Turner's eyes struggled to focus on the face that hovered just above his. He thought maybe it was another dream, but as soon as he heard her voice and saw her bright smile he knew it was the real thing.

"Turner?"

"Dorothea?"

"It's so good to see you awake," she said, shyly slipping her hand out of his.

"Good to have you back with us, Turner Hullin," Herrera said from the foot of the bed. "You've been out for a nearly a day and a half."

Turner struggled to sit up, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. He was lying on an immense bed, propped up on thick soft pillows. Lit candles flickered, softly illuminating the dusty, sparsely furnished room that felt like a domain fit for royalty.

"What happened? Where are we?" He put a hand to his head, wincing when his fingers brushed a large lump behind his head. Dazed, he looked at Dorothea. "I remember being on the beach. That flying fortress was smashing up the place. There were explosions and... I don't remember much else. Are we still on the island?"

"Regrettably, Rainbow's End is lost to us."

"We escaped."

"To where?"

"See for yourself." Dorothea pulled back tasselled drapes to reveal a wall of windows. Turner stared at the underground metropolis spread out before him, where long fingers of natural light reached in through jagged splits in the rock above.

"Turner, welcome to the Golem City," Herrera said.

"How did we get here?" Turner asked, eyes wide as saucepans.

"On a dragon." 

"Dragon?!"

"There's a lot to tell you," Dorothea said, giggling. Turner looked at her, confused. He'd never seen her so happy.

"We're underground?" he asked, looking out the window again.

"More so in the middle of a mountain, in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of nowhere."

"By the looks of it, this place is an erosional remnant, like the inside of a dormant volcano," Turner mused. "You don't grow up in a mining town without learning a few things about rocks," he explained, when greeted with their surprised expressions. "Like those shiny ones up there." Turner pointed at the cavern ceiling, where stones shimmered like a spangle of stars. "They look like some kind of geode or quartz. They couldn't have formed naturally like that. Someone must have put them there."

"Turner, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Dorothea said, grinning. She pulled a canvas bag from her shoulder and set it down onto the bed. Something strange, small, and not quite human crawled out.

"Holy crow!" Turner crabbed his way backwards against the headboard and fell out of the bed, taking half the covers with him.

"Easy there, Turner Hullin, nothing to panic yourself over." Herrera sat down on the bed and placed a hand on the head of the small, brown figure.

"It's a golem!" Dorothea exclaimed.

Turner looked at Dorothea in disbelief, thinking of the giant he'd seen singlehandedly defeat Fortress Five.

"You captured it?"

"Hardly, Herrera snorted. "It found us. This one's attached itself to Dorothea like a third arm."

"Emet!"

"It speaks too!?"

"Gifted little scamp, yes?"

Turner watched nervously as the thing approached on a stubby pair of legs, not wanting to make any more of a fool out of himself in front of Dorothea. He flinched slightly when it reached out and brushed against him. With tentative hands, Turner picked it up, finding it much lighter than he expected it to be, its clay skin strangely supple to touch.

"Dorothea and I talked about giving it a name," Herrera said. "I had such wonderful ideas, such as Tubby McSprout or Turtle Two-legs..."

"The simplest was the most appropriate," Dorothea cut in, "so I decided on Emet."

"Emet!"

"Yes, well, simplicity does have its benefits," Herrera said, sounding almost disappointed.

"They speak?"

"This one does; the others not so much."

"There are others?" Turner glanced around as if expecting them to come leaping out at him from various hiding places.

"A veritable menagerie," Herrera confirmed with a smile. "They take care of the city, keep it clean and all that. They were probably created to serve whoever once resided here or perhaps visitors like us."

Turner studied Emet. Its design was certainly different from the golem that had devastated Fortress Five, and in more ways than just size. Something about its strange stumpy appendages and simple face made it appear friendlier, more approachable, certainly a lot less intimidating. It was more animated, personable even.

"Where's everybody else?" Turner asked, getting to his feet.

"Go easy there," Herrera warned. "That foot of yours is still a bit swollen."

