Before long Graft and Salem met with their Sable Lord, and they got down to business straightaway. His niceties about being busy did not fall on deaf ears; Graft thought of the news given to him by his assistant, which riddled him with curiosity. The wishes of Rodias, of course, remained the number one priority, and the industrialist gave his master his full attention.

Tea arrived, as if on cue, and Graft took a cup almost too quickly. He downed the whole thing in a few seconds, heedless of temperature thanks to the overpowering thirst he only just now remembered having, but did not miss a word Rodias had to say. Just as expected, he would be cooperating with Salem, although the plan outlined afterward made Graft think that 'cooperate' was too generous a term. In order to gather intelligence on the Chateau's surroundings, he would be manufacturing a number of bodies for Salem to use for surveillance, especially populated areas. The nature of the arrangement, in which Graft would be making equipment that Salem would then be using, was the source of his verbal discontent. In no sense were they really working together. If Graft was offered a partnership, he expected full integration and utilization of both parties in the entire process. Of course, maybe he thought about terminology a bit too much, but when cutting a deal the terms were all-important.

With that preliminary problem shelved, the practical ones rose to the forefront of his mind. Rodias seemed to know it too. Before automata and replica vermin could be made, Graft needed to get an idea of what the fauna of this world looked like. To assume it identical to that of the last world would be the height of impetuousness. He intended to make no foolish mistakes. But to find out the fauna, those concerned in the Chateau would need to go out and look. Before him lay a circular dilemma, and he doubted that the noble ladies Ashara and Kath would be scouring the refuse heaps and filthy back alleys to observe this world's vermin.

Rodias went on to suggest birds instead, with such a theatrical show of thinking that Graft half-guessed the amended plan had been premeditated. It was a good change, since birds would be more mobile and easier for scouts to observe themselves, but they still needed to be cataloged before the machines could rumble to life. His stated reasoning for changing his mind, however, seemed faulty, and it formed the other half of Graft's guess. What did Salem care about encountering less-than-pleasant substances through a distant proxy? Aside from being inorganic, with nothing to worry about in terms of contamination, he would be experiencing it all with just one sense: sight. No revolting smell, no disgusting texture. And kids loved getting filthy, anyway. Graft felt sure of that, since Brushen Penn hated kids, and whatever she hated must be despicable.

As Rodias left, Graft tapped his foot, thinking. “Looks like we might be at an impasse,” he told Salem. “Until we know what this world's creatures look like, I can't start making fakes for you to put eyes in.” With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he gave his mustache a sophisticated stroking. “Of course, Lord Rodias must know this. And that we must know what to infiltrate before we can infiltrate it. Therefore the delay in production is understandable, and until we have the data, we can attend other matters.” Speaking as though it were a done deal, Graft waltzed into the elevator. Once in, he spun about and looked at Salem. “How'd you like a special tour of the Factory, young...one?” He grinned, more on one side of his mouth than the other, his eyes partially shut. “You can take a look at my R&D process. Maybe test out my latest amalgam. It'll be fun. Oh, but hurry. This special offer expires in three, two, one...”

Whether or not Salem joined him in the elevator, the door slid shut, and the box slid down, down, down.

[hr]

A wave of distinctive air hit Graft as he emerged into a Factory hall on the lower level. Dingy, ribbed, and dimly lit, it held a vast quantity of air that boasted not just an unforgettable smell, but an unforgettable feel. Like it was crawling all over you. “Ahh, yes.” He sighed. “That warm, clingy vapor, that...oh, full-bodied odor. Like an entire complex full of exhaled breath. You never realize how much you'll miss it 'til it's gone.” He released a  sound, as might someone shown something very interesting and important. “Hm...I really must can it and start shipping it around.”

Two paths lay before him. One went to his office, which contained the inventory node that he used to do his prototyping. The other led to the Factory's very own testing room, where that wyvern from earlier still paced restlessly. Graft didn't know where to begin. “Hmm...which one, which one. Get to work on something new, or visit something old.” He remembered the special matter mentioned by Papillary. “Or, I could get that out of the way...”

A Direct Line to Papillary manifested. Graft slid it close to his head, the floating magic rune bridging the short distance between his ear and mouth. “Papillary? Where are you now?”

“Production,” the hearty female voice responded immediately. “At [i]the door[/i].” Graft stared into the testing room. On the opposite side of that large, circular chamber lay. At its end, the core with its invaluable artifact. Behind that, the forbidden door. Penn's private chamber. That Graft considered investigating it at all spoke to his reliance on Rodias' assurance that he and he alone constituted the Board, with the other Bandersnatch Lords indefinitely absent. “Are you coming?” the voice asked.

Graft nodded to nobody. “I am.” He banished the Line, seized his cane, and set off toward Production.