries. I must have your word that you will not repeat what you learn."
"Aye, Your Grace."
"The Searching Heart Abbey is devoted to finding and understanding the mysteries of the ancients," the Abbot said slowly. "We study the past. This room is among the most powerful we have discovered." The old Abbot, a massive man both in height and girth, clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly down the aisle between machines.
"For four generations, my monks have studied the great mechanisms here. Today, for the first time, we have brought one of the ancients' machines to life."
The Abbot pointed to one of the large structures. "Within the rounded portion of this machine is a great wheel. It is not unlike a waterwheel, but it rests in no water. For many decades we have sought to discover what turns this wheel.
"Some years ago, Brother Morthoth presented the theory that water boiled in the great vessel in another hall is piped as steam to this machine, and pushes the blades of the great wheel. At first, his idea was ridiculed, for there was no sign of that a fire had ever been built beneath the great vessel. But after years of study and work, we have proven that this is indeed the truth.
"We built a smaller vessel, that we could place a fire beneath, and connected it to the pipes that lead to this machine. And as the most unfortunate Brother Morthoth predicted, the great wheel within this machine began to turn."
"Be that as it may, you grace, I do not see how the turning of this wheel, or even the fire you say was built, could have led to injuries such as I have seen."
"It was neither the wheel nor the fire, good healer. When the wheel turned, the ancients' machinery came to life. Brother Katran was standing over there." The Abbot pointed across the aisle to another machine -- one whose front surface was covered with dials and levers.
"His hand was upon the machine behind him, when Heaven's Fire leapt from the top of the machine and froze him in his tracks. Great sparks flew over his body and his face was contorted in a rictus of pain and shock. He could not even scream!
"Brother Morthoth ran to him, but as he touched the unfortunate man, the fire leapt to him as well. He could not move, or even let go of Brother Katran's arm."
The Abbot looked to the heavens for a moment.
"The two unfortunates might still be frozen in that posture, but just then, the valve that had been constructed to let the steam into the casing of the great wheel burst. The wheel stopped turning and with it, the Heaven's Fire subsided.
"Naturally, we moved our fallen brother's from this site to where you examined them."
The healer's eyes were wide with fear.
"Your Grace, are you sure you understand the forces you are toying with?"
"This is a matter of faith, my son. It is our mission to uncover the secrets of the ancients. We cannot turn aside from this quest because of minor risks to our corporal bodies."
"It is not my place to tell Your Grace how to conduct the business of the abbey," the healer said slowly. "But I fear you are out of your depth."
"You are correct," the Abbot said with authority. "It is not your place."
"I will keep the mysteries of the abbey secret," the healer said quietly. He bowed and took his leave.
The Abbot stood for a while, studying the machines that held such promise and such peril.
Then, satisfied that no more secrets were to be learned this day, he
left to carry on the business of the abbey.
Some hours later, the postulant Josaf was dispatched to search the area around the accident for Brother Katran's breviary, which was not found on his body.
To his surprise, the boy found a tall, slender figure dressed in leather breeches and a much-patched linen shirt examining the control. A straw broom leaned against the front of the machine nearby.
"Who let you in here?" the boy cried out.
"Hush, Josaf. You don't want to raise an alarm," Todo said with a smile, turning back to the machine.
"Who says I don't?"
"I say. If you call the brothers, there will just be a big scene. Nobody will thank you for it."
"What are you doing?"
"I heard there was an accident. I just thought I'd drop around and see if anything needed repairing."
"You don't know how to repair the machinery of the Ancients!"
"Don't I?" Todo said with a mischievous smile. He flipped a switch on the panel and a bank of jewel-like lights began to glow. It was only for a moment though. They faded out quickly.
Josaf's eyes widened in amazement.
"You forget, I'm the Custodian," Todo said with a smile. "It looks like they only had the turbine going for a few minutes... enough to run the dynamo and store just a bit of juice in the batteries. No mystery. Just a bit of electricity."
"How did you know that?" Josaf stammered.
Todo winked. "I'm the Custodian."
"That machine killed two brothers, yet you touch it and nothing happens to you!"
"Come here and I'll show you why," the older man said with a smile. He pulled a small tool from his pocket and turned some screws to remove a panel. "Look in there. See the metal thing? That's called an electrode. A small rodent had got inside the case and at the moment that the dynamo started up, was touching both the electrode and the case of the machine. Poor thing was incinerated -- and allowed the electricity to flow to the case of the machine, where the poor monk had his hand." Todo pointed to a small blacked shape on the floor by his feet. "I removed the remains of the creature, that won't happen again."
"You understand the mysteries of the Ancients ..." Josaf whispered.
"Oh yes, many of them. Not everything, mind you. But enough."
"How did you learn these things?"
"From my master, the Custodian before me. Just as my apprentice will learn from me."
"But, if you know these things, you could simply tell the Abbot!"
"Oh no. Not the Abbot. That wouldn't do at all."
"Or the Baron!"
"Not him either. If either the Abbot or the Baron were to learn the way to run all this machinery, the one that did it would have too much power. The balance would be lost.
"In fact, I'm about to make a few modifications here that will ensure they don't get the dynamo going again. I'll just clip a few wires, and put this lever in the other position." Todo pulled a large lever into the "up" position.
"What was that?"
"Look here." Todo pointed to a line of ancient script over the lever. "That says 'Main Circuit Breaker.' If I open that, then clip this wire, nothing will happen if they close it again."
"Why are you telling me all this? Aren't you afraid I'll tell the Abbot?"
"I suppose you could," Todo said with little concern. "But if you did, think of all the things you'd miss learning."
"You'll teach me about the Ancients? Why?"
"Questions! Questions! So many questions. There will be time for all the answers you want. I need an apprentice, you see."
"An apprentice -- you mean I can come live with you and learn about how all the ancients' machines work?"
"Hmmm... not quiet yet. I don't think I'm ready to have someone
move in with me," Todo said with a wink. "For now, you can stay
here -- just as I did when I was your age. The books are all here
you see. You just need to learn to read them."
It was nearly sundown when Todo slipped out of the abbey, only a single postulant knowing he had been there. As the sun sank behind the towers turned blood red with evening's last light, the Custodian made his way back to his hut on the banks of the River Fior.
The city was becoming quiet again, as the people retreated back to their homes and the light of tallow lamps. The smoke of a legion of cooking fires rose over the thatched roofs of Fiorenza. The air was fragrant with wood smoke, roasting meat and a clean breeze off the prairie.
Tomorrow, perhaps he would tend to Mistress Keller's roof. The sky was clear, so the potter's children were in no danger of being drenched tonight. He stopped an looked back over the dimming city.
It had been a good day.