Turner grabbed the bedpost when a sharp pain in his left foot rewarded his efforts. The foot was bound in a bandage, no doubt the result of Gorso's ministrations.

"Come on," said Herrera. "We've got a lot to show you. Just don't rush yourself."

Moving at a pace that Turner's foot could bear, everyone filed out and descended a broad flight of stairs into the sweeping entryway of a magnificent palace.

"It's huge!" Turner cried, looking about him in wonder. "You wouldn't find any houses like this in Yarnsford."

"We haven't really explored much," Herrera said, standing by a large marble fireplace. "We've covered maybe half of this palace and next to nothing of the city. Not that we've had much reason to go out much. Our gracious hosts have been very accommodating. They're even helping repair the Tartaruga for us."

"Angeline can't decide whether that's a good thing or not," Gorso said, snickering. "You know how she likes to be in charge of all that. But they seem to take orders pretty well."

The grand space was lit by countless gilded lamps, capped by a great chandelier hanging from the magnificent barrel-vaulted ceiling. Upon its floor of polished red granite were several golem performing a variety of tasks.

There was a golem at least twice the size of a man piecing together new furniture in the middle of the room. Sitting hunched over its work, it had an oval head with two long tubes for eyes and a mouth that dispensed a variety of nails, bolts, and rivets. Selecting tools from the shelves that ribbed its back and chest like chrome scales, it went about its business with hands possessed of the ability to split apart into smaller apparatuses, capable of going about individual tasks with sublime skill and agility. Turner drew back slightly as the huge creature stood and approached him. It handed him a beautifully hewn walking stick and returned to its work. Speechless, Turner watched as one of its quasi-mechanical extremities plucked a nail from its mouth flap, while another battered it in with a hammer, working in tandem in a seamless procession that finished in minutes what would have taken a man far longer.

Turner's attention was drawn to another giant standing in a corner of the lobby, its body coated entirely in long, overlapping strips of elegant fabric, no two pieces the same. A variety of fibres hung in thick shanks from its head, like so much hair that hid its face, threaded needles dangling from the ends. The only parts visible were its two hands bearing many-jointed fingers that flexed and curled like spider's legs. Turner watched as it pulled a strip of material from the collection of drapery that coated it, followed by a needle and thread from its head. Six more hands emerged from the golem's heavy shroud and, with unparalleled dexterity, the golem started cutting, weaving, and stitching, producing embroidered serviettes, placemats, and tablecloths until it ran out of material. It left its work in a neat stack, before starting again with a fresh strip and repeating the process. A small army of shorter golem collected its finished works and stowed them away, with arms that could bear the weight of bundles many times their size and legs that could extend to any length to reach every shelf.

"How many golem are there?" Turner asked, watching a golem that resembled a frog standing before the fireplace puff up its chest and blow fire to ignite the coals within.

"Thousands, at least. There wasn't a single thing in this place when we arrived. Then our little friends started making all these things for us: chairs, tables, your bed – anything and everything. Come! There's much more to show you."

Herrera led the limping Turner to a great library that occupied the entire western wing. The library's stacked shelves were filled with an inestimable number of tomes held together in bindings of iron lace, polychrome, and plain leather. There were codices of every imaginable subject, both major and obscure, maps of faraway lands, musical scores, and a vast collection of artworks. It was as if the city's occupants had been intent on collecting and preserving as much of civilisation as possible.

Small golem about the height of Emet were dusting the many books. But, unlike Emet, they had bright orange clay skin, two black button eyes, slender arms that looked like braided yarn, and fingers that looked like a dozen living gold tassels. Small red lanterns hung from hooks that arched from the crowns on their heads, each with a tiny orange flame burning on perpetual wicks. Wheeled ladders and a variety of ramps lined the library shelves that the small golem could use to access the harder to reach tiers.

On the library ceiling was a splendid mural that depicted men and golem working together, set among backdrops both rural and urban, a reflection of the city founder's dream, perhaps. It would have taken an artisan many years to realise such a sprawling and intricate landscape. Turner suspected it had not been created by human hands alone.

