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“Kinwa and the Engineer” by Ritter

In this story from the Loom of Hours, young Kinwa uncovers a sinister scheme while studying in the big city.

Today’s story is “Kinwa and the Engineer” by Ritter, a musical husky with a passion for literature. You can find more of his stories, including the full Loom of Hours cycle, on AO3.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/kinwa-and-the-engineer-by-ritter

Transcript
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story is “Kinwa

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and the Engineer”

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by Ritter, a musical husky with a passion for literature.

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You can find more of his stories,

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including the full Loom of Hours cycle,

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on AO3. Please enjoy “Kinwa

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and the Engineer”

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by Ritter The Matubon people

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of Slow-Lake have a strange custom,

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which is that they consider teaching taboo,

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and refuse to mark symbols,

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deal in numbers, and do all but the most passive apprenticeship;

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for the only true knowledge is that which was wrested from the lions of one’s mind -

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all else is lies and the whispers of wicked men.

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Kinwa was the best and brightest student the Matubon had ever seen,

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skilled not just in hunting and tracking,

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pottery, and spear-throwing,

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but in writing and arithmetic

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and diagram-forming.

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He even knew how to talk to the spirits that live at the back of people’s minds.

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Really, it seemed like he was destined for anything,

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and that’s what the people of the tribe said -

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Kinwa does everything so effortlessly,

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it’s obvious he’s meant for great things

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(for skill is not just the measure of someone’s learning;

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it shows the degree to which they have fallen towards their own fate).

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Now Kinwa had long heard

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the deprecations of the elders against false knowledge, but he paid it no heed.

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What knowledge could there be that did not have to be wrestled against first?

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No, it was clearly fear of a strange and vast unknown that fueled this insensible caution.

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So when Kinwa had amassed all the knowledge he could from the tribe,

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he went to the city of Tulòn

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to see if he could seek admission to their great universities or esteemed engineering guilds.

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It so happened that Tulòn

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was about to embark on another grand construction project

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in honor of their ancient king,

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and was happy for all the help they could get.

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So Kinwa was accepted into the technical university,

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and began his new studies immediately.

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A curious phenomenon soon happened to Kinwa, however -

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he fell asleep. Really, some classes were just so boring

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and their equations so dense

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that as soon as they began,

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he would find himself suddenly overtaken by the weariness of the day, and would

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fall into restless dreams

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of frolicking among the meadows.

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The first week this happened,

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Kinwa was filled with shame -

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imagine, the pride of the Matubon unable to solve a few measly problems! -

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so he resolved to study hard

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and work towards understanding the material.

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The following week, however, Kinwa fared no better,

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and the lectures once more lulled him into a deep sleep

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(this time, the dreams were of playing with his faithful hunting dog).

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Kinwa, determined not to let these equations get the better of him,

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went through the readings back to front,

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solved the practice problems repeatedly until he could do them with his eyes closed,

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and took apart the diagrams and charts until he understood all the different parts of them.

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Finally, on the third week, Kinwa had caught up to the rest of the class enough that, look!

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he could follow along as the instructors

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threw up line after line on the chalkboard!

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He turned to his seatmate to share the good news, but to his horror, his seatmate -

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and all the students in the class - had turned into a different person, all of them

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the same pointy-eared figure

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with reptilian eyes, wreathed

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in yellow light.

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“Are you all right, Kinwa?” his seatmate

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asked, with a voice that was not his.

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“You look confused.”

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“Yes,” his seatmate on the other side added, in the same voice.

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“Come, let’s do the work that was ordained for today.

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Then you’ll feel a lot better for sure.”

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As one, the entire class, including Kinwa, stood up

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and left for the quarry,

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where they joined other work-gangs made up of the same pointy-eared individual,

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and hauled stone to the site of the new monument the entire day.

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Throughout all this, Kinwa had the feeling that he had not been meant to see any of it,

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that indeed an external force was trying to show

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that he was still back in the classroom

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looking at diagrams on the board.

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It was only through his mastery of mind that Kinwa was able to peer into the inner workings of his unconscious body

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and see reality as it truly occurred.

