“These little dragons, “ said Professor Octavius while lighting a fire in two mechanical creatures the size of a house cat, “are perfect examples of relative energy efficiency. Open the windows, would you, James?”
As his student opened the windows to Octavius’ workshop, the little dragons began to emit smoke from their ears and mouths, jaws snapping and heads shaking as if just waking up.
“Now,” Octavius said as the miniature dragons toddled around the floor, seeking the bits of coal he’d scattered, “how long do you suppose these fellows will go on exploring my workshop using the 500 grams of coal I’ve given them to eat?”
James, a lively student with tousled hair and rumpled clothes, studied the dragons and the coal in turn. “Fifteen minutes,” he decided. “Twenty, tops.”
“Wrong!” Octavius replied, eyes gleaming with jovial mischief. “Two hours, minimum.”
“How?” cried James, eyes wide. “The thermatic loss alone should make it impossible. Coal burns too hot and fast. Is it supplementing ivorite?”
“No, no, no,” replied Octavius, waving his hands in dismissal. “You’re too clever for that. How can you tell there’s no ivorite in these fellows?”
James stood to walk around the dragons, inspecting them closer. “Well, no scent of burnt leather, for one. They still smell like chimneys, but far fainter than I would expect, given this is clearly low-grade coal,” the young man said, rubbing a bit of coal between his fingers. “Also, you’d need a burn chamber the size of these dragons just to handle the heat required to ignite ivorite. And finally, ivorite is getting more expensive, so it’s unlikely you’d use it on a private demonstration, even for your favorite student,” James finished, adding a wink for good measure.
This. This was what Octavius loved about teaching. Watching young minds make connections and become as passionate about tinkering as he was. It was almost as fun as tinkering itself.
At that moment, one of the dragons paused over a wooden frame to spew gray sludge from its nose.
“What the–” James yelped as he sprang away from the dragon.
Octavius burst into laughter – that joke never got old – and reached over to unclasp an identical frame as the second dragon made its own deposit. The frame unveiled an intricate floral concrete tile, superior to a stamped version, and taking a fraction of the time required for a mason. He handed the tile to James, whose fingers ran across the ridges reverently.
“My original design expelled the concrete in an anatomically correct fashion,” Octavius explained, “but the investors didn’t like it. No sense of humor, I say.”
James’ hand drew slowly back from the flowers. “But how?” he asked, picking up one of the dragons as it strained for more coal.
“Sacrificial anode,” Octavius replied. “It draws the excess heat and funnels it back into the burn chamber, which has a dampener on the coal itself. Routing the heat back allows the coal to burn cooler and more efficiently, reducing both heat and chemical emissions, as well as creating higher quality fly ash. I load up a bit of lime and water to get high quality concrete. I replace one cheap anode every six hours and get an incredibly efficient machine.”
“So those investors are going to use these to make concrete reliefs?” James asked.
“Bah! Of course not,” replied Octavius, waving his hand as he glared out the window. “I drove ‘em off. Those fools didn’t want a dragon, a beautiful, near-living creature. They wanted a gigantic box on wheels that spits out concrete like a simpleton. No sense of humor I can handle. Demanding all function and no form, no artistry, I cannot.”
Just then a knock came at the door. Octavius opened it to a carrier who handed him a note. Glancing at the seal, Octavius opened it and glanced at its contents.
“I’m afraid I’m being called away on urgent business, Lad,” Octavius said as he bent to extinguish his dragons. “Would you mind apologizing to this afternoon’s class and letting them know I won’t make it today?”
James’ face fell. “That’s the third time this semester, Sir.”
“I know,” Octavius replied, patting the young man’s shoulder. “But this isn’t the type of business that can be delayed. Stop by next week and I’ll show you the bionic venus flytrap I’m working on!”
Octavius grabbed his coat and locked his office door behind him. He did hate disappointing his students, but only the Guilds could get him regular access to the ivorite and other illicit materials his finest inventions required. Besides, this wasn’t just any job. Any contract that required the use of his iron dragon — a horse-sized version of his miniatures, fueled by ivorite, and that emitted far more deadly substances out of multiple anatomically correct orifices – was guaranteed good fun.