Dorothea led Turner into the deepest part of the library where there was a raised platform surrounded by many lit candelabras. On it was a rotating pedestal covered in a fine mat of clay grime, a table scattered with crafting tools, and a small bookshelf to one side.

From out of the corner of his eye he spied a strange golden skull-like object covered in gemstones skittering along the pedestal, with limbs like a spider's. "What is that?"

"I don't know. There are really quite a few golem around here that I can't imagine what they're for."

"Spiders and skeletons give me the willies."

"And here I thought you worked in mines all your life," said Herrera.

"Yarnsford tries to keep its mines free of pests and dead people."

Herrera laughed."Commendable. But fear not, Turner Hullin, they are not going to hurt you."

"Look at this," Dorothea said, excitedly.

She placed Emet atop the shelf and rummaged through her bag. She pulled out a moleskin notebook that looked old and worn. She turned the book's stylishly handwritten pages to where a silk string bookmark rested and held it out to him. "Does this look familiar?"

Turner looked at the ink-scratched depiction, recognising it immediately. "The golem that wrecked Fortress Five?"

"My ancestor penned this book;" Dorothea said, not without pride. "It's a record of every golem he ever designed, including all of those here in the city, even Emet." She looked around in awe. "This is where he actually made them, here in this place."

Turner carefully turned the yellowed pages, perusing the series of hand-drawn sketches depicting the front, rear, and sides of numerous golem. It was a pictorial catalogue of wonders, with notes scribbled alongside in a consistently neat and elegant hand, detailing observations made of golem whose anatomies consisted not only of sediment and ceramic but also more unusual materials, such as glass, paper, fabric, liquid, and even gases.

"It's a serious piece of history, that," said Herrera. "As important as anything else here."

"I think so, too," Dorothea said, tucking the book back into her purse. "Emet, come."

The small golem hopped into the bag, alongside the book, and settled itself amidst the contents. Dorothea took Turner by the arm and continued to show him around.

The number and variety of golem seemed limitless. Just when Turner thought he'd seen them all, a never-before-seen variety put in an appearance. They moved out in the open, trekking from one task to the next, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. It was like being in a living ecosystem, each golem designed to serve a specific set of purposes, all dedicated to the maintenance of the city and the service of its inhabitants.

The upkeep of the city appeared a constant and tireless process. Turner had yet to see anything in a state of disrepair or even in poor shape and it wasn't uncommon to see golem lugging raw materials someplace where they were needed. Even more interesting to note was how the golem collected and prepared food. The golem didn't just source their foodstuffs from the garden. Not needing to breathe and being immune to the cold, fishing was an easy task for the web-footed, flipper-handed golem swimmers that brought fish out from the city reservoir.

Dorothea showed Turner the palace kitchen where there was a golem with a stove in its chest and a fire burning in its belly. It took various ingredients from the pantry wall that other golem kept stocked with fresh condiments sourced from some undiscovered place and made meals with impressive speed. Admittedly, nothing it made was particularly complicated, but as far as anybody was aware, the golem couldn't taste the food it prepared, making it especially impressive that the dishes it made tasted consistently delicious.

All golem were selfless servants to any who needed their help. The moment some manual labour cropped up that had been beyond means of someone to do, the nearest able-bodied construct came to assist and did all they could to make things more comfortable. They swept the floors and window sills, with legs and arms able to extend to any length so to be able to reach any surface in the palace. They brought food on heads shaped like trays, washed clothes in spinning bellies of soap and suds, and they never tired and never refused a chore.

Dorothea led Turner out the back of the palace, into a tunnelled canopy woven with flowering vines and climbers. They made their way through the emerald tunnel to where it opened up into a garden that spread across at least an acre of land. It was situated directly under one of the sun-giving fissures and was as much a wonder to behold as the city itself.

"Isn't it fantastic?" Dorothea asked, with shining eyes.

Turner shook his head in disbelief.

"Never seen anything like it."

"We'll have lunch out here later," Herrera promised. "Go on. Take a look around."