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The next time this happened,

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Kinwa made use of this mental mastery,

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and cast deep into himself.

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Moving through the recesses of his mind,

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he came upon a malevolent pointy-eared figure with reptilian eyes,

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surrounded in yellow light -

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exactly the person Kinwa had seen his classmates become -

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seated at a plinth

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and carelessly pulling giant strings as if they were the reins on a horse.

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“Who are you,” said Kinwa,

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“and what are you doing in my mind?”

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“Who are you,” screeched the figure, “and what are you doing in my mind?”

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“You are mistaken, brother,”

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said Kinwa, hesitantly.

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“This is my mind we are in, which I know

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because I am quite attached to it.”

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“It is my mind because I am the one controlling it!”

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said the figure. “Now get

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out of my mind and leave me to do my construction in peace!”

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It cracked one of the strings like a whip,

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and Kinwa unceremoniously found himself in the dream again.

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Now seriously irked,

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he resolved to get back at the mysterious person who had so rudely taken control of his body,

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and to this end, he continued attending the offending classes quietly over the next fortnight.

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He soon deduced that the diagrams and equations the instructors were preparing

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constituted a summoning ritual of some sort.

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As soon as he felt himself falling into the now-familiar trance,

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Kinwa took the mental path he had explored before,

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and upon finding the controller,

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proceeded to ‘paint’ the summoning diagram using his mind’s eye.

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He swapped out his name for what he assumed was the name of the controller,

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and immediately found himself in a crystal room,

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atop a ziggurat overlooking the entire city.

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In the center, floating cross-legged and insensate atop a velvet cushion,

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was the pointy-eared fellow from his trance.

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Kinwa, looking around and seeing nothing aside from a table full of refreshments,

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grabbed the nearest pitcher to hand,

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tiptoed up to the controller,

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and splashed him with its contents.

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“Guh!” yelled the figure,

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jerking awake and falling over,

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all while trying to pull its robes off.

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“I,” said Kinwa, splashing a little bit more from the pitcher,

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“would like an explanation.” “Ereakaiza’s

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eyelashes!”

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screamed the controller.

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“I will have your head for this!

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Guards! Guards!” “See, I know that’s a bluff,”

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said Kinwa, sloshing the pitcher around.

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“Nobody has been in this room for a day at least.

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You summon the food in, you eat it, but nobody comes in or out.

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You have cobwebs on you, for goodness’ sake.

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How long do you do this for?

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How are you not yet dead?”

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“Just get out and leave me be,”

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cried the controller, its ears waggling above its head.

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“What is it you even want?”

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“I want an apology,

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and I want to know who it is from,”

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said Kinwa. “And no more shoving around in people’s heads!

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You are giving everyone in my dormitory terrible nights’ sleep,

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and we all have classes to attend in the mornings.”

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“But that’s the whole point of the ritual,”

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whined the controller.

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“I take over your bodies and make sure that construction is proceeding as it should.

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My elders always said

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to never delegate a job if you could do it yourself.

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This way, I can do

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all the jobs myself

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and never have to delegate!”

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“That doesn’t make it appropriate,”

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said Kinwa, “and I still don’t hear an apology.

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We can keep at this the whole day if you want; I’m not leaving.

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leaving.” “Fine, fine,” grumbled the figure.

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“I apologize -”

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this it said in an obsequious, faux-polite tone “-

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for taking over your and your cohort’s bodies

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without your knowledge or agreement.”

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“And your name, too, if you please.”

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Kinwa gestured threateningly with the pitcher. “All right! All right. I am…” Here the figure pulled itself

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upright in an almost regal position,

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if it weren’t for the soaked-through undergarments and pile of wet robes.

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“I am Akbal, First King of Tulòn; now, Spirit of the City.

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I built this metropole from the ground up,

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and by the gods am I going to ensure that it stays up.”

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“A likely story,” said Kinwa.

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“Why then, Akbal First-King-of-Tulòn, do you possess your engineers

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and treat them like manual labor

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instead of the fine minds that they are?”