Turner explored the gardens with a curiosity he'd never realized he'd possessed. There weren't that many green places in a mining town, especially one on the sea. No longer tamed to suit the aesthetic of human tenders, many of the garden's floral inhabitants had spread their limbs and roots beyond their original imposed boundaries and trespassed into neighbouring galleries, blending their charms with their hosts, if not conquering them entirely. There were overgrown ferns and hedges rife with flowers, whose petals were tinged in every conceivable shade, growing in beds teeming with their number. Other parts of the fertile spread nurtured succulent fruits, fresh vegetables, and a bounty of herbs. A complex network of interlaced stone channels distributed water, fed by great brass fountains, throughout the botanical wonderland.

Turner caught sight of what looked like a wood carving among a bundle of ferns and overarching trees. "Is that a statue?"

"No, it's a golem," answered Herrera. "Been made to blend in with their surroundings, when they go idle like that. Kind of clever, really. There are a few around here."

On closer inspection, it turned out to be a lanky, six-foot, humanlike figure with patches of dark green moss on its hardened skin, with a glistening set of shears for one hand and a rake for another. Its face comprised two doe eyes set in an oval head, with a stripe of moss like a bushy green moustache over a slanted mouth.

Turner spotted several more scattered throughout the garden, some dormant for so long that the plants had grown over them, almost completely obscuring them. Turner had found six when his eyes caught sight of an egg-white hand reaching out from a tall thicket of unbridled foliage.

"Is that another golem?"

"Fine question," Herrera said. "But one way to find out."

They set about clearing the plants that gripped it, struggling to reveal what time and nature had worked so hard to conceal. Their success was limited. Even with Emet helping after a fashion with its small hands, it was next to impossible to pull away the runaway drapery by hand alone. It was simply too thick to tear and wound too tightly to unravel.

"Maybe we could get something to cut it down with," Turner said, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked around and was startled to see four of the moss-covered gardener golem gliding towards them. The vines enshrouding the statue fell away in a blur of rakes and shears, bringing to light an expertly wrought, twelve-foot ivory-white sculpture of an old man with a regal yet humble air, like a great sage or prophet. He had a kindly, wrinkled face, with a beard as long and flowing as the scarf and robes he wore. One hand held a fold of his robe; the other clasped a small book by his side. The golem, meanwhile, returned to the brambles like silent ghosts, requiring neither reward nor compliment.

"Something's written here." Dorothea knelt and parted a brush hiding a bronze plaque screwed to the obsidian base of the statue.

Corrin Fermat Dovetail

City Founder

Last of the Order of Argil

"Dovetail?" Turner said, frowning. He looked up at the face of the statue and then at Dorothea, who was sitting back on her heels, staring at the plaque. "Is this your great-great-great-something or other?"

"I think so..."

"Saviour of Davishna, hero of our people," Herrera said, falling to one knee and bowing his head in reverence, "never did I imagine meeting you, even if it is only your likeness. Others believe you a myth, but Davishna always knew the truth of it. On behalf of my people and the Davishnan royal family, I thank you for all you have done."  He held a hand out to Emet, Your splendour shines on, in your works," his hand rose to Dorothea, "and in your blood. You will always be remembered."

The group headed over to a nearby clearing where a potpourri of fruits and vegetables had been piled on a simple table. The crew were already there, with several golem arranging chairs and setting down plates and glasses.  Everybody welcomed Turner, all very happy to see him up and about.

"Impressive place, ain't it?" said Gorso. 

"It's incredible. But where's all the water come from? I mean, I can't imagine much rain would get into a place like this."

"Fresh water seems to flow in from waterfalls along the mountain outside and is distributed underground," Gorso said. "You can hear the water running beneath us, if you listen closely."

Turner listened to the faint rumble beneath the mossy stone floor, when suddenly his neglected stomach let out a growl so loud that everybody paused and then laughed.

"Speaking of sounds," Gorso gasped, "which end did that creep out of?"

Dorothea slapped Gorso on his arm with feigned horror.

"That was his stomach!"

"Sure it was."

All the golem stepped back from the table as everyone took their seats. Emet stood on a chair at the head of the table, watching quietly like a curious child as everyone ate heartily, washing it all down with water as clear as the crystal it was poured into. Turner wasted no time tucking in, clearly intent on making up for lost days.

"Where's Angeline?" Herrera asked.

"Working on the Tartaruga," answered Collin. "I left her some food."

"She works too much," lamented Herrera. "Our Lordess of Repair needs to take better care of herself."

"I've told her that plenty of times," Gorso said. "You think she'd listen? The only thing Angeline cares about is her machines. Heck, she didn't look twice at Emet when we showed it to her. Maybe if it had some moving parts she could tinker with."

"Speaking of golem, how did those golem know we needed help with that statue in the garden?" Turner asked, wiping his fingers on his serviette. "I'd barely gotten the words out when they were beside us."

"According to the old stories," Herrera said, "golem can sense the needs and desires of others. That's certainly been our experience here."

"You mean they can read our minds?"

"In a sense, but a golem that cleans won't try and build you a set of drawers, while a golem that builds won't serve you tea and biscuits. Details aside, pretty much anything you need done," he said, lifting his glass slightly off the table and smiling as one of the golem instantly stepped forward, refilled it, and stepped back, "they get done. Simple as that."

"We're like muses to them," added Collin. "Their sources of inspiration."

"Exactly," said Herrera. "Take my new sword, for example."

Nearly everybody at the table groaned and Gorso rolled his eyes as Herrera pushed back his chair and stood. From his hip, he drew a short sword from a plain silver sheath and swung it around a few times, showing it off with a great deal of affection. The craftsmanship of the blade was magnificent, with precious gems encrusted in its hilt, its edge keen enough to make any reckless hand regret venturing into its proximity.

"It's the sword I've always wanted, the way I've always imagined it. The golem made it for me last night. Impressive, yes?"

"You know what they say about bringing a sword to a gunfight, Silverio,"  Bastion said, as he worked a toothpick between his teeth. "You don't."

"You never know when a good sword might come in handy, Bastion, especially one quite so snappy."

"But I thought golem only answered to one person," Turner said, recalling what Herrera had said about the spirit name and how it answered to Dorothea and nobody else. "How are these different?"

"That knock to the head certainly hasn't done your mind any harm," Herrera said, sliding his new sword back into its sheath. "Still so full of questions. The long and short of it is that we just don't know."

"The palace library might hold the answers," Collin suggested, "but it would likely take years, even decades, to sift through such a wealth of knowledge."

"So, what are you going to do?" Turner asked. "Keep it all hidden forever?"

"How to best protect this city and the world from it is a decision we'll leave to a higher power," said Herrera. "Angeline's managed to get the radio working, but we're too far out to make contact with anyone. Once the Tartaruga is mobile, we'll return to Davishna and discuss the matter with our empress."

Herrera peeled an orange with his thumb and popped a slice into his mouth. "For the time being, we'll lie low. There's no great rush for any decision to be made, not when the Commission hasn't the faintest where we are." Herrera stopped abruptly as Angeline appeared, sprinting through the garden, sweat on her brow and a monkey wrench in hand, towards them.

"Good news! I was testing the radio to make sure the wiring was okay when I received a transmission."

"A transmission? I thought we were too far out from land to receive radio transmissions."

"We are. But this one is coming from a plane that just flew into range. It's Hamish Vale."

"Vale?" Dorothea felt her blood chill. "He works for them!"

"Fear not. Hamish Vale is our ears in the Commission, the one I told you about," Herrera explained. "He's a good man."

Gorso shook his head. "For somebody who's supposed to be operating in secret, why's he coming out to us like this? How did he find us? And where'd he get a plane from?"

The group exchanged glances. The talk of the traitor in their midst resounded in Dorothea's thoughts.

"What did he say he wanted?" Herrera asked.

"That he needed to speak with you urgently." Angeline looked bereft. "I'm sorry, Herrera. I told him where we were, where to land."