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Akbal wrung his hands.

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“My viziers would

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botch all the finely laid-out plans I had by

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ordering the wrong cut of stone,

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passing on the wrong measurements -

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little things, you know.

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In the end, I had to spend so much more money tearing down these monuments that I decided:

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why even have supervisors if the supervisors couldn’t understand the plans.

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So upon my passing

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I put this procedure into motion,

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and it has served the city marvelously ever since!”

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Kinwa shook his head.

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“Akbal, you are the dumbest smart person I have ever met, and that includes myself.

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Have you considered that not all engineers are as

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bone-headed as your viziers?

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I figured out a way into your private chamber all by myself -

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surely I could understand the blueprints to your triumphal pyramid or

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whatever new thing you have brewing.

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Trust your underlings a little.”

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“Trust ruined my kingdom,

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and now you’ve ruined it too!”

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screamed Akbal.

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He ran at Kinwa, and as they collided,

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Kinwa became aware of the entire city as if it were a giant, limp beast on the ground over which ants made their home. They were the

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buildings and the quarters where the citizens made their residence and their businesses .

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At the ‘head’ of the city,

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Kinwa could see the palace and grand temple rising above all else;

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towards the flank, he saw the academies and universities and makers’ quarters,

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bustling with activity;

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and further down, where the tail would have begun,

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he beheld a giant pit

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with dust rising out of it -

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dozens of feet of scaffolding had collapsed,

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as well as some pulleys hoisting great carven boulders.

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All over the site,

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men and women were on the ground,

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holding their heads and moaning in confused pain -

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but they were themselves,

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not copies of the First King.

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“See what you did!”

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boomed Akbal’s voice in Kinwa’s head, before returning himself and Kinwa to material form.

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“By interrupting my concentration, you’ve set construction back by weeks,

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and you almost killed how many workers down there!”

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“Oh hush,” replied Kinwa.

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“Do you even care about your workers at all?

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One gets the impression that they only matter to you as vessels for your royalness to fill.”

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Akbal scoffed. “Why do

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they need to be any more than that?

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We have already established that they cannot carry out plans to save their own skins;

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we have seen that they can barely navigate a construction site without making some new disaster.

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Next, you will have me believe that they will design their own buildings themselves!”

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“And whyever not?”

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retorted Kinwa. “I have made my own huts without the benefit of someone guiding my hand -

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merely by observing others at work was I able to derive the principles of good construction.

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I cannot imagine that someone smarter with codices and numbers than me

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could not do the same for grander edifices.”

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Akbal sneered. “I waste my time -

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and everyone else’s! - talking with you. If you

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will not get out of my way,

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I will have to remove you myself.”

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And with that, he flung himself at the young student.

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Unfortunately, the old king did not consider

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that the body he was inhabiting

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had become frail and decrepit over many, many centuries,

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and was no match for the robust chokehold that Kinwa

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put him in. Thus, the First King of Tulòn

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was dispatched for the last time,

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and Kinwa spent the next few hours figuring out how to un-summon

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both himself and the elfin corpse

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from the top of the ziggurat

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(not that much harder than summoning, it turned out).

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The next time the usual classes rolled around,

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there was a bit of a commotion as the students and instructors

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quickly realized that suddenly they had nothing to do.

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But they came together

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and talked things out,

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and pretty soon were making new projects of their own,

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like an aqueduct to supply more fresh water,

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or a larger sewer system for the newer parts of the city.

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As for Kinwa, he had returned to his people, having had his fill of the city,

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and spent the rest of his days hunting,

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exploring, and occasionally agreeing to have a handful of youngsters apprentice to him.

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But he never went in front of a chalkboard again,

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nor did he deal with symbols and numbers;

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for there was a small part at the back of his mind that saw reason

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in Akbal’s doing,

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and it terrified Kinwa to know that,

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given the chance,

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he might put his own people to the same fate

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as the infernal king did.

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This was “Kinwa and the Engineer” by Ritter,

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read for you by Rob MacWolf,

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Werewolf Hitchhiker.

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You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get

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your podcasts. Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog.

About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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