Herrera looked thoughtful. "This is damn peculiar. Might be prudent of us to meet old Hamish with more than just smiles on our faces. All of you get your gear."

All eyes were on the plane that flew into the hidden cavern, the Commission motif painted plainly on its side. The group had spread out, encircling the landing site, standing erect, guns at the ready.

Dorothea watched apprehensively as the plane rolled to a stop, little rodent like golem with lamps on their backs scampering out of the way; made to provide light where there might be a deficit.

The pilot door opened and everyone tensed.

"Greetings, friends!" Hamish Vale raised his empty hands and looked about. His eyes came to rest on Herrera. "I'm alone," he assured him. "Go ahead, take a look." He descended the fold-down stairs and stepped aside to let Bastion and Collin enter, keeping his hands up the entire time. After a few moments, Bastion called, "All clear."

Herrera approached Vale. He still held his gun aloft, but appeared relaxed.

"It's always good to see you, Hamish. But I have to ask, how did you come to find us? You have to admit it's interesting how often the Commission seems to be apprised of our whereabouts, despite our best efforts."

"Kritzinger suggested I might find you here."

"Kritzinger?"

Herrera's eyes narrowed and his fingers gripped his gun more firmly.

Bastion and Collin moved to stand behind Vale, guns raised.

"My loyalties have always lain with the Brigade," Vale said, his voice calm. "You know that. But things have changed. Or, more accurately, Kritzinger's loyalties have changed. He's none too happy with what the Commission intend to do with the Golem City. He's how I learned of the bug Balsa had stitched into Dorothea's clothes."

"A bug?" Turner asked with a frown. "Like an insect?"

"In my clothes?" Dorothea yelped.

"It's an electronic device that allows them to track the movements of another person."

"They can do that?" Dorothea asked, looking no less dismayed.

"It's how they found you at Rainbow's End, and how they know where you are now. I know you have questions..." Vale glanced at Emet who stood in Dorothea's bag, as well as all the other golem meandering around the plaza; busy cleaning and tidying. "And boy do I have a few of my own. First things first, though." Vale stepped towards Dorothea. "May I?"

He felt the hem of Dorothea's jacket until his fingers found a pocket stitched into the material. With a small pocketknife, he slit it open and held up the contents: a small round device made of plain metal, no bigger than the flat of a person's thumb.

Herrera took the device from Hamish, turning the tiny curiosity over in his fingers.

"Fancy stuff," Angeline said. "Well ahead of anything Davishna has. My guess is it's probably Kimonese."

"To think they've been tracking us all this time," Herrera said sourly, "with such a small thing. I should have suspected the Commission had some new trick in play when they found us at Rainbow's End. Forgive me for doubting you, Hamish."

Herrera dropped the bug onto the ground and crushed it with his heel, its minute components bursting from its shell.

"I came to warn you, Balsa's heading here on Fortress Six. There'll be no stopping the Commission, if he succeeds in taking the city. We need to stop him. Here."

"The Brigade triumphing over Balsa's flying behemoth?" Angeline said. "Not possible. We need soldiers, weapons – an army would be nice. How long do we have?"

"Kritzinger estimated they'd be about three days behind me."

"So much for reinforcements," Gorso muttered. "Davishna could never get people out here in time."

"Better we know now rather than the moment Balsa's beating down our door," Herrera said. "Come, we are not without hope. So what if we have three days? In the last two, we have walked away from some of the most wretched odds imaginable. We must rally and plan and employ all our strengths to raise the very best defence we can. They think we don't know they're coming. Perfect! This Brigade will make them regret that mistake!"

"Well said!" said Collin. "Evil shall not be allowed to triumph this day or any other! We shall scorch them with our breath, blast away their lies with our wings, and lay them low for betraying the trust of people, as Dorogoronpa did of old!"

"Sounds good to me," said Angeline, "though don't expect me to go around eating their charred remains."

"I will," said Gorso, darkly. Everybody looked to him.

"It's a joke! I joke! You people look at me like I'm crazy, sometimes."

"One can only wonder," mumbled Angeline.